Nine by Night: A Multi-Author Urban Fantasy Bundle of Kickass Heroines, Adventure, & Magic

by SM Reine

  Witches and water, salt or fresh, were a lousy combination. However, it was just twisted enough to fit her strange life that she’d be attracted to a lyr.

  Didn’t mean she had to give in to every little itch. Thank Fate for the modern age and batteries.

  “What do you want?” she asked without bothering to soften her annoyance.

  “Nothing from you,” he said.

  “Then you won’t mind if I go back inside. Unlike some people, I work for a living.” She turned to go, but an implacable force slammed her against the side of the building.

  With his big hands on her shoulders and his feet planted on either side of hers, she was pinned. “Leave Owen and Tasha alone,” he said softly, “or you’ll answer to me.”

  “What are you doing to do? Swat me with a flipper?”

  He ran his eyes all over her, and against her will, her body warmed under the inspection, waking in places that had been cold for longer than she wanted to admit.

  “Those who have experienced lyr justice tend not to forget,” he said. “Those who live, anyway.”

  “You would do that?” she asked. “Risk the wrath of the seraphim for hurting one of their slaves?”

  He snorted. “The seraphim wouldn’t risk one feather to save the life of a witch and you know it.” He tucked a lock of her hair that had fallen forward behind her ear. “But things don’t have to be contentious between us.”

  She allowed herself the ghost of a smile and held his stare. “I think I know quite well what’s between us right now.”

  He didn’t look away, moved his hips gently against her. Surprisingly, she didn’t mind it. Didn’t mind the closeness, the heat and pressure of him.

  And then his lips were on hers, and they were as firm and soft as she remembered. He kissed her gently, respectfully, and she found herself opening to him, allowing him to set the pace. Settling into his embrace as his hand roamed her breast, his thumb circling her nipple, squeezing gently. His lips trailed a fire of kisses down her neck, skimming the silver rune at her throat.

  Abruptly, she came to her senses, shoved him off and stumbled a few steps away and stood with her arms wrapped protectively around her middle, breathing hard. “You have no shame.”

  A lock of his thick dark hair fell over his forehead, and he grinned, his lips reddened from her mouth, his dark eyes heavy-lidded and sensual. “No, thankfully lyrinye lack your boring moral code, which, if you ask me—”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  He lifted one leather-clad shoulder in an elegant shrug. “But you want me.”

  She didn’t say anything. Couldn’t speak for the gorge of rage rising in her throat. The hell of it was, he was right and she did want him, but the only reason he’d come out here was to keep her away from Owen White.

  She frowned.

  When in public, the were’s lyr protector rarely left the side of the Lost Legacy alpha or his brother, so why would he leave Owen alone inside with Tasha McNeil? Owen was pissed about her handiwork, but what could he do about it?

  There was no good reason for Remy to come out here. Not unless he and Owen had a plan to subvert or destroy all of her hard work.

  As if reading her mind, Remy smiled.

  Lilith whirled and ran for the side door.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Remy had been right behind Owen when they’d slid out of the booth and fought their way through the crowd toward Chill’s front door, but somewhere along the way, he’d vanished.

  Owen turned back toward the front of the bar. He’d have to deal with this alone.

  Watching Gideon Black did not help his mood. When the were halted his forward progress, paused and swung his head to the left, Owen’s mood got worse.

  Despite his confidence in the plan when he’d explained it to Remy, Owen was not cool with what he was doing on a lot of levels, which made it just as well that his friend had deserted him.

  Gideon Black stared at Tasha McNeil.

  But Tasha was staring past the big alpha, her gaze lasered on Owen. Pain streaked from his gut up the back of his neck.

  Shit, but he needed a run. As fast and as far from this moment as possible. Maybe run so fast and so far he’d escape this life for another.

