I froze, momentarily unsure if it was the killer or someone totally different behind me.

“Now get up, and step away from her,” he continued.

The voice was deeper than that of the man who’d killed the teenager, and filled with a whole world of anger. It might not be the killer, but it was someone who was very ready to kill.

I frowned at the strange insight and carefully obeyed, not even daring to look over my shoulder to see who was speaking. It wasn’t someone I’d met in town over the past few months, that was for sure.

“I didn’t kill her,” I said. “I’ve only just arrived.”

“When I said step away, I meant completely.” His words remained clipped, vibrating with an odd sort of violence.

I retreated a dozen more steps. A man stepped into view; he was tall and rangy, with darkish blond hair that was streaked with silver in the moonlight. He was wearing baggy track pants, a sweat-stained T-shirt, and a shoulder holster. The gun that should have been in that holster was aimed directly at my face.

And that meant he was both a werewolf and a ranger. They were the only ones allowed to carry weapons within the reservation.

“Do you often take your gun for a run in the forest?” I asked, and almost instantly regretted it.

His gaze met mine, and all I saw was death. My death, if I wasn’t very careful. Not because he believed I was responsible for Karen’s murder, but because his hatred for witches ran so deep—was so intense—that his body practically hummed with it.

And the fact I was gaining such an insight about this man without even touching him scared me a whole lot more than the gun still pointed at my face.

“Take that backpack off then place your hands behind you and turn around.”

“Please, just look at her neck and you’ll see—”

“Do as I goddamn say, witch, or I will make you.”

“I’m not a witch, Ranger.” Not one with any sort of power, anyway. I took off my pack, placed my hands behind my back, and then turned around as ordered. “And the man who killed the teenager is getting away while you hassle me.”

“The trouble with that statement,” he snapped, “is the fact there’re only two scents evident in this clearing—yours and Karen’s.”

“That’s not possible. He was here. I saw—” I cut the rest of the sentence off. I suspected reminding him I had any sort of ability—magical or not—wasn’t a great idea right now.

The ranger wrapped what felt like a cable tie around my wrists. Obviously, the gun wasn’t the only thing he took out for a run.

“Now, stay there and don’t move,” he growled.

“Or what?” Fear might still be riding high, but frustration was starting to overwhelm it. “You’ll let your hatred override whatever speck of common sense you have and shoot me? Because that would be a really stupid move when I’m the only link you have to Karen’s killer.”

“We’ll let the coroner be the judge of that.”

I swung around to face him. His eyes, I noted, were a deep blue rather than the usual amber of a werewolf. “Then damn well get the coroner out here!”

“She’s already on her way.” He retreated several steps and picked up the backpack. “Is there anything dangerous in here?

“For you, yes—there’s an unsheathed silver knife.”

“And why would you have that? You have to be aware it’s against the law for any citizen to carry such a weapon within a reservation.”

“Yes, but silver is a ward against evil as much as a defense against werewolves, and I wasn’t sure what I’d find up here.”

He opened the bag and peered inside. The knife had been tied to the back of the pack and posed no immediate threat to him unless he was stupid enough to touch it. But the fear of silver was so ingrained in werewolves that few would. Some reservations had even gone as far as banning anything made of silver—even something as innocuous as a neck chain.

“What are in the vials?” he asked

I shrugged. “Nothing dangerous.”

His blue eyes sparked dangerously. “Just answer the question.”

“They’re potions. Protection potions.”

“I thought you said you weren’t a witch?”

“I’m not—”

“No, because everyday citizens regularly carry potions and silver knives around in their backpacks.” His voice was a little more regulated. He was obviously regaining some control over his emotions.

Or rather, his memories.

And I really wished I could stop getting these insights. I didn’t need to understand the man. I just needed to get out of this clearing and stop— I thrust the rest of that thought away. I didn’t need to be thinking along those lines, either.

He put the pack down. “Don’t move, and don’t try to spell me.”

I snorted. “If you knew me better, Ranger, you’d know just how ridiculous that statement is.”

