When I staggered back into the hallway, Blaise was wrestling with the door—one foot braced against the frame, both hands locked around the handle as he tried and failed to force it open.
He muttered a string of curses under his breath before turning back to the doll. “Creep,please. If you have any love for Caitlyn at all, open the door.”
The door didn’t budge.
I headed for the nearest window.
The shutters slammed shut in response.
Just as I was considering hurling myself through it anyway—glass and wood be damned—Blaise finally gave up. His hands dropped to his sides. He shot the doll a death glare before turning slowly to face me.
“Ambrose,” he said, his voice strained. “We have so much to discuss.”
I stumbled backward, once more catching myself on the console table, but Blaise didn’t notice. His attention snapped back to the doll as he hissed, “I can’t believe you’re making me do this right now.” Then his gaze returned to me. “I... well... the thing is...”
As Blaise fumbled over his words, I fixed my focus on anything but him, fighting the nausea rolling through me. I focused on the faint scrape of ceramic on ceramic—had the doll in my periphery just moved?—and the low, ominous hum of a vehicle approaching outside.
“And... now’s not the time to go into detail...”
The scent of honeysuckle thickened in the air. Blaise shot a panicked look toward the door before glaring down at the doll again. “She’ll never forgive you for this, Creep. And neither will I.”
Footsteps sounded outside. Blaise’s cheeks flushed red, a heady mix of shame and unfettered anger directed squarely at the doll.
“The thing is...” he ground out through clenched teeth. “The witch I came here to work for... she’s my—”
The front door creaked sharply as it swung open.
The most beautiful creature I had ever seen stood framed in the doorway, haloed by the setting sun. Two bags, filled to bursting, were clutched in either arm. As the breeze carried the full force of her honeysuckle scent into the house, it wrapped around me, sank into my bones—and awakened something primal.
My teeth ground together. My fists clenched around the edge of the console table so tightly I was certain the doll and the taxidermy animals would go crashing to the floor.
Caitlyn—because it could only be her—paused just inside the threshold, confusion flickering across her face as she glanced between me, the doll, and Blaise.
I spared one last look at him.
Apologetic horror stared back at me from his golden eyes.
And with no restraint left in my body, I turned to Caitlyn and ground out the word that would change everything.
“Mate.”
Chapter 21. Caitlyn
Mate.
A stranger stood in my hallway, just as handsome as Blaise, but different in every way.
Mate.
Blaise was fair and golden-eyed, bulky but lean, with a roughly sculpted mop of golden hair and a teasing smile that made my knees weak. The second male was tall—at least half a foot taller than Blaise—broad-shouldered, his long midnight-black locs disheveled not by design, like Blaise’s, but as if he’d spent the day running his hands through them in worry. His eyes were onyx and surprisingly dull. Something tugged inside me at the wrongness of them, as though my heart knew they should glitter, while my mind registered only gloom. His face was serious, a deep fissure carved between his brows, like he’d spent years frowning.
Mate.
But it was the faint gauntness to his face—the way his skin looked stretched too tight, his features too sharp, his eyes too sunken—that sent a pinprick of worry blooming deep in my stomach. Something wasn’t right, and a primal pull from somewhere deep inside me begged me to reach out and fix whatever it was.
Mate.
His words finally settled into my bones, my body calling backMate, mate, mate!in response.
