The Enchanted: Council of Seven Shifter Romance Collection

by Juniper Hart

  “What are you doing?” he asked. Lane exhaled and sat back, folding her arms over her chest as she shook her head.

  “I’m not entirely sure,” she said.

  “That’s new,” Henry quipped. “Since when do you not know what you’re doing?”

  She gave him a sheepish grin and met his eyes evenly.

  “Have you ever heard the legend of the Vulpes?” Henry frowned slightly, his mind reaching to grasp onto the elusive memory in his half-awake state.

  “I vaguely remember something about them, but I haven’t heard anything about them in a long, long time,” he confessed. “Why are you bringing it up?”

  Lane sighed. “I think there’s something to it.”

  “If there’s a hint of mystery anywhere, you’re the one to dig it up, aren’t you?” Henry chuckled. “Why this new interest?”

  “I’m an Aldwin wtich,” she reminded him. “And I feel like Alaric left a lot of Enchanted matters unresolved.”

  “Like the Vulpes?” Henry tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “They can’t really exist, Lane.”

  “Why not?” she demanded.

  “Because,” he replied, flopping onto a dining room chair at her side, rolling his tongue over his incisors. “If they ever did, there would have been a seat for them in the Council.”

  “Not if they have always been elusive,” Lane insisted. Henry gazed at her with exasperated affection.

  “Why this sudden burst of necessity to know about the foxes, Lane? Hasn’t everything else kept you busy enough, what with all your illegal activities?” He was teasing her, but she didn’t smile.

  “If we have an entire subgroup of Enchanted creatures living among us, shouldn’t we know about it? And yes, shouldn’t they have a seat in the Council beside us?”

  “Assuming they do exist,” Henry sighed, regretting taking the bait. “They obviously don’t want to be found. Shouldn’t we respect their privacy?”

  Lane laughed. “Since when are any of us granted the luxury of privacy?” she retorted.

  Henry stared at her with mild surprise. She almost sounds bitter. Of course, that was ridiculous; the Lane he knew was far from resentful.

  “Seriously, why this new interest?”

  “How long has it been since you’d heard anything about the fox shifters?” Again, Henry had to search his very long memory for an answer.

  “Too long,” he conceded. “Which is why I fail to understand your fascination in this matter.”

  “Well, over the past year, I’ve heard of two separate sightings,” she told him. Henry’s eyes widened with interest.

  “Reliable ones?” he asked.

  “From mortals,” she said with a nod. Henry felt his heart begin to pound. That did make it more credible. Mortals had no reason to suspect the existence of the Vulpes, not even if they were in sub-Reddit groups toying with Furries cosplay.

  “Interesting,” he cooed again.

  “It’s more than interesting,” Lane countered. “Two sightings in a year? There have barely been any record of them since the creation of the Enchanted. Something’s happening, Henry, and I want to find out what.”

  “Of course you do,” he told her jestingly. “So, what’s the plan?”

  Lane turned her attention back toward the screen and exhaled.

  “I need to go into Alaric’s archives.” She shook her head. “This won’t do.”

  “And I thought everything was online these days.”

  “Most everything is—just not ancient texts at Alaric Aldwin’s hand. He was the creator of the Enchanted. I need to pay my mother a visit.”

  Henry could hear the sigh in her voice, even if she managed to stifle it. Seeing Julia wasn’t something Lane looked forward to, after all.

  “Maybe you should confer with some of the other Aldwins before you do that,” he suggested. “See if you can’t learn more about the Vulpes that way.”

  “I already have,” Lane replied, and Henry was somehow not surprised.

  Of course she has. She’s been at this for a lot longer than I’ve been aware.

  “And nothing?”

  “Not exactly,” she said. “Brey seems to recall some kind of prophecy involving the Vulpes.”

  “What prophecy?”

  “That’s the problem. No one can really remember the semantics of it. Yes, the foxes exist—or at least, they did exist at the time of creation—but they were brought about for a purpose.” Henry stared at her expectantly, but that was the end of Lane’s explanation. She noticed his pointed expression. “Which is why I’m looking into Alaric’s early writings,” she added.

