“Goodbye, Betsy. I won’t let them take me.” With that, her mother turned the gun on herself. A second blast later, her mother fell to the ground. Dead.
“Mom?”
She tried to move forward, but her body wouldn’t comply. Betsy knew she needed to look down. She had to. But she couldn’t make her neck work. It felt like it took a year but with no other choice, she glanced down and saw a large red spot seeping through her shirt. What had happened?
“Betsy.” Cyrus rushed toward her.
“I’ve been shot, honey.” Her voice sounded hoarse. “How could my mother have done this?”
The world went black. In the distance, she thought she heard wolves howling. And then she heard nothing at all.
****
When Betsy woke up, she was alone. Raising her head, she looked left and right. The world felt ten degrees colder than it had been when she’d…. when I’d what? She couldn’t seem to remember.
She pulled herself to her feet, hearing the sounds of wolves howling. Where was she?
A sound caught her attention, and she sucked in her breath. Although there was no light except from the full moon, she could see three figures approaching her. They were male, and each one was naked. She gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.
This had to be a dream. It was too…bizarre.
“Relax, fair princess, the moon has returned you from where you came. You are back with us, where all the sons and daughters of the moon come when their time on earth has passed. In a few more minutes, you will be fully with us. And then you will no longer know any pain.”
Betsy reached out in front of her as though she could stop their words with her hand alone. “Are you telling me that I’m dead?”
The figure in the middle spoke. “Almost. My name is Lucian, little sister. I don’t think we knew each other on earth.”
“No.” She backed up a step. “No. No. No.” Betsy shouted to the moon as though it might listen to her. “I’m not dead. It’s not time yet. I refuse. Do you hear me? Put me back. I’m not done.”
Because Cyrus would destroy the world if she didn’t wake up, and she’d never want him to know that kind of pain.
Chapter Nineteen
“Fix her.” Cyrus’ hands shook as he stared at his sister. The last few minutes were a blur but they’d moved her back into Beaux’s house. They were in a back bedroom that had become Lake’s makeshift healing room. Betsy was sprawled out on a bed, her red blood soaking into the sheets beneath her.
Lake leaned down over his unconscious mate. Blood flowed way too quickly from her open wound, and he worried that she soon might not have enough in her to live. What did humans do when this happened? Transfusions. He would gladly give Betsy his blood. “What do you need, Lake? I’ll give you anything. Do you understand? Anything in the universe, it’s yours.”
Lake had her eyes closed, and she sat unmoving with her hands positioned over Betsy’s body. Why didn’t she say something?
Cyrus was hauled backward. He snarled, whirling around to attack whoever had dared touch him. To no surprise, it was Beaux who yanked him toward the door.
“Your Healer can’t do what she has to do with you badgering her. You want your mate healed? Give the woman some room to do that. She has your mate’s soul in her hands at the moment. Do you want her to lose focus and let the moon take her?”
“It’s all bullshit.” He shoved Beaux through the open doorway. “She’s got the ability to help werewolves. That I can understand. All of this moon-taking shit has always been crap, and the fact that you buy into it makes you pathetic.”
On a normal day, he would never speak to anyone like that. Even as he said the words, he almost couldn’t believe they’d come out of his mouth. But his mate lay dying, and he didn’t want to hear shit about the moon and souls. He wanted her fixed. End of story.
Beaux shook his head as he closed the door to where Lake worked. “That’s tremendously sad. The moon has gifted you with so much. Health, strength, power, money, a pack of your own to run, the intellect and instinct to do that relatively well, safety most of the time, and a true mating that most werewolves will never know. The fact that you cannot believe, even now as your sister performs magic that might save your mate from a fatal gunshot wound, makes me enormously sorry for you.”
Cyrus didn’t have it in him to have this kind of discussion with Beaux without ripping his fucking head from his shoulders.
“It’s always a choice,” Beaux called after him when he stormed from the house out onto the lawn. His pack was giving him space, which was a smart move. If Betsy died, he’d start tearing things, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.