Reckless Revenge: Book Four (Spellbound 4) Read Online Free PDF Page B

off her clothes as if I had cooties. Nice.
    I opened the cabinet and grabbed a canister of sour cream and onion Pringles. Yum. When I turned around, she was standing in the doorway watching me.
    “What?”
    “I have a question for you. Did you know there was a werewolf in the woods? Did you?”
    I popped open the lid and removed a chip. “It’s a lycan.”
    “What?”
    “It’s not a werewolf. Why does everyone automatically assume that? They can only change during the full moon.”
    Aunt Darrah grunted. “Answer me.”
    “Yes, I knew.” My gaze narrowed. “Wait, a dang minute. How did you know?”
    “Doesn’t matter. You should have told me.”
    I put the chip into my mouth and chewed slowly just to irritate her. “Do we have to go into this now?”
    “It would’ve been nice if you had confided in me, instead of going to that ghost hunter—Anthony Evans.” Darrah’s sharp tone sliced through me. “Why do you feel you can’t tell me anything?”
    Placing the lid back on the chip container and setting it on the counter, I glanced at her. She was dressed to kill in a red silk dress and stilettos. Her hazel eyes were like a kaleidoscope that changed colors with her moods. Right now, they were swirling with a deep brown.
    She tapped her Prada on the linoleum. “Well?”
    I rolled my eyes. “Gee, I dunno. Could it be because we hate each other? And I don’t trust you?”
    “Grow up! If there’s a new threat in Fallen Oaks, the coven needs to know about it—”
    “Yeah, well, I don’t trust your evil coven either,” I snapped. “And I’m taking care of the lycan situation. I don’t need your help, Darrah.”
    “Shiloh.” A frown puckered both her brow and her lips. “You can’t do this alone.”
    “Who said I was?” I shook my head. “I gotta go. I don’t have time for this.” Grunting, I pushed past her and stamped out the front door.
    After I picked up Ariana, we drove to Craven Manor to talk to Trent’s uncle, who I called Evans, and find out if he had any new info on the lycan situation. The sprawling mansion loomed high and wide, casting a long dark shadow across the estate. Unlike the other opulent homes in the neighborhood, the four-story structure was bursting with Gothic architectural characteristics: turrets, stained-glass windows, cupolas, and cornices. Ivy cuddled the gate, which opened with a grunt as I drove through and parked near the house. Trent’s Dodge Charger wasn’t in the driveway.
    A huge raven perched precariously on a branch in the oak near the porch, and the highly glossed plumage of iridescent greens, blues, and purples gleamed in the moonlight. The bird tilted its head, black gaze fixed on me .
    Creepy damn bird had been following me around town for weeks. I ignored my feathered foe and ascended the steps.
    The Donovan’s housekeeper, Mrs. Baylock, greeted us at the door. She fiddled with the wire-rimmed glasses hanging around her neck on a silver chain. Mrs. Baylock was an older lady with brown eyes and chestnut hair styled in a loose bun. Her fashion sense was rather quirky, she generally dressed as if she’d stepped out of a 1920s black and white movie in her gray uniform trimmed in ivory, with hard-soled shoes.
    In the foyer, the faces of distinguished Donovan relatives stared down at us from their gilded frames. The walls were covered with ornate wallpaper in rich scarlets, jades, and golds. The floors were waxed hardwood, sprinkled with antique rugs, and the furniture was ornate, carved wood and overstuffed upholstery. Most rooms were decorated in Victorian-chic with a comfy old-world elegance and a few modern touches. Mrs. Baylock lead us straight toward the library—Evans’s usual hangout spot.
    My mentor was seated behind the big oak desk and glanced up from his laptop. “Hello, girls.” He was dressed in his customary hip-college-professor garb: long-sleeved shirt, sweater vest, slacks, and expensive loafers. Evans was in his mid-thirties, cool,