Page 25 of Witch’s Wolf (Bound by the Howl #2)

25

ERICA

“ I just love it out here,” Monica sighs, her voice almost childlike with wonder. “The trees, the wildlife… it’s amazing to think that none of these animals will dare hurt me because of my relationship with Raul. Look at us. City girls walking around the big bad forest and I feel completely safe.”

Monica Greenwell, aka Dr. Smitten.

We’ve been out here for an hour, and she hasn’t stopped gushing about Raul. His name sneaks into every other sentence, like a song she can’t stop humming. She talks about how good life has been to her, how lucky she is to have found him. And I get it. I used to be like this. I almost had this.

I remember what it felt like, to want the whole damn world to know you’d found someone you could trust. Someone who made you feel safe. That was before. Before I learned how fast love can turn into regret.

Still, I can’t fault her for being happy. Monica deserves it after everything she’s been through. A shit first marriage, a messy divorce. A heart that had every reason to stop believing until Raul came along. That brute of a man who somehow put her back together.

And even so she is spending her one free evening trudging through the woods with me instead of wrapped up in her perfect love story. She didn’t have to. She could’ve spent tonight with her Mr. Fantastic, curled up in that cozy cabin of theirs. But she chose to be here, with me, for me. Maybe I don’t say it out loud, but damn it, I appreciate it.

“So, that’s Lake Paxton,” I say, spying a patch of water through the thinning trees. “Are you sure we’ll find Helena here? Because that’s what you said about Edward’s sanctuary.”

“I’m not sure about much when it comes to Helena,” she admits with a heavy exhale. “I know she’s loyal to Dawson, and especially to the Crawfords. The boys have found her here more than once, so it’s a likely a place as any.”

The trees break, and the lake stretches before us, a dark, glassy expanse reflecting the skeletal outlines of the forest. It’s beautiful in a quiet, eerie kind of way. The kind of place that might have moved me on any other night. Tonight, though, my patience is hanging by a thread.

I step onto the nearest rock, boots grinding against the damp surface, but before I can take in anything more, a flicker of red disrupts the night. Further down the shore, a plume of smoke curls over the pebbles, its wisps vanishing into the cold air. Then, through the dim glow, I see her.

Helena.

She stands by the water’s edge, her frame small but unwavering, slipping back her hood as she lowers her staff. The moment feels deliberate, like she’s been expecting us all along.

“Good evening, ladies,” her voice cool and unreadable. “You’ve been looking for me.”

“Yeah, we have,” Monica confirms, stepping up and taking the lead. “Erica needs to talk to you. She needs answers.”

I keep my mouth shut, every muscle tense. I’ve my own thoughts about Helena, about all of this. But right now Monica is right, I want answers.

“You were right, Helena,” I say, the words bitter on my tongue. No matter how much I don’t want them to be true, there’s no denying it. “My parents are alive. I guess that means they are the ones who put that spell on my future.”

Helena groans, striding along the shore, her frustration as sharp as the crisp night air.

“I’m sorry. I am… appalled,” she mutters, shaking her head. “Believe me that I wanted to be wrong.”

“I wanted you to be wrong too,” I whisper, a hollow ache in my chest. “They betrayed me. Twenty-two years believing they were dead, and for what?”

Helena exhales, but there’s something else in her expression, something that makes my stomach clench so tight that bile rises in my throat.

“I hate to say this,” she frowns deeply, hesitating. Her eyes search mine, looking for something, but what I don’t know. “That’s not the only reason I’m appalled,” her tone shifts, becoming colder and heavier. “I’ve been busy too, Erica. I traced your family’s roots.”

“Okay…” a wave of unease prickling the back of my neck.

“You’re of Irish descent, aren’t you?” she asks.

“Yeah. My great-grandparents arrived in New York in the late 1800s.”

“Your ancestors were a menace, dear.”

The way she says it, matter-of-fact and unwavering sends a chill straight through me.

