Chapter 24
AUGUST
The last of our scouting rounds had taken us along the outskirts of town, through the narrow trails that cut between thick brush and towering oaks. The sun sat low in the sky, casting a red haze over the treetops. The sight did little to thaw the cold weight settling in my chest.
I still needed one perfect arrest to prove to myself that Lily hadn’t cracked me open, but whisky was the only quarry I could pin down today.
We had found nothing today; no signs of Weavers, no disturbances beyond the usual. It should have been a relief. Instead, it left me with unease coiling beneath my ribs.
Garrick rode beside me, his reins held loosely in one hand, the other resting lazily on his thigh. He had been uncharacteristically quiet for most of the afternoon, but I knew him well enough to recognize the signs of an impending storm.
“You're avoiding her.”
The words cut through the silence between us, sharp and deliberate.
I didn’t look at him. Instead, I focused on the road ahead, on the rhythmic clip of our horses' hooves against the dirt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Garrick let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Come on, August. You think I haven’t noticed? You’ve been twitchy as hell since last night.”
I rubbed the leather rein between my thumb and forefinger.
Saints, I had been careful. At least, I thought I had. But Garrick had always been good at reading people, and clearly, I was no exception.
“She got under your skin,” he mused, amusement lacing his tone. “I’ll give it to her. It didn’t take her long.”
I shot him a glare. “Drop it.”
“Not a chance.” He turned toward me fully, his grin widening. “So, what is it? The attitude? The way she gets under your skin? Or—” His smirk deepened. “Is it the fact that you got a good look at her last night and now you don’t know what to do with yourself?”
My molars ground together.
I should have never told him.
He was right, though. I was avoiding her. I had spent the entire night and day trying to rid my mind of the way she had stood there, bare and unbothered, daring me to react.
“She’s a problem,” I muttered.
“That’s one way to put it,” Garrick drawled, clearly amused. “Though, I’d wager you don’t really see her as a problem, do you?”
I pulled my horse to a stop near the edge of the trees, rubbing a hand over my face. “I need a drink.”
Garrick let out another laugh, guiding his horse beside mine. “Now that’s something I can help with.”
He led the way to the tavern, a familiar, worn-down establishment tucked into the heart of town.
The scent of spiced ale and smoke clung to the air, mixing with the low murmur of conversation.
The place wasn’t crowded—not yet—but the usual crowd had already gathered, filling the space with laughter, hushed dealings, and the occasional drunken boast.
I followed him inside, rolling the tension from my shoulders. A drink. That was all I needed. Something to drown out the thoughts still clawing at the edges of my mind.
The memory of her wouldn’t leave me.
Lily, standing in my study, water tracing lazy rivulets down her bare shoulders. Her skin flushed from the heat of the bath, damp curls clinging to the curve of her throat, the soft slope of her collarbone.
And then—Saints help me—the way she had let the towel slip from her frame.
I could still see the way the firelight had flickered over the smooth lines of her back, the gentle curve of her waist, the way she hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t faltered, as if she knew exactly what she was doing to me.
I had seen plenty of women bare before. Yet, she rendered me breathless in a way none of them ever had.
It was infuriating.
I needed to be rid of it. Of her. Of whatever hold she was trying to have on me.
Garrick clapped me on the back, dragging me from my thoughts as we made our way toward the bar. “You look like a man who’s thinking too hard. That’s never a good sign.”
“I’m fine,” I muttered.
He snorted. “Sure. That’s why you look like you’re ready to fight someone.” He flagged down the bartender, ordering for both of us before turning back to me with an amused smirk.
The bartender slid two drinks toward us. I took mine without a word, downing a slow sip and letting the burn settle deep in my chest.
One drink became two. Then three. Garrick talked—about the hunt, about nothing, about everything—while I let the whiskey do its work. But it wasn't working. If anything, the burn only made me think of her more.
By the time I was on my fourth glass, the tavern hummed around us—low voices, clinking glasses, the occasional burst of laughter from the card players in the corner.
The kind of place where men came to forget.
Every man except me. The whiskey hadn’t dulled the growing ache. If anything, it had made it worse.
“You're going to drink yourself sick,” Garrick observed from across the table, his own glass dangling lazily from his fingers. I didn't answer. Just signaled the barkeep for another.
“Shut up, Garrick.”
Before he could say more, the tavern door opened. A gust of cool evening air swept in, along with—Lily and Adeline. My entire body went rigid.
Lily's eyes swept the room, found me immediately. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. Then her chin lifted, that defiant gesture I'd come to recognize, and she walked straight toward our table.
“Well, well,” Garrick murmured. “This should be interesting.”
Adeline reached us first, her expression carefully neutral. “Gentlemen.”
“Ladies,” Garrick said smoothly, standing and pulling out chairs. “Join us?”
“We shouldn’t—” Adeline started.
“We'd love to,” Lily interrupted, sliding into the chair next to mine before I could object.
Immediately, the scent of pine and woodsmoke enveloped me—sharper than the tavern's stale smoke, mixed with something else.
Something uniquely her. My entire body went taut.
Her hair had bits of forest debris in it—small leaves, and was that a daisy petal?
The hem of her skirt was damp and muddy. She'd been in the woods.
“Interesting attire for an evening stroll,” I said.
She didn't even glance at me. Just signaled the barkeep. “Whiskey. Neat.”
Garrick let out a low whistle. “A woman after my own heart. Though I have to say, Miss Whitmore, I didn't take you for a tavern type.”
