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I groan and push away from the desk. I’ve been at this for too long and there’s still so much left unanswered. It’s beyond frustrating. The only thing I know for sure is that this witch is bound to be bad for me.
If Josephine is mine or Rune’s, Sebastian will lose his mind. If she’s meant for Bas, after all he’s been through, he’ll take pleasure in torturing her for the next twenty-five years to soothe his burn for revenge.
Nothing good will come of this.
“Find anything?” Rune asks.
I close the browser window and shut down the computer. “Nothing that’s of any use to us.”
If he can tell anything is off, he doesn’t say.
“Let’s head to the club and find ourselves a hot little something to feed on. We’ll fuel up, then figure out what we can about the Algiers pack and whatever they’re up to.”
CHAPTER NINE
JOSIE
The deep eggplant purple, two-story house that my family used to call home stands prominently pushed up against the sidewalk, barely enough room for the snaking branches of the magnolia tree in the front yard. The place is old, and a little run down, but it seems Callius has done a good job of looking after the house all these years.
Despite my first impression of the warlock, I’m thankful he’s kept this piece of my family’s history alive.
Taking it all in now unlocks memories I’d long forgotten: the chalk drawings I scribbled on the stone pathway while Grand-Mère watched from the porch, collecting the pink magnolia blooms so Mom could make tea, Dad pushing me on the little swing that hangs from the old oak out back…
My moment of reminiscing is ruined when the door opens and I’m shoved out of the SUV. Danica grabs my arm and leads me along the short walkway and up the few cracked stone steps to the front porch.
Her nails jab into me the entire time, piercing the tender spot where Ginny’s clunky, ugly ring hit my forearm when I tried to guard against her wailing on me.
“Well?” Egan says expectantly as he joins us, two more wolves flanking him. “Aren’t you going to invite us inside, Miss Dumont?”
“Isn’t the myth about needing an invitation to enter a vampire thing?”
Danica growls, an animalistic sound reverberating low in her throat. Apparently, werewolves can’t take a joke.
“Open it,” Egan orders, his scowl harsh.
Excuse me for trying to keep things light.
I reach for the brass knob slowly, watching the golden lion knocker above it as if it might come to life and bite my fingers if I move too quickly and startle him.
I expect something to happen when I touch the doorknob: a zap of energy as the house recognizes me, a feeling of nostalgia, a surge of magic that will protect me from my captors… something.
But nothing happens.
When I twist the knob, it doesn’t budge. “It’s locked.”
“Then unlock it,” Egan says, clearly getting impatient.
“I don’t have a key.”
“Walter.” The Alpha nods and steps back from the door, jerking me to the side with him, and adding to the canvas of bruises I’ve become.
The man who dragged me from my cell earlier stomps up the front steps. He takes hold of the doorknob, twists, and throws his shoulder into the wood. The grain of the wood splinters and the frame cracks, giving way.
Walter stumbles a step through the broken door with the momentum of his thrust.
“There,” Egan says. “It’s unlocked now.”
I stare at the pieces of door lying against the inside wall of the foyer, destroyed. “You could have at least let me check under the mat for a spare key.”
