Page 43 of Her Wolf's Demands

Rochelle butted in, almost shoving me out of the way as she took over the story. “He was a huge-arse bastard, all evil red-eyed and shit. I mean, we did pretty well on our own, and witchy here had to give me a helping hand, but the men finished the job.”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “We’ve got to give them the credit for killing the beast. Still, we gave him a good run to wear him out first.”

Putting her hands on her hips, Rochelle cocked her head. “Exactly. It wouldn’t have been so easy if we hadn’t have–”

“Okay, okay,” Emiliah mumbled, “I get it. You’re both amazing and saved the day. And I was here, baking a ceremony cake.”

Stifling a giggle, I linked my arm through Emiliah’s and waited for her to pull away. When she didn’t, I looked at her seriously, my face completely straight. “Now, you don’t know me very well but my spiritual belief is based on cake being the answer to all of life’s woes. If there is one skill that everybody, and I mean, everybody, should have, it’s baking a cake. Sooo,” I went on, looking over her shoulder at her cabin door, “where is this cake and can I have some, please?”

Lionel appeared on their porch as we fell about laughing. His glare sobered me, especially when Emiliah pulled away, patting my hand in apology.

“I’d better go.”

Walking backwards, she waved goodbye before turning and joining her husband on the porch. He didn’t say anything, just ignored her as she muttered something and went inside.

My heart plummeted, pounding in my feet as he blinked once before thrusting down the steps and going around his cabin, heading into the woods.

“What was that about?” I asked Rochelle.

The mood had dropped like a boulder, crashing into a ravine. My new friend dropped her gaze, watching her sandal as it kicked at the grass. It wasn’t like the red-head to be quiet.

“I understand that Lionel hates me,” I said, wringing my hands together, “but by healing him, I’d hoped he’d understand how sorry we are.”

Licking her lips, Rochelle looked at me. “You were right to call off the ceremony to give the pack a chance to trust you. Lionel was attacked by your brother, not you. And since you’ve been here, Drake is nowhere to be seen. You claim that you’re both sorry, and yet, Lionel isn’t completely convinced your story was true.”

A pang tightened my chest and brought a lump to my throat. It made sense that the wolves might not believe me about Drake. Malone would’ve kept his whereabouts a secret for me, but the distrust was typical.

Almost everyone believed the stereotypical image of people with mental health issues. They were the crazies. They were always persecuted as the ones who would hurt others, and yet, the judgement couldn’t be further from the truth. And if an incident had occurred involving someone with mental health issues, it was usually nowhere near as cut and dry as reported.

“I understand,” I muttered, moving away from Rochelle before she could feel my distress.

She called for me as I took off, jogging towards the woods that led to the cars. Unable to look back, I shot forward, channelling my wolf spirit to give me speed. Was it wrong of me to want to rip Lionel’s throat out for feeling that way about Drake? The bigot.

Adrenaline surged through my veins as I glanced through the trees longingly, wishing I could shift and run free in the fields beyond. What good was magic or wolf senses if I couldn’t protect my brother?

“Della?!” Malone’s shout was terse, commanding.

A zap of defiance mixed with longing tripped me. One part of me wanted to be alone, the other wanted to collapse into Malone’s arms and hide in bed for the rest of my life. We’d be two oldies, still humping when we were ancient and grey.

My feet kept going until I reached the car park field. There was a small cluster of cars gathered near the edge of the wood. Malone’s Land Rover sat front and centre, the gun-metal grey glistening in the sun.

Patting my side to feel for my bag, I swallowed and spun around, my insides twisting in knots. Malone emerged from the woods, holding up the black material bag. A halo of sun highlighted his brown shaved hair and strong jaw. I took a shuddery breath, literally breathless from not only his rugged beauty, but his strength and power. And of course, his ability to soothe my jittery soul.

“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching out to cup my cheek. “You’ve gone pale.”

A footstep behind him caught my attention, and I quickly nodded, fake smiling up at him as I took the bag. Feeling the canvas painting inside, I sighed, relieved that I hadn’t lost the only thing that might give me answers.

Manual came out from the trees, his hands tucked into his jeans pocket and floppy dirty blonde hair almost covering his light eyes.

“He’s coming with us,” Malone said. “He knows our witch very well.”

Winking, my man took my elbow and guided me to the car, opening the door so I couldn’t run away. Not that I was going to, not if it meant that Manual could help us get the answers we needed.

Chapter Twelve

Whispering an extra protection spell, I braced myself as I climbed out of the car. Malone was beside me, taking my hand and leading me across the road.

The streets in Brighton were packed with tourists and children, all swarming the shops and heading to the pier. My brain was on high alert, my gaze checking everyone.

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