Page 83 of Teeth To Rip & Tear

“He’s unconscious?”

“And drunk,” I added. “And angry.” I had no desire to tell Mitchell about the Huntsman’s ramblings. Even when he blamed my grandmother, he didn’t connect us as a related group. At least I had that going for me.

“We should check his study.” Mitchell’s expression froze, though his lips still moved. Bloodless. “We won’t get another chance.”

“What if he wakes up?” I hissed.

Mitchell shook his head, though I sensed he wasn’t disagreeing with me. “We won’t get another chance.” He repeated. “He’s a Mallacht Sídhe. He has to write his curses down. Blood. Spit. Ink. It doesn’t matter. There has to be a record of the bargain between the Huntsman and the Beast-King’s pack.” His energy renewed as he turned on his heel and began climbing the steps two at a time.

I hesitated momentarily before following him, clinging to the railing.

“Doesn’t Kaleb know anything about that?” I called after him. “He was around then, wasn’t he?”

Mitchell shook his head but didn’t answer.

My chest heaved, and my face was warm when we reached the top of the stairs. I began to see what Mitchell was talking about—I really didn’t have any stamina.

He pushed through the door with all the confidence of someone who belonged there, not stopping even a moment despite the hall of curiosities that led to the study.

I reached out, trying to pull him back, but Mitchell stopped at the threshold of the study, and I collided with his back. He did not move an inch.

“The Huntsman is out cold.” He whispered in awe. “Are you sure you didn’t kill him?”

I scoffed, throwing my hands in the air. “I’m going to wait outside.”

“Suit yourself,” Mitchell smirked.

I growled under my breath as I stomped away. Every step back to the door grew harder to take.

What if the Huntsman woke up?

I shook my head to clear it.

Mitchell was a grown man. He could make his own foolish decisions.

I passed the disturbing trophies and closed the door behind me, resting my butt against the wood as I kept a lookout. The stairs curled around a sharp corner, and the stone tower was dim despite the glowing Faelight bobbing overhead.

Footsteps echoed, and a shadow expanded against the wall as someone came up the stairs. I couldn’t move. I tried to think of a dozen excuses and tricksy word games to disguise what I was doing but came up blank.

Donovan, with his slicked-back hair and strange knowing smile, rounded the corner. His eyes lit up as they met mine, and his grin widened further.

“Weaver.” He purred.

“That’s not my name.” I couldn’t resist the retort, even though every hair on my body lifted—screamingdanger, danger, danger.

“As much as I want to stay and chat, I must report to the Huntsman.” Donovan gestured to the door behind me. “He trusts me. You should consider that when speaking to me.”

I gave him a long look.

“Have you considered joining a pack?” Donovan continued, sidling closer to me. “We can always use more female wolves. My pack tends to break them far too quickly.”

“I have a pack.” I lowered my eyes.

“The Locket pack?” He chuckled, the sound gaining momentum as if the idea was hilarious. “At the front line of the rift between worlds? Fighting monsters every day instead of once a year? It’s a punishment assignment. The Huntsman would never allow a Weaver to do such a thing, even if you’re also a wolf.”

I had to get Donovan away from the door. Mitchell would come through at any moment.

“The Huntsman isn’t here.” I blurted out. Well, he was here. He just wasn’t conscious. That gave me enough leeway to say the statement even though it wasn’t exactly true.

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