Hell's Belle

by Marie Castle

* * *

  Three Years Ago

  The spell wasn’t complicated. But the cost? It was more than I was willing to pay. So I had changed it. Rearranging spells was dangerous, but with time and patience it could be done. Too bad I had neither. Magic was at its highest today of all days. There wouldn’t be another equinox or solstice for months. I was desperate.

  It had to be today.

  I stood in my veil and white dress in a circle of green magic deep in the woods, looking down at my altar. The candles. The knife. Everything was prepared. It had been a wonderful ceremony, but something had been wrong. Maybe I’d noticed my mother’s absence more because most of the faces had been unfamiliar. My new husband was still at the reception, smiling, greeting those strangers. In a few minutes they would notice my absence. It was dangerous to hurry, but grief had numbed my mind and removed any caution I might have felt.

  I began the chant, twisting here and there the changed words. The spell required a person to give blood freely and suffer greatly. This person was not meant to be the spell’s conductor, but I couldn’t ask another to make this sacrifice.

  Hissing with pain, I sliced one wrist then the other—shallow wounds meant to bleed but not kill. If I was dead I couldn’t complete my task. My spine stiffened as blood flowed into the ceremonial bowl and the true pain began. I tightened my grip on the altar, standing straight. Whips of magic swirled in the air, licking at my skin with dark red tongues…pulling at my pinned black tresses…caressing me with icy fire that seared my muscles and sizzled my bones.

  With every second, my agony grew tenfold. I locked my jaw, swallowing a scream. Red covered my sight. Was there blood in my eyes or was this the spell? No matter. It was too late to go back. All that was left was to keep my eyes open and wait for the vision.

  I suddenly felt exhausted. My strength…where…why? The dim words moved slowly through my mind. Then I understood. The cuts were deepening. This was wrong. There was too much blood, too much pain. The bowl was nearly full, its blood dark red like the spell’s magic. The spell was exacting a higher price as my penalty for changing what had been written.

  I clung to the altar as my knees weakened and my ears roared. If the price was higher so would be the reward. That was the law. Debts must be paid. The magic owed me. And I’d be damned if I would quit without collecting.

  I held on, repeating the spell until my tongue became too thick. My flowing blood slowed to a trickle. But was I healing or had I no more blood to give? My arms became weak, my heavy eyes closing. Hazy images formed in my mind. Another minute and they would be clear. This was the answer I so desperately sought.

  But time had run out.

  My weakened limbs gave way. “No!” I clutched at the altar. It was no use. My bloody fingers slipped. I reached deep inside for strength, magic, anything to stand a few moments more. At the desperate call, something inside me unlocked. Strength and power flooded in…seconds too late. I tumbled backward, breaking my circle.

  As if dreaming, I watched from outside my body as I fell, my head hitting the soft ground with a loud thump. My white lacy sleeve caught on the altar and the wooden table fell toward me. A sudden miraculous wind pushed it aside a heartbeat before it could land on my head. The bowl hung in the air for an impossible moment before its collected blood rained down on me. My last thought before the dreams began was that I had failed.

  I awoke six days later still wearing my wedding dress, though its once pristine whiteness had been dyed a dark red pattern that seemed to shift when viewed from the corner of the eye. It wasn’t until that moment when I awoke and saw my family and new husband, Lucas, all sitting by my bedside, watching me anxiously, faces haggard and eyes bloodshot from worry and tears, that I knew I had been wrong. The price had been paid and a gift given. I remembered little of what I had seen, but it was enough to know this: I had changed. What I knew of the world had changed. And my life and the lives of those I loved would never be the same again.

  I would never be the same again.

  Chapter Eight

  “Southern hospitality is best served with coffee and pound cake, but Krispy Kremes will do in a pinch.”

  —Gwendolyn (Nana) Alecé Delacy

  It was well past ten when we pulled up to The Blue Moon Club in New Orleans. I’d met Jacq at her home, and we’d ridden in silence while the radio quietly played old rock ballads. There was too much that couldn’t be said. So while my body sat in the car with my Council-assigned babysitter, my mind went over the day’s events.