“Trust me, I have no desire to know you or any other witch better. Just do as you’re told and remain still.”

He took out his phone then walked across to the teenager and began taking photos. I watched, frustration growing. Why wouldn’t he believe me? And why couldn’t he smell anyone else in the clearing but Karen and myself? Tomme had been here, with the teenager, introducing her to the glory of sex before taking her on to the emptiness of death.

“If you move her hair, you’ll see the wound on her neck.”

“I can’t touch the body until the coroner gets here.”

“Why? Did you forget to pick up gloves when you packed the gun and the ties?”

His gaze rose, and just for an instant, amusement gleamed. But the hatred quickly smothered it again.

“I can smell the blood,” he said. “But there’s not enough of it on either the ground or in her hair to be the cause of death.”

“That’s because the man she was with drained her—”

“There are no vampires on this reservation,” he cut in.

“I didn’t say he was a vampire, but are you really sure of that?”

“Yes.”

He glanced around as a woman stepped into the clearing. She was tall and rangy, with blonde hair and a sharp but pretty face. His sister, instinct whispered.

“It’s about fucking time, Ciara.”

“It’s my night off, remember. You’re damn lucky I got here as quickly as I did.” Her gaze scanned me, judged me. Whatever conclusion she came to wasn’t showing in her expression. “This our killer?”

“She was leaning over the body when I got here.”

“I didn’t kill her.” I was beginning to feel like a CD stuck on replay.

“There’s no other scents in the clearing,” Ciara said. Whether to me or to her brother, I had no idea. She swung the pack from her shoulder and unzipped it. “Tala’s on her way.”

“Good. She can take over control of the crime scene while I escort our witch to the station for questioning.”

“I’m not a witch,” I said. “And I do have a name.”

“Most of us do.” He wasn’t even looking at me when he said that. His attention was on his sister. “Be careful out here. And give me the autopsy results as soon as possible.”

“I will, but just don’t expect miracles when it comes to DNA.” She hesitated. “You’re going to have to call the IIT.”

“Just as long as we have something to go on before they get here, I’ll be happy.”

“But I’m betting they won’t be if you start interfering with their investigations again,” she replied. “Not after last time.”

“That last time is the reason we will continue investigating,” he snapped. Then he thrust a hand through his short hair. “Sorry.”

Ciara shrugged. “I understand, Aiden, but we need to step lightly on this one.”

“I know.”

His gaze came to mine, and a chill ran through me. He might have been warned to step lightly, but I had a feeling that didn’t exactly apply when it came to me.

“Move,” he said. “Back to town.”

“Here,” Ciara said, and handed him a flashlight. “I wouldn’t want her falling over and breaking something. That might just raise IIT’s ire.”

His expression suggested he really didn’t care what the IIT might think, but he nevertheless flicked on the flashlight and motioned me on ahead of him.

I went without comment, but I couldn’t help wondering what had happened in this wolf’s past. If the darkness that almost consumed his aura was anything to go by, it had been something bad. Something that had plunged this normally vital and creative man—if the golden orange of his remaining aura was anything to go by—into deep and unending sorrow.

That something had obviously involved a witch. All his words and actions practically screamed that point. Given what Marjorie had said about the elders banning witches, it wasn’t such a huge jump to figure his sorrow and that banning were connected.

Karen’s murder had obviously dredged up those bad memories, and I just had to hope he’d treat me reasonably—professionally—and not mix past hurt with the current investigation.

The ranger station was located near the corner of Hargraves and Templeton Streets. It was a beautiful two-story stone building that had obviously been built during the gold rush days, as it possessed that old colonial look that many of the buildings from that era had.

The ranger unlocked the front door, switched on the lights, and then guided me past the reception and through a secure door into the main office area. Though his grip on my arm was light, the heat of it radiated through my body and had the threads of unquenched—and unwanted—desire flicking through my veins. Which wasn’t good when he was a werewolf and well able pick up the scent of arousal. I frowned and tried to concentrate on my surroundings rather than the man walking by my side.

