“It was three dates,” I hiss at him, slipping out of Carl’s arms so I can hit the wolf with a proper scathing look. “And how the hell was I supposed to know what he was?”
“Maybe you should have chosen celibacy.”
I snort at the utter ridiculousness of that, then sober. “When I realized Luke knew my full name and where I lived, I packed up Shrimp and the essentials and headed here. I figured he and any other hunters he calls in would lose me behind the wards if they did try to give chase and that I could warn you all to be on the lookout.”
Madeline lets out a dry laugh, lacking any true humor. “Bad time to bring trouble this way. The wards are failing.”
I gape, punched in the gut by the shock of the reveal. “They never—” I shake my head. “They can’t be.”
“I assure you, they can.” Madeline crosses to a liquor cabinet and pours herself what looks like a hearty dose of vodka. “Our last witches with ward specialties passed away. Old age. Can’t be helped.” She takes an impressively large swallow. After smacking her lips, she continues, “The coven is working on it, but a permanent solution has yet to be found.”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
This is truly bringing trouble to Carl’s doorstep. To the entire town’s.
“I’m sorry,” I tell my brother. “I didn’t know.”
“Reckless,” Griffith mutters. “As always.”
I ignore the aggravating wolf as I mentally plot out a new plan. “I’ll give you the best descriptions of the men I can. All the information I have. Then I’ll leave.”
Carl frowns. “Like hell you will.”
“I can’t stay. A little bit of research, and they’ll figure out where I grew up. They’ll follow me here.”
“You don’t know that. But even if they do, whether you’re here or not doesn’t change the danger of having a hunter show up in town.” Carl exchanges a look with Griffith.
“I’ll call The Council.” The werewolf slips his phone from his pocket. “And Owen.”
“Owen MacNamara?” The guy is a selkie, a seal shifter mythic, whose kind generally lie low. I think I remember Carl saying Owen owns the local recycling company. “What are you calling him for?”
Griffith captures my eyes with his, and I bristle at the condemnation I see in them.
“We’ve been preparing for a danger like this. I should’ve guessed you’d be the one to finally bring it down on us.”
6
GRIFFITH
I’m prettysure Carl left his brights on intentionally as he follows me home. The sharp glare of headlights reflects directly into my eyes whenever I try to use any of my mirrors. My buddy is not a fan of how I talked to his sister.
And, yeah, okay, maybe I was kicking Clementine when she was down.
But seriously? Only she would start dating a guy who would turn out to be a hunter.
Hunters are the second-biggest danger to our kind, only losing out to sorcerers, who most hunters are usually working for anyway. I don’t know how many of these assholes exist in the world, but it’s not like they’re common. Helps that there are mythics who have devoted their lives to hunting them right back.
Hunting mythics is a dangerous living and only lucrative if you have a buyer—aka a sorcerer—who wants to leech magic off of a mythic.
Still, hunters exist, and somehow, Clementine got herself—and by extension, her brother and this town—tangled up with what potentially sounds like a group of them.
The rain has shifted from torrential downpour to slow but steady patter. I’m glad I took the time to pave the driveway last month or else we’d be parking in a mud puddle. Gravel never seemed to be able to fully handle the red clay.
I pull into my normal spot to the left, and Carl parks his cruiser in his space to the right, closer to the garage. His apartment is atop the two bays.
He could afford a bigger place, a house of his own in town or maybe even on Lake Galen. But Carl doesn’t like to be on his own.
Our party converges on the front porch, a wide wraparound that took me weeks to build. Just as I’m finished unlocking the door, I turn to lay down some rules.
