Page 21 of Soul Bound

“What the hell is in that jar?” Winslow hisses at me under her breath, her eyes fixed on the jar that sits on the top shelf of the bookcase. She turns away from me and walks closer to the shelf so she can get a better look.

“None of us know and honestly, we’re too afraid to ask.” Sometimes we are better left in the dark, I find that is usually the case when it comes to the things in Esme’s shop.

“As you should be, your weak constitution wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Speak of the devil. Esme’s voice flows through the quiet space and when I turn, I find her descending the rickety wood staircase off to the side. She has an office on the top floor, but I’ve never been up there. “You Weylyn boys always act tougher than you are.” She grins at me.

I turn to check on Winslow, but her back is still turned to us, her attention transfixed on the various books on the shelf. “Don’t go around telling people that, Esme, I have a reputation I need to maintain,” I scoff, pretending to be offended, but when the witch’s face breaks into a smile, I find myself grinning back.

She steps forward and wraps her arms around me. “It’s good to see you, Ranger, where have you been hiding? I’ve been by to check in on Pruitt and Ryker, but you’re always off doing God knows what.”

“I’m sure the next time you see Pru, she’ll tell you all about my extracurricular activities.” I don’t want to tell Esme about the underground fighting because I don’t need another person to chew out my ass. Esme is like the cool aunt we never had—except we do have an aunt, but she’s an uptight bitch and we much prefer the company of the witch. She’ll be just as disappointed in me as Pru and Remi are.

Esme raises a brow at me in question, but I just shrug nonchalantly. “Alright boy, I’ll let this conversation go for now. Now, tell me what your problem is? You didn’t offer much information on the phone.” Her dark gaze lands on the tiny human who stands across the room, “Does she have something do with it?”

I snort. “Oh yeah.” It haseverythingto do with her. “Winslow, meet Esme.”

Winslow turns around with a polite smile on her face. “Hello, it’s nice to—”

Esme’s hands fly to her mouth in surprise, a gasp escapes her lips. “Amara?”

7

Winslow

I’m annoyed.

Annoyed because Thalia failed to warn me about the existence of wolf shifters. Annoyed because one particular wolf shifter wouldn’t let me go back to the motel last night and locked me in a room. Annoyed I had to tell a group of strangers one of my deepest secrets. Annoyed I’m being forced to meet some witch—oh yeah, also I’m annoyed I didn’t know witches were real. And annoyed that Ranger Weylyn is so stupid hot it’s hard to stay mad at him.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t try extra hard to stay mad.

The witch’s shop looks exactly like I imagined it would, weird paintings portraying God knows what, jars full of various herbs (other jars full of something I’ve been advised to not ask about), so many books I could read for a year straight and still have leftover reading material. In the middle of the room is a circular table with a dark maroon tablecloth. Six black chairs sit around it and a stack of tarot cards sits in the middle. The only thing missing is a magical crystal ball, but there is so much shit shoved in the small space, I wouldn’t be surprised if there was one tucked away somewhere.

I scan the shelves, reading the spines of the leather-bound books. Many are written in different languages, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out they’re spellbooks. I wonder if any of them have a spell I can use toBibbidi-Bobbidithe fuck out of here.

I hear Ranger talking to someone, but I don’t turn around yet, too enthralled with the grimoires, but I’m forced to acknowledge the arrival of the witch when Ranger calls my name. I plant a pleasant smile on my face—fake, of course—and turn around to greet her.

“Hello, it’s nice to—” I start, but the startled gasp cuts me off.

The woman’s hands fly up to her face in shock, her insanely dark eyes are wide and her usually tan skin pales. In short, the witch looks like she’s seen a ghost. And trust me, I’ve seen enough ghosts to be familiar withthatlook.

“Amara?” she whispers, her voice wobbly.

I slide my eyes away from her and look to Ranger for help, but based on the way he stares at Esme, he’s just as confused as I am.Great.

“No, this is Winslow…” He puts a hand on her shoulder, trying to get her attention back, but it’s transfixed on me.

I’ve had a lot of people discuss my eye color, the two different colors tend to draw attention, but I have never seen eyes that look like Esme’s. They’re pitch-black, so dark they reflect the light. It’s like looking into the night sky, and the light reflecting in them is the stars. The woman has dark hair, with faint strands of gray starting to show. She even has feathers tied into the curly mess. She’s small in stature like me but curvy. She wears a flowy patterned sundress with a leather belt cinching it in the middle. A black woven shawl covers her shoulders and arms. Her wrists are covered in different bangle bracelets that make tons of noise when she moves. In short, she looks like she’s fresh out of Sedona, Arizona. All that’s missing is some ugly turquoise jewelry.

Ranger grips her shoulder tighter and gives her a soft shake, but she doesn’t stop staring.

“Who’s Amara?” I ask, but still don’t move from my spot across the room. This whole experience is making me uneasy.

I don’t know if it was my voice, or what, but the witch finally blinks and her eyes snap back into focus. “She’s my sister.”

“Okay?” I frown, not understanding what her sister has to do with me. “Is she here?” I look around the shop, peering up at the stairs, half expecting someone to walk down them.

Esme shakes her head. “No, she went missing twenty-four years ago. She went on a trip to New York and no one ever saw her again… she justdisappeared.”

I clear my throat. “I don’t understand what this has to do with anything. I’m sorry about your sister but—”

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