by Callie Rose
But I don’t like seeing her magic on Erik’s hands. Sable is everything good and kind in my world, while this guy… this guy gives me the creeps.
After a few moments, Erik’s hands fall away and his magic fades.
Kian’s shoulder is no longer bleeding, but the wound has barely closed. It still looks angry and raw, like the damage done goes much deeper than the surface. More than the witch could heal.
“All right,” Erik says pleasantly. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
Kian yanks his t-shirt back over his head. The blood on his skin soaks into the fabric as he turns to face the witch. “And the antidote?”
“I’ll get started on the potion,” Erik assures him. The lanky man strolls to a large wooden cabinet beside his altar and opens both doors, revealing a plethora of glass jars filled with all manner of things. Dried herbs, crystals, sand, limbs from a variety of animals, even what looks like a jar of human eyeballs.
I grimace. Somehow I don’t think Erik obtained those eyeballs legally.
We remain standing where we are, scattered about the room, while Erik starts shifting jars around and muttering to himself. He pulls down a large jar of what looks like lizard feet, and another full of a white substance that could be salt. That I hope is salt. Then he scoots around a few more jars, peering into the back of the deep cabinet, still mumbling under his breath.
Suddenly, he stiffens, then glances at us over his bony shoulder, his eyes narrowed as if he just realized we’re all still standing here staring at him. “You can leave now.”
Kian crosses his arms over his chest and glares at the witch. “We intend to stay.”
Erik sighs and turns to face us, clutching a jar of some moss-like substance. He taps his fingers on the metal lid in a nervous gesture. “This won’t be a fast process. The potion will take two days to brew, and I’m not in the mood to host guests. Come back at sundown, two days from now.”
“Fine,” Kian bites out. He motions for the rest of us to head toward the door.
I don’t need to be told twice. Erik’s hot, smoky shack has left me feeling claustrophobic and thoroughly wigged, so I’m damn sure ready to leave. I shove away from the wall and head for the door with Frost and Malix right on my heels.
I’m already out in the punishing heat and sunlight when I realize Kian hasn’t followed us. Malix left the front door to Erik’s shack hanging open, but Kian doesn’t immediately appear. I pause by my bike and cast a questioning look at Frost.
His cool, remote expression doesn’t change. “Kian has trust issues.”
“Ah.” I nod, not surprised. “Putting a little fear of god in the mad witch. Got it.”
Trust issues, control issues… Kian has all the issues. If he wants to toss around the creepy guy a bit to make sure he does what we’ve paid him to do, I’m not judging.
When Kian exits the shack a few moments later, his gaze drifts over me, then to his brothers. He nods. “The witch will not fail us.”
I roll my eyes at his dire declaration and mount my bike.
This potion could be ready in an hour, and it still wouldn’t be quick enough.
We pick up shitty gas station burritos and bottled water, then check into the only motel in town: a run-down hovel so close to the interstate that every passing car shakes the walls.
Kian insists on one room for all of us, which quite frankly, I’m not okay with. On the other hand though, I get what he’s doing. Keeping an eye on me, making sure I don’t run or do something stupid. I have the same innate desire to keep an eye on the three of them, too, so I don’t argue. No use splitting up, not when we’re this close to the antidote.
But damn. Two days in this dingy, beige hellhole with them.
Kill me now.
I set my bottle of water on the table and sink into a wobbly chair to unwrap my burrito, my gaze sliding over the room. My motel back in Oscura looks like a damn four-star hotel next to this roach trap. The blankets are covered in suspicious white stains, and the walls have two decades’ worth of yellow cigarette smoke damage. There are burn marks on the tabletop, and the carpet feels tacky beneath my boots. Despite the overall neglect, a hint of bleach on the air tells me it’s clean, at least. Or if not clean, at least the surfaces are disinfected.
