One by one, heads nodded. Lita and Deidre, the only two near Ivy’s age, nodded last.
A knife twisted in her heart, a sharp staggering slice that pulled a breath of air from Ivy’s lungs.
“Very well, then. I will see if most witches in the US coven agree. If you are all happy with my leadership and representation as Council Elect, I’ll call off the hunt.”
“There are reasons our forbearers did not create time magic.” Deidre offered a small smile, but pity danced in her blue gaze. “It’s too dangerous to risk being out there.”
Every fiber of Ivy’s being screamed at her to force the women to listen, and make them accept that she didn’t want to lead and they needed her mother back. It hadn’t worked sixteen years ago, and it certainly wouldn’t now if so many were content with her as priestess.
“Very well. Thank you all for coming and for lending your magic. It does not go unnoticed.” Blowing out a breath, Ivy’s shoulders sagged.
So many hours spent trying to reverse the clock. Simple necromancy brought her mother back for a few hours—just long enough to show Ivy where she and Ivy’s father stashed away certain important documents. Plus, the family got a chance to share a real goodbye.
Whispers of air danced over her skin as the door opened numerous times as the women filtered out. Ivy didn’t watch. As far as she was concerned, she failed at the most important task since her mother passed.
“It’ll be good, you know?” Lita cleared her throat.
“I didn’t realize you hadn’t left.”
“Well, I’d be a pretty terrible friend if I did when you’re so distressed.”
“It shows?”
Lita smirked. “Not if you’d brew something to take the bags out from under your eyes.” Lita dug around in her pocket and pulled out a small vial filled with clear liquid. “Not a potion. Just an energy drink. I like small doses.”
Ivy gestured for Lita to put it away. “I can’t handle energy stimulants. Not when I have a council meeting tomorrow.”
“You’re going to ask, right? The warlocks I mean. Or even the djinn?”
Ivy bit down on her lip and ignored the coppery taste of blood seeping into her mouth. “I can’t. Your mother might be a piece of work, but she’s not wrong. It’s too dangerous to ask for outside help.”
“So you’re . . . giving up?” Lita leaned on the baby grand near the window. “I didn’t think Ivy Lancaster knew the term, let alone how to do it.”
A bitter laugh escaped. Ivy was five years older than Lita, but much of their school years had been together—both public and coven training. Ivy had borne the weight of the coven on her shoulders even as a child because she refused to let her mother down by not being the best. Lita saw that immediately and they’d formed a fast friendship.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever give up, but it’s something I’ll have to pursue quietly.”
“Who knows, maybe you’ll fall madly in love with a warlock and he’ll help.”
“I’m looking for love as much as you are.” Ivy shook her head. “My powers are fine for another five years. Things move a little quicker in the community at my age. I’m not worried.”
“No?” Lita flicked her wand and levitated a chocolate chip cookie from the center of the room over to her. “My mother couldn’t be more up my ass about it.”
“Yes, well, your mother is different.”
Lita snorted. “My mother is a bitch. Say it. We’re close enough friends.”
“Fine, your mother is a bitch who would be better suited to be Council Elect because she has more political savvy in her pinky than I have in my entire body.”
Lita feigned shock with a loud gasp. “But if you aren’t Council Elect you can’t see the hunky detective you pretend you don’t think about.”
Heat raced to her cheeks. “You are not talking about Elijah.”
“I sure am.” Lita grinned cheekily. “Don’t think I don’t see the way you look at him when you bump into him places.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Only, Ivy absolutely did.
Elijah Vikander was a thorn in her side and the single most attractive man she’d ever seen. Before he’d been a part of the New Orleans Police, his dark blonde hair hung to his shoulders, giving any woman hair envy. Now, it was cropped close, barely longer than a military cut but did nothing to make him less handsome. Strong cheekbones showed off his Nordic heritage and eyes as blue as the Caspian Sea seemed to stare right into her soul when she dared to look at him. His muscles had muscles, and while Ivy didn’t care too much about them, she’d had more than one fantasy about being wrapped up safe and sound in his embrace.
