Linda Thomas-Sundstrom - The Black Wolf

The brown wolf wasn’t here. There were no vampires. What she was seeing was an image projected on the spot where this battle had happened in the past.

Cold gripped her. Energy that had been white-hot now turned icy. She panted with the effort to understand what was being shown to her as her limbs trembled and spasms threatened to drive her to her knees.

The Banshee spirit inside her hadn’t predicted death here. The shriek had been a Banshee’s cry, yes, but her Banshee hadn’t made that sound. Someone else had used the Banshee’s voice, but in a different way—maybe not to predict this brown werewolf’s death, but to save his life.

And that just wasn’t the way things worked.

Banshee spirits predicted death, and this one hadn’t. There were no other dark, death-bringing spirits in the area, except the one sharing space in Cara’s soul. And yet she had heard that wail.

She stared hard at the scene that she now knew to be unfolding in a different time. Her claws had been useless against the monsters because they were ghosts, like the rest of the images she had been shown. She was experiencing a memory, a projection, an imprint of what had happened in the past, in this spot. And that meant the sound she had heard had to have been made by her mother...long ago.

Others were coming, rushing toward the fight in this alternate reality. She watched with fascination as several Weres flooded the area. They had come to the brown wolf’s rescue nearly too late, drawn by the Banshee’s wail.

Once the Were pack took up the fight, it became even more fierce and bloody. But Cara couldn’t be a participant, since this was a dream. She had seen this battle, had lived it, had experienced the horror of an event that took place long ago...all through her mother’s eyes. Rosalind Kirk had been here then and had made the call that had ultimately saved Colton Killion from death.

The park had shown her another piece of the puzzle. What had happened here all those years ago had been so awful that it still resonated in this space.

Witnessing the attack that had made her father what he was today made Cara’s knees buckle. Colton Killion. Ghost wolf. Outcast. Survivor.

But how could he possibly have survived this?

She closed her eyes to shut out the rest of the fight her parents had endured. It was a gruesome thing that made that sickness inside her grow.

Releasing the breath she had been holding, unable to fight the wobble in her limbs, Cara slipped toward the ground without hitting the grass...saved from falling by the strong grip of two powerful hands that had come out of nowhere.

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