The Enchanted: Council of Seven Shifter Romance Collection

by Juniper Hart

  Elle could still detect the lingering fog of the tear gas in the air as she found her way toward the exit, willing her pulse to steady. Stepping into the weak sunlight, she strolled toward the busy main street, sliding dark sunglasses onto her face and not once looking back. A small smile toyed with her sulky mouth, a burst of pride overcoming her apprehension.

  I made it out just fine, she thought with some smugness. I’m a natural at this.

  She didn’t regret her actions. This was the ninth such act of heroism she had committed, and each time was more exhilarating than the last. Each deed had been a bigger risk than the one before, and it made her proud to know she’d been entrusted with such responsibility.

  “Domestic terrorists,” the media had called their group, as if their deep love for the planet was a criminal offense.

  As she walked, she thought about the path that had led her to the brazen act of that day. She had been foolish the first time, witnesses gleaning a vague description of her through her telltale crimson locks of hair.

  “You need to be more careful, Elle,” Vern had chided when a police sketch of her likeliness had surfaced online. “No one in the world has such an amazing head of hair.”

  That’s not true. I have at least three sisters and a mother who have the very same hair, she’d thought, but she had just shrugged nonchalantly, like their organization leader was worried for nothing.

  “Everyone looks like the Unabomber in police sketches,” she had argued, laughing. “There’s no way anyone will be able to tell that’s me. I think that looks like Lucille Ball, don’t you?” She fluttered her long lashes flirtatiously, aqua eyes gleaming mischievously, but she didn’t illicit the reaction she wanted.

  “Elle, you can’t allow yourself to get too cocky. It’s great to be confident, but if you get too comfortable, you’re going to get us all in a world of trouble. We have always maintained a low profile for a reason. Don’t be a renegade.” Vern’s eyes had softened. “We can’t afford to lose you around here. I can’t afford to lose you.”

  Elle had relented, agreeing to be more vigilant in the future while simultaneously chiding them all for being such helicopter parents. In her mind, it wouldn’t hurt any of them to lower their guards just a little bit. Inwardly, she was incredibly flattered.

  Vern was such an important part of their cause, and not just because he was the founder. His input and ideas helped put the wheels in motion, getting results in their movements. He’d been working on their missions long before they’d ever had a following, and Elle looked up to him. Sometimes she wondered if he was the father figure she’d always wished she’d had.

  My parents, Brent and Jennifer never did anything worthy of praise.

  Vern was a serious, steadfast type, and his way was not to dish out compliments or cajole. In fact, he was more apt to diatribes and berating, political ranting and fury, all methods which had served him well. When he did have a kind word, Elle knew it was not to be taken lightly. She was grateful that she was on his good side when she had seen what happened to so many who were not. Never mind that she’d always harbored a secret dream to get on his underside, but she had learned to accept that theirs was strictly a professional relationship. She wouldn’t jeopardize such an important cause for a little bit of lust. What they were doing was far too important.

  The sedan she sought was parked four blocks away. It had all been meticulously planned weeks before, and while she had known that it would be there, like it always was, Elle found she was still relieved to see the white Toyota idling where it was supposed to be. Of course, Bernice was a stickler for punctuality, which was why she was always the driver.

  Elle stepped off the sidewalk and into the passenger side, the car pulling away from the curb even before her leg was fully inside the vehicle.

  “What took you so long?” Bernice snapped angrily. “We thought you’d been caught.”

  Elle waved her hand dismissively, accustomed to Bernice’s surly attitude. She could almost set her watch to Bernice’s barking. She’d also known the woman long enough to know that her tone was gruff as a result of concern more than anger.

  “First of all, I’m not late. I’m right on time, like always. Check your watch,” Elle started as the car whipped through traffic. “And secondly, I had to get rid of the evidence. Or were you expecting me to bring everything back here with me?”

