She wondered what it would be like to hold a normal conversation with Heath, one without antagonism or sarcasm, without the violence he seemed to bring out in her. Could she sit and talk to him for hours, like Leila and Alex did?
Luckily, she could only smell the others who’d been here, and not the ointment she’d worn for so long earlier. A long, hot shower had revealed completely healed, flawless skin that shimmered when the light hit. The brand on her wrist had transformed into a daisy with pastel pink, blue and green petals.
She had no idea what the daisy stood for, but she liked her new tattoo far more than the chrysanthemum that had been burned into her skin.
After an evening of healing, she was tired, but she couldn’t sleep. There were moments when she was sure there was someone coming down the hall, and she knew it was Kiril or his mate, there to finally finish her.
She was so wound up, so completely on her guard, sleep was as much of a reality as Canada winning a World Cup.
Footsteps sounded in the hall. Perfect, she thought. I really am losing it. She knew it couldn’t be real—none of the men here would disturb her—yet she heard it anyway. They were heavy, the steps of a booted man, and stopped just in front of her door. She heard a thunk, followed by a sliding sound. Someone was sitting outside the door to her room, but they weren’t trying to enter.
That’s not what an intruder would do.
As her haze of panic dissipated, it was replaced by logic. At that instant she knew because she finally listened to what all of her senses were trying to tell her. She could smell Heath, his forest and black pepper scent wrapping around her in a soothing embrace. He guarded her, placing himself between her and any attacker.
She relaxed, finally feeling safe enough to succumb to the sleep her body demanded.
She didn’t need Heath to watch over her. But it comforted her, and Sophia fell asleep with a smile on her face.
The next morning Sophia sat down for breakfast with her brother, who was deep in thought as he scrambled eggs and brewed Community Coffee. She hoped he was focusing on the brewery and not her problems, namely Kiril and his woman.
Sebastian had suffered enough because of her.
He brought himself out of his own head when he handed her a plate of eggs and a hot mug. Since the last time she visited, vast improvements had been made to the kitchen—the toaster didn’t burn everything, judging from the brioche toast her eggs sat on top of, and the plate wasn’t chipped.
A new icemaker sat under the counter in the corner of the room, and the old sink had been replaced with a much larger farmhouse-style sink.
It was obvious that Mary and Leila had made an impact. Sophia grinned. The feminine touch certainly wasn’t hurting this pack. If she were to move here, could she benefit them too? She’d been considering the move for years, what had been a vague thought was turning into a solid idea.
A particularly surly werewolf came to mind, but her brother dragged her from her thoughts.
“Will you stay at the firehouse today if I ask you to?”
Sophia raised an eyebrow at him. “No.” She wasn’t putting herself under house arrest, and now that she was healed, she didn’t anticipate Sebastian trying to do so either.
He sighed, pouring a glass of orange juice before he joined her at the table with his own plate. “It was worth a try,” he said with a half-smile.
Sophia saluted him with her mug. The side of it read, Full Moon…it’ll have you howling for more! Underneath the script was a painted image of Sebastian howling in wolf form. “Nice mug,” she said, grinning.
His face lit up, his lips curving into a smile that told her just how pleased he was with himself. “The new marketing campaigns from Mary’s first few paintings have already increased sales by ten percent. People like visuals…and swag.”
“Speaking of swag, the Fey here run le marché noir, right?”
Sebastian groaned, stabbing his egg with a fork. “I’m not going to be able to keep you from going, am I?”
“Nope,” Sophia said cheerfully.
He looked like he was going to protest, the “Fear Me, I’m an Overprotective Brother” expression dawning on his face, when he looked at her wrist strangely. “Let me see.” He held out his hand.
Shrugging, she did as he asked.
“This isn’t a mark of the Fey anymore,” he said thoughtfully. “Did this change after you put on the ointment Briony gave you?”