  After my shower, I’d been both relieved and disappointed to go downstairs and find Jacq already gone. She’d merely left a note with directions to her home. We’d agreed the night before to meet there and ride to the club together. I’d immediately gone to clean up the shattered vase but had found it once again whole and in its rightful place. Mynx had denied the miracle, so it hadn’t been difficult to guess who had saved me from a long lecture.

  Throughout breakfast, my freshly returned aunt gave me strange looks. Mynx had filled Aunt Helena in on the battle royal with the hounds, but she wouldn’t have said anything about my interactions with Jacq. Even when I was a child, Mynx had safeguarded my secrets. Aunt Helena was either waiting for the other shoe to drop or she sensed my turbulent emotions. My money was on both. That woman was either an empath…or she had a damnably reliant crystal ball.

  I’d spent the morning cleaning up our lawn then checked outside the wards for the third hound, but all that remained was one saliva-soaked floppy ear from a slipper. The afternoon was spent shaking down every shady contact I had in The Burg, looking for more information on Nicodemus. Either no one knew anything or they were running scared.

  I’d swung by Isabella’s apartment. As expected, I’d found the same thing Jacq had. Nothing. The place had been wiped clean of all magic, including Isabella’s. There was only faded Were musk and an overwhelming sense of sadness, as if the walls had been painted with buckets of grief. I hadn’t been inclined to linger. I’d spoken with Isabella’s neighbors and called her few friends. All had painted her as a sweet, shy girl. By rights, she should’ve had more friends than the few listed in her cell. But I understood all too well. Isabella had been hiding her magic all her life. That made it hard to make connections. Seeing bits of the past, future or present undoubtedly compounded the difficulty.

  I’d returned home with enough time to shower, dress in my favorite faded jeans and tight light green sleeveless shirt. Its gold-threaded streaks looked clubby but actually contained several protective spells. The shirt ended right above my navel, leaving its piercing visible. I’d changed out my normal everyday stud with a golden phoenix. Maybe it was the fire or maybe the symbolism. For whatever reason, I’d always liked this bird that rose from its ashes.

  I was more discreet with my weapons. If the bouncers—who were bound to be Weres—scented silver, both Jacq and I would be searched. I’d explained this last night. Jacq had cheekily replied that she wouldn’t bring a weapon. I hadn’t believed her for a second. However, she was welcome to walk into the lion’s den unarmed. If her ass got mauled, I could always resuscitate her long enough to say “I told you so.”

  I’d settled on silver-coated knives in synthetic sheaths tucked into each light brown leather ass-kicker boot. The sheaths were tight enough that the scent of silver wouldn’t escape. The draw wouldn’t be as fast as a well-oiled leather sheath. But they’d have to do. Leather breathes, and the body-heated oil would carry the scent of silver to a Were’s nose better than a homing pigeon.

  At the last minute I’d activated four suppression amulets, tucking them into a belt made of hollow antique brass medallions that draped around my hips. Each medallion was actually a well-disguised pouch containing titanium throwing stars and a few inactive amulets—amongst other things.

  A pair of enspelled jade earrings completed my outfit. I’d never had much patience for makeup. That’s why my nicer pieces held complexion charms. This one would provide a deep red l
ipstick, a hint of blush and smoky eye shadow. I could kick butt all night long and my mascara would never run. As an added bonus, the jade brought out the gold in my eyes. A quick look in the mirror confirmed that between my shirt and the earrings, my eyes were a swirling blue-green. I’d twisted my hair into several small braids, which I’d worked into an intricate knot at my nape. The wind whipping through the Jeep’s open doors would make a mess of anything loose.

  I’d left two hours early, driven Susie into the heart of New Orleans, and walked up and down Bourbon Street, checking the tourist haunts and locals’ bars for Jupiter Jones. But I never saw him. It was a Thursday night. The musician might’ve stayed home. However, within ten minutes, Jup would’ve known that I was looking for him. Nothing happened in New Orleans that he didn’t know it. But when he wanted to hide, he did a damn good job of it. And apparently he’d wanted to tonight. After one more quick loop around, I’d left to meet Jacq.

