Free Pure Magic (Black Dog Book 3) by Rachel Neumeier

interesting that Ethan drew geometric figures at him, when he tried to explain about the Pure. Maybe . . . maybe they were right, and Justin really was Pure. Or could learn to be. Whatever that was.
    Ezekiel came back, then, regarding them both with chilly amusement. “You’re the one who told me he didn’t know anything,” he said mildly. “I admit it seems unreasonable.” He lifted a pale eyebrow at Justin. “How did you survive to the age of . . . fifteen?”
    Justin glared at him. “Seventeen! And, no, I never saw a werewolf before tonight, far less crowds of them trying to kill me for no reason ! I can’t help it if you find that hard to believe.”
    “Everyone’s going to find that hard to believe,” Ezekiel said drily. He and Ethan exchanged a look, and then Ezekiel tipped his head in invitation. “Time to go. And then Grayson can decide what to do with you.”
    “Don’t let him scare you,” Ethan said.
    “Good advice,” Ezekiel said, smiling. “Mostly.”
    “I’m not scared,” Justin said, and straightened his shoulders, pretending it was true.
    “Good for you,” said Ezekiel mildly. “This way.”
     
    The road out of Newport was not bad, though one couldn’t actually call it good, either. Even in the dark, Justin could tell that the countryside here was nothing like the desert. The air was crisp and clean, filled with unfamiliar scents and with a trace of moisture. Not quite rain. Like driving through a cloud. Justin rolled his window down all the way and turned his face into the cold breeze.
    Justin had meant to leave behind everything of his former life, everything familiar . . . but it was different when he knew he couldn’t change his mind, couldn’t go home again unless the boss of the werewolves let him go. He might have argued harder, struggled . . . screamed for help in the airport terminal. Maybe he’d been a fool to cooperate with his own abduction. Dimilioc protects the Pure. Right. Whatever the Pure were, and he was by no means sure the word applied to him, whatever the werewolves said. He stared out into the chilly dark, frowning. He wanted to ask again, So, who are you people and what do you want with me, and what gives ? But neither Ezekiel nor Ethan would answer. They’d made that clear. They’d say something obscure about Grayson Lanning and Dimilioc and the Pure, but they wouldn’t explain anything.
    He glanced sideways at Ethan, lounging beside him in the back seat. The young man had propped his chin on his hand, and gazed out the window, but not as though he had forgotten Justin was there. More as though he were just trying to give him space. Justin wasn’t sure about Ezekiel, but Ethan really didn’t seem so bad. For a werewolf.
    Black dog. Whatever.
    They went through a little town, white lamps glowing atop wrought-iron lampposts all along the streets. The light shone off white-painted wooden houses with white picket fences, very New England picturesque. Justin would have liked a better look at the town, a look at the people who lived here, so close to werewolves. He wondered what kind of situation he was heading for. Would the werewolves let him visit this town, or would they lock him in some kind of dungeon? He was afraid probably the latter was more likely than the former.
    Ezekiel turned north onto an even rougher, narrower road and kept driving, leaving the town behind. They had said at home, when heading out to camp in the less-popular parks, A little bit of soil erosion and they call it a road. It had been a joke. But parts of this road were rougher than even the worst-maintained park roads.
    “The winters tear up the roads,” Ezekiel said casually.
    Maybe he also read minds. Werewolves that could read minds: wonderful.
    “The county people haven’t gotten to these little roads yet,” Ezekiel added. “We like our privacy up here, so we don’t rush to get the roads in order in the spring. But this is a little rougher than we like them. I’ll