Page 60 of Teeth To Rip & Tear

Kaleb hummed but didn’t confirm or deny my suspicions. “It doesn’t matter.” He gestured to the steps, and though I wanted to argue that he needed medical attention, his expression stopped any argument I might have had.

“I’ll heal.” His voice was clipped. I reached for his hand, hoping that my skin could offer a healing effect, the same way his presence had healed me in the cell. Kaleb marched away without looking back.

Chapter Thirteen

Kacia had mentioned a common room, and I set out to find it.

If I was to be trapped in the Aos Sí until the end of Samhain, at least I could find a book to read.

In my everyday life, I kept my hands moving almost all the time. I’d knit while I watched television or embroider while waiting for the microwave to ping. I’d sketch and draw as I spoke on the phone. When I couldn’t fidget, my mind drifted to dark places, and I couldn’t allow myself to show weakness. Not with the Huntsman watching my every move.

My cheek throbbed with pain.

The Huntsman might have brought me to his castle, but I wasn’this. He could make me shift, but I was still aware enough. I hadn’t killed the stag, after all, even with his will pressing down on me.

The Locket pack might have accepted their curse, but I hadn’t.

I followed the sound of conversation, finally stumbling into the common room on the first floor, on the far side of the building.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I made a beeline for one of the empty couches by the wall. I sank into the leather and put my hands on my knees as I tried to survey the room without staring.

Mitchell had told me a hundred wolves were under the Huntsman’s control. I’d seen them all last night. A hundred ‘hounds,’ and I was one of them.

A few groups settled in the common room, playing games and chatting. Some had drinks or snacks. All of their clothes were modern but in different styles from different cultures. The low hum of chatter cut through the expansive room, adding to the tension I felt.

The Aos Sí made my skin prickle. An itch I couldn’t scratch had wormed under my skin. My life in Locket was boring by anyone’s standards, but it was mine. I went to work at my store, went home, knitted, cooked, and kept to myself.

As I got comfortable on the couch and thought over the Huntsman’s threats, I was under a microscope like I had never been before. My grandmother’s wards and the herbs made me uninteresting and unable to catch someone’s attention—perfect for hiding my Wolfkin magic. Suddenly, my safety blanket had been ripped away, and I felt raw—without skin.

I spotted Kaleb on the other side of the room, a book open in his hand as he sat on top of one of the cabinets, a knee bent and one leg hanging off the side. He looked more like a cat than the silver wolf I knew. Even from across the room, I saw the way he cradled his hand, no doubt feeling the pain of his injury.

A shadow fell over me, and I squinted, looking up to find a stranger in front of me.

Dark, stringy hair fell over his face, and his eyes were sunken and so black that I could not distinguish between his iris and pupil. The stranger grinned when he saw he had my attention. The smile held a mocking edge that I did not like.

The stranger slid onto the couch beside me without waiting for an invitation. Much too close. I shifted, trying to put space between us, but there was only so much room.

The stranger placed his arm on the back of the couch. “You’re new. Young?” He guessed.

I blinked, unwilling to speak. My upper lip wrinkled and met my nose, as I could not keep my discomfort from my face.

If the stranger noticed, he did not show it. “I’m Donovan.” He jabbed a thumb toward his chest. “Which pack are you in? Have you been assigned to one yet? I’ll be happy to show you around. We don’t have many female wolves in the kennels, and I want to make sure you’re comfortable here.” Though his words were innocent enough, they made my skin crawl.

Something had stolen my tongue as I stared at Donovan, trying to gauge what I could say that wouldn’t promote an ugly response. He was too brazen, too comfortable. I couldn’t sense Alpha magic, which usually brought that kind of confidence, but maybe I was wrong.

Donovan reached out, his fingers inching toward my face. “You’re like a little rabbit.” He purred. “So frightened.”

I jerked back, but Donovan was wrenched away momentarily, suspended in the air by a much larger man.

Dean Hart.

The Alpha of the Locket pack leaned in close. “Don’t speak to her.” Dean snarled. “Don’t look at her. She isn’t for you.”

“Dibs already?” Donovan wheezed with a slimy grin on his face. “It pays to be an Alpha.”

Dean let go of Donovan, thrusting him away from the couch and toward the door. “Get out of my sight.” He barked. His jaw clenched as he curled his fists, and the cords of his muscles showed through his shirt—it seemed Dean was barely hanging onto his control.

Donovan scoffed, waving Dean’s threat away, but still left as if his ass was on fire.

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