Page 32 of Bound to the Griffin (Hillcrest Hollow Shifters #3)

Gwendolyn

So, tonight was the night then. In the aftermath of the storm, I got to see the true nature of the town as they gathered to take care of their own.

I thought it would have just been Drew meeting us, but no, there were plenty of others I knew.

I did not expect them to feel comfortable showing their true selves in front of me; I was wrong.

Drew shifted first, stone skin rippling over him until a gargoyle spread its wings, gray skin muted in the dark and claws gleaming black at his fingertips.

Then Kai, the wolf who once chased me through the woods, shook himself out, as did Ted, the kind guy who’d been working on my pipes and heating system all week.

It was bizarre to see myth come to life, to interact with them.

Hell, I even got to tell a wolf not to gift me dead deer. Who could say they’d ever done that?

To top it off, I sat astride a griffin, my sheriff’s golden feathers glinting faintly in the moonlight as we rose above the storm-hushed town.

The air was knife-cold, burning my lungs, but the world stretched wide and endless beneath us, every rooftop softened by snow.

It did not look as if the storm had done any damage, but with a three-foot-thick covering of white, that was no surprise.

Even my B his griffin claws hooked around trunks and branches, hauling them aside like kindling.

We landed again by an old bridge over the creek.

The snow looked untouched until it moved—split, really—and a man climbed out from beneath.

For a moment, I thought it was a trick, but then I recognized him.

Wasn’t that the doctor who had magically healed my injured ankle?

He said nothing more than a curt instruction: call him if there were injuries, then vanished back into his den beneath the drift.

I shivered, wondering what his house was like in there.

Was it just a cave, a beastly den? Or was it something more?

Further downstream, a small cottage glowed faintly with lantern light.

Jackson shifted, knocked, and a girl opened the door.

She was young, barely twenty, if that. Her eyes darted everywhere but mine, her fingers twisting in her thick, sky-blue sweater.

“All’s well,” she said quickly, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry, again. I messed up.”

I instantly felt sorry for her, even as I realized who this must be.

This was the wolf who’d been watching the burglar.

The one who’d called Jackson not long ago to tell him she’d lost him.

She looked too fragile, too human for the burden of it, and my heart ached for her.

Who the hell sends out a girl barely out of childhood to do such a task?

She looked like she’d been to war, pale blue shadows beneath her huge eyes, lips bitten and chafed.

And her eyes, a deep brown, seemed haunted, like there were ghosts still clinging to her very soul.

Jackson’s voice was firm but kind when he spoke to her, and she seemed to respond to that, even though her eyes flicked to the toes of my boots.

“Stay inside. Stay warm,” was all he said, and it was enough.

We left her in her doorway, swallowed by her own guilt, and I wished I could absolve her of it.

At the same time, it did worry me, it even pissed me off.

That burglar was back out there, meeting up with whoever sent him. When was this going to end?

The flight carried us higher then, over the frozen creek and up the slope where the warlock lived.

His house loomed out of the snow like something caught between a dream and a threat—glass and timber rising in jagged lines against the pale sky.

Even covered by snow and surrounded by torn tree limbs and debris, it looked like something out of a magazine: too fancy, too artistic, too city-perfect.

I tightened my arms around Jackson’s feathers.

The memory of Thorne’s sharp tongue and colder eyes was enough to put a chill in me that had nothing to do with the weather.

Still, I knew why we were here. Jackson carried the whole town on his back, and no matter how unpleasant Thorne was, he was part of it.

And me? I was along for the ride. If I was going to be part of Jackson’s life and part of the town, I’d better get used to it.

He was already outside when we landed, waiting on his porch as if he’d known the exact moment we’d arrive.

Thorne looked different than the last time I’d seen him, bundled in expensive winter gear: jeans, heavy boots, a parka with the hood shadowing his pale face, but his voice was the same sharp rasp.

“Took you long enough. I’ve been waiting. ”

Jackson shifted in a shimmer of golden light, his griffin body dropping away from beneath me.

He hadn’t done that before; he’d always let me dismount after the landing.

I yelped when my body was suddenly free-falling, even if it was only a couple of feet.

But before I could splash face-first into the thigh-high snow, he caught me around my waist and hauled me upright.

Before I could catch my breath, he was pulling me close.

Not the steady, professional touch of the sheriff doing his rounds, the focus on his job, not on coddling me.

No—this was different. His arms locked around me, possessive, protective, as though he could shield me from the way the warlock’s eyes followed me.

Jackson didn’t step forward, either. He just stood, rooted in the snow, and let Thorne come to him.

“Everything okay here?” he asked, his tone steady but edged. The question was the same as the one he’d asked the doctor and the young wolf we’d checked in on, but the tone was very different. “You’ve got power, running water? Do you need help clearing this drive?”

Thorne brushed it off with a flick of his gloved hand.

“That’s not important.” His eyes snapped to me, dark and piercing.

“Did she sleep there? Did she sleep at the house since we last spoke? Did you sleep there during the storm, when the veil was thinner?” He asked that last question of me, pinning me with that gaze, his voice urgent and sharp.

The words landed like ice in my gut. Veil?

Thinner? I didn’t understand, but something about the way he said it made the hair on my arms rise.

Unease coiled into panic, twisting tight.

He wasn’t just asking because of the storm; he knew something, and whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

My mouth went dry. I opened it to answer, but nothing came out.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jackson’s voice cut through, sharp and demanding.

His arm tightened around me as if he could protect me from whatever sinister thing the warlock knew.

“Explain,” he demanded, not asked. A curt order that sounded whiplash-cruel, but probably came from the same fear I was feeling.

Thorne tilted his head, studying me like a specimen under glass.

“I think I know what her dreams meant. And if I’m right, it’s dangerous—especially to humans.

” My eyes snapped to Jackson’s at the same moment his met mine.

The same thought slammed into both of us: Evan.

He was the one who’d stayed in the B&B. He’d been alone, and he was very much human.

“She wasn’t there,” Jackson said quickly, his voice tight with the same relief part of me felt.

Thank God it wasn’t me, but even though Evan was an asshole, I doubted he deserved whatever those shadowy nightmares entailed.

Nobody deserved to have dreams with claws and teeth like those.

“The B&B did have a human guest,” Jackson added.

Thorne’s face went grim, his jaw tightening.

“And the burglar? Did you find him?” I really hoped the dreams and the break-in weren’t connected, but what if they were?

We should have never let Evan stay, but where else could he have slept?

Jackson’s couch? The very idea made me want to laugh and hurl at the same time.

That would have been terrible, but would it have been safer?