  The pink cocktail Tasha held in one hand began to tremble, and a flush suffused her face. She started to stand, reached out with the drink to place it on the ridiculously small table. About three-quarters of the glass base landed on the flat surface, tottered and crashed to the floor in a spray of fine glass. Surprisingly, the sound seemed loud to Owen, as if he’d filtered the boom and thump of the dance music and cued only on Tasha and Gideon.

  Tasha jumped back from the spill. The redhead seated next to Tasha threw her head back in an exaggerated laugh and tried to stand at the same time, but managed to fall from her chair, landing in the pink puddle with her skirt hiked up on her thighs while she laughed and laughed.

  Immediately, Tasha crouched to help the redhead, but Gideon moved faster. He was like a dark wave. One minute across the bar from the women and the next, smoothly assisting the redhead to her feet. Once she was settled, he turned to Tasha, took her hand in his giant paw and raised it to his mouth, pressed his lips to her wrist.

  Pain arced through Owen. He bent double, his head grazing his knees, his vision swimming as the dark lager he’d consumed rose in his throat.

  He forced himself upright in time to see Tasha’s gaze target Gideon, her eyes widen, her mouth round in a perfect pink O. The mark Owen had placed on her wrist blazed like a neon red beacon on a stormy coast in his were vision.

  He strode forward, the filament of connection drawing him to her defense in what was, essentially, a rush to suicide. Only a were bent on certain death charged any alpha, let alone the leader of a pack other than his own. Some rational part of his brain yammered this eminently sensible argument against suicide all the while his thighs flexed and released, closing the distance with Gideon and Tasha.

  The slam of a hard hand on his shoulder halted him. He stood there, swaying slightly. Slowly, his senses opened up, the beats of the music returning along with the rumble of conversation.

  Remy’s voice cut through the noise. “—what you wanted, right? I thought this was your plan? Let Gideon take Tasha to save her from Lan’s retribution. Unless you’ve come up with something else, it’s too late to back out now. We’ve got to see this through.”

  Owen looked at Remy. “Where were you just now?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  He gestured at Gideon and Tasha. “How did he know?”

  Remy frowned and shook his head.

  “About her,” Owen said. “Tasha. I never said anything to Gideon about her. We only talked about me submitting to him. That’s it. Nothing else.”

  “Who knows?” Remy said. “This is Lost Legacy territory. Gideon wouldn’t walk in here blind, so he probably did some research.”

  Owen took a step closer to Gideon and Tasha. The pressure of Remy’s hand on his arm tightened into a vice. “Let it go. She doesn’t matter, man. You made the deal. He’s come to collect. Only thing left to do is see it through the best we can.”

  Pure comforting rage swirled through Owen. “We? What’s this we?” he snarled. “Since when are you going over to the dark side with me?”

  Remy spread his palms wide. “Whatever you want. However you want it to go down. It’s your deal. I’m only here to help.”

  In some dim part of his brain, Owen knew he was acting like an asshole, but the part that was driving him didn’t give a shit. No way could a cold-blooded lyr know his pain. What had he been thinking to allow a beast like Gideon Black take Tasha?

  His Tasha.

  He could smell her from here, would have been able to detect her unique signature from a throng of women on a crowded city street. He remembered the silk of her skin against his fingertips, her bright hair splayed against the white pillowcase, the wet heat of her that was for him and him alone.

  Not fuck
ing Gideon Black.

  Owen surged forward.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lilith plowed through the swinging doors from the kitchen into the bar just in time to see Gideon Black pivot, neatly swinging Tasha McNeil protectively behind him, and face Owen White’s charge. The music still pumped, but the attention of the customers focused on the two big weres. Black’s mouth curved into a sneer and from the cut of his arms and his stance, he was ready for a fight.

  If it came to that.

  Of course, weres were always ready to fight, so just because they looked ready to tear each other apart at this moment didn’t always signify.

  Black towered over Owen by at least four inches, and Owen was a big man.

  Big were, for that matter.

  It looked as if Black had gussied himself up for the occasion because he’d shaved since the last time Lilith had seen him and raked a claw through his long, black hair. He still reeked of the wild, the scent of pine and smoke and light sweat rolling off him, so showers seemed optional, but he wore clean, fitted jeans, massive steel-toed boots and a sleek, black leather jacket that looked almost new.

