Perigee [bxb] | Bad Moon Book II

47; {Sadie}: a witch indeed

Sadie tore out into the open, across the dais and down the steps.

The wolves bristled, snouts tipped to her scent, ears bent back. They remained obediently beside their queen, who hardly bothered to raise so much as a brow as Sadie rushed across the floor toward Matt. That lead-black gaze followed her, but only as if to say goodie. Another plaything.

By the time she reached him, Matt's eyes had gone still. Jaylin was shaking him, leaving bloody handprints on the gray grain of his t-shirt. "Matt," he was crying. "Matt."

Sadie threw herself down into the blood, the cold wet saturating the knees of her jeans. She dropped her bag from her shoulder and felt along the bloody spot flowering over his chest. And then the side of his neck for a pulse. She searched and searched and when Sadie felt nothing but stillness beneath her fingers, the reality of the situation sunk its claws deep into her heart. She gasped and brought a bloody fist up to her mouth, jerking her hand away at the strong scent of pennies.

This wasn't happening. This wasn't real.

"Matt." Jaylin was still shaking him, gripping his precious wolf close to his chest. "Matt."

These things weren't supposed to happen. They were supposed to be safe, they were all supposed to be safe. Ziya wouldn't kill a human. They were too useful, too necessary.

Jaylin's voice cracked, his cry peeling at the seams. "No, Matt. Matt!"

Sadie took his hand from Matt's chest and gripped it tight. Shaking him wouldn't do any good. There was no pulse, no heartbeat. She shook her head and hot tears dropped from her cheeks. "Stop, Jaylin. He's gone."

It was like a heavy weight sat slowly on Jaylin, dragging him down at the shoulders. His face washed over pale beneath the streaks of smeared blood, his grip going lax around the wolf who slumped down into his lap. The wet locks of his hair trembled as he shook, tears pouring down his gashed face. "I'm sorry." He said it with a cold chatter to his teeth, a bloody palm pressed to his forehead. "I'm sorry."

"You can't do this now, Jaylin." Sadie wiped her eyes with the clean side of her wrist and took a deep, splintering breath. "We have to stop her before she hurts anyone else." But Jaylin was in another place, head shaking and shaking and shaking, fingers fisting into the thick coat of the wolf.

"Jaylin," she whispered and his blue eyes found her, pained as they were. "Right now's our chance."

He lifted his head and something about that gaze ached with understanding. Ziya's death came first, the agony would have to wait. They couldn't let Matt die in vain.

Jaylin eased Quentin's wolf to the floor, the beast still breathing, but just faintly. Only enough to see in the short rise and fall of his ribcage. Jaylin gave him one last stroke along the back of the neck and pushed himself to his feet.

Sadie knew what would come next. She turned her eyes to Matt, flinching at the sound of splattering blood. A fleck of it landed on Matt's cheek, and she wiped it away with the sleeve of her sweater. She'd never see those freckles again. Those sweat-stuck curls, that imperfect grin, that one crooked canine tooth that stuck out just a little when he smiled.

Matt Richards was the only person she'd ever known who wanted to be better, just for the sake of being better.

She curled forward, pressed a kiss above his brow and ran her fingers down his eyes to draw them shut. "I'm sorry, Matt." Her voice sounded wet and ugly, so she swallowed her words down and wiped her fresh tears on the forearm of her sleeve. I'm sorry we didn't believe you.

A deep groan boomed from the lichund beside her. Sadie turned her eyes to the beast—standing there on the palms of his long, splayed hands. Blood ran down from the wild locks of fur on his neck, his beaming yellow eyes pressed steadfast on Ziya.