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“No, maybe not. But I don’t make a habit of cursing the women I want to sleep with. Sort of bad form.”
Wilder’s lip curled, teeth flashing. Oh boy.
“He’s got a point,” I countered, grabbing Wilder’s hand and squeezing. “The things he wants from me he can’t get if I’m dead.”
“I’d hope there are things he wants from you he can’t get even if you’re alive,” Wilder said, not looking at me, his fierce gaze all for Santiago. The witch didn’t look even remotely scared, which was only serving to make things worse.
Couldn’t he cower just a little?
“That’s not what we’re talking about here and you know it.” I wanted to tell him to cool it on the alpha-dog bullshit, but I wouldn’t give him a dressing down in front of a human. That wasn’t how we did things in the pack, and it would only embarrass him, which wasn’t my goal. But damn would I give him a piece of my mind once we got to the car.
I got it, jealousy was a real thing, and I knew it wasn’t cool to let Santiago poke the open sore, but could the two of them at least pretend to be professional about this?
“The dead have literally come back to life to kill me, so maybe we could focus?” I suggested.
Wilder softened immediately, and I hadn’t even needed to raise my voice. Thank god for small favors.
Santiago, too, sighed and scratched the back of his neck self-consciously. “Sorry.”
Wilder didn’t apologize, but I could tell from his expression he felt bad about adding onto my existing drama. I had a lot on my plate, and he was well aware of everything I was dealing with.
“You’re not going to like my next suggestion,” Santiago said.
He didn’t even need to give voice to it. Like Cain had sent me here for answers, I knew all too well where the path would lead me next. “I know.”
“She would be able to figure out who put the curse on you.”
Yeah, she would. But a small part of me was worried she might have been the one to do it in the first place. La Sorciere was petty enough to curse her own family, absolutely, and she was definitely the kind of person who might do something like this for kicks, or to punish me for not visiting more, or for any number of grievances I might not be aware of.
That didn’t feel right, though. It was possible but this seemed more personal, more vindictive. La Sorciere would want to teach me a lesson, but sending the woken dead after me felt a tad dramatic even for her.
Admittedly, a big part of the reason I didn’t want to go to her was because of how much of a pain in the ass it would be to find her. It might take days. And to go through all that effort and get no answers would be the worst-case scenario. The dead might want to focus on me, but as Mercy had demonstrated, if they couldn’t find me they would just reap destruction in my orbit.
“What’s he talking about?” Wilder asked. “Who is she?”
“La Sorciere.”
“The witch?” he translated.
“Her great-grandmother,” Santiago clarified.
I nodded. “She trained me, helped me hone my powers.”
“And she’s powerful?”
Santiago snorted. “Calling La Sorciere powerful is like calling the sun kind of bright. She is power personified. She’s the most powerful witch alive, as far as I know. And that was decades ago. She’s only gotten stronger since.”
“She’s not here, you don’t need to blow so much smoke up her ass,” I grumbled.
A grin spread over his face. “Are you jealous?”
“All right, I think we’re done here,” Wilder announced, getting to his feet.
At this point, I had to agree. It was obvious Santiago didn’t know why this was happening, though he had at least helped us figure out what was happening. So that was its own small reward. Unfortunately he was right. Going back into the bayou now seemed like my own recourse.
Dammit anyway.
My last resort was now my sole option remaining. Ain’t that always the way?
