The ebony wolf is watching from the treeline, the glowing red of its eyes hauntingly reminiscent of the glowing red script that writhes over Tharuzel’s Hell-scorched flesh.
How do the guys not notice it shifting through the shadows, studying us? Orion’s a shifter. Surely he can sense it, or smell it? My mental hamster trips on that, and the only explanation I can come up with is maybe it’s not really there.
I take another look. It looks and feels real.
Am I hallucinating? Am I losing my mind?
The ebony wolf stalks our return to the house, plodding through the trees parallel to us, hidden in the densest patches of darkness. When we emerge upon the back lawn, it can’t follow us any further.
Its eyes lock with mine.
When it opens its mouth, Tharuzel's voice slides out like poison:
You are mine, Poppy Hallowind.
Washed-out golden light filters through the living room windows the next morning. It does nothing to ease the knot in my stomach, and I don’t think it will until the full brightness of the early winter sun hits its zenith—until the last of the shadows are gone and I can see into the depths of the trees behind the house.
I slept maybe three hours after the sleepwalking incident, Asher on one side of me in the bed and Orion on the other. But despite playing the part of the icing in our BFF Oreo, every one of those hours was filled with distorted images I can't quite remember but still feel clinging to my skin.
My shower did nothing to rid me of the sensation, so it’s ‘fake it ‘till you make it time.’
I pull a deep breath into my lungs and force a smile. The Life and Death Brigade has gathered and fills the space.
Asher is sprawled loose-limbed across the club chair, drumming his fingers against his knee.
Wylder leans against the fireplace mantel, watching me with the same careful expression he's worn since last night.
Orion perches on the arm of the loveseat sofa next to a guy I've only met once—Reid, one of his shifter friends. The guy has broad shoulders, dirty blond hair, and looks like he could bench-press a car.
Mica sits cross-legged on the floor, her vibrant teal, blue, purple, and turquoise hair cascading over one shoulder.
Izzy and Clara share the wide ottoman, whispering to each other.
And then there’s me, the last to arrive and the one everyone expects to have all the answers.
The joke’s on them because, um… nope.
I clear my throat. "Thanks for coming.”
Mica smiles. “No problem. We’re super excited to hear about your night with the Order. Asher said you had good news for a change.”
I’m thankful he didn’t tell them about my foray into the woods with the ebony wolf, but he wouldn’t. Asher’s good like that. “Well, good or bad, it’s news, anyway.”
“It’s good,” Asher insists.
I hope he’s right. I do. But where I don’t have a choice about dealing with demons and dark possession, they do.
“So, anyway, last night the Order of the Arcane put it to a vote and recognized The Life and Death Brigade as an official, empowered guild of New England."
By their reactions, they agree with Asher and think this is good news. I force confidence into my voice that I don't feel. "That means that going forward, we have legitimacy, access to resources, and a seat at the table when decisions are made."
"Does it come with health and dental?" Mica's gray eyes glint with amusement.
Clara giggles, and Izzy elbows her.
Heat crawls up my neck. "I'm not sure about any details, but I’m guessing not. Anyway." I grip my hands together to keepthem from shaking. "We need to talk about our next steps. The demon marks. How we're going to?—"
"Are you okay, Poppy?” Mica asks, her gaze narrowing.
