Page 56 of Hawke

Located at the back of the store was a bar setup, complete with barstools and a wall adorned with beer glasses to give it a more traditional bar atmosphere. On three shelves, there were a small selection of beers and whiskeys available to choose from. It was a smaller bar than back at the Iron Fang, but it was enough to serve a few customers.

It was a full service store, maybe even inviting men in for poker nights, beer, and smokes. Hell, I was impressed with the setup.

The saloon doors pushed open as the scent of ozone became more apparent and thicker. The air became electrified, and there, standing in front of me, was the male I needed to see, holding a wooden box in his hand.

My wolf’s ears were standing at attention with excitement. His growl made the air feel thicker and pushed the ozone back toward the male. The male stepped back in surprise, but overall seemed unafraid.

“Was waitin’ to see when you would show up.” He carried the box to the bar and set it down with a click. “Nice to meet you, Hawke, or should I say, Gunnar?”

Chapter Nineteen

Hawke

Myeyeswidened.“Howthe hell do you know that name?” I gritted my teeth, my tattooed hands pressed flat on the table.

The fucker had the audacity to smirk, brushing off the wooden box as if there was dust still left on the pristine surface.

“Didn’t think you would recognize me under this illusion. It is one of my better ones.” He winked.

I felt a deep, aching pain and an overwhelming rush of emotion erupting from within us, prompting a whimper from my wolf. A chill ran down our spine, and we felt a cold, eerie presence in the room, as if the Reaper himself had come to take us away.

Anger at this male and memories that had been buried deep roared to life. Flashes of my past—being rejected, broken—fluttered behind my eyes. My wolf howled with sadness, recalling the pitiable expression on her face as she held onto the mate she thought would be a better fit for her than the one the goddess had chosen for her.

I gripped the bar with one claw to keep from falling. The other hand clawed at my chest, ripping my shirt to shreds before I fell to the floor in excruciating pain.

The male came around the corner, the box in hand as I sat there vulnerable as the day I felt the bond break from my previous mate. He could kill me now and put me out of this misery that could be my wolf going rabid. He was shaking and howling for the enormous pain in our heart to stop.

“Get away,” I yelled, slapping the male’s hand away.

But he tsked, putting his hand on my shoulder. A dim, low light radiated from his hand as he touched me. As I tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together about who he was, he opened the box, shuffling through its contents.

“Don’t be so damned stubborn, and a stubborn one you are. How the hell did you live this long?” He swiped a match over the top of the box and grabbed several strands of hair that had fallen on my shoulder. He pulled them closer, letting the flames engulf the hair. As the flame shifted to a pink color and the hair on the match had completely disappeared, he sniffed it curiously.

He eyed me, his eyebrows raising until he gripped me by the shoulders. “You have found another?” he asked, panicked. “How did you activate it? How did this come to pass?” His voice cracked, the old male’s voice falling away, and a younger one replacing it.

“Who the hell are you?” I rasped, gripping my heart.

“Doesn’t matter, not now anyway.” He shook his head. “But right now, you have a big problem. Your mate, which I am certain is that waitress, is going through bond sickness.”

“How the hell do you know?” I gripped my chest, feeling another stab of pain.

Bond sickness was very real and very dangerous. Once a couple found each other and recognized each other as mates through smell or touch, the timer began. A bonded pair had a few short weeks before the bond sickness would sink in. Bodies became dependent on each other, and souls would shatter and become weak the further apart they were. If they didn’t come together to complete the bond, both of them could become sick and die.

Bond sickness could bring about intense, almost uncontrollable emotions, so you were forced to depend on the person who was the other half of your soul. With all I had endured mentally in my past, and whatever Delilah had gone through before, we were a recipe for disaster.

“I just did the test. Did you not see it? It flashed pink, and it smelled of roses.” He snorted like it was the most oblivious thing. “I don’t do fucking magic tricks; that is so cliche.” He stood, stepping away from me, taking the box along with him. “Now tell me, how did you know she was yours? What did you do? How did you meet her?”

I growled, my claws lengthening once more. They swiped across the lower part of the bar, leaving five deep scratches.

“Damnit, get a hold of yourself!” he snapped.

“I have to go.” I stood with barely any energy left. I was draining fast, and if the bond sickness this warlock was speaking of was truly happening, I didn’t have long before Delilah would be overcome with it.

But I still had a mission. I had to know this warlock wouldn’t report us to the council.

“Who the hell are you?” I gritted my teeth again, my fist banging on the bar.

The male cocked his head, rubbing his fingers through his mustache. “That is a story for another day, Gunnar. Just know I am a friend and not your foe. You have little time now.” He looked at his watch and glanced back up at me. “A human will not fare well with bond sickness.”

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