Page 51

SASHA

H armless was the look I was going for as we slipped into the were-bar.

The connection between witches and Dark Fae, because of shared bloodlines from ages ago, was common knowledge among Werekind.

If anyone could smell and identify the Dark Fae, it would be a witch.

But the problem was, witches didn’t take to Werekind.

I made my way to the oak counter that formed a horseshoe formation in the center of the space.

A petite girl wearing a black dress with a braid of long raven hair glanced up at me, serving an eagle shifter a beer at the corner of the bar.

Her honeyed-complexion paled. She drew back from the shifter and hurried to the back of the bar where an older woman stood whipping up a cocktail.

They exchanged hushed words and shifty glances steeped in suspicion.

The older woman appeared to be in her late forties with threads of silver weaving through her dark locks, like ice shards streaking a road.

Since witches lived for centuries, calling her middle-aged might have been a stretch.

Damon stalked past me, his spine ramrod straight. I gasped and rushed forward. No telling what shit would come out once the big oaf opened his mouth. Damon slammed his palms on the surface of the bar before I could reach him.

Dammit!

A few werecats, seated on either side of Damon, glanced up from their drinks. Upon catching sight of the burly bear, they skidded out of their seats and scurried off.

In a low voice, Damon asked, “Who is the head witch here?”

I wanted to facepalm myself.

Well, that’s one way to break the ice. Might as well roll with it.

All eyes swung toward the werebear. A hush descended.

The middle-aged witch placed an empty glass on the rack. “Who's asking?” Her voice sounded edged in steel.

Damon rolled back his shoulders, but before he could reply, I squeezed in beside him, wishing to rectify the situation.

“Hello. My name is Sasha Havens, Alpha of the Hopecrest Pack.” I offered her a sweet smile.

“I’m certain the head witch is busy, but I was hoping she could help me by answering just a few questions. ”

Exude an air of innocence, I told myself.

My inner wolf lowered herself to her belly and flattened her ears in a gesture of submission.

The older woman approached, her stride graceful, hinting at a life long lived. “To what questions may she answer?” Her eyes took on a speculative gleam.

“Are you the witch in charge?”

She cocked her head, narrowing her cold gray eyes. “I might be.”

I fought down the well of excitement that coursed through my insides. If I worded it right, she might help us.

“You either are or aren’t,” Damon growled. My mouth parted in a silent gasp. I glared at him. “If you aren’t the head witch, then point us in her direction.”

The woman’s gray eyes darkened to a stormy silver. My claws sliced out, and the urge to shred Damon’s back into ribbons was tempting me and hard to ignore.

“I’ve cursed werebears for less,” the woman hissed at Damon. He didn’t so much as flinch, and his eyes turned amber. “You bears were always the most obtuse out of all the weres.” She rolled her eyes.

Damon flashed a grin that was all fangs. I could’ve sworn sparks of lightning danced from the end of the witch’s fingers. Behind her, several other women, no doubt also witches, abandoned their tasks and edged closer. They honed their faces like a steel blade.

I punched Damon hard enough in the ribs to draw his attention. He fastened bright golden eyes on me.

“Tone it down,” I mumbled under my breath, glaring at him. “Brash, blockheaded bears.”

Damon didn’t budge and for a few heartbeats, I feared he would still throw his weight around. Then he slid his hands off the bar top and dropped his arms to the side.

Facing the head witch, I dipped my head in respect. “Please excuse us. It’s been a long day.”

“I’m sure.” She cocked her head, and I noticed the sarcasm dripping off every word.

I ignored her disgruntled state and kept a light smile on my face. “I picked up this scent and was hoping you could help me identify it.” After reaching into my pocket, I removed the piece of my garment, extending it toward the witch. “Can you take a whiff of this scent and identify it for us?”

The head witch’s eyes flew up and collided with mine. Shock flashed through her expression before her gaze grew shuttered.

She knows something.

My inner wolf growled in agreement.

A deep growl also rumbled from Damon. I peered at him, noting his attention halted on a group of males at a table across the room. Hooked claws sliced out from Damon’s fingertips. A quick peek at the other males showed their chests puffing out. Things were about to get ugly fast.

I made a move, grabbing hold of Damon’s forearm and placed my lips by his ear. “Go take a walk outside and cool whatever the fuck is going on with you.”

