Page 70 of Witch's Wolf

No smiles. No warmth. Only silence. Heavy and unnatural. I meet more fearful eyes than I can count, their stares pressing into me with unnatural weight. Some manage stiff greetings, but their voices are forced and empty. Others don’t bother at all. Then there are the angry ones. They’re fewer, but they’re there. I see it in the way they speed up when they pass me, in the way they turn away, refusing to meet my gaze.

I don’t have to guess why. I’m the one responsible for bringing the witch, Roberta Connors’s to Dawson. My involvement with her daughter was the impetus for her strike of revenge and innocent people have paid with their lives.

What should have been a refreshing walk is anything but. My feelings turn sour and angry, so I head for the shop. I keep my eyes down, avoiding those I pass rather than greeting them. What’s the point when they’re pissed off? And rightly so, but then so am I.

“Why the hell does dating a human have to be so hard?” I yell, bursting into the workshop.

“You went for a walk, didn’t you?” Raul asks, looking up from the other side of the bike he is working on with a tight expression.

“Yeah,” I say, shaking my head. “Got the distinct impression that some people wanted to tear me to pieces. Where’s Ray?”

Raul straightens, grabbing a rag and wiping grease off his hands. He exhales heavily.

“He, uh… he’s on his way to Joe’s.” He stops in front of me, and I can tell there’s more than what he’s saying; there is something going on. It’s clear in his eyes and the tension in his shoulders. “Sam, you saw how it is. There’s a lot of resentment amongst the pack. They blame you for our fallen, Sammy. Ray’s going to try to fix it.”

“Blame me? I mean, I get it, but fix what? How?”

“I’m handling it,” he says, frowning with his voice low and edging into a command.

I bristle at the tone of his voice and the assumption that I need my little brother to fix my shit for me.

“What is he doing Raul? What’s happening?”

Raul’s face darkens. I know my brother too well. He’s debating between telling me to sit down and color or telling me the truth. When he shakes his head and grunts, I know he’s going to tell me the truth.

“Jonathan Locksmith started a petition,” Raul says grimly. “He wants me to oust you from Dawson.”

“What?” I ask, shock tightening my throat and making my voice higher. “Exile? What the fuck Raul?”

“He started it the day after Roberta killed his wife. I’d tell him to kiss my ass, but he’s got supporters. About four hundred of our people have signed it already.”

“Four hundred…” the number lodges in my chest like a blade.

That’s nearly a quarter of Dawson’s population. Raul drags in a deep breath.

“Look, Sammy. I’ll ignore them. I don’t give a shit about what they do. You’re my blood. There’s no way I’m kicking you out, but if Roberta kills anyone else…” he shakes his head. “That number’s gonna rise. At some point, they won’t leave me a choice. I’d rather send you away than have an angry mob coming to lynch you.”

“Where would I go?” I ask, the words barely making it past my lips. “What the hell would I do? This is all I know, Raul.”

I grab a screwdriver from the workbench, gripping it like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality.

“Don’t go there,” Raul warns, stepping closer and putting a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll bust our asses to make sure it doesn’t come to that. I’ve been trying to track that bitch down, but no luck. I’ve tripled patrols around Dawson. The pack’s working around the clock to locate her.”

“And?” I ask, knowing the answer before I do. “Anything?”

“There’s no sign of her,” he says, shaking his head.

“She won’t show herself with Erica gone,” I mutter, scratching my jaw. “That’s what she wanted in the first place, her daughter out of here. Away from me.”

Raul’s expression hardens.

“I don’t think that’s all of it. That witch is a plague, brother. She’s out for blood. Your blood. You have to be ready for her. We all do.”

“Fine, we’ll be ready but what about Dexter?” I say through gritted teeth, shifting the subject. “His pack was close when we last saw him. Did they leave?”

“Yeah. They’re in the wind too,” Raul says. “The boys scanned the area for ten miles around Dawson. No sign of them. Their scents are fading more by the day.”

“So, Dexter packed up and headed back to Mercer? Just like that?” I narrow my eyes, struggling to believe it. “What about that living space he wanted? He suddenly doesn’t give a damn anymore?”

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