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5

Mor

When I first approached the Mythic Council about releasing an unknown mythic from a curse, I talked to Selena, the witch representative.

She visited the statue garden, studied the figure, then told me the being was most likely a monster and therefore Levi’s responsibility when no longer trapped.

So, I called him, and Levi and Selena told the rest of the Mythic Council about my plan—I assume at their monthly meeting or maybe even in a coded email of some kind.

But they all knew.

Moira, a selkie and the Of the Fin representative.

Juan, a werewolf and the Of the Claw representative.

And Georgiana, a siren and the Of the Wing representative.

She knew this curse breaking was happening.

Did she know the freed mythic would ask for her?

Whether or not she did, when Levi gets her on the phone and says a mythic named Bo is asking for her, we all hear the clipped, “I’m on my way.”

While we wait, I head back to my truck and rummage around in the passenger seat.

My siblings might have gone into their curse breaking with only the basic planning, but I’ve always been the prepared one.

Bossy, some might say.

In addition to clothes, I’ve got a whole load of other supplies that I left on the front porch, which I retrieved and shoved them into my truck before following Bo, and I grab the bags now before returning to the monster, who looks entirely too lost and confused for my comfort.

“Are you thirsty?” I ask Bo.

“I’ve got water, coffee, and Gatorade.”

He blinks down at me, and I can’t help comparing the snarling form he was frozen in to this soft-eyed look of contrition.

“Water, please.”

I hand him the bottle.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

I snort.

“It’s going to take some time to break you of that habit, huh?”

The muted chocolate-colored splash of embarrassment seeps through his aura.

I decide to give him a break from my ribbing.

He uncaps the bottle and swallows the entire thing in three long pulls, the muscles of his neck flexing with each swallow.

“Impressive. I’ve got two more. Also some granola bars if you’re hungry.” I hold out the foil-wrapped snacks.

“And the blanket if you’re cold.” I hold up the fluffy knitted number I made myself.

Nothing better than turning on an audiobook and settling in with a nice big knitting project.

“You’re very kind,” he murmurs, as if it’s a secret.

Which isn’t too far off.

I’m not exactly the caregiver type, though I did basically raise Ame since our parents were …

let’s just say, if I never see Helena and Alistair Shelly again, it’ll be too soon.

So, I know how to take care of someone.

But I’m not the type to seek out wounded birds in need of a new nest. I’m not baking cookies for neighbors or volunteering at retirement homes.

But when I do have a charge, I take my responsibilities seriously.

And Bo is mine.

Well, not mine , mine.

Bo was trapped as a statue on my property for far too long, and I feel a certain kind of duty to make sure he gets back on his feet in the community.

But I’m not about to claim him as my mate.

That’s for my siblings, not me.

Thank the gods he didn’t try to kiss me.

“Glad you think so.” I smile up at him.

“Doesn’t hurt to have a good reputation around here.”

He gazes down at me, and I can’t read his expression.

I’m also trying my hardest not to read his emotions because the guy has already bared plenty of himself tonight.

He deserves a bit of privacy.

But I guess Levi has other priorities.

“Bo, can you tell us what you last remember? Before the curse was broken?”

The man at my side stiffens, his hands freezing on the granola bar he was in the middle of opening.

“I—” His voice is strained.

“I remember the house.”

“The library?” Levi asks.

Bo’s browse dip in confusion.

“The house that used to be owned by Dimitri Novac,” I explain.

“I own it now. I turned it into a library.”

Bo’s face clears, and he nods.

“Yes, that one.”

“What happened at the house?” This question comes from Samantha.

Bo frowns. “I … I can’t …” He coughs repeatedly, rubbing his throat, as if that’ll soothe the reaction.

I hand him a second bottle of water, which he drinks as quickly as the first.

“That’s okay,” Levi says.

“If you don’t remember yet, we can come back to it later. But do you know why you were at the house?”

That’s a good question.

Nowadays, mythics of all kinds come by to browse the collection of texts I have.

There’s a reason for people to visit.

But from what Delta—Dimitri’s daughter and the woman who sold the property to me—has said, her father was a recluse.

Not one for visitors.

And why would a visitor be cursed?

A prick of wariness tugs at the back of my mind.

The reminder that I don’t know anything about this monster, and just because others we have freed from curses were innocent, that doesn’t mean Bo was.

The only thing that keeps me from scuttling away in self-preservation is the general vibe of the monster’s aura.

Before I shuttered my magical sight, I didn’t pick up a single ounce of hostility.

When we came upon him this time, his aura was swamped in a navy blue, speckled with tan.

Loss.

Loneliness.

“I can’t say,” Bo mutters in response to Levi’s question.

Before we can pry further, there’s the rumble of an engine through the trees.

Down the weed-choked drive comes a luxurious BMW SUV, and I shield my eyes against the blinding flash of LED headlights.

Bo grunts next to me, doing the same until the driver shuts the lights off and climbs from the vehicle.

Blinking spots out of my eyes, I begin to make out the trim figure of Georgiana Stormwind.

In the past, I’ve only ever seen the siren completely put together—with her blonde hair styled, makeup on point, and clothes chic and smooth.

Now she’s still Southern belle gorgeous, but with a just rolled out of bed vibe.

A camel-colored peacoat is buttoned over a set of what appears to be silk pajamas, matching a silk wrap around her curls.

The hands that clutch her collar are perfectly manicured.

She even slipped on a set of heels for this excursion.

How she’s not wobbling on the uneven ground is a magical move itself.

