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“Huh.” Kaleb chuffed. “If you say so. I thought we were closer than that. After all, your grandmother—”
I leaned forward, slapping my hands over his mouth to stop whatever words threatened to emerge from his lips. Kaleb’s eyes crinkled at the corner.
We were so close. I felt the heat of his skin through the fabric of his shirt. My stomach fluttered.
I wrenched my hands back, my cheeks flaming red. I placed my hands back on the steering wheel, mindful that we had been sitting in the buggy without moving. I pulled away, driving through the tunnel.
Kaleb licked his bottom lip. “That horse belongs to the Dullahan. More often known as the Headless Horseman. The Huntsman rarely leaves the Aos Sí, but he is hunting for a Weaver. If the Dullahan knows what you are, he is courting you for the Huntsman.”
“Courting?” I spluttered, stepping back. “By putting dead things on my car?”
“He is attempting to unnerve you. To make you feel that your safety is threatened, so you will take any protection the Huntsman offers.” Kaleb rubbed his hand over his mouth. “I’ve seen it happen time and time again.”
“The Huntsman isyourproblem, not mine,” I argued.
“I’d say he is both our problem,” Kaleb told me. “The Dullahan might not have a head, but he is an incredible tracker. He specializes in bloodlines; if he leaves gifts on your doorstep, he knows who and what you are.”
“I’m not a very good Weaver.” My brows furrowed. “I’m not being modest when I say this. My grandmother has tested my abilities in every possible way; my magic is too unpredictable.”
“The best scenario is that the Dullahan has been sent to clear the stage for any potential suitors if the Huntsman wishes to court you,” Kaleb told me. “It would explain the gifts.”
“The glamoured gifts.” I cut in.
“Perhaps they were a challenge?” Kaleb suggested. “A Weaver should be able to see through glamour.”
“I couldn’t see through the glamour,” I told him.
“I suppose not.” He shrugged one shoulder. “But the Huntsman needs a Weaver for whatever purpose. His first wife, Éabha, was a Weaver, as you know.”
“He has a type.” My tone was dry. I pulled the buggy to a stop at the end of the tunnel, pushing my fingers through my hair and sighing.
“It's the eve before Samhain,” Kaleb announced. “The Locket pack will be called to the Huntsman’s side tomorrow. Only a select few will remain, but Dean, Mitchell, Wyatt, and I will be gone.”
“Will the barracks be safe?”
Kaleb ignored my question. “You should tell Dean who you are.”
“What if I call in the bargains? For all those pleases and thank yous you’ve been throwing around?” I joked, but I was half serious. “I could make you hold your tongue.”
The back of my neck prickled.
We weren’t alone.
Kaleb’s eyes flicked to the darkness at the end of the tunnel, where the lights hid the door.
A shadow stepped away from the wall, revealing Dean Hart. I hadn’t even heard him move.
“I suppose you could bargain for Kaleb to hold his tongue.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “But I’d much rather know why you lied to me?”
There was no way to escape.
The long tunnel behind me and the Alpha wolf in front.
For a brief moment, I considered running, but I knew Dean would catch me.
I was sunk.
There was only so much I could twist the truth before my tongue seized up and my faeness would catch the lie.
