“The bayou. It smells different to everyone.”

  Romy smirked. “A wolf would know.”

  “Ha.” Silvan scoffed. “Wolves have keener senses, true, but humans and preternaturals alike have talked about what the bayou smells like to them. It’s always different.”

  Romy narrowed one eye. “You bring a lot of faeries and elves out here?”

  Silvan grinned. “Not too many.” More like none.

  Romy rolled her eyes and cast her gaze into the darkness. “Sweet moss.”

  “Huh?”

  “Smells like sweet moss to me,” she said. “Like lilies are growing out of the mossy logs.”

  “Hm.” Silvan nodded to himself. “Smells like a tableau of shit to me. Like seventeen thousand layers of it.”

  Her eyes flew wide, then her mouth. She started laughing. “You’re like, a poet or something, eh?”

  Silvan buried a smile downward. “Or something.”

  “So what… what do you think happened back there? At the meeting?”

  Silvan tensed. “Dunno.”

  “Probably shouldn’t tell you this, but my grandmother suggested a traitor. Whoever was behind it got just what they wanted too. Total chaos. It was weird. Has anything like it ever happened before?”

  “No.” He went silent. He didn’t know what had happened and wasn’t sure he wanted to. But one thing was certain: there was a traitor somewhere in the council, and nothing would be the same until they rooted them out.

  “I don’t think… Silvan, I really don’t believe my mom wrote those words.” She scrunched her face, shaking her head. “I mean, yes, it was her handwriting, but she takes her role very seriously. She wants to find Claude’s killer, I promise you. I don’t believe for a moment she’s given up like that.”

  “Aye, well, we shouldn’t be talking about this. Me and you.” He tapped his chest and pointed at her. “Bad enough I’m taking you to a place forbidden to all except us. And that’s…” Haunted.

  Romy brightened in amusement. “Are you… Silvan, are you scared?”

  “What? No. Fuck no.”

  Her mouth gaped wide. “You are! The big bad wolf is quaking in his boots right now.”

  “You’re out of your mind, princess. I’m not scared of shit. But that island has some dark things. Things you and I aren’t prepared for.”

  “Like the stinging insects?” Her grin broadened.

  “You’re not taking this seriously.”

  “I am.” She sucked in her bottom lip. “Promise.” Her amusement faded to a dark look, and she turned to stare into the bayou. “I have to because my sister could die if we can’t find what I need. So you could tell me a zombie would kill us the second we step foot on that island, and even that wouldn’t be enough to keep me away.”

  CHAPTER 15

  stick with me and there’s no telling what we’ll get up to

  The moon shone above them in a cloudless sky, guiding their way to Mar Island. Romy trailed her fingers in the water but jerked them onto the side of the boat when Silvan clicked his tongue.

  “Wouldn’t do that if I were you, princess. You might lose a hand.”

  She scrunched her nose. “Is the water poisonous like those scary insects?” Romy couldn’t resist another jab.

  “Gators. Haven’t you ever been out fishin’ at night?” He studied her as though he saw more than her appearance. “Never mind. I forgot I was talking to Delacroix royalty.”

  “Am not,” she huffed, even though his observation was accurate. Her name and station in life had afforded her luxuries but had also put her at a disadvantage. She knew nothing of life outside the coven, outside the safe bubble her parents had created to protect her. “Aren’t you supposed to be in wolf form right now?”

  Silvan made a sour face, then snickered, appearing like a man and a little boy at the same time.

  “I mean, it’s nearly full. The moon.” She gestured above them. “Isn’t that werewolf rule number one?”

  “You read too much. In stories and myths, sure, but in real life, no.” He rested the paddles in the water, and they nearly stopped. “Am I the first lycan you’ve ever been alone with?”

  “Yep.” The question made Romy self-conscious, and she didn’t like it. This man, this wolf coerced her body to feel things. Unclean, provocative things like him between her legs with two fingers in her pussy and one in her ass. And his mouth… oh fuck… his mouth. That was exactly what she wanted to do, fuck his mouth. To stand in this boat and strip, then have his tongue trail a path from the nape of her neck all the way down.

