Page 62 of Witch Untold
“I’ll grab the secret whiskey stash from the atrium,” she continued. “We could all use a shot.”
I looked up from my position surrounded by my guys. “We haven’t had the all-clear yet.”
The guys bristled. They probably had no idea what was going on, except the blood smeared across Rune’s golden snout told me they’d definitely had an encounter of some kind.
“The Sons of Adam have got this, Cupcake. I say we earned a drink.”
She was right. “Get the whiskey.”
Sons of Adam?Tor growled.They’re here?
Sloane backed up, dropping me a wink before turning on her heel and heading for the atrium.
“It’s okay.” I slowly pulled myself off the snow. “They’re on our side. I’ll explain it all.”
Let’s get you to the gazebo where it’s warm and then you can tell us what the fuck happened,Leif said.
“Cora!”
I looked over the wolves to see Wren running toward us. He stopped a few feet away and bent over, hands on knees, to catch his breath before straightening and glaring at the wolves.
“Tor, Rune, and Leif left Wren. Wren was so worried and couldn’t find Tor or Rune or Leif.” He sniffed the air. “The world smells bad. A bad thing happened.” His attention zeroed in on me. “But Cora not dead. Cora alive and Tor and Leif and Rune scare Wren.” He stamped his tiny foot before hurrying around them toward me. He clambered up my body and wrapped his arms around my neck. “Wren never let Cora go into danger alone again. Never, ever.”
Oh man. “I’m sorry you were scared, Wren.” I hugged him back. “But I’m okay. Everything’s okay.”
He pulled back to look at me with his huge, dark eyes. “But Cora, the world smells bad. Why does it smell bad?”
I sighed. “Come on. Let’s get warm and I’ll tell you what’s happening.”
* * *
SLOANE
I grab the whiskey bottle, a new one, a better brand, because Cora didn’t like the last one. Fuck, neither did I, but this one is a quality brand. She’ll love it.
Shame I’ll have to share it with everyone. This was meant for us.
Me and Cora.
Shit, who am I kidding, there is no me and Cora. There can’t be. She’s the anchor. Mated to wolves. I’m not the kind to share, never have been, but when I thought she was dead…
Pain lances through my chest, followed by an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I remind myself that it’s okay. Cora is alive and waiting for a shot of decent whiskey. I grab some paper cups and stand.
Alarm bells go off in my head a moment before I’m hauled against a hard chest and a forearm presses to my throat.
A chill spreads across my back.
“Hello, witch. Mind if I steal a little magic?”
Razor Mouth!
I swing the bottle up, intent on smacking him in the face with it, but I don’t make it, because pain tears a path into my shoulder and I no longer have use of my limbs.
Glass smashes on the ground.
Fuck. That was an expensive bottle.
* * *
