Early Grave: Grant Wolves Book 1

by Lori Drake

  As her feet sank into the fine sand, Joey considered removing her shoes to feel its warmth between her toes. The memory of that dream she’d had, of running in wolf form on the beach, surfaced briefly but she pushed it aside.

  “I’m a dancer,” she said. “And I haven’t known she was a witch any longer than you have.”

  “A dancer, eh?” He paused for a moment, then added, “Like… the exotic kind?”

  Rolling her eyes, Joey elbowed him. “Strictly off the pole. I’ve got a sponsor and everything.” He laughed, and she found herself smiling. She hadn’t had many causes for smiles in the last week or so. It felt nice. “I’m a ballroom dancer.”

  “Ahh. My mom loves that celebrity dancing show,” he said.

  “So did Chris. All of them, really. He loved seeing what other choreographers were doing,” she said as they wandered closer to the water’s edge. Once they got there, they turned south and continued walking a bit more.

  “He was a dancer too?” Dean asked, curiously or politely. Hard to say.

  “Yeah, he was my partner,” she answered, disliking the way the word rolled off her tongue. Was. She didn’t like to think of him in the past tense, didn’t like admitting—to herself or anyone else—that he would never be her partner again. The thought drew the corners of her mouth down.

  “Am I asking too many questions? Sorry, I just thought if we were going to battle a powerful witch together that maybe we should get to know each other a little.” He nudged her gently with an elbow. “Also, you started it.”

  Some of the tension in her frame eased, and she nodded. “Yeah, I did. And no, it’s okay. I have to get used to talking about it sometime, I guess.”

  “So, were you two an item? Or strictly professional?” he said, far too casually. She eyed him sideways, but he appeared to be focused on the expanse of empty beach ahead of them.

  “He was my best friend. We started dancing together when we were kids. My parents adopted him when he was a couple years old; we were pretty close in age,” she explained. The wind rolling off the surf blew her hair into her eyes and she reached up to tuck it behind an ear. “So, no… we weren’t an item. He was like a brother to me.”

  “Feels like there’s a ‘but’ in there…”

  Joey shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “If you say so,” he replied, not sounding terribly convinced. “So, it wouldn’t be horribly awkward if I asked you if you’d like to have coffee sometime?”

  She found herself smiling again, if thinly. “We just had coffee,” she murmured, glancing over at him.

  He mumbled something and nodded absently, raking his fingers through his curls. It sounded kind of like “Nevermind.”

  Her lips twitched, suppressing a wider smile. “I think that if you asked me to get coffee, it probably wouldn’t be too awkward. As long as you’d be off the clock anyway.”

  He coughed lightly into a fist, then cleared his throat quietly. “Noted, thanks.”

  “What about you? What did you do for a living before the accident?”

  “You wouldn’t believe it.”

  “Now I’ve got to know,” she said with a laugh.

  “I was a developer.”

  Joey tilted her head. “Real estate?”

  It was his turn to laugh. “God, no. Software.”

  They walked and talked until the sun finished setting, the bright orb no longer visible above the horizon but its light still painting the sky, fading by degrees. The moon wasn’t up yet, but it tugged at the edge of her awareness, a constant presence that waxed and waned over the course of its cycle. When they stopped, she finally gave in to the urge to remove her shoes and tucked her socks into them, setting them down nearby.

  “Ahh, that’s better.” She smiled as she felt the warm sand against the soles of her feet. A few swift steps carried her toward the water, and the wet sand that soon squished between her toes. Sighing, she twirled and tipped her head back to look up at the stars emerging in the darkening sky. “I love the beach.”

  “I can see that,” Dean said, his voice colored with masculine amusement. He drifted after her, coming closer but leaving his boots on.

  “Mom used to tell us that if we spent too much time in the water, mermaids would come to sweep us out to sea,” she mused, thinking back on various family outings over the years.

  “That seems kind of harsh.”

  “Mhmm. You don’t know my mother. But really, I think she worried about rip currents. We were strong swimmers, and utterly fearless. I think she would have liked us to fear the water a little more.” She had stopped twirling by then, but once she started to move her feet, she couldn’t seem to stop. Though there was no music to be heard, she danced a few steps anyway and noticed Dean watching her from a few paces away, arms folded and expression curious.

  “Do you dance?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Not like that.” When she crooked a finger, he got wide-eyed and stepped back. “Uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Curling a lip in an exaggerated pout, she continued to dance to her imagined beat. “Why not?”

  “Well, for starters you have no shoes on. I could literally crush your toes.”

  Laughing, she nodded. “Good point. But I think we can manage. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  “There’s no music,” he protested, but his arms were starting to loosen from their crossed position—a sure sign of weakening resolve.

  “Psh. Music is everywhere, you just have to know where to listen.” Moving toward him, she held out a hand and he took it tentatively. She lifted it and placed it over her heart. “A heart beat is like a drum, you know? It’s a slow, relaxed rhythm. Okay, now let’s get you in hold.”

  Dean followed her instructions and let her adjust the positioning of his arms tolerantly, though he was starting to get a wary look on his face about this whole endeavor. Regardless, she soon had him moving through a simple waltz, counting out time for him as they went. He wasn’t bad for a newbie, but she found herself missing Chris’s grace and presence. Assuring him that he was doing well, she danced on, grateful for the gathering darkness to conceal the fresh moisture glittering in her eyes.

  “What do you mean I’m not a ghost?”

  Chris dropped onto the end of the tidily made bed, eyes wide.

  “Son, I’ve met a lot of ghosts over the years and believe me, I’d know.” Harper walked to the dresser and lit a stick of incense, tucking it into a small terra cotta pot filled with fine sand.

  “What am I then?”

