Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
It was a generational curse, said mother. Not love. Mother didn’t say anything about love. Why did the monster inside me love me? And why am I learning to love him back?
—Lorinne Leroux’s private journal.
Winter barreled down an aisle of books with her fists clenched.
It was five o’clock, which meant Everett would be checking in with the wolves before their evening shift.
He was as much an asshole as he was attractive.
It was like the more power a wolf had, the better looking they were.
Not only was their sheer size intimidating, but their faces were fucking magic.
She hightailed it out of Division V and down the hall.
Sniffing out Everett was easy; his cedarwood scent reminded her of a cabin.
It was how she’d tracked down Westley. She’d flown above the canopy of evergreens with her nostrils flared wide.
Her wolf senses were strong, and she loved being able to place every single smell—Everett’s included.
Winter turned the corner into the atrium.
Everett was hanging his brown leather jacket on the coat rack.
The back displayed the symbol of the Sterling Pack—an ‘S’ with three slashes through it.
His irises were bright teal, a vibrant contrast to his messy, caramel-colored hair.
A shifter Winter didn’t recognize greeted him; there wasn’t enough time to get to know all the wolves.
Winter stomped over. “Why doesn’t anybody care? He’s going to die.”
Everett tilted his head, staring her down. “Why do you care?”
She sunk her teeth into her lower lip, fighting back a curse.
He never answered her questions. He always spun the conversation around, spitting out nonsense.
Speaking candidly would serve him well. “I need to kill the queen and I can’t do that with Westley dead.
If this fight doesn’t kill him, the liquor will. ”
Everett eyed the shifter reporting to him. “Hardin, do not repeat what you just heard.”
Concern skittered across Hardin’s face, but he said, “Yes, sir.”
“Double check all the armor before sundown. Write up a damage report and I’ll arrange for any repairs.”
Hardin nodded before taking his leave.
Everett pressed a palm to his forehead, rubbing it. He took a deep breath then addressed her. “How do you know he’s drinking again?”
Again? What was that supposed to mean? “Because I’m a witch too. We have our ways.” She wiggled her fingers.
“I thought he was preparing, thinking, not—"
“Well, you thought wrong, and I’ve tried everything. Where’s Mellie?”
“At the farm.” He raked fingers through his short, wavy hair. “But I’m warning you, she will not want to hear about this.”
That didn’t make sense. Westley and Mellie were close, like she was with Tarik. Then again, she kept plenty of secrets from her older brothers. “I have to try.”
Everett dropped his hands into his pockets, hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, and puffed his chest. “Witches aren’t allowed on the farm.” His dark green tunic tightened over his giant pectorals, daring a thread to snap.
She flashed her fangs. “Stop weaponizing my immortality status.”
His lips twisted into a grin. “Just reminding you.”
“Draw me a damn map, Everett. I need to talk to her.”
He leaned down, speaking softly. “I really like when you order me around, Miss Librarian.” His warm breath swept past her ear and down her spine. “Is there anything else, anything at all, I can do for you?”
Winter pressed her thighs closer together. “No.” The heat between her legs and anger rising from her chest were brewing in the same cauldron. If one thing was clear, her mind and body were not communicating properly. “Just the map.”
He licked his lips. “I thought witches were good little liars?”
Her cauldron exploded. “Shut up, Everett.”
There wasn’t another word. He brushed past her, moved to the front desk, and sat down with a wink.
Fucking infuriating.
He gathered a quill, a piece of parchment, and ink while she paced the atrium. He had no right to toy with her head like this.
After a few minutes, Everett stood and waved his map around. She stomped over to inspect the details.
The paper in this time period was thick and rigid, but his penmanship was beautiful and the work was overly intricate compared to what she’d been expecting.
He’d traced the pear shape of Elmwood Forest, the town, and all the major intersections, bridges, and some surrounding neighborhoods.
It was a perfect outline of Elmwood. “Wow.” The word slipped out of her mouth.
