Page 68 of Teeth To Rip & Tear

He waved me over, his smile wide and welcoming, though I always sensed that Wyatt disliked me. He tolerated me. I had no idea why he always called me over when I clearly made him uncomfortable.

Sighing, I made my way to the steps, deciding that I couldn’t afford to make enemies—and the Locket pack had tried to protect me. Even if they had failed.

“Mallory!” Wyatt waggled his brows. “These are my friends. Gina, Tina and Rina.”

“My name is Tabitha.” One of the women pointed out, her brow quirked.

Wyatt waved his hand dismissively, his eyes fixed on mine as he sat forward with a predatory grin. “Did you miss me?” He asked.

I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess, you told the Huntsman about the stag?”

Wyatt’s brows pinched. “Eh?”

“The Huntsman knew about the stag. He knew we caught it.” I eyed him suspiciously. “I’ve asked every other person who was there. None of them told him. It must have been you.”

Wyatt barked a laugh. “You think it was me?”

“You caught the stag?” One of the women cooed in awe. “Did the Huntsman give you a prize?”

“He slapped me,” I replied dryly.

Wyatt’s face creased, a dark expression flashing over his face so quickly I almost missed it. He said nothing.

I held his gaze for a long moment before scoffing in disgust and turning my back on Wyatt and his little harem—marching away to the forest.

I followed the treeline, studying the unfamiliar leaves and the flowers sprouting where the manicured lawn ended. Finally, the trees thinned, revealing a clearing a few steps into the woods. The clash of metal and harsh grunting drew my attention, and I followed the sounds until I came to a dozen wolves fighting. Two armed with swords in a battle that looked more like a dance. Others formed a line, stretching in a routine, moving in unison.

Mitchell stood at the center of it all, adjusting stances and giving advice.

Mitchell had told me how he came to be with the Huntsman. How he had trained for years to find his brother.

I hadn’t truly realized what that meant until I watched Mitchell in action. The calm amid the storm.

I found a comfortable patch of ground and sat, watching as the wolves trained.

Two women at the far edge of the clearing in the midst of a bout, fell to the floor grappling. One flipped the other before wrapping her thighs around her neck and engaging in a headlock that turned her opponent's face blue.

“Leaving so soon?” Mitchell lopped up to me, his signature grin in place. “Did you find anything interesting?” He continued. “After all, you’ve been watching for nearly an hour.”

An hour? My shock must have shown on my face.

“It might benefit you, you know.” He gestured to the other fighters with his chin.

“Even if we forget everything once we leave?” I asked sardonically.

“Your body will remember. Muscle built doesn’t go away so easily.” Mitchell shrugged.

I looked away from his face and the large scar from his forehead to his top lip. The scar ran across one of his eyes, the lid closed.

Even with all of his training, the Huntsman had still managed to blind him in one eye. What hope did I have?

His black hair was tied back in a ponytail at the base of his neck, and though he wore the same baggy clothes I did, I saw the muscles underneath when he moved as if he tried to hide his strength.

There was something warm about Mitchell. Maybe it was the smile or the humor that clung to his remaining eye, crinkling the corner.

His smile widened. “I could teach you a few things.” Mitchell tilted his head to the other wolves in the clearing. “It would certainly help with the Wild Hunt if you intended to actually bring down some prey.”

I rolled my eyes. “It was a Horned Lord—”

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