“Bo?” Shock quivers through her singsong voice.

“Is that really you?”

The monster stares at the siren, his face slack.

“Georgie?”

Georgie?

Sounds like they were close.

Her mouth pops open in an O, and she steps forward, wide eyes on his face.

“You … you’re the same,” she whispers.

“You haven’t aged a day.”

Bo’s gaze is locked on her, and I wonder if I should back up and give them room for some kind of reunion hug.

“How long has it been?” he rasps.

She blinks, long lashes brushing her cheeks, and something about her changes.

It takes me a moment to realize I was unconsciously reading her aura and the colors have altered.

What was once a combination of lime-green surprise and lemon-yellow eagerness now fades into peachy wariness with sparks of white fear.

Is Georgiana scared of Bo?

If so, why is she still leaning toward him?

As if hearing my silent question, she straightens her spine.

“You disappeared seventeen years ago.”

Bo sways on his feet, and I find myself reaching out, as if I’d be able to catch him if he collapsed from shock.

In most cases, I’ve got a good chance of holding someone up, but Bo is a big man and might end up squashing me.

Then, what she just said registers in my mind.

Seventeen years.

That’s a long fucking time.

When the silence stretches, Samantha is the first to break it.

“To be clear, Georgiana, you know this man? And he hasn’t been seen in seventeen years?”

The siren crosses her arms over her chest and gives the police chief a solemn nod.

“We were … acquainted. Bo’s father, Arvin, used to run a mechanic shop on the north side of town.”

“Georgie—”

“Georgiana,” she corrects with a sharp note in her voice, and the monster flinches.

“That’s a while back, but we don’t have a lot of missing person cases here. Would’ve thought I’d have come across it at some point on the job,” Sam says, her voice cautious, wary of calling out a council member.

“Do you know if one was filed?”

“I’m not sure.” Georgiana looks in the direction of the chief, but doesn’t meet her eyes.

Everything about the siren’s stance is defensive.

Distancing.

“You didn’t look for me?”

I pride myself on being a firm, practical person.

Not one prone to soft sentimentality.

But damn if the hopeless way Bo asks that question doesn’t jab my heart.

“You were always talking about leaving.” Georgiana waves a dismissive hand toward the road.

“Everyone figured you’d gone. So did I.”

“I wouldn’t have. Not before I—” He lets out a strangled gasp, as if suddenly choked by a strong hand.

He coughs, deep and rough, clearing his throat.

His mouth works, as if trying to form words, but nothing comes.

Georgiana looks deathly white in the glow of Samantha’s headlights.

She also appears cold, standing straight and staring anywhere but the man.

“Bo was cursed.” I gaze unflinchingly at The Council woman, unabashedly reading her aura as I speak.

Something about this exchange sets off my warning bells.

“Bo was stuck as a metal sculpture in Dimitri Novac’s collection. For seventeen years, apparently.”

There it is.

The bright flash of burnt orange.

Guilt.

“What happened to you was unfortunate.” The siren speaks like a customer service representative who was trained not to admit fault.

“I’m glad you came out unscathed.”

Unscathed?

Does she not see the emotional and mental wounds burning bright in the aura of the monster?

No, I guess she doesn’t.

That’s just me.

“Things have changed in the last seventeen years. The monsters now have representation on the Mythic Council.” She nods toward her fellow council member.

“Levi Abadi currently holds the seat. He can help you reacclimate.”

Simple as that, she dismisses Bo.

Passing the guy off, as if her being the only person he knows means nothing.

I didn’t have much of an opinion about the siren before tonight, but gods do I now.

She’s a bitch.

And he just takes her cold words, standing in the ruins of what must have once been his home, his large figure wilting in the face of her frost.

“I need to get home,” she says, more to the group than to Bo.

“My husband will be wondering where I am.”

There—another slight flinch in his broad shoulders at that word.

Husband .

My curiosity for this story is sharp, but I can guess at parts.

A younger Georgiana meant something romantic to Bo.

Maybe they dated. Maybe it was only a mild flirtation.

But to him, it was yesterday, and to her, it was nearly two decades ago.

Still, she doesn’t have to be so harsh about letting him know where things currently stand.

Or is it more than that?

Not just letting a man know she’s off-limits.

Warning a monster that she’s not interested.

I’ve always gotten the sense that Georgiana is largely supported by the more traditional mythics of this town.

The ones who think magical beings should only partner with their same kind or with a human.

The people who believe monsters should be looked down on for their mixed bloodlines.

What would Georgiana’s political supporters say if they found out she once was involved with a monster?

The siren strides toward her SUV, but Samantha calls out after her.

“Council Member Stormwind,” the chief says, using the title, as if reminding the siren of her responsibilities, “do you believe Bo Folan is a danger to anyone in Folk Haven?”

Georgiana’s shoulders are tight to her ears for a moment, but then they sag just slightly.

“No.” The siren’s voice goes soft.

“Bo is harmless.”

Then she leaves as quickly as she arrived, silence falling in her wake.

I don’t know what to do.

My comforting skills have always been lacking, and I doubt another granola bar would fix this.

“Bo”—Levi breaks through the tension with his deep voice—“I thought you could come home with me tonight. Get some sleep in my guest room.” He holds his hands out, palms up.

“You don’t have to figure anything out tonight.”

I glance back at Bo in time to see him give one short nod, even as his eyes stay downcast.

Despite my resolve not to, I ease the grip on my magic, allowing the colors of his aura to glow in my sight.

The most pronounced color twists my gut.

Cobalt blue for devastation.