an eyebrow. “No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
He looked at Scarlett, but she just shrugged. “How much did Scarlett tell you on the way here?” he asked Lex.
“About Remus being a nova wolf, and the Luparii, and that her dog is not a dog,” she said. “That’s as far as we got. I still want to talk to Lizzy.” Her gaze slid off him, and he shot a questioning look at Scarlett.
“She wants to make sure I’m telling her the truth,” Scarlett said, shaking her head.
Jesse glared at the witch. “And you want to use a traumatized woman as a lie detector test?”
“No. If she’s that far gone, it can wait. But I know trauma and PTSD. I might be able to help.”
Jesse wavered. He wanted to trust that Lex would put Lizzy’s welfare above her own questions, but he just didn’t know her that well.
Seeing his indecision, Lex added, “Plus, I’m female. It might make her more comfortable with you.”
He sighed. “Fine. Let’s go.”
8. Lex
As we approached the squat, one-room utility shed, which was a little smaller than a two-car garage, I ordered myself to calm the fuck down. Scarlett’s explanation that the nova wolf wanted to change more werewolves had been straightforward and matter-of-fact, which I appreciated more than she could know. But I was still roiling with anger and hatred, not to mention desperate for the rest of the story, and I had a feeling that my rage was only going to get worse once I saw the evidence of his crimes. But I couldn’t go in there agitated. Werewolves were supposed to be pretty perceptive, and I wasn’t going to be much good to Lizzy if I went in there looking like I was ready to start smacking heads together. I took deep breaths, using the tricks we’d been taught in the army for slowing your heart rate. It helped a little.
I wasn’t sure what to expect in the shed—the press had made a big deal about how much blood had coated the inside walls, but I’d assumed it was a salacious exaggeration. As we got closer to the open door, however, I could already smell it: old blood and feces and urine. They must have cleaned it up at least a little, which meant this was just the smell of what they couldn’t wash away. It stank even to me, and I wondered how it would affect a werewolf. Didn’t they have an enhanced sense of smell? This had to be torture for Lizzy. Why would she keep coming back here of all places?
When we reached the door Cruz automatically stepped forward, motioning for me to flank him. Cop instincts. I didn’t like being in the “protectee” position, but Lizzy knew him, not me, and if she was as freaked out as everyone thought, a familiar face was probably the best bet.
It was dark inside the windowless shed, but a tiny bit of LA sunlight leaked in through cracks in the old wood. Cruz and I instinctively paused and let our eyes adjust to the dim interior. In that brief moment I heard the sound of whimpering. It shot straight into my heart. If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn it was coming from an injured dog.
I stepped forward into the shed, ignoring Jesse’s arm as it rose to caution me. I felt dirt under my feet, saw shadows on the walls. No, not shadows, I realized—bloodstains. On every wall, like someone had done a sloppy job with a paint roller.
Sam’s blood.
I ignored it and focused on the small form huddled in the corner. This had to be Lizzy Thompkins, squatting or laying down, but I couldn’t see more than a shape, with another, darker shape next to her. I considered using the flashlight app on my phone, but decided it might spook her. “Lizzy?” I asked softly.
Movement. She lifted her head and snarled, “ I said go away !” There was something dark streaked down her chin, and I took an automatic step backward. The sobbing resumed.
Cruz moved up so we were more or less side by side. “Lizzy, it’s Jesse Cruz. Do you remember me?”
The sobbing stopped for a moment. “Jesse?”
“Yeah, honey, it’s
“Yes, I am.”
He looked at Scarlett, but she just shrugged. “How much did Scarlett tell you on the way here?” he asked Lex.
“About Remus being a nova wolf, and the Luparii, and that her dog is not a dog,” she said. “That’s as far as we got. I still want to talk to Lizzy.” Her gaze slid off him, and he shot a questioning look at Scarlett.
“She wants to make sure I’m telling her the truth,” Scarlett said, shaking her head.
Jesse glared at the witch. “And you want to use a traumatized woman as a lie detector test?”
“No. If she’s that far gone, it can wait. But I know trauma and PTSD. I might be able to help.”
Jesse wavered. He wanted to trust that Lex would put Lizzy’s welfare above her own questions, but he just didn’t know her that well.
Seeing his indecision, Lex added, “Plus, I’m female. It might make her more comfortable with you.”
He sighed. “Fine. Let’s go.”
8. Lex
As we approached the squat, one-room utility shed, which was a little smaller than a two-car garage, I ordered myself to calm the fuck down. Scarlett’s explanation that the nova wolf wanted to change more werewolves had been straightforward and matter-of-fact, which I appreciated more than she could know. But I was still roiling with anger and hatred, not to mention desperate for the rest of the story, and I had a feeling that my rage was only going to get worse once I saw the evidence of his crimes. But I couldn’t go in there agitated. Werewolves were supposed to be pretty perceptive, and I wasn’t going to be much good to Lizzy if I went in there looking like I was ready to start smacking heads together. I took deep breaths, using the tricks we’d been taught in the army for slowing your heart rate. It helped a little.
I wasn’t sure what to expect in the shed—the press had made a big deal about how much blood had coated the inside walls, but I’d assumed it was a salacious exaggeration. As we got closer to the open door, however, I could already smell it: old blood and feces and urine. They must have cleaned it up at least a little, which meant this was just the smell of what they couldn’t wash away. It stank even to me, and I wondered how it would affect a werewolf. Didn’t they have an enhanced sense of smell? This had to be torture for Lizzy. Why would she keep coming back here of all places?
When we reached the door Cruz automatically stepped forward, motioning for me to flank him. Cop instincts. I didn’t like being in the “protectee” position, but Lizzy knew him, not me, and if she was as freaked out as everyone thought, a familiar face was probably the best bet.
It was dark inside the windowless shed, but a tiny bit of LA sunlight leaked in through cracks in the old wood. Cruz and I instinctively paused and let our eyes adjust to the dim interior. In that brief moment I heard the sound of whimpering. It shot straight into my heart. If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn it was coming from an injured dog.
I stepped forward into the shed, ignoring Jesse’s arm as it rose to caution me. I felt dirt under my feet, saw shadows on the walls. No, not shadows, I realized—bloodstains. On every wall, like someone had done a sloppy job with a paint roller.
Sam’s blood.
I ignored it and focused on the small form huddled in the corner. This had to be Lizzy Thompkins, squatting or laying down, but I couldn’t see more than a shape, with another, darker shape next to her. I considered using the flashlight app on my phone, but decided it might spook her. “Lizzy?” I asked softly.
Movement. She lifted her head and snarled, “ I said go away !” There was something dark streaked down her chin, and I took an automatic step backward. The sobbing resumed.
Cruz moved up so we were more or less side by side. “Lizzy, it’s Jesse Cruz. Do you remember me?”
The sobbing stopped for a moment. “Jesse?”
“Yeah, honey, it’s
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