Page 45 of Black Willow Witch
Ripper caught her gaze. ‘They won’t only have to take you on, Emberlyn. They’ll have to also take on my clan. They fuck with you, they fuck with us and vice versa. You think the coven is really dumb enough to do that?’
She twisted her mouth. ‘No. But that doesn’t mean they won’t.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Swiping her choice of outfit from the wardrobe two days later, Emberlyn paused on hearing the phone ring. She crossed to the bed, carefully laid her clothes on the mattress, then headed for the phone on the nightstand. She lifted the receiver to her ear. ‘Hello?’
‘Emberlyn, this is Clarence Robbins.’
She blinked in surprise. The werewolf had not only been her grandmother’s lawyer but also the executor of the will. ‘What can I do for you, Clarence?’
‘I’ve been contacted by one of the coven’s lawyers, Tyra.’ He sighed. ‘I’m sorry to say that your family is planning to contest Millicent’s will.’
She felt her lips tighten. ‘Yes, I’d heard that they might.’ And she would bet that Tyra waslovingthat she had a hand in this.
‘Could you come by my office this morning so that we can discuss it further?’
‘I’ll be there. What time?’
‘My schedule is open until ten a.m. – stop by sometime before then, if you can.’
‘Will do.’ Ending the call, Emberlyn rubbed at her neck. Her family certainly wasn’t wasting any time in putting their plan in motion. She didn’tthinkthey had a chance of rendering the will invalid, but what if they did? She’d lose her home, lose her connection to it, lose the peace she always found here.
Fuck those assholes.
It would be different if they wanted the manor for therightreason; if they gave the first damn about it. But they didn’t. Itwas greed that drove Emberlyn’s family to do this. Greed, and the bitterness they felt at the manor choosing her.
As Millicent herself had stated in the letter she’d pinned to the grandfather clock, the manor should be inhabited by someone who adored and treasured it. But if her family did overturn the will and manage to acquire the house, they wouldn’t keep or take care of it. They’d relinquish it to Reena, ending the tradition of it being a home to Vautier witches. Andshe’dnever love or cherish it. For the High Priestess, it would be a status symbol. A prize.
Emberlyn cursed beneath her breath and then called Paisley.
‘Yo?’ the witch simply greeted.
‘I’m going to be a little late coming in this morning,’ Emberlyn informed her. ‘Millicent’s lawyer has asked to see me.’
Paisley paused. ‘That’s . . . okay.’ It was clearlykillingPaisley not to ask for more information.
Emberlyn’s lips twitched. Her friend was upset with her for not calling straight after the Rabid attack – it had meant that Paisley learned of it via Kage, which annoyed her even more. Just yesterday, she’d rather dramatically told Emberlyn to not speak to her for at least a week.
‘We can handle things without you,’ Paisley sassed. ‘Stay gone as long as you want. It’s truly fine.’
‘I thought you didn’t want to talk to me.’
The line went dead.
Chuckling, Emberlyn set down the receiver again. Moving to the bed, she grabbed her forest-green silk blouse. She winced as she slipped it on, the movements pulling at her shoulder wound. The skin around it felt tight.
Thanks to the heavy use of poultice and magick over the past two days, the claw marks were rapidly healing. But since the chafing of any clothing would for sure aggravate them, she applied gauze to both injuries each morning.
It had taken her by surprise when Ripper had asked to tend to her shoulder Saturday night. She’d sensed that his protective instincts were on fire, of course, but still. She didn’t think his reaction was so much aboutheras that she was his ally – a person he’d sworn to keep safe. It would have offended his nature that someone under his protection was harmed.
When he’d braced a hand on her back, his fingers curling over her shoulder and resting on her nape, she’d startled. Because the move had been firm, deliberate and held a bold familiarity.
It had also made her nerve-endings sing, and she’d been unable to stop little bumps from sweeping over her flesh.
She’d expected his movements to be swift and all business when he applied the poultice. But his touch had been careful, slow and precise – not at all clinical. And when he’d finished, his hands had briefly lingered. Not in a sexual way. It had seemed more of a protective gesture.
It had still excited her hormones.
