Page 45 of Hellhounds Never Lie

I couldn’t argue with that. As much as our shifter justice system had a lot of problems, I’d always believed the human one was just as flawed, if not more.

As sunlight faded from the sky, the tension in the room rose. A hush fell over us as everyone stared out the windows at the darkening landscape surrounding the inn. No one spoke. No one moved—well, except Simon Rivers, who I saw shift and crawl under a sofa. His shifted form was a housecat, and if the puffed-up state of his tail was anything to go by, he was petrified of what might happen. Poor guy. Not everyone had a big, growly hellhound at their side. The faint whir of the air conditioning was the only sound. I pulled the collar of my sweater closer to my neck as I fought off a shiver.

"Are you worried?" Dillon asked in a whisper.

I shook my head. "Not with you at my side."

Dillon squeezed my hand, then we went back to our silent vigil. Every few minutes Van's radio squawked with an update from Hayden. So far, no unwanted wolves had been spotted or scented on the lands around Willow Lake Inn, but something didn't feel right to me.

The back of my neck tingled, but I couldn't tell if it was from anticipation or warning. Dillon's eyes glowed with the fire of his beast.

"Something’s…" I started but trailed off.

"Not right," Dillon finished. "I agree. What does your magic tell you?"

My first impulse was to brush off the idea my magic could tell me anything, but then I remembered this morning and how the power of it encircled Dillon and me, making him want to bite me. And then there was that tingling sensation earlier when I’d sensed the shifter magic. And I knew. Dillon was right. My magic still lived inside me. I just needed to remember how to use it.

I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Long ago lessons I’d learned as a young mage in a supportive coven filtered through my mind.

Step one: Concentrate on the place within me where my magic lives.

Once upon a time this first step had been as easy as breathing. My pulse raced. That weird but familiar pressure built inside me, and I prayed I wouldn’t burp or fart. Dillon squeezed my hand. Right. I could do this. He’d seen the magic in me, right? And he never lied. I pushed aside my doubts and worries and shame as I hunted for the kernel of magical power that was mine and mine alone. My chest warmed slowly.

Step two: Push into that magic and embrace it.

The scars on my chest screamed in protest. Those thick cords of ruined flesh felt alive, twisting and writhing, as if they fought to contain and cage my magic. Sweat beaded across my forehead. Pushing past the pain, I forced myself to continue, fearing that a sneeze or burp or who knew what would come along and shatter my fragile progress.

The heat in my chest heaved and churned like lava in an active volcano, but I held tight to that little spark of energy until it grew and expanded and blossomed into something more—something nearly forgotten but so wonderfully familiar. Then my magic erupted, bursting free. It danced over my skin and through my veins. I exhaled softly at the joy of it. I lifted my hand and watched as fiery streaks of light bounced from one finger to the next.

"You are so beautiful," Dillon whispered reverently.

"It's really there." I smiled, wider than I had in years.

My eyes burned as I rubbed my chest, not because of my scars this time, but because it was where my magical core still lived. Magic thrummed through me, pulsing and dancing in rhythm with my heart.

"I don't think it ever left," Dillon said.

I toyed with my magic, letting the sensation of it ripple through me like laughter. I wanted to play. I wanted to rejoice. I wanted to show everyone I wasn't broken. Not anymore.

But we had work to do first.

I flung my magic outward and commanded it to hunt for intruders. Every elemental mage had the ability to do this. An air mage like my mother could sense the disruption of the air as people moved through it or simply stirred the air with their breaths. My brother, an earth mage, could feel the vibrations of footsteps over the land and the thrum of someone’s heart beating in their chest. A water mage could sense the flow of blood rushing through someone’s body, or so I’d been told—I’d never known a water mage well enough to ask them. For me, a fire mage, I could feel that spark of life that lived within each living being.

I cast my magic out, letting it slip over the inn’s polished wood floors and through the miniscule gaps around the windows and doors until it rolled out over the landscape. There had been a time when even walls couldn't contain me, but my skills were considerably weaker than they had been. No, I shook my head. Dillon said I wasn’t weaker; I was just out of practice.

Someone's phone rang.

I ignored it as I listened to my magic describe everything it encountered as it stretched out further and further. The tiny sparks of life from all the small woodland creatures in the forest around the inn pulsed along my magic. It was heady and beautiful, and I wanted to let my magic roll out and touch everything in the world.

Then Dillon was grabbing me, yanking me behind his back. My magic snapped back to me. I blinked and became aware of my surroundings again. Van was cursing, running toward us.

"What in the name of fire and flame are you doing?" Dillon demanded of the other hellhound.

"The basement," Van said as he dodged around us and grabbed for the door behind the counter and threw it open. "Sally says Jake had another vision and it had something to do with the basement."

I gathered my magic close, reveling at the feel of such power under my control, then I tossed it through the door and let it tumble down the steps.

"Intruders," I shouted. "There are intruders in the basement."