I glance away as he slips on jeans. Flames ignite beneath my skin, yet I can’t help but say something. “You always thisfriendly to the women who share your room? Strip shows and everything.”
That wasn’t supposed to be thesomething.
He merely jerks a finger my way in a silent command. “If you need the bathroom, follow. We have things to discuss.”
Thingsthat better result in answers.
Not needing to be told twice, I throw the coverings off and stick a leg out to stand. The bed is taller than I initially thought and climbing out becomes an awkward tripping hazard that has me nearly face planting—if not for Ryder’s insane speed at catching me. Hands grip my shoulders and waist, lifting me back to my feet.
“Thanks,” I mumble, ignoring the way my face tingles where it brushes his arm. He wastes no time in creating a cavern of space between us once I’m steady. “Did you put me in there?”
“How else did you get there after you passed out with your head kinked in my chair?” Despite his gruffness, amusement slips between his words.
“Smartass. For that, I won’t thank you.” Eyeing the chairs, the fire still flickering behind them, Iamgrateful. I’d likely have woken sore.
“Please don’t.” He bends to retrieve the rope. “I’ll untie you only because if you’re as smart as I think you are, you won’t run. Just know, behind this door, there’s over a dozen shifters who’ll happily hunt your ass down and drag you back to me.” There’s a growl in his tone, an annoyance at the thought of me causing so much trouble for him and his pack, no doubt.
“I won’t run.”
Seemingly satisfied with that response, he undoes the rope. There’s a faint red mark on my wrist, but nothing that won’t go away on its own within a few hours. A quick spell could have my skin as good as new, but then Ryder would notice.
He leads me outside and into the early morning sun. It’s barely crested over the trees, suggesting a time earlier than I’ve probably ever risen. The ground is dew-damp, and a frostiness lingers that has me crossing my arms, now decorated with goosebumps. Should have taken the cloak or grabbed one of those pelts because this dress is definitely not made for the cool air.
“You guys are morning people, huh.” I, on the other hand, am not.
His only response is to make a motion demanding I walk faster.
My steps falter when I’m bombarded with a few dozen people turning my way. Shifters stare with varying degrees of emotions. There’s fear on the faces of a few of the women who bustle children closer; the same children who gape with curiosity. Others stop what they’re doing, but almost everyone looks from me to Ryder and whatever command is etched into his icy expression has them all returning to work.
In the centre of the cabins, a large fire pit roars. Some sit around it, strips of raw meat that make me want to gag resting in a basket by their feet. Children bolt every way, some dangerously close to the flames and my water magick tickles my palms, ready to save them regardless of revealing the truth of my powers.
After he takes me to the bathroom area and then the stream to wash up, he leads me to the furthest end of camp, to the largest cabin, this one doubled in size and with a small porch. An elderly woman with grey curly hair stands beside it smiling so warmly I can’t help but to give one in return.
At least someone’s nice, even if she doesn’t say anything.
With a look at Ryder, she leads us inside. She goes first, then Ryder, and I inhale deeply, my shoulders tense for whatever hell I’m about to be faced with. Death, perhaps, though I don’t feel this is it.
I enter the cabin, finding nothing the shifters should ever be a part of. Something that links Ryder and his family to a bigger issue.
An elderly man lays in the centre of his bed, a larger version of the thing I recently tripped out of, his eyes clenched tightly shut. His chest rises and falls with quick, ragged breaths and every so often, his body jerks. By all accounts, he looks like a frail old man.
But what actually gives me pause is the magick swarming the room.Black magick.Its tendrils wrap him in a cruel grip of Darkness, the kind even witches couldn’t get rid of. It permeates the air in a giant cloud that encompasses Ryder, the woman, and another older male shifter I’m only now noticing, and emits a strong odour of dirt and sin.
“What the fuck?”
Black magick ishere, in the shifter pack, on one of them. Hurting him, weakening him, if his state is any indication. It’s magick forbidden amongst the covens, spurred by murder; the ultimate act of turning away from the Goddess. It’s unnatural and not of the Light, going against nature and the earth. Nothing Hecate respects.
It’s the kind of magick that infiltrated Twilight Grove Coven and turned them towards some crazy prophecy they believe in so much that in the past they sent two of their own to murder Emily and John Sinclair, steal Harlow, and raise her as their own with the intent of turning her Dark.
Black magick is a strong temptation. Witches may deny being lured in, but they’d be lying to themselves. Even now, it’s silk brushing the side of my mind, urging me to claim it for myself. To steal the power from the dying shifter and become stronger than Mom.
Shaking my head of the thoughts, I twist towards Ryder, but I refuse to look away from the magick and the man it’s harming. “What the hell did you get yourselves into?”
Ryder steps close enough his chest presses into my back. His heart thumps as rapid as his question flies out. “You know what it is?”
“Of course I do,” I snap. “My question is why is ithere?” There’s no damn way a shifter got himself literally tangled in Darkness without there being a bigger story involved.
“For the same reason you are.”
