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Already I could feel magic tingling under my skin. Right now it was within my control, but it could sense my heightened anxiety and like all good protection measures, it was preparing itself in case I needed it. A porcupine could raise its spines without poking someone. A vampire could bare his fangs without biting. My magic was the same. It was there if I needed it, but if I didn’t, all the better for everyone involved.
I still wasn’t okay knowing what I’d done to Morgan, and probably wouldn’t ever really be okay again, but there was a small comfort in knowing that when shit got real I had what it took to protect myself. I didn’t like the methods, but I was alive today and Morgan wasn’t, and that said somethi
ng.
Except for the part where her walking blackened corpse had been following me around for a year.
Yeah, okay, that part was a little concerning.
And another question for the heap of others I was coming up with. For now, I had to focus on the three stooges who still hadn’t gotten the point.
“I don’t see your uncle here, girl.”
Oh, points. He had enough of a sense of deductive reasoning to realize who I was based solely on my last name. Good job, wolf-man.
“You’ve been gone a while, so maybe your mail got lost in the shuffle. It can be so hard for delivery folks to determine the difference between One Shithole Street and Two Cesspool Lane. Callum isn’t the only McQueen Alpha anymore, pal.”
He gave me another one of those long, roving glances from head to toe and back up again. This time, however, there was nothing lustful in it. He was finding my measure, as far as he could judge it, and trying to decide whether or not he had any reason to be scared of me.
He frowned again, and I couldn’t decide why.
“You gotta be the most wee, dainty slip of an Alpha I ever seen in my fucking life. Whatcha weight like a hundred pounds soaking wet?”
A snort stuck in Wilder’s throat that was so quick I doubted anyone else heard it, but I had to hold the urge to slap his arm. Yeah, yeah, we get it buddy, you’ve lifted me.
“I weigh enough to kick your ass.”
“Now which one of us is relying on bad eighties movie dialogue?” he asked.
I really, really hated this guy.
“Step away from the boat,” I said.
“Make me.”
“Genie,” Santiago said. “Trouble.”
I knew it. I knew these pricks were just distracting us. Goddamn I hated being right sometimes.
A rustling sound from the bushes grew steadily louder until six more rough-looking men emerged, effectively boxing us in and blocking all routes of escape. Now it wasn’t four against three, but rather four against nine. All nine of them were werewolves. We had two wolves, and two witches, one of whom was well over a hundred years old and in no condition to participate in a physical brawl.
She could hold her own, I wasn’t worried about her safety, but I also knew she wasn’t going to be able to throw a really solid punch either.
“What do you think, Memere, can we take them?”
She glanced up at me and gave me one of those cheeky I know something you don’t know smiles of hers. A wave of calm washed over me, and I was suddenly sure we were going to be okay.
I had a world of troubles waiting for me once we left the swamp, but for right now I felt absolutely certain that I was at no risk of dying here today. The prickling sensation of magic under my skin turned from rage-fueled heat into something cool and steadying.
I looked back at the dark-haired man and smiled.
He didn’t like what he saw on my face.
“Thank you,” I said to him.
“What the hell?”
“Thanks for giving me an excuse.”
