What the hells?!

"I'm not a godsdamn possession!" I snapped, finally finding my voice.

"That's where you're wrong, little bird." Graysen shot me a dark look. However, though his gaze was hard, his eyes shone with something I couldn't quite place. Possessiveness definitely, but there was something else cutting through them. Under his intense stare, my pulse kicked and heat flooded straight to my core. I could barely breathe. I couldn't take my eyes off those pitch-black eyes staring right back at me.

Gods, what kind of power does he have over me?

Graysen turned back to Danne and I was able to suck in a lungful of air.

"Still haunting the gambling halls?" he asked my friend.

Danne's warm eyes had gone icy. "I like to play. There's no harm in that."

"Only if you have enough to play with."

"Crowther—" Danne started to say, his nose twitching.

And Graysen honed in on the gesture. I couldn't see the grin I knew he was suppressing, but I could feel it radiating off him. "Leave us."

"Look here—"

"Right this fucking moment, Pelan. Before I do something you'll regret. Again."

I sent Danne an apologetic look. His freckled jaw clenched and his cheeks flushed with anger.

Then I felt something—a touch. My astonished gaze slid sideways to find Graysen threading a hand through my hair and twirling a lock around a finger. "I want to have a word with wifey here."

Wifey?

What the fuck?!

"Nelle, I hope to see you later." Danne gritted out, then shot Graysen a look of hatred before spinning on the heel of his loafers and walking away.

"Wait, Danne," I called out. But my friend kept walking and disappeared behind a container. I rounded on Graysen, rising on my tippy-toes, as high as my short frame could get. Scowling into his face, I shoved an angry finger at him. He only found my response to be amusing and grinned back at me.

"You're such a fucking prick. Why do you do things like that? Treat people like shit?!"

Mirth danced in his tone as he rubbed the lock of hair between his fingers as if judging its silkiness, "I do what I like. Haven't you learned that yet, wifey?"

Gods, have I ever.

I hissed at him, bunching my fingers into a fist. I really wanted to smack that stupid grin off his face. "Stop calling me that!"

He cocked a thick eyebrow. "Wifey? Would you prefer something else? Honey?"

I spluttered in astonishment and rage.

"How about darling? Or baby? Or sweetness?" Then the playfulness was gone. Darkness swept across his features. He growled, "I warned you to keep away from him."

Rocking back onto the flat of my feet, I drew away from him a step only to find myself bumping into the sun-heated container at my back. An edgy feeling that had nothing to do with Graysen made all the fine hair on my body prickle. The creature rippled through my body, hissing and snarling. I rubbed my throbbing temple, knowing that I had to head into the woods fast, but first I needed to know. "Why? Why do you hate him so much?"

Graysen pushed off the opposite container and approached. His shadow loomed over me while his mouth remained tight.

"Go on, spit it out. You can't keep on telling me to keep away from him without giving me a reason."

His lips parted, and he drew in a breath as his tongue curled forming his reply. But something shuttered within him and he pressed his mouth shut, staring at me down the length of his nose.

I hissed, annoyed. He clearly wasn't going to say anything. "He said you two got into a fight. You nearly broke his jaw," I pushed.

"We did. I often wish I had," he snarled. "At least then his jaw would be wired shut for months and no one would hear the lies spilling from his lips."

I snorted, folding my arms across my chest. I really couldn't believe that of my friend.

Graysen leaned an arm against the metal at my back, bowing his head to look me right in the eye. His scent washed over me and I had to admit he smelled so much better than Danne. "He likes to play cards, Wychthorn. That's where he would have been last night. Not working. Not at that stupid jazz bar. He was out gambling."

I flinched. Danne gambled? I hadn't known. He'd never spoken of it. And the way Graysen spat it, it didn't sound good.

His tone was a little gentler when he said, "He owes a lot of money and soon enough he'll owe the wrong kinds of people."

"Aren't you the wrong kind of people?" I snapped.

His sudden grin said—Touché, Wychthorn.

