Page 58 of Lycans & Lattes

Willow gasped, and a sixth sense alerted me to a sudden shift in her emotions.

“What—” I closed the distance between us before the word even fully made it out of my mouth.

My gut plummeted to the floor.

There, on the counter next to her, were three Polaroids of the two of us in the forest, the moonlight bright enough to reveal far too much.

“Holy shit.” Willow grabbed the pictures and flipped them over. “Holy shit!”

In black writing that looked as if it were carved by angry, shaking hands were the words: If she’s your queen, then she’ll die like a bitch.

A frantic sob escaped Willow’s lips. “Oh my god.”

“Hey. Hey.” I immediately gathered her in my arms, pulling her head to my chest. “Breathe,” I commanded even as my own pulse ratcheted up.

“If they have those photos, then they must have digital ones too, right? Like, everyone has a phone camera. Oh my god. Everyone’s going to see⁠—”

“No one will see these,” I growled. “There’s still a scent. I think . . .” I lifted the Polaroid and took a deep inhale. “I think I can trace it.”

I grabbed my phone and quickly dialed Eloise.

“Hey, bro⁠—”

“I need you to get to the bakery. Now. Bring the witches.”

I heard her grabbing her keys before I even finished speaking. “Hang tight,” she said. “We’re on the way.”

I darted to grab my hoodie from the back of the stool at the register. Willow trembled too much to take it from me, so I yanked it over her head and pulled it all the way down to her knees. Her body drowned in it.

“Listen to me. This is a good thing. They’ve gotten sloppy, and I’ll be able to hunt them down now. It’s going to be okay.” I pulled her forehead to mine. “This ends tonight, Willow. I promise you.”

The door flew open and the Scooby gang ran in. Jordyn’s hands swirled with magic, Eloise held a butcher knife, and Harlow brandished a rolling pin.

“We’re here,” Eloise declared. “The butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker.”

Harlow shot her a look. “Wait, which one am I?”

“Not now,” I gritted out. “You fill them in,” I added to Willow, kissing her one last time.

I took a step away from her, but she caught my wrist. “Be safe,” she whispered.

I nodded and rushed into the night, holding a crumpled Polaroid to my chest like a beacon. The bastard wouldn’t get away this time.

28

Wyatt

Itore through the center of town, following the trail.

Where are you?

The air was filled with the tang of copper mixed with pine, freshly dug soil, and grass so strong it seemed magically infused.

They’re masking their personal scent.

Male, smoky, and sour.

Whoever this was clearly had knowledge of the arcane, but there was a familiar undertone that they hadn’t quite hidden this time.