Rhyannon Byrd - Dark Wolf Returning

His head cocked a bit to the side, his gaze sharpening. “What are you trying to tell me?”

She wet her lips, then slowly exhaled. “When Wyatt found El in Hawkley, he had a confrontation with Sebastian Claymore before he killed him. Wyatt told me that Sebastian admitted he was one of the wolves who raped Elise the night of her attack. It was him and Harris, and the one you killed—some guy named Danny. He was helping them make the gang rape drugs.”

He was breathing hard by the time she was done, and he lifted one of his big hands, shoving it back through his dark hair as his gaze skittered from one thing to the next—the front window, side window, the inches of leather seat between them that felt more like miles—his thoughts seeming to shift just as rapidly. A flush covered his cheekbones, seeming brighter for the way he’d paled, his tanned skin bleached of color. He worked his jaw a couple of times, cleared his throat, and spoke in a voice so rough, she almost couldn’t make out the quiet, guttural words. “Wyatt killed them?”

“Yeah. Well, he killed Sebastian. I think he said that Cian killed Harris. But there’s more.”

He kept his gaze locked on the back of the driver’s seat as he waited, his profile rigid.

“It was Roy Claymore who planned the whole thing. He used Elise as a test run for the rape drugs, which is why she was conscious during the attack, but couldn’t describe what they looked like to anyone. He, um, was also the last one to rape her.”

His head finally turned her way again, his dark, deadly gaze locking her in its grip as strongly as any physical touch could have held her. “And no one gutted the bastard?”

Understanding his frustration, she said, “They couldn’t get to him that day in Hawkley because of his security detail. But Wyatt put a bullet in Roy’s head. It didn’t kill him, but it would have caused him a lot of pain. With men like Eric and Wyatt gunning for his blood, he has to know his days are numbered.”

His head went back and he shoved the heels of his hands against his eyes, the muscles in his arms bulging beneath his tight skin as he worked his jaw like he was grinding his anger between his molars. The seconds stretched out, heavy with the tension and fury she could feel pulsing off him. Then he scraped out, “They blame me,” and she realized he was struggling with a hefty amount of guilt in addition to the blistering rage.

Not knowing what to say, she bit her lip, fighting the urge to reach out and stroke the broad, straining shoulder that was closest to her. He didn’t deserve her comfort, damn it. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t dying to give it to him, fool that she was.

“Eric—he hasn’t tried to contact me since the kidnapping.” His expression was anguished when he looked at her, making her chest tighten. “What other reason would he have for that? They blame me for not coming back sooner and helping to keep those sick bastards away from her.”

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