Page 147 of Home to the Hollow

Strolling around the table, I pick up the torn thong on the ground. When I whistle softly, she glares daggers at me and I just grin wider. I stuff the lacy scrap in my pocket and approach Edgar carefully. I’m not sure which of his sides is the issue, but given the tinge of sulfur, I’m guessing it’s the hound. That means I have to approach carefully, and speak quietly so I don’t send it on a rampage. I lay my hand on his back gently and turn to wink at Jolene. My lips are against his ear as I whisper something so low that only enhanced hearing can pick it up and his body lifts off of our girl slightly. When he finally looks down at her, Jolene gives both of us a murder stare.

“How did youdothat? That wasn’t even English, and since when does Edgar Boone speak another language? Your father would tar your hide for hiding that, buster.”

Edgar laughs, moving to adjust his clothing and sit on the table beside her. “I told you—my father doesn’t control me anymore.”

An interesting tidbit, to be sure. I wouldn’t have imagined him ever saying that out loud, especially in a building where the walls definitely have ears.

“It was Aramaic,” I offer helpfully. “But that’s a story for later. Do you keep wipes in here? I’d assume you do, because, duh…art.”

It takes her a moment to realize that I’m helping her clean up before she stands, and she flushes bright pink. “Um, yeah. In the back room? By the sink?”

I nod, heading to grab them. I can hear him asking if he hurt her. It’s a good question since the mark of his hound—a bite mark branded into the skin of neck—was obvious once I got close. I doubt hemeantto claim her on an art table in the high school, and I can sympathize because I didn’t mean to in a horse field. Something about that girl has us all wound up in ways we can’t seem to control. Luckily for both of us, the magic woven into her emergence spell will keep the marks hidden until it breaks, or we’d havemuchbigger issues.

Although, I doubt she’ll be pleased we marked her without explaining the significance to her, but it’s not as if either of us had a choice. Sometimes, the supe inside has a mind of its own.

When I return with the wipes, she’s laughing and asking him for milkshakes. The joy on Boone’s face is an expression I’ve never see on him before, and I have to stop to marvel at it for a moment before I join them.

Jolene Athena Whitley actually makes him happy. Who knew it was possible?

Week Two

“Have a delightful trip, guys!” The elder Atwaters wave as they step into their vintage Bentley and I sigh heavily.

After spending the last two days focused on sports physicals and ‘pre-emergence’ consultations, I’m wiped. I wouldn’t have added Miranda Atwater to my schedule last minute except she and her husband are going on a supe cruise that leaves tomorrow, and she wanted to ensure she had the right mix of travel meds to keep her from succumbing to any of the germs that enclosed spaces breed. Being older animal shifters, they’re far more susceptible to some of the nasty bugs, and I’d feel like absolute shit if they got ill because I didn’t want to extend my long day.

Of course, if any of the hoity-toity townspeople would book things ahead, they wouldn’t be left scrambling at the last minute, but that’s never going to happen.

My time isn’tnearlyas valuable as theirs.

Glancing at my watch, I see the text from Jolene pop up and I frown. Why is she calling an ‘emergency meeting’ at her place? Shouldn’t we be headed home soon, anyway? Lucy might have to finish up at the farm, but we’d be heading there soon enough, except for…

Ah, she’s added Boone into the mix.

I chuckle to myself, closing up the office and heading out to my car. Like I told Lucy, I’m not opposed to sharing Magpie at all—even with that grouchy asshole Boone—as long as she doesn’t feel weird about it. So far, she seems to acclimate, but the pains of her past are making it take longer. Wolfie and I know about that, and so our goal is to be as easygoing as possible. If Jolene needs people she can lean on, we will be that for her.

But her text sounded almost… panicked. Did she stumble on something she shouldn’t have seen yet?

I pull into her driveway within minutes, noting Edgar’s fancy Cobra is already here. We haven’t had a real discussion about the three of us and how we’ll keep Jolene from getting ganged up on by the vicious crowd around here, but I think I can count on him to help. Lucy said Boone’s hound claimed her, and that bond will supersede any other tie—he won’t be able to resist protecting his mate, even if the bond isn’t complete until all of their supe sides have claimed. Since magpie hasn’t had even one emerge yet, that’s going to be interesting, but no one has ever accused me of taking the road more traveled.

In fact, typically I’m accused of taking the hard way on purpose.

Memories of the past, my parents, and the shifter I lost during my Guardian training in China flood me, and I have to pause for a moment to gather myself. My kind are rare, our powers are coveted, and they use us for assignments that are beyond our ability to solve. It leads to a lot of tragedy, and pairing that with my brief stint as a failed Guardian, I have a lot of baggage that only Lucy knows about. If we are to be mates, Jolene will have to know as well, and I am not looking forward to opening that wound again.

Shaking my head as I slide out of my vintage Mercedes, I consider how important it is to maintain a specific veneer in this town—both to keep us hidden from the humans, but also to teach the young hybrids and supes how to protect themselves when they leave. Jolene was never taught that, it seems, but she worked her way through several universities, countries, and an influential society consulting gig for years. She didn’t even have the Irish lass until she moved to Europe, but she settled herself in every location like a chameleon blending into the background.

I wonder if that’s a clue to one or more of her supernatural sides? Does she have the species who can influence emotions and appearance?

Project Chimerakeeps meticulous records, and perhaps it’s time I request access to the worldwide historical archives. The glut of species that have been written off as ‘fading’ or ‘extinct’ simply because they have not recorded a pure blood group or birth doesn’t mean there aren’t rarities hiding all over the world. If they are inter-mixing with other supes, they would likely drop their children in an enclave without so much as a backward glance. Many of the unemerged or even ‘lost ones’ could be hybrids of royals or species we haven’t witnessed in decades—including my magpie.

I approach the door on that worrisome thought, deciding I’ll need to do a deep dive into the archives to be prepared for anything. As for the meeting they summoned me for, I hope it’s not bad news. Lucy and Boone are already inextricably connected to her, and rejected mate bonds, even from an unemerged supe, are notoriously difficult to treat successfully. None of us are spring chickens, and with our life spans, it would make for a great deal of miserable years in the future. Hellhounds and Fae arenotshort-lived supes.

The door flies open, and the girl in question throws her arms around me, squeezing tightly. “Prez!”

Okay, then. Not what I expected, but I’ll take it.

Smiling at her gently, I sniff for alcohol surreptitiously, and when I don’t catch the scent, my body relaxes. I’m not sure why she’s suddenly so affectionate, but I will not complain about it, either. When she lets go, she gestures to the stairs, not waiting for me to follow as she ascends. “Not that I’m opposed to going to your nest, magpie, but I’m curious why a meeting with all three of us is being held up there?”

She pauses, looking over her shoulder and giving me a blinding smile. Her eyes are full of heat and mischief, and for a second, I completely lose track of my thought process. My breath catches, and I can feel the thumping of my heart inside of my chest like a drumbeat.

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