"Everyone back! Clear the street. Back, now?—"
I kept my hand on Declan and moved.
Chapter Twenty-Five
We Gotta Go
Declan
The next morning, I was still reeling about everything that’d happened at the race. My brain kept replaying the minutes after that shot was fired. Over and over again.
The loud crack as the bullet hit the water jug. Then the screaming. And then suddenly, I was seeing everything unfold from Licorice’s viewpoint high above the street.
Who knew you could develop a fear of flying when your feet were still on the ground? But when I linked with Licorice as she swooped through the air above the town… yeah, I’d gotten queasy. Being suddenly blinded to what was right in front of me hadn’t helped. I’d stumbled. Fallen.
I could still hear Gideon shouting my name just before he scooped me off my feet and carried me to safety.
But it wasn’t just the view of the street that Licorice had shared. She’d also shown me someone in a Bull’s Eye Brewery t-shirt running across a roof with a gun in their hand.
It was a lot to process.
We’d all been in shock after it happened. The end-of-festival wrap-up had understandably been canceled, much to Leon’s chagrin, but that hadn’t kept people home. After Grady had let everyone know it was safe to go outside again—confirming that the roof where I’d seen the shooter was empty—most Ravenstonians opted to gather at The Den until the wee hours in the morning. It was amazing how many times the shooting incident, which had lasted mere seconds, could be described and dissected. Each iteration became more harrowing, as if what actually happened hadn’t been traumatic enough.
But other than deciding guns didn’t mix well with a beer festival, which wasn’t exactly an earthshattering idea, no other conclusions were made.
“I’m going to need a lot more coffee than this to get through today,” I muttered, staring into the mug of coffee Gideon had pushed into my hand. He laughed softly at my moaning, then pressed a kiss to my temple.
I was sitting on the barstool at his small kitchen island, so it was the perfect height for me to lean back against him. He wrapped his arms around me, and I sighed. Despite everything that’d happened, I felt safe here with him. I wished we could just hide here all day.
But Gideon had decided he needed to be available today, in case any of the locals wanted to talk about the shooting or just be with pack. He truly was the alpha, regardless of his inability to shift into his wolf.
“You didn’t have to get up yet,” Gideon said, dropping a kiss on the side of my neck before pulling away.
We’d agreed I’d move in with him, but the apartment still felt like his, not ours. And lingering in his bed without him felt a little weird. I was sure that’d change with time, but I wasn’t thereyet. Besides, I didn’t want to be too far from him. He was my big, growly security blanket.
“But if you’re staying up, I can make you something, too,” Gideon said as he rummaged through his-our–small fridge. “Something more than coffee, I mean.”
His kitchen was tiny, which explained why they often used The Den’s kitchen when the pack got together, but it was perfect for a cozy breakfast for two. He’d just popped some bread in the toaster when his phone pinged. I watched as he read the message. His forehead creased.
“Az says the misfits want to get together.”
“When?” It was still morning. Misfit meetings were usually held in the evening.
“Now.”
I groaned. “I haven’t had enough coffee yet.”
“We can fill a carafe and take it with us.”
Half an hour later, after a semi-rejuvenating shower with my sexy wolf, we made our way to the Mystic Menagerie. I felt so much better after cleaning up that I hadn’t even dragged the carafe with me. Licorice was waiting for us at the back door, and Gideon just waved her inside in front of us.
When the three of us arrived in the backroom, Eugene was quivering—in excitement, I suspected. It wasn’t every day there were shots fired through downtown Ravenstone.
All the other misfits, except Mellgren, were already seated around the table. With the Get Hopped Up festival over, the vampire would be busy at the Whispering Pines Hotel and Conference Center today as festival attendees checked out.
My grandfather was at the head of the table, with a somber look on his face. He had bags under his eyes, and his gaze kept straying to me. I understood why. If that bullet had strayed a couple of feet to the right of Beckett, it would’ve hit me.
Even George, who was draped over my grandfather’s shoulder, looked worn out, but he was staring at me, too. I made a mental note to look up how often mice blinked, because being the focus of his unblinking stare was making the hairs on the back of my neck quiver.
