Fox Blood (Moon Marked, #3) by Aimee Easterling

Author:Aimee Easterling
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: wolf shifter, werewolf, werewolf trilogy, werewolf action, kitsune, fox shifter, japanese mythology, urban fantasy, urban fantasy series, paranormal, paranormal fantasy, wolf shifter paranormal, paranormal series
Publisher: Wetknee Books
Published: 2018-12-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

Only, the pack didn’t need me. Or so I gathered when I reached the far end of the Green and saw the way wolves encircled Gunner in a tight cluster. They were just standing there, over a hundred furry bodies all touching their neighbors with chins, necks, and noses. And, even though I couldn’t feel it, I could imagine the rebuilding of shattered bonds taking place before me, the magic of pack recreating what had recently been lost.

This was the sort of thing a fox shouldn’t stick her nose into. Just watching them made me feel small, cold, and sad. So I backtracked to the scene of the battle, intent upon doing at least a little good before falling into my bed and calling it a night.

Because if Sakurako was to be believed and the recent fight hadn’t been instigated by a kitsune, that meant a member of that cluster of shifters had murderously thrown a homemade javelin at his or her alpha. But who would do that to Gunner? Edward was the one who’d shared the most overt disapproval of the alpha’s governing processes...and yet Edward had also been the one who’d leapt to Gunner’s defense without regard for the safety of his own skin.

I winced, remembering the way the javelin had struck with so much force it slid all the way through the deceased male’s body. No wonder the weapon was now lying abandoned on the ground even though Edward had been carried away in preparation for some sort of werewolf farewell to the dead.

“Haven’t you done enough already?”

My hand skittered away from the bloody broomstick that made up the weapon’s handle, the ball of my hand nicking itself on the knife lashed to the end as haste flubbed my retreat. But, despite the pain, I remained crouched on the grass beside the weapon. After all, Elizabeth’s father had died less than an hour earlier. She deserved the courtesy of the upper hand.

Plus, Gunner was close enough that he could be here almost immediately if my awkward posture left me open to attack by this werewolf. So I let Elizabeth’s words hang between us for several seconds, then I answered the question she hadn’t asked.

“I’m trying to figure out who killed your father,” I told her, leaning down further until my nose nearly touched the spot where a hand would have clutched the broomstick while throwing it. Unfortunately, it was impossible to pick out identifying aromas through the coating of blood smeared across the handle, so I soon settled back on my heels in regret.

“You won’t find any scent there,” Elizabeth told me. And for half a second I thought she was admitting to having been involved in her own father’s murder. But then something long and heavy landed on the ground beside me. A throwing stick with a protrusion just big enough for the hollowed out end of the broomstick to fit over—no wonder the javelin had flown so forcefully. And when I leaned down to sniff this second item, I found no scent at all along its length.

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