I'd had enough. And I really, really needed to get to the woods. I stormed off, breaking free from the alley of containers, but he followed on my heels like Sage. "That doesn't explain why you hate him so much," I threw at him over my shoulder. My fingers clenched into fists, not because Graysen was pissing me off, but because the shakes were beginning and my heart beat rapidly, punching at my ribcage.

Why should Danne's gambling matter to Graysen? Unless he'd been called in by Upper House Novak to sort out Danne's mess.

"I didn't like the sudden interest he had in my sister."

"Ferne?" That shut me up and had me turning back to him, softening in utter surprise. Ferne? Danne? My mind scrambled for all the pieces—a fight with Graysen last year. That would make Danne twenty and Ferne would be...fifteen? "What do you mean?"

Instead of answering my question, he asked one of me. "Why did you tell him that stupid-ass lie?" He angled his head, and a crease formed -between his brows. "Why did you pretend to like jazz?"

His sudden change of topics sent my head spinning.

But it was more than that. I could feel the buildup of power inside, like shaking a bottle of pop and then half-twisting the bottle cap open so the bubbling fizz rushed upwards to frothily pour out unbidden. I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, feeling beads of sweat glide along my skin.

"I wanted him to like me." It came out quietly. I braced myself. I didn't want his mocking, that I was someone no one would like.

Graysen stepped nearer to close the gap between us. "And does he like you?" It was the most open honest tone he'd ever used. Even his gaze was genuine. He truly wanted to know. It floored me for a moment.

I nodded. "He's my friend."

His expression turned dark, insistent, like the promise of thunder rolling off a bank of black clouds. "Danne Pelan's no one's friend. He's opportunistic. He wants something from you, Wychthorn."

"He just wants to hang out and talk, like every friend wants to do. Why can't you believe that?"

"Tell me then, when did you strike up this friendship? The very first time you met, or was it just recently?"

Danne hadn't been interested the first couple of times I'd talked to him when he'd come along with his brother to visit Evvie. He'd been distracted—busy with work, I'd put it down to. I guess the doubt must have shown on my face.

"Exactly," Crowther said. "So why the sudden interest in you, now?" He stepped back and turned to saunter away, giving me a great view of his ass.

Godsdammit—eyes up, Nelle!

"Just keep away from him," he tossed back at me in his departing wake.

Anger suddenly seethed, expelled in a hiss. "Stop thinking you can tell me what to do, Crowther!"

"He's not a nice guy, Wychthorn," he sang over his shoulder, twirling a finger around.

"Oh, and you are?" I scoffed.

"No. I'm not." He turned to face me, sketching a half-assed attempt at a bow, straightening with a smug wink. "In a different way, I'm worse than Danne Pelan."

I threw my hands into the air. "Why do you even care?"

The question startled him. His retreat faltered. He cocked his head, pinning me with sharp eyes, dragging his gaze over me much as he'd done with Danne. And, like my friend, he found me lacking. That bored-as-fuck tone came back. "You know what—why the fuck should I care?"

Sage nudged me with his shoulder, rocking me with his concern. I glanced down to see my hands shaking. I stroked the length of my wraith-wolf's spine, slipping my fingers through his wispy fur. Gods, it was getting hard to breath. Sage gave a low, worried whine. He knew. He could feel the need to run into the woods and purge the fire.

I needed to go. Now.

And when I glanced back up again, Graysen was already gone.

***

I left Wychthorn in a burst of speed, crossing the lawn to the orchard to snatch a glossy red apple off a sprawling tree before I headed to the woodland.

It wouldn't be long. I'd seen the sheen of sweat coating Wychthorn's forehead, the paleness of her complexion, and how she tried to hide the tremor in her hands from me. Whatever the hells she was, she needed to extinguish it. And that was the reason for these runs, I was sure of it now.

The furrowed bark of an oak tree scraped against my palms as I climbed upwards, shifting to sit on a branch, resting my back against the tree trunk to wait. The flesh of the apple was juicy and tart but my mind didn't register either the flavor or the sensation as I chewed, instead focused fully on Danne Douchebag Pelan. Seeing his hand crushing hers—I wanted to fucking shred him. He knew she belonged to me. This was his way of paying me back for messing up his amiable freckly face last year. Which he fucking deserved. And worse. Much worse. I'd only stopped because Ferne begged me to.

