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“You can't get past a little mess? Not even in this charming atmosphere?” He gestured toward the multitude of candles and incense.
I pulled off my stained shirt and browsed the clothing section until I managed to locate a plain black men's tee printed with the shop's jaguar head on the front. It was ugly, but better than nothing.
I offered a larger size to Caelan, who had stopped whatever he was doing to watch me keenly, but he shook his head. Phone in one hand, he tossed me his keys from the remnants of his pants pocket. “Mind getting the duffle bag out of the backseat?”
“You must spend a stupid amount of money on clothes and personal care items,” I told him on my return, hefting his heavy bag onto the now-righted table.
“Buy 'em wholesale,” he agreed, one hand covering the phone as he addressed me. “That’s why I hate ruining my nicer attire. I'm going to find a bathroom. See to it the place doesn't burn.”
Zakar’s was an elegant viper of a shop, filled with purpose and more power than I cared to imagine.
Strolling the winding aisles, I blew out a couple candles, stopping at a small display of several bronze and obsidian ritual bowls. Beside it, a locked glass cabinet displayed several small knives. Many were labeled as silvered or forged silver. Weak material. Flimsy, breakable. Not intended for most practical purposes.
Still.
What if I didn't have a gun next time? If I ran out of bullets? Or if there was a chance to level the playing field by halting someone’s transformation? I’d proven a poor shot, with the exception of a few close-range, dishonorable hits.
Checking to see if Caelan had returned—he hadn't—I took a paperclip off an invoice at the register, picked the cabinet lock, removed a three-inch silvered knife and wrapped it in my stained shirt.
Footsteps echoed through the hidden passage.
Holding the bundled package a careful casual, I retreated beside the table as Caelan emerged. Rust streaked his neck here and there, but overall he'd done a fair job in removing the blood. The fresh set of clothes helped.
“I've sent officers to Mrs. Finn’s. I assume you're tagging along?”
“My car's in the parking garage. Much as I don't want to pay for overnight, I'd rather leave now than hoof it back there.”
“Not a problem,” he agreed. “Back door's secure. I'll rope off the front before we leave. We have to extinguish the damn fire hazards first. Why the blazes would anyone waste time lighting all this crap?” He took the left side of the shop after I volunteered to take the side with the missing knife. As the room plunged into murky darkness, we met in the middle at the altar.
“Thought you might've killed me back there,” I admitted, dropping a candle snuffer over burning wicks. The price tag dangled off the silver handle. “I'm shocked I was able to talk sense into you.”
“You didn't talk me down, Miss Davins.” He leaned across the last dancing flame, the shadows lengthening along his scruffy jaw.
“Why did you change then? Since you didn't know why I stopped you, you should’ve erred on the side of fangs and stayed wolfed.”
“You diverted my attention at the pinnacle of instinct. A glance at you replaced one type of lust with another.” He extinguished the candle. Smoke ghosted past my cheek. “When you touched my chin, I was stunned. When you spoke, I knew without a doubt I-I had to change.”
“The wolf wants a bite,” I said slowly. “But what about the man?”
“We're the same person.” He ruffled my hair. “Difference is you'd still be human in the morning.”
We were westbound on I-84 before I'd thought of anything to say. I was relieved he hadn't been about to tear my head off, but bothered by my utter helplessness. Our encounter wasn't a case of taming the beast, it was a case of the beast having other plans.
Voices buzzed through his radio receiver. Members of his team were at Calico's, stationed somewhere on my street and the road before it, watching, waiting for the sheriff’s signal.
“I know you've done terrible things.” I traced the dulled edge of the blade through my ruined shirt. “Unforgivable things, depending on who you ask. While I was recovering, I researched dog fighting. If what you endured was similar, I'm sorry. Raised in that horrid manner, it’s not all your fault. The dog shouldn’t be blamed for—”
“I'm not a dog, Marcy,” his tone was clipped. “Don't pity me.”
“I don't,” I lied. “I'm trying to understand you. Keep your friends close and such.”
“And your enemies closer? Zakar ain’t the one to cozy into.”
“Bothered you, didn’t it?”
His grip on the wheel tightened. “Mighty peeved he pulled some creeper magic on you.”
Smiling, I leaned against my headrest and watched stars twinkle over inky hills. “I'm glad I didn't go in alone.”
