Ravensong (Green Creek 2)

Many were surprised it hadn’t fallen sooner.

A donation had come to the town by a notable family. Elizabeth Bennett, on behalf of her late husband, had given fifty thousand dollars for it to be rebuilt.

There had been a ceremony the following summer. A ribbon-cutting where Elizabeth Bennett had stood with her sons, all three dressed smartly in perfectly tailored suits. The rest of the pack had watched with a rather sizable crowd as the mayor made a canned speech of appreciation. The ribbon had been cut, and people had cheered.

The new bridge was almost an exact replica of the old one, though far sturdier. It was part of the charm of Green Creek, the town council who had approved the design said. A gateway to a small mountain town.

The only real difference was the plaque on the Green Creek side of the bridge, six words etched into metal:

May our songs always be heard.

People had been perplexed at the legend.

But we knew. Oh

, how we knew.

The bridge now looked like a postcard, red wood barely visible through heavy snow.

And there were people standing in front of it.

They were dressed well for the cold weather. There were four of them, and though I didn’t recognize a single one of them, I knew them as witches the moment I set eyes on them. I’d told my Alphas that magic had a signature, a fingerprint. The feral wolves knew that more than anyone, which was why I was convinced my father was behind the infection.

And I could feel the wards in front of us, though they were no longer my own. Pappas had asked me if the wards were infallible. How much he’d known at the time, I doubted we’d ever find out. But I thought maybe that was his way of trying to warn us. I hadn’t listened. Or at the very least, I hadn’t understood what he’d been trying to say.

But the wards weren’t infallible. I was strong, and my magic was expansive, but even my wards in the Bennett territory couldn’t survive the onslaught of multiple witches bent on manipulating them. Magic wasn’t wish fulfillment. It was harsh and rough, pulling from the blood and bones of the witch, focused with the ink etched into my skin.

The witches—three men and one woman—looked wary as we approached. They eyed the Alphas, who stopped just short of the wards. The wolves couldn’t see them, not like I could, but they could feel them. Ox told me once that the scent of magic made his nose itch like he was about to sneeze. It smelled ozone-sharp and smoky.

“Alphas Bennett and Matheson,” the woman said stiffly. She was trying to be deferential, but we were so far past standing on ceremony, it was ridiculous. “We are honored to be in your presence. Alpha Hughes sends her regards.”

“Yeah,” I said dryly. “Maybe take your honor and shove it up your—”

Ox growled at me.

Mark decided to take over, which was probably better for all of us. He knew diplomacy, where I only wanted to break some bones. “What our witch meant to say was we aren’t exactly here to receive regards from Alpha Hughes. So take your honor and shove it up your ass.”

Maybe not so diplomatic.

Joe growled at him.

Thankfully I remembered I was a hard-core thirty-nine-year-old redneck before I swooned a little. It was close, though.

The witches weren’t pleased. The woman addressed the Alphas. “She has done what she must in order to ensure the survival of the wolves.” She glanced at Mark. “And since the Bennett pack has found itself with infected members, you must be contained. Surely, if our roles were reversed, you would do the same.”

“See,” I said, “I don’t know if that’s true. We would find a way to fix this. And we are.”

The woman cocked her head at me. “Like the Omega you fixed in Montana?”

I blinked. “What the hell are you—”

And you just had an Alpha’s claws around your throat and lived to tell the tale. You went to my home and were shown mercy. But I am not a wolf. And I’m not exactly human. Veins underneath the earth. Sometimes so deep, they will never be found. Until someone like me comes along. And I’m the one you should be scared of. Because I’m the worst of them all.

“That’s right,” the woman said. “The Omega you killed in an alleyway. A team Michelle had dispatched to track Richard Collins found him before the humans did. The stench of your magic was all over him, Livingstone. So do not speak to us of fixing anything.”

“He was an Omega,” I growled at her. “Who worked for Collins. He wasn’t—”

“And what happens when Mark Bennett turns Omega?” she asked. “Will you do the same for him? When the bloodlust descends and he is lost to his animal?”