Free Sisters Red by Jackson Pearce Page B

for the rest of my life."
    "You'd have missed all the apple festivities," I answer brightly. He nods hungrily, crescent-shaped blue eyes sparkling. He must be a Fenris--I'm clearly just misreading the evidence of tears in his eyes.
    "I know, which would have been a bummer. I got turned around because I was actually following this fawn in the woods that I think might be lost," he says, nodding back toward the forest.
    You've got to be kidding me. The baby-animal route? Wow. It's hard not to sigh.
    "A fawn?" Rosie squeals, though I detect a hint of sarcasm in her voice. She glances up at him, letting him see her face for a split second so he doesn't get too suspicious about me hiding my own. I hold my breath, waiting for him to recognize her despite the layers of makeup. Rosie meets my eye briefly and shakes her head--a tiny movement, so slight that I don't think anyone but me would have caught it. This is not the Fenris she let get away yesterday. This is a new one.
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    He'll need to die just the same. I turn back to the man, his sandy blond hair straying in the slight breeze. I wonder how old he was when he turned. He doesn't look much older than Silas. I imagine he rarely goes hungry, with that age and that voice full of charm. He's just as good at baiting his prey as Rosie is.
    "Do you want to see it? I was going to go call animal control, but I'll show him to you girls first if you want," he says, motioning in the direction he came from.
    "I want to see it! Let's go." Rosie nods to me emphatically. The man licks his lips as we rise, and then turns and retreats back into the woods. We follow several yards behind him.
    "How far in is the deer?" I ask cheerily.
    "Oh, not far," he answers, flashing us a bright grin. How has he not started to transform yet? Usually they can't keep up the charade this long. I move to try to see the pack sign on his wrist but somehow can't find it amid his movement. The man swallows hard--nervously? No. Wolves are never nervous. Something isn't right.
    The sounds of the Apple Time Festival fade into the sounds of the forest. Only the occasional honk of a parade car's horn reaches our ears. I listen to the forest sounds to focus: twigs breaking, birds calling, the slight trickle of the creek that runs through the park's center. I have to look to the right constantly, whenever the Fenris looks back, so he sees only my still-present eye.
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    We trudge farther into the woods before the man finally stops.
    "So... here it is!" he calls out, oddly loud. He whirls around and points to a spot on the forest floor.
    Rosie lets out a horrified gasp. I force the same sound, though I think it sounds rather overacted.
    Is it wrong that part of me is used to seeing the things a Fenris will do to make a girl squirm, make her tremble or cry, before he plans to devour her? The Fenris is pointing to what seems to be a deer, but only barely. It's a carcass, bloodied and eviscerated. Tubes of purple intestines splay about the forest floor like worms, and its tongue lolls out of its mouth near dead gray eyes. It's nearly torn in half, and the marks are all wolf: shredded skin and broken legs that lie like a pile of twisted sticks underneath the doe's body. Rosie throws her hand to her mouth, but I don't think it's part of the act--she genuinely looks as if she might get sick.
    "I said, 'Here it is!' " the man repeats. His voice quavers.
    I've killed dozens upon dozens of wolves in my life and never, ever has one's voice quavered. I look up at him, ignoring the fact that I've given away my cover and he can now see my scars. And I suddenly begin to understand why there were tears in his eyes. He's not a wolf. He's a human. A stupid, foolish human, staring longingly at something just over my shoulder.
    "Two?" a low, growl-like voice says behind me. "I said five."
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    Rosie and I whirl around. The Fenris is younger, with disheveled hair and ripped-up jeans. Rosie ducks her head down, which tells me all I need to know: