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Grinning, Silvan crossed his arms. “What’s a hot little witch doing inmywoods?”
“I… I didn’t… mean…” Romy’s head passed back and forth in tiny, erratic shakes. “Can you put something on?”
He shrugged. “If you want to follow me back to the lake where I left my clothing.”
“Where the other wolves are?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she muttered, more to herself it seemed. She pursed her mouth and released a short breath. Her gaze fluttered to his cock, but she shook her head and tore herself away. “I think I’m a little lost.”
Silvan took a deep sniff and picked up a scent that nearly sent him into a rage. It was that other witch, the boy who had been buying snow cones while she finger-fucked herself in an alley nearby. He didn’t know much, but the Delacroixs were clearly engaged in their own witchy matchmaking. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she said quickly enough to send his brows up.
“No? Who was the man in the Quarter with you?”
“Oh, him… he’s my…” She swallowed. “Friend. Maybe more if our mothers have their way.”
Her chosen mate then, as he suspected. “And he just left you here, all by yourself, to toil alone in the deep woods?” Silvan, still grinning, angled sideways and leaned in. “Whereanyof us could be waiting? Hunting?”
Romy’s neck danced with her escalating pulse. Her veins looked beautiful, ripe with delicious blood. Silvan understood a vamp’s foul urge for the first time. “What are you hunting?”
“Killers.” His nose twitched. “Are you a killer, Andromeda Delacroix?”
Romy pulled her long red hair away from her face and lifted her chin. “I’m sorry about your great-uncle, but that had nothing to do with me.”
“So you know who I am?” The thought delighted him.
“Sil… Silvan Rincewind. Asa’s son. Right?”
Silvan smirked. He ran his gaze over her soft, pale skin, perfect little jawline, and lean, milky neck. “How many other names did you remember from your first High Council, Andromeda?”
“Romy,” she stammered. “You can call me Romy.”
“Are we on such intimate terms already?” Silvan flicked his tongue along his lips—first the bottom, then the top. Her cheeks flushed a deep red, so he did it again. Another hard sniff and he detected exactly the scent he’d been after.
But there was another scent. One that killed his sex drive in an instant.
Grief.
“Why are you here, Romy?”
Her face crumpled in sorrow, and she quickly turned away, wiping her eyes out of his sight. “If my mother knew I was even talking to you…”
“I won’t tell her,” Silvan said. “You don’t have to tell her.”
“I shouldn’t evenbehere. This was a mistake, a terrible idea. We’ve been searching forhours,and still, nothing—”
“Searching for what?” Silvan asked, drawing nearer. Close enough he could lick her tears away.
“It’s my little sister,” Romy answered finally. She kept her face adamantly turned away, but the effort hid nothing. He saw all her truths in her profile: fear, love, grief, hopelessness.
He couldn’t explain the sudden urge to swipe all her troubles off the map.
“Your little sister…” Silvan urged. His heart beat faster, in time with hers.
“She could die if we can’t find Fenrir’s Rose,” Romy blurted as though spilling a terrible secret.
