Shifters Forever Worlds Epic Collection

by Elle Thorne

  Little did they know, Leandra had no interest in heading up the coven.

  Sure, leading the coven had fallen under the purview of the Mathieu family, but that changed after Mémé had disqualified herself years ago. Circumstances kept the leadership from Lucia, and as for Rochelle, she wanted nothing to do with witches, that was no secret.

  And now there was Leandra.

  And I don’t give a shit about the hierarchy of the coven and who leads them.

  Leandra put on a sticky sweet smile. “Adelise, would you like to be one of my swamp frogs?” She cocked her head, studying Adelise’s fearful expression. “No, I think you’d be better off as a swamp rat. “Scurry away little rat.” Leandra raised her hands, flicked her fingers as if readying to cast a spell.

  “You wouldn’t dare. The coven… my mother… the …” She sputtered, out of words.

  “You know better.”

  You bet your ass Leandra would put a spell on another witch. In a heartbeat. Except there was still a memory, of Adelise, of being close friends. That loyalty kept Leandra’s ire at bay.

  “Leandra, I’m glad you could make it.” Michelina scrutinized Leandra.

  Why wouldn’t I be here? Leandra bit her tongue.

  “We’re going to be calling a meeting sometime soon. Decisions have to be made.”

  Not by me.

  “No problem.”

  As if she’d bother showing up. There was no good reason to be in attendance, was there?

  A throat clearing behind her made Leandra turn slowly. Now who would she have to deal with?

  “You shouldn’t be here, Lucia.” Michelina stated.

  “I shouldn’t be at my own mother’s funeral?” Lucia, not looking a day older than the first and last time Leandra saw her.

  “Tante Lucia.” She studied the dark haired, light eyed woman. A golden flicker in the depth of her eyes showed Leandra her shifter animal. A white tiger shifter, that much Leandra did know.

  “Leandra.” Lucia put her fingertips on Leandra’s shoulders.

  A current ran from those fingers throughout Leandra’s body. Was that the effect of her shifter animal, or was it because of the witch’s blood that coursed through Lucia?

  “How are you doing, little one?” Concern settled on Lucia’s face, her gaze unwavering.

  Lucia’s kindness made tears flood Leandra’s eyes. “I miss her.”

  “I know you do. I do too. Let’s get through this, then go somewhere. Lunch, maybe.” She looked around. “Rochelle is not here?”

  Leandra shook her head. That wasn’t exactly a shocker.

  A dangerous gleam appeared in Lucia’s eyes. “My sister…” She didn’t finish her sentence, shaking her head instead.

  Attendance at Latrice Mathieu—Mémé’s—funeral was high. The service was short.

  Leandra knew that would be exactly how Mémé would have wanted it. She was never much for formality.

  “Let’s visit Quake. Have lunch, maybe a latte and some beignets? They have the very best in town.”

  “How can you think about food at this time?” The words slipped out of Leandra before she could put her filter in place.

  She was ready to apologize, except Lucia raised her hand and released a low laugh.

  “My mother said you were just like her. I see that’s so.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Leandra was angry that laughter could slip past Lucia’s lips on a day like this.

  “Don’t be angry with me. My mother had a full wonderful life. She lived longer than some witches, not as long as others. She knew it was time to go. She’d done her job.”

  “What do you mean?” Leandra glanced at the dark haired woman in black.

  “We’ll talk at Quake.”

  “But—” Leandra began a protest.

  “No.” Lucia’s hand went up. The only thing she didn’t do, was say talk to the hand.

  Thank goodness, Leandra thought

  The drive to New Orleans went quick though it wasn’t all that short.

  “I’ve missed going to Quake,” Lucia confessed.

  “Where have you been, that you couldn’t go?” Leandra asked.

  Lucia gave her a sideways glance. “Quake.”

  That’s all she said.

  Fine. We’ll talk at Quake.

  Leandra stayed silent for the rest of the trip, but she’d picked up a slight hint of emotion behind the singular word Quake when Lucia had said it.

  What’s that about?

