Page 33 of Bound to the Griffin (Hillcrest Hollow Shifters #3)

“He vanished during the storm,” Jackson said, briefly outlining the situation of the burglar under guard.

How they’d hoped he’d lead them to his boss.

Nobody had expected a human to go out in the storm like that, and all of us wondered if he had even made it, or if that criminal was lying frozen under a snowdrift somewhere right now. Not to be found until the thaw set in.

The warlock didn’t even blink. His lips curled into a curse, muttered so low, the snow itself seemed to recoil from it. Then he shouldered a heavy satchel I hadn’t noticed until now. Vials clinked inside, faint light shimmering at the seams. “We need to hurry,” he said flatly.

Jackson didn’t waste time. He helped Thorne dig a snowmobile out from the garage, muscles straining as they pulled it free of its icy tomb.

Thorne swung onto the machine with surprising ease, revved it, and shot down the hill toward town, snow spitting in his wake.

He didn’t even say goodbye, didn’t say where he was headed either, but I had a feeling I knew anyway.

Jackson shifted again in a sweep of feathers and fury.

I climbed onto his back, fingers curling into warm plumage, my heart racing faster than the storm ever had.

Together, we launched into the early morning sky, chasing after the warlock, chasing after answers I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear.

Filled with worry for an ex I never thought I’d worry about again.

It was fully turning from night into morning when we swept low over the forest and landed in the B&B’s backyard.

The gentle cover of snow here had been replaced by a huge snowdrift—higher than my waist—that soaked my jeans as I slipped from Jackson’s back.

He’d sunk in as well, paws going deep, tawny fur growing dark with wetness from the snow melting against his pelt.

It was a huge pile of snow contained by the rickety fence, swept into odd curls and peaks like it was cream whipped stiff.

The B&B was dark and silent, which wasn’t a surprise—Evan liked to sleep in—but it still felt wrong, off.

The roar of the snowmobile came, sputtering to a halt just outside the fence.

Thorne didn’t wait for an invitation to leap over it, satchels clinking, body sinking deep into the snow.

He cursed again and kept that up as he crossed the yard to our side.

“Not good, this is not good,” he said, shaking his head, dark eyes flashing.

It might have been my imagination, but it felt like shadows were writhing and crawling behind his back.

The snow had gone oddly smooth in their wake, leaving no trace of the trail the warlock should have made through the deep snow.

That was not natural, and I couldn’t tell if it was part of the nightmares that had plagued me, or something to do with the warlock himself.

I felt the shadows cling to my mind, whispering.

Thorne was right, it seemed closer, more at the surface.

The urge to turn around and walk into the forest was overwhelming, and I was quite sure it had nothing to do with wanting to run away.

No, this pull was like a hook behind my belly button, drawing me somewhere, to find something.

Someone, perhaps, the voice that called to me, the nightmarish creature not shaped quite right from my dreams.

“In what direction did you say the cabin was, where the burglar hunkered down?” I asked with a dry mouth.

It caused Thorne to swear again—like a sailor—all foul words that twisted in his crisp, fancy accent.

He knew exactly where my thoughts had headed.

Mutely, Jackson turned to look over his shoulder and pointed.

None of us said anything. It was right beyond the B&B.

Had that place been affected by this… shadow too?

My hand trembled when I pulled out my key to unlock the back door.

Jackson was right at my side, his hand at the small of my back.

Though I could see that it wasn’t there, in this morning light it even felt a little like he’d cupped a wing around my shoulders, sheltering me.

My fingers were clumsy inside the borrowed mittens from Kess, so I pulled one off so I could get my key into the lock.

It didn’t turn. Confused, I turned to look up at Jackson, and his expression turned grim as he reached over my head to touch the panel with a light shove. It swung open.

A crash sounded from deeper inside the B&B, like glass breaking, followed by a rough voice moaning. Evan was the only one who should have been inside, but that sounded nothing like him.

“Step aside,” Jackson said, and for the first time since I’d met him, he drew the gun holstered on his hip.

He was the consummate professional then, weapon at the ready, hand going to the radio on his shoulder to reach out to Drew.

“Wait outside, Gwen. Better yet, go to Mikael’s diner down the street and wait there.

” Then he went inside, but he said nothing to Thorne, who brushed past me to follow him in, bag with vials and strange-smelling things clinking against his hip.

It could be my imagination, but it felt like the dark inside the kitchen swallowed both men.

I could not see them or hear them as they went around my kitchen table and headed down the hallway, deeper into the house.

This was the other shoe dropping—the side of all this mystery and magic that was dark and dangerous.

Seeing men shapeshift into fantastical beasts and primal wolves had been awesome, exciting, even fun.

This? This was not fun at all. Fear crawled up my legs, tingled along my spine, and I felt paralyzed.

Do I follow them in and disobey Jackson, wait here, or run down the street to the diner?