“Lie.” Lita flipped her wand in the air, and it emitted a deep red smoke. “See, lie detector spell.”
“How long have you been waiting to use that shit on me?”
“Eight months. Since I saw you damn near drooling after him when you walked out of the meeting held in my mother’s shop.”
Ivy grumbled. “It doesn’t matter. He’s off limits. Weres will always be off limits. At least in New Orleans.”
“Oh puh-lease.” Lita flicked her wand. “Ánoixe,” and the curtains opened, letting a trail of moonlight spill across the living room. “That was years ago. A wolf hasn’t killed a witch in almost a hundred years. There’s absolutely nothing stopping you from sliding under Mr. Drop Dead Sinful for a little fun.”
Ivy giggled at the notion. “I’m not laughing because I agree. I’m laughing because I can’t believe you called him that.”
“Well, I’m not wrong.” Lita paused and grinned. “Just think about those deliciously muscular arms by the sides of your face as he slams into you with your body trapped between his freaking eight-pack and a wall.”
Ivy’s mouth went dry. Nothing stopped the image from popping into her mind.
“See, you’re thinking about it.”
“I am not.” She snapped, wishing her body would stop thrumming with desire.
“Are too. I can see the ways your eyes dilated. You want him.”
“I’m not dating a werewolf. Especially not the Crescent Pack Alpha. My parents would roll over in their graves.”
“Who said anything about dating?” Lita popped another cookie in her mouth after walking to the table this time. “I said screw him. Have a little fun. Enjoy yourself. Besides, I’ve seen some of the cops he works with, specifically his partner. Hunky doesn’t even start to cover them.”
“What makes you think I want to date a cop?”
“Umm, everything about you? You live to follow the rules. Justice has been your middle name since the fire killed your parents and I see the romance novels you think I don’t catch you reading before coven gatherings. You like cops.”
“I also think getting down and dirty with a demon has its moments, doesn’t mean I’m going to marry one.”
“Look at you!” Lita squealed. “You do have a dark side still buried deep down in there from our youth. Not that I blame you, the last demon I saw was hotter than hell. No pun intended.”
Ivy chuckled. “You didn’t just stick around to harass me, did you?”
“Sure did. It’s nice commiserating about men with someone else—even if you don’t have someone breathing down your neck like I do.”
“Well, pack it up. I’ve got a few potions to brew, and I brew them better in peace and quiet.”
“Did you just kick me out?”
Ivy smirked and grabbed her wand off the podium, flicking it in a counter-clockwise circle to get the door to swing open. “Sure did.”
* * *
Elijah’s wolf sat barely restrained beneath the surface of his skin as the cuff’s slapped around the criminal’s wrists. He smelled the wolf lurking in the other man; knew the man was a rouge and nearly snarled. Rouge wolves had no place in his city.
“Let me take him in.” The growled words seemed to set his partner on edge.
“Is this one of those you’re going to bring him in t
hings or you’re going to take him to the bayou and kill him?” Sam waved his hands in the air. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.” Sam looked at the scraggly man at their feet and back to Elijah.
“Is that a yes?”
“Just take me in.” The man’s voice barely wavered, but Elijah could smell his fear. It rolled off the asshole like a tidal wave of sweat and piss.
“Fuck,” Sam ran his hand over his hair. “Just take him. If you’re asking, I assume he’s a wolf.”
“Oh, he’s a wolf. Renegade. Packless. Not allowed.” Elijah wrapped his hand in the back of the man’s dirty white shirt and jerked the man backward, slamming him onto his ass.
“You can’t keep asking me to this.” Sam looked away, blowing out a breath.
“I can and I will anytime it’s one of mine wreaking havoc.”
“Sooner or later I’m going to say no.”
“So I’ll go above you. The rules are different now. I enforce pack law. This man killed three women last week. My law will be harsher than yours.”
