Knowing how Sloane seems to be ten steps ahead all the time, I wonder if the meeting was planned.
“So, a teenage summer romance?”
“A summer friendship that lingered,” Mom corrects. “He went back that winter, claiming she was a mortal girlfriend. According to what she said, she hid it from Sloane too, scared of being kept away. That winter and the following summer they texted back and forth. For all reasons, we had no need to look deeper.”
“She lied,” Jasper murmurs heavily, tightening his hold on the leather. “She told me she was from Starfall Coven. I was falling for her, and then she disappeared.”
“You gave that to her.” It’s not a question, but a statement as I jerk my chin to his hand.
“A cheap gift to symbolize my growing affection.”
“It’s an interesting coincidence that the two who were engaged ended up meeting later on.” I slide my attention to Mom, hoping she’s picking up what I’m suggesting. Her subtle brow lift says she does.
“She disappeared after leaving a note behind,” he continues, “saying not to look for her and that she was sorry. I didn’t listen, of course, and for a long fucking time, scoured Quebec, coming up empty. It all makes fucking sense.” He opens his palm, glaring at the bracelet. “Because she was never a part of Starfall to begin with.”
He starts for the door, his large steps eating up the kitchen. Just as his shoe passes the threshold, Mom throws up a barrier, forcing him back into the kitchen.
“Aunt Morgan?—”
“Sit down.”
“She kept it. It means something, and I’m going to figure out what.”
“No, you’re going to sit down, not go charging into Twilight Grove. The situation between us and them has changed vastly since you were a teenager. Adalyn wasn’t a Dark witch four years ago, but now she is. She’s not the girl you knew.”
“Then explain this.” He shakes his fist. “You can’t. Morgan, I’m going to find her and?—”
She throws a spell at him, invisible bounds yanking him into a chair. “No, you’re going to stay inside Banff, and that’s an order from your High Priestess. Do not test me, Jasper. I will alter the boundary spell to prevent you from leaving, if I must. Your parents will agree with me on this.”
My sweet cousin who’ll do anything to obey his High Priestess—and only ever breaks the rules when I force him to—stares at Mom with a deadly chill found only in the depths of a tree-mansion in Ontario.
“Morgan—”
“Jasper, I said no.” He falls back into his chair, legs buckling beneath the order. “You will go nowhere near Twilight Grove or Adalyn Yarrow. Carina just escaped, and you want to walk yourself into danger to save a girl who isn’t seeking safety. You go to Adalyn and she’ll use you to get to Carina and Harlow. Your teenage relationship isn’t worth it.”
“What if he’s meant to?” Playing devil’s advocate, I tap his knuckles. “Archer wanted him to have this for a reason.”
“A sentimental act.” Mom sniffs, sweeping herself off her chair again. “Maybe a token of goodbye because he knows something. Regardless, my order remains.” She waves her hand and dispels the barrier preventing him from leaving the kitchen, and then again to free him from the chair. “You’re free to go home.”
With every level of hate possible, Jasper passes the now-dissipated barrier and out the front door, slamming it hard enough that the house rattles.
Tense silence falls between us—which I break almost instantly. “You knew who she really was. After Harlow’s transition and Freya’s visit, you were shocked about who was behind the Sinclairs’ murders. You said that it’d crush him.” The only way any of that makes sense is if Mom looked deeper into Adalyn years ago and pieced it together.
“Worry about your own relationship, Carina, not his.” She exits the room just as quickly, disappearing elsewhere in the house.
My own relationship is a howl that echoes in the nearby forest every night.
Sixty-Seven
RYDER
“What are you doing?”
The carcass in my mouth thumps to the ground by my feet at the woman’s voice, whom I embarrassingly didn’t hear until too late. Having been hanging around as close to the house as I can get for the past week, scents are mingling in my nose too much to tell what’s fresh and what isn’t.
Morgan Hargrove glares down at me, and then the pile that’s been slowly building. Over the days, they’ve been mostly picked off by hungry animals who reap the benefits of my hunt, which is good, before Morgan finds more reasons to be angry when prey sits too long and becomes rotten.
Having spent most of the week in this form means the wolf’s been a bit more in control than normal, so his instincts are taking over more than regular logic, which tells me my mate being a witch has no requirement for fresh meat.
