by Lauren Dane
“Ha! Good luck with that. You just gonna beat off forever? Because there’s a big mess to clean up and I don’t know how long it’ll take.” Everett shoved a huge slice of pizza into his face.
“I hardly think jerking off forever and dating are the only choices I have.” Mac didn’t rise to the bait. If he did, his cousins would only fuck with him worse. “Maybe for losers like you, though.” He shrugged and then ducked to avoid the lazy backhand Everett aimed in his direction.
“Darrell came in today and got mad when we didn’t give his car repairs to him for free,” Everett said.
“As you now run the place with Jace Dooley, I imagine he’d be far more likely to be charged twice as much,” Mac told his cousin.
“Your brother is a turd.” Huston shrugged.
“I’m sick of him strutting around town like a peacock. Stirring the pot every time he can. It’s a waste of time. Worse, it’s bad for everyone.” Everett blew out a long breath.
There was only so much he could say in public. It wasn’t the time or the place to start talking family and pack business.
Mac nodded once to let his cousins know he heard, understood and they’d talk about it soon.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you look twice at a witch before,” Huston said quietly once the table had moved on to a new topic.
“I look twice when someone catches my eye. Lots of witches do and have.”
“Which must be why you’re so defensive.”
“Are you trying to provoke me into being grumpy?” he asked Huston
Everett thought that was hilarious. “It’s like you just met him. He’s a dick who gets on everyone’s nerves.”
“Yeah, well, I’m no Darrell.” Huston flipped his brother off.
They all laughed and Mac didn’t even feel bad. His brother had created the situation and he had to clean it up.
And he’d have to clean it up while fending off his parents, who had spoiled Darrell to the point of utter uselessness.
But he didn’t have to think about it that night. He had pizza and beer and company. He’d enjoy those and think about pack business the next day.
Chapter Three
Aimee had spent the afternoon at an assisted-living facility, stopping in to visit with her clients. The facility was run by witches—though they couldn’t be out about that fact in the regular world—and most of the elderly living there were gifted in some sense.
There were more witches and shifters than those who lived in Diablo Lake, of course. There were other towns similar to theirs, places paranormals, or the gifted, sought one another—and safety in numbers—to create a community.
Mainly though, they lived in cities like everyone else, limiting their true nature to keep themselves hidden and safe.
But when they got very sick or needed to be placed in elder or hospice care, the human options were not very good for the gifted.
Shifters needed the opportunity to change forms. That magic was integral to their very lives so their placement had to be near some sort of wilderness that afforded them privacy to run as wolves regularly.
Witches needed to continue to nurture their power or it got weak and in doing so, made the witch weak. Magic was as necessary to their vitality as a healthy circulatory system. Part of what Aimee did regularly with home visits was garden or work kitchen magic with witches all over the area.
A quiet connection shared with someone was part of the thread that held a good life together. Her dad had told her that when she’d been a little girl. He’d been drawn to law enforcement by his talents too. He spent a lot of time in his truck just driving all over the huge—and at times difficult and nearly impassibly remote—territory that made up Diablo Lake. To check in. To keep his attention on the heart of their community, to be that thread to those of their kind.
Places like Maple River—the facility she was in just then—existed all over the world, created and run by their own. Holding together good lives for those who were on the slow and steady path to leaving this world.
Their elders were the heart of their community. The institutional memory. Mostly, if at all possible, families or those close to the elderly witch or shifter would take them in. Even if outside assistance was necessary.
But that wasn’t always possible. Sometimes there was no family, or no one who could take on that sort of commitment for a host of reasons. And in those cases, they were fortunate enough to have enough beds and slots for their elders in facilities like this one.
Truth was, Aimee only hoped she’d be half as amazing as the clients she dealt with daily. The things she learned, the stories they shared with her, the spells and recipes, were just part of the myriad ways they enriched her life.
Even the tough ones taught her things.
Right at the moment, her tough one was simply a mean-spirited old cuss who hated that he was getting old and would be dying sooner than later.
He didn’t like women. Unless they were serving him in some way, as he informed her the first day she met him. In that same conversation he also let her know of his dislike for do-gooders.
He didn’t like a lot of things and most people. But for some twisted reason, Aimee wanted to reach him. Wanted to be there so he knew he wasn’t alone. He made it really hard so half the time she did it out of sheer will, so he wouldn’t win his attempts to make everyone hate him.
It had taken six months just to get him to acknowledge her presence at all half the time.
Right then he sat at a table in the common room working on a jigsaw puzzle. The one thing, after over a year of trying, he’d actually accepted from her were the puzzles and word-hunt books she brought and pretended they were for everyone—even though no one else touched them because they didn’t like him either and he was less grouchy when he had things to do.
She made sure her smile was off her features as she cruised his way. He’d balk if she was friendly. Aimee paused to say her goodbye to a few people here and there, one last connection with them and a way to gentle him to her approach.
