Page 246 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

A crash from the kitchen made his head snap up. His jeans bit into all the wrong places.

Gran muttered in Russian as she cleaned up.

She’d freak out not only about the witch part, but the guy part.

He pulled out the wallet and the driver’s license and stared at Kass’s photo. Had they been drawn together by magic, or by lust?

He wished Gran would answer his questions about witches and why they were so bad. But he’d stopped asking years ago. Kass didn’t look evil, but evil never did. He slid the license away. Instead of waiting for Gran to answer, he could go to the source of his trouble. Kass. But he couldn’t put everything that he wanted to ask on paper. Small steps were the best kind when venturing into the unknown. He’d write an apology for being an asshole the night they met.

* * *

Kass was surprisedto be handed a letter. Even more surprised that it had been rerouted from the base in Sydney to the middle of nowhere. He didn’t recognize the pointed handwriting, each letter an angry peak. Nor was there a return address on the back. But it had been opened and resealed, not surprising.

He opened the envelope as he walked to the mess.

One sheet of paper, that appeared to have been torn out of an exercise book, and a few lines of the jagged handwriting. It was neat in a threatening way.

His gaze dropped to the end, not reading the words, to see who it was from.

B, signed with a flourish and what could be a squiggle—or a paw print.

His heart jumped, and he skimmed the letter, not that there was much to read.

Hi Kass,

I’m sorry. You know what for.

Thank you. I think you know what for?

B

He stared at the words,wishing there were more. He flipped the page over, then the envelope, searching for a return address, an email address, or a phone number that he’d missed. But there was nothing. Just sixteen words and an initial.

“What you get? Letter from your girlfriend?” Someone nudged his shoulder.

“Nah.” A letter from his mate, and that was far more exciting. He folded the letter and put it in his shirt pocket.

As he’d done for the last week, he let his magic out a bit as he got his meal. Not to flip the mess tables—they were too big and heavy and not in motion—but because it made it easier for him to sense other paranormals, and for them to sense him. He would’ve realized what Bailey was if he hadn’t been keeping himself in check that night. Would that have stopped him from wanting him? From kissing him? Kass didn’t know.

He grabbed his food and a seat by himself so he could read the letter again, even though he’d already memorized it. As he ate, he sent happiness through the bond. He shouldn’t be playing with the connection. It seemed every time he touched it, it was thicker and stronger. And too hard to ignore.

He didn’t expect anything to come back along the bond and flinched when he got buzzed. Or that’s what it felt like. A warmth hummed over his skin and made him smile. For a moment it was like Bailey was near him, within touching distance. He drew in a breath and closed his eyes, wanting it to be real.

“You look pretty happy with yourself, witch.” A dark-skinned man sat opposite him. American. Shifter, and if Kass squinted he could see the shadowed aura of a snake.

Someone had joined his paranormal club of one. “Yeah, letter from home. You know what it’s like.”

He put the letter away, because there was nothing in there to get excited about. Except Bailey had apologized for stealing his wallet and had thanked him for the magical push. And now, they’d buzzed each other. And he didn’t know what it meant, only that it was something.

“I saw you the other day, but wasn’t sure what you were up to, being so obvious.”

“I wanted to find out if there were others. It’s good to know it case there’s any trouble.”

The snake shifter nodded and extended his hand. “Evans, bomb tech on account that I can feel the vibrations.” He flicked his tongue out. On another man it might have been a come on. His pupils weren’t round, they seemed almost like a sun, frayed on the edges.

“Robinson. Sniper. Telekinetic.”

“Sweet.” Evans shoveled food into his mouth like a man who expected to get interrupted. “Were you expecting a Dear John letter?”

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