a wooden, hooped dream catcher.
Her dream catcher.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. She was paralyzed with shock. How had it gotten there? Her memorial to Bo was too far away for the wind to have carried it all the way to Jeb’s. Tallulah wet her dry lips and scanned the crowd. Was she being set up? Maybe by one of the new renters in Bayou La Siryna?
“What the hell is that thing?” one of the onlookers asked.
Sheriff Angier shot her a questioning look, one brow raised. He recognized a Native American relic when he saw one. The Choctaw presence was strong in the area.
“Good thing I’m not one to jump to conclusions,” he commented.
“But—but—”
“Maybe you should explain to the sheriff why you continue to trespass on our property.”
Tallulah whirled around, coming face-to-face with Payton. A very angry Payton.
“You always appear to be snooping around at the most interesting times,” Payton continued. His gray eyes lacked any warmth. All trace of the nice guy had vanished. Now she’d done it. After today, he’d want nothing to do with her. Fine. She was used to being alone.
Matt marched over to them, clearly infuriated. “And you were the one who found the body.”
His loud, firm voice carried and everyone momentarily paused to look their way. Even the tech people loading Jeb’s body into a vehicle and the other cops, who were taking pictures of the scene and scouting the immediate area.
Tallulah’s face flamed. This is what you got for trying to be a good citizen. She focused her gaze on Angier. “If you want to ask me more questions, you know where I live.”
The sheriff nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”
I’ll bet. But she had no answers. No explanation as to why her dream catcher was located near Jeb’s body. She straightened her shoulders and headed to the street, conscious of Payton’s eyes on her. Walking on the road added significant distance to the journey home, but she didn’t care to be alone in the woods after the sight of Jeb’s bloody neck with its jagged skin.
Her legs grew heavy; the whole event had wearied her more than she’d realized. The emotional turmoil had sapped her energy. It would be a long, lonely walk back to her cabin.
And this time, there would be no offer of a ride home from Payton.
* * *
The pack crowded into the living room, awaiting word from their alpha, Matt. The mood was as solemn as the night they’d decided to leave Montana after confronting the unfair accusations of other wolf packs.
Only now it appeared the accusations weren’t false.
Someone among them was infected with the lycanthropic fever. A cold-hearted killer who would stop at nothing to fulfill his cravings for human blood. The fever had been widespread out west. No one knew how it started, only that it spread from one wolf to another through biting. Those infected by the fever were ordered to live at a secured, medical compound until an antidote was developed.
Absolute compliance to this law was strictly enforced. Werewolves had evolved over the years, learned to shape-shift and satisfy their animal nature without posing harm to humans and without exposing their secret nature. But the lycanthropic fever threatened their gains. A series of unexplained human murder victims, all bitten in the neck, all drained of blood, had aroused the attention of the law enforcement and the fear of the community. For now, the murders were theorized as being committed by an unknown serial killer. But if this spread across the country, if word leaked on the hidden world of shapeshifters, their existence would be threatened. It would be a return to the days of wolf and witch trials. A bloodbath that might end their kind forever.
“We’re in a tough position,” Matt began, standing in front of the fireplace. “By tomorrow morning, the law enforcement people in this town will most likely see the connection of the victim’s body here as identical to other victims out west.” He took a deep breath and intently regarded each of them. “One of you is infected. I can’t deny it any longer.”
But who?
Payton’s gaze swept the room, studying the guarded faces of his friends, his family. Each one appeared shell-shocked. Eyes reflected varying degrees of dread and many had slumped shoulders, an aura of defeat. Jillian appeared to take the news the worst. Her eyes were bloodshot and her hands trembled in her lap.
“But maybe it wasn’t one of us.” Adam, their youngest member, spoke up. “There was that Native American thing found by the body. Maybe whoever left it was the real killer.”
Russell caught his eye. Payton shook his head a fraction, signaling not to speak. His friend frowned, but kept quiet.
As quick as Tallulah had been to judge all of them, he wasn’t ready to attach blame. The dream catcher at the scene, combined with the fact that she was the person to discover the body, looked bad. He didn’t know Tallulah well enough to determine her character, but the ripped flesh on Jeb’s neck and the loss of blood was an ironclad indictment against one of them.
“It was one of us,” Matt insisted. “But that Tallulah Silver concerns me. She suspects something and she snoops about the place too much.”
Matt stared straight at him. “Didn’t you have dinner with the other evening? How well do you know her?”
Jillian stopped sniffling and cast alert eyes on him.
“Evidently, not well as well as I thought.”
“Then get closer to her,” Matt commanded. “Find out what she knows and then throw her off our trail.”
“She’s freely told the sheriff what she’s seen. As far as throwing us off our trail, I don’t see how I’m supposed to do that.”
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