Page 34 of Welcome to Blackbird Hollow
Beside me, Wyatt’s hand slides to his belt, where I’m pretty sure he carries a hunting knife. In the dead quiet, I hear the porch steps creak. A simple, common thing, I know, and yet the sound still stirs an ancient kind of dread in me. I shrink back against Wyatt, my spine bumping into his chest. This isn’t really the moment to examine the feeling that explodes in me when he protectively slips one hand around my bicep, so I stow it away for later.
Over the thudding of my furiously beating heart, I hear the distinct sound of paws padding across the porch, the click of nails clear as day. But Fern wanted to go with Fallon when we dropped her off at her house. There shouldn’t be any kind of dog here. I squeeze my eyes shut and hope that Caden is expecting a werewolf buddy.
A low growl slips under the door at the same moment I catch the glow of a predator’s eyeshine through the window. I don’t need to peer past Caden’s heavy, cream-colored curtains to know what’s prowling on his porch.
It’s the hellhound, and apparently it’s still hungry.
Chapter 16
Wyatt
The sound of the hellbeast on the porch slices a shard of fear through my gut that I’m unfamiliar with. I can’t remember the last time one of Them made me truly afraid. As though by instinct, my fingers close tighter around Alice’s arm, and I realize where the sharp depths of this feeling came from.
Her. I’m afraid forher.
I’m afraid I can’t protect her, not here. Not with what I’ve got on hand. Inwardly, I swear up a storm. It’d take a bigger gun, and much bigger rounds of silver bullets than what we’ve got here, to even have ahopeof slowing a hellhound down. Killing one—well, I’m not even sure that can be done. Creatures of the High are often like Them, nigh on impossible to kill.
Cade’s moved to the front door, his arms spread wide at its frame as he leans forward, breathing too hard for my liking with Alice in the room. My little brother will be a good wolf someday. He’s got the temperament for it. Calm, calculating, fiercely intelligent, with a heart that contains oceans. But he’s not even a year out from the change—and he’s a danger to everyone in this cottage right now, but especially Alice, as her scent is new to him.
“Cade,” I breathe. “Calm down.”
“Can’t,” he growls, and that’s no euphemism. The change is upon him. “Get her to the cellar—into my cell.”
“Don’t want to leave you,” I murmur, keeping my voice low and soft.
Next to me, Alice is remarkably calm. I can’t tell if she’s good in a crisis or doesn’t get how much danger she’s in. But she’s still and quiet, breathing evenly.
Cade glances back at her, a faint moonstone glow to his eyes. “You’re not scared,” he says with a wolfish whine.
“No.” She smiles, brave as can be. “I’m fairly certain I’m safe with all the Hayes kids.”
Cade’s eyes flash to me. “Can we keep her?”
I chuckle, and some of the tension drains off. But the click of nails on the porch and the hiss of unearthly beastie snaps the three of us taut again.
“Lock her in, Wyatt,” Cade growls. “Not for me, but it. It’s hunting, and the only thing it could want here is her.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. But I don’t want to leave him. Not like this. Not alone. That thing gets through the sparse wards, and my little brother is dead.
I’m torn—Alice or Cade? A few days ago, this would have been an easy question to answer, but the fact that I’m hesitating even a little is worrisome. How has Alice Blythe made room for herself in my heart so easily?
“Also,” Cade says, sounding a little guilty, “I may have done a deal with Blackstone.”
Blackstone is a warlock, arms dealer, and so much trouble that he’s not worth tangling with. Any other time, and I’d give my brother the dressing-down of his life for messing around with that end of the demimonde. But if Cade’s got good news for me, I’d welcome it right now. “Yeah? What’ve you got?”
There’s a scratch at the door. We all freeze. We don’t have time to talk about this.
“I’ll find it,” I say, pushing Alice toward the back hall. The choice has been made for me. I can protect them both this way. “Door to the basement’s down here.”
She protests, but just a little. “Wha?—”
“No questions right now, Blythe. Gotta save your life first.”
She looks up at me, those hazel eyes wide. And for what just might be the first time in Alice Blythe’s life, she gives in. “Alright.”
I hustle her into the back hallway of the cottage and push the heavy basement door open. It’s hewn from old white oak that Cade and I reinforced with iron and silver rebar on the interior. It was supposed to be a “just in case” measure. For if he got out, or something nasty got in. I never imagined we might test it with something as strong as a hellhound.
“Lock the door,” Cade says from the hallway. His voice is low and dangerous.
