Lorcan & Evette

Chapter Three

The werewolf was incensed. Maddened. With little care for gentleness, he grabbed a hold of her forearm and dragged her towards the door, past the bodies of his dead subjects. Evie knew better than to put up a fight. Lorcan would have her head for less.

Lorcan, as in the King of the werewolves. She supposed she could take on a werewolf on the best of days- even thirty years out of practice. Only she didn't stand a chance against him.

She'd heard tales of the werewolf royals before. Back on Veneficus, they were said to be vicious fighters who never gave up on a hunt.

She was the hunt.

Just my freaking luck.

The bell chimed over their heads as he continued to drag her. Acting rashly, she put her foot down.

"At least let me lock the place up before you drag me off to the chopping block." What was she doing? Reasoning with a werewolf was madness. He wouldn't understand. He'd kill her for her impertinence if not for her species. "Please, it will only take two minutes. I don't want to get robbed."

He spared a glance up. The sign read Witchy Woo. He glanced between the witch and the building. Then- after taking a deep breath- he let her go.

Evie wasn't taking her chances with a thank you.

She hastened forwards with the key before he could change his mind.

Past worries returned to her. Modern witches were defined by the power they were born with. Evie was born with foresight. It was at times like this she wished for something helpful. Something she could fight with. Like the ability to teleport away. Or- like her Queen- blood control.

Fat lot of good seeing the future did when she couldn't see her bloody own.

She took her time sliding the key into the lock, contemplating her options. She could run—but the werewolf would catch her, and then he would punish her. Witches had never been valued much for their speed, unlike the werewolves who were pretty much born to run. Maybe she could sit down on the pavement. Adam said that was what they recommended during kidnappings.

But that was against mortal men. Immortal men were different. Royal werewolves belonged in a category of their own.

Lorcan would just lift her, sling her over his shoulder and make her regret it.

When she finished locking up, she turned back to him with dread. He was watching her, his palm held out expectantly.

"What?"

She stumbled backwards.

"The key, Evette."

Her old friend irritation came a-calling.

"That's not my name."

"I don't care what your name is witch. Give me the key."

She held it tighter. "Why would you want the key to a tacky mortal shop? There's nothing of worth in there."

At least not for him. For Evie, that shop was her life.

He wasn't breaking. Sighing, she dropped the key into his palm, likely to never see it again.

After pocketing it, he resumed that hold on her arm.

Her heart ached a little, knowing that was it. That key would sit uselessly in his pocket until he got rid of it. To him, her shop was nothing.

"Which one of them is yours?" His eyes raked across the cars. When his gaze lingered on the black range rover down the street, she figured which he was going for. Prepare to be disappointed, asshole.