“That’s exactly what happened.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “At least now they may not kill you on sight.” He ripped his toast in two, and ate it in two bites before turning back to her, his eyes grave.
“Have someone go with you. You don’t know this city the way the faeries do, and you don’t know how these French Fey work anyhow. You’ll need backup.”
She rolled her eyes, slightly insulted. Sure, she preferred to work alone in Halifax, but she knew every nook and cranny of that city. Here, she was more vulnerable, and she’d had no dealings with this sect of the Fey. Knowing her brother would have to work, she’d planned from the start to bring one of Sebastian’s packmates with her.
The very same someone who’d watched her back last night.
“Will do,” she said vaguely, wanting to keep her interest in Heath to herself.
Sebastian nodded, satisfied. Soon he was gone, headed to Full Moon after Sophia promised him she’d stop by later that afternoon. She had no qualms with his request. The place smelled like heaven, and the beer business was Sebastian’s way of forgetting he was a criminal.
There, he was simply the boss.
She made a quick call to have daisies and chocolate sent to Briony and Aiyanna at the brewery and the firehouse, respectively, having asked Sebastian where to have the gifts delivered. That done, relishing her every movement, she wandered around the firehouse looking for Heath. There was no stopping her grin at the new paintings on the walls, and the feminine throw lying across the couch.
After a few minutes and no sign of him, she decided to visit Alexandre, who was tearing up a punching bag in the gym. She had a feeling he was Sebastian’s closest friend out of the group, as he was the only one she’d been introduced to until last spring.
She’d known Alex for close to eighty years. He smiled at her brightly, not slowing his pace. She stood and observed, admiring how he could impact the heavy weight over and over again, until he reached his number of reps. He ran a hand over his long, wavy blond hair.
“This is proof that burning witches was a dumb idea.” He pointed a gloved finger at her. “You look ready to kick ass.”
“That’s because I am ready to kick ass.”
Alex laughed, pulled her into a tight hug and kissed her on top of her head. “Atta girl,” he exclaimed, shaking her slightly. He started punching at her lightly, but she blocked the blows.
He raised his eyebrows, and they started to spar in earnest. It felt nice, releasing pent-up energy, stretching her muscles in a familiar way. They didn’t aim to hurt one another, but to get in a good workout.
“You going after them?” he asked curiously, aiming a punch to her sternum. She veered away, trying to clap him on the ear and missing by a hairsbreadth. She’d be reasonably satisfied to consider herself evenly matched with Alex.
But she’d rather beat him.
“As soon as I can track Heath down,” she answered, holding her hands up to block her face. He got a punch in at her side; the mere thought of Heath had distracted her.
She released a measured breath, shook off the pain and went for a headlock. That landed her on the ground, with Alex laughing on top of her. She cursed, earning her an “Excusez-moi?” from Alex. She struggled in his hold.
She wasn’t as strong as him, but boxing wasn’t always about rote strength; she had the skills to break out of his hold and put him on the defensive, but she had to figure out what would work here. The second she did, finding an uncovered area of his
neck to exploit—she’d have to be careful not to break anything—Heath slammed into the room.
He didn’t say a word, but menace rolled off him in waves. Before Sophia could win the fight, which she would have done, Alex was rolling away, an easy smile on his face. “Hey man, guess who didn’t just get beaten by a girl.”
Sophia growled at him, her eyes narrowed.
Alex rubbed his hands together. “We both know you’re as good as most male weres, Soph.” He rolled his eyes. “But I’ve still got pride!”
“I was about to win!” she exclaimed.
“Sure you were.”
Heath kept his silence as he watched their exchange, the muscles in his arms and legs visibly relaxing. His arms were folded, and his eyes were as unreadable as ever.
Alex picked up his water bottle, squirting some in his mouth and a stream in Sophia’s general direction before he addressed Heath again. “Why is it that she asked you to go with her to fight the nasty faeries?” he inquired in a mock offended tone. “I’m hurt, Sophie.”
