Wild Hunger (The Phoenix Pack, #7)(87)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN



Frankie’s feet made no sound as she walked down the brightly lit corridor. It seemed like forever before she arrived at her grandfather’s room. She pushed open the door. She frowned. Geoffrey was gone. There was no bed. No equipment. No TV. Only a red door at the other end of the room. Maybe there was a nurse in there.

Frankie turned the knob and walked inside. She was in her display room, surrounded by her sculptures. Chilled, she flexed her fingers and—

The chair was empty. The child was gone.

Frankie heard it then. Creaking. Like old, rickety bones trying to move. She turned, but it wasn’t the child she saw. It was Marcia, Geoffrey, and Brad. They were looking at the sculptures, bored and unimpressed.

She called out their names, but they didn’t answer. Didn’t seem to hear or see her. She called out to them again, louder this time. But her grandparents turned their backs and walked away. Brad’s body faded and morphed, and suddenly she was looking at Rio.

“You can’t keep him,” Rio told her. “Not in the long run. You’re not what he needs.”

Hearing the creak of bones, Frankie whirled on the spot. It was the child. She was crawling on the floor. She stopped. Slowly and stiffly lifted her head, making her hair part.

“Run,” she whispered.

Frankie swallowed. “Why?”

“He hurt her. He’ll hurt you.”

The smell of gunpowder permeated the room. Blood dripped down the walls. A growl echoed in the small space—a space that seemed to be getting smaller and smaller by the second.

Another growl. “You’re supposed to be in—”

Frankie’s eyes snapped open, and her body jerked. Jesus Christ. Her wolf snarled and raked her claws, disturbed and anxious. The arm that was curled around Frankie from behind briefly tightened. She swallowed with a throat that was as dry as attic dust.

Trick kissed her hair. “Another nightmare?” His voice was rough with sleep.

Nodding, she struggled to sit upright and blew out a long breath. Trick sat up with her and grabbed the glass of water from the nightstand. She took it with a weak, grateful smile and sipped at the water. Her heart was pounding like crazy, and the beat seemed so loud in the quiet of the room.

Trick smoothed her hair away from her face. “What happened in the nightmare?”

Frankie handed him back the glass, and he returned it to the nightstand. “They’re all so similar. I’m always in my display room. Always surrounded by my sculptures. At least one of them talks to me. And I always smell that scent mixed in with blood and gunpowder. And then there’s that voice . . .”

“Come here.” Trick scooped her up and cradled her on his lap. He did his best to remain calm, knowing it was what she needed, but seeing her this way pissed him the fuck off. She always looked drained after the nightmares, as if they took a lot out of her. His wolf snuggled up to her even as he growled in frustration—the thing that was hurting their mate wasn’t something they could fight.

“What am I not seeing, Trick? What has my subconscious picked up that has gone right over my head?”

“I don’t know,” he said, rocking her gently. “I wish I did, if it meant these nightmares would go away.”

Sensing that sleep wouldn’t come easy, Frankie glanced at the clock. “It’s just past six a.m. I think I’ll go sit on the balcony for a while.”

“Okay. Come on.”

She frowned as he edged out of the bed with her still in his arms. “You don’t have to—”

“Shut up, baby.”

“Well, that’s very nice,” she muttered, though she was grateful that he’d be with her. He settled in one of the chairs with her on his lap, and she drank in the gorgeous view of the sun peeking over the mountains.

After a long silence, he asked, “You sure you’re up to seeing Clara today?”

“If I could get out of it, I would. Packing up Iris’s things isn’t my idea of a good time. But Clara and Lydia really want me to be there. Apparently it’s tradition for the women in the family to do it. And it’s hard to say no to Lydia, especially when I know she needs the support. What will you be doing with yourself?”

“I’m going with Trey, Ryan, and Dominic to check out a spot where Morelli’s rumored to be hiding. We’ve had plenty of tips since we put a price on his head. None of them have amounted to anything. He’s deep underground. But he can’t hide forever. It ain’t over until the fat lady sings.”

She frowned. “Who is this lady? What does it matter that she’s fat? And why does her singing have such importance?”

Trick just shook his head. “Anyway . . . we got a tip that said Morelli was hiding near the landfill. He’s probably not there either, but . . .”

“But you want to be there with Trey and the other enforcers in case Morelli is, because you want to be the one who kills him,” she understood.

“Yes.” Trick caught her gaze, wanting her to see the ruthless intent there. She needed to know he’d do it, and he’d do it without mercy or regret. “And I will be.”

“Does this mean I’ll end up cuffed to the shower wall again while you work off your brood?”

His lips twitched. “Probably. Marcus and Roni will escort you and Lydia to Bjorn Pack territory. It’s unlikely that you’ll run into any trouble there, but I want you protected.”