She didn’t elaborate.
Saint filed in last, ragged and disheveled, but with a swagger in his step that exuded cockiness.
Fair enough. Objectively, they had set out to do what they intended. The vampires at the manor house had been exterminated, and the shifters had been freed.
Dominic, however, couldn’t consider the mission a success.
Nine of the twenty-eight victims had died in their cells. Three had been driven to the brink of madness and would likely spend the rest of their days locked inside their own minds.
One of the teenagers taken from the Valdosta Pack had disappeared entirely.
Whether physical or psychological, the rest of the survivors would suffer lasting effects from their time in captivity. Dominic hoped for the best, but realistically, he knew it would be a long road to recovery.
Worse, he didn’t get the sense that their intervention had solved anything. Evidence suggested this was one piece of a larger puzzle, and the pack had merely disrupted a supply chain.
“The sentries?” he asked.
“Bruised and battered, but okay,” Saint responded, sobering. “Jepsen dislocated a shoulder, but he’s healing.”
Dominic nodded, studying his pack. They were clearly running on empty, but he wanted to know what they had learned from the shifters before time distorted their memories.
“Clean up and meet me in the library in half an hour.” When he received a chorus of groans in return, he sweetened the pot by adding, “Sammy made muffins.”
Kennedy beamed and rocked back on her heels, making her blood-soaked pigtails swish around her face. “Bet.”
“He made muffins? In the kitchen?” Thierry asked, stiffening in his seat.
“No. In the bathtub,” Saint snarked.
“Don’t worry.” Gliding into the foyer as if he’d been summoned, Sammy came to a stop beside Dominic. “I put everything back exactly how I found it.”
Thierry shot Sammy a sidelong glance, his jaw tensing before he looked away, focusing on rubbing blood off his hands with exaggerated care. He didn’t say anything, but the subtle stiffness in his posture spoke volumes.
Dominic choked back a sigh.
“What kind of muffins?” Chapel asked, unreasonably suspicious about simple baked goods.
“Apple strudel.”
The female wrinkled her nose. “You know werewolves don’t really like sugar, right?”
Sammy smiled back at her, his eyes glittering with a hint of challenge. “I might have heard that somewhere.”
“So, you just—” A feral growl ripped from her throat when Saint hooked an arm around her neck, bent her double, and began marching her up the stairs. “Get off me.”
“No.”
“Saint, knock it off.”
“No.”
Chapel bared her fangs and swiped out wildly, but Saint easily blocked her.
“Let me go, or I’m going to rip your fucking balls off.”
Saint chuckled. “I’d love to see you try, sweetheart.”
“Oh, fun!” Kennedy gave a little wave and a girlish giggle before bounding after them. Halfway up the staircase, she called over her shoulder, “Come on, old man!”