Menace had already started back toward the Expedition, barking assignments. Wrecker took the shotgun seat and glanced back and winked at Parker. Arsenal sat behind the wheel. I climbed in next to Bronc and pulled the satchel from under the seat to hold in my lap. I felt a reassuring squeeze of my shoulder from the third row. I was glad to have Parker along.
Oscar sat up straight, eyes clear and anxious when my phone rang. “Miss, I recommend you do not answer the phone number. It is a ruse. You will want to see her in person before making any deal.”
Bronc smirked. “That’s fine. We’ll see her up close and personal.”
I kept my hands in my lap, nails digging into the leather of the satchel, the only thing that kept them from clawing my own skin. Every mile we drove, the world got colder; the moon climbed higher, and the sky settled into a solid, bottomless black.
We rode in silence for most of it, the truck’s engine the only thing steady. Every now and then, Bronc would glance over at me, checking for cracks. I made myself meet his gaze, even when my throat wanted to close up.
At the halfway mark, Arsenal clicked off the headlights and took the next ten miles by moonlight and the barest hint of dash back light. “No sense in giving them a clear shot at us,” he said, which I assumed was code for “buckle up, this gets dangerous from here.”
We crossed into Morgantown territory, marked only by a battered county line sign and the sudden, sharp stench of burned sage in the air. Witches used it to mask the scent of their workings, but to a wolf—or a witch bred for this—it was a dead giveaway.
We pulled off the highway onto a dirt road, winding deeper into the brush. I saw the map’s red X in my mind, felt the bond to Papa stretch and twist like an over-wound wire. Somewhere out there, he was waiting. Somewhere out there, the Wyrdmother had set her trap.
Oscar shifted in my lap, voice barely above a whisper. “She will not harm him until she has what she wants. You must not let her have it.”
“I won’t,” I whispered back.
The truck’s cab was a tomb. No one spoke. Arsenal drove like he wanted to squeeze the last bit of life out of the steering wheel, both hands locked at ten and two, every muscle in his neck straining against the collar of his shirt. Wrecker’s eyes were pinned to the dark horizon, lips moving silently as if he was counting seconds or bodies or both. I sat smashed between Bronc and Menace, the satchel now clutched to my chest, Oscar a barely contained tremor between Bronc and me. Parker’s fingers clicked across her laptop keys as she still looked for hidden clues in the third seat.
Behind us, Rafe and Kazimir followed in their own cars, neither wanting to risk being boxed in. Gunner rolled up with several enforcers in the boxy MC van, which probably had more firepower hidden in it than a National Guard armory. I took a sort of mean comfort in that—if the Wyrdmother wanted a war; she was about to get one.
But mostly, I hurt.
The mate bond was still new and hadn’t ever been tried. Now it felt like the bone had been yanked out entirely, replaced with a steel rod that pulsed cold with every mile we got closer to him. I wanted to scream, to claw the air, but I just hugged the grimoire and tried to breathe through the pain.
Arsenal grunted. “We park a mile out, go in quiet. Anything else is a fucking suicide run.”
Bronc mapped out a strategy. “Menace and Aspen are with me. If it gets ugly, we’ll need to clear a path. Wrecker, Parker, and Arsenal that’s on y’all.”
Oscar hopped up on my lap, voice the sort of calm that you get right before a volcano blows. “She will be expecting violence. And will be ready for every tactical approach. But the grimoire may distract her. If she is like other witches of her type, she will want to verify its authenticity before harming Sir.”
Oscar’s shiny black eyes fixed on me, the rest of his body covered by a leather jacket except for the tip of his white-furred tail. “Miss, do not allow her to touch your skin. If you can, do not allow her to speak your full name. She may try to leverage a blood name ritual to gain power over you.”
“Can she really do that?” I asked, my tongue thick.
“Yes,” Oscar said, and left it at that.
Bronc looked over at me. “She’s not going to win, Aspen. We don’t let our own get taken. Not ever.”
I nodded, teeth set. “I know.”
Arsenal slammed on the brakes a mile from the X on the map, rolling the truck behind a screen of juniper and brush. The air reeked of sage and bitter smoke. “It’s time,” he said.
The rest of the team fanned out. Rafe and Kazimir took the north approach, cutting through the dark with inhuman speed and grace. Gunner and his team ghosted west, barely visible as they melted into the trees. Menace led Bronc and me east, where bonfires crackled in the distance. God, I hoped they weren’t naked.
The ritual site was laid out in a clearing ringed with rough wooden posts. At the center, three bonfires burned so hot I could feel the singe on my face from thirty yards away. Between the fires, I saw the Wyrdmother had Papa strapped to a large rune-covered wooden slab. It was set at an angle so he could see our approach.
Papa was bound to the slab by his wrists and ankles. Through his tattoos, I could see he was bleeding. He’d clearly put up a fight. He was stripped to his boxers, and blood ran down his arms, legs and sides onto the slab. His face was swollen where he’d been beaten. His chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths, but he was alive.
My knees almost buckled. I took a step forward, but Bronc’s hand clamped around my shoulder, holding me steady. “Not yet,” he whispered. “Let her come to us.”
The Wyrdmother stood between two bonfires; coven sisters fanned out behind her like a murder of crows. She wore the same black robe, hood thrown back so her hair blazed silver in the firelight. Her hands glowed faintly green, crackling with power. Her eyes, when they landed on me, felt like stepping in front of a high beam—so bright they left spots dancing across my vision.
Kazimir and Rafe stepped into the clearing, and a look of fear passed across her face for a fleeting moment. She recovered before she spoke, gathering her power.
She called out in a voice that didn’t belong in this world. “Well. If it isn’t the little Waters bitch. Haven’t you accrued quite an impressive team of support?”
