"Look at you! Brothers, bleeding each other like animals."
"We are animals."
"Bullshit! That's bullshit. Your father would be ashamed if he saw what you'd just done. You were going to kill each other!"
Asher tossed Roman a frown, but didn't even bother to look at Gentry. "You knew our father?"
Pain washed across the woman's face, and she stared off into the woods for a few moments before she answered. "I loved your father." Her lip trembled, and her eyebrows lifted. "We weren't allowed, for obvious reasons, but he was mine, and I was his. Losing him was the worst day of my life. But seeing you three, looking so much like him, going to war out here is a close second."
"My wolf looks nothing like that asshole," Asher ground out, his chin tucked to his chest as he glared up at the woman from his knees.
"Not your wolf, Asher Striker. Your eyes. You have his fire. He was always scared for you because of it. And you," she said, arcing her gaze to Roman. "You have his build. Height, arms, hands, all the same. And it doesn't matter how thick you grow that beard, boy. You can't hide his face. He marked you up better than the rest. But you," she murmured, blinking slowly and giving her attention to Gentry. "You're the one he passed his wolf to. Can you feel him separately I wonder? Hmm, Gentry? Does he feel like a different creature living inside of your body? Your father struggled with the same, and your wolf is the spitting image of his. Get up, monsters."
Gentry waited for the tendrils of black magic to curdle his stomach again, but she wasn't using her power anymore. And when he studied her closer, the woman was swaying slightly on her feet. A quick glance at Asher, who was closest to her, and he had his narrowed eyes on her shaking hands.
A witch she may be, but all-powerful she was not. She'd drained herself. They could kill her now with a single bite. She wasn't a wolf, probably wouldn't survive it, but Gentry had a hundred questions rattling around in his mind, so he played along and stood slowly. Every muscle in his body was twitching like he'd been electrocuted, but he splayed his legs and kept his balance.
"What's your name?" he gritted out.
"Odine."
"Odine what?" Roman asked.
She inhaled deeply and lifted her chin proudly. "Odine Striker. Get your shit together long enough to spread your father's ashes in the wind. His soul is at unrest. He wanted his sons to do it, and you've put it off too long." Odine turned and strode off, her snow boots crunching as she stepped over the piles of snow she'd raised like a tidal wave and dropped back down to earth like an avalanche. "I want to be there. I deserve to be there."
Roman tossed Gentry a what-the-hell look, then asked, "Okay, how do we find you?"
Odine disappeared into the shadows like a ghost, but her voice bounced around the woods. "You don't. I'll find you when you're ready."
Gentry shook his head hard to rid himself of her words, still rattling around in his skull.
"A witch," Roman ground out. "Dad was fucking a witch."
"Not just fucking," Asher murmured, running his hand over the short crop of dirty blond hair, the same shade as Gentry and Roman's. "Dad gave her his last name. A human witch." He slid a suspicious glare to Gentry. "Did you know, Favorite?"
"Don't you fucking call me that, asshole. Obviously, I wasn't a favorite. I don't know any of the shit that went down. Dad kept everything from me."
"He gave you the fucking inn and bar, man," Roman said. "Asher and I got jack squat. So fucking predictable. We always got jack squat! He didn't even leave us a damn hunting rifle to remember him by." Roman put a stick in his mouth and bit down, then hunched into himself and set his broken wrist.
The crunch of the bone made Gentry wince. He'd done that. No, Wolf had. The separate entity Odine had guessed at.
Crimson was dripping down from Asher's shoulder to his fingertips. Drip, drop, drip, drop, more red snow. His neck was chewed up, too, just like Gentry's. They were all shredded and bloody and, yeah, if Odine hadn't come, there would have been bodies tonight.
He didn't even want to guess how a witch knew they were out here at war with each other. Probably had a damn crystal ball or something.
A friggin' witch. He'd known they existed, just never met one. Never wanted to.
"Gentry?" Blaire asked from behind him.
Startled, he spun. She shouldn't have been able to sneak up on him like that. She stood leaning heavily against a tree, her hand to her stomach. Red was streaming between her fingertips, and agony was etched into every beautiful line of her face.
"Blaire?"
"Whose Blaire?" Roman asked, as Gentry bolted for her.
She pitched forward, coughing blood, but he knelt in time to catch her. Only when she hit his hands, she turned to ashes.
"Blaire?" he yelled, horrified.
"There's no one there, psychopath," Roman called.
"Does anyone else see the wolves?" Asher asked in a disturbed voice.
"Like the new pack?" Roman asked.
"No. They're all dead. Like … zombie wolves. They're missing their skin."
Gentry stood in a rush and shook imaginary ashes off his hands. He had to check on Blaire. There were no zombie wolves, but he knew what this was. This was remnants of that damn black magic Odine had used. Nothing good would come from these woods until it had dissipated. Heart hammering against his sternum, he climbed over the steep bank of snow and sprinted toward Winter's Edge.
"Where are you going?" Roman called.
Gentry didn't want them anywhere near Blaire, though, so he ignored the question and ducked a low-hanging tree branch. They wouldn't understand.
But some deep-rooted instinct said something was very, very wrong here.
Chapter Twelve
Blaire paced in front of the window. Minutes ago, the earth had shaken, and the echo of wolves snarling had been so loud it had filled Winter's Edge. And then the sounds had been drowned out by a massive whoosh. White snow powder had blasted up into the sky like an unending explosion. Her stomach felt queasy, from nerves, yes, but from something darker, too. Something just above her senses.
A back door blasted open and slammed against the wall, and when Blaire spun around, a man she'd never seen before stalked out of the kitchen. His face was canted, and his eyes were a strange silver color. He had short hair and tattoos down the right side of his body. He was tall and built like a brick house, but every step he stalked closer was completely silent. Not a single board under his feet dared to utter a squeak. He was completely naked, but didn't move to cover himself, and he chugged breath like he'd run a great distance to get here. Subdued power hummed through his body. Something about him reminded her of Gentry. Behind him, another man came out of the kitchen and jumped up on the bar top like the height was nothing at all. His eyes were like liquid gold, and he lifted his head higher into the air, nostrils flaring slightly. Both of them had rivers of blood streaming down their bodies.
She'd never seen two more terrifying men in all her life.
A whimper clawed its way up her throat, but she couldn't turn and run no matter how much she wanted to. Instinct told her not to give these predators her back. The flickering lantern light made them look like monsters.
"Take another step closer to her, and I'll kill you," Gentry said blandly from where he stood in the doorway. His voice threatened violence, and for a moment, she thought he would kill them. He stood stone-like against the blue moonlight, every muscle in his body rigid as he chugged frozen breath. His eyes were reflecting oddly, like an animal's, and a sudden trill of fear zinged up her spine.
Gentry wasn't human.
She dragged her gaze to the others, both staring at her with matching hungry expressions.
They didn't just look like monsters.
They were monsters.
"Blaire?" the tall silver-eyed one asked in a snarling voice.
Blood was dripping from his hand to the floor in a puddle, but he didn't favor any of his injuries, and they were many.
"H-how do you know my name?"
The man snarled up his lips over bright white teeth and gave Gentry a hate-filled glare. "You know what she is. That's not a question, Favorite. I know you can fuckin' smell her."
"Yeah, she also smells like sex, and you," the bearded man crouched on the bar top said to Gentry. "Are you fucking humans-"
"Roman, stop!" the tall one barked out, cutting him off.