“Mr. Hatcher,” she said as she looked over the puzzle.
He harrumphed.
“The medication you need has been approved. I left it at the nurse’s desk.” The treatment for the seizures he’d developed over the last three years was not only ridiculously expensive but experimental because he was a witch, and their physiology reacted slightly differently to some medications than humans’ did. They had to run their own trials, outside the notice of human authorities.
“Pay special attention to any side effects and let the nurse know, or call me, if you have questions or need help. I’ll check in over the next few days to see how it’s working.”
He harrumphed again.
She resisted the urge to touch him, though she sensed he needed a hug. His loneliness seemed to call out to her so much more loudly than his attitude.
“Have a good evening, Mr. Hatcher. Blessed be.”
She didn’t smile until she turned away.
On the drive back home, she listened to a new audiobook. Winter had come and the deeper she drove into the mountains, the more treacherous driving conditions were.
However, her tires were spelled by her mother to keep traction, which got her home safely every time. Some parts of the year meant the roads were closed, but like the tires, she had spells to get around those sorts of impediments as well.
At the end of her nearly two-hour trip home, all she wanted was dinner and a glass of wine to enjoy while she watched her reality shows and pretended to feel guilty.
But she had no food. Damn it.
She could eat cereal, she was sure she had some of that. She could even go to Katie Faith’s or her parents’ place to give puppy-dog eyes and get fed.
But really, she just wanted to put on pajamas and veg o
ut on her own.
So she stopped at the market on her way home, narrowly avoiding getting her bumper clipped by Bonita Pembry, who needed to have had her car taken from her at least a decade ago.
Making a mental note to talk with Bonita’s kids once more about taking her keys away, she hitched her bag up on her shoulder and headed inside.
The air hung heavy with tension as the doors slid open and she briefly wished she’d stopped back in Wolcott for groceries instead. Of late, at least half the time she went into a public space where they all gathered, this was the result.
As an empathic witch, her filters helped keep all that out, stopped the basic seepage of negative energy into her life that could make her sick and deplete her magic.
That night, as she pushed her buggy—and of course it was the one with the screwy wobbly front wheel—she just wanted to get her groceries and get out.
Halfway down the first aisle to get bread she nearly got bowled over by two wolves arguing about something or other. Normal big men were bad enough, but werewolves tended to all be supersized so as they barreled past she had to grab the shelf to keep from losing her feet.
“Hey!”
They waved a hand over their shoulders and called back an apology, but for goodness’ sake they didn’t even look to see if she was okay.
It came over her then. She just didn’t want to deal with more bullshit politics between wolves that day. Her filters were paper thin and she was exhausted past the point of caring who she offended. Really bad ingredients in a recipe for possible disaster. The last place she wanted to be was anywhere public. She decided to forage in her pantry, or maybe give in and eat that old diet frozen meal she’d been avoiding for months. She was going home.
Once she returned the buggy and then got back outside, things were a little better and she could get her breath a lot easier. She was in the process of stepping off the raised walk at the store’s entry to walk across the lot to where she’d parked when the arguing wolves barreled out the doors behind her in a tangle of fists and really foul language.
Everything seemed to slow down as they headed straight for her. She had a moment to make her muscles obey to move, but surprise and the speed of the fighting shifters got the best of her.
Suddenly she was plucked up and spun out of the way, thrust several feet away from the melee.
“You okay? Stay there.” Mac Pembry gave her one last, quick look before he turned his attention back to the fight and snapped out a command to stop that not only brought the fight to a halt, but ended Aimee’s shaking as well.
Huh.
Something in her magic responded to his. Clicked into place. She thought about it, picked it over a little in her head as she realized how unique the experience was.
But when the jangly bits of fear left her she got pissed. What the hell did the wolves in this town think they were doing? This was beyond irresponsible! They were so much bigger than everyone else. Had much more strength and if they couldn’t use it safely—like witches had to use their power—the rest of the town could easily get caught in the crossfire.
And for what? Dick measuring?
* * *
Anger, cold and hard, gave Mac the focus he needed. As he stalked over, he took in and weighed each option, each potential problem or weakness. The power of the pack seemed to flow until it roared in his ears.
This was what it meant to be Prime, or next in line to run the Pembry werewolf pack. The power of his wolves, their magic included, wouldn’t transfer to just anyone. It was their faith and fealty to the Prime and the very top leader, the Patron, that made those wolves so much stronger. It’s what enabled them to keep power and hold it.
His wolf snarled as Mac reached in to jab the biggest guy, a Dooley, in the face hard enough to send him stumbling back a few feet. Mac turned to grab the other wolf—one of his—and held him there by the hair.
Everything seemed to slow as he asserted control and every wolf there, Dooleys included, was affected. No one held his gaze, or even tried to. That wild part of his soul paced and prowled, hungry to make a point.