Malix kicks back on one of the two double beds and turns the television on before balancing his food on his legs to eat. Kian sits on the edge of the other bed, looking like he’s ready to launch into action at any moment, while Frost takes the chair across from me. He keeps his attention firmly on his burritos, but I have no doubt he’s just as aware of me as I am of him. His warm, spicy scent is a complement to the spices in my food.
Malix has stopped channel surfing on some sitcom with a laugh track, and every time the audience roars at a joke, I get a twitch in my eye.
Nothing to do now but settle in and wait.
I take a bite of my burrito, cringing when the exterior is hotter than lava and the interior is still half-frozen. I force myself to chew and not gag, though I almost consider tossing this in the trash and going to chase down a rabbit instead.
I’m antsy now, and sitting in this room for two days sounds like the worst form of torture. Cooped up with the three men who threaten not only my life but also my independence. I’m ready for this to be over—to get the antidote, end the truce, and fulfill what I came here to do.
After Kian finishes his three burritos in two bites, then chugs his water, he slams the empty bottle to the bedside table and declares, “Dibs on first shower.”
Malix balls up his burrito wrapper and throws it at him. “Fuck you, man.”
Standing, Kian raises one sardonic eyebrow. “Did you sacrifice your flesh for the witch?”
I snort, and Malix tosses me a grin. “I guess not, boss. Enjoy your sauna. Leave me some damn hot water.”
Kian grunts, then heads toward the closet-slash-sink area where the door to the toilet and shower is. He tugs his shirt off over his head, and the green-tinged fluorescent light slants over his wounded shoulder.
Maybe it’s the sickly light, but the injury looks even worse than it did back at Erik’s shack.
“Hey, wait a minute,” I say, launching to my feet.
I cross the room in several quick strides before he can disappear into the bathroom cubicle. Grabbing his elbow, I angle him further toward the light so I can better see the gash on his shoulder. The wound seeps thick, maroon blood, and the edges look raw. Painful. I lean in and sniff, catching a hint of infection beneath the copper tang of blood.
“Jesus,” I mutter. “We need to disinfect this. There’s no telling what garbage was on that asshole’s knife. I’ve got a first aid ki—”
“No,” Kian growls, then yanks his elbow from my grasp. “I don’t need your help.”
Irritation and anger flare inside me, but beneath it is the deep well of hurt I’ve spent the last three years filling with quicksand. I grab his arm again, digging my nails into his skin. “Gangrene can kill you.”
“Leave it be,” Kian snaps back. He twists his arm from my grip and turns to stalk into the bathroom.
“This happened because he wanted your tattoo,” I say sharply. Kian halts, freezing with his back to me on the threshold to the shower room. “‘The magic you contain.’ So what are these things? Because they’re obviously not tattoos. You all have them. All the same dark swirls in different shapes.”
I cut my gaze to Malix and Frost. Neither of them have moved, though Frost’s tattoos are shifting and adjusting on his arms, waving beneath his sleeves and up his neck.
“And that’s not normal,” I add, pointing at Frost. “Tattoos don’t move. So what is that? What causes that?”
Frost’s icy blue gaze lifts to meet mine, but he doesn’t respond.
In fact, they’re all three so silent that it grates on my nerves.
Kian finally turns back around, his expression hard as granite, but he still doesn’t speak.
“I can only guess that these tattoos, o
r whatever they are, are part of what makes you more than shifters,” I say, turning back to him. Before I can second guess my actions or my thoughts, I press my fingertips to the curling swirls that cross his abs to dip below the waistband of his pants. “These look different than they did three years ago. The pattern has changed. You have more of them than I remember too.”
Kian’s body stiffens beneath my fingers, and from my periphery, I see Malix and Frost rise to their feet. I glance over at them to find them staring daggers at Kian.
That’s when I remember he never told them about that night back in Montana.
The night between us when everything changed.
The night that I just inadvertently revealed.
Chapter 13
“Three years ago?” Malix says, his tone low and angry.
