by SM Reine
“Yeah,” Lilith said slowly, the full extent of Tasha’s ignorance spreading like an oil slick on a moon dark pond. “But not.”
“Not what?”
“Not bikers. Not even human. They only look human. They’re werewolves. Real ones.”
Except Remy, but she left that particular detail out since Tasha didn’t act like she was prepared to deal with the variations in the shifter versions.
“Werewolves don’t exist,” Tasha said stubbornly. “They’re an urban legend.”
“Like this doesn’t exist?” She grabbed Tasha’s wrist and turned it over. An intricate knot of lines formed a raised red welt against her pale skin. “This is real. This is Owen’s mark. The mark of a werewolf.”
Jerking her hand from Lilith’s grasp, Tasha cradled it against her breast. “I got tangled in some vines on a hike this past week at the spa. Possibly poison ivy. I have sensitive skin.”
Lilith raised a brow.
“There were a lot of weeds,” Tasha said defensively. “I think maybe they had thorns.”
Lilith sighed, not wanting to argue with a woman willing to consider the notion that a poison ivy rash might appear in an artistically patterned design on two square inches of her body and nowhere else. “Whatever. You still want to understand what’s going on?”
Tasha nodded.
“Then go and sit with your friends and wait for me. When I know more, I’ll come back and fill you in. Sound like a plan?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“You can go home and pretend it never happened,” Lilith said.
“I’m not going to walk away. I want answers.”
“Then you’re going to have to trust me.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
After making sure Tasha was seated safely with her friends in the bar, Lilith slipped back inside the banquet room. She noted that only one table had been overturned with two of the metal legs dented and misshapen. The wall nearest the table was in worse shape. The seventies era driftwood-colored paneling boasted a werewolf-sized hole at eye level with half-broken pieces jutting into the room at odd angles.
Why talk when you can throw your buddies around like soccer balls?
One of Gideon Black’s lieutenants hunched on the floor nearby, cradling one arm and glaring at Owen with murderous intent. Or what would have been murderous intent in a human face. With werewolves, it was hard to tell hatred from admiration because their entire emotional spectrum seemed to be expressed exclusively in shades of violence.
“You need to leave.”
Remy.
He leaned against the wall next to her with his hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans and looked at her like he was hoping she’d refuse to do as he asked.
“I’m trying to protect you,” he said
“Well, good for you,” Lilith said, “but I have a stake in this dog fight.” She glanced over where Owen and Gideon sat talking. She was too far away to make out their conversation, but at least they were talking and not trying to kill each other. Always a plus with werewolves.
“Nothing you can do or say will make any difference, except perhaps to make things more difficult for Owen.” Remy paused, and then said, “No matter what they say about you, I don’t think you meant to do harm.”
She studied him, not entirely sure what to do. True, she needed to find out what Gideon Black was doing here, but did she need to know enough to trust a lyr who’d proven time and again his loyalties were with the weres of Lost Legacy?
Of course, Remy could turn his handsome face into more of a mask than any were, and as far as she knew, the lyrinye had never hunted witches, but there was always a first time…
Suddenly, the idea of tricking a were in order to gain a seat on the council didn’t seem very bright. It made her vulnerable to Owen. Although he was too malleable to represent a challenge. Remy was a different story. She didn’t like feeling vulnerable around him.
“You don’t know—”
He laughed. “You have no idea why Gideon Black is here.”
“I know that Owen is up to something.”
“You could call it that.”
She frowned and cast about for reasons Owen might have business with the Pacific Range alpha. Without Lan’s express blessing, even talking to Gideon might be seen as a betrayal, so whatever Owen had in mind, it was serious enough to risk a deadly reaction from his alpha.
“It can’t be about what I did,” Lilith said. “The hex was a tiny thing, and if it bothered Owen that much, well…weres rut all the time. He could find another female.”
“Why’d you do it?”
“Hex Tasha’s mark?”
