“Now what?” Sand grumbled. He rolled over, trying to find the phone on the nightstand. His hand closed over it and he answered while he mentally cursed to damnation whatever i***t was calling him at the crack of dawn on a Sunday.
“Your brother is dead, Sandalio. Murdered.”
Sand shot upright, the phone pressed tightly to his ear. “Murdered?”
“Yes. On his way back to the pack after visiting the city. Because it was the full moon, he was in his werewolf form.”
“Weren’t we all, last night,” Sand said under his breath before he asked, “Who killed him, Dimas?”
“We don’t know. When he hadn’t returned by the time the moon went down, we went searching for him. He was found on a path through the woods, dead and, obviously, in his human form at that point. There was one puncture wound in his bac
