My Soul to Keep Read Free Page A

from the memories of her pack—from
Jonah
—and now Gervaise. All dead.
    She shuddered, chafing her arms. Nothing was left. Nothing except an appetite for revenge that fed her heart.
    Alone since Gervaise’s death, the dark beast inside her prowled, clawing to come out. She coulddeny it no longer, not with this constant hunger for vengeance.
    She had become as dangerous as her father, her mother—consumed by a thirst for the blood of whatever thing had killed her husband.
    Her pulse beat faster as she recognized a shiny town car slowing and pulling up at the curb below. Finally, she was here. Sorcha watched as the woman stepped onto the sidewalk littered with bags of late-night trash. Hopefully, she held the answers to Gervaise’s death.
    Turning, Sorcha moved to the elevator and waited. A small shiver chased down her arms as the motor revved, carrying her much-anticipated guest up toward her.
    When the door slid open, she spared not a glance for Cage, her late husband’s trusted man and a former NFL linebacker. Eventually, she’d have to let him go. Once it became too obvious that she wasn’t aging as she should be.
    Sorcha’s gaze settled on the woman. The female was nervous, but tried to hide it, holding her chin awkwardly high. Her unnaturally dark hair was all the more striking for its contrast with her crystal blue eyes.
    â€œMaree?” Sorcha inquired, her nostrils flaring, scenting her.
Mothballs.
    The woman nodded briskly, her gaze dartingaround, as if she expected something deadly to emerge from the shadows. Little did she know that the deadly thing already stood before her.
    â€œThank you for seeing me.”
    â€œLike I had a choice?” Maree shot a glare over her shoulder at the hulking Cage the moment before the elevator doors slid shut on his impassive face. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
    â€œYou’ll be generously paid for your time.” Turning toward the area she’d designated as the kitchen, Sorcha pushed the sleeves of her loose sweater to her elbows and motioned Maree to follow.
    She did, the heavy thud of her boots echoing across the wood floor. “This is pretty nice. Wouldn’t have thought this was tucked up here. Looked like a real dump from the outside … thought I was being dragged into some crack house.”
    Sorcha smiled. Exactly what she wanted. It kept people from sniffing about where they shouldn’t. “Can I get you anything before we begin?” She sank down in a chair at her table as if she dragged unwilling clairvoyants into her home every day.
    The woman hesitantly lowered herself across from Sorcha. “No. Thank you.” She buried her hands beneath the line of the table, somewhere into the folds of her skirt. “Most people come to me for readings.”
    â€œI’m not most people.” That was putting it mildly. Since Gervaise’s death, she’d avoided going out in public. Her anger, her sadness … It was just too dangerous.
    Sorcha cocked her head. “I hope you won’t disappoint me. Everyone else I’ve spoken with has been less than helpful. You’ve come highly recommended, however, so let’s just cut to it and save us both time and see if you’re legit.”
    Maree’s pupils seemed to darken and overfill her bright eyes. An alertness that hadn’t been there before swept over her. She glanced toward the elevator as if prepared to bolt. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice as tremulous as a feather drifting on the air.
    â€œAre you a
real
witch?”
    â€œA witch?” Maree’s gaze shot back to Sorcha. She laughed, the sound cracking on the air. “I have a gift. Nothing more. Witches don’t exist.”
    Sorcha leaned across the table, her nostrils flaring, scenting something besides the odor of mothballs rising on the air … an earthy aroma that reminded her of freshly tilled soil. She’d