Wicked Soul (Ancient Blood #1)(41)
I shuddered at the memory of knowing I was going to die, and I spared Warin a grateful thought. As irritating as it was that he’d just up and left me with a glorified babysitter while he went off to play lonesome hero, it was nice to know that I didn’t have to face potential skinwalkers on my own.
Even if I’d never had to entertain the idea of men who turned into freaking wolves intent on shredding me like a brisket before I met Warin. No one gave two fucks who I was before him.
Skinwalkers. Christ on a cracker.
I lifted my hands up above my head and stared intently at them in the faint filtering through my curtains. Maybe I’d imagined that green light?
But no. Even now, I could still recall the rush of energy from the deepest part of my being as it burst out of me. It had definitely happened.
I clenched my hands into fists before retracting them underneath my warm duvet. I’d been very close to telling him, before Carina showed up. But… in the clear light of day, perhaps it was for the best that I hadn’t. As much as I didn’t want to play damsel in distress here, it was pretty obvious I was all kinds of fucked if Warin decided he wanted nothing more to do with me.
A mild shiver traveled down my back when I recalled what he’d said about not being lenient with witches anymore. But this was Warin… there was no way he’d actually hurt me, even if he found out that I might-possibly-maybe be some kind of a witch.
And who knew if it was even magic that’d burst out of me? There was every chance this was something else entirely. I mean, you’d think you’d grow up knowing if you were some kind of dark creature… right?
Could have been alien possession, for all I knew.
Deciding against traveling further down that particular road, I finally kicked my duvet off and crawled out of bed. It was my turn for the morning shift at Dark Dreams, and as much as a New Age shop might be the only job that would potentially accept “attacked by werewolves” as a reasonable excuse not to show up for work, I needed to go in.
Since my vampire buddy was off playing Lone Ranger, it was clear I had to take matters into my own hands if I wanted to be in the loop of who was gunning for my life this time around. And the only non-vampire, non-creepy-slaughterhouse lead I had? Witch Supply Central, aka my workplace.
Most of them might just be New Agers, or emo teens, but if Warin’s reaction to my workplace was anything to go by, I might be able to get a hold of someone who could get me in touch with Chicago’s witchy underground.
* * *
I was so preoccupied with my plotting that it wasn’t until I stepped out of the street door to my apartment block—Thermo in hand and gaze locked on my small, battered Fiesta as I huddled against the cold—that I noticed the huge man standing in front of my building.
“Ma’am,” he said when I shot him a cautious glance out the corner of my eye. He was standing with his hands clasped behind the small of his back, like a soldier at attention, and his winter clothes did nothing to hide his bulky form. He had to be at least seven feet tall and built like an ox. Definitely not the kind of guy you’d forget—which meant he wasn’t usually hanging around my apartment block.
“Uh, hi,” I muttered, and scurried toward where my car was supposed to be be. Only the spot where I normally parked was empty.
It was only then I remembered my Fiesta was still in the parking lot by my work.
“Sonuvabitch!” I growled. I was so not in the mood for public transport.
“Is there a problem, ma’am?”
The unexpected voice coming from right behind my left shoulder made me jerk and spin around, heart pounding and keys clenched between my fingers as a weapon.
The huge man had apparently followed me, and either he was a fucking level 10 ninja, or I’d been too decaffeinated to hear a seven-foot mountain walking behind me.
“Jesus tap dancing Christ, if you don’t back the fuck up, I’ll scream!” I shrieked.
He blinked, surprise clear on his wide face. “Aren’t you Olivia Green, ma’am?”
“What’s it to you, creeper?” I kept my fist raised, even though his surprise calmed my pulse down a little—the skinwalkers last night hadn’t checked my name before they pounced.
“Mr. Waldlitch sent me. I am to escort you for the day.”
“Who?” I blinked. “Warin?” He had said something about sending a “day man” to look after me once the sun rose.
The giant of a man nodded. “Affirmative, ma’am. If you need to leave your residence, I will drive you.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “Yeeeah… I’m gonna need some form of proof you aren’t a crazy fanatic, or a crazy witch, or a crazy man-wolf, before I get into a car with you. Otherwise, I hope you like the bus.”
“Mr. Waldlitch said, should you request proof of my employment with him, to tell you that your blood tastes like ‘life.’ And to emphasize that he will be most displeased with you if you attempt to resist my protection.” Not a tremor on the big guy’s face betrayed if telling random women what his boss thought of their blood was out of the ordinary for him—but I flushed predictably.
It seemed like such an… intimate thing to share with a stranger—that Warin had drank my blood. But I guess to him it was just a meal.
Then I realized he’d answered my question from last night, even if in a roundabout way, and the heat in my cheeks intensified.