“When we were little, Laurel and I used to love creating codes so we could communicate in secret, away from Sister Agathe’s prying eyes and ears. One way we did was to create messages using riddles. We’d solve the riddles and use the first letter of each solution to spell out our secret messages.”
“Are these bird names some kind of riddle?”
“No. I think it’s simpler than that.” She glanced at him, excitement shining in her eyes. “Much simpler, but only for someone who knows what to look for.”
She studied the list of bird names scribbled on the back of the receipt, arranging and rearranging the first letters like an anagram. It only took her a few seconds before a gasp slipped past her lips.
“I have it,” she murmured. Her gaze swung back to him. “St. Anne’s. Laurel wants me to go back to the orphanage in Quebec City.”
Razor scowled, feeling a cold kind of dread begin to form in his gut. “What the hell is waiting for you back there?”
“I don’t know, but I need to find out.”
“I don’t like it.”
She raised her brows. “You don’t have to like it. It’s what my sister wants me to do. This message couldn’t be any clearer. Laurel told me once I found this book, I’d know what I needed to do. This is it, Razor. I need to go to St. Anne’s.”
“And then what?” he practically growled.
“I suppose I’ll have to figure that out when I get there.”
He cursed, raking a hand over his tense jaw. “Like hell you will. Not without me.”
If Willow intended to go to St. Anne’s or anywhere else her sister’s riddles and codes might send her next, he’d be damned if he was letting her go without him.
He wanted to believe his determination stemmed mainly from his own personal need for answers—and lethal justice—but the quickening of his blood belied all his other motivations. His resolve to protect Willow Valcourt overrode even the duty he had toward her simply because she was a Breedmate.
If she meant to chase the clue her sister left for her, then he would too.
He’d learned enough about the female to know she was stubborn enough to find a way, with or without him.
So, for now, his plans to take her to the Order in Chicago and leave her in the warriors’ protection were on hold until he uncovered whatever was waiting for Willow in that Breedmate shelter in Quebec City.
CHAPTER 10
In Chicago, they traded the cramped, dark container for a couple of seats on an all but empty passenger train that took them the rest of the way to Quebec City.
Willow didn’t ask how Razor had managed to get them across the Canadian border without the need to show passports. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t even been asked to pay for the tickets. Obeying his order to keep her head low and try not to be seen, she’d stood in a quiet corner of the Chicago station and had watched him murmur something to the gate clerk, his deep voice accompanied by that penetrating stare of his. The next thing she knew they were boarding the first-class car and smoothly on their way to Canada.
Somehow, she had managed to fall asleep for most of the hours-long trek that took them well into the next day. As the train rolled into the Gare du Palais station in the heart of Quebec City, dusk was starting to fall.
Willow blinked away her grogginess and sat up. “We’re here?”
Razor only grunted in reply, his gaze fixed on her. She felt suddenly self-conscious, reaching up to try to tame the tangles of her long hair. The dark brown waves felt like a messy rat’s nest, and she didn’t even want to consider how bad her dragon’s breath must be. Hardly the image she wanted to present to Sister Agathe Moreau at St. Anne’s—much less to Razor.
He, on the other hand, looked as alert and easy on the eyes as ever. Not a single tawny wave of his thick, silky hair was out of place. His jaw was shadowed with the hint of a beard that only made his face all the more handsome. As for his mouth . . . well, she didn’t want to let her gaze linger too long there. His full lips were held in a grim line as he studied her, and even though she knew his closed mouth concealed the threat of sharp white fangs, it didn’t make her any less fascinated by him.
She groaned at her unwanted attraction to him, then tried to mask it with nonchalance as she stretched her aching back. “I’d do anything for a toothbrush and a long, hot bath.”
His brows furrowed. “What you need even more is a decent meal. You haven’t eaten for two days.”
“Neither have you,” she pointed out.
“Don’t remind me.” His scowl darkened with annoyance. “Come on, let’s go.”
He gestured for her to follow him off the train. They hung back from the crowd, letting the other passengers disembark ahead of them and move into the station.
“There should be someplace where you can get something to eat,” he said, taking her by the elbow as he cut a determined path through the disbursing knots of people.
