Chapter 6
GRIFFITH
I’m pretty sure Carl left his brights on intentionally as he follows me home. The sharp glare of headlights reflects directly into my eyes whenever I try to use any of my mirrors. My buddy is not a fan of how I talked to his sister.
And, yeah, okay, maybe I was kicking Clementine when she was down.
But seriously? Only she would start dating a guy who would turn out to be a hunter.
Hunters are the second-biggest danger to our kind, only losing out to sorcerers, who most hunters are usually working for anyway.
I don’t know how many of these assholes exist in the world, but it’s not like they’re common.
Helps that there are mythics who have devoted their lives to hunting them right back.
Hunting mythics is a dangerous living and only lucrative if you have a buyer—aka a sorcerer—who wants to leech magic off of a mythic.
Still, hunters exist, and somehow, Clementine got herself—and by extension, her brother and this town—tangled up with what potentially sounds like a group of them.
The rain has shifted from torrential downpour to slow but steady patter. I’m glad I took the time to pave the driveway last month or else we’d be parking in a mud puddle. Gravel never seemed to be able to fully handle the red clay.
I pull into my normal spot to the left, and Carl parks his cruiser in his space to the right, closer to the garage. His apartment is atop the two bays.
He could afford a bigger place, a house of his own in town or maybe even on Lake Galen. But Carl doesn’t like to be on his own.
Our party converges on the front porch, a wide wraparound that took me weeks to build. Just as I’m finished unlocking the door, I turn to lay down some rules.
“That dog is not coming inside until it’s dry.”
“His name is Shrimp,” Clementine snaps. “And fine. Just get me some towels.”
Carl frowns at his sister. “Why can’t you dry him?”
She keeps her head lowered, fingers fiddling with Shrimp’s floppy ear. “I said I would.”
“No, I mean …” He trails off, then rubs his hands together before kneeling in front of the beast.
With smooth movements, Carl appears to pet Shrimp, only his hands stay an inch above his fur, and with each move, a floating bubble of water grows against the palm of his hand.
Once my friend has gone nose to tail, he flicks his wrist, tossing the bubble of water off the porch, where it explodes like a water balloon on the driveway.
Shrimp looks as dry as he would on a sunny day.
“When did you lose the ability to manipulate water?” he asks softly.
Carl and Clementine are both merpeople. Like I can transform into a wolf, they can both shift into another form with scaled tails, gilled necks, and webbed fingers. Merpeople also have basic control over small amounts of nearby water.
“Since this.” Clementine waves toward her side. The wound covered up by her loose T-shirt.
Carl’s face is too pale in the porch light, and I regret making the wet dog a big deal.
“Let’s go inside.”
Opening the front door, I toe off my boots and kick them into the entry closet.
“Griff.” Carl’s voice has me turning. He lingers in the doorway, not moving to come inside, his eyes on his sister as she braces both hands on the wall for balance as she tries to slip her shoes off like I did, only with much less ease. “I’m still on duty for a few more hours.”
Gods, I forgot. Even though his sister is his priority, Carl is too responsible to drop all his obligations if she’s not in immediate danger.
“Go on. We’re good here.”
He meets my eyes then, one brow raised in silent question.
I huff. “I’ll be nice.”
Another day, he’d chuckle, maybe shake his head with a sigh. But tonight, he just stares at me for another beat, and I can see the edge he’s teetering on.
Clementine is the person he loves most in the world, and she almost died. She’s still in pain and in danger. And he has to walk away from her, even if it’s for just a few hours.
“All right,” he murmurs, stare going back to his sister. “You okay for now?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry about me.” She steps up to the threshold and gives him a hug, which he returns with a shuddering breath. Her arms fall away first, and he reluctantly lets her go. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Tell Griff to call me if you need anything.”
“I promise I will.”
He looks like he wants to say more, but finally, he gives a single nod and turns back toward his cruiser, pulling the door shut with him.
Clementine faces me, her fingers digging into the fur on the back of Shrimp’s neck. She sways a touch, and I suspect the dog is a big reason she’s still upright.
“Food or bed?” I ask, trying to be the same accommodating host I’d be with anyone else.
“Bed.” She yawns, as if to emphasize her choice.
“This way.” I shorten my steps and rely on my better-than-normal hearing to keep track of her unsteady movements. I get the strong sense she’d refuse my offer to carry her, but if she trips, no way am I letting her hit the floor.
There’s one guest bedroom on the first floor of my house, and I lead Clementine and Shrimp through the open living area, kitchen, and sunroom to get to the doorway.
The place isn’t exactly set up for guests since I mainly use it as an office, but there’s a twin bed against one wall with fresh sheets and a handful of pillows.
“You can—”
Clem stumbles past me and all but collapses on the mattress.
She doesn’t even bother to tuck herself in before her rumbling breaths alert me to the fact that she’s unconscious.
Carl must have also used his mer-magic to dry her off, so at least she’s not soaking the bedding.
I open the closet and pull out a spare blanket.
When I turn back to the bed, I find Shrimp has climbed his way up beside her, spooning his human.
Careful not to wake her, I drape the blanket over Clem’s prone form.
Then, because no one is watching, I scratch Shrimp’s ears and murmur a quick, “Good boy.”
Heading upstairs, I check my phone to make sure there haven’t been any issues at the bar. The only message is from Rodney, who I left in charge, saying that closing went fine and they left the till in the safe.
After brushing my teeth and changing into sleep clothes, I eye my massive, comfortable California-king bed. The selfish part of my brain tells me I should lie down, go to sleep, and forget about her. Clementine is a grown woman, and it’s not like I can help her any more than I have.
Grumbling curses, I grab my favorite pillow and stalk back downstairs. There’re a few couches in the sunroom, and I stretch out on the longest one, shoving the pillow under my head and glaring toward the darkened windows.
I fucking dare a hunter to come onto my territory.