Primalcraft: Crimes of the Father (Book 3)

Chapter 7

Rubbing his face, trying to keep awake, Alex looked down at his tea. Maybe it was time to start drinking coffee if he was not allowed to sleep anytime soon, but he hates that vile drink. His phone has rung none stop for god knows how long. Shifters calling him, telling things he already knows, or utter their worries about rumors they heard. Others just wanted to grumble because of all the witches that has fled to Claerwen Valley after being exiled by the Elan Coven when they disagreed with them. The trust for witches was at an all-time low and the shifters really didn't want them in the territory.

Not that it was up to them so they grumble and complain in response. Bringing up the scolding heat to his mouth, he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth spreading through his body when he drank. Though his enjoyment was halted by a prickling feeling spreading along his spine. Opening his eyes, peering towards the origin of the feeling. Two cold eyes on a rough face adorned with a bald head and tattoos on a sturdy body met his.

Narrowing his eyes, Alex could feel his cat growl dangerously. The scent of wolf hit his nose, but not the usual wolf scent. This one felt a bit off, a bit foreign. The man seemed to not even care about Alex's clear dislike of him staring, walking over from his corner of the cafeteria toward him.

Alex's eyes follow the man as he sits down across from him without asking, eyes unblinking as they sized each other up. "Well, aren't you bloody polite? How about asking before you bother me, mate? Can I help you?"

"Just inspecting the area." the man said, clearly relaxed despite Alex's intention of intimidating him. His accent sounded American, though it was a bit off as a bit of Irish peeked through in some words.

"For what?"

"People."

Alex snorted, gesturing towards the empty cafeteria. "Most aren't around the cafeteria six at night."

"You are."

"So, it's me you want to inspect."

"Clearly."

"And why would you do that?"

Tilting his head, the man watched him for a while. "Because you fascinate me."

"You are not my type, mate. Not French enough."

"I care little for if I'm your type or not, I am fascinated by your background," the man leaned back, tapping his finger on the table. "The son of a serial murderer, dedicating his life to hunting down his father who is entangled in dark magic."

Alex's eyes narrowed, "Who are you?"

"Lachlan Raine. Witch hunter," the man said simply, like that explained everything.

"Witch hunter? What? You didn't cut it as an accountant so you decided to make your hobby your job?"

Raine smirked, "I'm actually quite similar to you. I saw the dark side of magic and decided to hunt it down."

"I'm not hunting down dark magic, mate. I'm hunting my father."

"Are the two things separate?"

"Yes, one is a person. The other is a tool. You don't stop the knife, you stop the one wanting to stab you with it."

"I find it interesting that despite your words, you still allow a dark witch to be so close to you," Raine said, his tapping coming to a halt.

Alex already knew what he was hinting at but that did not mean that he could act the fool. "What dark witch."

"Pyramus Marshall and Blake Oakley, pick one."

Letting out a chuckle, Alex took a sip of his tea, letting out a satisfied sigh. "You have my blessing to try and stop Pyramus. Just don't come crawling back to me when your pale ass gets cursed. Gypsies are a vengeful bunch."