Page 35 of Witch’s Wolf (Bound by the Howl #2)

35

ERICA

W hat a mystical place…

Sam’s grandfather’s retreat is a living relic, filled with vintage lamps, rusty picture frames, and the echoes of a love so deep it lingers in every room. Letters and carefully wrapped presents, preserved like treasures, whisper I love you from every corner. If things were different, if my life wasn’t unraveling at the seams, I’d let myself sink into the warmth of it, savor the proof that love like this exists.

But I can’t. Not when my mother, my own mother , is the one who tried to kill Sam.

And she didn’t stop there. Failing in her first attempt, she escalated and took the lives of two of his pack as if they were nothing. Then she set the forest on fire. All to make her point. To scare him into compliance.

And if Helena’s silence is any indication, she succeeded. I steal a glance at the redheaded witch. Her usual sharp confidence is gone. She recounts what happened in a voice that’s too controlled, too measured, like she’s afraid of what will spill out if she lets it crack. My mother nearly snapped her neck and Helena knows it. I know it. And for the first time, I see something I never thought I’d find in the stoic woman. Fear.

My mother has won the first battle. Planting fear in the heart of the pack, in all of Dawson. Now we’re on edge waiting for her next strike. Heavy footsteps echo outside the library, a steady rhythm that I don’t have to see to know who it is. The warmth of yearning suffuses my chest, creeping onto my cheeks alongside sadness.

Sam. Oh Sam.

The door creaks as it opens and Sam steps through. His expression is as dark as the storm building inside. I slide the book I was obstinately looking at back onto the shelf and take a deep breath, trying to brace myself.

“We cremated Porter and Locksmith,” he says, his voice breaking the quiet like a rock thrown into a still lake.

Of course, they did.

I swallow hard. I want to go to him, wrap my arms around his strong neck, try to take at least some of his pain away. But I don’t move. I can’t. All of this, in part at least, is my fault. My mother is the one who did this. If it wasn’t for me, none of this would have happened.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, lowering my head. I’m frozen with understanding.

He’s hurting so much and needs me, but at the same time I’m the problem. The silence is heavy. Even Helena says nothing, standing with her back to the two of us, leaving us to sort this out on our own.

“Erica…”

He raises his hands, almost reaching for me but stopping himself and dropping them to his sides. His chest is heaving, his shoulders are hunched, and the storm is breaking across his face.

“That’s not why you’re here, is it?” I ask, heart in my throat, stomach sinking to the floor.

“No,” he says, jaw tightening even as his hands convulse into fists, “it’s not.”

“Sam,” I say, but I’ve got nothing.

Only a painful longing, this need to reach him but being unable to. He’s so close, yet so far. My heart thumps loudly in my ears. Slow, measured, waiting for the next beat, knowing that soon it will shatter.

“I have to send you back,” he says, glaring at the floor, not me. “To the city. For good.”

My heart slams against my ribs. This is it. He said the words. My mother is getting all she wanted, for whatever sick, twisted reason of her own. Sam is sending me away. And how can I blame him? He may not be the alpha, but this is his pack. His town. His family, and my presence alone puts them all in danger.

“Oh,” I say, the sound echoing the breaking in my chest.

“I don’t… want to,” he says, shaking his head and stepping closer. “You and I… we’ve got something… something good Erica. I know that if you leave, it’s going to be damn hard to keep it…”

“Sam,” I choke on his name, tears filling my eyes.

It’s not just the hurt. It’s that he’s right. I can’t argue with him. How could I? Logically, I know this, but my heart bursts. Not into pieces, but into flames, consuming, uncontrollable. Rage burns through my veins, using my pain as fuel.

“That woman, my so claimed mother, faked her death and walked out of my life twenty-two years ago. Who the hell gave her the right to decide who I can and can’t be with?”

Sam’s eyes flash with something unreadable. When he speaks, his voice rises.

“Valid,” he says, shifting his weight, as if the conversation itself is too heavy to bear. He looks into my eyes for the first time, and I clearly see that this is tearing him apart. “But… Erica… we have to face the facts. Helena thinks Roberta might be able to be reasoned with, but I think I know you well enough to know that you’re not going to talk to her.”

A sharp, bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it.

