Chapter 10

The huge front windows of Arla's house glowed cheerily. Night had fallen half an hour ago and the full moon shone just above the treetops as I parked my truck on the gravel drive. I stifled a yawn as I checked the time. Just after ten. I was usually getting ready for bed around now.

The late hour wasn't an issue for Arla. She had an open-door policy for the entire coven. We could show up at any time, even in the middle of the night.

As I marched toward the door, Ríkr swept away on the silent wings of a screech owl, wishing me a telepathic good luck. Probably for the best. He enjoyed making snarky interruptions too much to include him in serious conversations.

I rang the doorbell to announce my arrival, then punched my code into the door lock. The electric bolt buzzed open, and I let myself in. I waited a moment to see if anyone would greet me, then followed the hall past the formal dining room and into the open-concept main room, a large kitchen on one side and a living room on the other.

"You."

Sitting on the pale gray sofa with a hardcover novel in her hands, Laney shot me a death glare. I gazed back at her emotionlessly. Arla treated coven members like family; we were welcome to show up any time we desired, whether Laney liked it or not.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, flipping her long, bottle-blond hair over her shoulder. "And so late?"

"I came to see Arla."

"She's busy doing paperwork." She returned her attention to her book. "Including your parole report. I saw it on her screen when I was up there, oh, forty minutes ago? You're too late to stop her from reporting your absence at the ritual."

I started up the stairs.

"Keep it quick. I want to go to bed and I can't sleep with you and your knife around."

At the top of the stairs, I slid my hand into my pocket where my switchblade was nestled. I carried it everywhere, though I'd broken the habit of playing with it years ago. Laney had never forgotten, though.

In the seven years I'd been a member of the coven, I'd seen half a dozen other "parolees" come and go. Laney had hated them all—except the one she'd dated for six months before he'd cut and run mid-rehabilitation—but she hated me the most. Only I was showered with nonstop vitriol.

Pausing in front of Arla's closed office door, I considered how to approach my coven leader. The woman who'd calmly endured my icy attitude and threats when I'd first arrived in her care. Who'd gently encouraged me to participate no matter how many times I'd flung her requests in her face. Who'd given me second and third and tenth chances when I'd failed to meet the requirements of my rehabilitation.

Most people would have given up on me. I would've been sent back to a correctional center, and what was left of my ability to function around other people would have deteriorated to nothing. Arla had probably saved my life.

But she didn't know me. Didn't understand me. Had no idea that I hadn't changed on the inside. I blended in better. I pretended. I played nice. But the real me still wanted to put my knife between the ribs of people who triggered me. The real me still enjoyed seeing them bleed.

I rapped on the door. "Arla? It's Saber. Can we talk?"

When I got no reply, I knocked again, then turned the handle. Open-door policy, after all.

The office had mismatched bookshelves lining one wall and an inexpensive corner desk by the window, two computer monitors facing the room. Arla sat in her chair, her head pillowed on the desk.

"Arla, wake up," I called as I walked in.

My gaze caught on her monitors. One showed the same MPD page I'd perused on my phone this afternoon: the bounty listing for Zakariya Andrii, the Crystal Druid. The other displayed a satellite view of a rugged mountain valley, little red markers dotting it. As I drew closer, I read the label for the only manmade route on the map: Summit Trail.

I sucked in a silent breath—and my hand flew to my face, covering my nose. The room reeked of urine. I looked around, expecting to see a pet-made mess, but Arla didn't have any pets.

I jerked toward the woman. "Arla!"

Her arm lay on the desktop. I grabbed her wrist and shook it. I shook her shoulder. My breath rushed through my throat, quick and frantic. No.

No no no.

Grabbing her shoulders, I pulled her upright. She flopped limply against her chair, arms falling off the desktop, head hanging back. Glassy eyes staring.

Dead. She was dead. Arla was dead.

And the moment I realized it, a single, blinding, all-consuming urge slammed through me: GET OUT.

I needed to get out. Just push Arla back down onto the desk the way I'd found her, walk out, and close the door. Say goodnight to Laney. Go home, go to bed like normal. No one would ever know she hadn't been alive when I'd been here.

But if I left, I'd look even guiltier. Who would believe she'd already been dead when I'd come in? Arla had been alive forty minutes ago, and now she was dead. My word against Laney's.

I couldn't leave. Should I scream? Call an ambulance? Call Laney upstairs myself? But I'd been here too long. A scream now would seem fake. Laney would wonder why I'd stood around for three minutes before realizing her mother was dead.

They couldn't blame me. Arla hadn't been murdered. No injuries. No signs of distress. It looked like she'd simply slumped forward onto her desk and died.

No one would believe I wasn't involved. No one would believe a convicted murderer.

My breath was coming faster and faster. I was doomed. I was fucked.

Better to run.

I spun toward the door—just as Laney walked through, her mouth set in a scowl.

"Are you done talk—" She stared at her mother slumped back over her chair, head hanging unnaturally. "Mom?"

Her shriek lanced my ears as she sprinted across the room. I staggered back as she took my spot.

"Oh my god! Mom? Mom? Oh my god!"

I backed up another step and stammered, "C-call an ambulance."

Panicked tears streamed down Laney's face as she fumbled for her phone and dialed. I listened to her stutter and sob through her address. "You want me to—p-pulse? Ch-check—"

She almost dropped her phone as she extended a trembling hand toward Arla's exposed throat. Her fingers hovered as though she were terrified to touch the body. As soon as she touched her mother's skin, she would feel that it was too late.

I stepped back again.

Laney's blurred gaze shot to me. Her hand went slack and her phone clattered to the floor.

"You," she snarled hoarsely. "You!"

"I didn't—"

"You killed her!" she shrieked. "She was fine a few minutes ago!"

I stumbled away. "No—"

"You killed her for reporting you!"

The room spun. "I didn't—"

"You threatened us this afternoon!"

I couldn't get enough air.

"You said you'd make us pay if we screwed up your parole!"

"I didn't do it!" My loud voice filled the room. Enraged. Fearful. On the edge of hysteria.

"You're a murderer!" she screamed, her eyes bulging. "You're a psycho killer!"

Her words hit me like blows. I staggered. I spun.

"Where are you going? You can't run away!"

Through the door. Down the hall.

"You're done for, Saber! They'll execute you this time!"

Her howling shriek chased me down the stairs. I flew across the house and slammed through the front door. "Ríkr!"

My scream rang through the quiet night. I bolted to my truck and wrenched the door open. A white owl swept out of the dark trees, wings beating fast.

Saber! What's wrong?

"Get in!"

He flashed past me as I jumped behind the wheel. The truck tore down the long drive, and I turned onto the main road at high speed, rubber squealing. Halfway down Quarry Road, flashing lights lit the pavement. An ambulance appeared around the bend, sirens wailing. I clenched my jaw, breathing hard through my nose as it sped past.

Saber?Ríkr asked quietly.

I couldn't speak. I couldn't form thoughts coherent enough to share with him. All I knew was that my life as I knew it was over. Again. My gaze flicked to the horizon.

Fuck the Rose Moon.