She’d run the last time when he’d twitched a muscle wrong. Now he was dripping venom and crazed, and she stood up and stepped forward, hand outstretched.
With the last of his strength, he wheeled the wolf away from her and punched through the front window. Glass carved into his shoulders and his neck.
Fortunately, the pain startled the wolf, and it bolted away from the cabin and the donkeys. It ran and ran until it curled under a tree in the deep woods.
A piece of glass had nicked an artery, and blood was pumping faster than Asher realized.
With his superior healing abilities, he was pretty sure it would heal before he died of blood loss, but it was going to be a near run thing. For a second, he considered just letting it happen, letting his life force drain out on the forest floor.
He tried to make something of his life and had failed utterly. But he couldn’t go, not like this. He’d only just met her.
He told the wolf to lean against the tree, putting pressure on the wound to slow the bleeding. The wolf didn’t understand clotting, but it sensed his intent and did as he said. He stood like that as the wounds closed.
For a moment, he thought of where she might be—how far down the mountain she could reach in her little car, but that was a dangerous thought.
7
Penn swallowed as she walked toward the bizarrely Gothic house perched on a small hill one street behind Main. Though the town was only built 120 years ago, the ornate architecture of the few buildings left from the original city was absurdly over-decorated. They looked like something out of Victorian England, except everything was made of wood, including the columns out front. This one was the only one painted purple, though, like a Disney villain’s mansion.
The Griffin twins were famous in the local area for being witches, another thing she couldn’t believe. Of course, everyone thought they were the normal kind that practiced some kind of new age spirituality and not the genetic kind with actual magic, but she had never been anywhere near a family who wore what they were on their sleeves so loudly.
For two women obsessed with defense, it was a strange move, but she supposed there was also protection in hiding in plain sight.
She sighed, trying to put Asher out of her mind. She’d searched for an hour last night, tramping around the woods in the dark with only a full moon to guide her, trying to find awerewolf who’d fully admitted he was not in control of his wolf. She’d been torn the whole time between terror of and for Asher.
Ultimately, she’d finally caught a glimpse of gray fur in the moonlight; he was curled up at the base of a tree. Her terror of the wolf won, and she slunk away to try to get some reinforcements.
She was never going to tell two old witches obsessed with the evil of wolves that she was trying to help one, but she was definitely planning on taking advantage of that obsession. They bragged repeatedly that they were the best-researched witches in the world. It was time they proved it. She marched up the crumbling sidewalk when the old-fashioned sprinkler watering the beige lawn changed direction and knocked on the purple door before she could talk herself out of it.
A deep bark sounded, and Penn sent out a pulse of magic.Nothing’s threatening your home.
A raccoon sleeping in the tree woke at the sound of the dog, and she soothed it, too.Nothing’s threatening your home, either.
She hadn’t touched the doorbell, just the wooden door, but a chime sounded throughout the house, and Annie wrenched it open with a look of terror on her face that immediately collapsed into relief.
“Oh, thank god it’s you. That’s a chime for a member, but not one I recognized!” Her arms flew up as a huge head pushed her to the side and burrowed into Penn’s abdomen.
“It’s a, um, nice melody? For me, I mean,” Penn said. She was pathetically grateful that she’d been accepted into this ragtag coven of leftover witches, but that was not the same thing as being trusted—on either side.
“Yes, my dude, I’m glad to see you, too.” The Irish wolfhound was huge, the size of a small horse, with a coarse curly coat of gray and brown. He was making his slow way to old age, eventhough he was only seven. Big dogs and big hearts seemed to have a hard time.
“How does he like you better?” Annie said, watching her dog fawn.
“Animal witch, remember?” Penn said truthfully. She’d had this conversation with a lot of grumpy owners who saw their pets transform the moment she stepped through the door.
This was only the second time she’d been to the house. The first had been a welcome reception and an honorary Circle, though they couldn’t actually join together. Penn had spent the night wandering around examining the new world “antiques” littering the house.
Abruptly, the dog abandoned her and loped toward the back of the house.
“Ducky, no!” Annie said desperately and dove for it.
“Stop,” Penn said, throwing magic into the command.
Ducky stopped.
“It’s just, we’re cooking. We stuck him in the living room, but then we thought this was an attack.”
Penn hated that people expected their dogs to protect them. She knew many dogs expected it too; they’d been bred too, but had anyone ever considered they’d like to be protected too?