  I pulled into a crushed seashell drive bordered by tall, green hedges. The cottage-style house was rose colored with dark brown shutters. Charming and unassuming, it seemed at odds with its mysterious, compelling owner.

  Jacq, leaning against a sporty silver Corvette’s hood, was waiting for me. Parking just beyond the security light, I cut the engine and pretended to look for something in my glove compartment while examining her from the shadowed darkness. I’d had time to deal with my earlier reactions, making that moment my first time to see Jacq with eyes clear of confusion and phers.

  Only one word did her justice: Wowza. Don’t be surprised. Women think other women look good even when lust isn’t involved. And boy, did Jacq look good.

  She was no longer an Amazon. Tonight’s outfit screamed gunslinger, even though there were no telltale bulges. She wore high black boots and a floor-length charcoal coat that matched her trousers. The coat was open, showing a deep blue silk shirt with a high collar that caressed her neck. Several undone buttons revealed a hint of cleavage. Her eyes, no longer smoky, were fathomless pools of that deep, deep blue. She had a black necklace with a barely visible silver medallion nesting between her breasts.

  My eyes had caught on that flash of silver. Even without the phers’ influence and our magical joining, there was still a strong attraction that was all me. That realization had shaken me. I’d shifted uncomfortably in the seat before pocketing my keys and leaving the Jeep.

  “Cate.” Jacq’s husky whisper, too close to my left ear, broke my train of thought. “Our escort’s here.”

  We stood on the club’s second floor—a blue-and-silver decorated loft with lots of private rooms for “meetings.” I looked to see a tall female Were approaching. She had chestnut hair and was dressed in a slimming wine-colored suit. The look was a little too Charlie’s Angels for my taste. But it worked for her.

  “Miss Delacy?”

  I recognized that musical voice from yesterday’s call. Strikingly beautiful with high cheekbones and chocolate eyes, the woman looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her. “Yes?” My tone was neutral, my face blank.

  Although the meeting was set in the Alpha’s territory, only Kyle had been mentioned. The woman had said nothing of involving the Alpha, but she was dressed too nicely for anything else. Either something had changed, or I’d been intentionally misled. Likely the latter. Jacq must’ve been of a like mind, because her face was again masked, this time with congeniality. The woman’s next words confirmed my assumptions.

  “I’m Becca. The Alpha will see you now.” She gestured to a half-hidden staircase in the corner. Becca led, and we followed. I’d thought this trip was going to be a bust. But if the Alpha was involved, then something big was up.

  We were stopped at the top by several Weres who did a quick pat down and amulet scan. Either they didn’t notice the knives in my boots or disregarded them as insignificant. The Weres were confident that no one would attack in the middle of their Alpha’s stronghold. That would cost them someday. My suppression amulets and complexion charm registered as mundane on their scanner, and we were allowed past. I was surprised to see that Jacq, good to her word, was indeed unarmed.

  The third level was more open with brighter lighting, dark cherry hardwood floors, and high ceilings. As we passed through several large rooms, all continuing the red theme with dark rosewood furnishings and a light rose-colored wallpaper, it became evident that the blue theme marked the club area and the red the Alpha’s personal space. Surprisingly, the different tones didn’t clash. The heat, chatter and music from downstairs could barely be felt through the thick walls. I breathed a sigh of relief as the suppression amulets again overwhelmed the phers that had soaked into my system as we’d passed through the Were-crammed club.

  Moving down a long hall, we passed several closed doors. At the end, we reached a large room and what must be the lion’s den…or rather, the tiger’s. According to Luke, that was the Were Clan leader’s other form. As expected, the man himself sat casually on a deep mahogany leather sofa. However, the figure to his right, occupying a smaller matching love seat, was a shock. Jacq bumped my back as my feet refused to move.

  “Cate?” Jacq’s soft inquiry in my ear brought me to my senses. I subtly shook my head and tried to mask my confusion. We moved farther into the room.

  “Miss Delacy,” the Alpha said, “I’m Grey Gryphon, Alpha over this territory’s Were-Beasts. I believe you know my second, Lucas Deveroux, Alpha of the Wolf Clan.” He gestured to an unsmiling Luke, who didn’t look at all surprised to see me.

