Page 32 of Witch's Promise

It was time to face the music. Time to pay for his victory.

Chapter 9

Sean

He had officially lost his goddamn mind. That was the only explanation for why he was skulking around the corner from The Daily Grind like some discount noir detective, watching Gabe sip his probably-too-sweet coffee through the café's window. Two days. It had been two fucking days since he'd seen Gabe in that alley, and here he was, stalking the guy like a creep.

Smooth, Drake. Real smooth.

His face still ached, a patchwork of fading bruises and half-healed cuts that made him look like he'd gone ten rounds with a meat grinder. Which, considering the Vargr he'd fought, wasn't too far off the mark. At least his left eye had decided to rejoin the party, even if everything still looked a bit fuzzy around the edges.

Sean shifted his weight, wincing as his ribs protested the movement. Katelyn's voice echoed in his head, a replay of the ass-chewing she'd given him yesterday when she'd shown up at his apartment.

"What the actual fuck were you thinking, Sean?" she'd demanded, her eyes blazing with a mixture of worry and fury. "Silver knives? Against a Vargr? Are you trying to get yourselfkilled or just banned from every supernatural fight club in the tri-state area?"

Sean had tried to explain, to tell her about seeing Gabe in the alley, but the words had caught in his throat. How could he make her understand when he barely understood it himself?

So instead, he'd just shrugged, winced at the pain that simple movement caused, and said, "You should see the other guy."

Katelyn had not been amused.

Now, as Sean watched Gabe through the café window, he wondered if maybe Katelyn had been right. Maybe he was losing it. Because what the hell was he doing here? What did he expect to accomplish by creeping around like this?

Gabe looked good. Healthy. Happy, even. His hair was a bit longer than Sean remembered, curling slightly at the nape of his neck in a way that made Sean's fingers itch to run through it. He was dressed casually in jeans and a soft-looking sweater, a far cry from the sharp suits he'd favored when they were younger.

Sean's chest ached, and for once it had nothing to do with his bruised ribs. Seeing Gabe like this, so close yet impossibly far away, brought back a flood of memories. Late nights studying, lazy Sunday mornings tangled in sheets, the warmth of Gabe's smile and the safety of his embrace. All the things Sean had thrown away because he'd been too scared, too stupid to accept the truth about who Gabe was. Who they both were.

A gust of wind cut through Sean's jacket, making him shiver. He should leave. This was pointless, pathetic even. What was he going to do, waltz into the café and say, "Hey, remember me? The asshole who broke your heart and then disappeared for years? Want to grab a coffee and catch up?"

Yeah, that'd go over real well.

But even as Sean told himself to walk away, his feet remained rooted to the spot. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Gabe, drinking in every detail like a man dying of thirst. The wayGabe's brow furrowed slightly as he read something on his phone. The absent-minded way he stirred his coffee, lost in thought. The ghost of a smile that played at the corners of his mouth as he typed out a response to whatever he'd been reading.

God, Sean had missed him. Missed him with an ache that felt like a physical wound, raw and bleeding even after all these years.

A group of teenagers bustled past, jostling Sean and nearly knocking him off balance. He stumbled, catching himself against the wall of the building he'd been using as cover. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his battered body, a stark reminder of the life he'd chosen. The life that had no place for someone like Gabe.

Sean straightened up, ignoring the protests of his aching muscles. This was insane.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of deep purple and indigo. Sean had lost track of how many hours he'd been at this, following Gabe like a shadow, drinking in every detail of the man he'd once known better than himself. Some might call it creepy, this extended surveillance. Hell, part of Sean knew it was. But another part, a part he'd thought long dead, felt alive for the first time in years.

Watching Gabe, even from a distance, felt like coming up for air after being underwater for too long.

As the night wore on, Gabe's meandering path led them to the river that marked the boundary between Salem and the glittering skyline of New York beyond. Sean watched from behind the broad trunk of an old oak as Gabe approached the water's edge, his silhouette a dark smudge against the twinkling lights of the city.

Gabe stood there, motionless, for what felt like an eternity. Sean found himself holding his breath, as if making a sound might shatter this moment of perfect stillness.

Sean was so lost in his thoughts, in the bitter cocktail of regret and longing that seemed to be his constant companion these days, that he almost missed the shift in the air around him. Almost.

Years of training kicked in, his body reacting before his mind had fully processed the threat. Sean's hands flew to the knives concealed in his jacket pockets, the cool metal a reassuring weight against his palms. He spun, ready to face whatever danger had managed to sneak up on him.

Only to find himself face to face with a ghost from his past.

"Well, well," drawled a voice that sent ice down Sean's spine. "Look what the cat dragged in."

Riley. His father's right-hand man and resident pain in Sean's ass for as long as he could remember. The years hadn't been kind to the older man - his hair was more grey than black now, and new lines had etched themselves into his face. But those eyes were the same. Cold. Calculating. Always looking for weakness.

"Riley," Sean said, his voice low and tight. He didn't lower his hands from his weapons. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

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