There were half a dozen desks in the rather large room, but only three seemed to be in use. There was also a huge whiteboard along one wall and, beside it, a roster, which currently held only four names—which was surprising given the size of the reservation.

He didn’t stop there, however, but marched me through another door into a long corridor. Six rooms ran off this, several of which were obviously cells. Thankfully, he didn’t take me into one of those, but dumped my backpack on the counter of what looked like a storeroom, then guided me into a nearby room. It was large and square, and had little more than a table, four chairs, and a rather pristine-looking media hub on the wall.

I was rather unceremoniously thrust into one of the seats.

“Don’t move,” he all but growled.

I did as bid. There was no point in saying anything, because while he might want answers, the ones I could give him weren’t the ones he wanted to hear.

He walked across to the media unit, his strides long and loose-limbed. Though he was, like most wolves, rangy rather than muscular in build, his shoulders were nicely wide and his arms had just the right amount of muscle. My gaze slipped down his back to his butt. If he looked this good in baggy sweats, he’d look more than fine in a pair of jeans.

Hello, Belle said. This all sounds rather interesting.

Not when I’m tied up and about to be interrogated, it’s not.

From the thoughts I’ve heard, it sounds as if being tied up by that man might well be worth it.

You’re supposed to be concerned about my welfare, not having inappropriate thoughts about our ranger.

I’m not the one checking out his butt, Belle said. And that alone tells me you’re doing just fine right now.

Belle, rack off.

Her laughter spun through my thoughts and tugged a smile from my lips.

The ranger finished his fiddling and swung around to face me again. His blue eyes were icy, and his expression like stone.

He did his obligatory spiel about my rights, told me everything was being recorded, and then added, “State your name and address for the record, please.”

“Elizabeth Grace, currently living at fifty-eight Mostyn Street.”

Disbelief flickered across his strong features. “You’re living here? In town?”

“I believe that’s what I said, Ranger.” I paused, but couldn’t help adding, “And isn’t it mandatory when interrogating a suspect that you also state your name and rank?”

Annoyance momentarily overran the stoniness in his expression. “Aiden O’Connor, head ranger Faelan Reservation, currently interviewing Ms. Grace about the death of Karen Banks.”

So I was not only being interviewed by the boss of this whole shebang, but by one of the O’Connors—the original occupiers of this area before some long-ago government decided the three Victorian packs held too much land—and therefore power—between them, and had forcibly moved the other two into this territory. Of course, they hadn’t gone easily, and the resulting turmoil was the reason werewolves today were basically self-governing. In the end, it had been the only way to make both sides happy and avoid an all-out war. It had been witches who’d brokered that deal, which was perhaps why many packs to this day remained unhappy about the presence of witches on their land.

Being an O’Connor also explained his unusual hair coloring, as they were gray wolves who tended to run the entire gauntlet of that color rather than being the usual brown, black, or even red.

“Now,” he added, “tell me why you were in that forest.”

He pulled out the chair and sat down opposite. The thick veil of sorrow and anger that all but smothered his aura washed over me again, and it was so damn strong that for several seconds I couldn’t even breathe.

I leaned away even as I swallowed the desire to ask what the hell had happened to him. Doing so would only be a waste of words, as he didn’t look the type to share that sort of information with those he was close to, let alone a stranger. A witch.

“There’s little point in me answering your questions,” I said. “Because I really can’t answer them in the way you want me to.”

“I just want honesty.”

“And yet you won’t believe me if I am honest.”

His narrowed eyes glittered dangerously. “What makes you think that?”

“Because you hate witches and you desperately want to believe I’m guilty of this crime so that everything is tied up in a nice neat little bow.”

Though his expression didn’t change, I had a feeling I’d scored a point. “Actually, I don’t believe you’re responsible for Karen’s death, as you didn’t have the time to kill her before I arrived on the scene. I do, however, believe you know more than what you’ve already said. So tell me, for the record, why you were up there.”

“Mrs. Banks came into my café earlier this evening and asked me to find her daughter—”

“And your café’s name?” he cut in.

“The Psychic Café. And before you ask, yes, I have elder approval for both the café and my use of psychometry.”

