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Zana flinches at my tone.
Not all of us can be as sweet as Fintan. He gets away with it because he does not have an entire horde to take care of and a reputation to uphold.
“I will come when called, and heal your people when I can, but I will not discuss the business of Sun Witches.” Despite the firmness in her words, her downcast gaze and her scent tell me she is afraid.
She should be.
I am much less patient than my brother… especially when my territory has been breached and my brother is lying in the next room recovering from venom poisoning.
“The wolves attacked within the Quarter. I need you to tell me what you know. Who is the witch? Why didn’t anyone recognize her?”
Zana meets my gaze and frowns. “That’s Sun Witch business.” It seems she has deemed our conversation over because she brushes past me and heads toward the hall.
Witches have no manners, I swear.
In a flash, I have the witch pinned against the wall next to Rune’s door. One of my hands is clenched around her throat, the other squeezes her wrist, forcing her to drop the ceremonial dagger she attempted to draw on me.
“Advancing against me would be a mistake, old girl. And for all the times you’ve helped us, I will forgive the lapse. But let me make things clear—the Sun Witches are my business. You and your kind made them my business when you stuck your noses where they didn’t belong and created this mess.”
She stares at me, remaining insolently mute and testing my already thin patience. “Answer me, Zana. Who is the witch?”
If there is a new Sun Witch in town, there’s no way she doesn’t know about her.
Fine. We’ll do this the hard way. Zana’s pupils dilate, her eyes going blank as she meets my gaze, and my compulsion takes over her will.
When her body goes slack under my hold, I try again. “Who is the witch that the Algiers pack came for tonight, Zana?”
“Josephine Dumont.”
The name sends red-hot rage slicing through me. “You’re mistaken.”
Zana sputters against my hold, and I realize her throat is flexing beneath my fingers, fighting for air. Unintentionally, I tightened my hold, and I back off and let her breathe.
“The Dumont witches are no longer. Your intel is wrong.”
Zana gazes off in the distance, still caught in my thrall. “There are whispers among the coven,” she says, her voice flat and monotone. “Josephine is the last of her line. She returned to bring her grandmother for her last rites. The High Priestess was seen at the cemetery this afternoon.”
The daughter of the bitch that jilted me and then got herself killed? Could she really be alive… and here in town, no? The last rites for her grandmother…
Claudette fucking Dumont—she’s behind all of this.
While I suffered for decades with one half of a unity bond, I came up with hundreds of torturous ideas of what I’d do to Celine if she wasn’t already dead.
Her daughter will be the perfect stand in for my retribution.
“Bas?” Finn calls my name. “Sebastian!”
I shake off my momentary interlude and drop my hold on the witch. She slides down the wall and sinks to the floor. I leave her there coughing for air and hopefully rethinking how unwise it is to hide things from me.
“It appears the wolves have once again stolen what’s mine. Time to get it back.”
Oh yeah. This is going to be fun.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JOSIE
My brain is slow to come back online, but the body aches of waking on a cold stone floor remind me quickly of what happened and my current situation—I’m a prisoner of the werewolves. I sit up in a rush and regret it immediately.