  Dammit… now she was wet. If Silvan's statement evoked a primal reaction, she couldn’t imagine what his touch would do.

  “Well, what do you think?” Silvan’s smirk told her he was already aware of exactly where her mind had wandered. “Do you like it?” He paused, amber eyes bright with desire. “Or are you scared?”

  “Do I have a reason to be?” Boldly, Romy leaned forward to take the paddles, close enough to feel his hot breath on her neck. Gods, she hungered for him. For his touch, his tongue. Her gaze lingered on the bulge between his legs, less than a foot away from her mouth. How easy would it be to drop to her knees and release the beast from its constraints? Romy would take every delicious inch of him down her throat. She’d squeeze his ass and rake her nails across the tender skin, and when he’d reached the edge, she’d spread her legs wide and receive him deep within her core.

  Romy met his eyes, and fire spread through her veins. Silvan, her lycan. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. This man would breathe life into these fantasies and more if only she could say the word.

  He inched closer. Closer. Closer. She could almost taste him. She wanted to taste him.

  A night bird called above them, and when Romy jerked away, all the insecurities she fought so hard to repress flooded her mind. What would Silvan want with her when he could have literally any woman in the world? How could she compare to the gorgeous, lithe women of the Rincewind Pack? Big tits. Tiny waists. Long legs. Damn near exotic beauties. Romy had hips and thighs and a mess of unruly red hair. She’d never been with anyone, and until bearing witness to Silvan’s cock in all its glory, she’d never even seen a naked man. Romy had no clue how to give a blow job, and he’d been with plenty of women who’d put her to shame. Her lack of experience would be laughable to a man like him.

  With one quick move, she took the paddles and slid them back into the water. “I’ll row for a while.”

  “Thanks.”

  For a moment, they were quiet. Romy focused on the rhythmic trill of cicadas in the cypress trees and took in the beauty around her. Had this not been a mission to help Thora, it might have been a nice first date.

  “So does that mean you like being alone with me?” he blurted.

  Could Silvan read her thoughts or sense her arousal? Or both? “Why do you care?”

  “Why do you always answer a question with a question?”

  “Maybe because I don’t get you, Silvan Rincewind,” she fired back with more irritation than she intended. “Clearly, we’re flirting, and we’ve been doing it for a while. But at the council meeting, you had girls hanging off your arms, and I’m sure crawling out of your bed the following morning. So are you flirting with me for the fun of it or because I’m just another conquest?”

  His mouth twisted into a frown. “Neither. I mean, it is fun, but you’re not a conquest, Romy.”

  “What am I then?” Why did she ask that? Why did she want to be anything to this shifter? Maybe her attraction was a form of rebellion against the life her family expected her to lead. If casual interaction was prohibited, sex was downright taboo, and everyone wanted what they couldn’t have, right? “Uggg… forget I asked. Sorry.”

  “Okay.”

  Silvan didn’t persist, and she liked that about him. Hell, she liked everything about the man. Dammit. Why was he so fucking irresistible? And why did he make her forget her responsibilities so easily? Romy had to get her thoughts back on track. Thora’s life depended on it. “So Fenrir’s Rose. What do you know about it?”

  “My mom did a lot of healing for our pack,” he said, a hint of sadness in his tone. “Once, when I was little—just a pup—my brothers and I were out playing near a pond. I was walking across a log and, for some reason, got spooked and fell in the water. A gator, at least an eight-footer, snatched me by my back right paw and started his death roll. I was so scared. I hardly felt a thing, but I could tell without looking that it was bad. My brothers sounded the alarm and half the pack stormed the pond and ripped that gator to shreds. When my father found me, I was delirious and nearly dead.”

  “Oh, Sil… and your mom…” She led, eager for him to continue.

  “Mama worked on me through the night and late into the next day. I know Fenrir’s Rose helped, but I swear, she really brought me back with sheer fucking determination. She… was… stubborn.” His voice cracked, and Romy swore she saw him wipe his eyes. “Nobody tells you how bad you’re gonna miss someone when they’re gone. Nobody talks about how the grief sits with you every single fucking day.”

