Page 79

I grinned up at him, knowing that my smile looked more than a little wobbly. “Aww, you old sweet talker you. Now you’re speaking my language.”

The grin he laid on me in return made my damn knees weak. “Enough of the old.”

“Aren’t you like a thousand years old?”

He chuckled and then shrugged. “Give or take a few hundred years.”

That chuckle seriously did things to me. My gaze dropped to his lips—

“Willow?”

I turned to see Clayton coming down the stairs. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days, eyes bloodshot, hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled.

“Be nice,” I said to Warrick, then ducked under his arm and strode toward Clay.

Warrick stuck close, and for once, I was more than okay with it. I had no idea what I was about to walk in on. This could be some kind of trap, for all I knew. Maybe Clay was behind it all, maybe this was some twisted ruse?

Now you’re just being paranoid.

Probably, but I couldn’t afford to trust anyone right now. My gaze slid to Warrick. Apparently, the hellhound alpha was an exception. I hoped like hell I wouldn’t live to regret it, but every one of my instincts told me I wouldn’t, that I needed to trust him. He may not have a soul, but his aura…god, it was all warmth, deep oranges with glowing reds and yellow sparks floating around him, like embers floating up from a fire.

Yes, he’d been created by Lucifer and had lived most of his life in Hell, but there was nothing evil about him.

“Come with me,” Clayton said and strode back to the house.

I glanced at Warrick and his brows lowered, his head tilting back, scenting the air. He stopped me with a hand to my stomach. “Something’s dead in that house,” he said.

“Clay’s mother was murdered here last night, but I assumed he had her body removed.”

“She’s still here.”

Oh god.

We followed Clay inside, up the grand staircase, and down a long hall. He stopped in front of a door, staring at it for several long seconds, then finally, he reached out, gripped the handle, and opened it. He reached in, flicked on the light, and slowly walked in.

I paused at the threshold, the sweet, sickly scent of death hitting the back of my throat instantly. Clay stood at the end of her bed, his expression blank. Olive Whitlock lay in a sea of white and pale pink bedding drenched with blood, some dry and rust colored, some still vibrant red.

“Who would do this?” he asked, his entire body shaking. “They tortured her, cutting her over and over again until she was too weak to move…then they sliced her throat.” He slid his trembling hands into his pockets. “I’d been at the office all day. I came home and found her. There was no sign of a break in or forced entry, nothing…” He cleared his throat. “I should have been here to protect her, I should have…”

I walked into the room and stood beside him. Olive was tangled in her sheets, her face a mask of horrors. She’d writhed in pain before she’d died. She’d screamed in terror.

My stomach churned.

I could have come home, like Clay had, and found Magnolia like that.

The cuts were exactly the same as the ones on my sister, just a lot more of them. Had they somehow known I’d gotten back early? Were they watching the house? They’d gone for my sister’s throat far sooner than they had Olive’s. “Why is she still here, Clay?”

“I…” He turned to me. “I didn’t know what to do, Wills.”

I touched his arm, and Warrick took several steps closer. “Have you been in here with her all night?”

He nodded, shaking harder.

“Come on.” I led him from the room, shutting the door firmly behind us, and back downstairs to the sitting room. I poured him a bourbon from the liquor cabinet and handed it to him. He downed it and slumped back against the couch.

“You need to call Sal,” I said.

Sally Macanroy, Ren’s Mom, was the only mortician witches in Roxburgh used. When something like this happened, a magic-related death, they took care of the bodies so we didn’t draw attention from the human police. As far as justice went? If there was foul play, the victim’s family needed to gather evidence before they could appeal the witch’s council. If the council approved their claim, they could then seek restitution. The most common was financial. But some chose a life for a life. Others…got more creative.