He nodded.
“Witches love to meddle in the affairs of others. Didn’t you know that? It’s common knowledge.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t believe that.”
She glanced down at her red boots to hide the unexpected welling of tears. Anger and frustration she could manage, but sorrow?
No. There was no room in her life for emotions. They were dangerous because they got people killed.
Remy might have an uncanny way of getting under her skin, but she didn’t want him to see the sadness. If pressed, she’d admit she liked kissing him. She liked looking at him, and had considered sleeping with him, but it would never be any more than that.
Not for her.
Not for any witch.
Witches belonged to the seraphim, body and soul.
Yet he still came around the bar from time to time.
Kissed her in the alley and made her blood heat.
She looked back at him. “Why do you bother?”
“He’s my friend,” he said, looking over at Owen.
“No,” she said, “with me. With a witch.”
He nodded at Gideon and Owen. “The packs live and die by their hierarchies, but we are different.” He patted his chest. “Lyrinye live in pods, but we have no leaders like the packs.”
She shook her head. “How do you get things done?”
“Our world is the ocean, the ever-changing waters. We swim with the tides.” His gaze came back to hers. “We live by our desires.”
Wariness swirled through her. She didn’t trust him, wouldn’t allow herself to trust him, but a fragment of the truth might make him lay off the loyal protector routine. “The hex won’t affect Owen or Tasha in any serious way, but it could help me, help all…” She’d been about to say all witches who live under the harsh rule of the seraphim, but the words would not escape her lips.
Not because she didn’t want to say them.
Because she could not say them.
The silver rune at her throat burned.
“Enough to risk a man’s life?” Remy asked softly.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “No were ever died for a fuck.”
“Then watch this.”
Tired of his attitude, she pushed away, but his hand slid down her arm and pinned her against him. His breath was hot on her cheek. “Watch,” he said. “This is your doing.”
Gideon Black rose to his full height. Owen remained seated, staring straight ahead, his gaze fixed on nothing. Gideon’s lieutenant cuffed Owen repeatedly about the back of his head. He jerked back and forth, taking it without responding.
“What is this?” Lilith asked. “Werewolf BDSM?”
“This is how a were submits.”
Lilith gasped. “No. Lan will kill him.”
“Lan will kill Tasha before allowing a woman into their pack with a hexed mark,” Remy said.
Gideon dragged Owen from his seat and forced him to his knees. Owen folded his hands before him and mumbled something Lilith couldn’t make out.
Gideon threw back his head and roared a growl, shucking his leather jacket and shaking his long hair free. He seemed to shimmer and grow larger, and Lilith realized he was…shifting.
He arched, threw his hands wide, and with a loud cracking sound, his face began to morph. His nose and jaw elongated, his s
houlders sloped, his nails grew claws. He tore at his shirt until it came away in shreds. His jeans split with a loud ripping sound. Fur sprouted all over his body, a tail appearing and lengthening, and then things moved faster, one change blurring into the next.
A huge black wolf with silver-tipped fur loomed over the kneeling Owen White.
Micro-tremors shook every inch of Owen’s body, but still his gaze remained fixed and steady.
Lilith held her breath, unable to look away.
The wolf opened his massive jaws, fangs long and gleaming, and took Owen’s neck in his mouth. Owen’s head bent to one side like a doll.
Lilith’s hand found its way to her mouth. “No,” she breathed.
“Quiet,” Remy hissed.
All at once, Owen’s body went limp, and Lilith thought maybe he’d passed out. At least, she hoped he’d passed out. It was also good that blood wasn’t spurting, and all his parts still seemed connected.
After what seemed like hours, the wolf released Owen, who slumped to the ground.
Then, miraculously, it was over.
Lilith buried her face in her hands. Remy’s arms snaked around her, and she allowed him to hold her, breathing in the clean scent of leather and spice. He whispered quiet, soothing words in her ear and slowly, she felt a measure of calm return.
