He rolls the body over until he has access to the man’s pockets, then he begins to sift through them. When he finds a wallet, he smiles in satisfaction, pulling it open and grabbing out an ID card—and a handful of crumpled dollar bills, though I’m going to pretend I’m not seeing that.
“Who evenareyou?” Izzy demands, crossing her arms over her chest and leveling a penetrating glare at the crazy bastard on the ground.
Travan glances up, and I swear his expression softens in a way I’ve never seen before. He suddenly looks years younger and slightly less crazy.
Just slightly.
“My name is Travan.”
“Travan?” Her brows jump.
Travan stands gracefully and wipes dirt off his jeans. He then takes a tentative step towards Izzy, a multitude of emotions warring for dominance in his blue eyes, though not a single one settles long enough for me to read.
“I’m one of your fathers.”
Izzy staggers back as if she’s been physically slapped, and the movement forces her straight into my arms. Instinctively, I wrap them around her, grateful when she doesn’t shy away or recoil.
“What?” Incredulity bleeds into her voice.
Silas swallows and casts a pointed look at the bodies littering the ground. “Not here,” he rasps, then he pulls a cell out of his pocket.
He shoots out a text, and not even ten minutes later—ten minutes spent in the most awkward silence of my life, where I pray no one stops by and notices all of the goddamn bodies—three men and one woman appear.
Shifters.
They work quickly and diligently to load the bodies into the back of an unmarked van and then hose down the blood. Only when the last body has been thrown inside does the woman turn towards Silas, her expression grave. The two of them exchange an eloquent glance—one that makes words unnecessary—then nod simultaneously. The shifters jump into the van and take off, leaving us alone.
Jake breaks the silence almost instantly. “Hooollyy fuck. Are you guys a part of the, like, shifter mafia or something?”
“Yes,” Silas says, his voice completely monotone, and Jake’s eyes widen, practically bulging out of his head.
“You’re kidding, right, boss?” When Silas doesn’t immediately answer, Jake shifts from foot to foot, his voice rising in pitch. “Right?”
“You know what I like to have after a little murder?” Travan interjects, clapping his hands together. “A nice, steaming cup of hot chocolate. Shall we head to the café?”
He practically begins to skip in the direction of the coffee shop.
I tighten my grip around Izzy, forcing her to tilt her head back to stare up at me. Her eyes… They sparkle. I’ve never noticed that before. Beautiful. So beautiful.
I keep my voice low, my words meant just for her, trying to ignore the erratic thumping of my heart in her presence. “You okay?”
“Am I okay?” Izzy chuckles once, the noise low and mirthless, and then shakes her head. “That’s a goddamn loaded question. I just murdered seven people. Or maybe they’re just passed out—fuck if I know. Either way, I don’t feel a smidgen of guilt over my actions and have no idea if that makes me a psychopath or not. I’m meeting my biological fathers for the first time—or at least, I’m meeting them knowing who they are to me. At the end of the weekend, I’m going to be kidnapped by the witches again. And…” She gives another rueful head shake. “And I don’t know if I’ll ever be fine, Reid.”
I wordlessly give her one last squeeze before releasing her. I don’t know what to say to reassure her. Words have never been my forte, and I’m still struggling to do…this. Whatever this is.
Be in a relationship with her?
Have her as my mate?
It’s all so fucking confusing.
But what I don’t say—but feel in my soul—is that Izzy will be okay. She’s stronger than anything that can be thrown at her.
My girl is a formidable opponent, and the world will soon realize why it’s not a smart idea to bet against her.
Thirty-Three
IZZY
