Page 148 of The Initial Insult

I hang up. In the corner of my phone the livestream continues. My messages app is nothing like Hugh’s. I have only one notification. One I sent to myself from Brynn’s phone. I exhale, my breath foul from a long night, still far from over.

Despite the cat, only inches from me, I hang my head, and I cry.

Chapter 47

Cat

There is pain in the girl,

but no injury.

I lean forwad, sniffing

for the scent of

blood and hurt and skin split and hair torn and teeth broken

and bones splintered and tendons severed and muscles snapping

all the things that can happen.

And the girl lifts her head,

the salt smell of pain in her eyes,

and reaches for me

—like a cousin—

to touch.

But her hand is not a paw

her blood, not like mine.

And I

am not tame.

I smack, to remind.

A touch that would roll a cousin, expose their belly, tell them,

I am alpha.

But the girl is not a cousin

only a human.

And easily opened.

Chapter 48

Felicity

Annabelle, that’s the first thing, easy to remember.

Tress looks like her, so it’s not hard to conjure my friend’s face, then smooth out some of the sharper edges—the permanent worry line above her nose, the way she holds her body like she’s always ready to fight. It didn’t use to be that way. Her face used to be open, ready to laugh, her body more likely to erupt into dance than a defensive posture.