Page 59 of Hex and the Kitty (Whispering Pines #9)
FIFTY-NINE
T hey danced in comfortable silence, bodies swaying together while Warrick allowed himself the luxury of imagining their future. Mornings in her bakery, helping her prepare dough while stealing kisses between batches. Evenings at his home—their home—perhaps with children someday. Little ones with her fiery hair and his golden eyes, carrying both witch magic and tiger strength in their blood.
The song ended, but he kept hold of her hand, reluctant to break contact even momentarily.
“Thirsty?” he asked, noting the flush in her cheeks from dancing.
“Parched,” she admitted. “Between the dancing and the magic in the air...”
“I’ll get us drinks. Wait here?”
She nodded, squeezing his fingers before releasing them. Warrick made his way toward the refreshment table, accepting handshakes and congratulations from his firefighters along the way.
“About time, Chief,” Martinez commented with a knowing grin. “We were starting to think you’d never make a move.”
“Some things are worth careful consideration,” Warrick replied, filling two crystal punch cups.
“Well, she’s good for you. Never seen you smile so much.”
Was he smiling? Warrick realized his face had relaxed into an expression far removed from his usual stoic mask. The change must be obvious if his crew felt comfortable enough to comment on it.
He turned back toward the dance floor, seeking Molly’s vibrant form among the crowd. She stood chatting with Celeste and Daisy, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke. Even from across the room, the sight of her filled him with warmth that had nothing to do with his shifter biology and everything to do with what she’d awakened in him.
A flicker of movement near the service entrance caught his attention. David stood there, expression tense as he scanned the perimeter. Warrick’s internal alarm activated, his senses heightening automatically in response to his friend’s vigilance.
Careful not to spill the punch, Warrick made his way toward David.
“Everything all right?” he asked quietly.
David shook his head minutely. “Something feels off. Can’t pinpoint it, but...”
“Trust your instincts.” Warrick set the punch cups aside, switching fully into alert mode. “What specifically triggered your concern?”
“Thought I saw someone duck behind the utility shed outside. Build matched Gus’s, but he disappeared before I could confirm.”
Warrick’s jaw tightened. “Have you checked the wards?”
“All intact, but...” David hesitated. “You know how Gus had that uncle who practiced dark magic? The one who disappeared a few years back?”
A chill ran down Warrick’s spine. “You think Gus might have learned from him.”
“It would explain how he’s been managing the sabotage despite our precautions.”
Warrick glanced back at Molly, her laughter carrying across the room as she demonstrated something to Daisy with expansive gestures. The sight strengthened his resolve—nothing would ruin this night for her.
“I’ll check the exterior perimeter,” Warrick decided. “Keep an eye on things in here. Any sign of trouble, get Reed immediately.”
“Will do, Chief.”
Warrick moved casually toward a side exit, not wanting to alarm any guests. The cool night air hit his face as he slipped outside, instantly heightening his senses. His pupils dilated, vision sharpening to penetrate the darkness between buildings. His nostrils flared, sorting through myriad scents until he caught it—Gus’s distinctive odor, tinged with something acrid and wrong.
Dark magic. The scent was unmistakable like sulfur and decay.
Warrick followed the trail silently, his expensive dress shoes barely making a sound on the pavement. His tiger stirred closer to the surface, lending him enhanced stealth and strength without fully emerging. The utility shed stood isolated behind the community center, surrounded by shadows the decorative lights couldn’t penetrate.
From within came a faint muttering—words in a language Warrick recognized as corrupted Latin, the kind used in darker spellcasting traditions. He crept closer, identifying Gus’s voice despite the strange cadence of the incantation.
The door stood slightly ajar, a sickly purplish light seeping through the crack. Warrick positioned himself beside it, listening intently.
“...and when the flames consume the outsiders, the true children of Whispering Pines will reclaim their rightful place,” Gus hissed, his voice thick with malice. “Starting with that tiger pretender and his witch whore.”
Rage boiled through Warrick’s veins at the slur against Molly. His tiger surged forward, claws emerging from his fingertips before he forced the transformation back. Not yet. He needed to understand what spell Gus was casting before confronting him.
“Accept this sacrifice, ancient ones,” Gus continued. “Blood freely given for power freely taken.”
The scent of fresh blood joined the acrid smell of dark magic. Warrick peered through the crack, seeing Gus hunched over a crude circle drawn on the shed floor. A small animal—a rat, perhaps—lay motionless at the center, its blood feeding whatever malevolent energy Gus conjured.
The purple light intensified, pulsing in time with Gus’s chanting. Tendrils of energy snaked upward, coalescing into a swirling vortex that seemed to fold in upon itself before shooting outward—directly toward the main building.
Warrick lunged for the door, but too late. The black magic had already found and eaten through a weak ward, racing inside the community center like a vengeful ghost.
Screams erupted almost immediately. The sound propelled Warrick back toward the building at supernatural speed, his heart hammering with dread. He burst through the side entrance, confronted by a scene of escalating chaos.
Crimson flames licked across the starry ceiling, no longer a beautiful illusion but something malevolent and hungry. Though they emitted no heat, the fire behaved uncannily like the real thing—spreading, consuming, transforming the once-beautiful decorations into charred ruins.
Worse, the building’s sprinkler system had activated, drenching everyone and creating slippery conditions that hampered evacuation. Panicked guests scrambled toward exits while Celeste and other witches tried frantically to counter the illusions.
Warrick scanned the crowd desperately, seeking one face among hundreds.
Molly .
He found her near the stage, hands raised as she attempted to combat the illusory flames with cooling magic. Her green dress clung to her body, soaked from the sprinklers, but determination hardened her features as she worked.
Relief flooded him, but only briefly. Behind her, unnoticed in the chaos, a support beam wavered. The magical flames had somehow compromised its integrity, transforming illusion into genuine threat.
“Molly!” Warrick shouted, pushing through the crowd. “Move!”
She turned at his voice, confusion crossing her features before understanding dawned. The beam gave an ominous crack, beginning its descent directly toward her.
Warrick lunged forward, summoning every ounce of his shifter speed. Not fast enough. The beam struck with sickening force, catching Molly’s shoulder and sending her sprawling across the wet floor. Blood bloomed instantly, staining her emerald dress with shocking crimson as she lay motionless.
Something primal shattered inside Warrick. His vision tunneled, the world reducing to a single point of focus: Molly, injured and vulnerable. His mate.
He reached her in seconds that felt like eternity, dropping to his knees beside her. Blood matted her curls where the beam had struck, but she stirred weakly, eyelids fluttering.
“Warrick,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the chaos.
“I’m here.” He cradled her face, cataloging her injuries with clinical precision born of centuries of battlefield experience. The head wound bled profusely but appeared superficial—scalp wounds always did. Her shoulder had borne the brunt of the impact, possibly dislocated from the awkward angle.
“The flames—not real,” she murmured, struggling to focus. “But something’s wrong with them... feeding on fear...”
“Don’t talk.” He tore a strip from his dress shirt, pressing it gently against her head wound. “Help is coming.”