Conan whistles. “Did she really just…?”
“Yep,” Xander chimes in a tone of admiration that’s about to get his face slammed into the brick siding of her house. He lingers as Conan walks ahead, his gaze going to my claws. “What the hell is wrong?”
“Later.” Maybe never. But definitely not now.
I push past them all and into the house behind Carina, compelled to remain close enough to watch her, despite being fully aware this isherhouse. Her home. Her ultimate safe space.
The side of me dreaming of keeping her wants to see all of this. To get an idea of what her day-to-day life is like and stand in the space that smells so much like her. To bathe myself in this house—regardless of it being a witch’s scent.
Inside, Carina leads us into a small living room immediately to our left. The couch is beneath the bay window, and a coffee table scattered with candles rests in front. A fireplace sits adjacent, unlit, and beside it is a padded chair that Morgan stands in front of. The muscles of her jaw twitch as the three of us trail Carina in.
“You better have a good reason for inviting them in here.”
The scents of spices and herbs, candles and plants, Morgan and Carina, assault my nose. It’s strong of her—and that of magick and witchcraft.
Conan and Xander enter, claiming the wall to our left, while I remain in the doorway to both protect and defend from threats.
Carina heads for the couch, but I catch her arm at the last second, murmuring in her ear, “That was your chance to escape.”
“I stick to my deals.”
The more time I spend with her, despite the timeline being embarrassingly short, the more I understand why nature picked her. Packs respect honour and loyalty. Carina is the definition of honour. She honoured the deal by coming to the camp, and she’s honouring her agreement to help Dad.
So far anyway.
Morgan puffs a breath, drawing her daughter’s attention away before she steps out of my grip. “If the coven learns they’re here?—”
“Good thing you are the coven,” Carina snips, interrupting her mother as she drops onto the couch. “Besides, how are they any different than the vampire who once stood in that very spot?” She gestures to me in the doorway.
Morgan settles into the chair, nails digging into her palms to not-so-subtly hide her unwillingness to play by Carina’s rules. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Twilight Grove.”
Morgan inhales sharply; the house’s atmosphere changes tides from irritation to trepidation as the two witches wade through the quiet storm those two words brought on.
“They want me, for some reason. They attacked the pack and infused Alaric with Darkness. It’s killing him. That’s why I was the Treaty Day request.”
Despite the importance of the conversation, I can’t help but scan the room as she explains everything from this morning when she met my father, and everything I recounted from my interaction with the other coven.
There’s a picture on the far side table that captures my attention. One of Carina, clearly a few years younger, and grinning into the camera while elevating a puddle from the ground.
When she finishes her story, Morgan leaps to her feet in a flurry of panic and fury, that brewing storm taking flight. She directs it towards us—until Carina once again steps between us while ignoring my pointed growl.
Woman’s going to get herself killed one day if she doesn’t learn basic survival instincts.
“You’re not going back there.” Morgan shifts some of her fury towards her daughter, her brows drawn low and tight in concentrated anger—while a hint of panic alights within her violet eyes, not as hidden as she aimed to make it. “I’ll tie you to this house, if I must. You are staying safe behind coven lines, and I won’t hear another word about this.”
“What is wrong with you?” Carina jams her hands into her hair, drawing my attention to the flush creeping up her neck. “Their issues areours. We have to help! A coven went after them.”
“Which is no different than how it’s been for centuries between our kinds.” She jabs a finger in my direction, her manicured nail nothing like the female shifters would dare, orbother, having. “You want to helpthem? They’ll hand you over to Twilight Grove to save their own asses.”
Never.
Keep her.
Protect.
Because, of course, my wolf isn’t looking at the camp’s safety over hers. Morgan’s right about one thing; Carinawillbe given to Twilight Grove.
