“Holy fucking Christ,” Diskant snarled and Ava felt him shift slightly, aware through their merging that he was studying the man—Caden—in an entirely different manner now.
“That’s not all.” She braced herself as she dredged up the rest, allowing Diskant to see everything. These images weren’t as graphic because she’d stopped once she’d learned the truth. It wasn’t necessary to witness the event in its entirety, not when the pieces were already presented for her to place together. For whatever reason—karma, serendipity or dumb fucking luck—Moses had been a part of the crew that killed Andrea Stone—Caden Stone’s wife.
“They never thought he could be a threat, not once they convinced him a shifter killed his wife. With the evidence they gave him, he never bothered to question them.”
Pulling away from Diskant, she looked at Caden. He wasn’t struggling anymore, sitting quiet and still as he listened to their conversation. He’d been killing shifters for months, vengeance and pain driving his actions, with little concern for the blood he’d shed. Now he thought about the people he killed and the memories merged with those of his deceased wife.
If we can get him to see the truth, she said to Diskant telepathically. You’ll be able to gain so much more than I can give you. He’s been inside their inner circle and knows things I wouldn’t possibly think to look for. She hesitated, projecting her intent, revealing just how vital the man could be in locating Mary, assisting Trey and aiding the pack. He could help you.
You won’t be able to convince him, and even if you could you probably shouldn’t. Diskant’s response was laden with sympathy and doubt. He’s a living dead man, Ava. He eats, he breathes, he exists but he’s not alive. There is nothing inside him that brings joy or peace. He’s driven by one purpose and one purpose only—to kill those responsible for ruining his life and avenge his wife and child. You won’t find a man inside him but a monster. That’s what he’s become.
What Diskant said was true and it made the weighty ache in her chest all the worse.
After everything he’s suffered, he deserves a chance. If he isn’t willing to listen after we offer him what he desires most, you can do what needs to be done.
Diskant’s fingers pressed into the softness of her hips. What are you planning?
This.
She slid from Diskant’s hold and faced the man whose eye was now swollen shut. Gone from his mind was the need to curse and spit at her, to lash out at her for who she was, a woman involved with a murdering animal. Now he was intrigued—cautious but definitely curious, which was a good thing. When she reached him she pulled the gag from his mouth and stepped back.
“Your wife was a reporter for The United Herald, wasn’t she? That’s how you met. She was investigating a story in Memphis and your paths crossed.”
“How do you know that?” His question gave her goose bumps, spoken in a tone so eerie she hesitated for a moment.
“Because I’ve seen what happened to her—what they did to her,” she answered and folded her arms over her chest. “I know how she died.”
“Don’t listen to anything she says.” Moses broke his silence, though his words were shaky. “She beds down with the damned willingly and will say and do anything to protect them.”
The rag in her hand was ripped away and Ava watched as Diskant walked to the Shepherd, grabbed a handful of hair at the base of his neck and shoved the cloth soiled with blood and saliva into his mouth.
“If we want your opinion,” Diskant said as he released Moses’ head with a hard shove, sending his chin into his chest, “we’ll ask for it.”
“Tell me.” Caden’s featherlight plea tore her eyes away from Diskant until her focus was entirely on him. The desperation in his face was heartbreaking, so damn agonizing it hurt to look at him.
“Be sure that’s what you want. Make absolutely certain this is something you need to see.”
“To see?”
“To see how she died, Caden.”
Ava was forced to sever any connection she shared with the grieving man at that point. It was too caustic, too overwhelming. Several emotions flickered across his face—anger, pain, fury—until he gazed up at her, determination etched in the firm set of his jaw and the glint in his eyes.
“Show me.”
“Bring him closer.” Ava glanced at Moses and indicated the place beside her.
Diskant stepped behind the chair, grasped the back until it balanced on two legs and dragged it across the distance. He stopped next to Ava and let go, waiting for her instructions. She took a deep breath. She had only attempted what she was about to do once with her mother and father. It hadn’t been an entirely pleasant experience, and she steeled herself.
“I can’t sever the connection once I start. You’ll have to make sure I don’t fall,” she whispered to Diskant as she extended her hands—one to Caden and one to Moses—and closed her eyes.
The moment she made contact with each man, her hands resting atop their heads, she opened a link between them, delving into their subconsciouses to access the memories within, sorting through each until she found the exact moment in time she sought before allowing their minds to merge.
Diskant caught her as she staggered, the horrific images no less difficult to stomach the second time around. Unlike before she couldn’t stem the flow of thoughts or refrain from delving too deeply, and was forced to relieve past events as if she were a participant rather than an observer. Moses’ hands became her hands, his eyes were those that guided her and his feet carved the path inside the dark kitchen containing a trapped woman who pleaded for her life and that of her unborn child.
Moses stared at Andrea as she retreated, his eyes following her movements inside the room from which there was no escape. The light from the moon shone through the lone window situated over the sink with flowing, lacy curtains as she passed. She stumbled over her feet, her protruding belly keeping her off balance, and fell to the floor.
A shadow appeared on the left, becoming larger until the form of another man came into Moses’ view. He was clothed from head to toe in black, his right hand gloved inside a mitt with large, clawlike extensions.
“You should have left when you had the chance.” A man’s throaty voice reverberated through the kitchen, echoing from behind Moses.
“Please,” Andrea begged, hands clutching her swollen abdomen. “I’ll leave. I’ll get my things and go. I won’t say anything to anyone.”
“What about your husband?” the voice taunted. “Do you think the good detective will walk away without question? Do you expect us to believe he’s unaware of the hot news story you’ve uncovered?”
“He doesn’t know anything.” Andrea’s words were clogged with tears. “I never told him anything, I swear.”
“You’d better hope not.” The voice came closer until the man speaking stood at Moses’ other side. “Or he’ll be visiting you soon.”
Andrea’s eyes widened as she turned from the man speaking and faced the threat coming from her right. The shadowed figure draped in black with the clawed hand advanced, one foot front in front of the other.
Moses turned after the first blow landed, ripping through the softness of her stomach and shielding hands, sending blood splattering against the ivory-colored counters and cabinets. His nausea rolled through Ava, Caden and Diskant, his disgust and inability to process the death of an innocent too difficult to witness.