Page 59

“No shit,” Iris said, sounding just like Else. Then she grabbed my hand and pulled me inside. Nia and Brody following.

* * *

Later the next morning, after repeating almost every detail of what happened last night to my family—omitting the bloody hand job and pretty much everything Warrick said or did—Iris dropped me off at my truck before she headed into work. And yes, thankfully, my purse had been at the hotel reception.

They’d all seen the pictures and read the gossip posted on Nightscape. I’d logged on this morning. There were pictures of Warrick, of him naked, of him shifting, a clip of me running after him into the woods. And that was all I needed. Sapphire Eldridge was probably humiliated by association and happy I’d turned her creep of a son down.

The only reason so few witches who had attended were out for blood was that “no one of consequence” was killed, just the help. Jesus.

And though I had a feeling I’d regret it, I’d just turned into Clayton Whitlock’s driveway, the house looming up ahead.

Though “house” was too paltry a word.

They may not be as powerful, magic-wise, as they wished they were, but their bank balance wasn’t lacking, that’s for sure.

Else and Mom had given me a little Whitlock history lesson before I left this morning. It turned out they’d had a string of bad luck in the past. Their cemetery had been all but destroyed during a flash flood, bodies washed away, never to be found again, setting them back centuries in the power stakes. And this house looked new because it was; the one before had burned down in a fire. Then Clayton’s father, Albert, had been killed in a car accident and his mother’s familiar had drowned in their pool this summer.

That was some seriously bad luck. It was almost like they were being punished for something.

I pulled the Morris to a stop out front of what only could only be described as a mansion, right as my phone beeped. I smiled when I saw Ren’s name.

We spoke several times a day, because not having him around the last few had been tough on both of us.

Ren: Warrick’s in a foul mood. What did you do to him?

Willow: Pass. How you doing?

Ren: Good. Feeling stronger.

Willow: How many new bruises?

Ren: I’m fine, Wills. Don’t worry about me. Is Warrick helping you like he promised? Or did you send him away? Is that why he’s pissed?

As if anyone could make Warrick do anything he didn’t want to.

Willow: No idea why he’s pissed. Everything’s fine, I promise.

I didn’t lie to Ren, but if I told him the truth now, if I told him what really happened between the alpha and me, Ren would walk right out of the clubhouse or worse, confront Warrick.

The front door opened, and Clayton walked out as my phone buzzed with another text from Ren. I put it on silent and shoved it in my back pocket to reply to later.

Clay smiled as he jogged down the stairs.

He was in tan trousers and a navy dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up, casual for him. He also looked extremely nervous. “Clayton,” I said as I opened my door.

“Willow.” He grabbed my hand. “I’m so glad you made it.”

Yep, he was nervous all right. His hands were clammy.

“Come in. Cook made us some morning tea.”

I took my hand back and followed him up the stairs and through a grand entrance, on feet that were completely healed from the night before, thanks to Warrick.

I shivered, remembering the way he brushed my skin with his fingers, then got pissed off with myself and shoved it out of my head.

The foyer Clay was leading me through was white marble and there were two statues, one of the mother’s pet serpent and the other, a woman looking into the distance, her hair blowing around her face.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” he said, watching me check out his home.