“What do you need us to do?” Boone asked.
“Just be ready to go.”
“This could be a trap.” Leaning against the staircase banister, Chapel folded her arms over her chest and shook her head. “We have no idea what we’re walking into.”
“This isn’t an order,” Dominic clarified. “I’m asking for your help.” He went around the group, meeting each person’s eyes, lingering a little longer on Thierry. “If anyone wants to stay behind, I’ll respect that.”
“Fuck that,” Chapel responded at once. “You know I’m always down for a good fight.”
“Well, I’m in,” Kennedy agreed.
“Me, too,” added Boone.
“He’s family,” Saint said simply.
Everyone turned to look at Thierry.
The wolf had good cause to sit this one out, and even more reason to want Sammy gone. Despite his rationale being based in fear rather than fact, it was real to him. No one, not even Dominic, could force him to accept the truth before he was ready.
“I don’t trust him,” Thierry said after a long time.
“I know.” Arguing about it wouldn’t change anything.
“But I trust you.” Seemingly without thinking, he adjusted one of the floor vases that bracketed the door—a clear sign of his growing distress. “Besides, you’re less of a dick when he’s around.”
Knowing any outward show of gratitude wouldn’t be received well, Dominic met his gaze and simply nodded.
“Gear up and meet me out front.” As he issued the command, he used his magic to dress himself in black cargo pants, a matching tee, and a pair of leather boots with thick soles.
Chapel and Kennedy hurried back up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, while Thierry and Boone headed toward the library at the back of the house.
“Come on.” Saint slapped him on the shoulder and extended his other hand toward the door, swinging it open with a flick of his own magic. “Let’s find your mate.”
He didn’t need help with a locator spell, but having someone to help interpret the information could be useful. Especially when every second mattered.
Saint led the way onto the veranda, his clothes transforming from sweatpants and a tank top to an outfit similar to Dominic’s as he moved. A leather harness buckled across his chest, the multiple loops and sleeves holding daggers, throwing stars, and other weapons.
The moment Dominic stepped outside, a streak of lightning slashed through the night, followed by a crack of thunder so violent it split the sky open. Sheets of rain soaked the ground and pounded a tattoo against the roof, the resulting roar drowning out the sounds of the forest.
Coincidence or omen, he didn’t know, only that the weather echoed the turbulence inside him.
As a mystic who drew power from celestial bodies and events, a visible moon would have been ideal. While his preferred energy source, they weren’t his only option. In their absence, he could harness the violence of the storm instead.
He stood at the edge of the porch, untying the bracelet’s cords before sliding it off his wrist. The volcanic rocks grazed his palm as he gripped them in his fist, their ridges still warm from histouch. In contrast, the moonstone remained cool and sleek, the polished surface reflecting the lights as he rolled it between his fingers.
The type of spell Sammy envisioned—maps, a drop of blood, a clear line from point A to point B—did exist. It had a very narrow application, though, and it was far less accurate.
He inhaled sharply, the air catching in his throat, his vision tunneling as the cacophony in his head quieted, leaving only a singular focus. Warmth like summer sunlight flooded his veins, his magic sparking, igniting into a vibrant blaze.
The roar of the storm became muted. The scent of rain faded. He no longer felt the electricity that charged the air or the wind that whipped through the night.
Golden light flared behind his closed lids, soft and diffused beneath an inky sky. In the distance, blurred shadows moved against a backdrop of muted greens and bright reds with occasional splashes of white.
As his focus sharpened, so did the scene, revealing a manicured garden alive with partygoers. A quarter moon shone overhead, but only the brightest stars broke through the light pollution.
“It’s cold there,” Saint said, his voice distant and hollow, as he rode shotgun through Dominic’s vision. “See the frost on the trees in the background?”
No, he hadn’t seen the frost. He had been too distracted by the subtle shimmer that saturated the perimeter of the garden.