Chapter 26
Trevor shoved the three notes into an evidence bag and stood up.
He strode heavily around his house, tuning into its sounds.
He drew his wolf close to the surface, using his wolf’s keener senses.
His human ears twitched slightly at the quiet dripping of water in the kitchen and the gentle creaking of the house settling.
“White,” Trevor barked into the silence.
He waited for a beat. No response.
“Abigail White,” he said again. “If you hear me, respond.”
Nothing.
“Let’s talk,” he said gruffly.
Still nothing. No note. No conversation.
Trevor tried ruhi.
White, he growled mentally. Respond.
Still nothing.
Trevor grabbed up a chair in frustration, slamming it against the wooden floor, cracking and splintering one of the legs. “Witch!” he shouted. “If I find out you’re spying on us—”
Trevor dropped the chair and muscled himself under control. He called Graeme in ruhi.
Graeme.
Aye.
Graeme’s mental response was loud and strong, showing he was somewhere on the property.
I want your take on the situation.
I’ve been waiting for ye to call on me. I’ll be taking a walk through yer house—alone.
Got it. I’m out the front door now.
Graeme Kynock was a Scottish dragen, over 900 years old, and smart as shit. He lived on the property, deep in the forest, with his mate and their young.
Trevor went out front, onto the porch and down the steps into the driveway.
Graeme would enter through the back. Outside it was overcast and windy.
The sun was high in the sky, peeking through wispy, fast-moving clouds.
It was September but it felt like November: cold and dreary at 1 o’clock in the afternoon.
Several cars lined the long driveway, parked on the grass and between trees, like always.
Voices from behind the house carried to him.
Ten adults lived on the property full-time, and several others part-time.
Since the first One True Mate, his very own Ella, had been found almost a year ago, the place had become a makeshift second police station.
Much of their work was done in the driveway or in the main house, in one of the cabins behind, or on the various picnic tables set around the yard and in the forest beyond.
Trevor stared at his house, imagining he heard his mate’s distant laughter somewhere in the back of the property. His house was compromised and that was unacceptable. His mate lived here. His young, too. He stood helpless in his own driveway, stony and still, waiting for Graeme’s assessment.
After a few minutes, Graeme came outside, his face serious. He was a tall male with a dark crew cut and no facial hair, broad through the chest, immaculately dressed in business casual slacks and shirt. He met Trevor in the driveway and spoke in a rolling Scottish brogue.
“I cannae put yer mind at ease. I only say female augurs cannae be trusted,” Graeme said.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Graeme took a moment, considering, then said, “Power follows its own rules. Augurs’re masterful at knowing these rules—that’s what makes them augurs.
Female augurs markedly bend those rules to their personal will at any chance—I’ve never known one who was above it.
” He motioned to the house. “Trent lay dying in yonder bed. Abigail White gave instant an’ correct advice, saving him.
You think uninvited, but I say invited. Someone, in an utter panic, mentally called the augur for help—whether they kent it or not.
Mayhap more than one called on her. As ye suspect, once she was invited into the situation she was invited into yer house.
Once she was invited into yer house…” Graeme looked at the house, his face set in hard lines.
“Augurs have ways of… extending such an invitation, an’ ways of avoiding detection—I cannae be sure if yer house is free of her. ”
“When you say ‘augur’, do you mean ‘witch’?”
Graeme nodded his head slightly. “Near enough.”
“Who called her?”
Graeme shook his head. He crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance.
“Several could have. Conri, maybe. He’s bearen, and they have ways of calling on White.
Crew, maybe, because he’s got history with her.
He knows what she’s capable of, and she owes him—in a way.
He saved one of her own—the little girl Paisley White.
Harlan is also possible. Harlan more than any other wolven knows what White can do.
He hates her, but he’s also beholden to her. The bond is strong.”
Trevor’s blood boiled over. He was going to find these males and wring—
“Yer own mate, Ella, possibly.”
A record scratch screeched through Trevor’s mind, stopping his thoughts short. “Ella?”
“Aye, Ella.” Graeme ticked reasons off with on his fingers.
“She’s strong in ruhi. She’s powerful. This is her house as well as yers.
She dinnae share yer contempt of White or foxen.
She knows White has helped before. She cares strongly about Trent.
If someone said White could help, Ella might’ve called on her—might’ve invited her in—without knowing what she was doing. ”
Trevor shook his head. “But how?”
“Power calls to power—how is rarely important.”
Trevor only stared at the big male, his thoughts racing. How was important to him.
“Sebastian’ll be the choice to walk through yer house next,” Graeme said.
“Sebastian isn’t on the Abigail White investigation anymore; Canyon and Timber are. Sebastian is on full-time surveillance of the demon babies.”
“Sebastian can help with this particular complication, the two cowboys cannae.”
Trevor knew Sebastian had mind powers like Crew did. “Ok,” he said, inclining his head. “I’ll get Sebastian out here. It’s a good plan.”
“Aye.”
Trevor nodded once more. “Tell Kendra I said nice work—and thank you.”
Graeme’s expression broke into a rare smile. “Aye. She’s quite pleased, as am I.” He nodded once, then strolled into the forest.
From the other side of the house came Ella, his perfect and beautiful mate.
She was dressed in jeans and a dark shirt, and boots, her long black hair in a low ponytail down her back.
Trevor smiled at her, putting aside what Graeme had said for the moment.
Ella was holding Treena, their infant daughter, a pudgy beauty with a thick shock of black hair that stuck mostly straight up.
Track, her twin, ran alongside as a small black wolf pup—he growled a greeting at Trevor while Ella looked at him questioningly.
Trevor shook his head and gathered his mate and their daughter into his arms, burying his face in Ella’s hair, letting her scent cool him and calm him.
Track flopped down on the ground and chewed on Trevor’s boot.
“No one knows for sure,” Trevor told Ella, his voice muffled by her hair. “Crew doesn’t think she’s still around. Graeme won’t say either way. He says Sebastian should do a walkthrough.”
Ella was silent for a long time. They stood like that, not speaking, holding each other, relying on each others’ strength, their eyes on the house.
“I want you to stay out of there for now,” Trevor said.
“Definitely,” Ella said. “It creeps me out thinking she can hear us.”
Trevor growled lightly. Track imitated him and so did Treena. Ella smiled at her young, but mostly her eyes were on the house.
Trevor quieted, then nuzzled Ella behind the ear. “I’ve got to go to the station,” he whispered hoarsely. “Want to come?”
Ella considered. One of her sisters, Cerise, came around the side of the house from the back and waved for Ella to go that way.
Track saw his Aunt Cerise and took off toward her like a shot.
Treena shifted in Ella’s arms and jumped to the ground as a tiny black wolf pup still wearing a purple onesie. She ran after her brother.
Ella motioned toward them. “Looks like we’re staying.”
Trevor smiled at her and pulled her into another embrace, saying his good-bye. He kissed her. “I won’t be long. Call me immediately if anything gets weird.”
Trevor got in his truck and sped toward Serenity, thoughts of his mate and his young heavy on his mind.