by Holly Evans
“You smell of fire,” he said casually.
I swallowed down my fear and turned to face him. He was putting cookies on a plate, such an innocent action.
“You can’t tell Alasdair,” I said, the terror making my throat tight and my voice high.
No one knew I had magic, they couldn’t.
Grayson frowned at me. “He’s your partner…”
“No one knows, he can’t know,” I said firmly.
He put the plate of cookies down and turned his full attention to me.
“Did no one tell you what it means to be a Guardian’s partner?”
I sighed softly and braced myself for the impending doom.
“No, I haven’t been told much of anything.”
He leaned back against the table in the middle of the room and crossed his arms over his chest.
“It is a great honour to be chosen as a Guardian’s partner, especially by a Guardian as old and well respected as Alasdair. There were many, many fine Guardians he could have been given over the years. You were chosen. Once this ritual business is wrapped up, you’ll form a blood bond that will act as a life bond. He’d give his life to keep you safe. You have nothing to fear from him.”
My chest was imploding. My hands were trembling. What the sweet fuck had I gotten myself into? Was the goddess mocking me?
“Alasdair’s uptight, but you really couldn’t have someone better in your corner. He’ll take on the world for you. Relax, have a cookie.”
He handed me a large chocolate chip cookie, and I inhaled it as something to do while I tried to calm my mind.
“So, this partner thing… is it meant to be… romantic?” I asked suspiciously.
Grayson shrugged. “That’s between you and Alasdair. It’s pretty normal for it go that way.”
Well, when I inevitably fell head over heels for him, at least I wouldn’t lose my Guardian position. ‘Look on the bright side’ and all that.
Twenty-Five
Grayson had sworn not to say a word to Alasdair about my magic but pushed that I should tell him myself; the trust between Guardians had to be absolute. I was on my third cookie and second sandwich when Alasdair and Simone returned.
“Any luck with the photos here?” Alasdair asked.
“Not yet. We still have a few more to check over, though. Grayson’s been translating the sigils and trying to see which magic style they’re from.”
Alasdair rested his hand between my shoulder blades and leaned over to take a cookie.
“Selene told us what she could about the latest victim. She was another outsider to her pack, so there’s a link there,” he said before he took the seat next to me.
“You’re on your own for the next couple of nights. I’ve been called in to help the enforcers with a pixie problem,” Simone said.
Alasdair stood and gave her a gentle hug. “Thank you for your help.”
It seemed he was tactile with everyone. I couldn’t decide how I felt about that, so I focused on the mass of photos before me. Grayson was scribbling notes in a notebook and seemed entirely oblivious to the rest of us.
I pulled another photo over to me and peered at it, hoping something would pop up. I frowned as I inspected the sigils. Turning the photo left and right, I finally realised what was bugging me about one of them.
“I saw this sigil at my ritual, the Making,” I said, pointing to a series of sharp lines with a semi-circle in the middle.
Alasdair wrapped his fingers around mine and gently pulled the photo closer to him.
“I knew I recognised it, yours was the only Making ritual I’d ever seen it at.”
He went very still.
“You saw the results of my ritual?” I asked quietly.
“We go to the site of every ritual. I happened to be in Prague at that time,” he said.
It felt so personal.
“It’s chaotic transformation!” Alasdair said.
I looked at him for a moment before I realised he meant the sigil was for that.
“How does that help us?” I asked.
“If we can figure out exactly what the aim of the ritual is, we can find out who’s doing it and what they need to do it. No ritual is as simple as sacrificing a person and drawing in their blood, there is always more,” Alasdair said.
I bared my teeth at his simplistic, cold approach.
“Those wolves died agonising deaths…”
Alasdair placed his hand on my cheek, his eyes gentle.
“I know that, Niko, I wasn’t meaning that they were a simple matter.”
“It’s been a long day, I feel like we’re getting nowhere, and this wolf’s blood is on our hands.”
“You can’t think like that, it’ll devour you,” Grayson said.
I was too exhausted to fret over the sleeping arrangements and crawled into the bed without worrying. Unsurprisingly, I woke up with Alasdair’s arm draped over me and his strong chest against my back.
He pulled away the moment I tensed, but I touched the back of his hand and said, “Thank you. I appreciate your chasing the nightmares away.”
That was all the emotion and intimacy I could manage in one week, so I dove out of the bed and went looking for breakfast before there was any risk of any more.
Twenty-Six
Alasdair, Grayson, and I had an appointment with a local coven that the Guardians were apparently on good terms with. The idea of being in the same room as witches put me on edge. I hadn’t been any closer to witches than I absolutely had to be since my Making. The weather outside seemed particularly fitting as the hailstones pounded the car and reduced vision to a few feet away. Alasdair reached back from the driver’s seat and squeezed my knee.
“Relax, Niko.”
I hadn’t even realised I was bouncing my leg.
“Easier said than done,” I growled.
“Put your teeth away. Grayson and I won’t let anything happen to you,” he growled back.
