Lorcan & Evette

Chapter Four

She drove in a tense silence, plotting all the ways to get out of this. The werewolf was still sat next to her. She could feel his glare burning into the side of her head.

What had she done to him anyway?

Her crime against the werewolf King was existing.

In her eyes, he was no angel either.

She flexed her fingers around the wheel again, focusing on slowing her breathing. There was no sense in getting worked up. All she had to do was think this through calmly. The future was on her side. It was always on her side.

The werewolf King would get his comeuppance eventually.

She could see her house now. She didn't want to know what the werewolf thought of it. It was a far cry from the castle he lived in, no doubt. But it was well kept. Evie liked it. That was all that mattered.

Her home was very suburban. She had the lawn of an old person. Clearly, a lot of time and effort had gone into the maintenance of the flowers. They always reminded her of home.

Evie was house proud. She'd spent her entire life in a castle. Naturally, when she'd gotten her own digs, there'd been a standard to keep up.

This was her chance. She knew what they were walking into. Therefore, she had an advantage. If she could just get to the kitchen and grab one of those silver knives...

A part of her had always known something like this would happen. Her house was littered in booby traps, ready to fight off any supernatural species life threw at her.

Sadly, it'd take a whole lot more than a knife to kill this wolf, silver or not. With age came resistance. Killing someone like King Lorcan would be no easy task.

As she reached for her seatbelt, he grabbed her wrist, claws digging into her skin. The worst part? He didn't even seem to notice. He was angry. Angry angry. Angry with no control on it.

Just what I need right now.

"I'm warning you Evette, don't try anything here." His eyes shone with a dark malice. "You do as I say when I say it, understood?"

"Of course, your majesty."

"Is anyone in?"

"Nope. Just me."

Okay—she was definitely bitter still.

He nodded, pleased. "If you try to run, I'll—"

"Yes, I know. I don't need my tongue to be bait. I don't need my legs or feet to be bait. I don't need to be alive to be bait. If I try anything, you'll make me regret it. Blah, blah, blah. You should switch the record up your holiness." She pressed the button, her seatbelt flying. "And by the way- my name's Evie, asshole."

He growled at her. She was out of the car before he could try anything.

He was quick to follow her out. Innately, he worried she'd still try something.

On the drive next to hers, a little old woman was out, a hose pipe in hand. She glanced up from her flowers to smile at the blonde. Lorcan hastened over to the witch in a way that almost seemed protective.

She knew better.

He couldn't let his prisoner wander off now, could he? Not when she played such a vital part in his war.

"Hello Evie," the old woman greeted. "What are you doing back from work so early?"

She knew better than to tell the truth. "Family emergency."