9
Savannah
“I’m so glad you called,” Laurel said as I stepped into her kitchen. The sweet warm aroma of snickerdoodles hit my senses, and my mouth began watering.
She wore a paisley apron that was dusted with flour. “You look like you saw a ghost, Savannah. Tell me what’s wrong.”
My aunt looked at me with a troubled expression that twisted my gut. She was such a cluster of contradictions. I knew that in her dealings, she could be hard and ruthless. She was a lethal sorceress, and probably one of the most dangerous people in Magic Side. And yet, here she was baking me cookies from scratch.
I took a seat at the kitchen island and fisted my hands to keep them from shaking. Last time I’d been there, I’d used the Sphere of Devouring to destroy Dragan’s soul. There was no easy way to explain all the shit that had unfolded since.
But she needed to know. If anyone could help me sort things out, it was her.
So I spilled my guts and told her everything. The Dark Wolf God. What had happened at Pere Cheney. The Soul Knife. When I’d finished, a weight had been lifted from my shoulders, but Aunt Laurel looked pale and distraught.
A buzzer went off, and she jumped up and took two baking sheets out of the oven. The rich cinnamon scent wafted off the piping-hot cookies as she set the sheets on the stove to cool.
“I’ve heard of the legends of the dark one. Just pieces and hearsay, but this…” She paused and turned to me. Worry lines etched her forehead.
“Is bad,” I finished, the words catching in my throat. “I don’t know what to do.”
Laurel nodded and began moving the cookies to the silver cooling racks she’d set on the counter. “You’ve got a good start. Don’t panic, and seek help from people you trust. I learned that the hard way. When I was younger, I thought I had to carry the world on my shoulders until Rhia—an old mentor of mine—knocked some sense into my head.”
She broke the edge off of one of the cookies and sneaked it in her mouth. “I know I told you not to go to the Order before, but you were right to try to give up the Soul Knife. I’ll help you summon it, and I can remove the spell so you can bring it to the archmages and lock it away in their ridiculous vault.”
Hope and relief flared within me. “You could do that?”
She slid two cookies onto a plate and handed it to me. “Of course I can. I cast the spell, didn’t I? Together, we should be able to summon the blade. Removing the magic bonds will be easy.”
Thank God.
As I heard Casey stir upstairs, I bit into a cookie and moaned at the warm, sugary goodness. Hints of vanilla, butter, and caramel flooded my tastebuds. Being a wolf had its benefits, and heightened senses were top on my list. Everything tasted way better.
Or actually, in some cases, way worse. Burritos from gas station hot shelves, for instance.
Laurel took the stool opposite from me, and I brushed off the crumbs from my hands before placing them in hers.
“Focus on the knife like I taught you,” she said, closing her eyes.
Laurel’s magic wrapped around me like a familiar hug. I squeezed my eyes shut and went through the process that had always worked, envisioning the signature, the feel, the details of the knife.
But just like earlier, I couldn’t call the Soul Knife to me. It was like my tether was severed, or at least restrained.
Worry crept under my skin, but I reached harder, searching for any connection with the cursed blade. My aunt’s signature pulsed, and the buzzing of bees and scent of cloves filled the room as she intensified her efforts. The little symbols she’d drawn on my palm appeared, but the knife did not.
After a minute, I released the breath I’d been holding and pulled my hands free of Laurel’s. “It’s not working.”
“I can see that.” Her brow was furrowed, and the intensity of her gaze sent chills up my spine. “This is very unusual. I sensed the Soul Knife, but its connection with you is different.”
“Different?”
My palms suddenly felt sweaty. Different wasn’t necessarily bad. I’d always been different. But the way Aunt Laurel said it sent panic coursing through me.
“Like the spell has been tampered with. Altered,” she said. “Another magic has crept into the bond.”
Shit. “The Dark Wolf God."
She stood up abruptly and placed her palms on the table. “I’ll look in my spell books to see if there’s any way to counter the magic that has reworked the original spell. There must be. But for now, you need to be extremely careful. Who else knows about you and the prophecy?” Laurel asked.
“Just me, Jaxson, and Sam. And Neve at the Order.”
My aunt looked at me knowingly. “It might be safer if you move back in with us. If the rest of the pack gets wind of this…”
They’d kill me?
I shook my head, even though doubt crept into my heart. “I’m safe with Jaxson.”
“Are you certain? I don’t trust those wolves, Savannah.”
Heat flushed my neck, and I had to tamp down the defensiveness that surged. “I’m a wolf, and I trust him more than anyone.” And that was the truth.
Laurel stiffened and turned to the sink to vigorously clean the dishes. “I know you share a bond. Trusting him that much makes sense, though I don’t understand the ins and outs of such things. It’s not like you have a choice about it.”
Somehow, her tone was frustrated and disapproving and hurt and accepting all at once—but it was her words that sliced deep. “Every choice I make is mine.”
Fuck the fates.
I stood to leave, the legs of the stool scratching against the linoleum floor.
“That’s not what I meant, dear. The fates push us toward things, but the choices are always ours. I just know how strong the mate bond is, and I know that what you feel for Jaxson is real. I may not like it, but that’s not for me to decide.” Sadness floated around her, dousing some of the flames of my anger. “You’re my niece, and I love you.”
I bit my lip. “All of me, or just the LaSalle half?”