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“Let me check it out first,” he said and opened the door.
She allowed herself a small smile, opting not to remind him of the fact that since it was daytime, she was actually stronger than him in magical terms and should be the first line of defense against any threats. Let’s not bruise his ego unnecessarily.
As she stood and waited for him to clear the space, she shivered, her hands cold and clammy. The rain and the chilly air were starting to get to her. They really needed to wrap this up so she could go home and get warm before researching the sigils they’d documented.
He heaved a sigh from inside the greenhouse. “You’re not gonna like this.”
“What?” She entered on his heels, anxiety spiraling in her stomach.
He stepped aside to let her see. Her eyes fell on the body sprawled on the ground, so very similar to the other one they’d found—except this one showed no signs of decay.
She sucked in a breath, and the air hitting her nose only smelled of blood and earth. “It’s fresh, isn’t it?”
He nodded, crouched down, and sniffed near the corpse. “He’s not even bloated yet. I can smell death inside him, but the rot is only just starting.” Straightening up again, he poked at the body with one foot. “Still in rigor mortis.” His eyes met hers. “He most likely died sometime last night.”
Putting the back of her hand against her mouth, she turned away, her stomach in knots. Last night. The witch had killed again, while Hazel had been out drinking and dancing. Enjoying her life, just as another one had been snuffed out, for whatever nefarious goal the other witch was pursuing.
She closed her eyes, guilt a lead weight on her chest, nausea boiling in her gut.
“Hey.” The touch of Tallak’s hand on her cheek made her open her eyes. He was right in front of her, hunching down a little to be at eye level with her. “What’s the matter?”
“This is my fault,” she whispered.
A scowl darkened his face. “How the fuck would this be on you?”
“If only I’d been faster, if I’d found these sigils sooner—”
“It wouldn’t have helped you catch the witch in time,” he interrupted her. “So you found these sigils now. You still have to figure out what they mean, what the witch is attempting, and how to go from this evidence to actually pinning down the witch responsible. Maybe knowing these sigils will help. Maybe it won’t. You’ve only known about this whole blood-sacrifice murder spree for a few days. Cut yourself some fucking slack.”
She shook her head. “Was it a mistake not to involve the other Elders, though? Maybe if I’d told them in the beginning and we started a full-scale investigation…”
“Ever consider it might be an Elder who’s behind this? And by letting them all in on this, you’d be telling the very witch who’s doing this shit that you’re onto her? So she can sabotage the investigation and always be a step ahead of you?”
That made her pause for a long breath. A year ago, she’d have immediately rejected the suggestion of a fellow Elder committing such a heinous crime. The very idea was repulsive, went against everything she’d ever learned, everything witches stood for.
But that was before her own sister, an Elder witch, the head of their family, an upstanding member of their community with an unwavering moral compass, had conscripted a demon to kidnap Maeve, had her tortured and raped, sanctioned the murder of innocent humans in order to feed said demon, and set a trap for Rhun, all as part of her insane plan to use Maeve’s powers to wipe out as many demons as possible.
A special kind of madness, born of grief and hatred.
Evil, she’d learned, sometimes lurked in the most righteous of hearts.
“You’re right,” she whispered, staring sightlessly ahead. “It could be any of them, couldn’t it?”
And though it was less likely that one of the former Aequitas was behind this, she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure. But even if she could rule them out, only telling the Aequitas about a murdering witch in their midst would throw all the Draconians into the box of suspects, fueling the still-simmering resentments and divides she was so desperately trying to quell and bridge. She could only imagine what Elaine or Sarai, for example, would have to say about the prospect that one of the Draconians was going around killing humans for power.
What would follow was mayhem, a rekindling of the fire that had almost laid waste to their community, only this time around, it might just raze all of it to the ground.
And unlike Maeve, they wouldn’t be able to rise from the ashes.
“Sometimes,” Tallak said, drawing her focus back to him, “we do all the right things, at the right time, and shit still goes sideways. You’re not a god. You can’t control all variables.” He paused, a line forming between his brows. “Well, considering the reality of our gods, not even they are almighty. Which is a fucking blessing. I mean, can you imagine—someone like Arawn with actual omnipotence?”
That coaxed a laugh out of her, small and brittle. “Thank you,” she then said softly. “For talking me down from that ledge.”
“At your service,” he murmured, his eyes luminous and spellbinding in the murky interior of the greenhouse.
The way he looked at her then, his features soft and open as they only ever were when he regarded her, his energy an inviting hum in the air between them, all she wanted to do was close the distance and bury herself in his arms, soak up all that unhidden affection, fall into the promise of a future she could never have imagined, let alone allowed herself to wish for.
And yet, uncertainty beat against her skin from the inside, throttled the impulse to follow her heart. This fear inside her, it didn’t even have a name, didn’t even whisper to her in words she could parry. Yet it was strong enough to lock her muscles, bind her tongue, keep her at arm’s length from the male she wanted more than her next breath.