“I didn’t want to feel Leila’s wrath if someone hurt your pretty face,” Sophia responded smoothly.
Alex nodded, his smile widening. “Smart woman.”
“Her name is Sophia.” Heath glared at Alex, who only snorted.
“I’ve got a date, and she expects me to show up sans sweat,” Alex said, throwing his gym bag over his shoulder. The playfulness leeched from his expression when he turned to Sophia. “If you need me, I’ll come.” He left, whistling to himself.
“You won’t need him,” Heath murmured roughly. His eyes roved over her body, clad in leggings, high tops, and a long Revivalists T-shirt. Now that she was in the city, she’d have to finally see that band live, like Leila apparently had. Four times, judging from her drawer.
Seemingly satisfied Sophia was uninjured, Heath jerked his head toward the door. “Ready?”
She nodded, wishing he gave off anything but the chill he currently emanated. She would take anger over this treatment any day. What was wrong with him? Why was he so determined to shut everyone out?
She stopped by Leila’s room to grab her cross-body purse, which Theo had thankfully thought to bring for her. She was shocked as hell when, as she quickly picked out a jacket of Leila’s to borrow, scoffing at how little material one needed to keep warm come late fall in the South, she felt Heath put a jacket over her shoulders.
She had no doubt it was his.
“Thank you.” She slipped her hands into the sleeves. They were far too long for her arms, but the exquisitely soft black material made up for that.
She wasn’t positive Heath would ever get his jacket back.
He only grunted, taking the lead until he stopped in front of a green Ducati parked outside the firehouse. Taking two black helmets from a bag he kept in the bushes, he threw one at her before pulling on his own.
He swung himself onto the machine and revved the engine, looking back at her expectantly, challenge in his gaze.
I’m not scared of motorcycles. I’ve just never been on one.
“Don’t turn us into road kill,” she snapped before she sat on the end of the narrow seat. He took up so much room she had to pull herself flush against Heath’s back, her thighs against his to ensure she wouldn’t fall off.
He pulled onto the street so fast that Sophia had to hold on with all of her strength not to be thrown from the back. It wasn’t long, though, before she decided she liked this method of transportation. Heath illegally zipped around cars and through the traffic, making what could have been a frustrating trip an exciting one. His body flowed with the bike as if they were one single entity, his movements precise and confident.
She would never tell him, but she liked the way she had to cuddle up to him to stay on the bike. She’d been given every excuse to hold him, to feel his rigid abs underneath his leather jacket. The muscles of his back worked as he drove, and she couldn’t help but think the sheer hardness of his leanly muscled body was sexy as hell.
Too soon, they reached their destination: an abandoned shotgun home in Mid-City, off of Esplanade. Sophia only knew the area because a restaurant Sebastian had showed her once was on the downtown end of this street. Of course, they served Full Moon beer there along with Monsoons.
She reluctantly peeled herself from Heath and surveyed the area, shaking out the hair that had been plastered to her head. The lot was…empty. Heath didn’t seem surprised in the least. Without a word, he scoped out a spot to hide their helmets and walked inside, past the sign proclaiming the property as condemned by the city.
She followed, smelling rot. The place really was condemned; no one lived there—not that the place could be livable. The inside had obviously been picked apart. Junk was scattered about, but anything of value had been taken away long ago. Bugs crawled in and out of holes in the wall, and a dark mold spread across the ceiling.
“This is the black market?” Sophia asked. If it was, she was unimpressed with the Fey. She had a strong stomach, but this was a bit much, even for her.
Heath rounded on her, crowding her with his body. “Don’t speak when we’re here,” he said almost unperceptively. “Do you understand?”
“No.” Sophia snorted. “If I want to speak, I will.”
He leaned toward her. His nose touched hers and his breath caressed her skin, giving her goosebumps. “If you speak to one of them, there is a chance you will get yourself killed, which is exactly what the faery who attacked you wants.”
