Page 22 of Sight of Fate

I hesitate, looking from one to the other. Neither of them seemed to freak out when I had a vision. Still, I waver between the urge to lie or trust them with the truth. A lifetime of silence is hard to break. Add in the context of this one, and I’m not sure I’d believe me. If Raine hadn’t said it first, a lie would be spilling from my lips right now. Instead, I take a deep breath and choose the truth.

I laugh, but I don’t find it the least bit funny. “She told me about supernaturals and how Greystone is a special city built for them.” I pause. “A Vale.”

“Do you believe her?” Teague asks, his tone low, as if he’s afraid to hear my answer.

“Terrifying as it was to see, my visions are always accurate, and Leif’s vision showed me him as a wolf…and a man,” I haltingly explain, still uncomfortable with the idea that all these different types of special people exist without humans knowing about them. Us. If I accept her explanation about witches and seers, it means I’m also a supernatural. “Raine told me he was a wolf shifter.”

Instead of looking relieved, their tension increases. “He is. We assume you’ve never met one, correct?” When I shake my head, he continues. “What do you think?”

“It’s a lot to wrap my head around,” I murmur.

His finger lightly grazes mine. “I’m sorry you had to find out supernaturals were real from a vision. We didn’t know how to tell you, and we didn’t want to scare you into leaving.”

“Kind of like me and my visions,” I reply softly, understanding what it’s like to be different. He tilts his head, and I elaborate. “It’s hard to explain something that exists outside the norm. Is Leif okay?”

Teague snorts. “Don’t worry about Leif. He’s a fucking asshole. When you rejected his son, he took advantage of an old law to stir up trouble. Macklin’s already had a word with him.”

“His son? Alex?” I ask. “He came over because I didn’t shake Alex’s hand?”

Teague’s face settles into a hard expression. “You don’t have to shake anyone’s hand. Do you hear me? I don’t give a fuck who asks. It’s your choice. Not some deranged alpha asshole.”

I flick a glance at Macklin, but he’s staring at the floor. “Are you mad at me?”

Teague snorts. “He’s pissed at Leif.”

“Then why won’t he look at me?” I persist, ignoring the sharp tug in my chest. I need to know if this changes things. “Do you want me to leave?”

Macklin’s head jerks up. “You’re not going anywhere.”

I gasp at the glow coming from his deep blue eyes. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

His gaze drops back to the floor. “It happens when I’m angry. They’ll fade in a bit.”

All kinds of supernaturals. My stomach cramps, and I press a hand to it.

“Are you a shifter too?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I glance from Macklin to Teague. When they don’t answer, my hands begin to shake. Not wanting them to see my response, I bury them in the sheets. I’m absolutely terrified of what they’re going to say.

Teague swallows. “You’ve had a lot of shocks for one night. Why don’t we leave the rest for another time?”

“Raine says I’m a seer. A witch,” I reveal, closely watching his reaction. Nothing. Not a flicker. “Did you know?”

“You smell like a witch,” Macklin admits in a gruff voice. “Your blood.”

Understanding dawns. “Is that why everyone keeps sniffing me?”

He nods. “It’s how some supernaturals identify others. A wolf shifter like Leif smells different from a dragon shifter. Elementals smell like magic. Ga⁠—”

“Dragons?! There are dragons living here?” My tone rises, and for some stupid reason, I laugh again, but this time, there’s definitely a hysterical edge to it.

“I…” Wait a minute. “Are you dragon shifters?” Macklin’s big. So is Teague. It’s definitely possible. I try to keep the fear from my voice, but based on the filthy word Teague flings at Macklin, I’m not successful.

Teague glides his thumb over my inner wrist, causing my pulse to spike, but not from fear. “We’re not dragons. What we are doesn’t matter, not right now. It’s been a long night. Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll take the couch, and I promise we’ll talk some more in the morning.”

“Tell me. Please. My imagination is running wild,” I murmur, knowing I won’t sleep a wink tonight. One, because I’ll be obsessing over everything, and two, because the need to sketch Leif’s vision is increasing with every minute that passes.

“Tell her,” Macklin says, his voice gruff. “She deserves to know.”

Teague tightens his grip on my hand, and a hint of uncertainty flashes across his usually confident face. “Macklin and I are gargoyles.”