17
Savannah
By the time we got back to Magic Side, my despair had turned to numbness.
Although I’d been pretending nothing was happening, the truth was that I was no longer that naïve girl from Wisconsin. I’d become a werewolf and a killer and had made my bed with criminals. I could command shadows and darkness, and I could summon a knife from thin air that would tear out your soul.
Despite what Jaxson had said, there was no doubt I was a monster. Something dark inside of me was growing every day. Something that wasn’t my wolf, and that wasn’t my magic.
Maybe it was just me. The real me—the part that hated my parents for dying and wanted to strangle every one of the bastards who’d ever laid their hands on me.
I wrapped my arms tighter around Jaxson’s waist just to have something solid to cling to as the daze took hold and the city streets passed by.
Finally, Jaxson’s bike rolled to a stop in front of Savage Body, and I looked up in surprise.
“Your car’s done,” Jax said.
My heart leapt as I caught sight of my Gran Fury sitting in the front lot, freshly washed. I eagerly slipped off the bike and hurried over.
The rear wheel had been replaced, and the bullet holes had been patched and painted. I let my fingers drag along the restored side of the vehicle and trunk, savoring the moment. I could almost feel the magic tingling beneath my fingertips.
My father’s magic.
A sense of limitless freedom rushed through me like wind on a warm summer’s day. And the darkness that had consumed me on the ride back from the bar evaporated.
Footsteps approached from behind, and I turned to face Jaxson.
“Everything in order?” he asked.
More than ever.
I nodded. “Yes. Thanks.”
I hoped he could sense my gratitude because words couldn’t explain what my Fury meant to me.
“Good,” Jax said laconically, and crossed his arms. He looked like an absolute hunk in his biker jacket. Tall. Strong. Confident.
His signature mixed with the intoxicating scent of his sweat, and I drank it in as a comfortable silence stretched between us. Comfortable, that is, until I became aware of it.
Aw, shit, was I staring?
Heat crept across my neck, and I suddenly felt hot, sweaty, and grimy. I hadn’t seen myself in a mirror, but I was betting my face was covered with blood and bruises and my hair was wild and wind tangled from the road. Add to that the stink of exhaust, blood, and perspiration, and I probably seemed like one hell of a catch.
I awkwardly gestured to the car. “I’m going pay you back. I owe you a lot of hours at the bar for this.”
An indecipherable smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he shrugged. “As you wish. But not tonight—I certainly have had enough of bars for today.”
I let out a deep breath. “Tell me about it.”
Sam strode over. “I, unfortunately, have bar duty tonight. But before you two get lost staring at each other’s eyeballs, I want to know what the plan is.”
My cheeks burned, and I glanced away.
Jaxson, always the confident one, was totally unperturbed. “Well, it appears that Dragan is back, and he’s possessed Lucius Grayling. That, or Grayling is trying to use Dragan’s old network for power—but given what we know, I’m going to bet he’s possessed.”
“So how do we stop a ghost?” I asked.
“Instead of killing him, we’ll have to capture him,” Jaxson said.
Sam checked her phone. “Sounds like he’ll be at the rally on Monday night with all his minions. If we can catch him there, along with a bunch of his drug-crazed cultists, we could potentially knock out the threat to Savy in one fell swoop.”
“What do you think they’re up to?” I asked.
Jaxson’s face darkened. “I don’t know, but we need to find out before we go in, guns blazing.”
A slow, sinking feeling of trepidation weighed down on me. “I think it’s time I talked to my aunt.”
Jaxson’s eyebrows rose.
“She killed him the first time,” I explained, “and she and Uncle Pete went off looking for more information. If anyone knows, it’ll be her.”
“Or my father,” Jaxson said flatly. His voice was level but dripping with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. Resentment? Frustration? Wariness?
Whatever was there, at least he wasn’t going to have to tell his father he was a wolf.
Of the two questions I needed to ask Laurel, I knew which terrified me more, and it wasn’t, What’s Dragan up to?
It was, Was I born a werewolf—and why didn’t you tell me?
* * *