Masked

CHAPTER 3 | the meeting

Parker's hand trembled as she held the photo. Her other hand flew to her mouth, and she felt sick to her stomach.

Jesus, she's just a baby.

She cleared her throat to dislodge a lump that refused to budge. Even if she wanted to, she was not sure she could speak. For the better part of the last hour, Daniel had brought her up-to-date on the mounting deaths across the country. With each horrific case, her dismay escalated.

She wasn't alone. The other Werewolves let out low growls as Daniel relayed the facts of each death, though he kept a stoic face. The story of Wildfire and its effects bombarded her brain, and a volley of questions popped into her mind. One question rose above the rest.

How was this possible?

Her analytical mind swept through the possibilities. Werewolves' metabolisms were so resilient that it took a large quantity of any narcotic for their bodies to experience the slightest of highs. It was impossible for a Werewolf to become addicted to any drug. Binging on alcohol was easier and cheaper than spending over five hundred dollars to get a three minute buzz.

Werewolves don't get ill.

Their natural healing abilities fought illnesses and diseases that Humans fall prey to every day. Bobby was a testimony to this. Her cousin, diagnosed with type 1 diabetes as a child, had been sentenced to a life of insulin shots. Once he survived the long and painful change, his new-found healing abilities repaired his pancreas and ensured his body produced the appropriate amount of insulin.

She glanced down at the table. Photos of dead Werewolves were scattered across the polished wood. Each one was more tragic than the previous. The pictures were evidence that someone, or something, was tampering with nature in a gruesome and terrifying way.

Why?

Her gaze fixed on the image of a young girl not more than seventeen years old, and her heart broke. The girl's body, disfigured by large, dark sores, lay crumpled by a dumpster, as if she were garbage.

Parker closed her eyes and cleared her mind. Even though she knew the answer, she had to ask. "Do you have any idea who might be behind this?"

Daniel replied for the others in the room. "No."

"Do you have a cure or are you close to one?"

"No."

"Do you know who else might be infected right now?"

Daniel rubbed his forehead and sighed. He stared straight at her and let out a low growl. "Are you able to help us or not?"

It was fleeting, but she saw it. For the briefest of moments, a flash of anguish and concern washed across Daniel's face. She quashed her compassion for his pain. Even with the stone-cold expression that took nothing away from the incredible specimen of male beauty, he was still the same person who had threatened to ruin her and tear her to pieces if she ever stepped foot on his territory.

She had turned down several lucrative jobs because they might have required her to travel through Colorado. While her rational mind realized he would never carry out his threat, the part of her that understood Werewolves' capabilities did not want to push her luck.

Parker glanced around the room. The others looked at her for an answer.

As if I had a choice?

Daniel Locke would not get the upper hand. She lifted her chin. "Of course, I can. You wouldn't have gotten me involved if you didn't think so."

Daniel's brows bumped together in a scowl. "Ms. Johnson, I think you are under the illusion I am requesting your services. It is Alpha Morgan and the Alliance who want your help. I am charged with ensuring your safety." He paused, and she flinched under his unrelenting stare. "And to minimize the damage that your involvement will undoubtedly result in."