Neal sat with his legs stretched out in front of him and arms crossed at his chest. He was a big man, the largest in the pack. His chocolate skin morphed into a midnight black pelt when he transformed. With close-cropped hair and a short, neatly trimmed beard, Neal looked every part of the strict military man he had been before he’d left the service.
Marcus sat across from him at the under the room’s window to the parking lot. Marcus was muscular and often wore t-shirts that were almost a size too small to emphasize the effect. Rather than keep his hair long as Cyrus did, Marcus wore his short. That’s where the differences in their appearances ended. Even as wolves, they looked like brothers. Perhaps it was that resemblance that made them as close as they were. Cyrus counted Marcus the closest thing he had to a best friend among the pack.
Cyrus’ expressions and demeanor could mask a hell of a lot of what was really going on inside of him, but Marcus could read through them. Marcus could bet without Cyrus telling him that Cyrus was leaving something out.
It was Neal who first spoke when Cyrus and Angel ended their briefing.
“What do you think is going on with the witch?” he asked.
“We’re not sure,” Cyrus admitted. “We were able to identify her from public records, the leases on her house and on her car. She was most recently employed at a kid’s museum as an art teacher, but she hasn’t held a job that we could find for two years. Based on Angel’s surveillance, we know that she was the person Sunday followed into the store where the witch’s body was found.
“Like I said before,” he continued as he grabbed copies of the police report Angel had retrieved the previous day. He handed them to Neal, “stabbing. Five stab wounds: two to the gut, two to the lungs, and another that caught a shoulder. We’re convinced our girl walked into a crime scene and got out of there as fast as she could. That’s when she spotted Angel.”
Neal set the papers on the table and slid them over to Marcus, who flipped through them scanning the text but looking more closely at the coroner’s diagram of the body.
“Since then, the Incarnate has fallen off our radar,” Angel grudgingly admitted.
Cyrus turned sharply and directed a glare at Angel. Angel shrugged and went on.
“We split up last night, and this morning. Cy covered the Incarnate, trying to pick up her scent, and got
nothing.
And I covered Constance. Smith stayed in most of the day. At about six, though, the woman took a tour of the goddamn city. I followed her till after midnight when she finally returned to her place and settled in for the night. Lights stayed on ‘til about two thirty, and after that, lights out.”
“Where’d she take you?” Marcus finally asked. He flipped the final sheet of paper over and laced his fingers over them.
“I GPS-ed it, take a look.” Angel picked up the laptop from the bed and flipped it opened. He sat on the far bed, facing the boys at the table, and finding the webpage he was looking for, set the computer on the center of the table so that both wolves could get a look at it. The screen displayed a digital map of the city, and on it were ticked off locations that Angel had flagged.
“One of those red dots,” Angel said as he pointed to the screen, “is another witch’s house. Eunice Johnson, fifty-six year old librarian, and one of the elder witches of her coven. This is the same coven that we witnessed the Incarnate observing.”
Angel bent toward the laptop and switched back to the desktop where he’d kept a file labeled “Columbia SC Oct 2012.” He double-clicked a few times and pulled up two photos, one of Kayla and another of Sammy.
“Gentlemen, meet the Incarnate’s only friends in the world: Ms. Kayla Thompson and Mrs. Samantha Wills.”
“Those women,” Cyrus interrupted, pointing to their images on the screen from the other end of the room, “are the only reason Sunday hasn’t skipped town.”
Marcus darted his eyes to Cyrus.
“She tell you that?” Marcus asked, daring Cyrus.
“She did,” Cyrus answered curtly.
Even after Neal and Angel turned their attentions back to the computer screen, Marcus continued glaring at Cyrus. He wasn’t going to let it go. The Incarnate had been the bane of Cyrus’ existence for over half the time that they had known each other. If anyone was going to dig any further into his relationship with Sunday, it was Marcus. Cyrus nodded and moved his gaze to the computer screen where the other men had been holding theirs.
Neal looked back to Cyrus and lifted his chin to the dominant wolf in the room.
“So now what?” Neal asked. The command was clearly Cyrus’ to give. He’d been driving the hunt and he hadn’t been ordered off it.
“Now, boys, we split up and cover Sunday’s friends and Constance. We stay on them ‘round the clock. No one leaves their spots till someone else takes over. We find out what Sunday’s onto, and we either wait it out or we end it.”
