Sweat poured down my face. My curls whipped in front of my eyes. Growls and barks loomed nearer and nearer. I didn’t dare look behind me because I knew I would trip if I did. I swore I felt the wolves’ breath on my heels.
“Turn . . . here!” Oliver panted, his long legs pushing him just a bit farther than me.
I pumped my legs harder, and the agony in my side intensified.
We burst through the door of an empty flower shop. Oliver flew toward the back and up a narrow flight of stairs. The wolves’ claws clicked on the tiled floor as they pursued us.
The stairs just about killed me. Gasping and choking, I reached the top to find Oliver standing there, doubled over and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.
“What are you—?” I started frantically, but a howl and a high-pitched squeak interrupted me.
A burst of blue magic blazed against my eyes as the wolves crashed into some kind of forcefield at the top of the stairs. They tumbled down the stairs in a heap, emitting a mixture of growls and wails of confusion and pain. When they collapsed at the foot of the stairs, all three of them growled and bared their teeth at us. But they didn’t dare try to climb back up.
My chest and shoulders heaved as I wiped my brow. “What . . . happened?”
“Protective barrier,” Oliver said between deep exhales. A sheen of sweat glistened across his forehead and down his neck. “A safehouse for witches and warlocks.”
Relief blossomed in my chest as I glanced down at the wolves. They circled the foot of the stairs, waiting for us to emerge.
How long can we stay up here? My eyes roved around the room. A small single bed rested in the corner, along with an open and vacant wardrobe, a dusty mirror, and a bookcase housing three worn and lonely books.
“What is this place?” I asked.
“My mother’s home.”
My eyes widened, and I stared at Oliver. Solemn wistfulness glistened in his eyes as he surveyed the room with pride.
“I don’t remember my life with her,” he said, his expression distant, as if he didn’t even know I was there. He was someplace else. “But the first time I returned to Santiago, Alba took me here and told me of Mother’s life. Mother and her brother ran this flower shop years ago. Their father owned a restaurant in the Plaza de Armas a few blocks down.”
My breaths finally returned to normal as I wiped my sweaty palms on my skirt. I wasn’t sure what to say. I feared saying anything would jolt Oliver out of his reverie and silence him. I didn’t want that.
“Mother visited America looking for income opportunities,” Oliver went on. “When she returned, she was pregnant. No one will tell me the details. All I know is that my father . . .” He trailed off, and something dark hardened his expression. His eyes filled with loathing and anger, and when he looked at me, I almost shrank away in fear. To see that fury fixed on me was more devastating than I could bear.
His eyes softened with clarity, and he blinked. I watched his expression change as he returned to the present. Moisture shone in his eyes. He cleared his throat and ruffled his short hair. With long strides, he returned to the staircase and gazed down.
“Still there?” I asked quietly.
He nodded. “They know we can’t stay up here for too long.”
I crossed my arms and leaned against the wardrobe. “So, what do we do?”
Oliver approached the window and pulled back the curtain. A trail of dust trickled down from the motion. Squinting at the sky, he said quietly, “It’s a full moon tonight. If we can wait until then, the wolves will be in a frenzy.”
My eyes widened with incredulity. “Yes . . . a frenzy to Turn someone. How is this a good thing?”
“They’ll be distracted by the Bloodlust. They’re dangerous, yes, but also out of control. Right now, their target is us. But when the moon hits, their target will be anything that moves.”
I sighed and glanced at the athame still gripped tightly in my hand. “Are you sure we can’t fight them? I’ve taken on a werewolf before.” I omitted Kismet’s role and my utter failure, of course.
Oliver turned from the window and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re an advocate for fighting now, but when looking danger in the face, you flee.”
My eyes narrowed. “Are you calling me a coward?”
Oliver shrugged one shoulder. “No. But ask yourself this: In all the dangerous situations you’ve been in since you arrived, when circumstances were deadly, did you have the urge to fight, or flee?”
I swallowed and drummed my fingers against the yellow fabric of my skirt. I blew breath through my lips and sank to the floor. The athame clattered against the wooden boards next to me, sending a flurry of dust into the air.
“I can’t control it,” I said, waving a hand to indicate how pathetic I was. “The fear just freezes me, locking me in place. There have been a few exceptions when my Huntress skills kick in, but . . . for the most part, I am a coward.”
I sat there silently, my legs tucked under my skirt and my gaze fixed on the dusty bookshelf in the corner. Below us, the patter of the wolves’ pacing continued.
Oliver nudged my leg with his boot. “Stand up.”
I rolled my eyes up at him. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to prove you wrong.”
I groaned and climbed to my feet. I reached for the athame, but he stepped on it, his huge boot blocking me. I folded my arms and glared at him.
With a cocky grin, he hitched up his foot, flicking the blade up and catching it effortlessly. The smugness in his face was infuriating.
Oliver stretched his legs apart, crouching and spreading his arms, one
