Free Lone Wolf (The Westervelt Wolves, Book 8) by Rebecca Royce

would fill up first and it never turned out to be wishes and dreams. They never accounted for much when all was said and done. Hard reality was where he had to exist.
    “Hiya.”
    He strode to the abomination in the driver’s seat and yanked him out the car. His brother Az always apologized to the pathetic creatures before he put them down. Gabriel had neither time for niceties nor any inclination to give them. The made wolf grunted for two seconds before Gabriel broke his neck. A crack sounded out, only to be absorbed into the noises of the busy street two blocks away.
    The dead made wolf slumped onto the steering wheel, his neck arched to the side in a manner that made him look like a crash-test dummy after one of those car commercials meant to make humans drive more slowly. Gabe stared down at him.
    When had he lost his compassion? Had it fled the day his wolf disappeared? Or had he never possessed any to begin with?
    A flicker of something moved through his mind and he pushed it aside. There would be a reckoning for him. He believed in an afterlife, had seen too much not to, and judgment would follow him wherever he went. For now, there was a job to complete and no time for nagging worries or mistakes he couldn’t undo.
    Besides, that creature had needed to die. He’d killed it for his own purpose, but that didn’t mean its death hadn’t been merciful, in a strange, screwed-up way.
    Gabriel picked up the dead body and rubbed it against himself, trying hard not to gag as the pungent smell assaulted his wolf nose. The creature had basically been the walking dead. He certainly reeked like a corpse.
    And now Gabriel had to make himself smell like one of them.
    He rubbed himself against the dead man until he could smell the stink of the unnatural creature on his own skin. It would have to do. Unless his father himself opened the door, no one would know him, and he should be able to pass himself off, at least temporarily, as a made wolf until he found Kendrick.
    With a hard shove, he pushed the dead body into the truck and closed the door. He hoped no one would notice until he’d well ensconced himself in the house. Not that luck had been on his side for four decades or so.
    Hunching over like he’d seen the made wolves do before he killed them, he limped toward the house. The movement constituted less walking and more running while letting his right leg drag behind him for an extra second with every step.
    “Well, this sucks.” He shook his head at the sound of his own voice. Did talking out loud to yourself signal insanity? If so, he’d definitely crossed into that realm.
    He trudged forward until he got to the front door. The other made wolves hadn’t rung the bell, just turned the knob and walked in. Dad clearly didn’t care one bit about security. Why should he? Every year he lived he became more and more convinced of his own invulnerability. Not surprising considering that no one had managed to kill him, although many had tried.
    That would end. Shortly .
    He tried the handle, twisting it and felt a pang of relief in his chest when it opened without issue. Getting stuck on the front step didn’t factor into his plan. Not that he’d spent all that much time coming up with this potentially disastrous turn of events.
    The door swung open into a long hallway. He looked right and left, taking a deep breath through his nose while he did and letting his senses fill in the blanks of his situation. There were thirty souls in the house but none of them in the center hall. His knees almost buckled and he had to grip the side of the door to stop from falling over.
    Carrie . He hadn’t anticipated how her scent would unnerve him. Flowers. She always brought the smell of roses with her everywhere she went, like she carried their essence in her blood. When they’d first made love and their souls had passed to each other, she’d been filled with color. The brightest, strongest reds, oranges, and yellows he’d ever seen.