“But the mark she gave me is covered—”
“It’s still there.” He grabbed her shoulders. Hard. “Faeries will sense it, and they’ll try to kill you because it’s their job.”
This mark was turning out to be more of a pain than she’d expected. “I won’t speak,” she whispered angrily, only because he seemed to know more about the Fey than she did. “I won’t draw attention to myself.”
His gaze softened, almost imperceptively. “Trust me,” he said quietly, before he leaned toward her and bit down on her bottom lip, drawing up a bead of blood that he licked away. She was stunned into silence.
He simply turned and went deeper into the house as if nothing happened.
* * * *
Christabel couldn’t believe her ears. No, she refused to acknowledge the incompetence of the men she’d trusted to watch over Sophia as she either died or tried to claw her way to a hospital. Neither of those were options for the werewolf, which was why Christabel had hired Kajetan and Enzo, who’d immediately let Sophia slip through their fingers.
She had no doubt that when they left his room, they would be in pieces. She only allowed people to fail her once.
“Where is she?” she demanded, stalking toward the brawny men. They were Fey and built, but they weren’t as powerful as her, and they knew it.
Christabel only surrounded herself with people she could control. The only exception was Kiril and two others. Kiril was her heartbeat, her joy. She was a mated woman now, sharing her life with the man she loved.
She hardly minded that he was a werewolf.
The two men before her came between her and Kiril. They will die. Nothing can tear us apart.
“We don’t know where she went,” Kajetan said, his eyes flitting from the floor to her face in shame. “She…disappeared.”
“How?” Sophia couldn’t make herself disappear. She didn’t possess that ability. She could only encourage fire to burn things. It was why Christabel had chosen a magic-chemical hybrid witches preferred, the lying flames, to put in the hacht liath. It was a secret weapon closely guarded by the witches, something Christabel had unearthed about fifty years ago as a trade for a witch’s life.
She’d died anyway, a few years later. Oops.
Incidentally, a witch had first created the lying flames when she’d seen her husband’s infidelity. She concocted the weapon in her rage, using it to kill her husband and curse his lover with a life of pain, stripping aw
ay her incredible beauty.
Christabel knew it was perfect for Sophia, the woman who dared tempt Kiril. They’d been mated for six months, and most of that time had been spent planning a move to Halifax, where Kiril said he would finally make claim to his home, his pack. He would be their Alpha, and Christabel would lead beside him.
Together, they were an unstoppable force; once their powers combined, Kiril’s fire elemental morphed into manipulating both fire and metal, often together. Already able to control all four elements and metal, Christabel found the transformation made her resistant to heat-related injury.
It was just as well that as soon as they moved to Halifax, she learned the truth about her beloved Kiril’s reason for taking her away from Moscow.
Sophia, a dirty she-wolf.
They’d been on the snow-covered sidewalk, Christabel receiving strange looks because of the minidress she’d decided to wear—it was lined with fur—when a man who stunk of werewolf had stopped in his tracks beside them, his face and head covered by layers of clothes. “Are you back, Kiril?” he’d asked in a supremely disrespectful tone of voice.
No confusion had clouded Kiril’s features—he’d known this other man. Of course, he’d told him he was back on a permanent basis. It stung Christabel, that her mate hadn’t introduced her to someone he obviously knew. Was he ashamed of her?
Certainly not. She could manipulate metal as if it were clay, a rare skill treasured by the Fey, who focused more on slightly bending metal or charging it with electricity.
Christabel was beautiful, with hair soft and smooth as a raven’s wing, and glittering blue eyes she was told were entrancing. Fey men would kill to have her as their consort, meaning men should simply be in awe of her.
This one hadn’t been. She couldn’t tell, as his hood covered his eyes, but she had the distinct impression that he’d barely spared her a glance. Instead, his focus was on Kiril when he’d said, “Stay away from Sophia.”
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