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Bastard.
Erik holds his palms up to Kian’s shoulder, cupping the injury and hiding it from sight. He mutters something under his breath and black smoke begins to swirl around his fingertips.
A few years ago, seeing witch magic in the flesh would have scared the shit out of me. That was before Sable came into my life. Part shifter, part witch, she taught me to appreciate her smoky magic, and ultimately, she was the catalyst for bringing the two races together.
But I don’t like seeing her magic on Erik’s hands. Sable is everything good and kind in my world, while this guy… this guy gives me the creeps.
After a few moments, Erik’s hands fall away and his magic fades.
Kian’s shoulder is no longer bleeding, but the wound has barely closed. It still looks angry and raw, like the damage done goes much deeper than the surface. More than the witch could heal.
“All right,” Erik says pleasantly. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
Kian yanks his t-shirt back over his head. The blood on his skin soaks into the fabric as he turns to face the witch. “And the antidote?”
“I’ll get started on the potion,” Erik assures him. The lanky man strolls to a large wooden cabinet beside his altar and opens both doors, revealing a plethora of glass jars filled with all manner of things. Dried herbs, crystals, sand, limbs from a variety of animals, even what looks like a jar of human eyeballs.
I grimace. Somehow I don’t think Erik obtained those eyeballs legally.
We remain standing where we are, scattered about the room, while Erik starts shifting jars around and muttering to himself. He pulls down a large jar of what looks like lizard feet, and another full of a white substance that could be salt. That I hope is salt. Then he scoots around a few more jars, peering into the back of the deep cabinet, still mumbling under his breath.
Suddenly, he stiffens, then glances at us over his bony shoulder, his eyes narrowed as if he just realized we’re all still standing here staring at him. “You can leave now.”
Kian crosses his arms over his chest and glares at the witch. “We intend to stay.”
Erik sighs and turns to face us, clutching a jar of some moss-like substance. He taps his fingers on the metal lid in a nervous gesture. “This won’t be a fast process. The potion will take two days to brew, and I’m not in the mood to host guests. Come back at sundown, two days from now.”
“Fine,” Kian bites out. He motions for the rest of us to head toward the door.
I don’t need to be told twice. Erik’s hot, smoky shack has left me feeling claustrophobic and thoroughly wigged, so I’m damn sure ready to leave. I shove away from the wall and head for the door with Frost and Malix right on my heels.
I’m already out in the punishing heat and sunlight when I realize Kian hasn’t followed us. Malix left the front door to Erik’s shack hanging open, but Kian doesn’t immediately appear. I pause by my bike and cast a questioning look at Frost.
His cool, remote expression doesn’t change. “Kian has trust issues.”
“Ah.” I nod, not surprised. “Putting a little fear of god in the mad witch. Got it.”
Trust issues, control issues… Kian has all the issues. If he wants to toss around the creepy guy a bit to make sure he does what we’ve paid him to do, I’m not judging.
When Kian exits the shack a few moments later, his gaze drifts over me, then to his brothers. He nods. “The witch will not fail us.”
I roll my eyes at his dire declaration and mount my bike.
This potion could be ready in an hour, and it still wouldn’t be quick enough.
We pick up shitty gas station burritos and bottled water, then check into the only motel in town: a run-down hovel so close to the interstate that every passing car shakes the walls.
Kian insists on one room for all of us, which quite frankly, I’m not okay with. On the other hand though, I get what he’s doing. Keeping an eye on me, making sure I don’t run or do something stupid. I have the same innate desire to keep an eye on the three of them, too, so I don’t argue. No use splitting up, not when we’re this close to the antidote.
But damn. Two days in this dingy, beige hellhole with them.
Kill me now.
I set my bottle of water on the table and sink into a wobbly chair to unwrap my burrito, my gaze sliding over the room. My motel back in Oscura looks like a damn four-star hotel next to this roach trap. The blankets are covered in suspicious white stains, and the walls have two decades’ worth of yellow cigarette smoke damage. There are burn marks on the tabletop, and the carpet feels tacky beneath my boots. Despite the overall neglect, a hint of bleach on the air tells me it’s clean, at least. Or if not clean, at least the surfaces are disinfected.
Malix kicks back on one of the two double beds and turns the television on before balancing his food on his legs to eat. Kian sits on the edge of the other bed, looking like he’s ready to launch into action at any moment, while Frost takes the chair across from me. He keeps his attention firmly on his burritos, but I have no doubt he’s just as aware of me as I am of him. His warm, spicy scent is a complement to the spices in my food.
Malix has stopped channel surfing on some sitcom with a laugh track, and every time the audience roars at a joke, I get a twitch in my eye.
