Hot Blooded (Wolf Springs Chronicles) - By Nancy Holder Page 0,101

was just the relationship her grandfather seemed to have with Trick and his family.

“You know Trick couldn’t have had anything to do with this.” She was having trouble staying in control.

“I know, Katie,” her grandfather said.

He still wouldn’t look her in the eyes. She was stunned. “You think he did!”

“I never said that. Look, it’s just bad business all around.” He pushed out a deep, heavy breath. “Pat’s talking about forming some kind of hunting party to try and find whatever’s doing this.”

Fear knifed through her. “And you’re going to join it?”

He shook his head. “Try to stop it. Everyone’s so on edge they’re more likely to shoot each other than any animal.”

Was that what happened a few weeks ago? Did someone take a shot at me by accident?

He grabbed his keys. “Now I have to go.”

She nodded.

He paused. She could see the wheels turning in his mind. “I think you need to be indoors. With the doors locked. Don’t go out.”

“I won’t.”

“Rifle’s loaded,” he said, “and you know how to shoot it.” He looked uncertainly at the door, as if trying to decide if someone could knock it down.

“Just a minute,” he added. He went outside and she could hear him going into the garage. She checked the windows in the living room to make sure they were locked. Then she went into the kitchen and tested the back door.

Two minutes later, he was back. He held out an old-fashioned revolver, and she didn’t take it, instead crossing her arms over her chest.

“We haven’t practiced with it,” she murmured.

“It’s easy. Point and shoot.” He held it out, and she finally took it.

And her world blew apart.

“Use it. In case anything gets in the house. Or if you see anything . . . odd.”

“Odd, how?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He wiped his face and exhaled slowly. She could see his agony. Feel his tension, smell his fear.

“Just . . . odd. Keep it close. Promise me.”

“I will.”

He kissed the crown of her head and then walked out the door. And her world crashed down. It shook and it burned and she was inside it, writhing in mental anguish.

And now she knew one thing for sure, because she could smell the silver bullets inside the gun.

Her grandfather knew about werewolves.

19

Twisting inside, terrified, and yet oddly composed, Katelyn stared at the gun in her hand. Why was she surprised? She had seen the bullets.

I could pretend they weren’t his. I could lie to myself.

Shaking, she ran to the door to call her grandfather back, make him talk. Spill it all. Then she flopped her back against the door and slid to the floor, gazing upward at the ceiling as huge tears rolled down her cheeks.

How long has he known? What does he know? And who does he know about?

Wiping her face, she raised the gun to eye level and studied the ends of the bullets in the circular chamber. The odor of silver wafted like incense, mingling with the smoke and ash in their fireplace.

She let out a shaky breath. She shouldn’t have let him go out there.

No. I should have gone with him.

He had left her there because she was safer home alone than wherever he was going. She was stuck. There was nothing she could do to help Trick, who had told her he cared for her.

“I’m sorry,” she said brokenly. Because he was in trouble, and she was afraid for him, and she knew he was innocent.

Right?

“Oh, God,” she blurted. Of course she knew. She believed in him.

And I need someone to believe in me.

She thought about Quentin Lloyd’s body. How would they explain that? Would he be seen as just another victim of the same monster? And was that monster the same one that had bitten her?

Mr. Fenner hadn’t bitten her. She knew that now. But he was crazy. He had killed someone before her eyes, would probably do it again when he lost his temper.

He couldn’t remain alpha forever. Everyone had seen: everyone already knew that he was crazy.

But they’re all terrified of him. Because he’s still strong and fast and ruthless. And even though he’s losing his mind, that just makes him more dangerous, not less. They put up with it, like at Thanksgiving. Because it’s their “instinct.”

Another thing she couldn’t do anything about.

But it’s not my instinct, she thought. I don’t feel any loyalty to him. I don’t have to sit here and meekly let him ruin our lives. I have to