  “So, you’ll have to go to Julia’s,” he concluded. “I’ll go with you.”

  Lane shook her head quickly. “No need to inflict my mother upon you,” she laughed with some sadness. “I’ll go alone. I only hope she didn’t do anything like get rid of his stuff.”

  “She wouldn’t!” Henry cried, his face aghast at the notion.

  “Who knows what she’d do,” Lane argued. “But this is a reminder that I should take all of Alaric’s work out of her cabin. She’s been on a downward spiral since I left. I worry that she might take out her frustrations on his belongings.”

  “More the reason that I should come with you,” Henry insisted. “Julia’s always been a little unbalanced.” He cringed, remembering that he was talking about his mate’s mother, but Lane didn’t seem bothered by his words.

  “It’s fine. I don’t think seeing you is going to make her feel any better,” she told him gently. “She doesn’t like the reminder of what I’ve become. After you turned me into a witch-hybrid, she feels that I am tainted somehow.” She rose from the dining room table and closed her laptop, leaning over to softly kiss her lover on the lips.

  “You’re going now?” Henry demanded, also jumping to his feet.

  “No time like the present,” she chirped. “Anyway, it’s the middle of the day. Go back to sleep.”

  “I’d sleep better if you were there with me,” he pouted. Lane only grinned at him.

  “Hogging all the blankets and kicking you in my sleep?” she teased. Her smile faded, and she met his eyes squarely. “I need to get to the bottom of this, Henry. I feel like the Vulpes hold something incredibly important, and they need to be brought out of hiding.”

  “If they’re hiding,” Henry called out, “they might not even realize they’re shifters, assuming they still exist.”

  “Well, I guess I have my work cut out for me, don’t I?” she replied, blowing him a kiss. Henry sank back down into the chair as Lane flittered out of the house, his pulse quickening slightly.

  Why do I feel like we’re opening up an entire can of worms that we can’t put a lid on? he wondered. Just as quickly as the thought had come on, it was replaced with a wry, bemused counter. Whatever it is, we’ve certainly done worse, he thought, not realizing how wrong he was.

  1

  The dance was nearing its end, the spray of blood and saliva painting the octagon undiscerningly.

  Jordan Archer had the upper hand, his muscled body looming over his opponent, delivering blow after blow as if consumed by a haze.

  The man on the ground tried too late to raise his arms. He was already slipping into unconsciousness. It was hardly a surprise—even without using his supernatural abilities, Jordan overpowered the mortal on the ground in spades.

  It wasn’t until he saw the life slipping from the larger man below him that Jordan backed off, his heart thudding almost out of his chest. Suddenly, he became aware of a din erupting around him, and he was abruptly pulled back from his target, his gloved hand raised dramatically into the air by the referee. His intense focus cleared, and his dark brown eyes took in the scene in which he was surrounded, reality drumming into him in a torrent.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” a voice boomed from over the loudspeaker. “A total knockout in the first round at two minutes and three seconds for Jordan ‘South Paw’ Archer!”

>   The crowd lost control then, screaming in excitement at Jordan ’s unexpected victory against the current mixed martial arts champion in the region. His trainer, Harley Voight, joined him in the ring, rubbing the young fighter’s shoulders and clapping him on the back heartily. The tiny former fighter was trembling with excitement, as if the victory had been his and not Jordan’s.

  “I knew you got him, Jordy! I could tell by the look in your eye at a minute and a half! You were amazing!”

  Jordan nodded, still breathing heavily as he mopped his face with a white towel, popping his mouth guard from his teeth, saliva spilling to the foam at his feet. He glanced somewhat guiltily at Frank Giles, who still lay on the matt, unmoving and now surrounded by paramedics and his own trainer.

  “I hope I didn’t do too much damage to him,” Jordan muttered, making his way through the ropes. He followed Harley back toward the changerooms, but his quiet words were unheard over the din.

