Page 22

CHAPTER 22

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“W hat do you want to do while we wait?” Saint asks as we step out into the chilly January air.

I shiver slightly from the bitter wind whipping through the houses. Saint notices and immediately shrugs off his coat. He wraps it around my shoulders and slings an arm around me to pull me into his side. I bury my nose in his charcoal puffer jacket and inhale his winter berry scent.

Nan said it would take her an hour or two to finish the potion. When we offered to help, she politely but firmly declined. Apparently, we’re more of a hinderance than help. I would be offended if my magic weren’t a temperamental toddler prone to throwing tantrums. I’m not really sure what assistance I can really provide when I’ve never made a potion in my life.

I attempt to shrug, but Saint’s muscular arm slung over my shoulders makes the movement harder than usual. “I don’t really know. Is there any place you wanted to go while we’re back?”

He presses a lingering kiss to the top of my hair. “I wouldn’t mind checking in at the house, if you’re good with that. I should’ve gotten an alert if anything was wrong, but it doesn’t hurt to make sure.”

“I’m good with that.”

“You wanna open the portal, little shadow?” Saint looks down at me with a heart-melting half smile. When we were kids, Saint was always grinning. Now he’s much more somber and serious. I want to be the one who brings back his smile and makes sure it stays on his handsome face.

“Sure,” I reluctantly agree.

I’d rather get shanked with a rusty spoon, swim in a piranha-infested river, or have a Disney-movie-themed sleepover with Ryker than try to wrangle my magic. But if I’m going to fulfill the prophecy, I need to learn how to use my power, sooner rather than later.

Blowing out a breath, I envision a portal forming in front of us. Whereas I usually have to fight and beg and plead with my magic to work, I feel it flowing through me once I picture what I want it to do.

“Holy shit,” Saint mutters.

I snap my eyes open and gape at the perfectly formed portal chilling out in Nan’s yard. It’s surrounded by icy-blue sparks, so I know I created it. But I never said, “ aperire ,” the focus word for portals. “How? How did I even do that?”

“Maybe it’s your—” Saint breaks off as he looks around at the few people milling about the historic-looking neighborhood. My gaze snags on all the different examples of Gothic Revival architecture before Saint’s palm on my lower back steals my attention. “Let’s talk about it after we go through.”

I nod. He’s right. We probably shouldn’t be discussing my unique magic out in the open in Hawthorne Grove, the headquarters of the North American mage council. The mage council is high on the list of people I hope never find out that I’m a mage-wolf hybrid. They’re a complication I don’t need.

Letting Saint steer me toward the portal, I stare at it apprehensively. This is only the second portal I’ve ever created. What if I did something wrong and it transports us to Antarctica or chops off our heads?

That would be super inconvenient.

Taking a deep breath, I step through the portal. When I emerge in front of Saint’s red-brick colonial home, I have to resist the urge to fist pump because I actually did it. I cast a spell that did exactly what it was supposed to, without me having to fight my magic.

I’m totally on my way to becoming an expert mage. You know, right after I do more than basic spells. But that’s really not the point.

Once Saint steps through, I let the threads of my magic keeping the portal open fade away. It snaps shut with a whoosh.

We make our way to Saint’s garage, our steps crunching over fallen leaves. “So, what were you saying about me casually creating a portal with nothing more than a thought?”

Saint rubs a hand over his neck as he seems lost in thought for a moment. “I was saying that I wonder if your magic works differently because you’re both a mage and a wolf. Although, after what Nan said, I wonder if you’re just more like the type of mages that existed before the council. I’m guessing there aren’t many of them left with the council winning control, though.”

I nod because he’s probably right. With everything else I have to be concerned about, a cool ability to open portals without a focus word isn’t high on my list of problems. If it’s not trying to kill me, I don’t really have time to worry about it.

He keeps one arm around me as he puts in the code to his security keypad. I watch him punch in 1-2-1-3, which seems kind of weak to me. But what do I really know about security?

I glance up at him in surprise when it dawns on me why he chose those particular numbers. “Has my birthday always been your security code?”

The garage door squeals as it rises, and his full lips tilt up in a small but genuine smile. “Yep. It’s my phone passcode, too. I use your birthday for pretty much everything that requires a PIN.”

We walk past his collection of bikes, a few muscle cars, and a Land Cruiser before we reach the worn steps that lead into his house.