He kept his voice low, but insistent. “I know you have better things to be doing right now than bringing shame to your family acting this way in public. The cops have been called, you can bet on that. Carl’s mad enough at us as it is and I am sick and fucking tired of you shitheads embarrassing all the rest of us shifters.”
He shoved the Pembry wolf he’d been holding. Couldn’t have been old enough to drink more than a year or two. The other one looked just as young and stupid. “Act like you got some sense.”
Werewolves and cat shifters had rules, laws that’d been passed down generation after generation in town. They were stronger and faster and most often larger than the witches who didn’t heal as quickly either. This was the sort of thing that could make witches fear them even more.
“You’re not my Patron,” one of the wolves who’d gathered to watch, called out.
Ronnie, one of his brother Darrell’s idiot fanboys, didn’t know what hit him, even as his back made contact with a brick wall.
No damned discipline in this pack. Jesus.
“You got anything else to say?” Mac’s voice held nothing but cold contempt. Ronnie, perhaps too stunned, kept his mouth shut and then lowered his gaze.
Mac told the two who’d been fighting to make their apologies to Aimee, whose color had come back from the pallor that’d made him so pissed to start with. She’d been shaken and he didn’t like that one bit.
They told her how sorry they were and that it would never happen again.
Her normally pleasant demeanor had gone wary and no-small-amount stony. She nodded at them and made a shooing motion with her hand. They looked to him for permission, which he gave and they ran off. He glared at the rest, all the bystanders, who scrambled quick enough to keep him from punching anyone else.
Once he was satisfied the problem had been solved for the moment, he focused on her features, carefully taking her in. “Are you really all right?” He kept his voice quiet, knowing she’d had a scare.
Instead of bursting into tears, she propped a hand on her hip and cocked it with a glare his way. “Luckily, yes. I may have scared a few new gray hairs into existence though. This is a problem. What are you going to do about it?”
Well. That had been unexpectedly hot.
The chief of police—also Aimee’s dad—rushed over, the battle between cop and daddy clear on his features. “What the Sam hell is going on here?”
Aimee waved the hand not on her hip. “The usual. Wolves beating one another up in public. It’s a weekly occurrence and I know I’m not the only one who is really tired of it.” She sent a fake sweet smile Mac’s way.
She had a viciously sharp tongue. Who knew that’d suddenly be his favorite flavor?
“There was a Dooley wolf in that fight too, if I recall,” Mac said.
“Notice I didn’t even mention Pembry. You made it about that. And I’m not surprised.” The prim sniff of outrage at the end was the perfect capper.
Carl, the cop and aforementioned dad of the woman he’d just been imagining naked, spoke and sent that little fantasy away. “I’m not in any sort of mood for excuses, Mac. This is getting worse by the day, and don’t feed me any bullcrap about this being Katie Faith’s fault, ’cause you know that’s not true.” He gave his best stern-cop face. It worked. Carl wasn’t shifter big, but he was big enough and certainly a powerful enough witch that he could handle himself just fine. He could be scary when he needed to be.
Damn his father for making such a mess. Inept leadership, favoritism and laziness had taken over as a work ethic in the years he’d been gone.
Mac took a deep breath. “I’m doing my best, sir, to get things under control. I surely don’t blame Katie Faith for anything of the sort. But eve
n without that, there’s been some upheaval. Shifters are just working out their issues. Cats do it too.”
“The cats keep their interpersonal bullshit away from the grocery store. Because of that, the cats aren’t my problem right now. The wolves are. And they have been. What are y’all gonna do about it? I’m down an officer as it is and I’m sick and tired of cleaning up after you. This stuff takes up half my time at this point.”
“That’s not your business, Carl. That’s pack business. We’ll handle it.”
Carl curled his lip. “If I was holding my breath waiting for that promise to come true, I’d have been dead long ago. Every time your pack business spills out into my streets y’all make it my problem. You make it the problem of the witches in this town too. So I’m going to advise you to handle this for real or others will. You hear me?”
* * *
Aimee moved to stand next to her father, lending him her magic. Understanding why Mac was being so aggressively defensive but not allowing him to intimidate her father. Or through them, the witches.
Mac stared at her, frozen for long seconds. Fascinated, Aimee watched him breathe in, sucking the air all around him over his palate. He shook his head slowly and then rolled his shoulders.
“I’m working on it. I truly am. Now if you’re all right, Aimee, I need to get to dealing with some of that business we were just discussing.” Mac stepped back, not turning from either of them until he’d gotten a bit more space.
For a jerkface werewolf, he had a great butt. Like seriously fantastic.
“Why don’t you come on over to the house and tell me what happened,” her dad said as he guided her to her car.
She’d long since given up on her dinner and television so she might as well let her mom feed her. And it wasn’t like her dad was going to give her another choice anyway.
“I’ll see you there shortly,” she told him.
* * *
From her parents’ driveway, she texted Katie Faith to let her know what happened. Because she was with Jace now, it meant she was in charge of the Dooley wolves too. And one of those morons at the fight was a Dooley.