  She turned her head to smile at the passengers in the backseat. Joey offered her a weak smile, but his face was an odd shade of green. Elle wondered if he got motion sickness. Somehow, she thought it would fit his personality. He seemed very much a small boy playing the role of grownup, constantly trying to keep his lunch down in his stomach.

  “How did it go?” Joey almost whispered, pushing his owl-like glasses back against the bridge of his button nose and shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

  Yep, he’s definitely going to be sick. He can’t stomach this stuff, Elle thought, giving him a commiserating look.

  Joey reminded her of a mouse. He was thirty-three, but he looked seventeen. His eyes were huge, as if they were in a perpetual state of surprise, and he suffered from rosacea, red patches marking his pasty white skin in an unsightly mess about his cheeks and chin. Whenever Joey spoke, his voice was barely audible, and Elle was constantly straining to hear the words springing from his lips. He was a meek, mild-mannered man, and while he was just as passionate as anyone in the group, he lacked the sense of danger which some of the other members possessed.

  Members like Elle Jagger, she mused with a smile. Then again, many of the other chapters wished they had someone like Elle on their roster. Her fearlessness was notorious.

  “It went perfectly, of course. Exactly how we planned it. The place was full. They didn’t know what hit them!” She offered Joey a winning smile and wink. He blushed crimson and looked down at his hands but nodded his approval.

  “Next time, you’ll have to move faster,” Bernice muttered. “You put us all in danger otherwise. We need a better system. I don’t think you should go next time. You should probably start keeping a lower profile.”

  Elle rolled her eyes toward the heavens, biting her tongue to stop from retorting. Bernice’s comments weren’t meant to sound brusque. It was her way to constantly worry. She was the mother hen at their chapter of World’s Worth. When Elle had first met the masculine woman, she had disliked Bernice on sight. She came on too strong and threw her voice around to be heard.

  Bernice was rough around the edges and liked women much too young, sometimes bringing a mouthy eighteen or nineteen-year-old into the office and introducing the flavor of the week as her “fiancée.” Elle was never sure how Bernice managed to get so many women. As time lapsed, she learned that young girls were constantly seeking Bernice out and taking advantage of her loving nature by gouging her pocketbook.

  Bernice was terribly lonely, always looking for love in the wrong places. She wore her heart on her sleeve and would not stay off internet dating sites until one day, Elle, sick of watching her fall into another depression, changed the password on her laptop. Bernice then needed permission to use it, and Elle would walk to her house, unlock the computer, and supervise her while she checked emails only. It had been a grueling few months of technology withdrawal, but in the end, Bernice had been better for it, never again bringing a teenager to World’s Worth.

  In retrospect, Elle was ashamed of her initial analysis of Bernice. While she came off as hard, she had a heart of pure butter, and her will to fight was just as great as Vern’s. She was just like a crab: crusty, red, and snappy on the outside, but tender and warm on the inside.

  Elle reminded herself of this as Bernice continued her fretting, understanding that the older woman simply needed to stress herself out as a part of her meditative process. At least someone was watching out for her. Wasn’t that what World’s Worth was all about? Them taking care of one another?

  “You could have been caught in the fog, or arrested!” Bernice continued,
barely taking a breath between.

  Elle guffawed despite her intention to stay quiet. “Not likely. In case you have forgotten, I’m not new to this, B.”

  Bernice’s already thin mouth pursed into an even finer line. “No one is invincible, Elle. Not even you. Vern has warned time and again not to be careless. We have to talk to him about a better plan next time. This is far too dangerous. Are you sure no one can identify you? No one saw you go in and out of the washroom?”

  Is she breathing between sentences? How does she do that?

  “B, they were more concerned about getting fresh air than checking out the crowd. I think I’m safe.”

  “Maybe this time you were,” Bernice answered shortly. “But you’ve almost been caught before.”