  Chapter Five

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Lucia parked the car in front of the restaurant, though a weathered, battered old sign clearly proclaimed that this was a no parking zone.

  Leandra pointed to the sign. “You could get towed.”

  “They wouldn’t dare.”

  The tone in Lucia’s voice gave Leandra pause. She so wanted to delve into the topic, but Lucia’s face was as welcoming as a cottonmouth’s.

  “What is this place?” Leandra studied the building, with its balconies, standard for New Orleans.

  Balconies laced with metal architecture over each door and in front of windows on the second floor created the illusion there were several buildings, not once giving a hint the original structures had been fitted into one building. Not many knew that Quake occupied the entire block, it was a secret known only to the paranormal beings that inhabited the area.

  The entrances were marked with different colored doors; the walls were dilapidated.

  Lucia halted in the middle of the sidewalk between two buildings. This brought Leandra to a full stop next to Lucia.

  She looked at her aunt. “What’s up, Tante?”

  “Just taking a moment.” Lucia inhaled a deep breath, then released it slowly.

  “What is it?” Leandra studied her aunt, so starkly beautiful, curves emphasized by a dark mourning dress.

  One last exhale, then Leandra put a smile on her face as if it was a difficult task. “Nothing. Let’s go in. You’re familiar with the doors, the rules, all that?”

  Leandra had heard rumors, but she would welcome the opportunity to hear more. Quake had a mysterious reputation in the witch world. A restaurant that doubled as a meeting place for supernatural beings.

  Yeah, who wouldn’t want to hear more?

  Especially when she’d heard that they welcomed all beings, as long as they remained segregated.

  “Not really,” she told Lucia. “Tell me, Tante?”

  Lucia nodded. “Shifters come here, and vampires, and witches, and elementals. Other types at times. Shifters use the blue door. The red is for witches. The green for vampires. Black for elementals.”

  “Which do you use? Born of a witch, but you’re a shifter.”

  “What do you know of my heritage, Leandra?”

  “Mémé didn’t want to say much, Tante.”

  Lucia nodded. “Quake has rules. No interactions with types other than your own. No fighting between types, species, or individuals. And no questions about Quake.”

  “No problem.” Leandra acquiesced.

  “I’m surprised my mother never brought you here.”

  “I don’t like coming to town. Mémé didn’t force me.”

  Lucia began a forward trek toward the red door. “You’ll have to tell me what your plans are. Surely you can’t stay in the cabin on the swamp.”

  Why can’t I?

  Leandra wasn’t going to ask her, but she could imagine nothing else she’d rather do.

  Lucia opened the red door.

  “Why this door?”

  “You’re not a shifter. I’m descended from witches.”

  Leandra accepted the explanation and stepped into a room that was floor-to-ceiling black curtains with barely any lighting other than two sconces with candles on the wall to the left and to the right. Across from the door they’d just entered through was another door.

  A woman stepped forward, clad in a black gown that matched her ebony hair. Her skin appeared lumines
cent. Leandra tried to study her without giving it away that she was doing so.

  The woman gave off preternatural vibes but wasn’t a witch, nor was she a shifter.

  Her face was a forbidding mask, unwelcoming though she was supposed to be a hostess, or at least that’s what Leandra assumed.

  “Lucia.” A smile appeared on the woman’s unemotional countenance. “I’m not sure where to seat you.”

  “Where you always used to.”

  “He’d kill me if I did.”

  Leandra glanced from one to the other. What was this about?

  Lucia rolled her eyes. “Witch section then, but the room closest to the shifters, if you don’t mind. I’ll feel more comfortable closer to my own kind.”

  “Absolutely. I’ve missed you.” The stoic hostess wrapped her arms around Lucia.

  Leandra picked up Lucia’s discomfort with the touch, but Lucia didn’t move away.

  “I’ve missed you, too, Bethany.”

  Bethany pulled away. “He’s missed you too.”

  Who the hell is that? Who is he, Leandra wondered. She glanced at Lucia for answers, but it was clear that Lucia was avoiding eye contact with her.

  I’ll get to the bottom of this, sooner or later.

