An Alpha for Valentine

FIFTEEN

DEVIN

Once I settled into the car and fastened my seatbelt, I anticipated Jason would start the engine and head straight to our destination. Witchcraft was on the clock, after all. However, the tight grip of his hands on the steering wheel, even before he turned the key, signaled he had something on his mind. The ensuing silence confirmed he was struggling to find the right words.

“Jason, just say it,” I urged, my patience wearing thin.

“Are you alright?” he finally asked.

“Am I alright?” I scoffed. “Of course, I'm not alright. My mate was gravely injured, and it's partly my fault. Let's just get going. The sooner we question Quentin and his unruly coven, the better.”

“We're not interrogating Quentin,” Jason asserted. “This isn't a stakeout. I understand what happened to Valentine is unforgivable, and as your brother, I empathize. But we're meeting Quentin to ask for his assistance, not to make an enemy out of the warlock.”

In his own way, Jason was making sense. I was just too consumed by anger to fully grasp it. “So, you want us to cozy up with the enemies?”

“Every witch is against us, Devin!”

“And?”

“We can't combat magic without magic. Other witches and covens are avoiding us like the plague. The smart move is to corner a coven that still owes us a debt and leverage that to keep Valentine safe.” Jason paused, taking a moment to collect himself. “Before we go in, you have to promise me you won't do anything reckless. As formidable as we may be, we can't provoke a Coven Elder without expecting the entire flock to come after us.”

“We wouldn't even be in this situation if you hadn't kicked out Ginger.”

Jason fell into silence, his thoughts heavy. “Promise me, Devin.”

“I promise,” the words emerged with effort. But it seemed to be all Jason needed to hear, as he promptly started the car and pulled out.

The journey to Quentin's abode was marked by a heavy silence. My mind was consumed by Valentine's safety, while Jason was focused on reining me in. Along the way, I couldn't help but wonder why the coven elder had chosen to meet at his house rather than the Primrose church. Was it fear that his coven would accuse him of consorting with enemies, or perhaps he simply didn't trust werewolves in the midst of other witches, given the circumstances?

Quentin's house came into view, and it was a reflection of the man himself. Weathered and adorned in red clay, it exuded an air of age and wisdom. Plants cascaded from every crevice, a deliberate display of his herbs' potency. It was clear Quentin intended to make a statement before we even set foot inside.

Jason found a spot, and the car rumbled to a halt, the engine slowly dying and fading into the dead silence of the neighborhood.

The first thing I felt when I stepped out of the car and into the gravel underfoot was the chilling night air. Jason stepped out a minute after we both walked over to the tall, imposing gates that protected Elder Quentin. It was made of silver and reeked of vervain. A small protection against our kind and vampires.

Taking a deep breath, Jason strode closer to the gates and knocked. When his knuckles rapped against the cold gate, the sound was not the only thing that reverberated through the silence of the night. The sizzle of his flesh followed as we waited, anticipation swelling in our chest, and then, like magic, the gates that had clearly been locked creaked open, allowing us entry.

“Alphas, forgive my rudeness. I hope the silver didn’t burn.”

“Can we let go of lying that we care about seeing each other and just get on to business?” I cut in. The Warlock was insufferable for someone who co-ran a coven with hundreds of witches, and I was irritable. “Have you found out who did that to Valentine?”

Quentin looked at Jason before replying. “When I agreed to give you an audience, it was because Jason begged me to help counter voodoo magic. I had no idea that I or my coven would be facing vile accusations such as this.”

I stepped forward to reply to the man. His stance changed the moment I took a step forward. The air was different. The chills of the night was gone, replaced by a vibration that made my skin prickle in response. One wrong move and Quentin’s magic would assault my body. It was hard to fight my rage, but I had to. I kept my position and spoke. “This is not an accusation. The fingers all point back to you. Especially allies of Yasmin Maplewood. Perhaps even Ginger herself. She is powerful enough to do magic that old, is she not? Given how is loved by Hecate.”

“Ginger Maplewood had been under the watchful eyes of the Primrose, I assure you that Ginger holds no grudge against your pack. She did help the Crow bring her mother down. Did she not? In fact, she is the reason why I am doing this. Despite being mostly witch, she is still deathly loyal to your pack.”

“Well, we should get to it then,” I said, looking at his house.

Quentin followed my eyes and chuckled. “In all my years of living, the one smart thing I have learned is that it is suicide to give people who want you dead access to your home.”

I watched him walk toward his garden instead. “Come,” He urged, leading us through a narrow path.

We followed, the smell of lemongrass and roses permeating the air. A garden would feel like a sanctuary, but when you were being led into one by a witch, it helped to be prepared. Quentin was in his element. There was no tranquility in this space. We were all second-guessing the intention of one another.

When we reached the heart of the garden, a small wooden table stood, adorned with an ornate object that looked like a scrying bowl. Its glass surface gleamed in the dull moonlight.

“Please, have a seat.” Quentin gestured for us to take a seat, immediately using magic to pull out two intricate chairs made out of clay from the earth itself. It was unsettling to watch, but if there was anyone who could bring an end to this madness, it was Quentin.

“So what do we do now?” Jason asked. ”To protect Valentine from further attacks.”

“Whoever is harming her with magic has something that belongs to her. Her hair, her blood, her tooth. Something like that. A connection like that is not easy to break. For young witches, at least. But I can make her a protective amulet. To do that, though, I would need something of hers. Preferably hair or blood.”

“You expect me to just give you her hair and blood. The prerequisite to do the same thing whatever witch is hurting her is doing? You seem to have forgotten you are just as shady as they come.”

“I am two hundred and eighty-eight years old. I have lived life more than you will ever have the privilege to. The last thing I am bothered about is hexing your Luna.”

“So why are you helping us?”

“You mean, aside from the fact that your brother and Ginger begged for my help?”

“Yes. Why?”

The atmosphere of the room turned tense, and when it felt as though Quentin would give in, Jason presented on the table a vial of blood and a Ziploc bag of blonde hair. Jason kept his eyes trained on Quentin as he spoke.

“These are what you need. Take your pick.”

Quentin turned to face me, and a smile crawled around his lips. “Your brother seems to be looking out for your mate more than you are.” The retort held a touch of sarcasm I just couldn’t let go. Maybe it was the fact that it felt like he was right. Maybe it was the fact that Jason had packed Valentine’s blood and hair without permission. Something in me just snapped.

Reason seemed to fly out of the window as I charged for the warlock.