  Lilith raced around the bar before skittering to a halt, one hand on the brass ring embedded in the end of the bar and without bothering to grab the Louisville Slugger stored there for such occasions. There was no baseball bat in the world built to take on two weres. In seconds, they’d turn it into toothpicks and use them to clean their fangs after they’d finished ripping to bloody shreds the impertinent female who’d interfered in their business.

  The question was: What was the alpha of the Pacific Range pack doing in Lost Legacy territory? The last she’d heard, Lost Legacy’s alpha, Landelarc Sable, was holed up somewhere healing from a broken leg. Lilith shuddered, imagining the level of force required to break an alpha’s femur. Normally, the beasts healed quickly. Whatever had happened to Lan must have been heinous if it was taking weeks to heal.

  News that Lan had been laid up had been her signal to make a move, and she’d called Owen to ask for a meet. With Lan out of the way, even temporarily, she had a vastly better chance of making inroads on the pack and putting herself that much closer to her goal of obtaining a seat on the Kinraven Council.

  None of her speculations explained what had brought Gideon Black to town since it could not have been to confer with Lan. Unlike the Lost Legacy pack that congregated along this narrow stretch of the coast, the Pacific Range pack roamed like true nomads, spending summers in the south, tracking north every few seasons. Rumor had it they owned houses scattered throughout the Rocky Mountains and Cascade Range where they took shelter periodically after weeks in the wild. For that reason, there was no telling when the Pacific Range weres would show up in any particular spot. That being said, all packs under the rule of the council respected the territorial borders of rival packs.

  If Black’s presence was part of some plan, Owen didn’t look happy about it. But Remy had clearly warned her to leave them alone.

  That meant Owen was up to something.

  The local shifters normally didn’t come into town much and almost never into Chill. At least, they hadn’t as along as Lilith had been in command of the bar. She didn’t put up with their annoying tendency to fight every time someone made a random comment they interpreted as an insult, real or imagined. Or tangled over a female who probably couldn’t handle that much testosterone anyway.

  More than a few weres in one location usually resulted in broken furniture, smashed out windows and general chaos. And that was when no one got hurt, and no blood was spilled. When it was only one or two, she could keep an eye on the bastards and pass them off as strays from a biker gang who only looked alarmingly huge, but were actually harmless.

  Not.

  It was too much trouble to explain what was really going on, even if anyone would believe it, so she didn’t bother, preferring to drive their shifter asses out of the bar. But now she had four weres to deal with plus Remy.

  The lyr had managed to find his way back inside even faster than she had. She shook her head, not wanting to think about the way he moved, turning into a dark blur with his inhuman speed. He stood behind Owen now like a faithful lieutenant. That was another relationship she didn’t understand. Sure, the lyr had been posted with Lost Legacy as part of an exchange between races as dictated by the council, but his loyalty seemed like the real deal. No way did she believe it was reciprocated.

  Weres took care of their own. Period.

  Remy stared at her, and her body responded, remembering the heat of his kiss out in the alley. Her stomach clenched low and hard.

  Fuck them all.

  She slipped behind the bar, hefted her baseball bat and approached the snarling standoff.

  “You boys look thirsty. Misty here’ll be happy to get you something to drink,” she said as pleasantly as she could. Misty stood off to the left with her brown fiberglass tray clutched against her chest like a shield.

  Gideon Black’s eyes cut to Lilith. “I’m not thirsty.” His words came out like a growl, guttural sounds that faintly resembled English.

  “Well,” she said, “then we’ve got a problem because this is a bar. People like to come here to drink and relax. Have a good time. I can’t allow you…guys…to get in the way of innocent people enjoying themselves.”

  Gideon jerked his chin up and back swiftly as if he suddenly scented something foul. “Ask him. This is his territory. I am merely a guest.”

  She looked at Owen. “That true?”