  How could Romy respond to such a heartfelt disclosure? Silvan had shown her a tender piece of his heart, and he deserved a response, but again, her lack of experience magnified her inadequacies. She’d lost elderly family members and known acquaintances who’d passed, but everyone she cared about was still alive. How could she acknowledge his pain in a way that wouldn’t make her seem insensitive? She had no words of wisdom. No motivational mantras. All she had was compassion for his loss.

  Maybe that was enough. Maybe sitting there, bearing witness to his grief, was exactly what he needed.

  “I’m sorry she’s gone,” Romy whispered. “I can tell you loved her.”

  “I did.” Silvan cleared his throat and then amended his statement. “I do. Always will. Guess that’s one of the reasons I want to help you, Romy. To honor my mama. And so you don’t have to know…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

  As Romy opened her mouth to respond, she rowed a stroke, and the paddle hit the bottom of the lake. By her estimation, they seemed to be at least fifty yards away from the island, so she was surprised when Silvan jumped into the water and picked up a tattered rope attached to the bow.

  “I’ll pull us the rest of the way.”

  “Clearly. Are you always so impulsive?”

  Silvan flashed a devious smile, one that sent an ache directly between Romy’s legs. “This is nothin’, princess. Stick with me, and there’s no telling what we’ll get into.”

  Silvan tied the boat to the remnants of a once-functioning dock. Then he dug in his bag and tossed Romy a small amber-colored bottle, which she caught with a startled look.

  “Behind both ears, on your forearms and shins,” he commanded.

  “What’s this?”

  “Bug spray.”

  Romy sniffed the contents inside. The scent was strong, oakmoss with a touch of peppermint, and the texture was slightly thicker than water. How in the world could the diluted substance protect them from anything as dangerous as he’d described? Skeptical, she followed his directions but couldn’t hide her curiosity. “So if these insects are as bad as you say, shouldn’t we have more than watered-down essential oil?”

  “Some protective gear might be stashed nearby, but I’m not sure.”

  “Are you kidding? There might be protective gear?” she repeated. “You didn’t think to get gear from home?”

  “Nope.” Silvan emphasized the P with a popping sound. “Couldn’t exactly waltz in and ask for two sets of equipment without telling them I was betraying our laws, now, could I?”

  “I’m sorry. I know you’re risking a lot to help me out, and I appreciate it.” The seriousness of this mission had always been apparent to Romy because Thora’s life depended on it. But could Silvan lose his position within his pack too?

  “Don’t apologize. If I didn’t want to be out here, I wouldn’t.” Another Cheshire cat smile. “Besides, I wouldn’t pass up the chance to snag another favor from you. Remember?” His hand extended, and Romy accepted. The instant they made contact, a bolt of electricity—a literal current with violet sparks—united them.

  She nearly pulled from his grasp until she sensed his peace… and something more. His power. His strength. The wolf’s wild ferocity. While she’d never experienced the electrical surge in her life, she had felt a similar connection before… to Silvan’s sworn enemy. Bastian.

  “Is… umm… this normal?” His free hand went between them and inside the current still blazing, still linking them. “Feel it, Romy. It’s like a cold flame.”

  Marveling at what they’d created, she touched the tip of a mauve-colored spark. He was right—it was ice and fire at the same time. “Not normal, for sure. It’s weird because we touched last night in the woods. Wonder why it didn’t happen then?”

  “Maybe ’cause you realized I’m not the Big Bad Wolf. Not all the time, at least.”

  “I’m not afraid of you, Silvan. I trust you.” Romy surprised herself with how much she meant that. She did trust him with her life. With Thora’s life. “Come on. Let’s start looking for this flower.”

  Mar Island was larger than she’d expected, and its topography was diverse and difficult. Traditionally, South Louisiana was primarily marshland—flat and miry—and while the island had no shortage of swamps, the terrain also had gullies and a lush green forest. It was almost like someone had planted Mississippi’s Loess Hill region in the middle of Lake Salvador.

