“I don’t know why they targeted you instead of just going after your aunt,” he continues. “I don’t know how they knew your route or that you’d be traveling alone. And until I understand those things, I can’t in good conscience take you back to a situation where you might be in more danger.”
“You keep saying you can’t let me,” I point out. “Like you have any say in what I do.”
He drags his fingers through his hair, making it stick up even more, and sighs. “I don’t. I know that. But please, Sera. Just give me a few hours to think this through. To figure out what’s going on and how to keep you safe.”
Thepleasedoes something to me. Softens the anger just enough that I can think instead of just reacting.
“A few hours,” I repeat. “And then?”
“Then I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” He holds my gaze. “Llewelyn, Ambersky, wherever Raegan is staying. Your choice.”
I study his face, trying to determine if he’s lying. But I don’t see deception there. Just worry, and something else I can’t quite read.
My wolf stirs, which surprises me. According to Reeyan, the suppressor should have another couple of hours before it wears off, but I can feel her starting to wake up. Confused and groggy, like she’s coming out of a deep sleep.
“Wait.” I focus on that sensation, on the faint stirring where there should be complete emptiness. “My wolf. I can feel her.”
Reeyan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Already? It hasn’t even been half an hour.”
“I know what I feel.” I close my eyes, reaching for that connection. It’s weak, barely there, but it’s something. “She’s waking up.”
“The suppressor they used must have been a newer model.” He sounds thoughtful now, like he’s filing this information away. “Or maybe less powerful than the ones we’ve seen before. Either way, that’s good. The sooner she comes back, the better you’ll feel.”
He’s not wrong. Even this faint awareness of my wolf is better than the complete emptiness from before. But she’s agitated, restless in a way I don’t understand. Like something is pulling at her, making her pace and whine.
“Fine.” I finally relent. “A few hours.”
Reeyan smirks, and I nod and settle back into my seat, arms still crossed. He puts the truck back into gear and continues driving.
We don’t talk for the rest of the drive. I spend the time watching the landscape change, trying not to think about how tired I suddenly feel. The adrenaline from the attack is wearing off, leaving me shaky and exhausted.
My wolf keeps stirring, getting stronger with each passing minute. Whatever the suppressor did to block our connection is definitely wearing off faster than Reeyan expected. But the agitation isn’t fading. If anything, it’s getting worse.
Eventually, Reeyan turns off the main road onto a smaller one. Then onto an even smaller one that’s barely more than packed dirt. Trees start appearing—desert plants that somehowsurvive in this harsh climate—and I realize we’re heading into a more secluded area.
Great. Because this isn’t creepy at all.
Finally, he pulls up in front of a modest house that looks like it’s been here for decades. Single story, earth-toned walls that blend into the desert surroundings. There’s a covered porch with two old rocking chairs, and I can see warm lighting through the windows.
It’s not what I expected. I’m not sure what I expected, but this isn’t it.
Reeyan kills the engine and climbs out without a word. I follow, my legs shaky as my feet hit the ground. Every muscle in my body aches, and I’m starting to realize just how many bruises I’m going to have tomorrow.
He unlocks the front door and holds it open for me. “After you.”
I walk inside and stop immediately.
Books. Everywhere.
Every wall has floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with volumes of all sizes and ages. There are stacks on the floor, on side tables, on what looks like it used to be a dining table but is now buried under research materials. Maps are tacked to one wall, covered in notes and markings in multiple colors of ink. A leather journal sits open on a desk in the corner, pages filled with dense handwriting I can’t read from this distance.
It’s organized chaos. Like a library exploded, and someone tried to put it back together but gave up halfway through.
Reeyan moves past me, already gathering some of the loose papers scattered across a chair. “Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”
“It’s fine.” I take a few more steps inside, looking around with growing fascination.
The house is small but comfortable. There’s a worn couch that looks like it’s been sat on thousands of times, the leather cracked in places but still sturdy. A fireplace dominates one wall, clearly used regularly based on the ash and the stack of wood beside it. And more books. Always more books.
