Geordi slammed his car door so hard it dented.
Rob was already inside, three steps ahead of him. His father’s house smelled like saltwater, old book pages, and werewolf, the mingled scents of Geordi’s father and his ward. Nothing seemed out of place, when they came to a stop in the foyer. Jethro had always been a meticulous man, and his house had always been orderly, even when Geordi was human and young.
Jethro and his ward’s shoes were by the door, lined along the perfect rectangle of carpet he’d put there. Geordi scowled at the shoes. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he didn’t like Jethro’s ward. Instead of fixing his relationship with his living son, Geordi’s father had gone and picked up a stray to foster a new relationship. Replaced him.
“Upstairs.” Rob said, just seconds after the scent of death wafted down the stairway.
They charged up and barely made it down the hall when they saw her, crumpled on the floor outside the master bedroom’s door. She was soaking wet, and the puddle forming under her was colored by blood.
“I’m sorry-” She sobbed, unable to look at them. “-I should have told you sooner. He made me promise.”
Rob knelt before the girl, shushing her. She shrank away from him, still sobbing. “What’s happened?” He asked, voice ever so soft. She pushed away from the door, turning her face away, and Geordi charged past.
He fell to his knees, a mournful howl rising from his throat. He’d wanted the feeling to be wrong, but there lay his father, draped over his bed with the silk sheets pulled over his entire body. The bed was as soaked as the girl, and Geordi saw and smelled the blood and silver.
The girl sobbed again, loud and broken. Geordi wanted to kill her, to kill her as she did his father. But all his wolf wanted was to mourn. Rob wrapped his arm around Geordi’s shoulders and he turned to bury his face in his shirt. The air was filled with the sounds of sobs, the smell of blood, and the taste of death.