“One of them, Gordon Connors, left Ireland in 1679 and settled in Trenton, a coastal village near Cornwall, England. Six years later, he married Marianne Weston. Both of them were witches.” Something about the way she lingers on the words makes my pulse quicken. “One day, Marianne left home and never returned. Gordon suspected the locals had taken her, killed her. When he came to the conclusion that he would never find her, he cleared his house and loaded his belongings into a carriage…” she pauses, her gaze pinning me in place.

“And?” I ask, when I can’t stand the waiting any longer.

“He burned Trenton to the ground.” The world tilts. “Two hundred and twenty-seven people died, Erica. Men, women… children.”

“Oh my God…” the words barely make it past my lips.

I turn away, nausea curling in my stomach.

“Are you putting the pieces together?” Helena asks, her voice tight with certainty. “Your ancestors didn’t hesitate to slaughter innocent women and children. Why would your parents hesitate?”

“What are you saying?” I ask, a chill snaking down my spine.

“Why would they hesitate to kill a shifter?” she asks, and it’s a punch to the gut.

“Samuel,” I whisper.

“Your parents hypnotized him that night,” she continues, her words like steel. “That ‘accident’ wasn’t an accident.”

“How can you be so sure?” I ask, voice quavering with tension and fear.

“It has all the signs of a textbook hypnosis spell,” she explains, eyes dark with knowledge I don’t want to hear. “The flash he saw wasn’t some random light. It was a trigger that sent him into a temporary trance. It’s the perfect crime, no evidence, and no loose ends.”

“Helena, Stacy and I were there. We saw it happen,” I say shaking my head as I grasp for reason. “We didn’t see any flashes.”

A knowing smile tugs at her lips. She chuckles softly, covering her mouth with her fingers. The sound makes my skin crawl.

“Oh, Erica…” she sighs. “You have so much to learn about witchcraft.”

Something in her tone makes my breath hitch.

“When you cast a spell like that, you make it visible to your target and your target alone,” she explains. “You can’t afford to let anyone else see it. They might intervene. They might get suspicious. They might get hurt.” Her gaze sharpens. “If you had seen that flash, your car would’ve ended up wrapped around a tree.”

A bitter laugh escapes before I can stop it.

“So that’s it, then,” I say, the weight of it sinking in like lead. “They tried to take him out. Because of me.”

Another sick realization curdles in my gut. Because he loved me. Because he was with me.

“Shit, I owe Sam an apology. Another one.”

Helena’s smirk fades, replaced by something graver.

“I’m more concerned about something else,” she says, her voice sounding uneasy. “A hypnosis spell requires close proximity. Your parents, one of them at least, were here, Erica.” It feels as if the temperature drops twenty degrees, goosepimples form across my skin. “If not in Dawson,” she says, “then somewhere close, in the hills maybe.”

“Does that mean they know about Dawson? The shifters?” Monica asks, leaning in with wide eyes.

“More than likely,” Helena says without hesitation. Her words scare me but it’s the harsh sharpness in Monica’s stare that unsettles me more. Helena doesn’t soften the blow. “We’re dealing with people born from witch bloodlines.

“I guarantee they’ve known about shifters long before you were even a thought. That is, by far, the least of our worries.” She lifts her chin, confidence rolling off her in waves. “They may be powerful, but this is my realm and my territory. They have made the mistake of underestimating me.” Her lips curl in a slow, knowing smile. “Take my word for it. They’ll pay the price.”

The absolute certainty in her voice is cold as forged steel. I narrow my eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“When the time comes, I will kill them.” Her words take my breath. She says it so easily, so calmly, like she’s discussing the weather. A shudder rolls down my spine, but she isn’t done. “They dared to hurt the closest thing I have to a family. And they hurt you in the process.” Her gaze locks onto mine, dark and determined. “They clouded your mind so badly that you walked away from a promising relationship with Samuel. I won’t let a couple of manipulative bastards play God. Not in my realm.”

Monica voices the thought raging in my head that I can’t form into words.

“You sound awfully confident.” I shift uncomfortably, nodding as Monica continues. “You’re powerful, no doubt about that. But if it comes to a faceoff, you’ll be outnumbered. I don’t see a scenario where you come out on top.”