  “I don’t need to review the rules with you, do I?” Bethany asked.

  “Not unless you were told to remind me.”

  “He doesn’t know you’re here.” Bethany glanced upward. “Yet.”

  Leandra’s gaze followed Bethany’s to the black ceiling.

  Of course, there was nothing there.

  “I’d heard he was out of town. Guess I heard wrong.” Lucia gave a one-shouldered shrug.

  Leandra reached for Lucia’s hand and squeezed her fingers. “What am I missing?” She whispered as low as she could.

  Bethany glanced at Leandra, clearly she heard.

  Lucia shook her head. No answer was coming from her.

  Bethany led them down a red-walled corridor marked with doorways every few feet until they’d come to a point where the red ended and turned blue. She made an abrupt left at a doorway and entered the tiny alcove of a room.

  The room held three tables, each with two chairs. The tables, as well as the room, were empty. The only lighting was a hurricane lamp on each table. The artwork was subdued and unidentifiable, even with her preternatural vision.

  Bethany pulled two black scrolls from a wrought iron latticed holder next to the door jamb. “As close as I can get you without actually putting you in the shifter section,” she explained. “They may accept you, but there’s no way they’d be accepting of Leandra.

  Leandra did a double take, eyes narrowed.

  How the hell does she know my name?

  Bethany smiled, as if she knew what was on Leandra’s mind. “Enjoy your visit.” She set the scrolls down on the table.

  Lucia took a seat, indicating for Leandra to join her.

  Leandra dropped into the velvet covered plush chair, reached for the scroll and unrolled it.

  “This is the menu?”

  There were no prices, all that was listed were the entrees, appetizers, desserts, and a wine and cocktail selection.

  “How do you know how much everything costs?” she asked Lucia.

  “There’s no cost. Quake picks up the tab.”

  “For us? Why?”

  “No.” Leandra opened her own menu. “For everyone.”

  What kind of place does this?

  “So the restaurant pays everyone’s tab?”

  “No. Quake does.”

  Leandra cocked her head. “That’s the…” She didn’t know what else to say.

  “This is Quake’s place. It’s named after him.” A slight tremor rolled through Lucia’s voice.

  Whoa. What’s this? How could I not know?

  Sure she lived in the swamp, but she did hear talk. Why didn’t she know this?

  She studied her aunt. “Tante—”

  Lucia glanced down at her menu. “You’re no longer a child. Call me Lucia.”

  Not to mention, she looks young enough to be my sister. Those shifters with their longevity. They managed to age better than witches, and live longer too.

  Leandra nodded. “Lucia, do you know this Quake person?”

  “Know him?” The one-shoulder shrug thing again, then, “I used to know him.”

  Leandra waited for Lucia to continue.

  Nothing. Lucia’s eyes were glued to the menu. When she looked up, she said, “So what are your plans?”

  “To stay in Mémé’s cabin.”

  “She left it to you in her will. You’ll find out at the reading. I won’t be there.”

  “Why did she leave it to me?” Mémé had two daughters after all. “And where will you be?”

  “I’m leaving New Orleans. I have no reason to be here. You’re the only one she could leave it to. Not me, since she knew I didn’t want to stay in town. Not Rochelle.”

  Leandra didn’t need to ask why Mémé wouldn’t leave it to her mother. Rochelle would have burned it to the ground. But still it would have been nice to hear something, anything, from Lucia. Leandra felt as though she’d lived in a vacuum. She barely knew anything about her aunt or her mother. Or even her grandmother’s life prior to Leandra’s birth.

  “Why not Rochelle?”

  Lucia fixed her with a pointed stare. “I’d think that was obvious.” She rolled the menu back into a scroll. “I’m having the daily special. It’s been a long time since I’ve had decent etouffee. You?” Her tone told Leandra that all talk about family was over.

  Tears burned Leandra’s eyes. Etouffee was her Mémé’s specialty. “Same. I’m going to the restroom to wash up.” And get rid of the sadness that began to eat at her, knowing that she’d be in the cabin.

