Page 4 of Captive Witch

He swirls the amber liquid, watching the way the light catches it. “Wouldn’t have been as shocking any other way, though.Gotta admit, you do have a flare for the dramatics.” He smirks at me before tipping the shot into his mouth, his eyes close as he holds it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing.

I watch him. The faint bruising on his cheekbone has yet to fully heal, and the tension in his shoulders could have him vying for Atlas’s place holding the world. Instead, he’s held the pack together for me, but it doesn’t explain everything. I’d tracked Aramin for the past handful of days, going on a wild goose chase through the New England states just to come back empty handed. It seems that her and Monique, along with the councilmen, have all disappeared without a trace—a fact that grates on my every waking thought. What are they planning, and are they planning it together?

Either way, Adara isn’t safe without us,my wolf says, as if I need the reminder.

Shaking my thoughts off, I lick my lips and inhale slowly through my nose. “You plan on telling me the rest of what happened the last few days? Like what fucker gave you that mark on your face?”

Frank opens his eyes, all humor dissipating from his expression. He runs a hand over his bruise, then strokes his beard. “Moren, actually. I guess I need to talk to you about all that now.” He sighs, grimacing. “We’re taking on his pack.”

I narrow my gaze at him, resting my elbows on the bar top. “Details. Now.”

“He came after Mila. Not sure how he figured it, but he knew you weren’t here. Only, he, uh… assumed I was the alpha in your place.” He scratches the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact as he flexes his fist in front of him. “He tried to kidnap Mila and trade her back for our pack, cocky bastard. I fought him. Won too.”

“You fought Moren… isn’t he that alpha—”

Frank nods. “Mila’s old alpha. And apparently, her ex-boyfriend.”

I press my lips into a firm line. “Where is he now?”

“Dead.” His voice is clipped and low, anger still burrowing under his skin. “Though, he’s still causing her issues.”

“You would make a great alpha—”

“Don’t,” he snaps, glaring at me. “I don’t want to be alpha. Of anyone. Ever. Don’t even suggest it.”

I hold up both hands in front of me. “So, what issues could he be causing beyond the grave?”

He drags a hand down his face. “Someone is leaving messages on Mila’s front door. Not every morning, not even consistently. But they’re scaring her.”

“What kind of messages?”

“The kind that’s likely to get them killed,” he mutters. “Ones calling her a bitch, weak, pathetic… worthless trash. Threatening to make her pay for the pain she’s caused them.” His knuckles turn white around the shot glass, making it crack. “I found them all housing. No one wanted to stay in that dingy waste of a town, so that made it easy to bring them into the pack boundaries.” He furrows his brow. “Though, I guess our boundaries grew with the assimilation.”

“Hm, that could actually work in our favor.” Standing from the barstool, I reach out and clap Frank on the shoulder. “If the new members are settled, they can wait another day or two to meet me. We’ll set up a pack meeting later, but right now, you need some rest. You look like shit.”

He shakes his head, the shadow of a smile reappearing on his face. “Thanks, boss. Really know how to win a guy over.”

“Go home, Frank. Bar’s closed tonight anyway, and we’ll find out who’s leaving those messages. The new members need to learn how I run my pack—and they need to learn it fast.” I grabthe bottle of whiskey he sets on the bar and head toward my office, intending to pull out the pack territory maps.

“I’ll text you how she’s doing,” he calls after me before slipping out the door.

I scowl after him, wishing my wolf wasn’t practically panting with his tongue out over the promise of hearing any news of Adara.

Loud knocking disturbs the dreamless sleep I finally fell into after endless hours of tossing and turning. Groaning, I reach over and fumble around the nightstand for my phone to see it’s already ten in the morning. I blow out a breath and swing my legs over the side of the bed, getting to my feet and pulling on sweatpants and a t-shirt. Yanking the door open, I stare down at the mousy haired girl standing on my doorstep.

“Finally,” Jaz says. “I’ve been knocking for like ten minutes.” She shoves past me through the front door and walks into the living room, plopping down on the couch with a sigh. “Frank finally kicked you out, huh?”

Shaking my head, I go into the kitchen and start a pot of coffee.

“That bad?” Jaz’s footsteps follow behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to find her slipping onto one of the new stools I bought yesterday.

“He didn’t kick me out. He’s never home, always with Mila at her place. I figured if I’m going to be by myself, might as well have my own things.” I lean back against the counter as the coffee pot gurgles, the earthy scent filling the air.

Jaz studies me for a moment, glancing around the kitchen I half tore apart in a desperate rage when I returned before realizing I couldn’t leave it like that.

Half the cabinets have been ripped out, and the rest are in the middle of being repainted, along with the walls. The table that used to sit in the corner by the windows is gone, smashed and broken in the backyard with the stools that used to sit at the island.

“Right…” she says slowly, drawing the word out.

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