“Bastard,” I grumbled again and strode toward the table.
I intended to tear up the envelope and hurl the gift bag in the trash without looking inside, but it clinked when I picked it up. That made me pause. Had he actually gotten my potions?
I pushed aside colorful tissue paper to draw out the contents. Four vials of liquid were nestled inside along with a business card. The name of the alchemist who’d made them? It saidapothecary, but I knew witches rarely put theirrealbusiness in print for people to find. This country didn’t have a history of being kind toward those suspected of witchcraft.
At the bottom of the bag, there were also two dark-chocolate bars and a rusty fork. The fork he’d found in Lake Washington with me? Or another? I didn’t know, but I flattened my hands on the table and stared at the gift, tears threatening my eyes. It wasn’t so much that I was touched but that I was frustrated that he was the enemy instead of someone… someone I could let myself like.
“Bastard,” I whispered for a third time, but I opened the envelope instead of tearing it up.
A card showed a cartoon dog in a fishing boat on a lake, holding out a rainbow trout in offering. It readI’m sorry.
Inside, Duncan had written a note in execrable handwriting that I struggled to decipher.
My apologies, my lady, for not being honest with you. When I accepted this mission—and, of course, the promise of adventure!—I didn’t expect the wife that your loathed ex-husband had described to me would turnout to be an appealing person I’d like to know better. You may not believe it, but I enjoyed our time together. I’ve not had another wolf to hunt with in a long while. I hope you will accept this small gift as an adequate apology.
Best wishes,
Duncan
He hadn’t left a phone number or any way to get in touch. It was for the best. I would accept his gift, but I still couldn’t trust him. Nothing had changed. And it was entirely possible that he’d sent the thug who’d beaten up Bolin for the case.
Sighing, I walked into the bathroom with the vials. I studied them for a long moment, then removed the cork from one and sniffed the contents. The liquid looked and smelled correct. As promised, Duncan had found another alchemist who could make my potions, one who hadn’t been scared off by a well-meaning but meddling relative.
Did I want to take the potion? A few days ago, I would have answered that question with a vehementyesand quaffed a dose. But things had changed, and I waffled with indecision.
On the one hand, dealing with cousins trying to kill me didn’t make me eager to return to the embrace of my family—and the werewolf life. Nor did I feel good about the way the face-off with those hunters had gone, that I hadn’t been able to control my rage, my animal instincts. Nothing, it seemed, had changed with time.
But, on the other hand, damn if I hadn’t enjoyed being out there on the hunt. Even a hunt that had ended in disaster. Over the years, I’d forgotten the exhilaration, what it was like to truly be alive. It would be hard to give that up for a second time.
And my mother… My mother was dying, and she needed me. To turn my back on her, on our legacy, would be much harder to do today.
I thought of Mom’s indifference to the deaths of the hunters, a similar indifference that she’d displayed years ago after Raoul’s passing. I had been challenged by others, and I’d killed. That was just how it was. It was the way of the wolf.
It was as hard for me to accept that today as it had been then, but my gut told me that the future would bring more surprises, and it would be better to have power than not. All week, I hadn’t heeded my gut when it had repeatedly warned me of danger, both with Duncan and with Augustus, and I’d regretted it.
“You win, Mom,” I murmured.
I put the cork back in the vial and placed the potions in the medicine cabinet. For now, I would once again heed the call of the wolf.
THE END