The witch in front of me appears confused, and my stomach bottoms out at the thought that she might not have even heard of the woman.
“The siren? Georgiana Stormwind?” Mor glances at her siblings, then back to me. “As far as I know, she’s alive and well.”
Relief rushes like ambrosia through my body. Georgiana is safe.
But I can only enjoy that information for a short moment when my mind presses in on the facts I’ve been given.
Georgiana is alive and well.
I was trapped for years.
Strangers are the ones who freed me, and the siren is not here with them.
Dimitri is dead.
What in the hell dimensions has happened?
3
Mor
The monster’semotional grid is a frantic jumble of glowing threads that pulse and flash and reach for me as I try to untangle them. I pluck apart the obvious emotions while doing my best not to let them weave into my own feelings.
Fear. Confusion. Pain. Anger.
White. Sage. Neon blue. Tangerine.
What I’m keeping a special eye out for is amber—for aggression.
Someone can be angry and not lash out. I would fully expect him to be furious after being trapped for however long. But that doesn’t automatically mean he’s dangerous.
The freed mythic is tall despite his hunched shoulders, with wild brown hair that falls partly over his eyes, but cannot hide his strong features. When his fingers flex, I spy what I’m almost certain is webbing between the digits. He gives off a sense of heaviness, matched by the thickness of his limbs. Even his neck is large, so much so that I doubt he could be taken down by a choke hold.
If he decides to fight, this mythic will be a force.
Let’s hope he’s a pacifist.
“I know this is all disorienting,” I say in my calm, no-nonsense voice. “But we can take as long as you need. Answer every single question you have. Are you hungry?”
Without food for years, he should be dead, no matter what manner of creature he is. But that statue magic seemed to keep him preserved.
He stares around the forest clearing, meanwhile pressing a hand against his stomach, as if checking.
“We have all kinds of food back at the house.” I gesture toward the library, the roof visible just over the treetops.
He follows the direction of my hand, then jerks back, stumbling away.
Flashes of white flare bright.
Pure, unfiltered fear.
“No! I’m never going back there!”
And I’m too late to fix my mistake because Bo whirls on his heel and dives into the forest. Disappearing among the trees and leaving the blanket behind.
“Me follow?” Jack asks in his wolfman shape, voice a broken growl, his eyes on the dark foliage.
After considering his offer, I shake my head. “I think chasing him would only make it worse.”