“My father was a cartographer, so I’ve dabbled. This is nothing.”
Was he always so cocky? She rolled up the map, wondering why he was still standing there. “Don’t you have shifters to manage?”
He angled his head. “I do, but you’re quite bothersome.”
He couldn’t even insult her without flirting. “Please stop.”
“Careful …” He leaned closer. “That’s my favorite word.” His eyes were playing a dangerous game—one that threatened her with a very good time.
Something hummed inside her that shouldn’t be. She’d made herself a promise: no sex. She couldn’t escape her pain; she was fighting her way through it. Persevering. Her thumping uterus needed to get on board, because there was too much work to be done.
Everett swept his tongue across his sharp teeth. “I thought you had somewhere to be.”
Asshole.
“I do, but you’re quite bothersome.” She tossed the words back at him before storming away.
“Don’t forget your cute broom.”
Ugh. She could feel him smirking.
Winter fetched it, mumbling curse words. Everyone, Magdalene included, would have to get used to her amplifiers. She didn’t care much about the rules of fate when it came to her wand and broom—they were her prized possessions.
Convincing Magdalene that her broom didn’t belong in the back of the supply closet—where she’d found it a few weeks ago—had required taking it for a quick spin around the archives. Winter had circled the atrium and touched the skylight, startling Prudence.
Magdalene had been equally horrified.
A similar expression had fallen over her face earlier today when Winter had asked for time off. While the archives required more hands, not fewer, she’d explained that if Westley didn’t take this upcoming fight seriously, they could lose their furry protection package.
Magdalene had ultimately understood and encouraged her to go.
Winter’s hair was tucked beneath her scarf as the wind pushed her broom along. It hadn’t spoken to her since the last time she’d traveled to the past, however it loved propelling her once she was in the sky. And when her travels involved wolf or archive related things, she caught violent speed.
Her eyelids were fluttering.
Two undershirts, two sweaters, two pairs of leggings, and two layers of socks were the only reason she didn’t freeze and fall right off.
Every time she referenced Everett’s map, she was reminded of the talent behind his obnoxious attitude.
Along the eastern edge of the forest, where trees met land, there was a label that read The Farm.
The location was not entirely specific, but it helped to have a view of the land from almost a thousand feet above.
Winter took the bend that gave way to the forest’s pear shape and met a blood owl mid-flight. It wasn’t sundown yet, so this was a lovely surprise. Its radiant red wings splayed wide as it tipped and soared towards her, matching her speed.
They were impressively fast and ferocious killers. It dipped under her broom, and over to the other side, eyeing her cautiously. It blinked a few times.
Birds hadn’t met flying mages yet, and soon, they would hate them.
“Hello,” she chirped.
It maintained its speed and position while dropping its head to eye the ground below.
Smart.
It searched along the wooded barrier to see what was coming and going. Then the bird clicked its scarlet beak and tucked its wings. There was a small shrill before it nosedived towards the tree line, pursuing something she couldn’t see.
Winter smiled and looked ahead.
As she approached the northeastern edge of the forest, a plot of land stretched into the distance.
She’d been used to Silver City, littered with buildings, and even the small town of Elmwood, alive and bustling, but this area was barren.
Almost untouched. A river bisected the crystal-coated earth, giving way to valleys and small hills—the type that should be blooming with poppies and draped with mist on early spring mornings.
She pictured a herd of wild horses grazing while birds harvested bugs around them.
Paddocks came into view, encircling acres of farmland.
Winter closed in. She flew over a runway of evergreens, leading her to a multi-level home, made of whitewashed bricks.
The windows were adorned with black shutters and snowed-filled flower boxes.
There was a giant barn attached to it, painted the perfect hue of red, complete with white beams that formed the classic X-shape across the giant doors.
Quite the farm.
Winter shoved the map in her pocket and dropped lower.
By gripping the broom and lifting her seat, she could dip hundreds of feet.
