Chapter 48
Chapter 48
LYRA
Harmless was the look I was going for as we slipped into the were-bar.
The connection between witches and Dark Fae, because of shared bloodlines from ages ago, was common knowledge among Werekind. If anyone could smell and identify the Dark Fae, it would be a witch. But the problem was, witches didn’t take to Werekind.
I made my way to the oak counter that formed a horseshoe formation in the center of the space. A petite girl wearing a black dress with a braid of long raven hair glanced up at me, serving an eagle shifter a beer at the corner of the bar. Her honeyed-complexion paled. She drew back from the shifter and hurried to the back of the bar where an older woman stood whipping up a cocktail. They exchanged hushed words and shifty glances steeped in suspicion. The older woman appeared to be in her late forties with threads of silver weaving through her dark locks, like ice shards streaking a road.
Since witches lived for centuries, calling her middle-aged might have been a stretch.
Ryker stalked past me, his spine ramrod straight. I gasped and rushed forward. No telling what shit would come out once the big oaf opened his mouth. Ryker slammed his palms on the surface of the bar before I could reach him.
Dammit!
A few werecats, seated on either side of Ryker, glanced up from their drinks. Upon catching sight of the burly bear, they skidded out of their seats and scurried off.
In a low voice, Ryker asked, “Who is the head witch here?”
I wanted to facepalm myself.
Well, that’s one way to break the ice. Might as well roll with it.
All eyes swung toward the werebear. A hush descended.
The middle-aged witch placed an empty glass on the rack. “Who’s asking?” Her voice sounded edged in steel.
Ryker rolled back his shoulders, but before he could reply, I squeezed in beside him, wishing to rectify the situation.
“Hello. My name is Lyra Frostbite, Alpha of the Ravenclaw Pack.” I offered her a sweet smile. “I’m certain the head witch is busy, but I was hoping she could help me by answering just a few questions.”
Exude an air of innocence, I told myself.
My inner wolf lowered herself to her belly and flattened her ears in a gesture of submission.
The older woman approached, her stride graceful, hinting at a life long lived. “To what questions may she answer?” Her eyes took on a speculative gleam.
“Are you the witch in charge?”
She cocked her head, narrowing her cold gray eyes. “I might be.”
I fought down the well of excitement that coursed through my insides. If I worded it right, she might help us.
“You either are or aren’t,” Ryker growled. My mouth parted in a silent gasp. I glared at him. “If you aren’t the head witch, then point us in her direction.”
The woman’s gray eyes darkened to a stormy silver. My claws sliced out, and the urge to shred Ryker’s back into ribbons was tempting me and hard to ignore.
“I’ve cursed werebears for less,” the woman hissed at him. He didn’t so much as flinch, and his eyes turned amber. “You bears were always the most obtuse out of all the weres.” She rolled her eyes.
Ryker flashed a grin that was all fangs. I could’ve sworn sparks of lightning danced from the end of the witch’s fingers. Behind her, several other women, no doubt also witches, abandoned their tasks and edged closer. They honed their faces like a steel blade.
I punched Ryker hard enough in the ribs to draw his attention. He fastened bright golden eyes on me.
“Tone it down,” I mumbled under my breath, glaring at him. “Brash, blockheaded bears.”
Ryker didn’t budge and for a few heartbeats, I feared he would still throw his weight around. Then he slid his hands off the bar top and dropped his arms to the side.
Facing the head witch, I dipped my head in respect. “Please excuse us. It’s been a long day.”