“Holy shit,” he breathed, even as I raised a hand to my mouth to keep myself from gagging.
The place looked like a whirlwind had struck it. Furniture toppled over, lamps and vases smashed. But that wasn’t the worst. Lying on the floor, arms stretched toward the entryway as if she had been desperately trying to escape, was Jessica Lowe. At least, I assumed it was her — I thought I recognized the spill of long honey-colored hair. Mercifully, she now lay face down.
Even from where I stood, I could see the blood spattered across the wooden floor, the dark spray on the walls. The shirt she wore was shredded, claw marks showing clearly on her pale flesh.
“We need to go,” I whispered, laying a hand on Connor’s arm and beginning to tug him back toward the door. “We have to call the police.”
“No. Not the police. Not yet,” he whispered back. He didn’t try to free his arm from my grasp, but he did use his other hand to pull his cell phone out of his jacket pocket.
“What are you talking about? Something killed her!”
“I know that. But think about it, Angela. Think about how much attention this will bring on all of us. We can’t afford that kind of scrutiny.”
As much as I hated what he was saying, I knew he was right. The McAllisters obeyed the same rule — do what you must, but never risk bringing unwanted attention on the clan. It was the only way we’d survived undetected for so long.
I nodded mutely, my body tense, somehow knowing the threat was still here, although the house was completely still. Flesh crawling, I wondered if who — or what — had killed Jessica was watching us as we stood in the entryway. At least we could be out the front door in a few steps if necessary.
Had Jessica thought the same thing?
I shivered, and watched as Connor selected someone from his contacts list and waited while the call connected. “Lucas?” he said. “I need you to come out to Damon’s house now. We’ve — well, we’ve got a situation. And bring Marie with you.” A pause as he listened to Lucas’s response. “I don’t know. Just get here as quickly as you can.” He ended the call and turned toward me. “I think we’d better wait out in the car. Just to be safe.”
That sounded like an excellent plan to me. I had just opened my mouth to reply when I heard a hideous growl, and a dark blur of a shape launched itself at me.
No time to think, no time to do anything except call on the power within me to flare up and outward, a flash of golden glowing light bursting away from me and knocking my attacker back a good three yards. It got to its feet, growling, and as I stared at it, a sick, choking feeling rose in my throat.
Yes, it was a wolf, a huge thing with gray matted fur and sharp bloodstained teeth showing between its snarling gums. But those were not the eyes of a wolf staring at me. No, they were black, utterly black, so dark you couldn’t see the pupils.
Damon Wilcox’s eyes.
All this went through my mind in the endless space between one heartbeat and the next. Before I could even blink, Connor had leapt in front of me, shielding me with his body. He stared down at the wolf, horror clear in every tense line of his frame.
His words, when they came, broke my heart.
“Don’t hurt her, Damon. Please. I love her.”
A low guttural growl, and the wolf — Damon — crouched lower. I stiffened, gathering my own strength to strike, should the need arise, should he leap for us, teeth bared to tear yet another throat. Then it made the oddest whimpering noise as it stared up at Connor. A shudder went through it, almost as if some part of its mind was trying to get it to move backward while its wolfish instincts were telling it to attack.
Stained teeth flashing, it leapt forward again. Once more I moved purely on instinct, somehow knowing that Connor had neither the magic nor the will to confront his brother. My hands went up, even as I focused the energy and flung it forward, this time using it as a weapon rather than a barrier.
A horrible yiping howl, and the Damon-wolf went flying backward, hitting one of the overturned tables. I heard a terrible crack, and thought maybe I had broken its ribs. But no, it got to its feet and shook its head, and I saw that the force of the impact had split one of the table legs in half. The wolf growled, and I raised my hands again. Beside me, Connor was taking in deep, gasping breaths, his body halfway blocking me still, as if he wanted to act as my protector but knew I was far more suited to this fight than he.
Once more I had that sensation of time stretching out, of a second seeming to take hours to pass. I heard my own ragged breathing, the low snarling growl emanating from the wolf’s throat. Those black pupil-less eyes met mine, and in them I saw a terrible hunger, a need that would never be slaked. Although the house was stuffily warm, my body went ice cold. Could I push the creature back a third time if it attacked again?