“But not magic, which is what you were using up in Kalimna Park.”

“Summoning a wisp is only very minor magic, and that’s all—”

“All magic is banned in this reservation, minor or not.”

“Something I wasn’t aware of, Ranger.” Which wasn’t a lie, because no one had mentioned witches being banned before tonight. “And surely I could be given a pass in this situation given I only summoned the wisp to make my passage through the park faster?”

His expression suggested the reason didn’t matter, and once again I wondered what the hell had gone on in this place that had led to witches and magic being banned. They surely had to be aware of the danger they were placing everyone in by not having a resident witch on the reservation?

“For the record,” he said, “explain what psychometry is.”

“It’s the ability to catch thoughts and feeling from objects via touch,” I dutifully stated. “And sometimes, if the connection is strong enough, you can go deeper, gaining a location as well as idea of what might they might be doing.”

“And this is what happened with Karen?”

I nodded. “Marjorie gave me one of Karen’s lockets to use. The results were… unexpected.”

One eyebrow rose. “In what way?”

Heat invaded my cheeks. Which was stupid, really. He was a werewolf and a ranger. He’d probably seen and done more than I could ever imagine. “They, uh, were making love.”

Amusement briefly touched his lips and it transformed his face, lifting the stoniness and shifting his features from merely pleasant to striking.

“I see.”

“Trust me, it wasn’t something I wanted to see.” Or feel.

That touch of amusement grew, making me suspect he was all too aware of exactly how that connection had affected me.

Well, as you’ve already noted, he’s a werewolf, Belle said. And they’re big on the whole scent thing. Makes them as horny as hell.

You’re not helping matters, you know.

Wonder if he’s at all tempted—

Belle, shut the fuck up.

She laughed again but otherwise did as bid.

“So, it was this connection that told you they were in the park?” he said.

“Well, no. I only caught glimpses. I had to use a locket to guide me up there. We also left a message on your answering machine.” I paused, and silently added, Belle, you did make that call to the rangers, didn’t you?

Hello, didn’t you just tell me to shut the fuck up?

About him, dimwit.

Her warm laughter ran through my mind, tugging a smile to my lips. Yes, I rang and left a message. I didn’t ring the emergency number, though.

“We?” Aiden prompted.

“I mean Isabelle—she co-owns the café with me.”

“And she’s another witch?”

“We’re not witches—”

His gaze lifted to my hair. “That color is not out of a bottle.”

Well, no, because try as they might, no company had ever been able to perfect the sheer richness of the crimson hair coloring that was the one true sign of a royal witch. “But my eyes aren’t silver. There may be witch in my background, Ranger, but that doesn’t make me one of them.”

There was a decided lack of expression on his face, and I had absolutely no idea as to what he might be thinking. Belle could have told me had she been here, but she couldn’t read anyone but me from such a distance.

“And your friend’s full name?” he asked eventually.

“Isabelle Kent. And she’s a psychic rather than a witch.” I hesitated, and then added, “You can check my story with Mrs. Banks, if you’d like.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

“I’m hardly likely to lie about something like that.”

He raised that eyebrow again. It was amazing just how much disbelief one small movement could imply. “Did you see anything that might give us some clue as to the identity of the man with Karen?”

I told him everything I’d seen then added, “None of which is overly helpful, I know.”

“No.” He tapped his fingers lightly on the table, a soft beat that matched the rhythm of my heart. I wondered if he was aware he was doing it. While only vampires could hear the pulse of blood through veins, a wolf with sharp enough hearing could certainly hear a heartbeat at close range. “And you have no idea who that man in the clearing was, or why he left no scent?”

“None at all.”

“So why didn’t you call the emergency number? Why run up there yourself, especially when you thought this Tomme might have been a vampire?”

“I never claimed he was a vampire, just that he was drinking her blood.” I hesitated. Belle, why didn’t you call the emergency number?

Because making the call to the general number covered our backsides, but anything else risked exposing us as witches, given you were going to use the wisps. She paused. Which I guess is what has now happened anyway.

