Page 3 of Captive Witch

“What letters?”

She sniffles, reaching beside her to grab a piece of paper tucked next to her thigh, then hands it to me.

“‘Crawl back under the rock you came from, you useless worm, or we’ll make you regret everything you done to us.’” I glance up from the letter to her face. “Are they serious? Are they all like this?”

She shrugs. “Some are worse than others. I haven’t seen them all. Frank tears them apart if he finds them first.”

Nodding, I take a deep breath. “Well, if he says he’s fine, he’s probably fine, and if he isn’t leaving, then he’s probably just worried about you. These people sound awful, but I know he wouldn’t let them hurt you. I don’t blame him for not wanting to leave.” Leaning against her, I rest my head on her shoulder, closing my eyes as she rests her head on top of mine. “You should talk to him. It’s better than all this spiraling you’re doing, stuck in your head.”

She sighs, moving her head in what I’m assuming is a small nod. “Yeah,” she whispers, “you’re probably right. He has been really sweet, making all my favorite meals and stuff.”

“See? Definitely worried about you.” I bump her with my shoulder, smiling when she lets out a breathy laugh. “Maybe we can show those pack members the badass that you are now.”

“Yeah, whatever. Go shower, stinky.” She nudges me back.

I stand up, walking to the stairs. “Did…” I put my hand on the banister, staring down at the dirt under my fingernails. “Is Gideon…”

“Gideon wasn’t there. He… he took some time off.”

I nod. Heady relief courses through me that he’s okay, warring with the guilt of having abandoned my friend when she’s needed me, and I force my feet up the stairs one after another.

Chapter two

Gideon

Dipping the rag into the bucket, I wring it out and wipe down the bar for the third time. I’m never taking a week away from work again after the last twenty-four hours. Between Moren’s bullshit stunt he tried to pull that I wasn’t here to handle and the shambles the bar turned into in the last week, my frustrations have only grown.

“You’re going to scrub the epoxy right off the bar top if you keep going at it like that,” Frank says.

I scoff, tossing the rag into the bucket and moving to the tables to wipe those down again.

“The tables get the same fate then, huh?” He chuckles, and I throw a glare at him over my shoulder.

“The bar is covered in grime. What do you expect me to do?” I slam the bucket on the table, staring at him.

He shakes his head. “It isn’t covered in grime, boss. You are.”

Growling, I cross my arms over my chest. “The hell I am.”

He chuckles, drying off a glass before stacking it on the counter behind him. “Not literally, Gideon. Your mate is still avoiding you, you couldn’t do the job you assigned to yourself, and you feel you abandoned the pack while you’ve been out getting your head straight, looking for the ones you’ve been wanting to find. But you bear the weight of all the guilt. Trust me, we were fine. Wearefine.” He looks up at me, his brown eyes boring into mine. “You’ll figure it out. All of it.”

“You don’t know that.”

One side of his mouth quirks up. “Yeah, I do. The pack is fine. No one knows you took a week off to search for Aramin, and I hear Addy came back not too long ago. You’ll find that hellbent redhead, and you’ll do it with your mate by your side. Have some faith.” He reaches under the bar, pulling out the dustiest bottle I’ve ever seen and setting it on the counter. “A shot or two won’t hurt, either. Gods know I could use them myself.”

Studying the bottle, the black label stares back at me, and images from when I first met Frank flit across my mind. An old bar, a mouthy drunk, and a bartender lying in the light of the flames behind him. “You still have that?”

“Just enough for two shots. Been saving it.” He lifts the bottle, the same year as the one we met, and pours the whiskey into two shot glasses.

I slide onto a barstool, twirling the glass in front of me. “How’d you hide this for so long?”

Frank’s loud bark of laughter has my mouth stretching into a smile. “I know you better than you give me credit for, boss. Hid this in a box of napkins or whatever other useless papers I had.”

A laugh escapes me, and I raise the glass up. “To the best friend a wolf could ask for.”

He clinks his drink against mine. “To the only alpha I’m happy to stand beside and to that old bastard Edmund for setting my tavern on fire a lifetime ago. Who knows, without him I may have never believed you were a werewolf.”

I drain my glass, savoring the taste of the centuries old whiskey as it coats my tongue and burns its way down my throat, then shake my head as I slam the glass on the bar top. “You’re a fool. I approached you before your life was in danger. The crazy bastard just burned your only reason for staying in that crumbling town to ashes.”

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