Page 27 of Cursed Wolfsbane

“Well, I guess that’s going to have to be good enough for now.” I grab Bastian’s hand and drag him after me, stopping in front of Saint. “Bastian, this is Saint. He was concerned about me and thought you guys were hurting me. That’s why he put up his mage dome thingy.”

“What? We would never hurt you!” Bastian’s eyes are wide with shock from the idea that Saint would think that.

“I know. That’s what I told him. Saint, this is Bastian, one of my mates. His body double over there is Xander, and the grumpy one with black hair is their older brother, Malachi. None of them will hurt me. They’re the ones who saved me,” I admit. Without the Wyldharts, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be alive right now.

Saint closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, he uncurls his fists and shakes out his arms. “Nice to meet you,wolves. I’m Saint, and I’ve known Briar since she was born. I’ll never hurt her, but I will protect her from anyone, including the three of you.”

I see begrudging respect in Bastian’s eyes. “That’s fair enough, mage. Sorry ’bout tackling you.”

“It’s all good, man. You have any training? You pack one hell of a punch.” Saint sticks out his hand for Bastian to shake. Bastian grasps Saint’s hand for a second before slinging his arm around me.

Bastian’s mouth curves up in a pale imitation of his normally vibrant grin. “Something like that.”

Now that no one’s trying to kill each other, we should probably get out of the middle of the street. The few people out and about right now are giving us pointed glares. “Do you know where we’re going, Emmy?”

“We both do,” Saint answers. “If everyone’s ready to go, I can take you to Nan’s house.” Once he gets nods from all of us, Saint leads our group away from Hawthorne Grove’s Main Street.

As we’re walking past the businesses into a residential area, I pick up my pace so I can walk next to Saint. “How do you know Ophelia McAlister?” I’m supposed to trust this woman to restore my memories, but I know nothing about her. The more information I can get about her, the better.

“You can call her Nan. You did as a kid.” Saint glances at me, his eyes roaming my face like he’s looking for something. By the small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth, he doesn’t find what he wants. “And she’s my grandma. My last name’s McAlister, and I’m her favorite grandson.”

“You’re her only grandson,” Emmy corrects.

“I’m still the favorite.” Saint flashes Emmy a wide grin, and she rolls her eyes at him. Watching the two of them banter and wondering if they’re a couple causes jealousy to flare brightly in my chest. I stumble on the cobblestone sidewalk in surprise atthe emotion. Saint’s hand reaches out to steady me, and I like how his large palm feels on my arm more than I should.

What the hell is wrong with me? I have three mates. I don’t need, nor want, any more men.

I don’t have time to dwell on it because Saint stops in front of a white Gothic Revival house. Two red brick chimneys peek out over the gray roof. The three dormers along the roofline have white gingerbread trim. A spacious front porch extends the width of the front of the house, and a yellow door adds a pop of color to the white and gray exterior.

We don’t go toward the front door. Instead, Saint leads us around back to what looks like a detached garage or storage shed. He pushes open the white wood door and steps inside. Emmy follows him.

I’m frozen, staring at the doorway in apprehension. I have to see Ophelia to get answers. Until I step through the door, I still have hope. Hope that I’ll get my memories back. Hope that I’ll get the answers I need. Hope that everything will finally make sense.

After I cross the threshold, I’ll know for certain whether she can help me. I’m terrified she won’t be able to.

“You don’t have to do this,” Malachi rumbles from behind me. “We can find a different way.”

His voice breaks me out of my thoughts. Taking a deep breath, I release it slowly to calm my jittery nerves. “You read the letter. Ophelia is the only one who can help, so we don’t have a choice.”

Before I can chicken out, I walk through the doorway. The inside is a lot larger than it looks from the outside. Dark wood floors and forest green walls give the space a cozy feel. Arched windows allow sunlight to pour into the space. Light wood shelves line the walls, containing books, bottles, and jars of allsizes. Three black rectangular worktables dominate the space. The center table holds what looks like a cast iron cauldron.

An old woman sits on a high stool facing the middle table. She turns as we walk in and assesses me with gray eyes that match Saint’s. Her long white hair flows freely down her back, and her floral maxi dress looks like something my mom would’ve worn. Laugh lines crinkle her eyes and frame her mouth. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s around seventy to eighty years old. With supernaturals aging slower, who knows how old she really is, though.

“I have the first potion already made if you want to start with that while I work on the second one.” Ophelia motions me over to her table. She hands me a clear vial filled with murky brown liquid. My nose wrinkles as I think about what it’s going to taste like. Hopefully it’s better than the wolfsbane brew Patrick made me drink.

“Why two potions?” I ask as I inspect the table. Along with the cauldron, there’s also dried herbs, a mortar and pestle, and a variety of pastes. Thankfully, I don’t see any human parts on her table or any of the shelves. At least I know I won’t have to drink eyeball or something super gross.

“It will make more sense after you take the first one,” Ophelia tells me instead of answering the question.

That doesn’t make me feel very comfortable taking the potion, but it’s the only way to get my memories back. Uncorking the vial, I take a hesitant sniff of the potion. It just smells kind of earthy.

Hoping Ophelia isn’t trying to poison me, I swallow the potion in one big gulp. I cough as what taste like liquid dirt makes its way down my throat. It’s not nearly as bad as the wolfsbane potion, but it’s still not pleasant.

I stand there for a moment, and nothing happens. Opening my mouth to ask if the potion’s defective, I don’t get the chanceto say anything. My vision goes completely dark, and I feel like I’m hurtling through the air.

CHAPTER 13

BRIAR

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