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“She might be a witch, but that doesn’t mean she’s from one of our coven’s bloodlines,” I snap, cutting him off.

“But if she is…” Cameron’s voice softens, trailing off as hope rises. Of course he’s hopeful; no doubt Reyes and Lyall are too. If a female witch has been born to a Salem bloodline, if Haven is one of us, part of us, then that means the Gods and the Goddesses might finally forgive us our past sins.

I don’t wish to ruin Cam’s delicate hope, but that same hope is not what rises inside of me. A different sensation cuts through my chest—like a knife pressed under my ribs—too close to pleasure, not nearly enough pain. My jaw clenches. In the distance, Haven tilts her head back, a sliver of throat exposed in the firelight, and I have the sudden, feral urge to press my mouth to her pulse and whisper all the things she doesn’t know about herself yet.

She has no idea what she’s stepped into by coming to Ipswich. That much is clear.

“She didn’t recognize what we are,” I say quietly.

Cameron steps up alongside me, his profile shadowed in the line of trees under which we’ve taken to watching the others down on the beach. “I know,” he says. “She didn’t recognize me when I first met her either.”

The rustle of leaves at our backs announces the arrival of another coven member. I sink farther into the shadows of the forest and turn away from the Drowning Lake party as a familiar creature comes bounding out from between a copse of oaks.

Lyall’s fur-covered body shifts, bones cracking, hair receding as he goes from four legs to two. Shaking himself all over as if to rid himself of the wolf that is his other half, he stops at my side and drags his shaggy hair up off his shoulders, tying it back with a band on his wrist.

“She smells like witchblood,” he says. “Reyes is convinced too. He says she’s the girl from his dream.”

“Where is Reyes?” I ask.

Lyall shoots me a wry grin. “Where else?” He nods back to the party, and I follow his gaze to where Reyes is walking with Jonah Montgomery as they head for where Elodie and Haven are. “He’s not the patient type, but we should probably be grateful. It’s better if one of us is in her purview as she gets used to her new surroundings.” Lyall’s eyes scan over to Cameron. “If we let our resident bookworm try, he’ll chase her away.”

“If it weren’t for me, we wouldn’t even know if she was one of us,” Cameron shoots back.

“I would’ve smelled her blood and we would have known,” Lyall reminds him.

“Enough,” I bark out, cutting off any more bickering before the two really ramp it up. If I let them, they’ll be at each other’s throats for hours. Verbally, though, since Lyall only ever attempts to fight me or Reyes when he’s feeling this pumped up. The glimmer of keen interest glows in his golden eyes as he gazes down the slope at the woman none of us can seem to stop staring at.

Both Lyall and Cameron wait for a decision. Waiting, just like our families have been waiting for centuries for her. “I want more information on her,” I finally say. “Cameron?”

“I’ll look into it,” he agrees.

“Not just the old records,” I remind him. “I want to know her family, her history, anything of interest.” He nods. “And you.” My gaze lands on Lyall, who rocks back on his feet with an unruly grin that tells me he has no intention of staying away even if I order it. I growl low in my throat. “Try not to scare her off—if you can’t keep your hands to yourself, then just watch her. Don’t approach.”

Lyall groans. “Oh, come on. I can be a good boy,” he whines. “I’ll only lick her a little.”

Shadows spark at the tips of my fingers, and I shove them back, stifling the power that threatens to burst out when an image of Lyall on top of Haven floods into my mind. Violent. Unadulterated. Rage fills me. Hot on its heels is lust. Lyall isn’t the only one who might want the little witch girl.

“No.”

The word leaves my lips in a rush of power, making both Lyall and Cameron freeze in place. Even in the dark of the woods, I can see how their pupils explode outward—an unintentional result of the magic I’ve just shoved their way. Words have power, and I should’ve known better than to let my instincts get the best of me. I shake my head and offer them both a quiet apology before refocusing on Lyall.

“Fuck a townie or a student, fine, but not her—not until we know for sure who and what she is.”

Lyall’s pupils shrink back to their regular size, but I’ve known him long enough to know when it’s the sharp golden hue of the wolf staring back at me and not the man. “If she is one of us,” he says, far quieter and with a face as solemn as death itself, “you know it will only be a matter of time until we have her. She won’t be able to handle the range of her emotions and powers if she’s newly awoken.”

It takes considerable effort for me not to imagine the girl—Haven—stripped down to flesh and nothing else. Her body, smooth in all the right places, rounded in others. Saliva dampens my tongue, and a bolt of heat pierces my insides.

“We are not animals,” I say through clenched teeth. “Not even you. Wolf or not—you are a witch first. Witches do not take what is not freely given.”

Lyall’s brows shoot up. “I would never—”

“No, I didn’t say that you would,” I add quickly. “I’m just asking for caution here. If Reyes is impatient, then you’re reckless. Don’t approach her unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Lyall’s expression turns mutinous, but instead of giving me another complaint, he merely nods, and together, we turn back to gaze down onto the beach.

This party, these people—they think it’s fun and innocent, just another night of beers and bodies and midnight swims. But they don’t see the way the water shifts when she looks at it. They don’t feel the electricity crackle when she laughs. The air around her vibrates with untapped potential.

Whether she realizes it or not, Haven has stepped into the lion’s den, and she’s smiling like we won’t eat her alive. It would be amusing if it weren’t so Godsdamned terrifying.