“Please, don’t–”
Elijah’s foot connected with the scrawny man’s chest, and he felt bones snap as the man howled.
“I’m a good cop. I play by your rules when it’s any other creature. Let me do what I have to do when it’s one of mine.”
The shifter whimpered but didn’t try to sit up or maybe couldn’t.
Sam muttered something about Supernaturals that he forgot Elijah could hear—wolf hearing.
“No, we’re not all shit heads.”
“Knock that off.”
“What? It’s not like I read your mind. I just heard what you thought I couldn’t.”
“Just take him. Don’t make a scene. Help him walk to the car, and then drive away.” Sam glanced down Pirate’s Alley into Jackson Square, surprised no one came to investigate. Even at two am, the Quarter was lively, but no one seemed to take note of the noises from the alley.
“I don’t want to go with him.”
Elijah stared down at the wolf, his eyes encouraging the man to see the wolf pacing to get justice. “Then you shouldn’t have killed those women. Full moon or not.”
Sam walked away toward Chartres without so much as looking over his shoulder.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Elijah bent down and put his hands on his knees. “You’re going to get up and walk without causing a scene. Cause a scene, and I’ll make sure your death is long and slow. Do this properly, and you’ll have a swift execution.”
Wolves survived through vicious laws. To take another life, even if under the full moon during a forced shift, was to lose your own. Elijah took it seriously, but if men and women owned up to their mistakes and came quietly, he took mercy on them. If they did not, he met them in the ring and reminded his entire pack why he was Alpha.
No one challenged him. Not in the hundred and fifty years since he came of age and challenged the last Alpha, his grandfather. Killing family hurt, but he’d been groomed to lead since his first breath. A bite did not create a werewolf. All shifters were born thanks to Pandora’s Box changing the DNA of the seven people dumb enough to open it. So, until some young hot-to-trot pup thought to take him on, Elijah was untouchable.
“Get up,” he growled, his canines flashing at the man.
With age came power, and Elijah could force changes when the moon wasn’t high in the sky. Came in handy for hunting down perps.
He watched, well glowered, down at the broken man. The other wolf never made eye contact. He rose and turned his right shoulder toward Elijah as if saying “grab it.”
“Smart choice. Justice will be swift, but not before I bring you before the pack to witness.”
The man said nothing. Elijah couldn’t miss the limp in the man’s walk, but he didn’t feel guilty about it. Pain taught lessons, and had this man not murdered innocents, he would have learned not to take on his Alpha in an entirely different fashion.
A few drunken stares were all the commotion that followed as Elijah forcefully tugged the man up Chartres to the car. Quite a few months had come and gone since he’d had to bring a wolf to the pack to witness justice. Tonight, Elijah would remind his pack that not following the law—be it human or wolf—brought consequences none could run from.
2
Elijah hated exactly one thing more than wolves who broke pack law—council meetings. He fully supported the Council of Supernaturals and the efforts they took to keep the peace between all races. In fact, without them, it stood to reason humans would have been wiped off the planet three years ago
He simply shouldn’t be at them. As alpha of the largest pack in the country, there were better uses of his time. Elijah chose to be a cop. The work was fulfilling, and it allowed him to blend into the community, learn what went under his nose, and keep people safe. Two jobs provided more than enough tasks to fill his plate. The monthly council meetings served no purpose beyond sticking him with a job no one else wanted to do.
Twice he’d tried to pawn it off on his beta, Glen. Twice, the other wolf threatened to go rogue rather than deal with the politics. Eleven times, Elijah sent out requests for other pack leaders to take up the mantle. Each and every time the same argument was made.
The council meets in New Orleans.
Grumbling at his thoughts, Elijah forced himself to focus as the check-ins occurred. His sworn duty entitled representing his people, but also watching what unfolded should it pose a threat to his pack. Within moments, the words the Djinn Elect, Angela, spoke blurred into obscurity. The older woman used verbose and flowery prose and made the meetings last longer.
