According to werewolves, the Sacred Seven are the seven days closest to the full moon, the time when their magic compels them to shift. Normally, packs keep to themselves during those days, usually to stop themselves from accidentally harming nonshifters.

“No,” I say. “What the hell do you mean there have been witches claimed during the Sacred Seven?”

Sybil lifts a shoulder. “Lycanthropes have been known to lay a claiming bite on witches out late in these woods—if, of course, the witch is unable or unwilling to stop them.”

“What?” I say, aghast. “That actually happens?” My eyes flick to the sky above us, searching for the moon. But of course it’s not there. Even if the trees and the clouds weren’t obscuring my view, tomorrow is the new moon, which means there’s not much to see in the sky right now.

“That’s how lycanthropes claim their mates.” Sybil gives me a sly smile. “Ask a shifter tonight how their parents met. Some of them have witch mothers.”

Witch mothers who might also shift into wolves, if what she’s saying is true.

“It’s not just lycanthropes either,” Sybil continues. “There are stories of fae who’ve snatched witches from these woods to be their brides.”

“Are these stories supposed to make me feel better? Because all I know now is that I should worry about murderers, werewolves, and fairies.”

“Don’t forget your vengeful mummy,” she says playfully, a smile spreading on her lips.

My mood darkens at the reminder. But before I can dwell on it too long, the distant thumping of music drifts through the woods.

We continue on a little ways, and then, ahead of us, the forest brightens, and through the trees, I catch sight of supernaturals dancing and mingling in a small clearing next to a cabin.

Sybil and I make it to the revelers, and Sybil’s orb floats up and joins dozens of others in the air above us, each emitting light the shade of the caster’s magic. It looks ethereal, and the sight of it reminds me of Sybil’s earlier words about the fae claiming brides on nights like tonight.

A shiver courses through me.

Next to me, Sybil murmurs, “Through sweat and salt and musky fear, send the cold away from here.”

The chill in the air disperses, leaving the night feeling a touch balmy.

“You’re welcome,” Sybil whispers.

I shake my head and smile. I keep forgetting how much fun it is to openly use magic. I’m still used to living among humans and concealing it.

Sybil and I head inside the cabin, where more shifters and witches are hanging out. I recognize a big group of witches from our house, and I join them while Sybil runs off to grab us drinks.

I listen as my coven sisters chat about how hard premed magic is and nod when appropriate, but I’m distracted by my own unease. This feels like a reenactment of Little Red Riding Hood, only the whole story is flipped on its head, and the wolves aren’t going to eat us—whatever is lurking out in these woods will.

In my mind’s eye, I see that murdered witch again, with her gaping chest cavity and missing organs—

“I saw Kane.”

I nearly jump at the sound of Sybil’s voice in my ear.

“Maiden, Mother, and Crone, Sybil,” I say, clutching my heart. “You scared me.”

“Ease up, Bowers,” she says, pressing a red cup into my hand. “I’m not going to bite. Kane, on the other hand…”

“Will you stop?” I whisper frantically.

“Never,” she whispers back.

As I speak to Sybil, I catch the eye of one of the witches across the way, her features almost painfully symmetrical.

I’m about 75 percent sure that’s Kasey, the shady spell-circle witch. She responded to my earlier text with the time and place of the spell circle.

Now she gives me a little wave, and I wave back at her, my stomach twisting on itself.

Really need to get a respectable job. I don’t have the nerves for shady side gigs.

Olga comes over to us, her hair a frizzy tangle of curls and her eyes wild.

“No Book of Last Words?” Sybil says, looking the witch over. “I thought you never parted with it.”

“Ledger,” Olga clarifies. “It’s the Ledger of Last words.” She holds up her drink. “And I didn’t want to spill beer on it. But I’ve added to it since we last spoke…”

I force myself to tune out the rest of what she has to say. Normally, I’m as curious as the next person about death and last words and all that jazz, but tonight it’s not sitting well. Not when I’m already on edge.

So I sip my drink and let my eyes wander over the cabin while my coven sisters chat.

The house is two stories tall, and from where I stand in the living room, I can see the doors that line the second story. Most of them are already closed, and it doesn’t take any supernatural sense of mine to know just what is going on behind them.

Without meaning to, my eyes land on a group of lycanthropes across the room, near a roaring fireplace. The magic shimmering off them is translucent and textured, rather than colorful and misty. At the center of them is the one and only Kane Halloway.

My stomach flips at the sight of him chatting with one of his friends, and all those old feelings of excitement and infatuation bubble up. Back at Peel Academy, I pined for this guy. And for all that time, he looked right through me.

Kane turns away from one of his friends, and before I can look away, those lupine blue eyes of his catch mine.

Look away, I command myself.

But I can’t seem to.

Kane holds my gaze, and the longer I stare, the more I swear I see his wolf peeking out from those irises. Heat rises to my cheeks as the two of us stay locked like that. I don’t know much about lycanthropes, but I’m pretty sure staring is a dominance display. And I’m pretty sure challenging a wolf like this is a bad idea.

Across the room, Kane’s nostrils flare just the slightest.

Then he smiles.

“Oh my goddess,” Sybil says, catching sight of the exchange. “Go over and talk to him like you’ve wanted to for the past several years,” Sybil says.

Finally, reluctantly, I force my gaze away from Kane to give my friend a pointed look.

“He can hear you,” I say, my voice low. Even in their human form, lycanthropes have preternatural hearing.

“Then I hope he knows you’d happily fuck him too,” Sybil says louder.

Hell’s bells.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kane grin with the confidence of a man who definitely just heard that bit of conversation.

“Why would you do that to me?” I whisper furiously at her.

“Because I love you and you’ve waited too long for good things to happen to you.” Sybil gives me a quick squeeze, then pushes me out of the circle of witches.

I stumble away, flashing her a betrayed look.

“What are you—?” But Sybil has already turned back to Olga, who is only too happy to resume her conversation about last words.

I take a few steps away, chewing on my lower lip, my heart racing. I glance down at my beer. I’m going to need at least three more drinks before my confidence is anywhere near high enough to approach my longtime crush.

“Hey.” That deep, masculine voice nearly makes me drop my red cup.

I turn toward the voice, and there’s Kane, looking larger and stronger and altogether hotter than my memories of him.

“Hey back,” I say. I’m proud the words actually came out because I am drowning in adrenaline. I’m pretty sure the same people responsible for heels and iron maidens and the Spanish Inquisition also invented crushes because there is nothing pleasant about this feeling. Which, to be fair, is probably why it’s called a crush in the first place, because I’m positive Kane is about to pulverize my giddy little heart beneath his boot. I can’t imagine this ending any other way.

“Selene, right?” he says, those lupine eyes a little too intense this close. I can practically feel the power radiating off him. Now I do want to bare my neck and look away.