My people, getting hope from a LaSalle. Inconceivable.
Casey nodded, pondering Savannah’s words. “Right…hero stuff. I can do
that.”
His gaze panned around the room, measuring the mistrust and expectation
in the gathered faces. It paused on a she-wolf’s backside as she bent over to
pick up a large box of supplies and then heaved it effortlessly onto her
shoulder.
His eyes dilated, and I could smell his sudden scent of… gods, no.
My claws slowly extended as Casey marched off to see if she needed
help. “That lunatic is going to get the teeth knocked out of his face,” I
muttered.
Savannah crossed her arms. “Probably.”
Revolting. A LaSalle.
But then again, one of them was currently my fucking mate. Not for long.
Savannah opened her mouth to speak, but my phone r
ang. Neve Cross. I
picked up. “Tell me you’ve got a lead.”
“I’ve tracked down the author of the book. A witch named S.L.
Delamont. She lives on the outskirts of Magic’s Bend,” Neve said.
A witch. Better than a sorcerer or warlock. I worked with witches from
time to time. They lived in covens, which were sort of like packs.
“What do we know about her?”
Neve sighed. “Not much, unfortunately, and I know quite a few folks out
there. Apparently, she’s a very private person and lives alone. She even has a
girl named Molly do all her errands for her and never goes into town. I tried
tracking down the girl, but I didn’t have a last name.”
My concern began to build. Witches that lived alone could be wildcards.
Some were perfectly normal. Others weren’t. They were like rogue wolves.
Some were natural loners, seeking solitude in the wild. Others might be
antisocial or rejected by their covens for participating in unsavory activities.