Bailey Blackwood. My closest friend’s little sister. The bookish, little librarian with a body made for sin who’s been crushingon me since she was in pigtails. Fuck sakes. What’s Grey gonna think about this? I don’t know what I even think about this.
All I know is I’m pissed at her and maybe for no good reason because evidence points to those Young witches setting us up, obviously not realizing what this Starling witch had planned. And I’m also pissed because this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. I can’t protect her, can’t claim her. And I can’t seem to calm my shit down, either. Testosterone keeps flooding my adrenals and I’m a cornered, trapped predator. I am pure rage.
Footsteps again. I hear the door creak open and the light flicks on so I fly to my feet, moving close to the bottom of the staircase so I can block whoever it is from getting anywhere near her.
I hold steady despite the nausea.
It’s the second guy, not the one who drove or who carried her down here. He’s holding a bag out. He looks intimidated.
“Food,” he says and sets it on the steps halfway down.
I have no idea how long since she last ate, but I don’t trust these assholes, so I say, “Shove it up your ass.”
“She should drink something. Nothing’s been opened.”
He’s got an accent, but speaks perfect English.
“What do you want with us? We don’t have what she’s after.”
“I have a pillow and blanket for her, too.” He backs up and disappears through the open door. I rush up but hit an invisible wall at the doorway. This shield around me is too large for me to squeeze through.
“Fuck!” I shout.
The other guy steps up and the witch moves in to stand behind him, fear in her eyes.
“Unless you want a war, I suggest you call Grey Blackwood,” I say. “I wanna talk to him. I’ll negotiate to get you the artifacts.”
She raises her eyebrows in surprise and disbelief.
“I don’t give a fuck about that wand,” I say. “I do give a fuck about getting out of here with my mate.”
She laughs. “Yet you were willing to see it safely to the archives? I doubt you don’t care if I get my hands on it.”
“Get Greyson Blackwood on the phone. Maybe I can swing a deal. You let Bailey leave, giving over her phone and bag and when she gets home safely and un-fucking-touched, they’ll come back with the artifacts and get me out of this spelled bubble. Unless you have the ability to do that?”
I hate the thought of letting her out of my sight, of trusting them to let her go, but I don’t want that other fucker near her. My gut tells me the younger one isn’t the threat the other one is. I did not like how the other one looked at her. I don’t want his filthy mitts on her again.
“Danica Young already delivered them to the archives,” she states. “They’re no longer in Young coven possession. We have to deal with the Supernatural Council Collective to get them back now. I can’t help with your magic shield. That has to be managed by the coven that put it on you.”
“It was crafted by someone in your coven,” I tell her.
She frowns. “Aphra?”
“Can you get it off me?”
“As if I’d put myself in the line of fire with you. No, thank you. I asked Fab to bring those items to keep your woman comfortable until Danica arrives. Danica’s eldest sister has been informed you’re here and I told her we’re leaving before she arrives. I’ve been summoned home. Please accept the blanketand pillow as well as the food to sustain your woman until she arrives. You look strong enough to withstand that wait yourself. She’s welcome to use the bathroom before we leave. But we won’t hesitate to prevent her from harming one of us if needed. I promise the food and beverages have not been tampered with.”
“I’m supposed to believe that?”
“I’m under orders by my coven. And I’d like to extend my apologies on behalf of my coven for my lapse in judgement.”
Like I’d trust anyone in that coven. And I sure don’t fucking believe she’s sorry, either. Probably just sorry she didn’t get her hands on that wand because now she’s got egg on her face. At least it sounds like Anya Starling isn’t looking to go to war with us. My guess is she got wind of how much power Grey and Erica have and don’t want to get on the wrong side of them.
“I want to speak to someone from home,” I demand.
She pulls her phone from her pocket. “I’ll reach out.”
The guy in front of her holds the blanket and pillows out. I can’t accept them, so I back down three steps. He drops them on the top step before shutting the door and locking it.