It’s only exposed me. Unless they know a lot about the witch houses, they won’t suspect you. Out loud, I added, “I ran up there because I knew Karen didn’t have much time left.”

“It would have only taken a minute, if that, to make the additional call—”

“Why are you making such a big deal of it? The first call obviously worked, given you arrived up there not long after me.”

“Yes, but only because I happened to be at the station and saw the answering machine’s blinking light.” He thrust to his feet and walked around the table. The sheer power of both his aura and his presence wrapped around my senses like a thick, warm blanket, and it was all I could do to remain still—though whether I would have leaned away from him or into him, I wasn’t entirely sure.

There was a soft click and then the ties binding my wrists fell away. He shoved the knife back into his pocket as he walked across to the media unit. “Interview suspended at—” He glanced at his watch. “—ten fifty-three.”

I blinked. “Meaning I’m free to go?”

He punched a button then picked up a small plastic pack of tissues and tossed them to me. “The scratch on your cheek is still bleeding. And not until I confirm your story with Marjorie.”

And with that, he departed. The door slammed behind him and the sound echoed.

I tugged one of the tissues free and held it up against my cheek. I’d no doubt received the cut during my mad dash through the trees, but now that he’d mentioned it, it started hurting like blazes. And my head had decided to join in on the fun. While psychometry might not be magic, there was still a price to pay if you went too deep, and for me, it was blistering headaches at best, and that along with projectile vomiting at worst. If the ranger didn’t motivate himself, he might just find himself with a mess to clean up.

I got up and began to pace. It didn’t help the head much but neither would sitting still. Only resting in utter darkness for a couple of hours would provide any sort of relief.

The ranger had said there were only two scents in that clearing, but how could that be? The only way to hide your presence so fully was via a spell, and it was very rare for a vampire to also be capable of magic. Or, at least, the type of magic I’d grown up with. But there was another type of magic—one that was born from either the blood of the practitioner or from a sacrifice. While most witches considered it an unclean and unsafe magic, history was littered with those who’d nevertheless risked it, with varying degrees of success.

Was that what we were dealing with here? A vampire capable of using blood magic? It would certainly explain the absence of his scent in the clearing. And it would also, I thought with a sudden chill, explain why I’d seen so little of him when I was connected with Karen. While I’d sensed no magic, he might have been using a glamour to fudge his looks whenever he was with her.

God, the last thing this place needed was a vampire capable of using the darker arts. With wild magic loose and unprotected, it would be very easy for the vampire’s actions to taint it, and that could have disastrous consequences for Castle Rock. Once evil found a hold in a place like this, its stain grew until the whole area became unlivable to all but those who followed darker paths.

This place needed a witch, and it had to be someone far more capable than me. Only the truly powerful could protect and guide wild magic, and as my parents had been wont to tell me on numerous occasions, I was seriously lacking in that department.

But if the ranger’s reaction to me was anything to go by, then the one thing that this place desperately needed was the one thing it wasn’t about to get.

So where did that leave us?

Up that well-known creek without a paddle, Belle said cheerfully. Which is not a situation we’re unfamiliar with.

It certainly wasn’t. We might have lived life more or less on the run for the last twelve years, but as much as we’d tried to avoid any sort of situation that would draw attention to ourselves, we seemed to have an uncanny knack for doing the exact opposite.

Perhaps this is fate’s way of telling us enough is enough, she mused. It’s not as if changing our surnames would really have stopped your family from finding you if they’d been truly determined.

That was an undeniable truth—and one that still caused me pain in the deepest part of the night.

The door opened as the ranger returned. His gaze swept the room before coming to rest on mine. There was little evidence of emotion in either his expression or his eyes, but I nevertheless felt the impact of it like a blow to the gut.

And I wasn’t entirely sure if it was the unhappiness staining his aura, or something else.

Something like an unneeded, unwanted, attraction to the damn man.

Because really, how stupid would that be?

It’s hardly stupid to be attracted to a good-looking man, Belle said.

Yes, but this one hates witches.

Hatred has little hope against lust, she said. And I’m speaking from experience here.