“There's a lot you don't know about me, Mr. Wolfe. In my time I quite enjoy a good bar.” She accepted the glass when it arrived, took a long drink without flinching.
“Clearly.” I kept my voice even, though my eyes traced the debris in her hair, the mud on her hem. “Where have you been?”
“Out.” She took another sip. “Adeline has chaperoned me on my outing. I wasn’t aware I needed your permission.”
I looked at Adeline and she just shrugged.
“You don't. But when you come back looking like you've been crawling through the woods—”
“Maybe I was.” She leaned closer. “Maybe I needed to get away from overbearing men who think they own everything they see.”
Heat crawled up my spine. “Careful, Lily.”
“Or what?” Her eyes glittered with challenge. “You'll interrogate me? Lock me up? Add me to your list of threats?”
Garrick cleared his throat. “Right. Well. This is—”
“Fascinating,” Adeline finished dryly. “Truly.”
But neither Lily nor I looked away.
“You don’t need another drink,” I said quietly.
“I’ve not had nearly enough.” But she set the glass down, fingers tracing its rim. “Though I suppose that's the point of taverns, isn't it? To forget. To numb. To pretend everything's fine when it's really—”
She stopped herself, jaw clenching.
“When it's really what?” I asked, leaning closer despite myself.
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
Her eyes flashed. “Takes one to know one.”
She took another drink, and when she set the glass down, something had shifted in her expression. Something harder. More defiant.
“Tell me something,” she said. “When you hunt people, do you ever wonder if they deserve it?”
The question landed like a slap.
Garrick went very still. Adeline's eyes widened in warning.
“What?” I said carefully.
“The people you hunt.” She gestured vaguely with her glass. “The Weavers. Do you ever wonder if they’re not the monsters you've been told they are?”
My jaw clenched.
“You don't know what you're talking about.”
“Don't I?” She leaned forward, and there was something fierce in her eyes now. “I'm a historian, remember? I research the disappeared. And you know what I've found? Most of them were just people trying to live their lives.”
“They manipulate fate—”
“So you've been told. But have you ever actually verified that? Or do you just follow orders without questioning?”
“They're dangerous,” I said, but even to my own ears, it sounded hollow.
“Are they?” She tilted her head. “Or is that just easier to believe than the alternative?”
“What alternative?”
“That you're the dangerous one.” Her eyes searched mine. “That you’ve been hunting innocent people your entire life and never once stopped to ask if you were on the right side.”
My jaw clenched. My hand fisted on the table. Because she was right. God help me, she was making me doubt everything.
“You need to stop talking,” I said quietly, dangerously.
“Why?” She didn't back down. Didn't look away. “Because I'm making you uncomfortable? Making you doubt?”
“Because you're treading on dangerous ground.”
“Good.” She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Maybe someone should. Maybe someone should make you question everything you think you know. Make you wonder if the monsters you're hunting are actually just—”
She stopped herself, but the implication hung between us.
“Just what?” I demanded.
“Just people,” she finished softly. “Like me.”
The silence stretched. Garrick and Adeline both looked ready to intervene.
Then the whiskey and anger and want all collided at once, and I shifted my chair closer to hers. Close enough that our knees brushed under the table.
She didn't pull away.
“You're playing a dangerous game,” I said, through my teeth.
“Am I?” She tilted her head, studying me with those impossibly blue eyes. “Or are you?”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what it means.” Her gaze dropped to my mouth, lingered there long enough to make heat coil in my gut. “You're a hunter. I'm a stranger with no history here. And you've been keeping me in your house anyway.”
“Lily—”
“What if I'm exactly what you're supposed to destroy?” Her voice dropped, turned velvet-soft and lethal. “What if I'm the monster, August? One of the ones the Unraveler wants erased from existence?”
Heat crawled up my spine. “You're not—”
“Prove it.” Her eyes blazed. “Tell me you wouldn't hand me over. Tell me you'd choose me over your duty.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
Because I didn't know the answer. Didn't know if I'd choose duty or this infuriating woman who'd invaded my house, my thoughts, my every waking moment.
I should know. The answer should be immediate, automatic—duty first, always.
But when I looked at her, desire drowned out everything else. And doubt. And a terrifying uncertainty that had never existed before she crashed into my life.
“If you two are quite finished,” Garrick drawled, “some of us would like to finish our drinks without being subjected to whatever mating ritual this is.”
Adeline choked on her whiskey.
Lily's cheeks flushed pink, but she didn't pull away from me.
“You're an ass,” I told him.
“And you're in over your head.” His grin was insufferable.
“But please, don't let me stop you. This is better than the theatre.”
Lily pulled back suddenly, the spell broken.
“I should go.”
“Lily—”
But she was already standing, smoothing her skirts with shaking hands. “It's late. And we're both—” She stopped, met my eyes. “We're both saying things we shouldn't.”
“Are we?” I stood too, unsteady from whiskey and want.
“Yes,” she said, but her eyes told a different story. “Goodnight, Mr. Hawthorne.”
The formality stung. Walls rebuilt in two words. Putting distance where moments ago there had been none.
She turned and walked toward the door, Adeline trailing after her with an apologetic glance back at us. I watched her go.
“You're welcome,” Garrick said behind me.
“For what?”
“Saving you from yourself.” He took a long drink. “Though I'm not sure how much longer I can keep doing that.”
I didn't answer. Just watched the door where she'd disappeared.