Page 64 of Son of a Witch

The butt of Coles’ weapon swung in my direction. “Back off. She’s not part of that world anymore.”

I inhaled deeply through my nose to calm my wolf. Abuse of innocent creatures triggered him when we respected the freedom and sovereignty of a being. Withdrawing, he stayed alert but relinquished control. No good would come of unleashing him. Bloodshed and more terror for the abused creatures.

If Little Wolf trusted this woman then I had to trust her too. Remind myself of who was the real bad guy here.

“We’ve got to take this back to Venellan,” Blaze warned, trying to displace the tension with our real purpose. “Get permission to bring another team down here to clear this inventory out. Burn the herbs and plants. Return the damn gantii back to their worlds.”

“That could take days,” I growled at him. “The gantii could be dead or sold by then.”

Fate my wolf and I refused to accept.

Blaze’s downturned face said everything I needed to know. “It’s the best I can do under the circumstances, without risking giving you away and notifying my boss that we’re harboring an illegal with a secret camp of shifters.”

“Munyara,” I spat, scrubbing my face. I didn’t like this one bit. My heart ached at leaving these poor creatures—my damn brethren—behind.

But I couldn’t help them any other way. More might die in the process, much as I hated it. I justified leaving, knowing that more would be saved. Hopefully, many more were left safe with their families when I destroyed the trafficking ring for good.

CHAPTER23

Tor

Knots wrungin my belly as I waited beside the warden. Absent of a formal visitor facility, Vancor set up the greeting in the cafeteria. What should have been a joyful reunion was spoiled by the relentless iron grip on my neck.

The steel doors rolled back, warning of their arrival.

Vancor’s hand clamped my shoulder, burning through my uniform. “Remember, Mr. Helms. Not another word. Stick to the script.”

Edgy from his threat, I sat with my hands in my lap, then shifted them to the armrest and back to my lap. Tension bristled in the air like the spark needed to set off a bomb. What was the script again? Splinters of words jabbed at the back of my mind, but I couldn’t pull them into a coherent sentence.

“Yes, sir.” All the gratitude at having my family visit went up in smoke.

This wasn’t a fun family reunion. This was another example of a Tor Helms major fuck-up. Spilling to my mother that I was in prison. Her demanding to see me or call the police. Backing the warden into a corner and forcing his hand to let her visit.

All I could think about was my punishment. Kiss goodbye to monthly release passes. Three extra years on my sentence. Five years to eight now. Fuck Jack and Molly would be teens by the time I got out. Mom in her late fifties.

Two sentries dressed in standard prison uniforms, navy slacks and pale blue shirts, steered my family into the cafeteria. Nausea teased the back of my throat at the sight of the four of them.

Janet, a female replica of me. Blonde, five-six, slim, with cobalt eyes flitting to the gargoyle security perched on each wall. My niece and nephew, Molly and Jack, sticking close to her side, eyes wide at the horrifying stone creatures. Thank fuck the warden ordered the watchers to remain still and silent, a display of architecture, not the stony guardians that watched our every move.

One wrong word out of my mouth that veered from the script, and the watchers would report to the warden.

Mom’s electric wheelchair hummed as she steered it over the uneven stone surface, rocking in her seat. At the sight of me, she started crying, and my heart shrunk into a tight, angry ball.

I wheeled myself away from the table.

Ten feet away, she pressed a hand to her chest, and cried, “Tor, thank the Lord you're okay. I was so worried.”

Mom and Janet still attended church. Me, I gave up on the idea of god a long time ago.

“Mom!” We couldn’t hug each other, so she pulled up beside me, taking my hands and holding tight instead.

“I’ll leave you to it, Mr. Helms.” The warden squeezed my shoulder to the point of cramping, like he owned me. And he did. I was his for the next eight fucking years.

My body temperature scaled. I hit my limit for this dickhead. My first instinct was to shake him off my shoulder. Moves I couldn’t make in front of the observant gaze of my mother.

“Thank you for agreeing to let us visit.” Mom smiled, acting the gracious visitor, while her eyes stripped back all the lies. The lioness in her prowled along the edge of my cage, ready to fight for me.

“Of course, Mrs. Helms. My pleasure.” With one final pat, hard enough to drill inshut the fuck up, he departed.

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