Page 41 of Witch’s Wolf (Bound by the Howl #2)

41

ERICA

I yank the handbrake, kill the engine, and shove the door open with more force than necessary. My pulse pounds in my ears and my thoughts are a tangled mess as I slam the door shut. Helena steps forward, her sharp gaze locking onto mine.

“I smell trouble…” she mutters, brushing past Sam without another word.

No kidding.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I say. “What’s happened?”

“I saw her,” I announce, voice tight with the weight of last night. “She came to me.”

“I was afraid of that,” Sam says, taking a step closer. “What happened? Did you talk to her?”

“Not exactly,” I exhale sharply, forcing my legs to move. Every step feels heavier than the last. “She did most of the talking. Told me she had to ditch me with my grandma to ‘hone her skills as a witch.’”

Sam narrows his eyes, lips pulling back into a sneer. There’s a tic on his temple.

“That’s pathetic. How does someone give up their own child?”

I let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“Be a cold-blooded whore,” I snap, my stomach twisting. I take a deep breath, holding it as I try to brace myself for this next part. I don’t want to tell him, but I have to. “Sam, you remember Michael? That article you found in the shed?”

“Yeah?” he says, his face unreadable.

“Sam… she… she killed him.”

Sam doesn’t react, not openly. There’s no shock, no denial on his face, only grim acceptance, like he already knew what I was struggling to process. I swallow against the tightness in my throat.

“Did she explain?” he asks.

“It was… ridiculous. Insane! She said he was below me,” I say, the words tasting like ash on my tongue. I let out a shaky breath and press the back of my wrist to my lips, trying to hold back the nausea churning inside me. “God… what am I supposed to do? Do about her? With her?”

Sam moves closer, taking me in his arms. I meld against him, pulling on his strength but the silence stretches. I force myself to look up and meet Sam’s gaze.

“We’ll figure it out,” Sam says.

“Sam, there’s more…” he runs his fingers through my hair, reassuring, but waits. “She said she wasn’t done with you.”

“I’m shocked,” he says, his voice dripping with mockery. “Of course, she’s not done with me. That’s okay because I’m not done with her, either. What about your father? Did you learn anything about him?”

“No,” I say too fast, too sharp. “She didn’t mention him, and I was too upset to ask.” My throat tightens, but I push forward. “Sam, I, uh…” I falter, the admission sticking like tar. “I canceled both of my gigs this week. I’m not going back to New York until this whole thing is resolved. One way or another.”

He exhales sharply in what sounds like relief. He nods grimly.

“This is going to sound cruel, but there’s only one way this will be resolved,” he says.

“You don’t sound cruel,” I assure him, taking his hand and intertwining our fingers. “You sound reasonable.”

“Let’s get you inside. You look exhausted.”

I manage a small smile and lean into him, letting the warmth of his presence fill me. He doesn’t say it, but I know he appreciates my resolve. He sees that I understand what needs to be done.

Roberta might be my mother, but that bond, if it ever truly existed, is nothing but a frayed thread. She made her choice a long time ago. Now, I’m making mine.

And I won’t hesitate.