There’s no indication of lust, let alone attraction on his part, I replied. Besides, I’ve sworn off men and relationships after that mess in Birdwood, remember?

As I’ve repeatedly said, Kyle was a sack of shit who proved himself unworthy of your emotions.

A fact that doesn’t alter my determination to avoid relationships of any kind for the foreseeable future.

I’m not talking about relationships, but rather sex. A hot, heavy fling will do your soul a world of good.

Belle, just drop it.

Seriously, she continued blithely, there’s a very fine line between love and hate. Once he gets to know you a little better, he could slip over that ledge and good things could happen.

Knowing any answer would only encourage her musings further, I ignored her and crossed my arms—which was a thoroughly defensive gesture, though against what I wasn’t entirely sure. “Anything wrong, Ranger?”

“Marjorie confirmed your story.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“No. You’re free to go. Just don’t leave Castle Rock, as we’ll probably need to speak to you again.” He stepped to one side and made a sweeping motion toward the door. “And I’ve confiscated both your knife and your potions.”

Meaning it was just as well I hadn’t decided to take my athame with me. I walked toward him. “I’ve been thinking about the situation and Tomme, and I believe—”

“You are not to involve yourself in this investigation in any way, shape, or form,” he said, voice sharp. “Is that clear?”

I nodded. “But—”

“But nothing,” he practically growled. “If I discover any interference on your part, I’ll throw your butt in jail so fast your head will spin.”

I took a deep breath and slowly released it, but once again it failed to ease the annoyance. At least I’d tried to warn him. Not that that would help if the situation escalated, and I had a bad feeling it would.

“Fine.” On your head be it. “But if anything strange happens, anything that might involve magic—”

“That,” he cut in brusquely, “is unlikely, given the only person capable of magic in this territory appears to be you.”

“This whole goddamn territory is filled with magic, Ranger, and if you and the elders aren’t aware of that, then you deserve the shit that’s coming your way.”

“Is that a threat?”

His low tone sent a shiver down my spine; the only trouble was I wasn’t entirely sure it was fear, given his voice was decidedly sexy when it took on that timbre.

“No, it’s merely a truth. You shouldn’t be afraid of the small amount I’m capable of when the wild magic is absolutely everywhere in this place, and there isn’t a proper witch here to protect it.”

He snorted softly and gestured me to follow him as he led the way back through the building. Either he didn’t believe in wild magic or didn’t believe it could be dangerous.

My backpack was still on the counter where he’d dumped it, and I paused. “Can I take the pack with me?”

“Yes.” He keyed open the door into the office area. “As I said, I’ve already confiscated the illicit items.”

I grabbed the pack and slung it over my shoulder. “You might want to keep the potions rather than pouring them down the drain. They’ll keep you safe when few other things will.”

His brief smile held very little in the way of humor. “Trust me, vampires—and there’s no evidence so far this Tomme is one—hold few fears for a werewolf.”

“Then let’s just hope a vampire is all you’re dealing with here.”

His gaze narrowed. “Meaning what, exactly, Ms. Grace?”

“Nothing more than what I said. I’ve told you everything I know, Ranger, and you don’t want to hear what I suspect.”

“I listened to the words of a witch once before. Hell will freeze over before I make the same mistake again.” He opened the external door and waved me out.

I gave him a thin, tight smile. “I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure meeting you, but that, I’m afraid, would be a lie. Good night.”

And with that, I left. But his gaze continued to burn a hole in between my shoulder blades, and as I turned into Mostyn Street, I glanced over my shoulder. Though I couldn’t see him, I knew he was still there. Still watching me.

It was a realization that made my pulse dance for a beat or two. Apparently, my hormones hadn’t gotten the memo about no more men.

I was about thirty feet away from the café’s front door when a wave of grief hit me so hard that I actually staggered back several steps. I sucked in air and quickly shut down the sensory input as my gaze ran across the nearby shadows and parked cars.

A figure detached itself from the nearby building and walked toward me.

Marjorie Banks.

But her expression wasn’t grief-stricken. It was one of utter fury.