Page 99 of For Dear Life

“Deeds.” He bites his lip. “But these aren’t signed by the witches, Josef, or Sawyer.”

“Deeds for the land?” asks Grayson.

“Maybe? Too complicated for me to figure out right now.” He takes his phone from a pocket before placing the papers on the box and photographing. “I don’t think we should take everything.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“In case the rucksack gets lost or damaged?” he suggests. “Then you’ll have nothing.”

He’s correct, but I won’t tell him that. I watch as Rowan puts the papers and envelope with all but the one photo inside the box and carefully places it back beneath the floor. “I’ll ward this properly,” he says. “With my runes in place, it’ll take the owner longer to get inside and see what’s missing.”

“Owner? Sawyer owns the box. Who else would hide something under floorboards, in his office, in his factory?” I ask.

Rowan stands and holds out a hand to me. “Come on, Nancy Drew. Nice work, but let’s tidy up and go.”

His mouth tips into a smile, a shared memory of our first search for clues in the woods when co-operation was the last thing on our minds. Back then, we were lost for answers, but now I’m certain Rory killed Wesley, and Oz killed Rory. But the shifters aren’t the ones the humans should bring to justice—they’re undead pawns. The witches need apprehending and confessions forcibly extracted to discover why this is happening before relations between shifters and humans explode into a war.

And before Leif suffers any further.

I’ve still time before Dorian’s expected arrival, and once we replace the furniture, we rapidly head back down the metal steps onto the warehouse floor.

A banging door echoes through the aisles and voices bounce through the air between us and the exit.

Rowan swears and veers behind a shelf with me, Grayson beside us both in a single breath. I bite my lip and pull Rowan so we’re in the gap between the tall boxes of tinned soup, pulse rate rising. This isn’t Dorian; his energy would blast into the place in seconds.

Witches followed us, aided by Josef? Good. We can finish this.

But something’s wrong. Grayson looks at me and mouths ‘human’.

“Not witches,” I whisper to Rowan.

“Sawyer?”

I scramble up the shelves and wind my way between the boxes in the direction of the voices. When I look down from a hidden vantage point, my heart lodges in my throat.

Kai with his friend Dale, bundled in black clothes and over-sized hoodies.

“Good grief,” I mutter and crawl back to inform the others. “Kai’s here.”

“This is not happening,” mutters Rowan. “What the fuck is he—”

A second set of louder voices enter the warehouse, these new arrivals not caring who hears them.

Something thuds on the floor close by. Grayson, who’d climbed too, now stands towards the end of the aisle and glances back at me. He doesn’t need to say the word, since the scent announces their arrival.

Shifters.

“Oh, no,” I say through clenched teeth. “No.”

“What?” urges Rowan.

“I can smell shifters.”

Rowan’s whole body goes rigid. “No way is this a coincidence.”

“Back behind the boxes. Call authorities. Don’t move,” I tell him.

He leverages himself backwards and I creep along the floor towards Grayson. His face is grave, and he shakes his head before jabbing a finger towards the direction of voices.

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