Page 38

He was Willow’s familiar, and she missed him so badly she couldn’t even bring herself to talk about it. He would occasionally text her, but when he did, he kept the conversation short. It hurt her badly. Ren was family, and Willow didn’t know what to do to bring him back.

He shifted to his human form, and I stared at him, stunned.

Ren had changed in every way possible. He was bigger, lean and tall, but more muscled. His hair was longer, and his beard was thick. Dirt streaked his skin, and there were scars, old and new, wounds healed and some fresh all over his body.

“I’ve missed you,” I said. “We’ve all missed you.”

His amber gaze hit mine, then darted away. Without a word, he jumped into the hole and, gritting his teeth, lifted the large box out, sliding it onto the path. He climbed out and motioned to the trolley.

“Yes, thank you.”

He lifted it again and placed it onto the trolley with a grunt.

“Why don’t you come back to the house?” I said. “Everyone’s asleep. It can be just us. Come and have something to eat.”

He shook his head. “Thanks, though,” he said, finally speaking.

Even his voice had changed, now deeper and a lot rougher, like he’d spent hours yelling or roaring. “Please let me give you something.”

“I’m okay, Iris.”

He wasn’t okay; he was far from okay. But he was engaging with someone who wasn’t Willow, and in person, so that was a win, even if it was only for a short time.

“Can I tell Willow I saw you?”

“If you want,” he said, and his gaze turned hollow, the pain in his eyes grew more acute. He looked behind him, already wanting to leave, to get away.

“It’s you, collecting the food she leaves at your place?”

He nodded.

“But you don’t sleep there?”

He shook his head. “I need to go.”

“Ren…”

He shifted back to his fox, blinked up at me, then turned and ran back into the trees lining the path. How often did he come here? Was he watching over us? It wouldn’t surprise me. I watched him disappear into the woods, until lightning cracked above, making me jump.

I rushed to the trolley and towed it off the path and around the massive hole, so I could get to the other side of the tree, and down the path to the cemetery. There was a small unused garden shed back there that was rickety and close to falling down. Art had been meaning to dismantle it after they got their new one, but he hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

I dragged the trolley past headstones, noting the dead patches of grass had grown larger, and pulled the shed door open, towing the trolley inside and shutting the door behind me. It smelled stale, but there was still an underlying scent of potting mix. Rain tapped against the rusted tin roof, and the wind whistled through the boarded walls. Matches and an old lantern were still sitting on the potting table like they had been the last time I came in here, and it lit without any trouble.

I carried the lantern over to the box and brushed away the mud from the top with an old rag. There were symbols on it, engravings I didn’t recognize. I had no idea what any of them meant, but it was witchcraft, a spell or ward of some kind. Leaving this here without binding it in some way would be irresponsible, possibly dangerous. I had to assume whatever it translated to wasn’t good. I needed to protect my family from whatever this was.

My blade was back at the house, and I was going to need blood for this. Thankfully, the new shed had all sorts of sharp tools I could use. Yanking the door open, I ran back out into the rain, grabbed what I needed, and rushed back. I pulled open the old shed door, then froze when one of the shadows at the edge of the cemetery moved.

Not a shadow.

A wolf, huge and black, with eyes that were as cold as the wind battering me.

Seriously? Anger, and something else I didn’t want to name, fired through me, and I changed direction, marching over to Draven. “What the hell are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night. You’re a goddamn stalker.”

He shifted suddenly, towering over me—all naked and muscled and wet. “I could ask you the same question. Do you have no fucking sense of self-preservation?”

I waved the pruning shears in my hand and glanced down at his seriously impressive junk. “I don’t know why you’re here, but if you don’t leave, I’ll use these, and I won’t feel bad about it.”

He sniffed, scenting me.