“The trouble with that statement,” he snapped, “is the fact there’re only two scents evident in this cle
aring—yours and Karen’s.”
“That’s not possible. He was here. I saw—” I cut the rest of the sentence off. I suspected reminding him I had any sort of ability—magical or not—wasn’t a great idea right now.
The ranger wrapped what felt like a cable tie around my wrists. Obviously, the gun wasn’t the only thing he took out for a run.
“Now, stay there and don’t move,” he growled.
“Or what?” Fear might still be riding high, but frustration was starting to overwhelm it. “You’ll let your hatred override whatever speck of common sense you have and shoot me? Because that would be a really stupid move when I’m the only link you have to Karen’s killer.”
“We’ll let the coroner be the judge of that.”
I swung around to face him. His eyes, I noted, were a deep blue rather than the usual amber of a werewolf. “Then damn well get the coroner out here!”
“She’s already on her way.” He retreated several steps and picked up the backpack. “Is there anything dangerous in here?
“For you, yes—there’s an unsheathed silver knife.”
“And why would you have that? You have to be aware it’s against the law for any citizen to carry such a weapon within a reservation.”
“Yes, but silver is a ward against evil as much as a defense against werewolves, and I wasn’t sure what I’d find up here.”
He opened the bag and peered inside. The knife had been tied to the back of the pack and posed no immediate threat to him unless he was stupid enough to touch it. But the fear of silver was so ingrained in werewolves that few would. Some reservations had even gone as far as banning anything made of silver—even something as innocuous as a neck chain.
“What are in the vials?” he asked
I shrugged. “Nothing dangerous.”
His blue eyes sparked dangerously. “Just answer the question.”
“They’re potions. Protection potions.”
“I thought you said you weren’t a witch?”
“I’m not—”
“No, because everyday citizens regularly carry potions and silver knives around in their backpacks.” His voice was a little more regulated. He was obviously regaining some control over his emotions.
Or rather, his memories.
And I really wished I could stop getting these insights. I didn’t need to understand the man. I just needed to get out of this clearing and stop— I thrust the rest of that thought away. I didn’t need to be thinking along those lines, either.
He put the pack down. “Don’t move, and don’t try to spell me.”
I snorted. “If you knew me better, Ranger, you’d know just how ridiculous that statement is.”
“Trust me, I have no desire to know you or any other witch better. Just do as you’re told and remain still.”
He took out his phone then walked across to the teenager and began taking photos. I watched, frustration growing. Why wouldn’t he believe me? And why couldn’t he smell anyone else in the clearing but Karen and myself? Tomme had been here, with the teenager, introducing her to the glory of sex before taking her on to the emptiness of death.
“If you move her hair, you’ll see the wound on her neck.”
“I can’t touch the body until the coroner gets here.”
“Why? Did you forget to pick up gloves when you packed the gun and the ties?”
His gaze rose, and just for an instant, amusement gleamed. But the hatred quickly smothered it again.