Despicable by Rory Miles

BELLATRIX

Creed and I jolt awake the next morning at the same time, furrowing our brows at one another and wondering what the hell woke us.

Then we hear it.

A scream.

It’s faint, so the person must be far away, but there’s no doubt someone is hurt. My eyes widen and I cover my mouth, shaking my head.

“Stay here,” he says, “I’ll go see what’s going on.”

“Like hell! You can’t go out there alone! What if the murderer is out there?”

“I thought you thought I was the murderer?”

“I changed my mind.”

Unless you count murdering my cunt… no, fuck. Trix. Now is not the time for jokes, someone might be dying.

“I’m coming with you,” I say, deciding for the both of us. Tossing on the shorts, shirt, and shoes I wore yesterday, I rush out of the house after Creed.

His head swings back and forth, searching for danger. “The screams are coming from the water.”

He starts to run, and I don’t need to be told to keep up. I match his pace, dashing through the streets and sprinting toward the dock where I was dropped off. Dax is already there, and so is Harlow. Her eyes are red-rimmed and she falls to her knees about the time Creed and I run down the wooden planks.

“What happened?”

Dax gives a grim shake of his head and turns back to the water.

Following his gaze, I gasp when Ronan’s head pops up, breaking the surface with a hard gasp. His hair is tied back, but with the water weighing it down, some pieces have slipped out. He flicks his head to the side so he can see and huffs out a breath. In his arms is a man I don’t recognize. I haven’t met any of the other island occupants, but I’ve seen a few pass by my house.

“Is he okay?” Harlow croaks, clutching her chest.

Creed doesn’t hesitate to dive in the water fully dressed. He swims to his friend and together they bring in the man who hasn’t moved since Ronan surfaced. Before Ronan can say the words, I know he’s dead.

“He didn’t make it.” Ronan and Dax share a look while Creed starts to do CPR.

Harlow’s sobs fill the air, and I watch with a strange sense of detachment as Creed’s palms pump against the stranger’s chest. He doesn’t seem to notice the man’s veins, which are raised and a funny shade of silver. This man didn’t die because he drowned. Someone poisoned him.

Curses fill the air, and I don’t know who is shouting, because all I can focus on is the way the man’s chest responds to the pressure. A sharp ringing fills my ears, and I sink to my knees, watching the failed attempt to save a life break Creed.

His face is red, and his jaw works as he continues to try. Dax squats down and snaps his fingers in front of his friend’s face, but Creed doesn’t react. Harlow pinches her eyes shut, and she sways back and forth.

Ronan and I lock gazes, and his eyes mist a little. Unlike most men, he doesn’t look away so I can’t see the tears. He wears them like war paint, and I nod, understanding without him needing to say a word.

We’re not safe. We’re not wanted. And ultimately, we’re alone.

He breaks our connection and goes to Creed, grabbing him around the middle and hauling him away from the man. Thrashing and reaching for the shifter, Creed tries to break away to continue, but Ronan holds fast. The wild look in Creed’s eyes hurts my heart.

Dax growls when he lifts the dead man’s wrist, eyeing the veins. “Fuck.” He sets the arm down and drops his head, locking his fingers on the back of his neck and screaming, “Fuck!”

With a flinch, Harlow snaps her mouth closed, trembling in fright.

“Harlow,” I say, holding my hand out for her, but she snaps her head in my direction, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

A soft whimper passes her lips and she jumps up, sprinting to her house and away from us. I watch her go, lines wrinkling my forehead.

“What happened?” I ask softly to no one in particular.

“I heard him screaming from the guard tower. Harlow and I got here at the same time, but we were too late. He’d already gotten to the second buoy.” Ronan is still holding Creed, who is now subdued and staring at the lifeless body on the dock.

“He didn’t drown,” I say, pointing to his arms. “That’s silver poisoning.” Silver nitrate is one of the few things that can fatally wound shifters, but I don’t need to tell them that.

Dax drops his hands from his neck and scrubs his hands over his eyes. “Creed, take Trix home. Ronan and I will deal with the body.”

Creed is a beta, so Dax’s command should snap him out of whatever he’s feeling and thinking, but I can see his struggle, his willingness to fight Dax’s authority. Despite being told to take me home, I rise from my knees and hook my arm in Creed’s, leading him back to his house so he doesn’t start something.

How did this day start out so shitty after such an amazing night?

* * *

DAX

As soon as Trix and Creed are out of sight, I pick up Seth’s hand and study the silver lines on his wrist. Ronan squats on the other side of his body, and I lift my gaze to meet his.

“We have a problem.”

I grimace and glance around, eyes shooting to Harlow’s house. She got here at the same time as Ronan, but she should have made it before he did. Unless she was trying to cover her tracks.

“Harlow?” he asks, guessing what I’m thinking.

“I don’t know,” I confess. “She seemed shaken. All the true crime documentaries I’ve watched say that the killers usually don’t react that way.”

“Well, it’s the only lead we have.” He sighs and glances in the direction Creed and Trix went.

“He’ll be okay. You know why this is hard for him.”

Creed was preparing to apply to med school when he got rejected. George’s death didn’t hit him as hard because there was no way he could be saved, but with Seth, there was a chance. Or there would have been if he hadn’t been poisoned.

“I’ll go get the flare gun,” Ronan says, slapping his thighs and storming toward where we keep the supplies in the shed at the end of the dock.

Since we don’t have phones, the only way to get the guard’s attention is to shoot off a flare or flag them down. I frown and stare across the water. I was sure they’d send someone after George, but it’s almost been a week and no one has shown up. I guess Creed was right: they don’t give a damn.

If they won’t help us find the murderer, we’ll have to do it ourselves.