  Owen White practically quivered with rage, but he nodded.

  Lilith balanced the weight of the bat on her palms. “That’s different.” She gestured toward the rear of the establishment. “You should have mentioned it because it so happens we have a banquet room for private parties. I think you might be more comfortable there.”

  Music still boomed from the dance floor, but most of the attention of the agape vacationers was on the werewolf confrontation. A few of the braver souls held their cell phones high, red lights blinking.

  Great. That was all she needed. Tourists recording a shifter duel.

  Remy leaned forward and spoke softly into Owen’s ear. Owen’s gaze never left Gideon. Tasha seemed to have turned into a blond statue posed behind Gideon Black, staring straight ahead at his massive back as if watching an invisible screen mounted between his shoulder blades. Or maybe she’d gone into a fugue state. She’d done the same thing ten days ago when Lilith had hexed the were mark on her wrist.

  Owen turned to Lilith. “The private room is a good idea.”

  Gideon Black nodded. “Lead the way.”

  Lilith did so.

  Owen, Remy, Gideon and his two bodyguards fell in.

  Tasha McNeil trailed behind them like a ghost.

  After the five men filed past her into the banquet room, Lilith took Tasha by the arm. The younger woman didn’t protest, but when Lilith ushered her through the doorway and down the short hall leading back to the bar, she resisted. “I need to go back there.”

  “Bad idea,” Lilith said.

  “But—”

  “No buts,” Lilith said.

  “This is about me,” Tasha said, pointing at the banquet room door.

  “Maybe, maybe not. It’s hard to tell with them.” She jerked her head toward the bar. “It’s safer for you out there. Let them settle their deal, and then we’ll see what’s up.”

  Tasha’s eyes flared with a sudden infusion of awareness and anger. “I’m not going to stand around while those…those…” She fell silent, and Lilith waited. Finally, Tasha said, “Crazy stuff happens to me, and there you are. Just like before. I don’t understand. What the hell is going on?”

  “I don’t know,” Lilith said, finding it interesting that she was telling the truth, “but if you go out to the bar and stay with your friends, I’ll find out.”

  “How will I know if you’re telling the truth?”

  “Then leave. Walk away.” She didn’t want Tasha to do that,
but it was pointless to attempt to convince someone about something you would not do.

  It wasn’t Lilith’s fault the were had marked Tasha McNeil or that the woman didn’t remember much of the experience. The slight adjustment Lilith’s hex had made to Owen’s mark should have had no effect on Tasha. Although it would take a concerted search to find anyone with a lower opinion of weres than Lilith, she’d never known a were to mark a female who hadn’t given her consent. As far as she knew, all weres were sticklers about that sort of thing.

  But consent wasn’t the same thing as a true understanding. From the dazed and confused expression on Tasha’s face, the woman didn’t have a clue about the nature of her current situation.

  It made Lilith wonder if Tasha had the brains and guts she’d need to deal with a were like Owen. Forget about an alpha like Gideon—he’d have her for breakfast.

  Still, things were in motion, and there was no going back. At least Tasha McNeil had a chance, and that was more than most humans got with a were.

  “Second thought, it might be better for you if you went back home and forgot about all this,” Lilith said.

  “I can’t walk away,” Tasha said in a low voice. “I need to understand.”

  “Then let me help,” Lilith said.

  “Like you helped me with Owen? I don’t think so.”

  There was a loud thump that sounded like a heavy body had been thrown against the wall of the banquet room. Tasha jumped. “Are they always like this?” she asked.

  Lilith snorted. “They’re not exactly housebroken. What do you expect from a were?”

  Tasha frowned. “A what?”

  “Were.” When Tasha didn’t respond, she continued, “Shifter? You know, werewolf? Fangs, lousy temper, goes all hairy and howls at the full moon?”

  Tasha laughed. “So that’s their symbol? My ex used to watch Sons of Anarchy on television. The guy who played the lead was kind of hot, but it was too violent for my taste.”