Immediately upon entering the packhouse, I noticed two things.
First, to my highly-sensitive nose, the smell of blood was so strong, it was stomach-churning, and second, the packhouse was eerily empty. It was normally bustling with life at this time of day, with pack members utilizing all of the amenities, socializing, and enjoying meals in the communal dining room.
But now, it was the emptiest I’d ever seen it. Emptier than very early mornings or super late nights. As I followed the scent of death to the nearest staircase, my eyes flicked from left to right, searching for any sign that anyone else was there.
My heart was pounding with nervous anticipation, both for whatever I was about to walk into, and for the desperation I felt for Copeland’s magic word to work.
I repeated the wo