  Harley would have told him the same thing he always said whenever Jordan expressed concern for his fighting opponents: “It’s only business, kid. You can’t worry about every guy you punch out there. They’ll either bounce back, or they won’t. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? That’s why some of us are still standing and others aren’t.”

  Jordan didn’t know how to explain to his trainer that he wasn’t exactly in the same league as Frank Giles or most any of the other opponents he went up against. How could he? Harley had no reason to expect that his protégé was anything other than an up-and-comer on the scene.

  He’s never even heard the word “Enchanted.” To Harley, I’m someone else, not the alpha of the Elliot Bay Pack and brother-in-law of Landon Burke, the leader of the wolves on the Council of Seven.

  Jordan shoved the misgivings out of his mind and tried to focus on his victory.

  People reached out to touch his muscles, gleaming from sweat as he passed through the stands in the full arena, offering him words of encouragement while young, scantily dressed women eyed him like he was crème bruleé, winking and blowing kisses in his directions.

  He smiled at his newly adorning fans, doling out high fives and nodding approvingly at the ladies. He was slipped numbers and business cards, all of which he would discard when he was alone.

  Where were all of you when I was struggling to be seen? he thought with some bitterness. I could have used the support then, not now when I almost own the entire world.

  Logically, Jordan knew he was being unfair, that the crowd’s fickleness was not a reason to be angry and that he should be relishing their love, not meeting it with skepticism. They would make or break him, and a bad attitude wasn’t going to earn him any points, points he desperately wanted.

  “The public goes where the sponsors tell them to go,” Harley had told him once. “They might love you, but you can bet your ass that if Coca Cola loves your opponent, the masses are going to love your opponent more. It’s all about commercialism, Jordy. You can’t take it personally. All you can do is train hard and fight until you reach the top. There is no other way to do it. You have to make the corporate sponsors love you, make them see that you are worth their endorsement. Then you’ll be set for life!”

  Still, Jordan couldn’t help feeling resentful that the crowd’s adoration was based on his dramatic successes, not because of hard work and tenacity.

  These people all think I am an “overnight sensation.” If only they had any idea how many thousands of hours go into these overnight sensations, how much blood, sweat, and tears. He forced himself to retrain his thoughts on his glory and not stew any further, even if he knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself.

  As the pair entered the tiny dressing room, they were met by more fans clamoring to enter, and when they finally made it through the doors, a bottle of very expensive champagne lay in wait, cooling in a bucket of ice. James Harper sat on the leather loveseat, his foot casually resting on the knee of his Gucci pants.

  Jordan was surprised to see him there, though the feeling was coupled with immense pleasure. He took the time out of his hellish schedule to be here. He had faith in my ability to do this.

  “There’s my boy!” James announced, jumping to his feet. “Now that was worth every second of flying out here from Chicago. Harley, you did well naming our boy ‘South Paw.’ That left punch is what did Giles in! You are indeed a lethal weapon. Two minutes and twelve seconds, huh? That must be a record!”

  “It was two minutes and three seconds, and no, it’s not a record,” Harley replied flatly, his good mood deflated by the presence of Jordan’s agent. “You really should have saved yourself the trip if you were looking for a photo op in that respect.”

  “What? And miss my favorite client’s debut fight in the big leagues? No way! Plus, I personally wanted to hand him this.”

  His eyes brightening, Jordan eagerly closed the distance between them. His still taped hands fell around the envelope which James held.

  “Wait! Don’t open it yet! Let’s pop this bubbly and celebrate!” James pulled the Dom Perignon from the ice bucket. “Take the tape off! Unless you’re getting geared up for a round with me. I’m not really dressed for it, Southy, and it’s hard to drink bubbly with all that shit on your hands.”

  “Nah, I’m not gonna fight you. You’re my man! Pop that baby open!” Jordan laughed, ripping red tape from around his hands and plopping onto a chair next to the vanity.

  “Not a good idea,” Harley snapped. “He’s still gotta train, James. Booze isn’t exactly in the diet.” He muttered something else that Jordan didn’t hear, but James rolled his eyes and then winked at Jordan with amusement.

