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Then, if anything felt wrong, I’d kill them.

eighteen

I trailed Gerald’s patrol car through town with a mix of interest and a healthy dose of rage. Gerald had lied to me. He’d known exactly what and who had killed my parents—his best fucking friends—yet he’d covered it up. He’d covered up his son’s murders for years after that.

It was unforgivable.

It pierced into depths I hadn’t realized were still so tender, so entirely exposed. Places I thought were long calcified against hurt. Clenching the steering wheel, I forced that pain down, swallowing all of its jagged edges.

I focused on the news that werewolves operated in packs. Had families. Rules. I still wasn’t sold on them being the “good” kind of werewolves, since I thought only romance writers and movie producers framed monsters as good to render them sexy.

Even if they weren’t good it made me question everything I’d come to learn about them. Damn, this news would rock the world of hunters. The good thing about the job was there were no regrets, no questioning whether what we were doing was right. Everything was black and white. Good being humans, bad being monsters.

The gray made things complicated.

Not that I thought many hunters would buy the whole “good werewolf” thing. I was barely buying it. It would be so much easier to push aside my feelings, my instincts, and kill them all.

My muscles tensed as I watched Gerald pull down a familiar drive. I was surprised my teeth weren’t dust in my mouth by the time I parked.

This could be nothing more than a meeting place. Neutral territory for me. Or being more calculated and ruthless than I first thought, they were using this particular location to unsettle me, making me an easier target.

There was one thing I wasn’t, and that was an easy target.

I checked that my clip was full and shoved an extra knife in my boot before getting out of the car.

My boots thumped on the concrete on the driveway, my midsection throbbing, my calf on fire. The painkillers were wearing off, but that was okay. The pain would help keep me sharp, keep me in my body and not let me venture into dangerous places in my mind.

The places that had been torn to shreds with all this deception, learning the truth of how I had no one left from my past. Nothing.

I didn’t look at Gerald as he opened the front door for me. I couldn’t.

“Hadley.” Sharon met us in the foyer with the same warm smile, the same soft voice. Her hair was, as always, perfect, makeup flawless, pearls at her ears, pants pressed, blouse without a wrinkle.

My gun was at her forehead before anyone could blink.

A feral growl erupted from behind me. From Gerald’s throat. I didn’t move my gaze, but I did roll my eyes. “Just because I know you’re a werewolf doesn’t mean you get to growl now,” I told him, my eyes remaining on Sharon.

She, for her part, didn’t so much as show her teeth. Her eyes flickered to her husband, nodding her head to signal whatever. Not to rip my throat out, maybe.

“You’re the alpha,” I quickly deduced.

“I am,” she agreed.

Werewolves were feminists. Gotta love that.

But also, I wasn’t surprised. Not in the least, that this powerful, fierce woman was the alpha of a werewolf pack. Small details rapidly slid into place—her behavior toward Angela the night of our dinner and Angela’s immediate deference to her.

“An-Angela.” My mouth went dry, realizing that my instincts were not wrong about her. I’d known there was something off about her, thinking it was because she was a witch. Fuck…

“She’s the daughter of the alpha in Salt Hill,” Sharon finished my thought.

I forced my hand not to shake as my mind whirled. I also bit my tongue, stopping myself from asking questions about pack structure, how many there were in the surrounding towns, or how organized they were.

“How sweet,” I drawled. “The prince and princess werewolves married … for what? An alliance?” I sucked my teeth. “But do Angela and her daddy know what Colton is?”

Sharon’s face paled slightly, but she kept her composure. “His situation is not a secret.”

And yet Angela still wanted to marry him. Figures. Either because she thought she could save him, or she secretly liked that he was a bloodthirsty murderer. I wasn’t sure which was worse.