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Why he still dreamed of her when it had been years since he’d been a pup, ripped from her arms, was a mystery, and trying to solve it had brought him nothing but more unwelcome pain.
Still as naked as he’d been when the three women left, Silvan rolled out of bed and planted his feet on the cold floor. The jolt snapped him awake. He stretched to bring himself the rest of the way there.
Silvan rolled his shoulders, and a series of satisfying cracks followed. He pulled the curtain aside just a bit and saw the woods brimming with life. Once again, he was reminded he should be there with his people. His pack. The pack that, unless he died first, he would one day lead as the alpha.
High Council had been a fucking joke, resulting in a pointless investigation of pure theater. Everyone knew it had been a vamp. Even Bastian, the weird, broody leader of the pale freaks. Oddly, he seemed concerned, but all that probably meant was that he now had an inconvenient problem to deal with.
He hadn’t missed the fucker eyeing Andromeda, either. Rumor was, the vamp couldn’t even get it up anymore and cried before feeding. But he’d gotten it up, all right, and that stingy bitch Cassia had noted it, too.
Romy.
“What would you say to me if you were still here, Mom?” Silvan dragged his hands down his face, tugging at his jaw with an extra scrape. “You’d tell me I was fucking insane, wouldn’t you?” He cringed and whipped his head. “Sorry, Ma. I know how you dislike it when I cuss. Nah, you’d tell me to shift and go show the pack I’m with them on this. But I’m not, am I? If Father wants to play nice with the witches, that’s on him. And if the pack wants to follow? Can’t stop ’em.”
Silvan pictured Bastian’s hungered gaze, fixed on Romy.
“That dead man,” he growled, just as his skin began to split and change, “is gonna be a dead man for real. And I can’t wait to be the last thing he ever sees.”
CHAPTER4
pertinent questions
Romy had spent most of the morning telling Thora about her night—minus the time by the river, of course. Her sister had listened with her mouth gaped open for over an hour, then had asked a million questions that Romy didn’t have answers for.
Hopefully, this was about to change.
Cassia had texted after breakfast and asked Romy to meet in her office, presumably to converse about all she’d seen and heard during High Council. Given the unforeseen events, Romy wasn’t surprised. Her mother had always taken the time to explain the inner workings of magic carefully so her daughters would maintain a healthy respect and continue their traditions with the same reverence as their ancestors.
Cassia’s psychology practice was at the corner of Natchez and Tchoupitoulas in the Central Business District. The drive from Napoleon Avenue and Delacroix Manor should have taken around half an hour with traffic, but Romy made it in fifteen without magic.Withmagic, she could do it in five, but she usually ended up closer to Mother’s restaurant than the office. Cyril believed magic was 50 percent natural talent and 50 percent muscle memory, meaning that a childhood full of the iconic eatery’s bread pudding would subconsciously influence her location. Romy wasn’t sure if he was trying to make her feel better about her lack of skill or if his statement was truly grounded in science.
Viewing magic as a science might seem to be the opposite of all things supernatural, but as a scholar, Romy’s mother had worked for years to prove her theory that all magical bloodlines shared the same cellular components. No preternatural researcher had found evidence to support her claim, but Romy hoped it was true. Perhaps one day, if all the races understood their similarities, their differences wouldn’t create such division.
When Romy walked inside, she waved at her mother’s secretary, Pearl. “Is Mom ready for me? I’m a little early.”
“Let me check, hon. She was on a conference call a few minutes ago.” Pearl lifted the phone to her ear. “Dr. Delacroix, Romy’s here. Yes, ma’am. I’ll tell her.”
Romy heard the door unlock. “Let me guess. She wants me to get her some water?”
“How did you know?” Pearl chuckled.
“Mom’s a predictable woman.” Romy thought about the truth of that statement as she stepped into the kitchen and removed two bottles of water from the refrigerator. Her mother was not only predictable but also dependable and trustworthy—all qualities Romy hoped she’d inherited. Cassia set the bar high as the high priestess, and though following in her mother’s footsteps wasn’t Romy’s dream life, she was determined to make the best of it.
“Good morning, Andromeda.” Cassia accepted the water from Romy’s extended hand, then gestured for her to sit on the couch. “I’m glad you came.”
“Yeah, me too. I guess you know I’ve got a ton of questions.”
Cassia folded her hands properly. “I suspected, yes. I’ll try to answer each one to the best of my ability.”
“Great. First, though, thanks for inviting me last night, Mom. You didn’t have to, but it means a lot to me that you did.” She swallowed a gulp of water. “I’m not anywhere near ready to take my place on the council or become the high priestess, but I’m trying. I promise.”
“It was time, dear. Your father and I hope the experience helped you gain an appreciation for our heritage and, perhaps, sparked an interest in its pursuit.”
After pulling her legs beneath her, she grabbed a throw pillow and set it in her lap. “Yeah, I could say that going to High Council has made me want to know more about the coven, about everything, honestly. I know I haven’t been as eager as you would have wanted…”
Cassia smirked. “No, you haven’t. You’re stubborn, and when you think something should be a certain way, there’s no changing your mind. It’s a good quality to have if channeled correctly. But we can work with it. You have all the qualities needed to succeed me.”
“You believe that?”
“I do.” She didn’t hesitate.