“That doesn’t seem super secure,” I mumble as a warm fuzzy feeling invades my chest. The man didn’t see me for fourteen years, yet he still used my birthday as his password for everything. Even when I felt so alone all those years with Patrick, Saint was here thinking about me every time he unlocked his phone or went into his house.

He snorts. “Well, it’s a good thing this isn’t the only security measure on my house. Far from it. You don’t have to worry about me, little shadow.”

Pushing open the door, we walk into his clean but welcoming mudroom. I sit on the blue-and-white-checked bench cushion as I untie my boots. Saint does the same and slides both of our pairs of boots into a cubby underneath the bench.

I follow him into the kitchen, my steps almost silent against the white oak floors. “How did you start working at Elemental, anyway? And is that what you do for a job?”

“It’s… a long story,” he answers evasively while avoiding eye contact as he stalks over to the windows and peers outside. I assume he doesn’t find anything, because he returns to inspecting the living and dining rooms.

I lean my hip against the marble countertop. “We have time, but you never have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you.” Saint looks away as he fidgets with the sleeve of his white long-sleeve tee. “I’m just embarrassed, I guess. I did shit I regret in the many years you were gone, and I don’t want you to view me differently because of it.”

“Oh, Saint.” I stride over to where he is. When I reach him, I wrap my arms around him from behind and rest my head on his back. “There’s nothing you could tell me that would make me see you or love you any differently, okay?”

“Love, huh?” He spins around so he can face me and cups his hands around my hips. His mouth quirks up in a smug grin.

I can’t help my smile at how pleased he seems. It makes him look so much like the boy who was always so proud to do a cool basketball trick, one-up his friends on his skateboard, or even just make me laugh. “Yep. I meant it when I said I love you.”

His gray eyes, which usually look like storm clouds, soften as he leans down to rest his forehead against mine. “And I love you, little shadow. More than I’ll ever be able to tell you.” He then presses his lips against mine in a kiss so sweet it makes me ache. It doesn’t last more than a few moments, but I’m dazed when he pulls away. “Wanna walk with me through the house?”

I shrug. “Sure.”

Saint is quiet as our sock-covered feet pad across his living room. He leads the way up the light oak staircase and down the hall of bedrooms. Pushing open the door to one of the guest bedrooms, he steps inside while I hang out in the threshold. After quickly looking in the closet and attached bathroom, Saint heads back out to the hall and repeats the process for the other four guest bedrooms. He then grabs my hand and leads me into his bedroom.

When we step inside, I smile at his comforter with chunky black-and-red-color blocking, his deep red walls, and the black rug underneath his bed. His bedroom looks like a grown-up version of the one he had when he was a kid.

I get lost in the memories as I look around at the black-and-white photographs he has on every wall. They’re snaps of Saint with his parents, the two of us, and our families together. Each picture is filled with a laughter that’s contagious enough to make me smile, even if some of the memories hurt to look back on.

After inspecting the bathroom, closet, and even under the bed, Saint takes his time making sure the room is all good. He then gently pushes me toward the large bed that dominates the room. I hesitantly sit down on the edge, unsure if he wants my street clothes all over his clean comforter.

It’s apparently not a problem because he runs and leaps at the mattress, flopping on his back in the middle. I crawl up the bed and settle on my side pressed up against him. When his arm wraps around me and crushes me to him, I lay my head on his chest. I’m almost lulled to sleep by the steady beat of his heart under my ear.

“After Ma and Da died and you left, I was angry all the time, and I no longer had any interest in the stuff I used to do.” Saint’s voice startles me from my doze, but I listen with rapt attention as he continues. “I picked fights at school and at the street races where I’d spend most weekends. One night, I started a fight with the wrong guy. He absolutely handed my ass to me, but not before I got in some hits. That impressed him, I guess.

“That guy, who went by Z, was the leader of the biggest car-theft ring in the entire state. There wasn’t a car that got boosted around here without him knowing about it. Instead of killing my punk-ass like I probably deserved, he invited me to join his crew.

“Z assured me that they only stole fancy cars from terrible people. When I knew I wouldn’t be hurting anyone, I was all too happy to join because I felt like I finally had a purpose and people who understood me again. Things were fine for years, and I learned all about how to scope out targets, break into cars, evade detection, and fight.

“But a couple years ago, Z wanted to expand his business. He started trafficking drugs, weapons, and eventually people. I wanted no part of his other ventures, but this wasn’t the type of thing I could just walk away from. I tried to tell him I was done, but it didn’t go well.”

My eyes are wide as I push up on my arm so I can look at him, anxious for him to finish his story. “What happened?”