  The longer they wandered the shoreline, the more Silvan’s face scrunched in confusion. Several times, Romy had heard him mutter how different the land appeared as a child versus an adult. He didn’t seem rattled but rather perturbed with himself for not paying better attention to his surroundings.

  They searched for an entire hour before eventually returning to the boat.

  Silvan stretched his arms behind him and pointed his face at the sky with a defeated groan. “I know it’s here, Romy. I know it. We’d stash that extra gear in that hollow cypress, and the rose was about a fourth of a mile to the left, next to a run-off.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. You were a kid when you came out here last. Sometimes important details don’t seem worth committing to memory until you want to remember them.” Silvan didn’t seem too encouraged, so she squeezed his hand and continued. “I couldn’t tell you where we went on vacation when I was twelve if that helps any.”

  He brightened. “Yeah, princess. It does.”

  “So what are these baddies called? Do they have a proper name, or are they just insects?”

  “We’ve always called them the branka. Magnificent Protector.”

  “Norse?” she asked. “And a female name?”

  “That’s right.” He pursed his mouth and nodded. “I’m impressed.”

  “So the lycans think women are stinging winged creatures?”

  Silvan closed the gap between them. He bent, even with her ear, and whispered, “Maybe we think women are badass, fierce guardians who can hold their own.”

  “I…” She was lightheaded. Inebriated by his scent, his body, the entirety of him. “... like that explanation… very much.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something she’d missed before. Something she was sure he hadn’t noticed either. “Hmm… weird.”

  Romy released him, but their current lingered. Not as strong yet still a significant charge. She crouched next to a stream. “This isn’t stagnant. It’s moving.”

  Their eyes tracked the water upward.

  “What if we follow this? Maybe this plant decided it needs fresh water to grow instead of nasty sludge?”

  Silvan laughed. “You’re a genius.”

  “Nah. I’m just perfectly ordinary Romy Delacroix. Not even a real witch yet.” She cringed. Why would she call attention to her insecurity? Silvan already affected her in ways she couldn’t explain. She didn’t need him to feel sorry for her too.

  He stepped even with her, then brushed his fingers over her cheek. She was on fire again. This man could make her forget everything. “Romy, ordinary is a word I would never use to describe you. Now, come on. Let’s find this flower.”

  Winded after their trek up the hill, they took a moment to catch their breaths, bowing with their hands on their knees. Romy stretched back up and surveyed the area, and Silvan did the same.

  In perfect concert, they both gasped.

  The life-giving orange rose grew in abundance along the banks of the stream. She nearly broke out in a sprint toward the flower, but slowed her eagerness and deferred to him to assess the danger. “Can I?”

  “No. Do you see them?”

  “See what?”

  “The branka?” He pointed at the base of a tree about thirty yards away.

  Romy squinted until she saw movement. Brown on brown, the outline of a winged insect half a foot in diameter crawled up the trunk and into the leaves. For a brief second, she saw its color change to green. “Fuck. They’re camouflaged.” She turned a circle in slow, controlled movements, realizing they were surrounded. The closest one, a juvenile by virtue of his size, flew onto a rock in the water. The bugs resembled wasps, but in addition to their stinger, roughly the size of a full-grown snake fang, they possessed a horn like a rhinoceros beetle.

  “Let me go first.” His tone was firm, protective. “When we get to the water, get as many flowers as possible, but put them all in your bag. Slowly. Like painfully slow, Romy. If you think you’re being slow enough, go slower. No sudden movements. No sound. I’ll have your back, okay?”

  “Mm-hmm,” she whispered as she opened her crossbody purse and put on a pair of gloves.

  “We should be fine. Their purpose is to guard, not to hurt. They only attack when provoked.”

  “Provoking them is not in my plan, believe me.”

  With careful precision, Silvan guided them to the highest concentration of Fenrir’s Rose, next to a rock formation with a constant water flow.

  Romy was pretty sure St. Charles Parish had no known springs, so it was an odd sight. Silvan seemed equally baffled. After removing the scissors, she made quick work of snipping several plants. When she was up to ten, she leaned into him, revealing the contents of her bag. He held up all the fingers on one hand. Five more to go.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15