Page 23 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

Nothing.

Downstream wasn’t much better. The readings stayed consistent—present but not promising. Besides, readings didn’t indicate a cave entrance, considering I was likely picking up whatever was deep underground. It was getting there that mattered.

I was beginning to think C4 might be another green X when I spotted something odd about thirty yards ahead. The creek disappeared. Not gradually, like it was flowing away around a bend. It just... stopped. One moment there was water rushing over rocks, the next moment there was only a dry stream bed continuing down the ravine.

Underground. The water was going underground.

My heart sped up as I approached the spot. Sure enough, the creek vanished into a crack in the limestone bedrock. Not big enough for a person, but definitely big enough for water. I knelt beside the water’s disappearing act, running my hands along the rock face. If water was going down here, there had to be a larger system below. And if there was a larger system...

There had to be another way in. I just needed to find it.

7

It was Sunday afternoon and the witch was back. This was the second time in a single weekend. He’d followed her at a safe distance both times. He told himself it was for her protection. In case there were more wolves hunting her.

Since Friday, he’d replayed their conversation multiple times, picking apart the details. Specifically pertaining to Ambrose Blackthorn. Why had the male sent wolves after her? To keep her from breaking the curse? She’d been cagy when he’d asked, refusing to answer.

Something wasn’t adding up.

But he’d get to the bottom of it.

Extracting information was his specialty, after all.

For now, he would simply bide his time.

Today, her arms were bare. She’d discarded her hoodie, tying it around her waist. He could smell the perspiration on her skin, sweetening her chamomile and honey scent as she picked her way over the uneven ground. Her hair was pulled up in a high ponytail that swayed as she walked.

It was distracting. And annoying. And he had the unreasonable urge to wrap it around his fist. Demand she give him answers. Punish her for her defiance.

But that’s what she’d done.

She’d defied him. Multiple times. When she’d used her magic on him. When she’d trespassed on his property. When she’d refused to answer his question⁠—

She abruptly stopped, pulling a map from her pack. A map of his property. It felt like a gross invasion of privacy, even knowing that kind of information was public domain.

She made a notation on it.

When she straightened, her voice caught him off guard. “If you’re going to keep following me you might as well join me.”

He scoffed. “The smell of your witch blood is less nauseating from this distance.”

“Right.” She tucked the map away, turning to face his general direction. “If my blood is so nauseating, you wouldn’t be here.”

Fair point.

“Why don’t you come on out, Wolfie?”

He stepped into her line of sight. “Don’t call me that.”

“Wolfie?” She shrugged. “How about Spot? Fido⁠—?”

“I have a name.”

“Well, since you never gave it and you’re following me around like a puppy dog...”

A low growl built in his chest. She was baiting him. He knew that, and yet⁠—

“It’s Axel.”