Page 120 of Roguefinder

Instead, we got a two-story brick manor in the English countryside with a fireplace in pretty much every room, including the master bathroom, which was unnecessary and also completely awesome. Fireside blow jobs and mimosas for the win.

And the kitchen was huge, which meant Jesse was happy and I was fed like a prize hog at a county fair.

Ertem had left a half hour ago after finishing Jesse’s final treatment. I’d watched his car crunch down the gravel drive from the garden, the back covered in bumper stickers that said things like “Honk If I Fucked Your Mom Last Night.”

I’d been wary of the elder at first. Just what I needed, another ancient supernatural eager to boss me around. But Ertem turned out to be a decent guy. He was a big, burly dude with a bright red beard and sleeves of tattoos: black ink on the right, deep red on the left. He owned a tattoo shop in London and had shown up every day to do his woo-woo magic on Jesse.

When I’d asked what the two colors meant, he’d looked at me for a long moment and said, “One hand gives. One takes.”

Okay, then.

I didn’t remember seeing him at my trial. Then again, I’d been a little distracted by Nin peeling my worst fears out of my skull, so my memories of the audience were sketchy.

Whatever he’d done to Jesse had worked, and I was grateful.

And I had very specific plans for Jesse van der Meer’s hands tonight. Plans I’d been refining all afternoon.

I walked into the kitchen and stopped.

A cardboard box sat on the counter. Plain and brown. The size of a toaster.

“Jesse?” I called, eyeing it.

He appeared in the doorway a second later. He was working on a new book, and he’d tucked a pencil behind one ear.

Fucking cute as hell.

He followed my gaze to the counter. “Did something come in the mail?”

“Do we have a mailbox?”

He frowned. “No.”

We both looked at the box.

The safe house sat behind wards fresh from Sterling Moray, and they were so thick it was like wading through wet cement just to leave the property. Nobody delivered to us. Nobody but Ertem had visited.

“It’s probably from Stefanos,” I said.

Jesse moved closer and inhaled, nostrils flaring. His whole body went still. “There’s no scent on it. Not even cardboard.”

“Should we open it?” I asked, drifting forward. It was from Stefanos. There was no reason we shouldn’t open it. Jesse was being overprotective.

No. That wasn’t right. We shouldn’t open it.

But I had to.

It was my box. It was from Stefanos.

Why shouldn’t I open it?

I needed to open it.

“Don’t touch it,” Jesse snapped.

I snatched my hand back, my heart racing. My wolf jumped into my throat and deepened my voice as I said, “I’m not.”

Jesse lunged for me. “Caleb, don’t⁠—”