The brief glimpse of the look in Leo’s eyes bothered Claire. Though he was a warlock, she had grown to like him, perhaps like him more than she should, and the idea that her lineage could irreparably harm their relationship deeply disturbed her. And it wasn’t just because she hated how a birthright she couldn’t help caused some people to think the worst of her, or because she had already proven she meant no harm to him.
As Claire closed the door behind her, she realized she didn’t much care for a world where Leo thought ill of her, where he had reason to fear her. She could handle anyone else. But not Leo. That realization was like ice water to the face and it shook her to the core.
Taking a deep breath, Claire balled these emotions tightly and stuffed them away, into a dark and deep corner where they could not touch her. She wrapped coldness and authority around her like a cloak, sliding a mask of cool impassiveness on her face. She descended the stairs.
Steven was not waiting in the break room, but he had sent his two enforcers. Brian was a short Irishman with a shock of red hair and Byron was a tall Black man with long braids and a physique most actors would kill for. Orange energy throbbed around them as they glared at the three witches sitting at the table: a woman with two men. The woman wore a medallion portraying a wyvern twined around a tree, the symbol of her Family. Angry red and dark black slashed the air around these people Claire recognized from Leo’s memory. Cold anger kindled in her gut but she kept it distant. It would not help her.
“Good morning,” she said, coming to a stop a few feet from the table. The two werewolves moved to stand either side of and just behind her. “You wish to speak with me?”
The man with the missing finger and tattooed head, Josh, was the one to speak up. His voice boomed loud. “Warlock got away from us. Tiff chased his presence here."
Tiff, the woman with the medallion, had her gaze locked cold on Claire. In contrast, her voice was soft and collected. "We wanted to make sure you were safe, Miss Devereaux. We suspect he’s trying to kill you.” She nodded at the man with the blond hair and short stature. “Rye caught a vision of you in his head when he stabbed the wretch."
Rye was the only one who seemed to be staring past Claire to look at the two men. His face gave nothing away and his aura was just as collected and almost hidden from sight, snuffed by a barrier of normalcy and calm.
