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“Tell me everything.” Romy faced him, ready to soak up each detail of his story.
Before he began, Cyril pointed his finger at the door, and it quietly shut. “So your mother has a memory—a faint memory—from when she was younger of her great-grandmother Evadne telling her about how she used this delicate flower with bright-orange blossoms to heal your grandmother when she was a baby. I know you’ve heard stories about how Iris nearly died giving birth to Daphne and then about her miraculous healing by The One and The Only, but what no one told you is that your grandmother almost died too. And no one told you because no one knew except Evadne and Cassia.”
“Where did she find the flower?” If the lycan had lied to her and going to that island was a way to get her alone, she’d be so fucking pissed.
“That’s still the great mystery,” he said. “Cassia doesn’t know.”
“And no one else was present when Daphne was born?” Romy wondered. Seemed odd to have only one person present for any birth, especially the birth of a future high priestess.
“No. Evadne had the gift of foresight and knew Iris would have a difficult delivery, so she took them deep into the Lycan Woods, where she delivered your grandmother and saved them both.”
She chuckled at the irony. “So what you’re saying is thatmygrandmother, who’s always adhered to the survival of the fittest teachings of The One and The Only, would have died ifhergrandmother hadn’t intervened…”
“Right. And…” he pressed. “Go on…”
Romy thought for a moment, not quite understanding what Cyril wanted her to notice until she considered an important detail about Evadne. With the gift of foresight, she could visualize the future. Did she see Thora’s illness over a century ago? Did she tell only one person—Cassia—so she’d know how to save Thora one day? “Okay… I see where you’re going. She told Mom so Mom could help Thora.”
“And now I’m telling you.”
Romy didn’t respond to his statement, but it seemed more layered than simply disclosing the information to earn her trust. Cyril needed her to know this story. Maybe he wanted her to find Fenrir’s Rose? As she looked out the window onto Napoleon Avenue, movement in the shadow of the streetlight caught her eye. A wolf.Silvan. This man would lead her down a path of destruction or a road to life.
Either way, Romy would follow.
CHAPTER14
calm down, take my hand, follow me, and trust in the unknown
After the pandemonium at the council meeting, Silvan wasn’t sure Romy would come at all. By now, her coven would be secreting her away to some clandestine location to be debriefed and sequestered until the danger was properly assessed. Because if anyone was more dramatic than wolves, it was witches.
But the truth was, the night had gotten under his skin, too. He had no idea what had caused half the preternaturals to turn feral and the other half to freeze in place. It had to be supernatural, which meantsomeonethere had done it intentionally. To distract. To drive fear. Whatever their motivation, it meant they all had bigger problems than just solving a murder.
Silvan was desperate to shift, but he didn’t want to scare Romy after the pack had nearly mauled her. She’d been genuinely shaken by what had happened, and if not for his quick reaction, she might not even be alive.
And that fucking vamp Bastian. He’d interceded, too, but Silvan wasn’t ready to give him a medal. Silvan had no love for Cassia Delacroix, but her dismissal of the investigation was out of character, even for her. Something bigger was happening, and the entire council could implode if they didn’t get to the bottom of it soon.
Which, he realized with a derisive snort, might not be the worst thing after all.
The moon was high and nearly full. It called to him like a high-powered magnet, and the need to shift and run—justrunand run and run—was almost stronger than his raw desire for the crimson witch.
She’s not coming. She’s seen what your people can do. She’s seen how dangerous you are.
It was an utterly insane idea, anyway. The pack had moved Fenrir’s Rose to Mar Island—not only because they didn’t want witches and faeries stuffing it in their little herb satchels but also because it was dangerous. The guardians of the plant were winged insects whose sting could paralyze and even kill the plant’s predators. More than a few of the pack and other preternaturals had lost their lives while attempting to procure the flower. Years before Silvan was born, they’d carefully uprooted and replanted every last rose on the island. Once every five or ten years, someone from the pack ventured over in heavy protective gear to harvest enough for the pack’s general use.
“Silvan?”
Silvan nearly leaped out of his skin. He turned, hiding the way she’d unsettled him with just the brush of his name across her lips.
“Almost gave up on ya,” he said and started toward her. As he drew near, he could see the wildness hadn’t yet died from her searching gaze. “You sure this is what you want to do?”
“Can I… can we… before we start…” Romy sighed with her whole body. Her eyes closed, and they were full of tears when they opened. “Thank you for what you did back there for me. For helping. You saved my life.”
Silvan tensed. Sparring was easy. Whateverthiswas… that was another thing entirely. “Shit was bad enough without us murdering the high priestess’s daughter.”
“You saved my life, and I owe you one.” Her head was bowed, her hands folded over her torso. “Whatever you ask of me, I’ll do it. Anything.”
Silvan’s mouth curved into a hungered sneer. “You don’t even know what you just said, Romy. If you did, you might take it back.”
Romy whipped her head up and looked into his eyes. She was the same little witch as before, but somehow more. Brighter.Darker.“I know what I said, Silvan.”
