Page 59 of Witch's Wolf

Raul, Ray, Nora, and I make our way up the hillside toward the open gate. Our shadows stretch long over the damp earth, our footsteps barely more than whispers in the quiet. When we get to the gate it isn’t Helena waiting, it’s Erica.

I pick up her scent before I see her. My heart beats faster as the hints of cinnamon mix with the smells of pine, sap, and healthy decay. When I see her, I can barely keep myself from stumbling. The light from the open gate backlights her, casting her perfect shape into a dark relief.

My fingers ache with the need to touch her beautiful curves. The memory is so strong that I involuntarily stiffen in my pants. This isn’t the time, not in the slightest, but she has that effect on me. My Siren.

She waits beyond the gate’s mechanism, arms crossed, posture rigid. Waiting. I struggle to walk without calling attention to my rock-hard cock straining against my pants.

“Hey, everybody,” she says, nodding to each of us. “Can you go ahead to the library? I need a moment with Sam.”

Raul glances between us, then gives a sharp nod.

“Don’t take too long,” he orders before striding past.

Ray and Nora follow in silence. Ray though gives me a knowing, lascivious grin and a quick thrust of his hips miming doggy style. I roll my eyes and move close to her.

“It’s good to see you,” I say, keeping my voice low as I put my hands on her hips. Hesitation flickers in her eyes as we share a brief kiss. Something is bothering her, but she’s not wanting to say it. “What?”

She frowns, her eyes boring into me, looking for answers, but I don’t know the question. Her eyebrows draw together, she clenches her jaw and then exhales sharply.

“Helena’s going to mention a name. Alfred Jenkins. He represents a record company, Platinum Tunes. He approached me while we were apart and offered me a contract, a record deal,” she keeps her eyes on mine, holding steady despite the tension in her shoulders. “I wanted you to hear it from me first. Not Helena.”

“Thank you,” I say, tension easing in my shoulders. She gives a small nod. “I appreciate it, is that all? Any more surprises?”

A faint smile ghosts across her lips. She shrugs and shakes her head.

“It’s Helena,” she says and we both chuckle, knowing the depth of those two words.

“Right, shall we?” I ask, offering my arm.

“Yeah,” she says, twining her arm around mine and we walk in together.

Moving along the hallway, I feel a swell of appreciation. Erica didn’t have to tell me about Alfred Jenkins. She could have let Helena be the one to bring it up, but she didn’t. She wanted to be straight with me which shows that she does value what we have.

The library’s interior reminds me of a classroom. Helena stands behind a desk like a teacher, her students, us, are scattered in front of her, waiting.

“I won’t burden you with my thoughts on New York,” she says, pushing the hood of her cloak back. She smirks, which is so out of character for her that my attention latches onto it. “Besides, they don’t matter. If any of you want to gossip, ask Erica. She found me wandering near her house.”

“Yeah,” Erica says, biting her lower lip and trying not to laugh. “It was a little funny, if I’m honest.”

Helena doesn’t crack a smile. She leans forward, planting her palms on the desk, her expression deadly serious.

“Erica told me she was offered a recording contract withPlatinum Tunesby a man named Alfred Jenkins,” she says, looking at each of us in turn but ending with her eyes locked onto me.

Raul grunts and fixes Erica with an assessing gaze.

“Nice!” Nora says, smiling.

“Hey, way to go,” Ray says.

I don’t say anything. It doesn’t take a psychic to know that Helena is about to drop the other shoe and that this time that shoe is probably going to be a fucking nuke.

“She says that he was a handsome man and that he was very smooth and polished. First of all, you should all know that Alfred Jenkins is a real person.” She shifts her gaze from me to Erica who shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “He does work forPlatinum Tunes, only he’s not the dashing, middle-aged man who approached Erica the other day. In fact, he’s…” she pauses, her lips pressing into a thin line. “He’s nothing like that. The real Alfred Jenkins is about five-five, maybe five-six, and weighs well over three hundred pounds. The man you met, his name is actually Jack Sellers.”

A ripple of tension tightens the air. Erica tilts her head.

“How did you find that out? And in three days, no less?”

“I’ll get to that,” Helena says, nodding sharply. “Let me finish.”

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