“Find me a damned shirt,” Gideon roared.
Lilith pulled away from Remy. The alpha had shifted back into human form again and was magnificently naked. All eyes were on her.
“Are you deaf, woman?” Gideon yelled again. “Find me a shirt.”
He gestured to his genitals. “And some pants.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“It’s all okay,” Tasha muttered as she threaded her way through the crowded bar making her way back to where her friends were still gathered. The air smelled of onion rings and fried shrimp and beer. Cigarette smoke drifted in through the open windows. Tasha twitched her nose and coughed.
The itchy spot on her wrist throbbed where Lilith had rubbed it after saying stupid, impossible things. Tasha’d wanted to call her a bitch and stalk off. After all, wasn’t that what stilettos were for?
Among other things.
She tennis-matched from one side of the bar to the other, making sure there weren’t any more hunky, leather-clad males with predatory intent lurking. All she saw were the normal tourist-escaping-to-the-beach variety guys. They were a little dumpy, some going bald, and to a man, desperately needed someone to dress them, but after what she’d seen in the banquet room, ordinary guys seemed comforting. Reassuringly normal.
Not werewolves.
Seriously? Who believed that crap?
Those guys could style themselves however they wanted, but she certainly didn’t believe Lilith’s claims.
The real question was what was Lilith trying to pull over on her now?
Whatever it was, Tasha wasn’t buying or believing or cooperating any longer than she absolutely had to in order to get her questions answered. After that, she was heading back to Portland.
Boring suddenly looked like a good thing.
Erin and the others who’d joined them on a night out after ten days at the Lost Legacy spa were still seated at the table to the left of the door. A few guys had wedged into the group. The round-backed chair where Tasha had been sitting next to Erin was still empty. She took her seat and mourned the loss of her lovely pink cocktail. Shards of glass ground underfoot as she scooted closer to the table.
Erin’s chin bobbed against her chest, her red hair swinging back and forth in time to the music. From the looks of it, her friend wasn’t doing well at all, but hey, no judging, right?
“How’s it going,” Tasha asked with forced cheer.
Erin didn’t respond.
She tapped Erin on the shoulder, and she looked up, but her gaze was unfocused. She seemed to be studying something on the ceiling. Tasha resisted the urge to follow Erin’s direction.
“You know,” Erin said, pointing a wavering finger upward, “alcohol just doesn’t do it for me anymore.”
Tasha blinked. “Because…”
Erin’s gaze swiveled, and she spread her hands wide. “Because I’m not drunk.”
“Un-huh,” Tasha said, “and this is you not drunk?”
“Eggs-act-ly,” Erin slurred. “Can you believe it?”
“No, actually, I can’t.”
“You’re no fun, but I should have guessed that.”
“Why?”
Erin leaned forward and spoke in a loud, drunken whisper. “They’ve been telling me about you.”
“They?”
“Uh-huh,” Erin said, nodding as solemnly as a six-year-old with a secret.
“Who?
“Up there.” She pointed again.
“That’s it.” Tasha collected her purse and fished for the keys to her rental. “Let’s get you home.”
“I don wanna go home,” Erin said.
“What do you want to do?” As if cooperating with crazy helped.
“I lost eight pounds this week. Eight! And you know what?”
“What?” Tasha asked.
“Bobby—that’s my husband—Bobby will still think I’m fat.” Erin sighed, and her lower lip quivered. “What’m I gonna do? If I stay fat, I think he’s gonna leave me for one of those skinny yoga girls.”
The last ten days, Erin had always been good for a wisecrack when it came to her husband’s intolerance about weight, but now her sorrow made Tasha’s heart ache. More gently, she asked, “How about we get you back to the hotel?”
Erin shook her head and pointed at the ceiling again. “I gotta talk to him first. Find out what he wants. Maybe he can make Bobby love me again.”
“Who?”
“Him.” Erin raised a wobbly finger.
