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He found a notepad in between metal canisters and glass mason jars filled with dried herbs and other less savory things, and scribbled something down on it.
A phone number.
“You find your demon, and tell me what it is. I will figure out how to capture it.”
I wanted to open the book here and get on with it. But I also wanted to get out of this house and away from Santiago. The magnetic pull I’d felt on the street that had drawn me to his front door was even stronger inside. I worried the longer I stayed near him the harder it would become to leave. That sense of helplessness, of losing my free will, was more than enough to make me want to run out the door.
So I didn’t argue.
“Okay.”
We left, Wilder leading the way and Cain following behind us. The whole trip back to my house I held the book closed in my lap, afraid to so much as peek under the front cover. Even as Cain’s limo pulled away from the curb, leaving Wilder and me standing alone together in the cool night air, I couldn’t bring myself to look at it.
“Weird day,” I offered, trying to break the tension that was growing around us like a dark bubble.
He nodded, staring at the street instead of me. Finally, after a long pause, he said, “I should go get our cars.”
Well, he was mad, there was no escaping it. I’d hoped he might pretend what had happened in Santiago’s house was part of a bad dream and ignore it. That’s what I planned to do. But Wilder had a serious air about him that told me we weren’t getting out of this one unscathed.
“The cars are fine. Magnolia can get someone to collect them. Would you look at me?” I felt like an awkward high school girl, clutching my giant book and pleading with him on the sidewalk in front of my house.
He turned, and the hurt on his face was so apparent it cut me to the core. I hadn’t tried to do anything wrong, but he’d gotten caught in the crossfire anyway, and the guilt of that was worse than a punch to the guts.
“Wilder. Come inside.”
“No.”
“Come inside,” I said again, more insistent. I could demand it. I could order him to. But I wanted him to come freely.
He breathed loudly through his nostrils then nodded once. “Give me that stupid book.”
Although the weight wasn’t too much of a hindrance thanks to my werewolf strength, I let him take the big tome out of my hands as he followed me to the side door, stomping with each step instead of his usual quiet pace.
Once we were inside, he dropped the book on my kitchen table. The two coffee cups Magnolia and I had used that morning clattered loudly, dancing across the smooth surface. Wilder stalked into the living room and sat on my loveseat, then immediately got back to his feet and started pacing in front of the coffee table.
He was like a wild animal that woke up in a cage for the first time. I’d never seen anyone who appeared so uncomfortable being inside.
I’d been so tired before this all I could think of was sleeping. Now I had a new priority at the forefront of my mind, and that was soothing the savage beast who looked ready to tear my living room to pieces.
“Talk to me,” I urged.
He faced me, standing still but vibrating with energy, and even from my place in the kitchen I could tell his feelings had shifted from hurt to anger. Those two always did share a very thin border with one another.
“He put your finger in his mou
th,” he snarled.
Yup, I figured this was rooted in jealousy and not a concern for my well-being. I got it too; I understood. He had every right to feel the way he did, because I had been in way over my head in Santiago’s house. I don’t know what the witch had done, but it was like a vampire’s thrall. I’d felt things there, with him, that were neither welcome nor normal.
The problem was, I knew Santiago wasn’t entirely to blame, and that’s why I didn’t think it was wrong for Wilder to be mad.
I hated it, and I wanted it to go away, but the things I’d felt were real, whether or not I wanted to feel them. And I could, and would, ignore those feelings until they died like a neglected houseplant, but in the meantime I needed to make sure the man in my living room understood there was a big difference between a feeling and an action.
I couldn’t control how Santiago had made me feel, but I could absolutely control what I did about it, and that’s where being a werewolf really paid off. We understood better than anyone how things could fall apart if we gave up control. I might know it better than anyone, because I’d literally blown stuff up.
When it came to what I had with Wilder, I wouldn’t blow it.
I moved closer, clearing the space between us until I was only inches away. This close I had to look up at him, and from here I could feel the rage coming off him.
