Into Their Woods (The Eerie, #1)(123)

If an orc can do that to a tree, what the hell can they do to a wolf?

They didn’t seem concerned about themselves though. I got more anger and protectiveness from their scents than anything. It makes me wonder about the more violent side to eerie life. The guys haven’t lost their shit too much around me, but the possessive urges I’ve felt, the call to violence when something you care about is threatened—it’s a side to this life I know exists but hasn’t really been addressed yet.

I should probably ask them about it, make sure I’m up to snuff in the badass department.

I snort out a laugh at that thought. Pretty sure no one who’s actually a badass would ever say those words.

I reach for one of the open laptops on the table and decide to get my email to Dr. Jindra out of the way while I wait. The front door swings open, a little alert from the alarm letting me know.

“Hello?” I recognize Karen’s voice as she calls out from the living room. “The party can start now that I’m here.”

I roll my eyes. You’d think this was a girls night and not a red alert kind of situation.

“I’m in here,” I call from the dining room.

“Gonna need you to be more specific. This is a big house and there’s an echo,” she calls back to me.

“Head toward the kitchen.”

A handful of seconds later, Karen waltzes in through the entryway. Deputy Dillon is at her side. His hat is off and held in one hand as he scratches at his buzzed head and glances around the space.

Karen hops up to sit on the dining table. “Hey, Poodle. Long time no see,” she declares as she wags her eyebrows at me and gives me a knowing smirk that has heat crawling into my cheeks.

Shit. Witches can’t smell sex too, can they?

Or maybe it’s just the afterglow. Either way, Karen knows more than she needs to, and she’s not the type to let a thing go.

I lift a finger in warning. “Don’t go living up to your namesake and stick your nose where it doesn’t belong,” I razz, and she shoots me a glare and gives an indignant huff.

“Everyone’s always coming for Karens,” she grumbles under her breath. “It’s nonsense. I’ve met more bitchy Michelles in my life than Karens. Tiffany,” she shouts out. “Who’s met a nice Tiffany?”

Dillon launches a look my way that says look what you did, and I chuckle.

Another house-shaking roar rips through the air outside, and each of us sobers quickly.

“Think they’re okay?” I ask quietly, as though if I speak too loudly, the universe will hear me and decide it’s time to fuck things up.

“They’ll be fine,” Dillon dismisses my concern, a hint of temper in his tone.

Sounds like he had somewhere better to be tonight.

His lack of worry and Karen’s lighthearted attitude help me to slightly relax. They know this world and eeries far better than I do, and they don’t seem to be fussed about what’s happening.

“What a mess,” Karen complains. “They’re supposed to be here to help, not make everything worse. I hope the Arcan den has rage insurance.”

Karen hops down and moves to the fancy coffee machine and starts messing with it. I’m uncertain she actually knows how to work it, because she keeps making noises like beep-boop as she presses the buttons. Either because she finds it entertaining or she’s trying to speak the machine’s language.

Meanwhile, Dillon slowly wanders around the kitchen like he’s taking it all in. The way he peruses makes me think that he hasn’t been inside his boss’s house before. That could definitely be awkward. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small red crystal, the kind I saw in the interview room, playing with it in his hand as he looks around.

Maybe he’s stimming.

“Anyone else want a latte?” Karen asks, plucking a large mug from a cupboard, and both Dillon and I shake our heads.

“How are you holdin’ up?” Dillon inquires, brown eyes glancing at me briefly as he ambles from the kitchen to peer out of the wall of windows on the opposite side. “The Arcan den treating you okay?”

I hit send on my email and let out a deep breath, closing the laptop and pushing it away. “I’m good, and yeah, no complaints,” I answer casually, looking over at the deputy as he nods and moves back around the table.

“You still haven’t claimed them,” he declares, tapping his nose, but I’m not sure if he’s asking a question or making an observation.

“That’s none of your business, deputy,” Karen warns as the coffee machine starts making all kinds of noises like it’s preparing for takeoff instead of preparing a cup of joe. “Dillon,” she barks out. “Dillon would be a far better name for someone that’s nosey than Karen is.” She waves in his direction like he’s just made her case for him, and I chuckle.

He aims a sullen look her way and then peeks out into the living room like he’s checking that no one’s in there. He seems a lot more interested in doing this whole guard gig than Karen is.

“What can you tell me about—” I start to ask about orcs, but in pure Karen-style, she interrupts.

Gesturing with the hand that’s not holding her steaming cup of coffee, she admonishes, “I thought we talked about you wandering around like some street dog.”