This time Tasha looked over her shoulder. Nothing. Erin pointed again, raised her brows and bugged her eyes like an annoyed teenager.
For good measure, Tasha craned up and down and all around before returning her attention to Erin.
“Don’t tell me you can’t see him, because he said you can see him.” Erin folded her arms over her chest.
“Okay, we’re done.” Tasha wove an arm around Erin’s shoulders and pulled her to her feet. Erin’s arms flailed wildly as she resisted. Tasha lost her grip on the other woman and stumbled backward, catching herself with a hand on the back of a neighboring chair.
“Hey lady, watch it,” a man cried.
“Sorry,” Tasha mumbled, righting herself and taking back every charitable thought about ordinary guys.
Erin was slumped on the floor, still staring at the ceiling and mumbling.
Yeah, this was turning into a clusterfuck of a night.
Pulling herself back together, Tasha sidestepped through the thick crowd until she reached the bar. There were stools for ten, but about thirty people crammed into the space. She waved for the bartender, an older man with spiky gray hair and a pleasant, round face.
“What can I get you, ma’am?” he asked.
Tasha said, “My friend’s had a little too much to drink. Do you think you could help me get her to the car?”
The bartender leaned left and then right, craning as if to see precisely who Tasha meant. “That lady?” he asked. “The one with the red hair?”
Like it matters who she is? Tasha wondered. “Yeah, that’s her.”
“Oh yeah,” the bartender said, nodding and wiping his hands on a white towel. “No, I can’t help her.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s the crows,” the bartender said. “Whoo-ee, they’re bad.”
The blond waitress slapped her empty tray on the bar. “Shake a leg, Benny, I got a big order.”
“I gotta go,” the bartender said. “I’m sorry about your friend.” He seemed genuinely contrite, and that took some of the fire from Tasha’s indignation.
She appealed to the waitress. “Could you ask if someone in the kitchen or one of the staff could help me get my friend ou
t to the car?”
“Sure thing,” the waitress said, handing a slip of paper to the bartender. “Get cracking on those, Benny.” She turned to Tasha. “Hold on a sec and I’ll get one of the guys from the back.”
“No!” Tasha said too fast, her voice too loud.
The waitress frowned. “I thought you said you needed some help?”
“Uh, thanks anyway,” Tasha said. “I can manage.”
CHAPTER NINE
As Lilith walked back into the banquet room carrying a shirt and trousers she’d found in the employee break room, she was unhappy about what had gone down. No one should have noticed her hex. Ever. It had been a tiny package of magick, a bit of her most elegant work and designed, as they said in this modern age, to fly under the radar. Tasha and Owen should have mated to their heart’s content and never suspected a thing.
None of this was her fault, but the only thing to do now was cut her losses and wait for another opportunity. Considering the hotheaded and thoughtless nature of werewolves, it wouldn’t take long. Judging from the level of Remy’s anxiety, Owen was starting to unravel.
Her outlook did not improve when she handed the clothing to a still-naked Gideon Black. He smirked as she studiously kept her gaze above the waist.
“Look all you want. I don’t mind.”
She tried to depart quickly as she’d come, but Remy blocked her exit.
“Not so fast,” he said.
She folded her arms under her breasts, glad to have her back to the all the dangling were nakedness. “I thought we were done here.”
Gideon’s voice rumbled from behind her, muffled for a moment, then coming clear again. “The balance of power has changed, thanks to you. You will not be permitted to walk away.”
Which meant she’d have to deal with Gideon now, instead of Owen.
It was an interesting turn of events, and maybe not the good kind of interesting, but it also meant she was still in the game.
It wasn’t over until it was over.
She turned around and was pleased to see the trousers fit Gideon, more or less. He ripped the sleeves off the shirt, but it still was too small, so he made do with throwing on his leather jacket over his bare chest. It swung open over the hard slabs of muscle. His long black hair hung about his face, and the whole effect made him look like a barbarian king.