But neither of us move.
I want to hug him. Desperately, I want to jump forward and—
Ghost wraps his muscular forearm around the back of my neck, yanking me close. My heart thumps in my chest, my omega preening as we breathe him in, feel his warmth, the weight, the strength of him. It’s an awkward, sharp hug, like he doesn’t know how to do it right, but I throw both my arms around his waist and hold him closer.
His lips are buried in my hair, but I could swear he kisses the side of my head before releasing me just as abruptly. His eyes don’t meet mine, and he turns away, but before shifting, he says, “Be safe,mi vidita.”
And then he’s off.
OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 35: Ghost
The uncomfortable feeling in my chest only tightens. It’s another half-hour before the truck pulls off the highway, following a long, winding back road. There’s nothing left but the road, which narrows and then narrows further, until the truck is crawling between the trees, branches slapping against the side mirrors. It’s getting harder to see, so I fly lower.
I typically feel an acute lack of nerves when I’m on missions.
Now, though, the nerves are loud, in their presence alone.
Andrea slows the truck, and I slip through the trees, finding a place to perch. Close enough to watch. I wish I knew where they were headed in advance so I could’ve scoped it out first. I don’t trust this. I like contingencies, plans.
The headlights skim across a field, highlighting a wired, rusted fence that looks like it leads out to a cow pasture. There’s a flat concrete pad at the base, with an open vestibule like an old bus stop shelter tacked atop it. No lights, no movement. Andrea parks at the edge of the empty dirt road and kills the engine.
She opens her door without a word, Mona does the same. I watch and wait to see if she does as she was told. Mona steps backward, she and Andrea circling the truck in opposite directions, putting Andrea near the engine and Mona at the truck bed at the back. They continue, too slowly.
Get in the car, Mona. Just get in and drive away.
Her fingers grip the driver’s side door handle. The rusted door swings open—one second passes. Two.
This is why I work alone. Why I meticulously plan every detail, why I’m The fucking Ghost. Because when I’m this guy—the besotted mate who can’t process what’s wrong until it’s too late, who misses the important fucking details after two seconds too long, I’m no longer The Ghost, but a fool who’s going to get his mate killed.
The rusted truck door should echo out into the silence. I should be able to hear that truck door creak, I’ve heard it a dozen times before.
But I hear nothing.
There’s a void of sound.
And as a strong gust of wind ruffles my feathers, I watch in horror as it passes right over them, without effect—as if they are inside a ward. Mona has one foot in the truck when it happens.
Just a flicker at first. Then witches materialize, surrounding them. I lose sight of my mate in the swarm of bodies. Wings tucked tight, I dive toward the earth as the witches close ranks, forming a wall, chanting in unison.
“You promised!” Mona shrieks. The words echo in my ears as I pierce through the ward’s invisible boundary and plunge into the void.
There, at the heart of the circle, stands Deidre, draped in a crimson silk dress, reeking of ancient magic while her sycophants chant around her.
There’s a thud, then another. The witches form a circle like a committee of vultures around a writhing mass on the ground. I hear Mona screaming Andrea’s name. Andrea thrashes against her captors, her struggles futile against their magic. I plummet from the sky, my talons piercing a witch’s eye socket with a wet pop before tearing through bone. Blood sprays across my feathers in a hot mist before I go for the next witch.
“Oh, good, Ben is here!” Deidre snarls. “Darling, if you want your mate to live, you’ll release my witch.”
I drop the witch currently hooked in my talons, though he’s dead and missing half his face. He lands with a wet plop, like overripe fruit. My bones crack and reform as I shift back to human form. A woman beside me looks at the man in horror, as if I’ve killed her mate. Confirmed when she lets out a guttural scream and launches at me. Deidre whips her magic like a lasso, harnessing the woman who’s sobbing against the invisible bind. “I know, Hana, I know. Remember why we do this. Remember what’s at stake.” There’s vulnerability in Deidre’s voice, and the sobbing woman slowly shakes off the pain and takes her place back by the priestess’s side, shoulders hunched, rage pouring off her.
I stand taller, watching the scene play out. These witches are more than just followers to her.
“You aren’t going to kill Mona,” I tell Deidre.
“Well, no, that’s true. But ask Silas how much fun I can have with a wolf while keeping them alive.” She glances around, as if she’s expecting Silas and Mona’s other mates. When she doesn’t see them, she lifts an eyebrow, then eyes Mona.
Mona snarls and snaps her teeth. The witches have us surrounded. I should have known it wouldn’t be this simple. Andrea is in a crouched fighting stance, lip bleeding. She’s a little dazed from whatever spell they hit her with, but she’s still ready to swing.
