burned beneath her eyelids. For a moment, ever so brief...she shook her head. No. Not that guy. Not ever.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” a woman’s voice murmured from the gloom.
Melissa startled, then peered across the room. A figure moved away from the wall, stepping into the soft pool of light. Melissa closed her eyes briefly. She wasn’t in the mood for this.
“Mother,” she greeted the woman with resignation. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see how your...” Her mother hesitated briefly, then continued “...project was coming along.”
For a moment, Melissa thought her mother was talking about the renovation. Then almost laughed. Right. The last time her mother had shown any interest in her life was five months ago, when they’d had a terrible argument.
Over the pyro jerk downstairs.
“Well, as you can see, the apothecary is coming along nicely,” Melissa said, deliberately taking the obvious direction for conversation.
Her mother’s green eyes flared briefly. “I meant our little light warrior,” her mother stated succinctly, folding her arms.
Melissa glared at her. “He’s not our little light warrior, Mother. He’s mine.” She frowned at the possessive phrasing, realizing it probably sounded completely different than the way she intended. “And he’s not so little.”
She closed her eyes. And yep, that could be taken out of context, too. Her heart still pumped at being held against that large body, so much stronger than her own. She told herself the elevated heart rate, the sensitive...she folded her arms over her chest. Adrenaline. That’s all it was, adrenaline.
“Please tell me he’s still alive,” Eleanor Carter didn’t bother to hide her exasperation.
Melissa faced her mother reluctantly. “What if he’s not, Mother? What if he’s dead? How would that make you feel?”
“Do not play with me, Melissa,” Eleanor snapped. “He is a light warrior, for heaven’s sake. Do you know how rare that is?”
“With the way they make enemies? Trust me, Mother, it’s as much a surprise to me as it is to you this one has survived as long as he has.” She walked across the room to the door and the stairwell that would lead to her shop.
“He would make a useful ally, Melissa. He’s in our debt. Use it to your advantage—and for God’s sake, don’t screw it up,” her mother ordered as she followed closely. “You know we have to nurture this relationship.”
Melissa halted at the door. “That is so ironic—you talking about nurturing.” She bit off a brittle laugh.
“Melissa! You never stand back to look at the big picture. He is valuable.”
Melissa whirled. “What about me, Mother? What value do you have for me?” Anger flared to encapsulate her hurt. “He tried to kill me, Mother, and all you can talk about is creating an alliance with the pyromaniac psychopath. What about me? Don’t I matter in this? Why aren’t you angry that he tried to kill your daughter? And if not your daughter, at the very least one of your coven. Why aren’t you knocking down that door to tear his heart out?” Why won’t you fight for me? She turned and stomped up the stairs.
The door at the head of the stairs slammed shut, and Melissa halted, pursing her lips. This is how her mother had dealt with conversations when she was a teen, for Pete’s sake. She turned around to face her mother, arms folded.
Eleanor Carter slowly walked up the stairs until they were on the same tread and they could meet each other’s gaze on an equal level. “Do not lecture me on defending my coven, Melissa,” her mother stated in a cold tone, and Melissa realized she was no longer talking to her parent. “You may be my daughter and a Coven Scion, but you are still only a second-degree witch, and I am your Elder Prime. Do not presume to discipline me on coven matters.” Eleanor lifted her chin. “You are popular with the humans, and you are gifted, but you still behave like a liability, whereas that light warrior is an asset. That is why I’m not tearing his heart out.”
Eleanor flicked her fingers, and the door opened. She walked into the bookstore, chin up and shoulders back, looking every inch the coven regent she was. Melissa stayed in the stairwell for a moment, blinking back the burn. God, she was so pathetic, always hoping her mother would for once put her daughter before her coven.
Should have known better.
She stomped up the steps and slammed the door shut behind her, closing off all thoughts of the “asset” downstairs, and the humiliating pain that her mother valued the man who’d tried to kill her more than her own daughter.
* * *
Hunter held out the remains of his sandwich to the rat. “You better fill up while you can, Steve. Might be a while before we get another feed.”
He winced as he shuffled back against the wall. His body ached. Everywhere. His burns were almost healed, though. It had taken him a few hours longer than usual to mend—a sign of his low reserves. He grimaced. “Mental note—knock her out, next time. She hits like a...witch.” He tilted his head back against the brick behind him. She hadn’t brought down the evening meal. He supposed he deserved that. He hadn’t intended to start anything with her today. It had just...happened.
He frowned. Things just happened a lot around him. She’d been right. Her surviving their meeting in her apothecary was purely based on her luck, not his design. He’d had one thought—protect his brother. He hadn’t spared the witch any consideration when he’d obliterated all records of her orders.
He and Ryder hadn’t been on speaking terms when Jared Gray, Alpha Prime to the Alpine Pack, had died in his brother’s surgery, poisoned by wolfsbane. His first instinct was to slap some sense into his brother for committing a crime that could be so easily traced back to him. His second instinct was to hide any evidence connected to the case. If they couldn’t prove his guilt, they couldn’t convict his brother.
How was he supposed to know his brother wasn’t the coldhearted murderer Hunter thought he was? Okay, so it didn’t help that his brother had thought the same thing about him. Turns out, they were both wrong. Their father, on the other hand, could account for at least two murders. Hunter didn’t want to think about the probability that there were more. He eyed Steve. The rat held the morsel of the sandwich in his front paws, nibbling at it delicately.
“Such petite table manners, Steve. You know, I think folks underestimate you rats.” He shifted again, getting a little more comfortable in his stone-and-brick cell. He forced himself to relax. It was night. He wasn’t quite sure what time, but he could sense the sun had set. Over the last few weeks he’d gone dreamwalking. He’d learned quite a lot about his temperamental prison warden as she’d slept. He’d managed to crack the locks on some of the memories she’d tried to shield. She’d been happy, once. A red-haired sprite with a cheeky sense of humor. That had changed, though, the night her father had left. He’d played that one over a few times, just to try to understand it, but it was a garbled mess in there. Her emotions were too jumbled to get much of a read.
Perhaps tonight he could find out why she hated the shadow breeds so much? If he could find that key, he could use it to his advantage.
Closing his eyes, he regulated his breathing, allowing himself to slip into slumber, his consciousness
