Page 29 of The Lunatics

“About the witches and the vampires?”

He nodded. “It has enough truth to it that it renders the rest… plausible.”

Therewasa lot of truth to it. Witch blooddidgive vampires a temporary boost in power. But I just couldn’t bring myself to believe the rest. That it was witches who created us to act as guard dogs against their enemies. That eventually the magic that created us changed, turning us into a species with agency and magic of our own. A magic that Michael now hinted wasn’t much different from that of our alleged creators.

I looked at him, a self-confessed nonbeliever. “You don’t buy it, though, do you?”

He straightened with a shrug and then slid his hands into his pockets. “Like I told you, I believe in magic. That we are creaturesofmagic. The witches are creators of magic. I see no reason to therefore discount the possibility that they created us.”

“Why don’t you use your influence to sniff out an ancient vampire and ask them if that’s how it went down?”

He frowned. “Vampires don’t speak to Kolbecks. Just as Kolbecks don’t speak to witches. Here in the city, you’ll find that regardless of what you believe, old hatreds run deep between our species.”

“Is that why you think it was witches? That they’re pissed at you for some reason and they sabotaged our ceremony?”

He nodded.

My head was starting to hurt. “Hold up, if we weren’t bonded by the Goddess, then what do you think this is between us?”

“Oh, I’m not arguing against the fact that we’ve been tied together, but perhaps, when we gather en masse, so does the magic that suffuses our DNA. When we spill our blood, when we chant our ritual words, we’re not summoning a goddess, but casting a spell of our own.”

I had to give it to him. “Okay, that’s a pretty logical assumption. I can respect that.”

“Just as I respect your faith,” he said. “Regardless of what we each believe, it would behoove us to keep our guard up.”

I opened my mouth to tell him my mom had given a similar warning, when his phone rang from the living room.

“Apologies,” he said, excusing himself.

I returned to putting my books away, thinking over everything he’d just told me. If there was any truth to the similarities in magic between witches and wolves, it was possible that they’d been the ones to interfere and our mystics just couldn’t trace it.

I almost hoped that was it. That it was as simple as someone lashing out over a grudge. Because if it was our Goddess interfering instead, I worried what might come next.

CHAPTER 7

My first encounter with Michael’s mother had been less than ideal. Hopefully dinner that night would provide an opportunity for improvement. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, though. She and Michael hadn’t ended the conversation on the best note, and now there was the added bonus of meeting the rest of his extensive family as well.

To that end, I put a serious effort into making myself presentable for dinner. I took my time in my en suite bathroom, showering again but actually washing my hair this time. I didn’t consider myself a vain creature. I’d always called myself run-of-the-mill pretty. I was on the taller side, with an athletic frame. My bra size was in the A–B range, depending on the brand, and my limbs were long and muscular from all my time spent running through the woods with my pack. I liked to think I had a decent set of facial features, but vanity finally kicked in when it came to my hair and my eyes. My hair fell to my waist, a medium brown with natural highlights from where the sun bleached it out. My eyes were almond shaped and heavy lidded. They looked killer in winged liner and three coats of mascara.

I found a hair dryer and a curling iron in one of the bathroom drawers.Thank you, Marlena.It took me over half an hour to dry so much hair. It was such a pain in the ass that usually I let it do its thing, but I couldn’t risk it deciding to frizz out on me tonight.

Afterward, I took a break to search out coffee. I didn’t get nearly enough sleep last night, and I felt like I needed the jolt of caffeine to keep me going.

Michael sat with his laptop propped up on the coffee table in our common area, his phone pressed to his ear. On the other end of the line, a man droned on about acquisitions.

“Coffee?” I asked, voice low.

He pointed to the kitchen.

I stared at him. No shit that’s where I’d find coffee.

“I mean, do you want some?” I clarified.

He shook his head.

I did my best to ignore his conversation as I went about learning how his fancy coffee machine worked. The man he talked to had a kind of monotone voice that was easy to drown out. Michael spoke only to ask questions and was silent for long stretches in between. He sounded perfectly calm and polite, but an itchy feeling came through the bond that betrayed his impatience.

A few careful button presses later, I had myself a latte. I took a tentative sip and closed my eyes, relishing the flavor and deciding that maybe there were some perks to living here after all. Michael’s gaze followed me back to my new bedroom, steady and fixed. What was going on behind those intelligent dark eyes? I would have given anything to find out. I didn’t like enigmas, and I definitely wasn’t used to self-contained shifters. The people I grew up around were loud, boisterous, and blunt. No use pretending not to be angry when your scent would give you away.