Page 95 of Howling
I’ll just have to stick close, watch her from the shadows, and protect her from whatever comes. The council was already suspicious of her. They wouldn’t have sent a team of Orion after her unless it was warranted.
That she was able to evade them for so long is impressive…and suspicious.
And after what happened today, they will be more determined than ever to get their hands on her. After seeing her in action, I now understand their interest.
She is completely fascinating…and totally unaware that she is truly remarkable.
Givvens obviously figured it out, spent his life training and protecting her, and it ultimately cost him his life. At first, I thought his death was her fault. Now, it makes sense. He gave his life willingly to keep her safe. He never trusted the council, with good reason, but he was smart enough not to let it show.
It was only a matter of time before he was killed, like anyone else who doesn’t worship at their feet. I’m just sorry Frankie got caught up in the mess. If Givvens found her worthy to protect, I can do no less.
I trail the others, slipping away to watch from the shadows, scowling as her shifter toys practically trip over themselves to fawn over her. I don’t trust the fuckers to put her well-being first.
They’re after one thing.
Once they get it, they’ll move on to their next conquest.
I refuse to believe the fools are here for anything more permanent.
She ismytreasure, and I will skin the fuckers alive if they try to take her from me.
While I don’t think they mean her harm, that doesn’t mean she is safe. The instant they put her life in jeopardy, I won’t hesitate to intervene, even if I have to kidnap her to keep her safe.
Nothing can happen to my treasure, or I very much fear my dragon will tear the world apart to reclaim what is ours.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
FRANKIE
Trevor leads us to a large mansion that has seen better days. Geoffrey’s occupation has tarnished the atmosphere, leaving behind the lingering stench of evil and despair. Room after room is trashed, the building barely habitable. The man sucked the life out of the mansion, the same as he did to so many people.
Much to my disappointment, Isobel remained behind in the city square, working to put her coven back together and dealing with the fallout of battle. I don’t envy her the job. In her position, I would burn the place to the ground and start fresh somewhere else—somewhere without the horror and skeletons that saturate the very ground.
Before we leave, I want to talk to the witch.
She seemed to know a little too much about me and what I can do. If there is any chance that she has information regarding kismets, I need to know.
It could be the difference between life and death.
Trevor guides me toward a relatively clean bathroom before leaving to help the guys scavenge for clothing and supplies. I practically skip into the room, accidentally slamming the door in Garth’s face, so used to his presence that I forgot he was trotting behind me.
He shoots me a reproachful look, and I huff in amused exasperation. “You are not going to watch me shower.”
In response, he plops his giant ass in the doorway, and I swear he raises a challenging eyebrow in my direction, daring me to move him. I crinkle my nose, doing my best not to roll my eyes. “Geoffrey is very much dead. I’m wearing pieces of him. I’m safe. Why don’t you go search for another shower and help the others gather supplies so we can leave this place as soon as possible?”
Though he doesn’t look happy, the beast heaves a massive sigh and drags his sorry ass to his feet. His head drops, his tail droops. After a few steps, the mutt pauses to look back at me, and I snort at his obvious antics, shaking my head. “Nice try.”
I don’t even wait to slam the door on his ass. He chuffs from the other side, then the clicking of claws sounds on the hardwood floors as he finally leaves. I wrench the hot water to max before stripping. It doesn’t take long for steam to fill the room, and I gratefully step into the shower…but pause with one foot raised.
I hesitate for a moment, then I whirl, snatch my blade from the counter, and carry it into the shower with me.
Maybe it’s overkill, but I’m still alive for a reason.
I do nothing for a full ten minutes, allowing the heat to boil away the events of the day. It’s only when the water starts to turn clear that I grab the soap and scrub. I grimace when the wound on the back of my head throbs as I soap up my hair. The cut has healed, the knot from the butt of the gun has vanished, but a lingering bruise remains.
Though I’m a little battered, most of the damage was done on the inside when I touched the magic. It’s like overusing a new muscle for the first time. The heat pleasantly numbs most of the pain, and my eyelids grow heavy.
Shadows shift outside the foggy shower stall, and I freeze, my breath stalling in my lungs. Not taking my eyes off the threat, I reach for my blade…then the scent of pine and dirt swirls in the air, mixing with something ancient—a smell that I associate with Dante.