“Why should I? What’s the point? She lied to me! I believed her and my dad died on that plane crash. She did that. Left me with that empty hole in my world. Tore apart everything that was true and stable and for what? Even if I did talk to her and despite it all we somehow reach a truce, how the hell am I supposed to trust her?”

I won’t. I can’t.

Before Sam answers, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I rip it free, raising it between us like a shield from the anguish on his face. When I see the name on the screen, my breath catches.

Alfred Jenkins.

Great. One more damn thing that isn’t done with me yet.

“Play dumb,” Sam murmurs, moving so he’s only inches from my side.

His warmth seeps into me, but it does nothing to stop the ice creeping down my spine. I press the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Connors, Alfred Jenkins here. I’ve good news,” his voice oozes slick confidence, like a salesman who already knows you’ll buy. Revulsion hits like a punch to the guts. My stomach clenches, forcing bile up my throat. “The executives at Platinum Tunes loved your demo. They e-mailed me your contract this morning. They don’t even want you to fly to L.A. You’ll need to do that after you’ve signed, of course, but that will be later. I don’t know about you, but I think this calls for a celebration. I’ve got the perfect place. It’s in Westchester, two-four-six-three Acacia Drive. Can you be there?”

My fingers tighten around the phone. Westchester. That’s too convenient, too easy. I look at Sam, fighting to not tremble in fear. This bastard, slimy vampire-wannabe-asshole makes my skin crawl. Sam puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder and nods. I force a smile, fake enthusiasm coating my words.

“Yes, sir! This is amazing! What time should we meet?”

“Nine o’clock, okay? I’ll have the contract printed out for you,” he says, warm and smarmy.

“That’s perfect,” I say, drawing all my strength from Sam’s reassuring presence.

“Perfect. Welcome to Platinum Tunes, Ms. Connors.”

The call disconnects, but the weight of it lingers. I exhale sharply, trembling as I drop my arm, holding the phone at my side.

“In all this excitement, I’d almost forgotten about that crap.”

“You know what this is, don’t you?” Sam asks.

I swallow hard as the pieces slot together like jagged glass.

“An ambush,” I whisper, seeing it clearly. “Those bastards plan to kidnap me.”

Sam’s lips curve, but it’s not amusement. It’s something much darker, something lethal.

“They can try,” he growls in a tone that is laced with quiet fury. “My pack will be ready. I swear to you, Erica, you will not be alone. Don’t worry, I won’t let them hurt you.”

My pulse pounds hard. It should be reassuring, the way he says it with such certainty. But if I’ve learned nothing else from all this shit, one thing I do know. Nothing is certain.

“What if something goes wrong?” I ask, fear curling around my ribs and squeezing with icy fingers. “What if they…?”

I can’t finish the sentence. Because the truth is, I already know what they’re capable of. And so does Sam.

“Hey…” his voice cuts through my panic, steady and sure.

Sam raises both hands, warm and firm, and rests them on my shoulders. His touch grounds me, but it doesn’t stop my racing heart. His gaze locks onto mine, dark and unwavering.

“Sam…” I say, choking on his name.

“Nothing is going to go wrong,” he promises. “I’ll work out a plan with my brother. We’ll cover every contingency. No one messes with my girl. No one.”

The possessiveness in his words should be unnerving, but it isn’t. It does make my chest ache, though. How do you react to that much devotion? How am I supposed to accept his certainty when everything I know has been thrown into doubt?

I don’t have an answer, nor do I have words. I do the only thing I can. I fall into his embrace.

He wraps his arms around, strong and unwavering, pulling me tight against his body. I press my forehead to his chest, inhaling the scent of him. Woodsmoke, pine, something else, something unmistakably him . My fingers clutch the fabric of his shirt as if that alone could hold me together.

I should say something. Tell him I don’t deserve this, that I don’t deserve him. But the words won’t come. It’s easier to let him hold me, to sink into the safety he offers and pretend, for just a moment, that it’s enough.

Because despite everything I’ve done to unravel his life, despite the chaos I’ve brought to his doorstep, Sam still won’t let go.

A clan of vampires is coming for me. And instead of running, instead of cutting his losses, he’s standing his ground. Ready to fight. For me. Ready to face monsters so I can keep my freedom.

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing myself closer to him.

I don’t know how to fight any of this, but Sam does. And right now, that has to be enough.