Didn’t she?
In the distance, Sandra begins to croon in a soft, low voice. The wolf pauses, listening.
“Sweet Tamara. I should have chosen you, but you and I will be one soon. We will be rid of this irksome body. Of Sandra.” She steps closer. “You need only to kill Anna. It’s the one thing I ask of you. The one thing Sandra denied me. She could not do it. You are stronger. You have the power. You know what you must do.”
The crooning stops, and the wolf gathers herself to attack. I remember the words of the book.
Silver.
Silver is lethal to wolves.
I remember Frey’s warning.
I must assume a werewolf bite is fatal. My back is against one of the shelves, and my hands grope behind me for something—anything—to use as a weapon. I can’t take my eyes off her long enough to search. I can only feel and there is nothing that passes under my fingertips to offer protection.
For the first time, I realize that vampire strength and cunning is not going to be enough. I can’t fight her because I can’t let her get close enough to bite me.
I’m afraid. It twists around my heart and knots my stomach.
It’s unfamiliar and disturbing.
Worse, Tamara senses it. She’s in no hurry to attack. She creeps toward me, slowly, fangs bared. Does she know she need only to bite me once? Death may not be instantaneous, but it will be certain.
The muscles along her shoulders tense. She gathers her hind legs under her and snarls her intention. When she leaps, I grab the first thing my fingers close around from the shelf behind me, hurl it, and jump away.
The ceramic vase catches her under her left eye. It shatters, a shard settling deep into the eye socket. She tumbles back, yelps, shakes her head furiously until the shard falls away. Blood spurts from the cut. When I breathe it in, I realize it’s human blood. It causes my own to quicken but I can’t give in to the bloodlust. It’s human blood, but it’s not a human I’m facing.
I have to keep distance between us.
She’s recovered. She looks for me, sniffing the air for my scent. I’ve moved to the middle of the room, between the rows of shelves. She catches my scent, howls in pain and anger, and comes after me.
The shelf facing me offers nothing I can use against her. She lowers her head and watches as I back up. Every instinct I have screams to meet her head on, snap her neck, drink her blood. Could I do it before she sank her teeth into my arm or hand?
I can’t take the chance.
Think.
There were hundreds of silver objects scattered here among Avery’s possessions. I know there has to be something I can use as a weapon. My eyes sweep the shelves.
Jewelry.
Goblets.
Bowls.
The wolf’s ears flatten. Blood drips from a ruined eye socket.
There. On one of the top shelves. A dagger.
We move at the same time.
The wolf springs.
I leap straight up, grab the dagger.
The wolf touches down first, landing where I’d been standing, landing on nothing. She skids on the dirt. Clouds of dust rise under her scrabbling feet.
She whirls to face me, howling her frustration. Blood and spit spew out with her rage.
The dagger’s blade is ten inches long. The hilt is heavy in my hand. Could I throw it at her? No, I couldn’t be sure of a kill shot. The only chance I have is to get behind her, seize her behind the neck and plunge it into her before she can sink fangs into my hand.
How to do it?
The muscles under her pelt bunch; her hind legs draw into each other like a spring being tightened. She is taking her time, gauging the distance, waiting for me to make the first move.
I feint to the left. She hurls herself at me. I wait until I feel her breath on my face before stepping back and around. I dig my fingers into her mane and straddle her. She bucks against me, snapping at air and howling. I work an arm around her neck, yank her backward against me. Her smell, lupine, musk, human.
I plunge the dagger into what I can most easily reach, her exposed belly. She screams in anger and pain, but the wound is not fatal. Blood, hot, fragrant, flows over my hand. She’s pawing at the air, trying to shake me loose. I hold on, fighting her, fighting the vampire lust that thirsts for the blood. If I loosened my grip, a tiny bit, I could turn her to face me, reach her neck, drink.
Her jaws open wide, fangs seeking a target. Seeking skin to ravage, bone to crush. Mine.
I tighten my arm around her neck. Tighten my grip on the dagger. This time, when I plunge the dagger, I find the mark.
Find the heart of the beast.
For a moment the earth stills. Only the wolf moves. She thrashes, whimpers. I jump back and away. She does not come after me. She twists into herself, shuddering, jaws working in a desperate attempt to reach the dagger. Her clumsy, frantic efforts succeed only in driving it deeper.
Another heartbeat and the thrashing stops. The wolf’s head falls to the floor. Then there’s only the blood. It pumps still, seeping around the dagger, turning the fur crimson. The blood of the wolf/human calling to me. I command myself not to respond, not to move. My nails dig into the palms of my hands until it’s the smell of my own blood that fills my head. My eyes remain riveted on the wolf. As if in slow motion, the transformation from beast to human begins.
I feel Sandra watching, too.
The fur retracts into the skin, the head reshapes, followed by the limbs. The vertebrae realign with a crack like the withered branches of a dead tree. The knife in the naked human chest looks much more deadly than in the wolf’s. Tamara’s face is contorted in death, her mouth open, teeth bared. Around her neck, two gold chains.
She had Sandra’s locket all along.
CHAPTER 65
SANDRA HASN’T MOVED. WHEN I TURN TO HER, there is a spark of relief in her eyes. In the next instant it’s replaced by fear and pain. She falls to her knees, doubled over, and a cry escapes her lips.
“What is it, Avery?” I say. “Your plans disrupted? You were clever, though; I never suspected Tamara.”
I kneel beside Tamara’s body and pull both chains over her head. The lockets are almost identical. “Which is yours, Sandra? Tell me and we can end this.”
All she can do is clutch at her chest and throat. Avery prevents her from answering. He’s exerting some kind of internal pressure that’s choking her.
“Okay. We’ll do it another way.”
I approach Sandra, help her straighten enough to slip the chains over her head and let both lockets fall between her breasts.
There is an immediate howl of rage as Avery feels the talisman’s power begin to usurp his own.
Sandra’s strength is returning. She grabs my arm. “Go now. I’m going to make the change. Lock us down here when you go. Don’t come back. If I survive, I’ll contact you.”
“I can’t leave you. Avery is my enemy, too. There must be something I can do.”
She shakes her head. “This is my battle. Once I change, Avery will try to make me attack you. I may not be able to prevent it.”
Still, I can’t bring myself to go.
Sandra’s eyes become hard. “You are not helping. Every moment you remain, Avery exerts himself more. You must go. One of us must survive in case . . .”
She doesn’t finish it. She doesn’t have to. If Avery survives, if he comes after me again in her body, I’ll know what to do.
“What about the rest of the pack? Can they help you?”
She shakes her head again. “I sent them back to Mexico. Only Tamara remained. I now know why. She and Avery had plans of their own.”
“But why? What did she hope to gain?”
Sandra sweeps a hand in a wide arc. “This. Now go.”
CHAPTER 66