Page 22 of Bound to the Griffin (Hillcrest Hollow Shifters #3)

I bristled the second we stepped inside.

The house was warm, yes, and it smelled of cedar and something spiced, but the sheer luxury of it almost knocked me off my feet.

Dark hardwood floors gleamed like glass, rugs that probably cost more than my car sprawled across them, and a chandelier of wrought iron and amber light spilled warmth across walls lined with floor-to-ceiling windows.

Everything about it screamed money. Modern, curated money.

Not earned but flaunted. I had an eye for that kind of thing, because I’d half-lived in those circles back in Chicago.

Evan had a house like this, and it had never made me feel at home.

My mom’s house had been this way too, except for my bedroom, which I’d decorated myself.

The man himself? I couldn’t deny he was striking.

Tall, lean, handsome in a sharp, cutting way, his robe hanging open enough to suggest he knew it.

His beauty was a blade, though: polished and dangerous, not the kind that made you want to get closer.

If you’d told me he was a wolf from Wall Street, I wouldn’t be surprised.

Perhaps he made his money as a day trader.

Jackson slid his arm firmly around my waist, tucking me in against his side as if I might forget who I belonged to.

Possessive, protective; I didn’t mind, exactly, but the warlock noticed.

His lip curled. “Cute,” he said, voice rich with disdain.

“Do you always parade your trophies this close to your ribs, Sheriff?”

Jackson didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink.

“Only the ones worth keeping.” He said it so calmly, so full of certainty, that it was clearly not even meant to be for show, to flatter, or to reassure me.

He was stating a fact. Worth keeping. Since nobody had ever considered me worth keeping, not unless it was to their advantage, that hit home.

Lodging in my chest like Cupid’s arrow. Damn it, Jackson.

I was already falling; that just hastened the process.

The stranger’s eyes flicked between us, unreadable for a moment, then narrowed with faint amusement.

“You didn’t drag me out of bed for relationship advice.

What’s this business?” He said it as if he didn’t really believe Jackson had anything to offer, anything to ask that was worth his time.

I really disliked this asshole, though his similarities to Evan certainly didn’t help.

“You don’t need business,” I muttered before I could stop myself, my eyes roving over another sleek, expensive piece of furniture.

A leather sofa the size of a boat, glass tables without a fingerprint to be seen.

“Clearly.” If he heard me, he ignored me, didn’t so much as glance in my direction.

He’d slouched against the back of that huge couch, but even slouching, he looked polished.

Jackson’s voice cut in. “Gwen, this is Thorne. He’s a warlock.

Thorne, this is Gwen. She owns the Hollow’s B a simple spell to make him untraceable. Easy enough to undo.”

Jackson’s stare turned sharp, the kind that could cut steel.

“Undo it.” It was an order, and one that brooked no argument.

If it were me, I’d hurry to obey it. Well, maybe not, I did tend to do the opposite of what people wanted of me.

Then again, my mother never asked outright; she always manipulated. Evan hadn’t been any different.

Thorne rolled a shoulder, careless, like he wasn’t in the least impressed by the sheriff’s tone.

“And why would I do that?” he asked, grinning, something dark glinting in his black eyes.

When Jackson bared his teeth, it seemed to me that his canines were unnaturally sharp.

The growl that rumbled from his chest would suit a lion just fine.

It shot a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with unease or fear.

Jackson’s sound of intimidation might be all animal, all other, but it was primal, it was powerful, and I knew it was on my behalf. It was...sexy.

The warlock shrugged again, still appearing utterly unconcerned, but something dark flickered over his face, a shadow to his expression.

Then it cleared again, and the careless, somewhat cruel smile was back.

“I’m trying to… better myself, you see. New town, new habits.

So perhaps, given that your burglar is a criminal—which I didn’t know at the time—I’ll undo it without charging. This once.”

He raised a hand and snapped his fingers together.

They were long and elegant, with manicured nails, nothing like my own short and serviceable ones.

You couldn’t exactly wear nail polish when remodeling an entire ancient building on your own.

Still, the sight made me wince. For some reason, I felt tawdry, cheap.

I didn’t like that very much. As if the warlock knew, his eyes locked with mine, his mouth lifting even further into a cold smirk. “Done.”

I couldn’t stop staring. Did he just declare he’d undone a magic spell?

Was that all it took? I had expected him to lead us into some dark, smoky potions room with a bubbling cauldron and nameless things in jars on endless shelves.

All he’d done was snap his fingers. “Just like that?” I asked, before I could think better of the question.

His smile hit me like a splash of ice water: sudden, disarming.

It was the first full smile, and one that wasn’t cloaked in barbs and blades.

“Peanuts. Child’s play,” he drawled smugly.

He straightened away from the back of his couch and tugged the sash of his robe more tightly about his narrow hips in a perfunctory manner.

Then his smile turned sly, and I knew he was going to say something to needle Jackson, I knew it.

“Congratulations, by the way. On your mating with our sheriff.”

The word landed like a punch in my gut. Mating?

My cheeks burned. I looked up at Jackson, but he coughed sharply, shooting Thorne a warning glare.

Whatever passed between them wasn’t for me to understand, because Thorne only smirked wider.

Pleased as punch to have landed that blow.

These two definitely did not get along, not at all .

Jackson pressed forward, ignoring the jab.

“One more thing. Have you seen or heard anything about shadows invading dreams? Dark things, whispering, trying to draw people into the woods.” I did not like being reminded of the dreams, but I could not deny that I wanted to know why I was having them.

A shady warlock with some degree of power did seem like a good person to ask, if we could even trust him.

How did we know he’d truly undone this supposed anti-tracking spell?

Still caught up in what I’d been seeing when I closed my eyes, the need for answers was powerful.

“Green eyes,” I added before I could stop myself, and his eyes swung back from Jackson to me.

The memory of that nightmare gaze still chilled me to the bone.

“Watching.” Just like he was right now, and I didn’t miss the similarities, even if the warlock’s eyes were black as night, not green.

For the first time, Thorne didn’t answer immediately.

He went still, his gaze unfocused, retreating inward.

If I thought I’d seen a shadow pass over his face before, now I knew it was real.

A darkness flitted over him that was no trick of the light, it was something else.

There, then gone again. Finally, he shook his head.

“No.” His voice had gone flatter, quieter.

“Now leave. I’ve done as you asked.” He abruptly turned on his heel and retreated deeper into the house without another word, without seeing us out. As if he were running away.