Wolfsong (Green Creek 1)

“Joe,” I croaked out.

“Got your attention, have I?” David said and smiled again. “Good.”

Yes. He did have my attention.

It was not a thing he should have wanted.

He didn’t have time to react when I rushed the door, curling my right arm into my chest, breaking through the glass with my shoulder. I grunted as the glass shattered around us, sharp stings prickling along my skin. David let out a low cry and tried to stumble back, arms pinwheeling. I crashed into him, knocking both of us off our feet. He landed on his back on the sidewalk, glass crunching underneath him. I pushed myself up before he could counter, straddling his stomach, pressing the crowbar up and under his jaw, the sharp tip digging into the soft skin.

“One push,” I said. “And this goes into your brain.”

“Impressive,” he wheezed. He stopped struggling. There was a thin cut from the glass along his right cheek, blood dribbling down toward his ear. “I… didn’t expect that. I should have. But I didn’t.”

“Where is he?”

“Jesus Christ, how much do you weigh? I can’t breathe—”

“Last chance,” I snarled at him.

“I don’t know where he is!”

“You’re lying!”

“I’m not! I swear to Christ. I’m not here to hurt you or your pack. I’m trying to help you, you overgrown—”

“Is he alive?”

“What?”

“Is he alive?”

“Yes! Yes. Last time I saw him, yes.”

“When?”

“Three months ago.”

“Where?”

“Alaska.”

“Who was with him?”

“His brothers. A witch. I didn’t ask their names!”

I pressed harder. Blood welled around the tip of the crowbar. “What did you do to them?”

“Nothing. Nothing. They saved me. Jesus Christ, they saved me.”

“From. What?”

“Richard Collins!”

And I paused.

He wasn’t lying. I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. This man wasn’t lying.

And he was the closest thing I’d had to Joe in almost three years. “What did he say?” I asked, voice hoarse. “A message. You said you had a message.”