Page 5 of Ravenous

“Come in,” a cool voice commanded.

Meera smoothed her blouse, tugged her skirt, and entered. Her flats squeaked like frightened mice across the stones.

She turned the corner of the foyer to face Lazara’s replacement, and a new chill hit her like a hexshot. Her heart sank. The room felt freshly fed.Someone must have died here since I entered last.

Behind Lazara’s desk sat Ditch, a halfling newcomer—part demon/part witch. Her emotionless eyes were light green, the color of sun-starved grass, and they followed Meera’s entry as if tracking prey.

“Sit,” Ditch commanded, and Meera all but collapsed into the seat across from Lazara’s desk. “You’re Molly, correct? Or some equally insipid name?”

Don’t sweat. Don’t bite your nails.“Uh, I’m Meera.” Meek Meera. Lily-livered Meera.

“Of course you are,” Ditch murmured, her voice the recipe for slow poison: one part boredom and two parts contempt.

Meera noticed the dark glint of sharpened claws as Ditch ran her fingers over the desk. The halfling’s horns shone black as obsidian against her sleek, blonde ponytail.

“What do you know of me?” Ditch asked.

Meera dug for courage. “Akelarre confirmed your arrival and appointment as high priestess. You’re to guide our coven through this Accession.” Though Akelarre was the origin realm of the House of Witches, Gaia had been their second home until they’d been exiled millennia ago. Now this coven in the Skein was the witches’ most promising new territory.

Ditch’s lips curled, not a smile, something sharper. “Correct.”

Meera’s gaze flicked over Lazara’s framed photos, half-burned candles, and the black cat glaring from the sill. If Lazara still lived, she wouldn’t have abandoned Nettle.

“How odd,” Meera said carefully, “that Lazara hasn’t come for her belongings. Has she sent word?”

“No.” The single syllable hit like a warding spell.

Meera’s mouth went dry. “I’ll, uh, compile a welcome binder for you with information about the Skein. It should come in handy.”

“Very well. What’s on my schedule, Molly?”

“Meera,” she corrected under her breath. “You’re giving an Accession awareness talk for some of the younger witches.”

Ditch rolled her eyes.

“And then the mystical armory tour.”

A touch more interest.

“And later, a meeting with the werewolf king, Thane the Hungry.”

Ditch’s brows arched. “A wolf? Why meet with those moonatics when we can war with them?”

Most witches felt this way. The Skein had only so much room for inhabitants who could theoretically live forever. Tensions escalated each Accession, hurtling them toward another All-Battle. “It’s been on the books for some time. Lazara had asked for a meeting, perhaps in a bid to broker an alliance. Lowell—Thane’s right hand—arranged it.” Meera’s heart fluttered at his name.

Handsome, intelligent Lowell Nightclaw. With his mop of black hair and devilish green eyes.

He had the kind of rakish grin that promised laughter before bed play, and that really did it for Meera. She’d bet he called underwear “knickers” and that he took them down with his teeth. He’d make puns just before he used his wolf’s tongue for other treats.

Inner sigh. A secret crush that could never be more.

“Where is the meeting?” Ditch asked, cutting through Meera’s thoughts.

Not now, fool. Read the room. Survive.“Uh, Mount Nothrior. It’s neutral ground, warded against magic and weapons.” Also known as the Mount of No Swords. “Our powers won’t work there, and neither of the Lykae will be able to call upon his wolven inner beast.”

Ditch rose and crossed to the window, the movement serpentine. Her leather catsuit gleamed like black paint poured over her voluptuous body and had a slit for her tail. That length swayed lazily, thick as a broomstick and ending in a barbed triangle.

“How long were you Lazara’s assistant?”