Page 63 of Teeth To Rip & Tear

We didn’t have to wait long before Mitchell jogged up to us, coming from the trees instead of the kennels. Dean nodded once in greeting, and a look passed between them that I didn’t understand. Mitchell flashed a droopy smile my way, flicking his shaggy black hair out of his eyes.

“Dean persuaded you to come?” Mitchell nudged me with his shoulder.

My brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I come?”

Mitchell glanced up at Dean and back to me. “Because of the Forest—”

“Don’t scare her for no reason.” Dean shook his head. “We’re wolves. It’ll be fine.”

I eyed Dean dubiously. “Not that I care, but will the Huntsman mind? I won’t get in trouble for leaving the kennels, will I?”

“Who knows?” Mitchell chuckled.

Dean glared at him. “You shouldn’t. The village isn’t far, and as long as you remain in the Aos Sí, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

I rolled my eyes. “As if I’ll magically jump dimensions. I don’t even know how to do that.”

“Well, there’s the Hawthorne trees.” Mitchell blurted out. “And that Gate—”

“Let’s just go.” Dean interrupted. “I don’t think we should have this conversation in the castle's shadow.”

I nodded, following Dean’s lead as we walked to the trees. I tried to keep up with Dean and Mitchell, but every one of their steps matched three of mine.

Despite Dean’s size, his footsteps made no sound as he stalked through the trees. The canopy quickly grew too thick to let sunlight through, and the shadows swallowed us. Mitchell walked with his hands in his pockets, the image of relaxed despite the forest’s terrifying name.

There were no worn trails, just trees, undergrowth, and patches of brambles so thick it would take a machete to get through.

Dean seemed to know where he was going as he held branches out of the way for me or grabbed my elbow when I tripped over a thick root poking out of the ground.

We hadn’t been walking long when I spotted a cottage between the trees, its windows glowing in the shadows and trailing smoke curling up to the sky from a brick chimney.

I stopped walking as an unexplainable fear gripped me. I’d heard so many stories about witches that lived in woods, waiting for children to eat. Every hair on my body prickled, and though I told myself it was just a house, something told me it was much more than that.

Dean placed his hand on the small of my back, urging me away from the house and back on our path.

“Who lives there?” I whispered, my voice quiet in case whatever monster that lived inside could hear us.

“The Soothsayer.” His voice was just as low as mine. “Some say that she is the Huntsman’s sister. Others say his mother. We do not speak of her. To speak of her is to draw her attention.”

My eyes caught on the cottage as he dragged us away—and the silhouette in the window, watching us go.

We made it through the Forest of Beasts unaccosted. However, I sensed it had everything to do with the wolves' presence instead of the number of monsters living in the woods.

As soon as we left the trees behind, the scent of flowers filled my nose. Bluebells and daffodils as far as the eye could see. The path was lined with tulips in all different colors. The sky was a pale, cloudy blue, but it felt like rain was coming.

The dirt path gave way to cobblestone, and we passed several quaint cottages and a home carved into the trunk of a large oak.

Soon enough, we came to a market on the main street running through a village. The writing on the shop signs was strange, with symbols over letters and words I didn’t know. It felt like I had been thrown back in time.

Though some of the fae we encountered looked human, they had certain features that gave them away. Too tall, too thin. One woman had skin the color of a vibrant green apple, and one man had ears as large as an elephant. I spotted more than one pair of cloven hooves on someone who looked entirely human above the knees. It took everything in me not to stare. I imagined the reactions of some of the ladies of the First Baptist Church back in Locket. The same ladies that banned Elsie Mae Turner from participating in the Fourth of July potluck because she’d once made falafel, and they didn’t want anything too ‘ethnic’ on a day meant to celebrate America.

Dean wandered off to attend to his business, but Mitchell stayed close as I took in the sights. I spent several minutes at a fabric vendor, marveling at the patterns.

Mitchell sidled up to me, his hands in his pockets. “You own a craft store.” He reminded me. “I also saw your house. You have too much fabric. Too much yarn...”

“I don’t havethisfabric.” I grinned, waving my hand toward the shimmering panel of translucent silk. “I’ve never seen this kind of effect before.”

The stall owner, a female Sídhe with pointed ears and a dress made of sunflowers, drifted over. “You have an eye for quality, my lady.” She tipped her head. “Black Widow silk is incredibly rare. It shimmers so beautifully even with only a fraction in the weft.”

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