Page 30 of Wooing the Wiccan
But worse… one of the teens loses control and shifts into his hellhound form.
The men in front of us surge to their feet, trying to block Jared from seeing, but one glance at his face tells me it’s too late. He scrambles to stand on his seat and lookoverthe crowd, and I don’t need to do the same to know what he sees.
The horned player.
The cracked plexiglass.
The hellhound teen, who may be shifting back to biped as he watches.
The hundreds of horned spectators in the crowd around us.
Put them together with the hard hits and seemingly lawless play, the not-magic from earlier, and my behavior since we got here, and there’s no way he’s not coming to a conclusion that’s going to need a big explanation from me.
His knees seemingly give way, and he sinks down, drawing them to his chest as he looks at me with a pale face. His hand is shaking when he lifts it to run through his hair.
“Raðulfr? Was there a hallucinogen in my nachos?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jared
There’sa split second when he considers telling me I might have been drugged—I can see it in his face. Then he squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head.
I don’t know what upsets me more: The fuckery that’s been going on without me noticing, or the fact that he’s been lying to me all night and considered doing it again.
Has he been lying to me all along?
“What is this?” I whisper. I don’t know what else to say. What to do. The people surrounding us have all gone oddly silent, and they’re watching me. Did they all know? Oh, goddess—are they all…
What are they?
“We should go,” Raðulfr says quietly. “This isn’t the place to talk. I’ll tell you everything, but not here.”
As if to punctuate his words, the siren goes for the end of the second period. Around us, people start making their way up the stairs to go to the bathroom or visit concessions, and our odd little group that I didn’t even know was a group gets a few curious looks.
“Yeah, let’s get out of here.” It’s not like I’d be able to enjoy the third period—and the Glaives are going to win anyway. The Warhammers might be a bigger team, but they mostly suck.
A semi-hysterical laugh escapes me. I can’t believe I’m thinking about the quality of a hockey team right now.
“It’s going to be okay,” one of the guys from the row in front of us says earnestly, and I just gape at him. He doesn’t have horns—does that mean he’s a werewolf?
Goddess, isRaðulfra werewolf?
“He’s right,” the woman on Raðulfr’s other side adds. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t asking for a mint earlier. “It’s a shock now, but you’ll see. Don’t worry.”
I don’t know what to say, but thankfully Raðulfr handles it. Which heshould, since he’s the one who put me in this position to begin with.
“Thank you all so much for your help,” he’s saying, and I wonder if the god and goddess would understand if I kicked him. That’s not really doing harm, is it? “If you call the DEA offices tomorrow and give the receptionist your names, he’ll arrange tickets for you to the next game.”
“You work for theDrug Enforcement Administration?” I blurt. Has he been drugging me after all? Is the government using drugs to turn people into werewolves and… whatever those horned people are?
Raðulfr sighs. “No.”
“Wrong DEA, honey,” the woman says, and my poor brain tries to think what else it could stand for.
“Sir?”
I look up toward the new voice. It belongs to a tall man with a serious face whose gaze is locked on Raðulfr.
