gravel road. He slowed his pace to keep the stones from rooster-tailing behind us, and we crawled up the driveway at a snail’s pace.
Here the sun was almost wholly blotted out by the overhanging trees whose branches had long since grown to form a canopy over the road. Moss crept up the bark of the trees, making the whole driveway look like something out of a fairy story. I’d seen a lot of plantations in my time, but none of them quite equaled the magic of Callum’s estate.
At the end of the driveway was a roundabout parking area with a fountain in the middle depicting a pack of howling wolves. Not so subtle, but I guess he didn’t need to be anymore. Not to mention it wasn’t common for strangers to stumble onto the property, what with all the Trespasser Will Be Shot signs.
As soon as the motorcycle engine went silent, I hopped off the bike and removed my helmet, the breeze immediately catching my hair and sending it across my face in a black curtain.
Wilder was suddenly in front of me, brushing strands off my face and pushing them behind my ears, his rough thumbs tracing my cheekbones as he did. He smiled, his full lower lip pushing up the corners of his mouth slightly.
Trouble with a capital T.
“Thanks,” I muttered, not sure if I was thanking him for the ride or the hair fix.
“Eugenia?”
I glanced over to the huge wraparound veranda to see my brother, Ben, jogging down the steps towards us. Ben had bypassed the option of attending school, deciding he’d rather learn his leadership skills directly from the king. Callum and Amelia had been grooming him for the throne since he’d been Awakened at thirteen, and he was already looking the part of royalty. My green Tulane hoodie and battered jeans cast me as the sloppy twin next to his sharply tailored navy pants and gray polo shirt. His brown hair was parted on the side and slicked back, giving him the appearance of a Wall Street day trader on vacation.
His sharp eyes narrowed, and he glanced from me to Wilder. Based on their expressions, this wasn’t the first time they’d met.
“Shaw.” He didn’t phrase it as a question, rather a short, embittered announcement of Wilder’s name. It wasn’t like Ben to wear his emotions on his sleeve so openly. I wondered if he had the same presuppositions about Wilder as I did based on Hank’s history, or if there was something personal in the vindictive tone of his voice.
Worried the bristling tension between them might come to blows as could often be the case when high-strung werewolves disliked one another, I cleared my throat to bring their attention back to me. Both men stopped glowering at each other long enough to see what I wanted.
“I need to see Uncle Callum right away.” I hoped my urgency would keep them distracted.
“Wait. Where’s your car?” Ben asked, only now realizing I hadn’t arrived by magical teleportation.
“Wilder towed it. Right after I was almost driven off the road by some insane guy who had it in for me.”
That did the trick. Instantly, Ben couldn’t have cared less about Wilder’s presence. “You really think it was someone associated with the Church?”
I shrugged. I’d told him earlier I thought it was them because it was the most logical conclusion. But how had they known who I was and where I’d be? It’s not like I had a bumper sticker on the back of the Dart saying Werewolf Pride or anything. If it was the Church of Morning, they must have been following me already, otherwise there was no way they’d have found me so easily. I sort of hoped it was some random act of highway violence because that freaked me out less than the idea of being stalked.
Actually, neither thought gave me the warm fuzzies.
Ben grabbed me by the wrist and hauled me away from Wilder, angling me towards the front steps of the mansion. I glanced back at the guy who’d brought me here and was struck by the need to leave things on good terms with him. He had, after all, picked me up and delivered me safely home. Not to mention he was the one who’d be responsible for fixing my car. I didn’t want him thinking badly of me because of Ben’s behavior, which was ironic considering I’d been willing to pile Hank’s actions on Wilder.
I wrestled free of Ben’s iron grip. He must really