“That’s because you’re thinking like a human,” she says with a smirk.

“This won’t be a gunfight, my dear Monica. It will be a battle of wills.” A flicker of something dark flashes in her eyes. “And I always win.”

“You can’t be su—” Monica says, but Helena cuts her off with a dismissive hand.

“I won’t get into details. They’d mean nothing to you,” she says, then tilts her head at me. “A fellow witch might find my methods intriguing, but a modern-day doctor? You’d probably rather not know.”

“I’m not a doctor or a witch,” I say quietly. “I’m a singer. I know I have witch blood in me, but I’m an artist. I don’t intend to practice witchcraft.” The words feel like an anchor, a desperate hold on my identity. “I was approached by Platinum Tunes. A rep, Alfred Jenkins, saw me perform at Michelle’s. He asked me to audition, and I did.” I take a steadying breath. “He loved me.”

“Oh Erica, that’s great! Why didn’t you… oh… yeah, but still, that’s amazing! It’s what you’ve always wanted,” Monica says.

I still hear Alfred’s words and feel the weight of his approval.

“I’m pretty sure my phone will ring soon,” I continue. “If I sign, I’ll get one hundred-fifty thousand dollars upfront.”

The second the words leave my mouth, Monica’s expression shifts from joy to a frown. I don’t like it. She shakes her head.

“One-hundred-fifty thousand? For your signature?”

“Yeah,” I say, clenching my jaw.

“You’re serious?”

“That’s what they offer new artists. What’s wrong, Mon? You were happy…”

“You’re very perceptive,” Monica says, pursing her lips as if she’s holding back what she really wants to say. The sarcasm grates.

“That’s more than most people make in a year, Erica,” she says, folding her arms, gaze unyielding. “Are you sure that’s all he wants? Just your signature?”

“What are you implying?” I ask, heat rising in my chest.

“I’m saying one-hundred-fifty thousand isn’t a signing bonus. It’s a price tag,” Monica says, refusing to back down.

“I can’t believe you,” I say, turning away.

“I’m sorry, Erica, but this is what friends do. When they see you walking into something blind, they stop you.”

“What the hell do you think he wants?” I snap, whirling on her. “You think he wants to sleep with me? Wants me to shoot porn? What, Monica?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, but her calm fuels my frustration. “But if you think he’s handing you one-hundred-fifty thousand out of the goodness of his heart, you’re in for a rude awakening.”

I open my mouth to fire back, but before I do Monica lifts a brow.

“Do I need to remind you what you told me? About the music industry?” Her voice drops into a near-perfect imitation of mine. “‘Nothing is free. Nobody is going to give you anything just because you’re talented. You’ll have to bleed to become somebody in a world of nobodies.’”

My breath catches. Damn her. Damn her memory. She remembers everything.

“This Alfred Jenkins,” Helena interjects, her tone deceptively light. “Is he still in New York?”

I swallow hard, turning to her.

“Yeah. He’s at the Ritz,” I say, feeling smaller than before. “He’ll be there until Thursday. Why?”

Helena’s smirk returns, but this one is different. Calculating.

“Let’s just say I have an idea.”

A pit forms in my stomach.

“I’m a bit suspicious myself,” she adds. “One-hundred-fifty thousand dollars is a big lump of money. Do you trust me, Erica?”

My mouth is dry. Instinct screaming no, despite not having a reason not to. She is the one who turned me onto the harsh truth. She’s been honest with me when apparently everyone else I depended on in my life has lied.

“Yes.”

“Then do not sign anything until I give you the green light.”

The finality in her tone leaves no room for argument. Before I can press her for details, black-red smoke swirls around her, and she vanishes. Silence lingers in her wake, but the energy has shifted. I should be furious with Monica, still seething, but the moment for that has passed.

In its place is exhaustion. My mind spins with too many thoughts, too many questions, too much uncertainty.

I want quiet. Peace and quiet. And there’s only one place I’ll find it now. Monica’s home.