He was up to something. I could taste it in the air. He was nervous, anxious, and greedy for something Wychthorn could provide, hiding his creepy Pelan nature behind stupid-ass grins that promised he was just some easy-going chum.

No Pelan was.

They were sick motherfuckers. All of them.

Why the hells did she lie about jazz? Why was it so important that Danne liked her? A friend. Gods, I'd sooner try befriending a krekenn. Those spindly otherworldly critters hunted in swarms and had a one-track mind—flesh. They mostly preyed on the homeless, dragging them down to the sewers into nests spun from webs to consume their victims slowly. At least krekenns were honest.

She was clever, Wychthorn, how could she be taken in?

Sure, I guess if I looked at Danne from her point of view, he seemed nice and charming, unassuming. No doubt, in her mind, the complete opposite of me. Which I suppose was most of the appeal.

I bit the apple, nearly devouring half of it with my black mood. I hissed through gritted teeth and chunks of sweet flesh. Gods, why was it so hard to keep myself objective with her?

I don't care.

I do not fucking care!

Fuck. I do.

I flicked a message to my brother Caidan.

Me: Find out what you can about Danne Pelan.

Caidan: What's the shady motherfucker been up to now?

Me: He's sniffing around Wychthorn. I want to know where he's been and who he owes.

Shoving my phone into the back pocket of my jeans, I kept my vigil. And soon enough, through the leafy boughs of the oak, I spied Nelle sprinting across the lawn. That ridiculous too-big dress flared wide and the messenger bag slapped her hip as she ran with Sage at her heels.

I tossed the apple core away and jumped down, landing softly on the thick lush grass. In several heartbeats, I crossed the tree line to the spot where she'd plunged into the murky depth of the woodland and began my hunt. She'd picked a muddy trail cutting through in an easterly direction, the earth was pressed with tiny footprints and her unique fragrance lingered in the air.

Why does that girl have such an aversion to shoes?

***

Where is she, where is she, where is she—

She was gone. Not a trace. I couldn't scent her anywhere. I should have been able to see traces of footprints in the mud. It was like one minute she was there, the next she wasn't.

The answer came.

Surely not—

But if she did...

If she could...

What the hells is she?

Because the only way to disappear like this was to swift.

And like she'd said to Sirro, nothing living can swift.

An hour later, by chance, I picked up her scent and found her. Creeping out of the shadowy woods and silently stalking into a clearing, I carefully approached the sheer edge of a cliff that ringed a natural well of water. Crouching, I peered downward.

We'd crossed into early autumn but it had been unseasonably hot so far, and sure enough, Wychthorn was floating in a deep pool of water, the depth so dark I couldn't see the bottom from up here. A noise of crashing thunder came from a waterfall. Sheets of white water tumbled from a river into the pool below and bright morning sunlight glanced off the rippling surface. Squinting and scanning the surrounding land, I spotted a path cut into the rocky cliff face that would have taken Wychthorn to the bottom of the water well, but her scent ended right here. Of course, she would have jumped off a cliff seventy feet high. That girl was fucking fearless.

Wychthorn spread her arms wide as she floated, basking like an otter in the sunshine, her long hair drifting in the water.

I swallowed thickly, and my heartbeat raced faster. She was wearing her underthings. Nothing else but for the dagger strapped to her thigh.

Holy hellsgate.

She was willowy and toned and gorgeous. I grinned. That simple cotton bra was slightly translucent, clinging to her perky breasts, and the cool water had peaked her nipples.

Abruptly Wychthorn jerked as if she were alerted or curious about something. For a moment, I thought she'd spotted me. But she rolled over and dove underwater.

I patiently waited, keeping a close eye on the deep well, wondering where she'd emerge.

A minute went by...

A second...

I didn't even make it to the third minute before I shot to my feet.

Fuck, where was she?

Shit, shit, shit—

Tossing my phone away and shucking off my boots, I surged forward and dove off the cliff.