Page 38 of Snag
A broad grin overtakes his deference. His slightly crooked teeth are white against his dark skin. His brown eyes are warm, welcoming. I still have no idea what his beast is. I would have thought a bear, due to his sheer size. But since he’s an Outcast — a mixed-clan shifter club — he could be an exceedingly rare shifter breed, like Doc Z and Cay. Or even mythological like Rought and Rath.
“As you say, little goddess.” Grinder chuckles. “We’ll follow wherever you lead.”
I side-eye him for that declaration as well, but let it slide without comment.
Presh scrubs her hands over her face, then steps away from me, as if forcing herself to stand on her own. Her shoulder brushes against DeVille’s arm. He makes a visible effort to not react.
I meet Rought’s gaze and instantly know that DeVille isn’t the only shifter struggling with personal boundaries. The gryphon shifter simply hides it better.
Two surprisingly quiet motorcycles slide around the corner, heading our way. Despite being deliberately muffled, the heavy bikes are clearly powerful and dangerous rides, though neither Outcast biker wears a helmet. Stealth outweighs safety for these shifters, apparently.
“Pepper and Piston,” Grinder says, stepping toward the newcomers. They could be twins, though the female has darker-hair than her sandy-haired brother. Both are sharp-featured and slim, for shifters, at least. “Good. We’re set.”
I throw a look at Rought.
He laughs. “Did you think I’d let you wander around looking for a dire mage without extra backup?”
“I wasn’t planning on much wandering,” I snap, though without heat. I’m actually having trouble not just grinning at Rought like a lovelorn idiot whenever he so much as glances in my direction. Being so enamored with anyone is a first for me.
At least as far as I remember.
That thought wipes even the hint of a smile from my face.
Right. “Essence trails,” I say brusquely, shoving away the black-and-white echoes of my lost memories that dully reverberate through my mind. Memories captured in Mack’s photographs and imprinted on my brain, with none of the nuances of the before and after to mitigate them. “Sometimes it’s about feeling, and sometimes it’s about sight.”
“Okay.” Presh bobs her head determinedly. “I’m ready.”
I step around her so I’m at her back, completely out of her peripheral vision. Then I hold onto my essence and the essence that radiates from my necklace as tightly as I can. “You can feel … or see … the essence that twines around Grinder, yes?”
Presh takes a deep breath, then closes her eyes.
“Remember what it felt like to walk around the property,” I murmur. “How it felt while we were dancing and you could follow, even anticipate, my moves …”
“Yes …” Presh murmurs. Both of her hands float up in Grinder’s direction.
The burly shifter holds still, not wary but trying to be helpful. Behind him, Pepper and Piston remove their sunglasses in unison, revealing black eyes so dark against the white sclera that they appear to have no pupil.
Everyone’s attention is riveted to Precious.
Except for Rought. He’s watching me.
“Grinder’s essence is substantial,” I say, not needing to reach for it myself to know that. “There’s no question that he is powerful.”
“Deeply rooted,” Presh whispers.
“Yes,” I agree, surprised that the young awry has picked up that much on her first try. But then, she’s known Grinder for a long time. “Stable.”
“Yes.” Presh smiles, quietly pleased.
“Now your brother,” I prompt.
Presh’s hands flare to the sides, palms partly facing upward as she pivots to assess Rought’s essence. “Oh …” she whispers. “This is … different.”
“Yes,” I say, trying to not just gaze at Rought adoringly myself. “Rought is a … presence.”
“With a capitalP?” Rought asks playfully.
“The gryphon?” Presh tilts her head to the side. Thoughtfully, I assume. Not that she’s hearing something I can’t.