Cyrus crossed his arms over his chest and stood with his feet firmly planted shoulder-width apart. With his hair tucked into his black knit cap and the edge of it framing his strong brow, he looked every bit the dominant wolf, staring down his subordinates, giving them orders they had no choice but to follow.
“The Incarnate tell you anything about what she thinks is going on?” Neal asked.
“Just that she was onto something that was endangering her friends.” Cyrus pointed back to the images on the computer screen with his chin. “
Those women.
She didn’t say anything else, but she was obviously troubled by it. We’re figuring it’s this Constance situation that she’s been pursuing. The Incarnate’s had loads of experience with witchcraft, and this isn’t a girl who’s going to perceive a threat in some benign witches gathering to make love potions. What she’s onto has to be some dark shit. The other women in the coven checked out. This Eunice that Constance visited with Angel on her tail is one of the two older witches in the group. If she’s watching her, she’s probably making a play for her. She’s not stalking someone that she’s not plotting against in some way. We’re not sure what else Sunday knows, even if she knows as much as we do about Constance.”
“I take it you’re going for the girl on your own.” Marcus stated. He hadn’t asked a question; nonetheless, he was expecting a response.
“No,” Cyrus snapped. His aggression at Marcus’ challenge was evident. Marcus would have his opportunity to grill Cyrus about Sunday and make his accusations, but it wouldn’t take place in front of the other wolves. “Sunday won’t stray far from her friends. We’ll follow them and Constance, and she’ll turn up. Then, we can approach her with a negotiation.”
In unison, all the eyebrows in the room raised. All but Marcus’.
Marcus barked an incredulous laugh in response. It was aggressive, too aggressive for Marcus, but he wasn’t thinking about propriety right now.
“You’re fucking serious, Cyrus?!” Marcus cried. “You’re selling us this shit that the Incarnate’s going to come with us willingly!
She made you.
How do we know she’s not running right now?!”
Marcus shook his head tightly and stamped his foot on the floor. The other wolves reserved their judgments. Marcus was crossing a superior wolf, challenging him in front of his brothers. “Our job’s the damn Incarnate, not some patty-cake witches she’s invited to teatime.”
“She wouldn’t leave now,” Cyrus started, gritting his teeth and forcing each syllable out like it hurt. “Not with her friends in dang–”
“Fuck her friends, Cy! She’s the Incarnate. She’s made Angel. She’s made you. What makes you think she’s going to stick around and see how this goes no matter what some random chicks have gotten themselves into?”
“Calm down, Mark,” Neal cautioned sternly.
“Listen to Neal, Marcus,” Angel concurred.
Cyrus ignored Marcus, and instead addressed the other pair of wolves with orders. Sunday hadn’t gone. Whatever Sunday was onto meant more to her than whatever she saw in him because she’d stuck around in spite of it. For the couple of hours that Sunday wasn’t being tailed, Cyrus was positive she didn’t leave town. If they stayed on the witches Sunday was following, they’d eventually find her. What they needed now was for Neal and Angel to find Constance and keep a tail on her. They could stay together or they could split up, but they had been the two chosen to keep an eye on the witch and figure out what had spurned the interests of the Incarnate.
“Anything comes up,” Cyrus concluded before giving them leave of the room, “you keep in touch. Call each other. Call me. Call Marcus. We’ll do the same. All of us are in the loop at all times. I’m leading this, but you’re my brothers. We’re pack.” Cyrus paused and held his glare between the pair of wolves to which he’d delegated the task of following Constance.
“Brothers,” Cyrus continued. “Be careful. Sunday can’t know you’re onto her, her friends, or the witch. If you think she’s dangerous now… just stay on point.”
Neal and Angel nodded and walked out—on mission, on point, and on task all the way.
Their departure left Cyrus and Marcus alone. As soon as the door shut behind Angel, Cyrus walked up to Marcus with an unmistakable scowl across his face. Cyrus stood almost exactly eye-to-eye with the closest thing he had to a brother and stared him down for a handful of seconds before grabbing Marcus into a hug and slapping his back. Marcus hugged him back in the same manner.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Cyrus confessed. “But you’ve got to cut that shit out in front of the boys.”
“Tell me about the girl,” Marcus responded, just as Cyrus knew that he would.