He hovers on the other side of the bed, framed by the fading sunlight streaming through the gauzy curtains. Frost stands behind him a few feet away, still near his chair at the table and also highlighted by the light. They both look eerily beautiful… and deadly. Frost as pale and unearthly as an iceberg in the fading twilight, and Malix as darkly magnificent as a mountain at sunset.
The sight of them, and the tingle of their fury on the air, quickens my breath and makes my heart race. There’s a kind of savageness hanging between us that reminds me of the wilds, of the hunt, the chase, the kill.
My fingers itch to reach for the dagger in my holster, but I wait. As of right now, I don’t think their anger is pointed at me.
I glance at Kian and swallow. I know I’m about to be read the riot act for revealing something I knew was a secret. But he’s not even looking at me; he’s looking at his brothers. A muscle ticks in his jaw, and a thin trail of blood oozes down his shoulder from the gash. He looks angry, but more than that he looks ashamed.
Ashamed of me.
A painful ache spreads through my chest. Kian’s fucking ashamed of having been with me. With his mate.
I didn’t know I could hate him more than I did. But, oh look. I do.
Malix takes a single step forward. He looks pleasantly deadly as he asks, “Care to explain?”
Frost’s usual empty expression has been replaced by something akin to anger. It morphs his delicate features into something monstrous as his smooth, calculating tones filter through the room. “What is she talking about, brother? What happened three years ago?”
More blood trails down Kian’s bicep. His voice almost sounds robotic as he admits, “Amora and I shared a night together.”
Malix’s eyes narrow. They look like violet fire in the sunset-drenched gloom. “And you failed to tell us… why?”
“It never came up,” Kian says gruffly. “It happened before Quinton had us join forces. Back when we were still solo, searching for weaknesses in the barrier between realms.”
I snap my head around to stare at him. “Weaknesses between the realms?”
It scares me how easily I can forget they’re the enemy—until one of them says something like this and reminds me that my only goal in life is to see them bleeding out on the pavement. It terrifies me what they would do if they found those weaknesses.
Kian ignores me, still speaking to his brothers. “It didn’t mean anything. It was just one night. It didn’t seem important to tell you when the three of us joined up later.”
The ache in my chest turns to a knife cutting deep into my heart. It didn’t mean anything. To him, maybe. But at the time, it meant everything to me. Every minute of every day since we shared that night, I’ve had to come to terms with the emptiness, the raw emotions, the sheer fury he left me with.
I growl, ready to tear him into tiny pieces on the bathroom floor.
But apparently, my anger isn’t the only anger in the room.
Malix clenches his hands into fists at his sides and snarls, “So you betrayed us.”
Kian bares his teeth. “I did no such thing. Frost? Back me up here.”
But Frost shakes his head, stepping up to stand beside Malix. “You’ve had dozens of moments to tell us about that night since she showed up in Oscura. You chose not to. I’m not sure what else to call that but betrayal.”
Kian scoffs. “Don’t be dramatic. It happened a long time ago. It’s ancient history.”
That comment just pisses me off even more. I whirl on him. “Is it?”
“Yeah, it is,” he replies dismissively, not even sparing me a glance.
So I punch him in his wound.
Blood spurts beneath my knuckles. Even though the punch itself likely wouldn’t be enough to hurt a man with muscles like Kian, the wound is raw and angry. He grunts and doubles over, one hand clapping over the bloody mark on his skin.
Then all hell breaks loose.
Malix launches over the mattress and plows into Kian’s abdomen with one massive shoulder. The two men fly backward into the bathroom, where the shower curtain collapses beneath them. The tension rod crashes to the ground in the split second after they slump over the edge of the tub, fists flying.
I stare after them in shock, surprised by the sudden violence. While I’m frozen to the spot watching the two men grapple in the tub, wrapped in the shower curtain, Frost races past me. For a moment, I think he’s going to stop the fight.
But he just joins it.
Frost grabs Kian by the hair and hauls him out of the tangle of limbs and shower curtain. Even though he’s leaner than Kian, he’s clearly just as strong, and he knees Kian in the abdomen, knocking him out the bathroom door right toward me.
