Page 59 of Dark

West held up both hands. “We just want to talk. You got a name?”

The Feral bared his teeth. “Blow me.”

“That Swedish for dickhead?”

West shot me a look that said not helping.

Swedish dickhead growled like he wanted to eat my liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti. “Topher.”

West nodded. “You don’t have any pack markings that I can see. Where are you from?”

Apparently having decided this frat mixer was taking too long to get started, Hayden tossed her hair out of her eyes, half-shouting to be heard over the wind.

“Were you the one who changed me?”

Topher flinched, bloody fingertips clawing reflexively at his arms. The clouds shifted overhead, revealing scores of track marks. Wordlessly, he edged towards the cliff. “They’re coming.”

“Don’t even think about it,” my brother warned. “You won’t make it.”

Hayden’s breathing picked up. “Who’s coming?”

West lunged for Topher, the two of them shifting in midair, a snarling, writhing knot of claws.

“Stay back,” I shouted to Hayden, and let the change pull me from my skin.

But by then it was too late. Hayden released a strangled cry. And I turned just in time to see Topher drag my brother off Bluff Point.

10

Ethan

NEEDLESS TO SAY, the night didn’t really improve from there. We combed the shoreline for a mile fanning out in either direction from Bluff Point and turned up only a soggy, pissed off West. If Topher survived the fall, he was long gone.

Finished running the perimeter of the ranch, I shifted back to human and slid through the patio door.

Hunched over a fat book alongside the travel mug of coffee that went everywhere with him during the week when late night emergencies and long hours had him constantly on the road, Cal leaned over to pour me a cup. “She’s on the phone with Ellie.”

“That good, huh?”

“Might need to see if we’ve got anyone on call for twenty-four-hour exorcisms.”

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I slid onto the neighboring barstool. Between the club and the fire, I smelled like roadkill that had been soaked in beer and deep-fried. “Brody check in?”

“He’s been combing through the law enforcement databases. Christopher Greer, age twenty-four. Went missing a year ago down in Austin. Was working as an EMT. We’ve got a driver’s license photo.” Cal paused from dumping a desecration of sugar into what had been a perfectly decent dark roast to pass over his cell phone.

“Yeah, it’s him.”

“Real lead.”

“About time.” I took a swallow of coffee, thinking back to those track marks lining the inside of his wrists, to the burns from being kept in silver restraints that had caused scarring to form. “You think someone down in Austin could be picking up users off the street, changing them by force and dumping them in the feral camps?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time some loose cannon Alpha down there tried to raise an army and rewrite boundary lines." Cal’s phone chimed. Frowning, he scrolled through the text. “Dallas.” A beat. “He’s pretty steamed.”

“Yeah, well, what else is new?”

“You two should sit down and talk sometime. Without your fists.”

The wind stirred, sending the live oaks out over the patio swaying in the moonlight. I tugged at my wrist cuff. “Hays just had to go after that asshole.”