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“I’m jealous, Doll.” Mitchell glanced over his shoulder, flashing me a wink with his good eye. “Though you’re going to have to tell me why you smell like a wolf in heat instead of a Sídhe.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s not going to fly.” Mitchell waved a spatula toward me. “I need to know these things.”
“What are you jealous of?” I muttered. “Dean? Me? Someone having perfectly normal consensual sex as two adults?”
“I’ll tell Dean you said he was‘perfectly normal’in bed.” Mitchell hooted, cracking another egg.
My cheeks warmed.
My night with Dean had been so much more than perfectly normal. If I hadn’t been worried about my own hide, I would have stayed, cuddling up to him all night.
Being in the barracks was dangerous to my plans and sanity.
Mitchell busied himself, making food and dishing up a plate for both of us. Two breakfast bagels, though the clock over the door showed it was still the early morning hours.
We ate in silence. I inhaled my bagel without a word, sitting back and placing my hand on my stomach. Too full to move.
“I’m separated,” I said, seemingly out of the blue. “Joel tried to kill me.”
Mitchell pointed his fork in my direction. “Who are you trying to convince? Me or you?”
My cheeks warmed. “I don’t know what happened.”
“If you were a wolf, I’d say you were going into heat.” He shoveled a mouthful of food into his face, chewing thoughtfully. “You certainly smell like you’re in heat.”
My jaw tightened. “I’m not in heat.”
“Because you’re not a wolf.” Mitchell arched his brow.
I scoffed. “Right.”
“Do you know about wolf mating habits?” Mitchell cocked his head to the side. “Just out of interest.”
I rolled my eyes. “Wyatt mentioned something called Shíorghra. I’ve heard the term before. Sídhe have it, too.”
Mitchell nodded in understanding. “Wolves can only have children with their fated mates. Their Shíorghra. The Huntsman’s curse has stripped us of what we once were. We can no longer heal quickly. We cannot access much of our wild magic, and shifting is painful when it was as easy as breathing in the past—so I’m told.”
I tilted my head, showing that I was listening.
“The Huntsman has taken so much from us.” Mitchell continued. “And tomorrow night, when Samhain comes, you can’t be here.”
“Why not?” I bristled, my fist clenching.
Mitchell gave me a look. “You’re wearing a bite mark on your shoulder. From an Alpha. One of the Huntsman’s wolves. Dean will want to protect you.”
“What does a bite mark mean?” I narrowed my eyes. “Am I missing something?”
Mitchell looked down his nose at me, shaking his head as if banishing a thought. “He’s marked you as one of the Locket pack. That’s all.”
My brow furrowed, but I accepted his answer. “My grandmother said there was always a loophole with Mallacht Sídhe,” I said after a moment. “They have to write their curses, and it doesn’t matter what language they use. A curse has to have a way out. Most magic has a downside. For example, if I cursed you to only eat mashed potatoes for the rest of your life, I would have to include a way to break the curse. Grandmother said the key was in the wording. Flowery language.”
“No one knows the exact wording of the curse.” Mitchell rubbed his chin. “It was said that his marriage contract with Éabha was unbreakable. Weavers can alter reality, so she must have found a way.”
“She likely had to sacrifice something to do it.” I frowned, thinking of my grandmother’s teachings.
“The original hounds.” Mitchell nodded sadly. “On Samhain, the Huntsman calls, and we answer. None of the wolves you know would recognize you if they saw you. If the Huntsman pointed his finger and called for your death, even Dean wouldn’t be able to stop himself. He wouldn’t even remember.”
