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“You haven’t completed your task?” Her head tilted to the side. “So you’re a bit behind everyone else then.”

Awesome. I didn’t let the stress that shot through me show on my face, at least I hoped I didn’t. “Mine’s a bit of a mess, honestly. I’ve…”

“You know we can’t talk about that stuff with each other,” she said, her gaze moving to something over my shoulder. “My father’s waving at me to join him.” She sighed. “We’ll catch up later?”

I smiled, trying not to let my inner freak-out show on my face at what she’d just said, and hugged her back. “I’d like that.”

“And don’t worry, whatever it is, you’ve got this,” she said and strode away.

I finished my champagne. Screw it. And grabbed another. This was going to be a four drinks kind of night, maybe five. I glanced around the room, feeling like a spare prick at a wedding. Else was right, there weren’t just witches here, there were shifters of many and varying breeds, and a couple of vamps…and a dhampir.

Ronan stood on the other side of the room. Ronan was my friend Luna’s brother, and Luna was mated to Gunner, one of the knights. The dhampir was talking to several other males. Someone stepped back—

Glowing golden eyes hit me from across the room.

Warrick.

He took a step forward and my heart smacked against my ribs.

God, he looked gorgeous. His hair was knotted at his nape, and he was dressed in a black-on-black suit that was beautifully tailored and sculpted to his wide shoulders and thickly muscled thighs. The shirt under his jacket was undone at his throat, revealing his tan, muscled neck.

It was the most civilized I’d ever seen him dressed, and still it did nothing to smooth out those incredibly rough edges. There was no mistaking him for anything other than what he was.

Rebecca’s words from earlier entered my head. There had been other bodies buried where Jane had been found. A lot of them. I didn’t truly know what Warrick was capable of. I didn’t know him, not really. But I did know he would tear the head off one of his own brothers without a second thought if he believed they’d crossed him or tried to take what he considered his. Had the hounds put those other bodies there? Were they responsible for them? Was Warrick?

My gaze shifted back to his and my belly swirled.

Shit.

Chapter 12

Willow

“Willow,” a male called behind me.

Tearing my eyes from Warrick, I turned.

Tall, broad, and still tanned from holidaying on his boat, stood Clayton Whitlock. He was even more handsome now than he’d been in high school. I’d thought myself in love with him back then. He, on the other hand, had suffered from no such delusions.

Now he was the witch all the teens swooned over. Including my baby sister. And he worked hard to keep his followers happy. Mags had shown me the picture he posted earlier tonight, one of those bare-chested, only-in-a-towel shots taken in front of a bathroom mirror. Under it had been the hashtags #goingtotheball #princecharming #lookingformycindy.

He presented himself as the rich playboy of the witch world. Regularly posting shots of himself by the pool, at parties, or behind a big desk like an important businessman, when everyone knew it was his mother who had taken over the businesses when her husband, Clayton’s father, died.

His smile was wide and genuine as he closed the space between us and took me off guard, giving me a quick hug. I returned it, pulling away would only draw more attention. I’d wanted to hate him all those years ago, I really had, but I could never quite manage it. I’d actively avoided him, though, for a lot of years, but there was something about him that had always been so…charming. Something he’d seriously tapped into as he’d gotten older.

“God, Wills, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” Clay said, still holding my shoulders, and beamed. The guy had a great smile, and he knew how to use it. His gaze drifted over me. “You look amazing.”

“Thanks.” Warmth brushed over my skin like invisible hands, making me shiver, and it had nothing to do with Clayton. I was being watched, and I knew exactly who by.

That smile was still on his face when he tilted his head to the side. “You never returned my calls.”

“No,” I said, smiling right back, and offered no more.

His hands slipped from my shoulders, and he slid them into his pockets. “Okay, I see I have my work cut out for me here.”

As nice a guy as he was back then, and probably was now, we weren’t friends. We didn’t socialize or hang out or even text every once in a while to catch up. If he was calling, he wanted something, and whatever he was selling, I wasn’t in the market for. “What is it you want, Clayton?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Still the straight shooter.”