Cam sat next to Lachlan for the return journey, holding him tight while they watched the frosty landscape rise and fall from the window. His mind continued to churn over the story of Elspaith and the mystery of her death.
He had memories of his mum spending late nights hunched over that red notebook, her long chestnut hair falling across her face while his dad leafed through the crackling ledgers beside her. They were almost always frowning in these memories. Probably just as puzzled as Cam and twice as exasperated, having found the same information as he and Lachlan and maybe never drawing the lines much further.
But at least it was a start. Which was more than Cam had yesterday.
Chapter Seven
The wintery sunlight was already dimming into twilight when Meredith pulled back into the layby at the foot of Lachlan’s hill. More snow began to fall; large crusty flakes that gummed up Cam’s eyelashes as they climbed the path towards The Lucky Teapot.
Cam wasn’t sure where to start looking for Bryce but had the urgent feeling that it couldn’t wait. He figured he’d start by scanning for any activity from the highest vantage on the hill. Maybe his newly Scorched eye could be put to good use. Bryce would stand out by a mile in the dark with all the protective wards he wore.
His gaze skimmed over the treetops below while Lachlan went to unlock the café. A shocked gasp made him whirl round in alarm.
‘The door’s already open,’ Lachlan muttered, moving away from it.
Meredith backed away, hugging her arms tight. ‘You think someone’s broken in?’ she asked fearfully.
‘Wait here,’ Cam said, touching her shoulder.
‘Me first.’ Lachlan stepped in front of him. ‘I can take a hit better than you.’
Cam grappled with the urge to protest and accepted that it was only his pride taking offence. Lachlan was right; they should approach the situation sensibly.
He gave Lachlan’s arm a quick squeeze. ‘I’m right behind you.’
Cautiously, Lachlan nudged the door open and they both slipped inside. Lachlan didn’t reach for the light switch, instead waiting for their eyes to adjust and listening for sound. It was much darker in here than outside, and it took several moments for Cam to separate the shadows from one another. No pink traces of magic showed up in his vision.
From the deepest shadows behind the counter, a gravelly voice spoke. ‘Walker.’
All the hairs on Cam’s skin stood on end. The werewolf. It was here.
As predictable as a tide pulled under a moon, the fire’s heat bloomed within his flesh in response to the threat.
Lachlan placed himself between Cam and the creature. ‘Try to hurt him again, and I’ll transform back into that monster you saw before,’ he told it calmly.
The werewolf growled. ‘I have no quarrel with either of you.’
Its voice was low and menacing, but the eloquence of it shocked Cam. Werewolves were supposed to be wild and mindless in their wolf shape, weren’t they?
‘But you’re here for me. That’s right, isn’t it?’ Cam swallowed, stepping forward.
To his surprise, the werewolf stepped back. It regarded him warily. ‘Yes, witch. Do you intend to fry me again or will you let me speak?’
Cam’s neck tingled. This felt unreal. Now that his eyes had adapted to the low light, he could make out the clothes the werewolf wore. A loose hoodie with a faded logo and dark jeans. Its body was tall and somewhat lanky; a sense of long, lithe muscles hidden beneath the clothes.
He could just make out an even darker patch on its torso—a large bloodstain. Cam realised with a spark of regret that it was a souvenir from their previous encounter.
‘I won’t fry anyone so long as you don’t try to harm us,’ Cam said, forcing his arms down by his sides. ‘Why did you follow me here?’
The werewolf raised its snout, snuffling at the air. ‘I knew your parents, Walker. I am a friend to you, if you are in kind to me.’
Cam’s breath caught. He suddenly felt light-headed, completely blindsided by this revelation. Was it a trick? ‘You knew my parents?’
Lachlan shifted subtly beside him, apprehension creeping into his previously composed stance.
The werewolf nodded slowly. ‘I am known as the Wulver. Though you may call me Arran.’
In their shocked silence, Cam was absorbed by the sound of his own breathing and the simmer of hot blood rushing in his ears. He nearly wanted to laugh. The other night by the loch, he’d almost killed this… person. This person his parents called a friend.
