“Eli Escobar.” His accent was decidedly British, but colored with a bit of Ireland as well. “I...was sent here.”
“Sent here? By whom?” Word-of-mouth cases held promise that she wouldn’t have to hide her true nature, but something in Eli’s eyes made her think the world of theotherwasn’t one he dabbled in regularly.
“This is going to sound like I’m off my rocker,” he muttered. “And I probably am. But I found myself in a pub in Greenwich a few days ago after some...trouble, and this little old woman with white hair and deep purple eyes told me I had to go to Doolin and find the silver wolf. The bartender up the street saidyouwere the silver wolf.”
Fuck. The only woman Farren knew with purple eyes was the practitioner. Diedre. “What did this ‘little old woman’ look like? As many details as you can remember.”
Eli’s brows furrowed. “I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you about her, Ms. Denair. That night is a bit of a blur for me. It’s not every day I come home to find three people have broken into my flat. Or that someone I meet in a pub suggests I leave the country in search of an animal. If you don’t mind my asking, why do they call you the silver wolf?”
Farren waved towards her visitor’s chair and slipped back behind her desk when he took a seat. “Ya’ don’t know, then.”
“Know?”
She studied the man across from her. Half of Doolin knew about werewolves. Practitioners. Elementals, even. Still, she’d be a complete idiot to simplyvolunteerher unique genetic makeup. He could be a member of the Thirteen or one of their minions.
“Have ya’ ever seen somethin’ ya’ couldn’t explain?”
“If you had asked me that six months ago, I would have said no. But now? Bloody hell. My entire life makes no sense these days.” Weariness infused his tone, and he sat back in the chair and ran a hand through those messy locks.
Farren inhaled deeply, scenting him like her mother had taught her. For more than twenty years, her mum had been an inspector with the Garda, using her enhanced senses to determine when suspects were lying. “If ya’ want me to enlighten ya’,” she said as she rose and dragged her chair around the desk, “ya’ need to face me and give me yer hands.”
“This was a bloody stupid idea,” Eli muttered. “What are you planning on doing? Reading my palms? My aura? I’m looking for answers, Ms. Denair. Not magic.”
Farren rolled her eyes. “I can tell when people lie to me,Mr.Escobar. A gift, if ya’ want to call it that. A talent. But not magic. Now give me yer hands.”
They were rough. Calloused. Like he worked with them every day.
“What do ya’ do for a livin’?” She almost lost herself to those green eyes. Mesmerizing wasn’t strong enough of a word. Nor was green. Storms raged in those eyes.
“I’m an artist. Stone, clay, sand…”
“And that pays the bills?”
He jerked his hands away. “I don’t see how that is any of your business. I can certainly pay your fee, Ms. Denair. Should I decide to hire you.”
Farren almost regretted baiting him, but she needed a baseline. A way to tell true outrage from a lie. “Do you have any knowledge of magic?” she asked.
“Fuck me. No. Magic is a myth.”
Truth. At least he thinks it is.
She wasn’t going to waste any more of his time—or hers—if she didn’t have to. He was pleasant to look at, and she found herself leaning closer without any reason to do so. Warning bells were going off in her head, so loud, she could no longer hear his heartbeat.
Get it together. Focus. This is yer first potential client in six weeks, and ye’re letting yer hormones make all the decisions for ya’. Mum would be so disappointed.
“Ms. Denair? Farren? Where is this going? I’ve been awake for almost thirty-six hours, and all I want is to get a room and sleep. And understand what’s happening to my life.”
Eli Escobar was an honest man. His entirebeingvibrated it. Earnest, wholesome, complete honesty. Also, desperation.
“They don’tcallme the silver wolf, Mr. Escobar.” Farren braced herself, unsure how he’d take her next words. “Iamthe silver wolf. The silverwerewolf.”
Chapter Three
Eli
Awerewolf? He jerked out of the chair so quickly, it toppled over with a crash. “You’re...a... No. This was a mistake. I’m sorry for bothering you.”
He’d never moved so fast in his entire life as he did bolting from Farren’s office and heading for his car. The woman—the werewolf?—called his name, but he ignored her until he’d locked the door and gunned the engine. Where the hell did he think he was going? It was dark outside, and the drive to get here had been perilous the last half an hour. Roads so narrow they were practically just suggestions carved into the landscape with thorny bushes encroaching on either side ready to reach out and swallow him and the sports car whole.
