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“Are we sure it’s not the Huntresses?” I ask my sisters, always looking for a reason to hate on our worst rivals. “They carry those bow and arrows as though their goddess outranks all of our immortal makers.”
“They don’t seem the type to tear people apart,” Dottie points out, ever the voice of reason. “Outside of derby bouts, they don’t start fights. Wouldn’t this killer have a hard time hiding that kind of violence?”
I glance at Kiva. She hates the Huntresses as much as I do.
“Dottie’s right,” she says. “They’re busier proving they’re better than anyone else, but I asked, and Devlyn swore they wouldn’t waste good silver for arrowheads. Or points, she called them. They’re pretentious bitches, but they don’t lie.”
“Who’s Devlyn?” Nolan asks.
“The Huntress’s coach. Their leader.” Heavy hurt weighs me down, and I feel like I’ve aged ten years in the last ten minutes. I can’t do this right now. I banish my weapon to call since there’s nothing tangible for me to beat down to release the tension. Not yet anyway. If the cocky asshole marshal’s right, the fight that I’ve been denied for years might be coming.
The powers that flow through my veins call for vengeance to soothe the ten tons of guilt and sorrow I carry in my heart—the memory of my older sister calling Lowell’s name. Yelling for her mate, her fiancé right before her screams stopped. Or my baby sister crying for me, for Mom, for anyone. I would give anything to banish the shame I carry at my failure to save them. Even work with the wolf who holds my grimoire hostage the same as he used to taunt me by holding my precious potted seedlings over his head, out of my reach just because he knew how important those were to me.
I can’t trust anyone but my sisters—least of all him. But I need my last connection to my family back even if he’s spouting nothing but lies otherwise. “You swear that you’ll return the grimoire to me in exchange for my help, regardless of whether or not Lowell’s name is cleared? In front of these witnesses? Think before you make an empty promise. We don’t take broken vows lightly in this town.”
Nolan’s gaze holds mine with an intensity that I’m glad he hasn’t pinned me with before because it’s full of hot promises of violent retribution and sexy celebration times after a victory. “I swear it.”
I’m not surprised when he rubs at goosebumps on his arms because the same shivers dance up mine. His words carried weight as though our immortal mothers witnessed the binding vow.
Glancing at Kiva and Dottie, I find the sisters who’ll support me no matter what. “Then meet us tonight at the Hack and Ale. We can discuss plans.”
It’s a date I don’t want, but I won’t miss it.
5
NOLAN
So much for gaining Sadie’s cooperation being the easiest part of this trip. How did a fated-mates connection carry through her human death and into this mortal life as a deity daughter? I thought coming here to face her and bail would be the challenge, but the real problem will be staying away from her.
When the mating call started, she was fifteen to my twenty-three. It’d been a no-brainer to keep my distance from the jail bait who could’ve ruined my career as a rookie. Plus, Lowell wouldn’t have forgiven my making a play for his fiancé’s underaged sister—mate or not.
But then, the calling had been weaker, quieter. Now, it screams at me with every curve of her lips, tilt of her head, or hit of loneliness and longing in her gaze. She’s looking for something, and part of me wishes that I could be that something. My wolf wants to hunt our mate until she claims us. My human side knows better. Tangling with Sadie would be a career killer if not a death wish.
The famous tourist destination they call Syn City’s Pleasure District seems deserted, but when I push into the building with Hack and Ale spelled out on the unlit neon sign, the place’s packed with people crammed into the booths to the left and on stools at the bar ahead. The rattle of glasses and loud laughter are deafening. It smells like beer, burgers, and bad intentions.
Behind the bar, a Black woman built like a linebacker pours drinks. Her braids spill out of a gold bandana that matches her shirt with a snake-haired woman’s face printed on the front. The snakes make me shiver, but this woman walked by me earlier while I waited for Bunny outside The Rink, and bartenders know all the gossip. I head her way, not stopping when she scowls at me.
Propping against the bar, I plaster on a friendly smile. “Hi, I’m—”
“The world doesn’t revolve around you, marshal. Take your cowboy self somewhere else.” She walks away, leaving me with no info, no drink, and no choice but to wait for the Furies. Except every other woman wearing yellow or gold gives me the same cold stare.
I’m used to being shunned as law enforcement, but Syn City has its own rules, and it doesn’t take a wise old owl shifter to figure out that I’m not wanted here. Not surprising seeing as how Sadie picked this bar for our meeting.
A cheering crowd fills the narrow doorway to my right. I wander that direction, dodging as many yellow shirts as possible. On the other side of the opening, a wood-paneled room has lanes that end in enormous, scarred bullseye targets along the far side. Sawdust lines the floor. Women with neon-colored hair wearing various shades of blue jump in place as though they’re holding pom poms rather than short spears. Their hot pink and electric blue pigtails bop in time to their chant of hack, hack, hack!
They cheer encouragements to someone in their midst even as they back away—as though they don’t want to risk messing up their pigtails. I don’t need to see her to know Sadie’s in there. The mating bond shouts that she’s in the middle of that crowd.
I peer over the bouncing spears. Sadie meets my gaze and shoots me a wicked smirk of violent promises. She’s gone from a cowardly cutie hiding in her garden to her own kickass brand of chaos, and I can’t look away.
I’m gonna need a drink.
With a steady hand, she hurls an axe that hits the center of the bullseye with a loud whomp.
Make that a double.
Hack and Ale indeed. Who’d have thought the hack would be literal?
While she was practically Lowell’s little sister, it was easier to tell myself to taunt her like a brat and ignore any pesky attraction. But now? The only thing standing in the way of a mating bond is the secret I’ve hidden my whole life. Plus the fact that she can’t stand me.
