Book 3: Laying the Trap

Rafe

Ainslee and I arrive at the main tent to see a lycan grinning at us and holding a letter. When we approach him, his jaw works, and I hear a cracking sound.

“What the—?” I mutter.

But it’s too late. Whatever the lycan has done, it causes him to foam at the mouth and convulse. He drops the letter and seizes on the ground until his eyes look up at us, empty and lifeless.

“What the hell?!” I finish my earlier exclamation.

The scout runs to the lycan’s side. He presses his fingers to the his throat. “He’s dead,” he informs us unnecessarily.

“I suppose to keep us from torturing Riley’s location out of him,” Ainslee says softly.

I hiss and smack my fist down on the table. “Damn it!”

She bends and picks up the letter. With a shaking hand, she gives it to me. “I don’t think I’ll have the strength to read it on my own,” she whispers.

I’m reaching out with my mind to Jerim to tell him to make his way to the camp to see