Grayson’s words about Alasdair choosing me as his partner and what it meant came back to me. I caught Grayson watching me in the rear-view mirror and looked out the window to see the hail turn to an awful light rain that would sink into my bones.
The witches lived in a grand house complete with wrought iron gates (to keep the fae out) with silver dust coating them (to keep the lycans and shifters out). I rubbed my moonstone pendant between my thumb and forefinger and hoped the goddess was watching over me. My heart was going like a jackhammer against my ribs, and my hands started to tremble as the car came to a stop. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed the fear away. I was a Guardian now. I wasn’t going to let some witches scare me. I had wolves to save.
The witch that answered the door was young, maybe fourteen at a guess. She stood with her back straight and her eyes hard, her mouth pulled into a tight scowl. I remembered how the witches I'd grown up with had fought back against their elders at that age, too. They felt they were old enough to be allowed to participate in the larger, more complex rituals, and the boring chores were below them. A twinge of melancholy formed as I remembered Brodie's smile and gentle jibes at his sister during that time.
"We're here to see Annette," Alasdair said.
The girl looked up at him and visibly paled before she nodded and stepped aside to allow us inside.
The entryway was simple and rustic in a classy sort of way. I put my hands in the pockets of my jeans to stop myself from fidgeting and stood strong and tall, envisioning myself facing down a strong alpha.
Every witch’s magic smells different. The coven house we’d just stepped into smelt like lemon meringue. The citrus tones slipped over the sugary sweetness. I wrinkled my nose. In my experience, those with the sweeter-scented magic were the more manipulative and prone to trying to play with people’s minds.
The woman walking down the hallway towards us had an aura of power that reminded me of my mother. Her magic smelled strongly of pink grapefruit, a sharp acidic scent that made me want to screw up my nose. My fire mag
ic grew within me in response to her and the memories of my mother’s presence that she conjured. She turned her eyes to me and a small flicker of a smile passed over her lips before the blank expression returned.
"You must be the Guardians and their pet hound - come, we have tea prepared."
Alasdair led the way as we followed her down the hallway, which was remarkably plain. Given the size of the house, I had expected grandeur. My coven had certainly been fond of pretty baubles and displays of money and power. I assumed that there were plenty of those there, I just had no idea what I was looking at. I tamped the fire magic down and focused on getting through the meeting. There were no traces of the other witches or magic, besides the scent of it. I pricked my ears, listening for the rest of the coven. It was a habit, trying to see where my potential enemies were. The soft sound of bare footsteps came from the floor above, but the one we were walking through sounded as though it was empty bar the witch in front of us.
The tea had been set up in a generously sized conservatory where the sun streamed through the glass and gave everything a pleasant warmth. I frowned for a moment before I saw the wall of rain and realised they must have a weather witch among them. The sunshine cut through the heavy clouds to shine only on the conservatory. A little display of power. I smiled at the witch who had taken the largest wicker seat and allowed my teeth to sharpen a little as I did so. She might have magic, but I wasn't a pushover. The flicker of a smile crept over her lips once more before I took the seat closest to her. Fear be damned.
A teenage boy poured us tea and passed us delicate macarons before he stepped back away from the main group, hands behind his back, eyes straight ahead. I had served that role on more than one occasion, and I didn't envy him.
"You are here to discuss some sigils, yes?"
Alasdair sighed and ate his macaron in one piece.
"We made it quite clear what we wished to discuss on the phone last night," Alasdair said.
Grayson sniffed his tea and curled his lip before placing the delicate white cup back down on the saucer. I took a sniff of mine and caught a rich scent that didn't belong in tea. I doubted they would be foolish enough to poison it, but I wasn't going to risk it. So much for being allies, but then, they were witches. Their idea of an ally was very different to that of a shifter.
Annette sat a little taller and tried to look down her nose at Alasdair, but given he had a good eight inches on her, she failed. So, she switched to French when she spoke.
“The sigils you sent me are very old. They are not in use by my coven or any coven I am aware of. I can’t tell you anything more than you already know. I can, however, give you the details of a historian who specialises in such things.”
Alasdair had curled his lips, and his hackles rose as she spoke. He clearly didn’t speak enough French for that conversation. Fortunately, I was a polyglot. Languages came easily to me. I wasn’t going to be teaching classes on the intricacies of French grammar, but I could handle Annette.
“And why didn’t you tell us that over the phone?” I demanded as I touched the back of Alasdair’s hand with my fingertips.
It was a small gesture to try and stop him from forcing her to switch back to English, which would be a point to her. Her expression soured when I spoke her language with ease.
“I haven’t had the pleasure of a Guardian or a hound in a number of years. I saw no reason to pass the opportunity up,” she said.
“We’ll get the details of your historian from your coven mutt on the way out,” I said as I stood.
Every coven had a mutt, a person or being that existed solely to run errands and do the things that even the younger members were considered too good for. Sometimes that mutt was a magicless male who wasn’t pretty enough to fetch a good marriage. Others it was some poor person brought in from the outside.
“And which coven did you come from, wolf?” she asked sweetly.
