Page 37 of Midnight Mate
“Atta girl.”
11
Easton
Isped through town, my wolf practically breathing down my neck for answers that felt much closer today than they had last night. A short text had woken me this morning. Angus’s message had been clear. I had one shot to meet with the witches and bargain for my healing. I was in. His last line: Don’t be late.
Considering my appointment was in twenty minutes and the coven wanted me to come to them, I hauled ass.
The witches’ land butted up against national forest area. It was the most remote stretch of road there was in Midnight Falls. It’d been a favorite hangout for me and my friends as kids. Every game of Truth or Dare usually involved being dared to walk through the woods near the witches’ ceremonial grounds.
Weird shit always happened in this part of the Falls.
Like now, cheerful daylight turned to a dark and cloudy sky as I approached the turnoff. If that was the strangest part of this meeting, I was getting off easy.
No other cars were parked outside the dilapidated cabin when I pulled up. I knew the witches didn’t actually live here; they just used the place to hold meetings they didn’t want humans knowing about.
I thought of Cat as I climbed out and headed for the cabin’s door. When I’d asked, she’d agreed to come with me despite the knowledge that this place was spelled against anything that wasn’t supernatural. And she would have too. If I’d had time to stop and pick her up. But I couldn’t afford to offend them with something as simple as being late.
Witches were moody like that.
Before I could reach the cabin’s porch, the rickety screen door was pushed open from the inside.
A woman stepped out, her black skirt swishing against the ground as she moved. A narrow face set on a slim, bony body peered down at me. Her dark hair was swept into a severe bun, and the collar of her dress rose high on her neck. Peering down her nose at me, she looked more like a nineteenth-century countess than a modern-day witch.
“Easton Raines.”
“Delphine.” I stalled, realizing I had no clue what her last name was. No one did. Delphine just … was. The coven leader and the most serious woman I’d ever encountered. Also, the scariest, if I was being honest.
She’d once caught me trying to sneak into a coven meeting and threatened to turn me into a speedbump in the town square.
I kind of believed she could do it too.
Now, peering down at me, she frowned, and the air hummed with some electric current that wasn’t altogether friendly-feeling against my skin.
“Why have you come?”
“Uh, Angus texted. Said I could meet to ask the coven for help.”
I looked over her shoulder, but no one else had joined her.
She folded her hands in front of her. “You may state your request.”
Damn.
These witches hadn’t changed a bit.
No sense of humor and no love lost when it came to werewolves.
“I injured my knee a few weeks ago. Despite all my efforts, it hasn’t healed. I think something’s wrong with my wolf.”
Her lip curled at my mention of the beast inside me. Not surprising. The witches and wolves existed in a teetering sort of peace pact. It was fragile and constantly leaning one way or the other. Apparently, today, she was leaning toward “screw werewolves.”
“I can’t help you.”
She turned to retreat inside and I hurried forward. “Wait.”
She turned, sniffing.
