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And then Claude uses his elbow to nudge the other witch.
“I told you, Gabriel, didn’t I? I told you she’d come back. And without any of the mutts to protect her, either. Let’s send a message with this bitch. You can kill her right now.”
Kill her?
He can’t be talking about me, can he?
I look over my shoulder, making a display of checking to see if someone else was there. Turning back, I jab my thumb toward my chest.
Claude doesn’t seem to find any humor in my surprise. Instead, he glowers. “Yes, you.”
The younger witch—who I’m beginning to sense might just be the more dangerous of the two—simply works on building his spell up.
Yeah, no. I can’t let him do that. A zap to the back I can take. A full-on offensive spell from a witch with murder on his mind? I’d rather avoid that if I can.
As if he honestly needs anymore egging on, Claude tears his nasty gaze away from me, nodding at Gabriel. “You know the plan. The new Madame and her lapdog are too far to stop us. Besides, she’ll understand the importance of blood. Madame sacrificed herself for the coven. Remy died trying to convince her to join us. And this mutt will pay for killing him. Unless you’re afraid this will stop the new Madame from taking over the coven and leading us…”
“This isn’t coven business,” snaps Gabriel. “You know that, Claude. This is Gauthier business. Either help me like you said or go, but I’ve waited weeks to avenge my brother.”
Brother?
Ah, shit.
Suddenly, this makes a whole lot more sense to me. Witch covens are like shifter packs. They’re insular units, where the good of many outweighs the wants and needs of a few. There’s a powerful leader at the top that is in charge of all the others, but inside of the coven, there are formidable bonds like those between mates.
Packs have the same thing going on. Shifters are loyal to the Alpha, but we have our own ties that exist separate from a pack hierarchy. Mates almost always come first. Pups, too. And in tight-knit families, so do the families you’re born into. Like my twin sister—or this witch’s brother.
Crap. My first thought was that this was an ambush; not just for me, either, but for Fallon and Lucas. Even as I was trying in my way to de-escalate, I was concerned for Fallon. Lucas can take care of himself, but if this was a trap? If the witches invited the Alpha couple to a meet only to attack while they were off of pack territory, what was happening to Fallon now?
It makes sense. The Luna insisted that her agreement with Hecate to bring Fallon back in order to unite the wolves and witches in Winter Creek meant that we could believe in the shaky truce between our kinds. But she went silent on us so who knows? Maybe things changed and, as usual, Jeannie Lipton is the last to know.
But this isn’t about Fallon, is it? This is revenge on me for doing my duty and eliminating Remy Gauthier.
Honestly? I prefer it. If I had to worry about Fallon the same time as these two were threatening my life, that would just make this a tiny bit more difficult for me.
Only a tiny bit, though. I’m not too concerned. So long as I can take out the threat before he lobs his spell at me, I should be fine?—
—and that’s when my spine starts to itch.
What the fuck? My danger radar doesn’t ping for me. That only happens when someone I actually give a shit about is in danger.
I grit my teeth, thinking it must be Fallon when the witches’ shit stink is overpowered by one designed just for me.
Sea spray and sage.
Tristan.
No.
CHAPTER 8
DON’T GO CHASING WATERFALLS (USE THE CAVE INSTEAD)
My spine is itching, but I don’t get the warning of shards of glass poking into my skin before the Beta has launched himself out of the trees.
He’s shifted. In his fur, Tristan is a gorgeous golden wolf with beautiful blue eyes. His tail is whipping ferociously, his ears pointing sky-high as he lands with four paws down in the dirt, body positioned between me and the two witches.
Holy shit. Is he protecting me?