  “Oh, pshaw, Harley. You are always so anal. Let the boy enjoy his first professional victory. It’s all downhill from here.” With that, James popped the cork, laughing as the foam spilled over his diamond Rolex, although Jordan cringed inside thinking of how much it would be to replace the jewelry.

  Not that James can’t afford it. He’s one of the best agents in the business. I’m lucky to have him, Jordan thought affectionately.

  Not for the first time, he thought about how far he’d come over the years. If someone had told him a decade ago that he would have been legitimately making it on his own, sober and with the blessing of the Council of Seven, he would have laughed directly and loudly in their face.

  But there’s hope for the worst of us, I guess, he thought, relishing the happiness in his bones. Life was good, and he had no one but Harley and James to thank for that.

  Since James had become his agent, Jordan had found his road to success almost unhindered. James knew everyone, and with his silver tongue, made allies that Jordan could never have dreamed of. He had the Midas touch. With him and Harley on his team, how could he lose?

  He watched James pour the liquid into two crystal goblets and hand one to Jordan, keeping the other for himself. As an afterthought, James glanced impersonally at Harley, who was glaring daggers in his direction.

  “Oh, I figured you probably didn’t want any, Harley, what with it being past your curfew and all. Are they looking for you at the retirement home, or…?”

  Jordan snorted, the mere idea of Harley being an old man hilarious. Harley, however, did not find James’ jab nearly as amusing. He scowled deeply at James and opened his mouth to retort, but Jordan spoke first, anticipating a clash between his trainer and agent. There was no love lost between the two, despite the fact that the two had grown up together and had once been like brothers. Their arguments could reach epic proportions.

  Jordan didn’t know the details. Every time he tried to question the breakdown in their relationship, he was thwarted by both Harley and James alike. Whatever had happened in their past was clearly something neither one of them wanted to rehash. And if anyone could respect that, it was Jordan.

  “There is no use bringing up ancient history unless it threatens to repeat itself,” Harley told Jordan once. “Leave the past dead and buried where it belongs. Just never,
ever forget it.”

  “Some people just don’t appreciate a good thing when they see it. Remember to always be grateful for what you have, Southy,” James had answered him cryptically. “Some people are just born lucky.”

  Jordan didn’t understand either man, but he knew better than to push the issue, regardless of his overwhelming desire to know the story. After all, he wouldn’t want those two digging around his sordid past, either.

  “Aw, come on, Harley. One glass isn’t going to hurt you. Just for a toast?” Jordan implored him, trying to ease the tension in the room. He didn’t want anything to take away from the headiness of the moment.

  Harley looked at the boy who had become his protégé over the years, and Jordan could see his expression soften slightly.

  He doesn’t want to ruin this night for me, Jordan thought with relief. Begrudgingly, Harley nodded, and James bemusedly poured a third glass without comment, even though Jordan could tell he was itching to say something sarcastic.

  The three men stood facing one another for a moment, unspeaking in an uneasy quiet. Finally, Jordan broke the somewhat awkward silence with a broad grin on his face. They could not put a shade on his elation, and he knew their intention was exactly the opposite.

  “As you know, it has been a really hard road for me, filled with a lot of crap,” he started, looking from one man to the other with warmth. “You two have seen the worst side of me, and I want you to know that I know would not be anywhere near where I am today if it wasn’t for both of you. I can be a miserable son of a bitch sometimes, moody and angry, but you guys never gave up on me, and I hope you know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

  “Oh, kid,” Harley started to say, but Jordan held up his hand to stop him.

  “Just let me get this out.” Harley closed his mouth, a soft smile forming on his lips. “You have put up with a lot from me, my depressions and my benders. You have always been there for me. Thank you, Harley, James. I love you guys like my family. Hell, you know I love you more than those bastards!”

  His grin widened further, to the point where his trainer and agent thought his attractive face would crack from the expression. He seemed like an excited child when he held up his goblet, his good mood infectious. Both men smiled warmly at the fighter and raised their glasses to complete the toast.