At one in the morning, Cyrus and Marcus pulled up to the house where Sunday had met with the coven days earlier. Vicky and Elisabeth Becker lived inside, and after a quick check of the property, Marcus found the women sleeping. They had been driving all day, checking out spots where Sunday might be. While Angel and Neal followed Constance through a tour of the city, Cyrus and Marcus visited Sunday’s friends. They hadn’t seen her in days, and things were starting to look grim. Even the added boost of two new tracking partners wouldn’t make up for Sunday skipping town like they’d assumed. Cyrus held out hope in spite of the other wolves’ doubts.
Cyrus jerked back in his seat and slapped Marcus’ shoulder when Sunday’s silhouette slipped out of the shadows. She wore black ankle-length leggings and a pair of sneakers. Her short hair was hidden almost entirely under a knit cap. The bottom of a grey t-shirt stuck out from under the hem of a dark bomber jacket that she’d zipped up all the way. An equally dark scarf was tucked into the collar of her jacket.
“That’s her,” he said. His body tingled with renewed fervor for the hunt. His eyes narrowed as he focused on her moving to the side of the house.
“What happens if the witches wake up and find her?” Marcus asked.
“I don’t know.” Cyrus shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed on her as Sunday slipped into the backyard.
He watched the house intently with unbroken attention even as Marcus spoke to him. A short breeze blew past the cracked window, and her unmistakable scent drifted into the car. Taking a deep breath, Cyrus let it stew in his lungs, refusing to let go of her scent.
“You gonna tell me what really happened between you two, or do I have to kidnap her myself and interrogate her ‘til she tells me? I will, you know. Who knows?” Marcus asked. He leaned over Cyrus’ shoulder, and with a wolfish grin added, “She might have it in mind to upgrade to a clean-cut guy such as myself. You wouldn’t mind. Right, Cy?”
Marcus poked Cyrus lightly, and Cyrus coughed out a breath.
Cyrus replayed the events of his last night with Sunday in his head. One minute, he’d been caressing Sunday’s body, devouring her with an angry, desperate hunger, and she’d been with him every second of it of the way. The next thing he knew, the walls were shaking, and she was seizing beneath him. Suddenly, he felt everything she was feeling. His heart raced and muscles jerked as her thoughts careened through his mind. For as much as he’d wanted to grab her and hold her and make it all stop, he was paralyzed by fear.
Angel described an iron chain breaking in Sunday’s mind as Angel had recalled an old memory of kidnapping her. The same thing had happened when Cyrus had been with her. Except Cyrus hadn’t been thinking back to her kidnapping. He’d thought of a single word:
Incarnate
.
“I can’t explain it,” Cyrus confessed. “I don’t know what happened. We were there, about to tear each other’s clothes off, and then she was pushing me off her, freaking out.”
It was all he could tell Marcus, yet more than he would tell any of the others.
If she would talk to him, he could ask her what he had done wrong, but she’d never give him the chance. He was the predator, and she was the prey. Their night together was likely the last of its kind. There was no doubt that Sunday knew that now. Cyrus was one of the bad guys. Werewolves were on her tail.
He just had to keep his distance for as long as he could while he figured out what to do next. His mission was no longer about kidnapping her. It was about protecting her. Something was clearly up with her.
She hadn’t run.
The fact that she was still in town, knowing that Cyrus and Angel were after her meant that she was up to something. Whatever it was, he’d have to figure out some way to convince her that he was on her side. If he could just reach out to her, then he could tell her the truth. Regardless of whether she realized it or not, she could trust Cyrus, and he would prove it to her one way or another. Yes, he’d been tasked to abduct her, but he wasn’t planning on it anymore. No matter what, he couldn’t let her get away again.
Before long, Sunday emerged from the side of the house and stalked her way casually back to a car down the street. When she drove off, Cyrus and Marcus were in pursuit behind her. They followed closely as she weaved through the now-familiar streets. At Ford Terrace, she made a left.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
After visiting Vicky and Elisabeth’s house, Sunday was exhausted, but she couldn’t afford to sleep. Her body ached. She grabbed the now empty cup of coffee she’d picked up at the convenience store hours earlier during one of her inadequately brief breaks, and swished it around. The laptop screen glowed from the passenger seat.