Page 82 of Teeth To Rip & Tear

The Huntsman wanted to kill me, too.

I grabbed the magic around me, forming a snarling bramble between the Huntsman and me. I wrapped that squirming magic around my fist and flung my punch out, wild and uncoordinated. His eyes rolled back in his head as he fell backward.

He hit the floor with an almighty thump.

“You waited,” I murmured, shocked, as I rushed from the Huntsman’s mount room, almost tripping over Mitchell in my haste.

Mitchell grinned, standing up and brushing the dust from his shirt. “Of course, I waited.” His grin dropped as he noticed my expression. The blossoming bruise on my cheek from the journal and the wide-eyed fear that made my heart pound three times as fast.

I began to panic. Unable to control the breaths that whistled through my teeth. My lungs couldn’t fill all the way.

“What did he do?” Mitchell stepped into my space. He lifted his hand and placed it against my cheek.

A single tether in a storm.

A golden thread connected us.

I closed my eyes, sighing as I felt my throbbing cheek heal under his cool fingertips.

I held up the journal. “Éabha’s journal.”

Mitchell’s lip pursed. “Really?”

I nodded, looking away. “We should leave before he wakes up.” I grabbed Mitchell’s shoulder and started toward the stairs.

“Wait,” His feet caught as I dragged him down the steps. “What do you meanwakes up?”

“I punched him,” I said, matter of factly. “My hand hurts. I think I need to learn how to throw a punch.”

“Dean told me you were pretty handy with a sledgehammer.” Mitchell’s eyes sparkled.

“If my career as a wolf doesn’t work out, I can always go into demolition.”

He barked a laugh, his unscarred eye wide as if he surprised himself. “You shouldn’t have been able to hurt the Huntsman.” His brow furrowed. “Are you certain you punched him?”

I gave him a dry look.

Mitchell rolled his eyes. “Of course, you’re certain.” He muttered. “Hold out your arms.”

My eyes narrowed, but I did as he said, tensing when his hands hovered over my arms. He poked my bicep before gripping my wrist in a feather-light hold, then turned my hand over. The entire time, my heartbeat roared in my ears, and I struggled to control my breathing.

Touch belonged in two categories. Sexual or painful. Mitchell’s touch was neither as he surveyed my body like a blank canvas.

“You need to build muscle.” He told me. “And stamina. If the Huntsman sends you out again like this, it’ll be suicide. And if he remembers that punch, he will pit you against something you can’t handle. Just like the manticore.”

“You think he’s going to send me out again?” I cleared my throat.

“More beasts have been slipping through to the Human Realities.” He told me. “If you can track them as quickly as you found the stag and the manticore—”

I held up my hands. “So, I’m a soggy piece of bread that needs to toughen up before I get killed by some dangerous mythical beast.”

Mitchell’s lips pressed into a thin line as he struggled to hold back a smile. “You said it, not me. You should start running laps around the castle. At least ten every morning. The best weapon can sometimes be to run away.”

“I don’t want to run away.” I rubbed my hand over my mouth. Glancing back as we hurried away from the Huntsman mount room. “I want to kill the son of a bitch. I just don’t know if it will break the curse.”

Mitchell stopped on the steps.

I slapped his arm. “Hurryup.”

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