Without mage blood sitting on the broom’s deck, it would lose all momentum and the rider would free fall.
Her heart never tired of that feeling—the thrill of it—and she loved that part of flying.
As she dipped another hundred feet, readying to land, three wolves burst through the home’s front flap and sprinted towards her. Saliva gleamed off their bared teeth. Fuck. She turned her broom around, flying the other way.
And now they were chasing her.
Wait.
She paused, realizing she was the one in the air and out of harm’s way. Winter whirled back around and hovered above them. These ones appeared full grown and each fur coat was a different color. They continued their advances, lunging at her feet.
Rude.
“I’m here to speak with Mellie!” she shouted over their snarls.
They stopped being so ferocious and started sniffing her instead.
Winter continued, softening her words. “We’re friends. Well, sort of.” Their relationship had been bizarre. Mellie had been rough with her, but she’d been more caring and understanding than her brother had ever been.
The wolves appeared to have a silent conversation, waggling their wiry eyebrows, then one broke off and fled towards the house. Winter reserved her gratitude.
It wasn’t long before Mellie stepped outside and walked down the driveway. She threw on an oversized black leather jacket, tucked her mid-length blonde hair behind her ears, then hugged herself. Winter could see the dark circles beneath her eyes from afar. Had she not been sleeping either?
Clearly, something was wrong, but Winter waved anyway, acting normal. Mellie was her last hope to help Westley. This had to work.
Mellie squinted up at her. “Winter? What are you—”
“Please, I really need to talk to you.”
Mellie eyed the wolves, nodding towards the house. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”
They grunted before trotting away at a brisk pace.
Winter flew down, clutched her broomstick, and slid off. She pulled her scarf back and brushed her untamed hair out of her face. “Before you ask, yes, it’s a broom, and yes, I can fly. It’s modern mage stuff.”
A hint of a smile crested Mellie’s lips. “I see that.” She eyed Winter up and down, then asked, “Aren’t you cold?”
Winter missed wearing all of Mellie’s layers in this weather. “I’m fine, I guess. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Sure.” Her voice was heavy with fatigue.
That wasn’t the solid answer Winter had been hoping for. “Thanks. And I’ll be okay with all the wolves, right?”
Mellie pointed at the windows where several shifters stood in both forms, staring back at them. “They know you’re coming, don’t they?”
Winter glared at her. “That wasn’t my question.”
“You’re walking in with me. Consider yourself a guest.” Her flat tone wasn’t very convincing. Winter tapped her sleeve, ensuring her wand was within reach.
Mellie eyed her warily and opened the door. “Welcome in.” She kicked off her boots, so Winter did the same.
Inside felt more like a coven than a doghouse. The room to her left held a table longer than the one in the back room of the archives. The décor was modest, aside from all the skeletal remains displayed on the walls like artwork. It appeared to be a dining area.
The room to her right was full of chairs, couches, and werewolves.
All eyes were on her. Some were bigger and brighter than others—like the three wolves that greeted her at the end of the driveway.
Why were they still snarling? She would’ve been intimidated, if it weren’t for the basket full of half-eaten stuffed animals in the corner.
A rumbling sound was her only warning before all the air was punched from her lungs. Winter’s back hit the floor. Thick tongues attacked her face, sweeping across her cheeks from ear-to-ear. Paws did a poor job of avoiding her major organs as she succumbed to Cara and Cori’s affection.
“Let her breathe!” Mellie shouted.
The pups were whining with joy, ignoring their mother. They were also so much bigger. Winter scratched their necks, her voice straining. “I’m okay.” She wasn’t, but she missed them terribly.
Mellie pulled them both off her. “Sorry, they’re still—”
“Cara and Cori?” Winter sat up, wiping saliva off her face.
They wiggled in Mellie’s grip. “Pups,” she countered. “But yes, that too.” She used her chin to gesture to the double staircase at the far end of the hall. “You came to talk?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me.” Mellie led her pups by their collars and showed her upstairs.