  Elle’s mouth turned downward into a scowl. She didn’t appreciate the reminder. “Well, I wasn’t caught that time, and I didn’t get caught this time. And guess what? I won’t get caught next time, either. You really worry too much. It’s starting to get boring to listen to all the time.”

  Bernice clamped her mouth shut and stared intently at the road, realizing that her voice of reason was falling on deaf ears.

  The clouds were threatening to take over the miniscule amount of sun trying to get through to the Saturday morning, but the battle was constant, and as they turned onto the street housing their headquarters, a gentle drizzle had begun to fall.

  They pulled around back into the small parking lot. Vern hurried outside the fire door to meet them, his aristocratic face pinched with concern. His dark eyes were wide, almost frightened, and his mouth was twisted. When he saw Elle open the backseat, his entire expression relaxed into a picture of relief.

  “Oh, thank God! You’re okay.”

  Elle rolled her eyes again and slammed the car door behind her, her good spirits completely forsaken.

  “If you people have no faith in me, maybe you should find someone else to do this kind of stuff,” she snapped, striding toward the house, hurt that Vern had considered that she may not be able to pull off the feat.

  I wonder if they have a fail pool back at the office when I go out, all of them trying to determine at exactly what time I might get caught and blow everything. Whoever wins gets the jackpot.

  No one spoke as she stormed into the house.

  “Oh, that’s right! All the rest of you don’t have the balls. So, I guess you’re stuck with little incompetent me for now,” she continued sarcastically, throwing her sunglasses onto the table. “Sorry about your luck.”

  “No! It’s not that!” Vern followed her back into the small office, Bernice and Joey behind him. Elle shrugged, pretending to be unperturbed when she noticed everyone had gathered, chattering excitedly amongst themselves.

  “Oh, no? What is it then?” she asked, glancing semi-curiously at the other members. Vern pointed at the television set in the front room, but Elle could not see the screen over the group surrounding it. “What is going on?” she demanded. “What is it?”

  Vern sighed and shook his head. “They just arrested someone for the attack.”

  2

  Half an Hour Earlier

  I’m supposed to be here. This is where I belong.

  Though the words meant very little to him, there was nothing else to go off. Something had drawn him there, just as he had been drawn everywhere else since he’d arrived… from where? The fact was, he didn’t remember how he’d come to be there as of one week ago or where he’d been before. All he knew for certain was that he had an inner sense to guide him, but toward what, he couldn’t say.

  The figure entered the market, and there was something clearly amiss. Even to his uncertain eyes, he knew that this was not the way it was supposed to be. People everywhere were running amok, screaming in hysterics, tears pouring from their eyes. He turned its head to look from where everyone was fleeing, but there was a strange haze and an acrid smell in the air.

  The market was in chaos, and the shadow abruptly turned to leave, a darkness over his face hiding an intense set of green eyes. He was overwhelmed and sickened by the sights and sounds, more so than usual. He had no actual way of knowing if what was occurring was day to day interaction between the creatures or genuine mayhem, but a much higher evolved instinct seemed to scream that it was the latter and that there was a propensity for danger within this building.

  The mortals were a vile, disgusting species, he knew that for certain. They emitted smells of fetid, rotting meat, which they consumed recklessly and without regard of its origin. They wasted food and used more resources than needed, wastefully discarding more trash than necessary.

  Their communication, loud, brash, and uncouth, was wrought with disdain for everyone, no matter the language or dialect. He found that his ears were incessantly ringing, haunting his inner workings. Mortals lacked basic moral stability and intelligence, and they were easily manipulated as a result. They were ripe for a takeover given the variables.

  What confused him the most, however, was that their population multiplied, like an infestation of their detested cockroaches. He had learned that despite certain parts of this world’s inane surplus of resources, billions starved to death while billions more perished through completely treatable diseases.

  It is such as shame. This was once such a beautiful, virile planet, filled with wildlife, water, and flora. Now, it is a scum ridden wasteland, awash with the ungrateful, the cruel, and the entitled.

