Page 27 of Touch of Evil

“Good luck, dudes,” Shayna says, and disconnects.

Emme shoves the shoes she wore deeper into her small purse. “The other head witches in the country are trying to get rid of Genevieve.”

“Yeah, and this is a good excuse to do it,” I say. I reach for Emme’s hand without thinking. Everything we learn is that much worse. I wish she wasn’t a part of it.

After one hell of a look at my hand, she meets my face, offering the start of another heart-battering smile. I lead her forward before I allow that smile to be my undoing. I have a job to do, and part of my responsibility is making sure nothing happens to this sweet thing beside me.

Some of theweresback at the complex wanted to come with us. I wouldn’t allow it. It’s not that I just want Emme to myself, it’s because of what’s out here.

Thoseweresalready have a feel for what this thing is. They’re our best chance to keep the humans around here safe. The other side of the coin is, I don’t know them. There wasn’t time to interrogate each one to see if they played a part in what happened. It would be stupid on their end, sure. They know who Emme is to Aric, and maybe what she can do on her own. But Ted seemed to know too, and it didn’t stop him from pulling some major bullshit moves on Emme.

“Genevieve is getting too strong, isn’t she?” Emme asks. “It’s why the other witches are coming down so hard on her.”

My gaze trails to the left. I take in how the full moon reflects along the passing waves, and how it feels to have Emme so close. Blood, death, and decapitated kneecaps aside, this is what some shmuck might refer to as a romantic stroll. I just wish I wasn’t the shmuck making the reference. For what has to be the hundredth time tonight, I remind myself that this is Emme.Emme. Not someone I can just share a few hours with alone in bed.

“They’re all strong,” I say, taking way too long to answer. “Genevieve is among the most powerful of her kind. So is Aric, and fucking Misha. And they all reside here in Tahoe, a beacon of power and magic. Those greedy bastards, the head witches and master vamps throughout the country, want this territory for themselves. They’re willing to take out any of the bosses, or at the very least discredit them if it means one step closer to claiming Tahoe.”

I stop when we reach the spot where Ted took his last dying breath. “This is it, isn’t it?” Emme asks.

“Yup,” I respond.

Emme releases my hand a little too soon and much to my dislike. I don’t sense anything in the surrounding area yet. That doesn’t mean I want her venturing far.

She circles the area where Ted’s body was found. The way he was ripped to pieces and how those pieces were thrown apart, it’s a fairly large section of space to cover. Except there she is, her steps careful, avoiding the spots where the pieces landed as if as visible as the moon above. For someone who doesn’t have my nose, she has astonishing instincts when it comes to magic.

I walk to the opposite side, noting the section where the marks remain. There are swivels and swerves and… “Hm,” I say.

Emme makes her way to me, careful not to disrupt the patterns. “What do you see?”

“Handprints. Two of them.” I point to two spots in the section of swivels.

“I don’t really see them,” Emme admits.

“Between the breeze sweeping all the sand around and all theweresthat were here to pick up the parts, they’re hard to make out, but that’s what they are.” I crouch and take in a long breath of air. There’s that salty scent again. It’s lighter here than what was on the knee cap. Still, I catch enough before it disappears in the breeze.

Something about the handprints catch my attention. “They’re not big, and notwere,” I say. I tilt my head in Emme’s direction. “They’re too small. Our females tend to have long hands and fingers. These are too short and stubby forweres.” I make a face. “They’re also smooth, as in no prints. Shit. They’re even different hands, both lefties.”

“Then there are probably more individuals involved than we realize,” Emme says.

“Yeah,” I say. “That would make the most sense. Just something about it doesn’t feel right.”

“This whole thing doesn’t feel right,” she adds.

“That’s for damn sure,” I mutter.

Emme takes a few steps forward, studying the patterns hard. “How can you tell those are handprints for certain?” she asks. “Prints are hard to see even under the best circumstances.”

I shrug. “Subtle pressure against the sand can lead to even small creases. This thing, or things, left a hell of a lot of pressure, but no creases.”

Emme smiles, pride finding its way into her voice. “You notice everything,” she says. “I guess that’s why you’re the best tracker in the pack.”

And holy fuck, now I’m the one blushing.

I push off the sand and brush off my jeans. “Come on. I can’t make heads or tails of these markings. Let’s head further down and see if we can pick up on something else.”

“Are you…blushing?” Emme asks.

“Fuck no. Wolves don’t fucking blush,” I say. “Just windy is all. Fucking bastard wind. Always shows up when you don’t fucking need it. Fuck.”

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