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“Grey,” Clay snapped, and the Soul Weaver turned his sharp gaze on Lucien. A chill ran through Baer. He knew that look all too well, and a little part of him felt for the newcomer.
“Those things, they are called pestilents, and they found you in Arizona. Chased you straight from Phoenix and your comfortable life. You’ve been feeling restless, and your temper has been growing short over the past year. You used the pestilents as an easy excuse to travel east. When you reached St. Louis, they found you in your hotel room. You barely made it out alive, but by the time you reached your car, you knew you had to come to Georgia. Specifically, Savannah.”
“How the fuck…” Lucien whispered.
“You were searching for us,” Clay said.
Baer reached up and clapped Lucien on the shoulder. He winced at the motion as pain shot along his shoulder and back. The gunshot. He’d totally forgotten about it in their crazy escape. Especially since he was covered in smaller pains from all the rat bites. “Come on. Hang with us for a while. We’ll keep you safe and explain a few things. If you want, you can leave in the morning. I swear.”
“First off, man, you’re bleeding really bad,” Lucien said.
Clay immediately grabbed Baer’s elbow and turned him. “What the hell, Baer!”
“Just a little scratch. Got winged by a bullet. Nothing the sweet hands of your boyfriend can’t fix,” he teased just to take the look of fear off Clay’s face.
“You take too many risks!” Clay snapped. “What were you thinking?”
“I didn’t want us to lose the element of surprise,” Baer said with a shrug. But Clay was right. He’d jumped in when he should have taken an extra second to weigh the situation. He should have listened to Clay in the first place.
“What about—” Clay cut himself off sharply and just growled low in the back of his throat, his teeth clenched and bared in his frustration.
“What Clay is snarling at you is that we need you alive, dumbass,” Grey said. “Besides, you’ve got a cute comic book nerd waiting for you at the house. We’d hate to tell him you got your head blown off because you’re a reckless idiot.”
Wiley!
How in the world had he forgotten about Wiley? He promised to protect him. There was no doubt in his mind that Clay and Grey would keep the young man safe, but Baer had been the one to make the promise, the one to fuck up his life. He couldn’t take stupid risks if he wanted to keep Wiley safe.
Clay sighed loudly, a weary smile replacing his scowl. “Let’s go. Grey, you’re driving.”
Grey pulled Baer’s keys out of his pocket and jingled them. “Come on. Let Dane work his magic. Make sure you two don’t have rabies.” Grey stopped midstride and looked at them with wide eyes. “Or the bubonic plague.”
Clay groaned and Baer shivered. The aunts had said they couldn’t catch any disease, but he wouldn’t feel better until Dane used his healing magic to check them both over. Rabies…yuck!
“How did you and Lucien get into the cemetery? I thought the gate was locked,” Clay said.
“Your boy knows how to pick locks,” Lucien said with a laugh.
“Seriously?” Baer demanded.
Grey shrugged. “Research for a book.”
“Authors are so weird.”
Clay groaned again, sounding done with all of them. “Let’s go home. Lucien needs to meet Flo.”
Baer flinched, hoping their new brother didn’t see it. The first meeting was never a good one.Chapter 9Wiley sat on the edge of the front porch, his feet on the top step as he glared at the empty driveway, willing Baer and the others to finally return. The moon peeked out between the leaves of the swaying tree branches. Ruby ran across the yard, snapping at bugs and messing up the brushing he’d just given her. Baer was out there, possibly fighting for his life.
“Is it always this hard when they go out?” he asked. He twisted around to look at Dane, who was leaning against one of the columns, the same worried expression cutting across his rugged face.
“It is. I never know what kind of shape they’ll be in or if they’ll even come home. Every damn time, I worry the pestilents will win.” Dane shifted from one foot to the other and then turned toward the front door. “Come on, there’s no sense in standing here watching—won’t make them come home faster. How about a drink? Baer left his whiskey out.”
Wiley wasn’t much for whiskey, but he nodded, needing something to take the edge off his anxiety. He followed Dane through the house to the family room, his eyes skidding away from the looming staircase even though he’d been up and down the thing a couple of dozen times.
Twenty-six stairs. For some bizarre reason, his brain liked when there was an even number.
