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Considering I’ve been living in a twisted fairy tale for months now, he should.
CHAPTER 13
REMY
There are so many reasons why this plan of mine won’t work.
Eleanor could use her bond to let Kirk know she was worried. Emotions travel between mates unless you work to keep them to yourselves, so she likely did already.
The wolves are out looking for Jade. That could take an hour. It could take until dinner. There’s no way of knowing exactly when they’ll return. And if they find her sulking somewhere and convince her to come back to the pack house? They could be heading home already.
Lucas could check our bond and sense that I’m on the move. Alpha or not, I’m pretty sure that he’ll pass the search for Jade over to Tristan so that he could come after me.
And what if they don’t stop me in time? Then I’m going to have to confront Marie and figure out a way to rescue Jeannie…
One step at a time, I tell myself. And since that step is a nervous jog through the woods, I decide to focus on getting off of pack territory first. Once I have, I’ll turn my attention to making it onto the witch’s proclaimed territory before anything else.
It isn’t long on my trek that I realize I have no freaking idea where I’m going. By the time I’m lost in the woods, I admit that this was a mistake, but I’m determined enough to keep going. There’s only one way out of Winter Creek. So long as I avoid the river itself, I’ll either run into a witch, a wolf, or a non-supe who might think I’m weird for wearing the red cloak, but give me the directions I need.
When I get back to the pack house, I’m totally working on my tracking skills. The only way I know I haven’t left pack land yet is because there’s a slight hum running through me that tells me I’m home. Even before I knew I was a shifter, I could sense it once Tristan pointed it out to me.
It’s like the blood ward that was on the bridge. I didn’t see it, but I could sense it. The boundaries between what the pack claims, the witches do, and neutral territory are just like that.
But while I’m searching for that, it’s the little things that are throwing me. As I walk, the sound of my sandals snapping a twig echoes in my sensitive ears. I can hear a bird chirping for twenty feet away, but it’s so close, I stop and swivel and search for it. Every whisper of the wind is someone running behind me, though when I turn and look, no one’s there.
And my nose…
God, my poor nose.
Lucas said witches stink like shit. I’m sorry, my mate, but that’s what the outdoors smell like, too. It’s earthy and muddy, and straight-up poop most of the time.
I’m not used to these new senses. Sometimes, I doubt I ever will. When I’m in the house, it’s not so bad. After almost a century, Lucas’s scent overlays everything inside his family home. Any time I struggle with the overwhelming power of my new sniffer, I breathe in deep something of his until it’s all I know.
Outside, though? That’s so much harder.
Lucas promises it’ll get easier. On my bad days, I scowl and ask, “How the hell do you know?” He’s always been aware that he was a supe. I grew up as a human. Jolie might’ve been half-shifter, half-witch, but she couldn’t shift or do magic. She was kind of a dud.
That’s why I kind of bury my shifter senses when they get too overwhelming. Twenty-five years as a human is a bit of a hard habit to break, I guess, and when all the noise and the scents and the second-guessing slam into me almost immediately after I headed into the woods, I close them off as best I can while moving forward.
Later, I’ll tell Lucas that I knew exactly where I was going. He’ll hold me close, nuzzle his nose against my throat, and make a noncommittal noise that tells me he knows I’m full of shit, but he’ll let me pretend. Because, human or shifter, my sense of direction has always been shit and it’s a freaking miracle that I manage to find the thin line that split the woods in half between wolves and witches.
I probably spent more time wandering around than I should have. Instead of hesitating on our side of the line, I take a deep breath and push forward.
When a shadow materializes between two trees ahead of me, I swallow my grunt of annoyance. I’d kind of thought that was going to happen since it seemed like me crossing into witch territory last time triggered a spell that brought Marie out of the coven house, but I’d hoped I’d have a little more time to plot my next move.
And then the shadow fades, leaving Remy Gauthier standing there.
Just like I swallowed my grunt, I force back my gasp.
Like, this is Remy. From the golden hoops in his ears to the low ponytail he’s pulled his inky black hair into, I recognize him instantly. But there’s something changed about him, and when my gaze lands on his ruined throat, I know exactly what it is.
I haven’t seen Remy since his fight with Tristan. As far as I know, no one has. That makes sense now that I see him.
He probably needed all that time to recover.
It’s his throat. Four slash marks cover the side of it, curving around the front. They’re not open wounds anymore, but somehow the raised red scars standing out against his tanned skin is worse.
He grins. That old shark-like, predatory grin that I’ve always associated with the male witch.
