Spellsmoke: An Urban Fantasy Novel (A Fistful of Daggers Book 2) by SM Reine

Author:SM Reine [Reine, SM]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-07-24T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

Abel drove a car that was long and wide and low. The engine growled like a living animal. “This is an impressive vehicle,” Sophie said. “What is it?”

“My baby, that’s what it is. My first girlfriend.” Abel ran one of his hands over the dashboard. “A 1967 Chevy Chevelle. Best muscle car ever made.”

“What is a muscle car?” Sophie asked.

“Strong cars for strong men. This thing has survived more than one apocalypse. It’s gonna outlive me.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she said. “Historical observations note that werewolf Alphas are strong enough to survive the enormous stress of changing between shapes twice a month, and age-related decline appears to be delayed as a result. Alphas are far from immortal, of course: hunters or other shifters are a significant danger. However, in stable conditions, an Alpha like yourself may have another century ahead of him. Two hundred years wasn’t even unheard of back in the day!”

His eyebrows climbed. “Where the hell did Lincoln Marshall find someone like you?”

Sophie erred on the side of cautious truth. “We met in the Middle Worlds. I reappeared there after Genesis, though we do not know why, as I am not sidhe. I’ve since found myself in some trouble. He’s helping me.”

Abel grunted. That noise that meant anything, from “I don’t actually care” to “you’re lying but it’s not worth figuring out why.”

“I should warn you that at least one person is aggressively seeking my death,” Sophie said. “I’m sorry to spring it upon you like this. Subtlety is not my strong suit, and it’s important that you know before you bring me among your pack.”

“Lincoln mentioned it,” he said.

“He did?”

“Yeah, at the same time he was threatening to kill me if anyone hurt you.”

That sounded even more like Sophie’s guardians than before. Nostalgic warmth spread over her. “He can be very kind when he wants.”

“He never wants,” Abel said.

“Not very often,” she agreed. “But occasionally.”

The road toward the sanctuary was tight and winding. They weaved between jagged rock faces cloaked by blue-hued shadow and tangled ivy. The sheer volume of trees was astounding. They had grown a lot of produce on Sophie’s farm, but all such growth had been hard-won. So many of her waking hours had been dedicated to coaxing soil to proper acidity for trivial plants like tomatoes. Nothing would have grown if not for her care.

The road widened into a valley, and Sophie caught her first glimpse of the werewolf sanctuary.

On the western side of the valley, a waterfall spilled into a glassy lake with broad beaches. The core of the sanctuary was picturesque: little golden cottages with white trim, tiny to-die-for gardens, and so much forest for shapeshifters to enjoy.

As Abel drove his Chevelle deeper into the valley, Sophie began to make out less-idyllic details. Like the fact that the trees were hiding a tent city. Abel crept through the town’s main road at five miles per hour and people emerged from their tents to watch their passage. The air that came through the air vents smelled like human waste, unwashed bodies, and rotten food.

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