But, stronger didn’t help Shar. Otis had killed her in the woods behind our home. Then, Otis had tried to kill me and when he couldn’t, he’d jabbed a cold threat into my heart: another huntsmen would come and finish the job of killing me. I had spent months hiding, a coward in a fledgling wolf’s body. The shame of it had rotted my mind, until all that was left was the desire to die. But, wolves don’t kill themselves, however they do go into battles outnumbered and prideful.
But, I had no pride, just remorse.
Shar was dead.
I was alive.
“Max, why would you think we came after you?”
I jumped up, hoping Bondurant would flinch, but he didn’t move or look an ounce nervous. I glared at the pane of reflective glass, knowing Smith sat on the other side, but after a silent, still minute, I sat down in the chair and stared at Bondurant.
“You know why,” I said.
“If I knew why you’ve been skulking around town for the past six months, I wouldn’t have asked. Smith wants to write you off as another rogue wolf, and killed you.” Bondurant shifted forward. “Max, what are you doing here?”
Why does it matter, I wondered? Because Shar is dead, I thought, and they have to pay, but what would one dead huntsman, or even a dozen of them, mean to me? Shar would still be dead. I’d still be alone. Yet, here I was locked in a room with a huntsman.
“How about we don’t play games,” I said, “and let’s get this over with.”
“You speak as if you want us to kill you.” Bondurant smiled. “But, you don’t want to die Max. I can see life in those eyes of yours. It’s buried deep, but it’s there clawing its way up.” I glanced away, but Bondurant’s eyes stalked mine. “What were you planning? An attack? Are you working with someone? What were you after? And, please, be mindful that wolves aren’t good at lying.”
“And after I tell you, then what? You kill me?”
“I’d like to know who misinformed you about the Society. We don’t kill creatures just for the fun of it. We have agreements with many Packs, and that makes you lucky. If you had been some beast or a vampire… well, let’s just say Smith would be very happy right now.”
I laughed. “Are you trying to convince me you don’t kill all creatures, just some?” I laughed, again. I didn’t mean to, but I felt unglued. My lips loosened. “I’m a wolf. The Society is full of huntsmen. Why do you think I’m here?” I smiled, letting my hate surge. “I came alone, and I promise I’ll take at least one of you down before you finish me.”
Bondurant whistled. “This was a suicide run? That’s a rare act for a wolf. Tell me Max, what was your plan? How were you going to get pass the gates, gain access to our buildings, and get to our men without us noticing?”
I slouched, shrugged, and then inhaled the air. Bondurant didn’t smell of fear. His confidence, a heavy musk of testosterone, flowed off him, but there was something else mixed in, a floral scent of lily-of-the-valley; Bondurant was tough, but also delicate.
Yet, Bondurant was the strong one.
I was weak.
I knew it, and didn’t care.
“One of yours told me more would come, that they’d hunt me until I was dead,” I said. “I decided to make it easier for you.”
“Why would any of us come after you? We don’t even know who you are.”
Lies, I wanted to scream, but I held the hate in my throat and swallowed it back down. I didn’t want to believe that Bondurant knew nothing of me, because if it was true, who else could I blame for Shar’s death?
“Otis Hein did,” I said. “He killed my sister, and then he tried to kill me.”
Bondurant grimaced. “Otis, the son of Waylon Hein? Waylon was a huntsman, but his son…” He shook his head. “Waylon died after rushing into a pit. A couple of feral under-dwellers killed him, but Otis was convinced wolves killed his father, even after we put the dwellers down.”
“Under-dwellers?” I said. “What are they?”
“You don’t know much about Creaturekind, do you?” Bondurant shook his head, as if he was ashamed for me.
“Otis, a huntsman, killed my sister,” I said. “That’s all I need to know.”
“You got it wrong. Otis never made it into the rank and file of the Society. He was too… well, wild. Some boys get it stuck in their head that just because their daddy was a huntsman, they’ll be one, too. Some just want to kill a creature, but that’s not what the Society is about; at least we’re not supposed to be. So, no, Otis wasn’t one of ours. Did you kill him?”
I eyed Bondurant, wondering what he’d do if I said yes. I gulped the air as if it was my last, and then said, “He killed my sister.”
“Why would Otis kill your sister? What was she to him?”
I shrugged. “She was nothing to him.” But everything to me. “Shar was only a pup.”
About Marla Johnson
