was waiting for them, led Gillian into one of the examining rooms and started by getting the glass out of Gillian’s skin. It was an excruciatingly long process but Gwen did it expertly, carefully digging out the smaller bits that had been embedded.
She’d forced herself to start to heal fast. But her skin had healed over the bulletproofed, double – paned glass, which made the removal process worse than it had to be. Gwen told her that so she could keep it in mind for next time. Because, for the Dires, there was always a next time.
“I was worried they’d track the blood,” she explained. “I thought the glass would push out.”
“It’s all right. You did good, Gillian. And you’re safe,” Gwen assured her. But she looked over at Jinx and Jez and Rogue, knowing they all heard the not-so-gentle hum of the hellhounds vibrating the house.
Whether they were protecting them or waiting to attack was anyone’s guess.
“I’m almost done,” Gwen said. If she heard them, she didn’t acknowledge it, but she was in deep concentration mode. “There. You’re good. I’ll just put on ointment and they’ll be healed up before morning.”
Morning was the only thing that would get rid of the hellhounds. At least that was the way it worked in the past and Gillian had never been more grateful for a sunrise in her life. After Gwen dressed her wounds and helped her sponge off and dress, again in Gwen’s clothes, which was getting to be habit, the female Dires joined the males up in the kitchen.
They were all there, and Jez as well, gathered around the table, sitting on counters. There was coffee and breakfast and Vice was holding the baby and looked perfectly comfortable doing so. The dichotomy wasn’t something Gillian thought she’d ever get used to.
“I owe you all an apology, especially Jinx,” she started and all eyes turned to her. “I went to try to get my parents to stop running the stories. I thought if they saw that I was all right, they’d back off. But now I know why they’re so anxious to keep me locked up.”
Her voice broke a little and Jinx was by her side, his arm around her shoulder. She could do this. “I don’t know if it’s true, but I don’t remember it.”
“Tell us, Gillian,” Rifter said and she nodded, told Stray, “Look up this date.”
She rattled it off and Stray typed fast into the ever-present laptop in front of him.
“There’s nothing,” he said with a shake of his head.
“It’s buried. A small article, nowhere near the front page.”
“I found it,” Stray said. “It’s pretty innocuous, just mentions a few teenagers killed in a home invasion. But it doesn’t give names or anything.”
“I can give you names,” she said, and she did, listing the three teens savaged that night. “I was there. My parents think I killed them. And I saw the pictures . . . the damage was done by a wolf. A Dire wolf.”
They all stared at her, stunned. She continued, “I must’ve blacked out. Blocked it out. I still can’t remember what happened. All I know is that the police found me and my parents told them I was in shock and then made up some story about drunk driving to me. I agreed to let them put me in the hospital, to get better, but they’d planned on locking me up and throwing away the key so what really happened would never leak out. I was the only witness. The kids who were killed were from prominent families.”
“There’s still an active investigation on for the killer,” Stray told her. “You’re mentioned as being traumatized and unable to remember anything.”
“I want to see those pictures,” Rifter said.
“I’m on it,” Stray said. He left the room with his phone and Jinx urged Gillian to sit down at the table. Even though her nerves were on overdrive, her stomach growled and she couldn’t deny the need to eat. She had to keep her strength up, be prepared for anything.
Gwen passed her hot food and coffee and they all ate in relative silence, save for the baby’s cooing.
“We don’t think you did it, Gillian. Just for the record,” Killian said finally and the others nodded in agreement.
“How can you be so sure when I’m not?” she asked.
“We’ve got pretty good instincts,” Jinx told her.
“I don’t even think you would’ve been capable of what you’re describing,” Gwen added.
“She’d have to have been shifted,” Rifter agreed, just as Stray came back into the kitchen. After a few taps on his laptop, he turned it over to Rifter. “Good thing someone owed me a favor—this shit was buried by the Blackwells.”
“These markings were definitely made by a shifted Dire. There’s no way she did this,” Rifter confirmed and Stray agreed as everyone but Gillian had a look over Rifter’s shoulder. “But a wolf definitely did.”
“And it left me alive. Which meant . . . it knew what I was,” Gillian murmured. “A wolf tried to frame me.”
“A Dire,” Rifter said. “Which means the Greenland pack knows where you are. They have known.”
They all let the enormity of that—and the implications—settle in.
Finally, Gillian said, “If I had nothing to do with it, why did I just sit there and let it happen?”
“You were in shock. Or maybe the drinks were drugged. There’s nothing you could’ve done.” Gwen’s voice was gentle.
“I need to remember that night, Gwen. Can you help me?”
“I don’t know how to use hypnosis. That would be the only way I can think of, and I don’t even know if it would work on a Dire,” Gwen explained.
“I can do that. It’s not exactly hypnosis, but if you invite me in, I can find the memory,” Jez offered. She’d almost forgotten he was here, sitting quietly in the corner.
“Like a dreamwalk,” Rifter said, turning toward him.
“Similar. But I don’t think you can walk into a memory she’s not having,” Jez told him. “She’ll actually be telling the story as she relives it. But she still won’t remember it. And I think that’s best in this case. So are we going to do this?”
“Yes.” She was putting her mind in the hands of a vampire.
Yes, nothing was ever going to be the same.
“I can only do this because you’re a young Dire,” Jez admitted, as though he didn’t like giving away his secrets. “I’ll zone you out. You’ll go to sleep and you’ll wake up fine when I bring you out of it.”
She nodded and Jez walked over and touched his palm to her forehead. Her eyes closed automatically. She was aware of sleeping, practically on her feet, but that sensation was overshadowed quickly by the flickering of memories—everything flashed through her mind, like she was flipping through a photo book . . . until she got to that night and she walked into the memory.
She was warm. A sticky August night, a small party at a friend’s house before they went out to a club.
“I was grounded, so I had to sneak out the window,” she said, heard herself talking even as she watched herself walk out the window of the Blackwell Estate, sneak through the woods and into a waiting car.
“It’s Jory. He’s waiting for me in his convertible. We drive alone with the top down, music blasting.” She felt her hair blowing in the breeze, smelled the smoke from Jory’s cigarette. When they pulled up, she said, “It’s Julie’s house.”
Julie McFadden, heir to McFadden Enterprises. Her parents, like Gillian’s, were rarely home. This night was no exception. She knew all the others there, said their names out loud as she looked at each of them.
“I started drinking right away. Shots. Some champagne.” She tasted it. “I took a few hits from Jory’s bong. We put on some music. It’s all casual and fun and relaxed.”
It was the kind of night where you’d never expect anything to go wrong.
She reached out to grab Jory’s hand when it all went to hell. She didn’t know if she was actually holding Jez’s hand or not, but she wasn’t letting go. Not until Jory was ripped away from her. Her hand, arm ached from being jerked from his grasp.
What was it? She didn’t look. Couldn’t. She slid down the wall, buried her face in her knees. She couldn’t block out the screaming. All she could do was wait for her turn.
Look up, look up. . . .
But she hadn’t. She stayed curled up until the screaming stopped and hours had passed. Until day turned to night and the day staff came. And then there was more screaming.
She didn’t know who was lifting her, taking her away, the smell of blood in her nostrils.