  Six months ago, Luke had been fourth in his clan. He’d been a busy boy. I nearly laughed, remembering Luke’s assertion that he had “moved up in the Pack.” What an understatement. He’d become the m’f’ing head honcho. Why had he left that information out? We were friends. He knew I’d be proud of his accomplishments. Didn’t he?

  “And this is my consort, Abigail,” Grey said.

  I tore my gaze from Luke to the beautiful redhead sitting to his left. Dressed comfortably in light purple leggings and a darker purple peasant-style pullover, the loose clothes didn’t hide her rosy glow or pregnant bulge. Abigail returned our nods with a smile, flashing white teeth and two dainty fangs. Weres didn’t have fangs in human form. And those incisors were too small for the Blood. That left all manner of things (with very sharp teeth) that go bump in the night. But that was a question for another day. From their joined hands and soft smiles, theirs was obviously what my beloved Grams would’ve called a “love-match.”

  Both men looked comfortable in dress shirts with rolled up sleeves and open collars. Grey wore khakis with a white shirt that offset his chin-length copper hair. He had a ruddy complexion and bright gold eyes that didn’t miss a single detail. I surreptitiously peeked at Luke as we moved to the offered mint-colored armchairs.

  Compared to Grey, Luke looked more human, if that could be said of a werewolf. He wore a navy dress shirt. One ankle was crossed over a gun-metal-colored trouser-clad knee. His once unruly sandy brown hair was now a no-nonsense military buzz. Gone was the mischievous grin, but the dark blue eyes were the same. Even dressed up, he still had the rough-and-ready cowboy air that had first caught my attention.

  As we were getting settled, I took a moment to search my inner psyche. While I was surprised to see Luke here, my attraction to him was gone and had been for a long time. I’d moved on. We’d been friends and interacted for the last three years without issue. Why should this be any different? It shouldn’t, and it wouldn’t. Or so I hoped.

  We exchanged formal greetings, Jacq making her introductions. The Weres definitely knew of her, but it was unclear as to whether they’d met before. Finally, we got down to business. “We came to speak with Kyle Thompson,” Jacq said. So my detective had also noticed an absence in our happy little greeting party.

  Everyone looked to Grey, who rumbled, “That’s why you’re here. But first, my second has advised me, Miss Delacy, that you will likely be armed.”

  Mated pairs were notoriously protective.
A pair expecting kits? Even more so. Threats, intended or otherwise, were dealt with swiftly and mercilessly. Luke fidgeted in his seat before stilling. Good, the wolf knew the position he’d placed me in. Just because I understood his obligation to his Alpha didn’t make his stewing in his own guilt any less enjoyable. (I was emotionally sadistic that way.)

  I met Grey’s gold eyes. “My apologies, Alpha. I had no idea that I would be meeting yourself or your consort this evening. If it eases your mind,” I said, meaning every word, “I will gladly relinquish what few weapons I have.” No Were would engage in unprovoked violence in the presence of a pregnant female. I wouldn’t need my weapons…as long as Abigail was near.

  Grey held my eyes. I didn’t look down, but after a long period I looked to the side. I wasn’t one of his Weres to play dominance games. But neither was I stupid enough to challenge him in his own territory.

  “Respect my home,” he said, “and no harm will befall you while in my domain.” There was a significant pause. “At least, for this evening. Even so, you may keep your weapons. Break my good faith,” he spread his arms, “and you will be punished.” A look passed between the two men, “Severely.” It took a moment before I understood their silent communication. Grey had made Luke responsible for my behavior and possible punishment. Oh no, I was so not playing “spank the bad witch” with my ex. I shot daggers at Luke, who wore a completely neutral expression. I held my tongue, setting my shoulders. If they expected me to do something stupid, they were mistaken.

  Grey turned to Jacq. “You need no such reassurance, Detective Slone. But I also trust that you will respect the rules of the Alpha’s house.”

  “As long as no harm befalls myself or my companion, you have my pledge.” Jacq’s husky tones were solemn, but there was an underlying warning as she added, “For this eventide.” Jeez, these people and their fancy speech. Somebody needed to give them a calendar. They’d obviously forgotten what century we were in.