Protector

Chapter XVIII

"You're kidding, right?" Christian demanded.

I threw my arms up in exasperation. "Why would I lie, Chris? He almost killed John for God's sake!"

Christian glowered before tearing his gaze away.

I sighed and shook my head, grabbing a disinfected rag and applying it to John's shoulders. He hissed but didn't pull away. I murmured an apology.

John smiled. "Thank you, Malen'kiy Volk." (Little Wolf)

"It's the least I could do considering this is all my fault," I ripped off the excess gauze. "This should do for a couple of hours."

"Why didn't you tell us he was a threat?" Christian barked. He crossed his arms over his chest and set his jaw.

"Because I didn't think I had to!" I growled back. "He was irrelevant when I died." Or so I thought.

"Give her a break, Christian. She couldn't have predicted this." John reasoned.

The Beast pursed his lips.

I gave the former Hunter a small appreciative smile. "It's not easy for me to talk about him. It hasn't been for a long time."

"Did something happen between the two of you?" John murmured.

"He tried to kill my little brother," I said.

Both men froze as if an electric current coursed through them, staring at me with wide eyes. "What? Why?" They asked in unison.

I shrugged, the frown marking my lips deepening. "I've asked myself that question for years."

"There has to be some explanation for this, Malen'kiy Volk," John said. (Little Wolf)

"Yeah," Christian pressed. "John's right, Jazz."

"There isn't!" I snarled. "There's nothing to justify why my friend decided to murder my brother!"

The men stared at me with mouths agape, blinking as they recoiled in surprise.

"Friend?" Christian stammered.

"You were friends with this monster?" John asked.

My scowl deepened. I palmed my face. "He wasn't always like this," I murmured, staring at the sky to blink away my nostalgic tears. I clenched my fist, cursing. "I don't understand what would lead him to do what he did."

John's smoke-stained face twisted into a scowl. "I know this is horrible timing, Malen'kiy Volk," John began, "But I found something about your house that I think you should know." He took out some worn papers from his pockets. I examined them, noticing they were part of a newspaper article. (Little Wolf)

My cautious eyes darted between him and the newspaper. The agitated gleam lingering in the former Hunter's eyes did little to quell my anxiety.

I scanned the paper's headline. My blood ran cold. "N-No. This can't be . . ." My face paled. I searched John's sorrowful freckled one. "Tell me this is a joke. Tell me it— it's a sick, psychotic joke, John! Please!"

I refused to believe it. It couldn't be true. It was only a dream! Traitorous tears streamed down my cheeks as Ghost's words echoed in my head like a deafening chant. None of it was real!

But the newspaper contradicted everything going on in my head. The words "arson" and "House in Elm Street" screamed what had gone down almost a year ago.

How the Fire started was a mystery—it still is, but this only solidified Ghost's words to a horrifying extent. It couldn't be true, could it?

John's frown deepened when he witnessed my inner turmoil unfold. "I'm so sorry, Malen'kiy Volk." (Little Wolf)