  Without Mémé.

  Chapter Six

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Theo leaned against the wall at Quake and tried to get control of his lion. He’d seen her walk in. His lion had reacted with such fervor it had pushed Theo close to a shift.

  Yeah, that’s what I need to do, shift at Quake and start a goddamned supernatural world war.

  True that, his lion agreed.

  It would not be a good thing.

  But that woman.

  Fuck.

  She’d started a campaign of battles within him. His lion battled with common sense, wanting to approach her. His cock battled with his mind. His nose picked up her scent and let it imprint on his soul, damned near making her a part of him.

  How can this be?

  His lion roared deep within his head. She’s the one. He roared the sentiment with vigor and a volume that made Theo want to grab his head.

  There was no way to know that, Theo insisted, arguing with himself, with his lion, with his senses, with his soul, with the universe.

  He couldn’t erase the image of her, though it was a brief glimpse.

  Skin the color of mocha, exactly the shade of the beverages Maylene—his boss’s housekeeper would make for them every afternoon. A perfect, cream-topped concoction that coursed down his throat, warming him. Yes, this woman he’d seen, she was that same shade and left him with the same warmth.

  Warmth, hell. She left him with a hot sensation.

  Yeah, hot.

  His pants tightened in all the wrong places, for all the right reasons. He was in public for fuck’s sake, even though Quake was dimly lit.

  He’d seen her, then couldn’t go back into the room he was in with Lézare and some of Lézare’s business associates. Lézare—his boss.

  And best friend.

  When Theo first arrived in America, not long ago, he’d been in New York, roaming the streets, looking for his bearings. He’d chanced an excursion into a territory controlled by the Romanoff polar bear shifters.

  One of the Romanoffs, a hotheaded shifter called John, had decided to teach the roaming lion shifter a lesson. He and his group of shifters had chased Theo through the dark alleys.

 
Yeah, Theo was no fool. There was no way he could take half a dozen polar bear shifters.

  He fought them. Bravely. Bloody and aching, he could see the writing on the wall. He couldn’t win this battle.

  Of course he got the hell out of there as quick as he could.

  Not quick enough.

  Or maybe if he’d only known the terrain of the concrete jungle better, he wouldn’t have found himself cornered.

  But he was cornered.

  And so very fucked.

  Those polar bear shifters were going to kick his ass. Leave him dead.

  But Theo knew he’d take at least one of them with him.

  He’d just begun to let his lion take over and shift into his feline when he heard a throat clearing behind him.

  He’d whirled around, ready to face more polar bears and wondering how the hell they’d managed to flank him.

  Except it wasn’t a polar bear. It was a white tiger shifter, dark haired, dark eyed, a mischievous smile on his face.

  Theo took an instinctive and instant liking to the man. Something about his tiger connected with Theo’s lion.

  “John Romanoff. Still the bully, aren’ you.” The white tiger shifter addressed the polar bear with a drawl that seemed to have a French accent laced throughout, dropping the last consonant, as Theo learned was Lézare’s way.

  The drawl was lazy, but the man’s eyes were predatory.

  This white tiger was no one to fuck with.

  It didn’t hurt that more than a handful of the largest shifters Theo had ever seen stepped forward, out of the darkness, some leaping from fire escapes, landing with feline precision.

  The white tiger shifter was accompanied by a variety of animal shifters. Bear. Panther. Wolf. Each of the newly arrived shifters stood behind the white tiger, ready to do battle.

  “Lézare Arceneaux,” the polar bear shifter called John Romanoff said with a frown. “You’re trespassing.”

  Theo glanced between the two shifters.

  The one he’d called Lézare, with the French-tipped southern drawl released a laugh, dug a phone out of his pocket and pressed on the screen. He paused, then said, “Mikhail. John’s up to his pranks again.” He gave the polar bear shifter a glance as if he were talking about a petulant toddler. “I’d hate to have to kick his ass and send him home with his polar bear tail tucked between his legs. Want to talk to your son or…” Lézare arched a brow at John Romanoff. He held his phone up. “Want to talk to your father?”