Page 68 of Her Males

I release Mammon and look around, slightly surprised to see that we’re in the middle of the woods. Mammon warned me that shifters tend to enjoy nature more than most, but I didn’t realize that meant they live in the wilderness.

I just thought they’d have big back yards or something.

“Stay close to me,” Mammon says, her fingers curling around my elbow and guiding me forward.

I follow her lead, struggling with the uneven terrain.

I’ve never walked through the woods before, and I’m quickly learning that the ground is hard to move on. The heels Mammon gave me to wear sink into the soft dirt, and I find myself having to pry them out with each step.

I don’t know how Mammon manages to walk so effortlessly, and I try to copy her smooth, easy motions with little success. She looks like an experienced gazelle, and I look like a newborn deer just learning how to use my legs.

We walk down a steep slope before rounding a large hill. Sweat pebbles up along my temples when what I thought would be a quick journey turns into a good fifteen-minute venture. Why didn’t she take us right to where we needed to meet?

I’m going to be a puddle of sweat by the time we get there.

Mammon leads us in the direction of an ominous, dingy cave entrance. It’s carved into the side of a large mountain, and I stare at it in panic. Does she intend for us to go inside?

It’s pitch black in there.

“I can smell your fear, Charlotte. There will be lights once we get farther in. Would you like me to carry you?” Mammon asks.

I clear my throat, hoping she can’t see the redness spreading over my cheeks.

“I’m okay.”

She holds my hand as she helps guide me inside, her voice quiet and soothing as she tells me when to step over things or move to the side. An unwanted shiver makes its way down my spine as the air around us cools.

Eventually, I spot some torches, and I sigh with relief when I finally begin to make out my surroundings again. Mammon turns and leads us through a wide crack in the stone wall.

Water drips and echoes around us, the noise blending in with the clicking of our shoes, but it vanishes as voices make their way to my ears.

What is this place?

We enter a room filled with tall, shirtless men, and I break out in a cold sweat. These are the shifters. The men watch as we enter, their attention darting rapidly between Mammon and me.

I count twenty as I’m ushered to a large, round table in the center of the room.

The shifters wait for us to get seated before lowering themselves into their chairs. I flinch when a brown animal fur is draped over my shoulders, and I squeak out a quiet thank you as I clutch the warm carcass to my body.

It’s freezing here, and I can’t imagine how these men are comfortable in such little clothing.

The man directly across the table from us is the first to speak up. “It’s been a long time, Mammon.”

He’s slightly larger than the demon males I’ve come across, and his overgrown blond beard and long hair make him look wild. His muscles bulge as he leans forward and places his forearms on the table, but the action doesn’t seem overly threatening.

“Yes,” she says, gesturing to me. “This is Charlotte, whom I’m sure you’ve heard of. She’s the chosen female of the Wrath Trio, and she’s come to me with information I think you’ll be most interested in.”

I reach into my shoulder bag and pull out the copies of the report Mammon made earlier. My back sweats as I hand them to the men around the table. They stand and practically press their chests to the cold stone so I don’t have to reach too far.

“I’ll give you all a moment to read it over,” Mammon says, turning to me.

Her voice lowers as she begins to address me individually. “These are the shifter alphas. They each have a red design on their thigh that will tell you what their animal form is.”

I nod and slyly glance at the shifter on my right. He’s one of the largest of them, his muscles bulging, and he shoots me a friendly smile before turning to read the report. His green eyes dart quickly over each word, and he worries his full bottom lip between his teeth as he flips the page. He doesn’t have a beard like the other shifter, and his dark-brown hair is shorter, too.

Mammon leans over me to touch him, but he pulls away before her hand meets his skin.

“Stop being so dramatic, Kato. Show her your design,” she says.

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