I accept the pouch with a nod of thanks, tucking it into my pocket alongside the ambrosia flask.
"It was difficult," I admit to Cormac as the brownies continue their food preparation, "not to follow her this morning."
He raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "I'm amazed you resisted."
"I nearly didn't," I confess. "I circled the GUIDE building three times before forcing myself to leave."
"The wolf wanted to be near her."
"The wolf. The man. Both," I say simply. There's no point denying what we both know is true. And I don’t want to.
An hour later, I'm dressed in the dark blue Henley, my hair pulled back in its usual half-knot, a basket of still-warm pastries and a thermos of coffee packed and ready. The leather pouch of protection charms hangs from my belt, alongside the ring that will call a siren to transport me to Astrid's location.
"Remember," Cormac says as we walk toward the lake behind the ranch house, "hellhounds won’t harm you directly, but Hades doesn’t send those dogs out for easy souls. Whatever lurks in that warehouse, it's bad."
"All the more reason Astrid shouldn't face it alone," I reply, jaw tightening at the thought.
"And all the more reason you should be careful," he counters. "Your wolf may be subdued around her, but true danger could trigger a shift. We don’t know if you’ll always be able to change back or control the wolf."
I pat the flask in my pocket. "I have the ambrosia if needed." But I’m not worried. I shifted in Louisiana and I was fine. My control is stronger when I’m close to her.
"Use it," he says firmly. "Before you need it, not after."
“I will.”
We reach the lake's edge, the late afternoon sunlight dancing across its surface in diamond patterns. I remove the silver ring from the small pouch at my waist and drop it into the water. It disappears beneath the surface without a splash.
A slim pale hand breaks the surface, wrapping around my wrist with gentle but irresistible strength. The siren's face appears, iridescence in her skin catching the sunlight as she pulls me down.
For a heartbeat that lasts both an instant and an eternity, I'm suspended—neither here nor there, neither dry nor wet, passing through the ancient pathways that sirens alone can navigate. Then we break through, emerging into a small, murky pond.
"Thank you," I tell the siren as she releases my wrist, her opalescent eyes blinking once in acknowledgment before she disappears beneath the surface again, leaving only a faint ripple to mark her passage.
I step from the pond completely dry, the magick of siren travel leaving no trace of water on my clothes or skin. The pond is at the back of a deserted park. The sun is now sinking toward the horizon, painting the sky in deepening shades of orange and purple.
I inhale deeply, sorting through the city smells—exhaust fumes, fresh-cut grass, the lingering traces of last night's rain. Beneath it all, I catch a faint thread of the thing I’m seeking—Astrid.
The warehouse isn’t far from this park. She might have even stopped here on her way.
The electrical sensation beneath my skin hums to life, growing stronger as I follow her scent through the park toward the warehouse. My wolf stirs, not with the usual restless aggression but with eager anticipation.
I move quickly but carefully, staying within the cover of trees where possible. The warehouse complex looms ahead, abandoned buildings jutting against the twilight sky like broken teeth. From my vantage point, I scan the perimeter, looking for Astrid.
A nondescript black sedan is parked on a side street with a clear view of the main entrance. Even without enhanced vision, I can make out her silhouette behind the wheel.
I approach from behind, keeping to shadows, moving with the silent precision honed through centuries of hunting. Not because I fear she'll spot me—I want her to—but because the wolf in me can't resist the thrill of the stalk, the satisfaction of a perfect approach.
When I reach her vehicle, I pause, admiring her profile through the window—the sharp line of her jaw, the intensity of her focus as she watches the warehouse. Her dark hair is pulled back in its usual severe ponytail, emphasizing the elegant column of her throat and the delicate shell of her ear.
Mine, my wolf whispers.
I circle to the passenger side, and press a ceramic disk against the lock. It clicks and I open the door and slide into the seat beside her, setting the basket of food between us like a peace offering.
"Good evening," I say casually. "I know our conversation this morning was rushed, so I brought breakfast for dinner."
CHAPTER 23
What Would You Do If I Kissed You?
