Chapter 70

“I lied,” Darren said in Oliver’s flattened ear. “This is for Aden.”

With that, he dragged the blade across Oliver’s throat, the long blade pushing through the thick coat, the skin, to find the jugular underneath.

The howl ended in a gurgle, the blood gushing to the floor. Oliver’s front paws slid in the new pool, but it was already too late. The breath fluttered from his chest as his body went limp.

A black blur whipped past, too swift to make out, but Darren knew that scent. He didn’t need to look back to hear Aden landing on the other wolf, or August’s cry of shock turning to relief, or the snarls that ended the howls. He recognized the sound of flesh tearing from bone, too. He would never have thought something so feral could fill him with such relief.