Page 8 of Brandon’s Mate

Instead, she curled up in her window seat and stared out the open window into the night.

Brandon was in trouble. The two of them had always had a special bond, even though he was six years older. They always knew when the other one was in danger, or in trouble, or miserably unhappy.

They’d always been there for each other, too, until the day he’d disappeared without a word, and never come back.

After a year passed without anyone hearing from him, and then two years, she’d finally realized he wasn’t coming back. Maybe not ever. She was on her own.

Sometimes she got a whisper of that sick feeling, though, and she knew that somewhere far away, Brandon was in trouble. But he always got out of it again, and the feeling passed. He didn’t need her.

Not even that time over three years ago, when she felt that horrible, gut-wrenching pain and thought he was dying. He’d survived—she’d know if he hadn’t. But something really, really bad had happened.

And he still hadn’t called. He still didn’t need her.

He needs us now, her wolf said. We must find him. There is not much time.

Great, she replied. Any clue where to look?

Her wolf only repeated, We must find him.

So helpful.

Kitty pulled out her phone and found Brandon’s old number. Brandon? she texted. Where are you? Are you okay?

She hit ‘send’ before she could change her mind. Minutes ticked by, but there was no response.

She hadn’t really expected one. She knew his family and some of the other kids in the crew texted him regularly, and he never replied.

She texted, I feel like you’re having a bad day.

That was their code for that feeling—the one that said the other person needed them.

Still no answer.

The last image from the dream filled her head once more: fire and fighting panthers and a sky full of crows. A building with a firelit sign: The Crows’ Nest.

And suddenly, out of the vision and the dark velvet night outside her window, Kitty remembered what a group of wild crows was called.

Not a flock.

A murder.

She grabbed her laptop, opened her browser, and started hunting.

Chapter 3

Brandon stood by the hidden compartment he’d just built behind one of the heating vents in Nick’s derelict mansion, stashing away any hint of his real identity.

He’d found out that Nick had leased the place under a false name, from an old-timer who’d moved to Florida or some shit. The house, and a run-down auto repair shop a mile or so up the road.

So Nick had planned to stay for a while.

Again, why?

The first thing Brandon needed to do was figure out who the players were in this town, because unless the trouble had followed him here from somewhere else, Nick had clearly gotten on the wrong side of them—although whether he’d been working withthe bad guys or against them was anybody’s guess. Nick had been a decent guy, but not especially picky which side of the law he landed on.

Brandon didn’t care which it was. The search still started in the same place—with the locals. And whoever had killed Nick was still going to die.

He’d open up the auto repair shop and let it be known that he wasn’t above, say, installing secret compartments for smuggling illegal substances. Or maybe chopping up a stolen car or two. See who crawled out from under the surrounding rocks.