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Donovan’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced at the door. “I’ll go to the hall. You shouldn’t be skulking about. People might take it as an invitation.”
My nose wrinkled in disgust, but Donovan had already turned away.
I felt like I needed a shower just from thirty seconds of conversation.
The Tuatha Dé Danann was shining down on me because Mitchell didn’t leave the office until Donovan was long gone. Mitchell held a glass figurine; the tiny statue glowed with silver magic.
“Let’s go.” Mitchell tucked the figurine in his pocket.
I raised a brow.
Mitchell nudged me. “Before he wakes up.” He said meaningfully.
“You’re going to get us killed.”
“I wasn’t the one who punched him.” Mitchell’s scarred lip ticked. He patted his jacket, and his jovial mood disintegrated. “You don’t understand, Mallory. I found it. The bargain between the Beast-King and the Huntsman. I found the damned thing.”
“What? Where?” I covered my mouth with my hands, eying the stairs behind Mitchell’s shoulder in case Donovan returned. “We can end this damn curse?”
Mitchell nodded, and a tear fell from his non-scarred eye. He touched my cheeks and leaned in, pressing his lips against mine so quickly that I was almost sure I had imagined it as he began to walk away.
Chapter Eighteen
We gathered in the common room, affecting a strange casualness that screamed we were up to no good.
Dean moved from one foot to the other as if preparing for a boxing match, only taking a break to shake his head in disbelief.
Kaleb had chosen to sit on the floor in front of the coffee table with his legs crossed and his chin resting against the squat table, his eyes closed as if asleep.
Wyatt reclined on the sofa, his arm slung over the back like some kind of Roman hedonist preparing to be served wine and grapes.
And Mitchell? The man who’d robbed the Huntsman after I’d punched the ancient Fae in the kisser?
He was preening like a peacock, patting his pocket every other second as if he couldn’t believe his luck.
The common room was quiet but not empty, and we all sat on the couches in the corner, waiting for someone to speak.
The sun had set. The evening came to an end.
I kept waiting for the Huntsman to burst into the room, demanding my head. Every inch of my body prickled with fear with every second that passed.
No one said a word until the final group of wolves drifted from the room to find some dinner.
The floodgates opened.
“Well, let’s see it then!” Wyatt sat forward, his eyes alight with curiosity.
“Don’t be an idiot.” Dean snapped. “The Huntsman can and will kill us when he finds out.”
“He won’t find out.” Mitchell rolled his eyes, but he bit his scarred lip. “I took several things. Arranged some others. Unless he checks on the Beast-King’s curse on the regular, how would he know?”
Dean gave him a long look. “Show me.”
Mitchell placed the lone glass figurine in the center of the coffee table.
Dean studied the glass wolf with a frown. His lips turned down. “That’s it?”
“Mallacht Sídhe require a record of their curses, bargains, and boons. It doesn’t have to be paper.” I explained, glancing at Mitchell.