I returned her sweet smile and left without a word. No good came from her knowing such a thing.
Twenty-Seven
The mutt was a teenage boy with a scar running from the corner of his left eye to the corner of his mouth. His eyes held great sadness as he handed me the piece of paper with the historian’s details on it. I wanted to give him a word of reassurance, that it would get easier, but telling him lies wasn’t going to help him. Annette had followed us down the hallway, and I felt her eyes on my back for every step. She stepped forward, and the mutt stepped back nearer the wall.
“If you ever want to talk… I didn’t catch your name,” Anette said as she pressed a crisp black business card into my palm.
I held her eye-contact as I handed it to Grayson without looking at it. I wanted nothing to do with her and her games.
“I didn’t give it,” I said sweetly.
“Do call again!” she said as we stepped out into the rain.
Once we were safely back in the car and had driven through the gates of the coven, I breathed a sigh of relief.
“This is a historian who should know about the sigils and the ritual. It’s a very old ritual, far too old for the coven to use,” I said as I handed Grayson the paper.
Alasdair was driving again, his fingers tight around the steering wheel.
“You should know better than to let witches get to you,” I said to Alasdair.
“She was looking at you like a piece of meat.”
His voice came out cold and low. I raised an eyebrow at him, and Grayson gave me a warning look.
“I hadn’t noticed. I was more interested in leaving in one piece,” I said with a shrug.
“This historian is an hour’s drive away,” Grayson said.
I didn’t much like the idea of being cooped up with a pissy Alasdair for another hour, but needs must.
“Why did she try and give you her business card?” Alasdair asked, his tone softer.
“I let slip that I was witch born,” I ground out.
It was a foolish mistake, and I should have known better. She had asked for my name so she could dig into who I was, which coven I had come from. It was very unusual for made to be witch born; witches didn’t like risking one of their coven members on such a ritual. The fact my mother hadn’t thought twice about doing it to me was a sore point. The coven had felt I was so worthless that they could try the dangerous ritual on me. I unclenched my fists and tried to let the anger go. What was done was done. I needed to focus on saving the wolves.
“We won’t let her near you. I’ll speak to our local priestess and see if she can give you something to hide you from the witches,” Alasdair said with a smile.
I had to smile back. No one had shown me such thought or kindness before. Grayson’s phone buzzed with a text. He frowned and exhaled slowly.
“The hunters are pushing again, and the fucking Council refuses to shut them down. My parents have been rallying to get them shut down for years. They’re dangerous. They do far more harm than good. The Council and the Order like that they do some of their work for them, though, and let’s be honest, they wouldn’t be so good to the made either if it weren’t for the priestesses yanking on their chains and keeping them in line,” Grayson said.
“Pushing how…?” I asked.
Grayson looked at me in the rear-view mirror as though he’d forgotten I was there at all.
“They’ve been seen in the city proper. There have been reports of them killing a made pixie and attempting to kill a smaller lycan pack.”
I bared my teeth. Hunters were vile. They made it clear they’d kill any made they came across. They tried to keep all supernals in line. They were old school and used harsh methods to keep magic hidden and humans safe. They were all humans, themselves, from long lines of hunters. The fact they were in the city and openly causing trouble sent a shiver down my spine. I could hold my own in a fight, but they often hunted in groups, and I had my limits.
“It might be best if you don’t go anywhere alone, Niko, until we’ve fixed this problem,” Grayson said.<
br />
I growled. “I am not weak. I was an enforcer before this, and I have been chosen as a Guardian now. Those bastards won’t stop me from living my life.”
It sounded better in my head. The fact that my life consisted of working and hanging out in bars by myself was irrelevant.
“We’re not saying you’re weak, Niko, we’d just rather not lose you just yet,” Grayson said.
He looked pointedly at Alasdair, who was tense and was gripping the steering wheel as though his life depended on it.
“It took Alasdair a long time to find a partner, and you only get one.”
I exhaled slowly and allowed my anger to dissipate. It wouldn’t be fair on Alasdair to get myself killed. He irritated me, but I wasn’t vindictive. Especially when being vindictive included getting myself killed by fucking hunters.
“Is there anything we can do to rid the city of the hunters quicker?” I asked.
Grayson shrugged. “I’ve already let my parents know. Mom will tear the Council a new one, not that she really need an excuse to shout them down. I don’t know how she still has her seat on the Council, she’s allergic to diplomacy.”
Alasdair barked a laugh at that. “Your mom has calmed and balanced a lot. She used to be far worse before she met your father. I didn’t know her then, but I heard the stories.”
Grayson wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know why she took the seat on the Council instead of my uncle, he’d have been a much better fit.”
“Give your mother some credit, she does a lot of good.”
“I love her, I just wish she’d develop a little more tact.”
Grayson’s phone went off again.
“Ah fuck, the hunters are causing trouble. We need to take this turn, we’re only two minutes away from them.”
Alasdair took the corner too quickly, causing a lot of other drivers to beep their horn and curse us out, not that it mattered. We had hunters to deal with.
Twenty-Eight