  But the stealthy being knew his opinion did not matter. There was no one to listen to it, anyway. He was alone on the planet, trying to understand what he was doing there. Particularly in the middle of a rioting marketplace on a Saturday afternoon.

  He fought through the intensifying crowd, struggling for escape, a completely unfamiliar sense of panic seizing him. He couldn’t seem to find an out, no matter which way he looked, and the realization that he was trapped was sending him into a higher state of unease. Suddenly, there was a piercing scream in his ear.

  “That’s him! That’s the guy!”

  A roar erupted from the group, and everyone seemed to be speaking simultaneously, adding to the being’s mounting anxiety.

  “Where?”

  “Get the bastard!”

  “Where are the cops?”

  “Don’t let him get away!”

  “Wait! He might have another bomb on him!”

  A flurry of movement encased him in a circle of menacing faces of varying age and sex, and he was suddenly surrounded by a furious mob of civilians. He tried to move past them, but they blocked his path, their scent overwhelming his sensitive nose, causing him to gag internally. He attempted to get through again, but they swelled around him, refusing.

  “Allow me to pass, please.” His voice was even, mellifluous with the slightest hint of an undefinable accent. No one was paying attention to any of those details as they drew nearer, faces contorted in fury. He was confused at their animosity. He had done nothing to earn their anger, yet as he stood, examining the situation impartially, he read fear and rage upon all of their faces. “Pardon me,” he tried again, thinking that possibly the horde had not comprehended his original request over the din.

  “You’re not going anywhere, you tree hugging asshole!” An enormously tall man with a gut which hung over his stained track pants lunged forward, meaty hand clenched in a fist. The figure braced himself for impact, an instinctive feeling of fight bubbling in his gut, but he didn’t react.

  You’re not in danger, he thought confidently, unsure how he knew that. From the recesses of his mind, he found another tidbit of information. Mortals tend not to kill each other before witnesses unless during wartime, he remembered from somewhere. Killing was frowned upon in most cultures despite the inherent human desire to ruin themselves.

  Milliseconds before the punch met its intended mark, the foreigner was being pulled back roughly, the hood wrenched down from around his head to display his face. There was a collective gasp from the crowd, as if they feasted their eyes upon so
me hideous creature.

  “Don’t move! You’re under arrest!” a policewoman pinned his arms behind his back, snapping a pair of handcuffs about his wrists. Two rough, impersonal hands shifted his cloak aside and began emptying his barren pockets. He wore a solid piece of cloth in beige, similar to a pair of coveralls but without any definition. It had the feel of a burlap sack and possessed only two pockets at the hips.

  Once more, the urge to fight was overwhelming him. He somehow remained still, unmoving as the frisk continued.

  She’s just doing her job, a reasonable voice told him from somewhere in the depth of his subconscious. And she’s not a mortal. He blinked his bright green eyes and stared at her, a warm feeling overtaking his confusion. If she wasn’t a mortal, then what was she? What the hell am I?

  “Are you sure this is the guy? I thought you guys said it was a woman.” The policewoman stepped back after her search and looked at the crowd questioningly. She held up her empty hands.

  “No, that’s him! There was no woman! It was all him!” a young man yelled.

  “No, it was definitely a woman. A short, thin woman with dark hair. This guy is too big, too tall!” a man quipped. “And she was yelling something about the environment! It was a woman!”

  “No way. How many people walk around a market dressed like Little Red Riding Hood? Of course that’s him!” the huge man with the threatening fists spoke, shaking his head at the doubters. The policewoman seemed convinced by the argument and yanked on the stranger’s arm, moving through the crowd.

  “All right. You’re coming with me until we can straighten all this out, buddy.” He permitted himself to be led through the mob as people threw objects at him and yelled profanities. The cop forced her way through the crowd, seeming exasperated by the commotion. “Do you know why I’m arresting you?” she asked, shooing people out of their path, using her baton as a shield against the mob.