“I know that woman.” She bares her teeth in an almost wolfish snarl. “I should’ve guessed it was her the moment you told us what you witnessed through her eyes. Her name is Cleopatra, and she’s the leader of the Montana coven. Daniel is one of her hitmen—muscle she uses to intimidate and attack her enemies.”
“The leader of the coven,” I repeat, shivering. “That’s who I’m bound to?”
“It appears so.” Gwen’s jaw is tight, her face revealing more emotion than it has since we arrived here. “And if that’s the case, I’m truly sorry. There isn’t a more vicious person on earth than that bitch. Cleo is the reason I have no coven anymore.”
She stands, the movement so abrupt that her chair scrapes harshly against the floorboards. Without saying a word, she crosses the room to the storage chest by her bed and pulls open the lid, then rustles around inside for several seconds before she pulls out a book.
When she turns back to face me, anger and determination burn in her eyes. I have a feeling it would be a very bad idea to ask what her history with Cleo is, but it’s clearly nothing good. Whatever happened between them, it was bad. And it was personal.
“This will help you.” Striding back to the table, she holds the book out toward me. “If your magic is linked to Cleo through the bond, you may never gain full control over it. But this will at least give you a fighting chance. Study this. Learn it. Master it.”
I accept the gift and stare down at the book’s worn leather cover, a thrill of both fear and excitement racing through me. I open it and flip through it a little, my gaze raking over page after page of etched sigils and their meanings. “This is about witch magic?”
“It is.” She nods, her expression still tinged with bitter anger. “It’s yours now. Keep it.”
Trystan lets out a low howl, and when my gaze snaps toward him, he swings his head toward the door. Ridge is shifting his weight restlessly, clearly anxious to get going.
They’re right. We can’t afford to waste a second.
Turning back to Gwen, I hug the book to my chest. “Thank you. Is there anything else you can tell me about Cleo?”
She grimaces. “If you mean ‘can you tell me what her weaknesses are,’ I’m afraid not. She’s an extraordinarily powerful witch, and if she has weaknesses, she kept them hidden from me. I can’t even tell you where to find her, since she uprooted the coven’s base several years after I left. Everything else I could tell you, you probably already know. She hates wolves. She’s ruthless. And she won’t stop until she succeeds in wiping them out.”
A shiver crawls through me at her words. I knew that was true of witches in general, but I didn’t realize until now how deeply the coven leader herself despises shifters.
Is that why the attacks on pack lands have gotten worse over the past few decades? Did witches always hate shifters, or is it because of Cleo’s vendetta?
“Thank you,” I say woodenly, standing up from the table. It feels strange to thank someone for delivering such terrifying news, but I’d rather know than not know.
“You must be careful, Sable,” Gwen warns as she accompanies us to the door. “Cleo is strong and clever. She’s more dangerous than you can possibly understand.”
“I’ll be careful.”
My promise feels paltry, and I clutch the book she gave me tighter, conflicting emotions raging in my chest.
On the one hand, I’m thrilled to have something that could actually teach me about the magic singing through my bones. But even so, it feels like a heavy weight in my arms, an anchor dragging me down. A responsibility I wish I didn’t have, along with this horrible link between me and Cleo.
I hate the book as much as I’m grateful to have it.
But I know I’ll need it. We’ve just found out how formidable our enemy is, so God knows I’ll need every bit of help I can get.
17
Sable
Standing in Gwen’s front yard, I slide my newly acquired spell book into my backpack along with my clothes, stripping down so I can shift to wolf form.
I catch a glimpse of Gwen’s pale face in the window as she watches me, a light of fascination burning in her eyes, and I flush, angling my nude body away from her prying gaze. I wonder if any part of her sees me the way my uncle saw me. Clearly, she’s not without enemies of her own, and if she sees my hybridization the same way Clint did, she might also think I’d be a formidable tool to have in her arsenal.
But it’s unfair of me to expect that of her. She fought us when we arrived because we’d infringed on her territory, not because she considers us enemies for being wolves. Gwen is a hermit, a mountain witch who seems most comfortable in her own area away from everybody else—witch and wolf alike. As far as I’ve seen, she isn’t our enemy, and she’s given me no reason to treat her as such.
She seems to be a sort of neutral player in all of this, unwilling to truly get involved. The only reason she helped us initially was to satisfy her curiosity about my nature, and the only reason she gave me the spell book is because she despises Cleo.
Once I’ve completed the shift and stand steadily on four paws, I glance back at the witch in the window.
Her expression is unreadable, though that gleam of interest is still there in her green eyes. But I don’t get the sense that she wants to use me for herself. And if she’s going to betray us down the road, there’s nothing we can do to stop that now—short of killing her in cold blood, and there’s no fucking