I stumble backward out of range because I’m not too keen on joining this circus. Frost lunges after Kian, and they hit the nasty-ass carpet and roll. Frost’s head bounces off the ground, and I cringe as Kian’s open wound grinds right into the dirty carpet.
“Gonna get fucking herpes of the arm,” I mutter, bouncing back on my toes as they wrestle around and roll toward my boots. “E.coli of the blood or some shit.”
Malix appears from the bathroom, trailing the shower curtain from one knee. He falls onto Kian’s back, and Frost lets out a pained grunt as Kian’s weight slams down on his chest. Grunts, thuds, kicks, punches, cursing. It’s like watching a fucking schoolyard brawl… if the kids in a schoolyard were built like brick houses.
“Gangrene won’t kill me,” I mutter mockingly as I dance away from their flailing limbs. “But your brothers might. And I’m gonna let them.”
I return to my burrito and shove the last of it in my mouth as something shatters in the sink area. My things are still in my backpack, so thankfully, I know it’s nothing I own. The tortilla’s gone as cold as the half-frozen beef, but I just chase it down with my water.
Behind me, the bed shudders as all three men roll into the frame.
I grew up in a pack. You get used to posturing, especially in the teenage years when all your friends are coming into puberty and gaining more strength as wolves. Pack men fight like little bitches, both in human form and in wolf form. So this doesn’t bother me. I figure, either they’re going to wear each other out and come to an eventual truce, or they’re going to kill each other.
I’m honestly hoping for the latter. Would save me so much trouble.
They’re on their feet now, trading blows and snide comments. I slide up on the tabletop and cross my legs to finish my drink, ready to wait out the testosterone.
I’ve got my head tilted back as I finish off my water, when the first man shifts.
I’ve seen their wolves. I hunted with them just last night and ate my meal sitting in a circle with them.
This…
This isn’t that.
Kian’s body elongates and distorts, growing much more mass than even seems possible. He looms taller than a horse, vaguely wolf-like but… different.
Black smoke dances over his fur, and his eyes glow like golden lanterns. It’s as if he’s an artist’s abstract rendition of a wolf formed of magic and shadows, with only the barest hints of his wolf showing through. The smoke that curls around
him, seeming to be formed of his skin and fur, resembles the tattoos he possesses in his human forms.
A split second after Kian shifts, Frost and Malix do too.
My heart lurches as I see them all three standing there like wolf demons sent straight from hell. The already too-small motel room feels even tinier with three massive, snarling monsters about to attack each other.
This is the other side of them, I realize. This is what makes them separate from normal wolf shifters.
And now I’m worried.
I’m not dying today because some asshole didn’t tell his asshole buddies that he screwed me.
I drop my water bottle on the table, hardly paying it any mind when it clatters off the edge and rolls across the floor. Then I slither off the worn, scratched tabletop and lunge between the three beasts.
Throwing up my arms to both sides, I shout, “Stop! Calm the hell down!”
All three shadow wolves freeze. Well, their bodies do—the smoky shadows clinging to their fur do not. It continues to swirl and ebb like oceans of witch magic flowing over their tall, nightmarish forms. Limbs too long, too crooked, bodies bony, teeth like knives… god, they’re hell monsters.
“We’re two days from the antidote,” I snap, my gaze darting between the three of them. Their eyes glow behind the smoke, and in this form, their irises are all the same color—an icy, vibrant blue. “Pull yourselves together, you idiots.”
The room goes completely silent for a moment, and it occurs to me that I might’ve just made things worse. I’ve put myself in the middle of a fight between three brutal supernatural beings whose power I don’t even quite understand.
But then some of the tension bleeds from the air, and I let out a slow breath.
Kian shifts back to human form first, a scowl painted across his face. “We aren’t idiots.”
I very carefully ignore his nakedness and motion around the room. “Are you not?”
He notes the beds—both of them shifted from their normal positions—the television on its side, the lamp broken, and random crap scattered across the floor.
