Wyatt arrived a few minutes later.
The panther shifter surveyed the destruction with his usual unreadable expression—the demolished window, the overturned cauldrons, the unconscious jackals scattered across the floor like discarded toys, and one very paralyzed Victor Sable curled in the fetal position.
“Messy.” That was his only comment.
“He started it.” Junie was sitting on the floor, too exhausted to stand. Her hands were cut, her dress was ruined, and she was fairly certain she had glass in her hair. Glimmer had returnedto her shoulders, scales cycling through relieved greens and protective purples, occasionally hissing at any deputy who came too close.
“I’m sure.” Wyatt handcuffed Victor with enchanted restraints—the kind designed to hold shifters, though Victor’s shifting problem made them somewhat redundant. “We got reports of attacks on three other businesses simultaneously. Coordinated distraction. He was serious about taking the town.”
“The other attacks?” Leo asked. He’d found a blanket somewhere, wrapped it around his waist, but he was still very much naked and very much injured. Blood continued to seep from the shoulder wound, slower now but still concerning. His skin was pale beneath the tan, and Junie didn’t like how heavily he was leaning against the counter.
“Contained. The security measures held.” Wyatt hauled Victor to his feet, none too gently. The jackal shifter—former jackal shifter—made a pained sound but couldn’t struggle against the grip. “Theo and Beck handled the harbor district. Put down four jackals between them. Cassia apparently called down lightning on two more who were trying to breach Narla’s shop.” A ghost of a smile crossed his stoic face. “She’s very pleased with herself.”
“She would be,” Junie murmured. She could already imagine Cassia’s dramatic retelling of the battle—complete with sound effects and probably some exaggerated hand gestures.
Victor said nothing. His eyes had gone flat, empty—the look of a man who’d gambled everything and lost. All that cunning, all that careful planning, undone by a chaos witch with a modified potion and a stubborn lion who didn’t know when to stay down.
Wyatt marched him toward the door without ceremony. Two deputies flanked the remaining jackals, securing them for transport.
Before Wyatt reached the door, one of his deputies held something out toward Junie. “Found this in his bag,” the deputy said. “Looked personal.”
It was a book. Old leather binding, warped at the corners from age and handling, the cover stamped with her grandmother’s initials in faded gold.
Junie took it with both hands. She turned to the encoded pages—her grandmother’s private cipher, the recipes Victor had wanted most. Still intact. Unbroken. Whatever his people had tried, they hadn’t cracked it.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.
“I’ll need statements from both of you,” Wyatt called over his shoulder. “Tomorrow. Tonight, get some rest.” His gold eyes flicked to Leo’s wounds with professional assessment. “And get those looked at. Shifting doesn’t cure stupid.”
Then he was gone, and Junie was alone with Leo in the ruins of her shop.
THIRTY-SIX
JUNIE
“You’re hurt.” Junie stood on shaking legs, crossing to where Leo leaned against what remained of her display counter. The counter had seen better days—one leg was broken, the glass top was cracked, and it was covered in blood and potion residue. “Sit down. I need to look at you.”
“I’m fine.” But he sat anyway, lowering himself to the floor with a wince that betrayed the lie.
“You’re not fine. You’re bleeding everywhere.” She grabbed her emergency kit from beneath the brewing station—one of the few things still intact—and knelt beside him. “Take that blanket off. I need to see the damage.”
“Junie—”
“Don’t ‘Junie’ me. You threw yourself in front of a jackal for me. Twice. The least you can do is let me patch you up.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she had to take a breath before continuing. “Please.”
He let the blanket fall.
The wounds were bad. Worse than she’d feared. The shoulder bite was deep—she could see muscle beneath torn flesh, the edges ragged where Victor’s teeth had worried at the wound. The slash across his ribs had reopened during the fight,a long gash that was still seeping blood. Smaller cuts and bruises covered his arms and chest—evidence of a brutal, desperate battle.
“Idiot,” Junie whispered. Her hands shook as she applied healing salve to the worst of the wounds. “Absolute idiot. You could have died.”
“I couldn’t let him hurt you.”
“So you let him hurt you instead?” She looked up, tears burning in her eyes despite her best efforts to hold them back. “That’s not better, Leo. That’s not?—”
He caught her face in his hands, blood-smeared palms cradling her cheeks.
“Hey.” His voice was gentle despite everything—despite the pain, despite the blood loss, despite the fact that he’d nearly died protecting her. “I’m okay. I’m here. We both are.”