Damon tossed me a dark look over his shoulder.

With my teeth bared, I said, “I’ll meet you outside.”

Damon turned away from me and took a step toward the table of males.

Shit!

I reached out, digging my nails into his arm. I uttered the one word I thought I’d never voice to a werebear… let alone him. “ Please .”

Damon’s head whipped around, his brows raised in shock and what looked like awe.

I swallowed and held his gaze, allowing him to see the open vulnerability in me.

We needed the witch’s help. And if that made me desperate, so be it.

Damon’s amber eyes flickered as he peered into mine.

Finally, the amber bled away till there was a thin ring around his pupils, the cobalt blue of his eyes visible once more.

“I’ll be outside,” he told me. His words weren’t biting, but soft. I blinked, unsure of how to react or process the flip of emotions coming from this male.

Damon went to the door, sweeping past me, opened it and slipped outside. I stared at his retreating form. A seed of gratitude nestled in my heart, knowing what it must’ve cost this dominant alpha male to relinquish his wants to me.

“If you want my help any further, you best keep your bear on a tight leash,” the head witch called from behind me.

I turned around, jaw clenched. No matter how I wanted to lash into her for the derogatory remark, Chelsea’s murder needed to be avenged. Finding the killer was my top priority.

“The garment,” I repeated. “Can you smell it?”

With lips pinched, the head witch asked, “Why?”

I juggled with admitting the whole truth. The Werekind couldn’t always trust witches because of their dealings in black magic and spells. If I revealed my suspicions, would she share it with the Dark Fae?

“We’re doing an investigation into the attacks of humans and they… they killed some as well. I need to know who is responsible.”

The head witch blinked. “Hmmm. I see.” She rested her elbows on the bar top.

The soft light overhead caught in her hair, causing the silver strands to look golden.

“And what makes you think I would know the identity of whoever is responsible by sniffing this cloth? Aren’t werewolves the ones with a keen sense of smell?

” She narrowed her eyes. “Although… you keep your wolf trapped within you.”

I fought to school my features as surprise passed through me like a windswept flame and I wondered how she knew I was a latent.

“Please, can you just sniff the cloth?” I proffered my torn garment to her. “Any bit of information would help.”

The head witch eyed the cloth for a long moment. My inner wolf whimpered, fearing she’d flat out refuse.

Her hand snaked out, and she plucked the garment from my fingers. The witch brought it to her face and inhaled. My gaze locked on her features, searching for any hint of acknowledgement in her expression. Her lips pinched at the corners. My inner wolf went predatory still, spying a subtle movement.

She lowered the cloth to the counter and shrugged. “I smell sun-dappled earth, and rodents.” The witch slid the garment my way. “That is all.”

I gritted my teeth and sighed. “Can’t you identify any more than that?”

The corner of her lips curled into a slow smile. “Do you think I can smell more? If so, why don’t you enlighten me?”

She was toying with me and I fought to keep my fangs from coming out. “Thank you for your time.”

She smiled. “Anytime, child… anytime.”

I pushed back from the counter as she barked at the other witches to get back to work.

A sick knot formed in my stomach. After biting my lip in thought, I headed for the bathroom.

A quick freshening up would do me good before going outside and facing Damon.

An alpha had to maintain a sense of control at all times, especially with a dominant male of his caliber. Tears had no place in this situation.

In the bathroom, I made my way to the sink.

The four stalls outfitting the restroom seemed vacant, and the doors were ajar.

The dim lights atop the four oval mirrors dropped shifting shadows on the blood-red tinted walls and cast my dark brown hair to onyx.

I paused a step, shaking off my unease, and splashed water on my face and grabbed a paper towel to wipe away the droplets.

As I gazed at my reflection, the absence of tears in my eyes comforted me.

The door swept open behind me. My senses heightened, my inner instincts on high alert, as I realized I was alone in a public bathroom.

High heels clacked as a figure stepped toward the far sink. I kept staring at my reflection, but my body was aware of the female that entered.

“Give me the cloth,” a faint voice called over the running water.

As I spun to face the woman, my mouth parted on a silent gasp. The petite young woman had grown pale when I entered earlier. Suspicion gnawed inside my chest, but I remained still, assessing her.

The woman ran her hands under the water, peering into her mirror. “Do you want me to identify the scent or not?”