I remembered—too late—that Othello was the werewolf who’d given Selena her scars. He was the one who’d killed her father. He was baiting her.
“Selena, don’t—” I didn’t get the rest of the warning out of my mouth before the sound was swallowed up in gunfire. Dully, I surveyed the damage.
A bolt, directly through Othello’s throat. Six silver bullets, clustered in his second’s heart.
Maddy pulled her baby backward and scooted away from the man who’d had his hands on the pup when Selena had fired.
A purebred werewolf might survive a cluster of silver bullets straight to the heart, but regular Weres reacted to silver like poison. Othello’s second-in-command might have been able to heal from a single bullet wound. But six?
Othello kicked the man’s body dispassionately to the side. “Now this