“I have no true news to report.”
The sultry tones of the only person in the room to ever pull Elijah’s attention drew him back into the meeting.
“My coven is growing larger than the city allows. In a month or so, I will have to begin the arduous task of seeing who I will have to command to move away. To leave this city of mist and magic.” Ivy Lancaster’s words held more grief than one woman should bear.
Do not look at her. Do not even think about Ivy Lancaster even being here. Biting down on his cheek, Elijah kept his gaze on his lap. If he dared to look at the beautiful woman who sat next to him, his dick would do all the thinking, and he had to report next.
Her being a witch only made it more important he never gave in to the desires that seemed to guide him to her like a spell. She’d never spelled him. Elijah knew as much because she too spent as little time in his company as she could. If she’d wanted his attention, some interest would have been shown.
The Crescent Pack and Coven did not get along. They mingled, but for the most part, they kept to their own kind. In the late seventeen hundreds, Elijah’s grandfather struck a bargain with the witches. The wolves would protect the city, and the witches would provide a charm to prevent the pain that comes with a forced full-moon shift. The story goes the witches worked with warlocks and betrayed the wolves. The talismans were fake and trapped the few wolves who tried to find relief with it in wolf form until it was smashed.
No, Ivy Lancaster would never spell him in any fashion that would invoke desire. She believed in positive energy, and spelling or hexing him to do something that would punish him wasn’t her style.
Still, Elijah watched her, not in a stalker-ish way, but at the meetings. He often wondered what it would be like to bed a witch. Their skills knew very little bounds, and the idea of fucking a beautiful woman while floating seemed fun to him. He had no idea why it just did.
“I would seek the help of all in the room should it become necessary to petition the city to allow more magical users entrance.”
Elijah realized he’d zoned out. Shit. Stop thinking about her. Clenching his hands, Elijah let his short nails bite into his palm.
Renard, the Vampire Elect, called for a vote. “All those in favor of allowing more witches in the area, say aye.”
Elijah glanced up, watching the current council leader call for the vo
te. His ears picked up every distinct voice, despite them all speaking at once. Only the Human Elect, Candice, did not say aye.
“This must be unanimous.” Renard reminded the group, his eyes on the human.
“I have to represent my faction, correct?” The mayor blew out a breath. “While I personally do not agree with limits, they are done to quell fear. We can tiptoe around the fact humans are on the bottom of the chain, or we can admit it. You lived in quiet and secrecy for years, but how many criminals were revealed to be Supernaturals once all was known?”
Though Elijah detested the limitations on species, he understood the human’s comment. Seventy-three percent of murderers in the United States alone were unmasked as a committed by Supernaturals.
A grumbling went through the room. No one spoke loudly enough for anyone but Elijah to hear the comments. Surprisingly, all agreed with Candice, except Ivy.
“I can hear you all,” he smirked, jokingly cupping his hand over his right ear. “So I’ll say it loudly. You all agree with Candice now. The limits remain.”
He glanced to his right and nearly rolled to the side. A ball of purple fire danced at the tip of Ivy’s wand. Though it hovered burning so far off the tip it nearly fell, Ivy didn’t launch the magic at him. Magical protections prevented attacks within the walls, but he wasn’t certain if she attempted to attack him, or merely warn him.
“Ivy,” Renard warned, the threat of hypnotism on the horizon if she didn’t listen.
At once, the ball of light winked out.
“My apologies. I’ve had a rough week, and while I too understand humanity’s concerns, hearing it spoken so brazenly upset me.” She tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ears and closed her eyes for a split second. “Forgive me, Elijah.”
A low growl escaped him. Others would take it as anger, and he wouldn’t correct them. There was no need for anyone to know the way his name on her lips felt like a lover’s caress. “Forgiven.” The blurted word was curt, but he would not repeat himself or apologize.
“Very well then, if we could save the dramatics for the next month when someone else is in charge I’d appreciate that.” Renard looked at Elijah. “Shifters report?”
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