I leaned closer and breathed in her scent, searching for answers. It always
drove me wild, but even as desire overwhelmed my mind, a shock of
recognition cut through the fog. I understood the emotion now—the call of
the hunt. The compulsion to relentlessly chase. To tear down your prey. To
take its life.
I knew that emotion well. It was strange from a sorcerer, but I could
respect the need. It would also ensure that Savannah was under my watch.
Grinding my teeth, I relented. “Fine. Tomorr—"
A metallic thud echoed through the door of the cell beside us, and
Savannah jumped at the noise.
The door to cell 35 was sealed with five arcane locks. Someone had
posted a sign beside the window slit: Do not talk to the prisoner.
I stepped up to the door and slid the slit open. A shadow moved inside—a
hulking figure, sitting in darkness. His signature resonated with power. Even
through the magically sealed door, it vibrated the air around us. It felt like
flames across my skin and smelled of fresh tobacco and amber.
“What do you want?” I growled.
His head turned slowly, and he spoke in a rough voice laced with danger.
“If you’re looking for Kahanov, you’re not going to find him.”
“And why’s that?”
The inmate shifted, and his words echoed out of the shadow. “He was
gone before he even escaped.”
7
Savannah
I spent the evening filling Casey in about our visit to the Ripper and
complaining about thick-skulled werewolves. “I told you Jaxson was an ass,”
was my cousin’s most frequent response.
At least Jaxson had agreed to let me help. For now. I was certain that at
the slightest sign of peril, he’d try to stuff me in a box. What kind of monster
would shove a woman into a jail cell just to protect her?