He scrambles after me like a kicked puppy, keeping a careful distance as we exit my quarters. Grace’s room sits on the opposite side of the lodge-a deliberate choice on my part, though now the distance feels like punishment. To myself.
The corridor stretches long between us, punctuated by wolves going about their duties. Each time we pass a pack member, they spare a curious glance at Thom before curling their lips in disgust. One even growls low in his throat, causing Thom to press himself against the wall until we pass.
Interesting.
“Is this normal?”
I ask, nodding toward a she-wolf who’s openly glaring at him.
Thom’s shoulders hunch further.
“What, the growling? The looks? Yes, High Alpha. Spellbloods aren’t exactly welcome in these parts.”
“Why?”
“Most of the Alphas in this region consider our practices heresy against the Goddess. They teach their packs that we’re unnatural. Makes it hard to make a living.”
His voice carries a practiced neutrality that doesn’t mask the bitterness beneath.
“Stupid belief,”
I grunt.
The change in Thom is immediate. His posture straightens, and he scurries closer to my side, eyes wide with something like hope.
“Right? It’s completely short-sighted! The prejudice against spellbloods goes back centuries, but it’s based on misunderstanding. Magic is just another natural force, like your shifting ability. We’re not so different, really, and the potential for collaboration is-“
(1)
The itch beneath my skin intensifies with every syllable from his mouth. His voice hits a particularly grating pitch, and a muscle in my jaw twitches.
“Enough.”
He snaps his mouth shut, but the damage is done. My patience, already thread-thin from the girl’s absence, threatens to snap entirely.
“The belief is ridiculous because there isn’t a witch or warlock on this planet powerful enough to pose a threat to even the weakest wolf.”
I fix him with a cold stare.
“Not a single one of you could stand against us. That’s why the fear is stupid.”
That’s not necessarily true, Fenris comments. It’s his first time reacting to anything not connected with the human. They might be able to hurt the weakest of wolves. Pups, perhaps.
Thom deflates before my eyes, his shoulders hunching back to their original position.
“Right. There’s that perspective too.”
We continue down the corridor in silence. The lodge feels emptier than usual. Still, the ones who remain give Thom a wide berth, their disdain palpable, though, when they meet my eyes, they cower.
“My only real skill is tracking,”
Thom offers after a moment, quieter now.
“But wolves don’t have much use for that, do they? Not when you can smell a rabbit from a mile away.”
I spare him a sideways glance. His thin fingers worry at the hem of his worn jacket.
“The Forest Springs Alpha only kept me around to track other magic-users. I don’t have a single offensive spell.”
I have no interest in this man’s life story, but if he falls into some sort of depression and can’t track the girl I might lose my mind. So I grunt, showing I’m listening.
It must be enough, because his shoulders relax a little. Thankfully, he goes silent after that.
CAINE
We reach Grace’s door, and I pause, inhaling deeply. Her scent lingers, but it’s already growing fainter. She’s already been gone for two days, and the knowledge makes my blood simmer. I spent a day and a half going to the Forest Springs Pack and back for nothing, if this warlock doesn’t deliver results, the weak grasp I have on my sanity might slip after all.
“What about defensive spells?”
The question surprises me as much as it does him.
Thom blinks rapidly.
“I-well, I can ward off a bee.”6
So, useless.
The vague thought in my head to keep him around to protect her fades in an instant.
We wouldn’t have to worry about her safety if you’d charmed her a little. Would it have really killed you to smile at her even once? Maybe apologize for killing the man who was once her father?
My molars grind together.
“Who was the one to rip out his throat, Fenris?”
At your order, he says. Don’t make me the same as you. She liked me. She doesn’t like you.
Knowing it’s true only makes the damn itch worse, and I slam Grace’s door open with a grunt. Her scent comes in a rush, and I inhale deeply.
The itch fades.
“Find what you need,”
I tell Thom.
“But don’t touch anything more than necessary.”
The warlock nods and steps inside, his eyes sweeping the space with professional interest. I remain in the doorway, arms folded, watching as he moves cautiously through the room that held her.
You still don’t see it, Fenris says.
Reacting to his little comments only makes it worse, so I stay silent.
Seriously? Even now, you’re not going to admit it?
I grind my teeth and keep my eyes on Thom as he approaches the bed. He doesn’t reach for the sheets as I feared, but instead crouches down to peer at something beneath.
“This might work,”
he murmurs, reaching under the bed frame.
His hand emerges clutching a small, dark object. A hair elastic. Simple and ordinary, yet my fingers itch to grab it from him.
“Her essence is strong on this,”
Thom says, examining the tiny band.
“She used it recently, probably to tie her hair back. There are some strands in here still.”
“Can you track her with it?”
Thom holds the clastic up to the light, squinting at it through those ridiculous spectacles.
“I can try. It’ll be stronger if I have something with a more significant genetic trace, though. Hair with follicles attached would be ideal.”
“The bathroom,”
I say, nodding toward the en-suite.
“Check her brush”
As Thom disappears into the bathroom, my eyes drift around the room. The bed is a mess, blankets kicked to the foot of the bed. There’s a pillow, but it doesn’t smell like her, only laundry detergent. The sheets, though…
Jack-Eye. Bring the sheets and blanket from her room and put them on my bed. No-leave them here.
I don’t need to bring them, I’ll just sleep here, where her scent is strong.
“Got some,”
Thom calls out from the bathroom.
“Give me just a second. If she’s within five hundred miles, I should be able to pinpoint her within a five-mile radius. The closer we are, the more accurate it will be.”
I straighten, a prickling sensation crawling up my spine. Something’s happening.
It’s only a few steps to the doorway.
The warlock hunches over the sink, his spindly fingers clutching Grace’s hairbrush. His eyes are closed, lips moving in rapid succession as he mumbles in a strange language. It sounds like ten strangled cats attempting to meow after their vocal cords were cut.
The air shifts, a faint breeze materializing from nowhere. The bathroom mirror fogs, then clears, then fogs again.
Thom’s voice rises, his words taking on a peculiar cadence, and twenty white butterflies burst into existence around his head. Translucent wings glow with an unnatural light as they flutter in an organized pattern, circling Thom’s face like a living crown. Each one looks identical-not natural butterflies at all, but constructs of pure magic. 2
My tattoos itch, the sensation crawling across my skin like ants. I resist the urge to claw at them. Magic always has this effect on me, it’s one of the reasons I avoid warlocks when possible. Thom’s eyes snap open, his irises glowing the same white as the butterflies. He barks a final word in his screechy voice and splays his hands outward. The butterflies shoot away as if propelled by an invisible force, zooming in twenty different directions, they pass straight through the walls, leaving no trace of their passing.
The warlock slumps forward, catching himself on the edge of the sink. His breath comes in ragged gasps, sweat beading on his pale forehead and dripping down his temples. The entire display has left him looking like he’s run a marathon.
I scratch absently at the back of my neck, where the itching is most intense.
“How long before we get results?”
Thom straightens with effort, adjusting those ridiculous glasses.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.