  The mirror over the dresser reflected Harper’s image as he passed his fingers through the fragrant smoke spiraling up from the incense’s burning ember, then touched his fingertips to his closed eyes. When he turned and opened them, they glowed with an otherworldly light and zeroed in on Chris. “A spirit, just not that kind of spirit.”

  Chris blinked and raised a hand, wiggling his fingers. “Can you see me?”

  The other man smiled, flashing even white teeth that stood out against the darkness of his richly tanned skin. “Sort of. It’s temporary, but it’ll do for now.”

  “Are you a witch?” He wasn’t quite able to keep the wariness from his voice.

  Harper’s rich laugh filled the room. He sat on the edge of the bed beside Chris. “No, I’m just a man.”

  “Just a man.” Chris snorted a laugh. “Pardon my skepticism, but… your eyes are glowing.”

  “Are they?” Twisting, Harper craned his neck and peered at himself in the mirror. “I can’t see it. Interesting.”

  “If it’s not magic, what is it?”

  “Oh, I didn’t say it wasn’t magic. I said I wasn’t a witch.” Harper stood and walked to one of the overflowing bookcases that lined the walls. Even the room’s windows were covered; the only light came from a single bare bulb overhead. “Magic is all around us. I simply asked a friendly spirit to lend me some of theirs.”

  “Oh.” Chris glanced around, brow furrowed. �
�I can’t see any other spirits.”

  Harper retrieved a leather-bound journal from the bookcase and brought it with him back to the bed. “She’s shy,” he said, unwound the journal’s leather cord and unclipped a pen from its cover. “But maybe she’ll show herself before you go.” Opening the journal to a blank page, he looked over at Chris again. “So, tell me what it’s like where you are. Don’t leave anything out.” He held his pen at the ready for note-taking.

  “Wait, you haven’t told me what kind of spirit I am yet.”

  “Ah yes, of course. My apologies. A wolf spirit, if I’m not mistaken. But it’s not what you are that is so interesting, it’s where you are. You’re on the astral plane.”

  If Chris’s mouth were capable of going dry, it would have the moment Harper named him a wolf spirit. Since he didn’t linger on it, Chris didn’t either. “What’s the astral plane?”

  “It’s a plane that’s just a hair out of alignment with the physical plane, like a camera lens slightly out of focus.”

  “That’s a spot-on metaphor, considering that everything here is so… blurry.”

  Harper jotted down a note. “Is it? That’s interesting. Tell me more?”

  Maybe it was Harper’s affinity for spirits, or the fact that it was the first time in over a week that someone could actually see him and give him some answers, but Chris was drawn to him. Trusted him. So he told Harper everything he could about the strange world he inhabited. The older man took copious notes, filling several pages.

  “So, you can travel to anyone you know with just a thought?” Harper asked, at one point.

  “Usually, yeah. It was harder to find Joey this time, though. I’m not sure why, but the fog is thicker here too, even worse than it was back in the city when I first woke up.”

  Harper made a thoughtful noise, nodding. “Your range may be limited. Good to know. Now, what about this Tasha person?”

  The mere mention of her name made Chris flinch. He couldn’t help it. “What about her?”

  “Tell me about your time with her. Dean said she tortures you.”

  Grimacing, Chris closed his eyes. Flashes of memory assaulted him. That’s all he had of most of his time with her: brief spurts of clarity shrouded in a fog of remembered agony.

  “I don’t remember much but the pain. It seems to come from everywhere all at once, like being dipped in fire. This last time, though, it was different.”

  “Different how?”

  “I gave her what she wanted, and she showed mercy.” Another memory flashed behind his eyes, of being curled on the floor at her feet, begging for that mercy. Harper didn’t need to know about that. Chris hung his head anyway. He had more than one cause for shame. “I didn’t want to tell her, but I couldn’t help myself. I knew what she wanted, and I told her everything I knew about Em—well, almost everything. Enough. I just hope it doesn’t matter now, that Em’s where she won’t be able to find her. Safe.”

  “A man has his limits,” Harper said, making another note before closing the journal. “No one can fault you that.”

  “Why not? I do.”

  Harper chuckled, but not unkindly. “Son, everyone is their own worst critic.”

  Chris lifted his head and looked toward the door. “Actually, I think I come in second.”

  Silence hung between them after that, nearly as thick as the astral fog outside. Eventually, Harper stood and returned his journal to the shelf. Chris followed him out of the room, itching to talk to Joey. They needed a plan, and they needed it now. Not just for him, but for Emma too.

  Leaving Harper behind, he closed his eyes and focused his attention on Joey. When he opened them again, the fog was thick around him. Just ahead, two shapes moved through the gray. Chris’s brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of what was in front of him. They were… dancing?

  He drifted closer to watch for a moment, eyeing them critically. No no, Dean was doing it all wrong. And, shockingly, Joey was letting him. Sadness rolled off her in waves. He’d always been attuned to her moods, but now it was different. Now he actually felt what she was feeling, for whatever reason, and seeing her there with Dean kindled the green-eyed monster. As with the rest of his emotions, it rose swiftly and all but overcame him, stealing his reason.

  Sweeping toward them, he stepped into Dean’s body once more. There was a brief hitch in his movements as it happened, and he put a foot wrong. Fortunately, Joey was quick enough to move her own foot out from under it. She smiled reassuringly at him and kept going.

  They danced.

  “You’re getting better,” she commented after a few moments.

  He tried to restrain himself, but it was hard. Dancing with her was as natural as breathing—not that he’d done either for a while. Now that he was seeing through Dean’s eyes, the fog was no more. There was nothing but the sky above, the beach below, the open water… and Joey, resplendent in the sun’s fading glow. He missed his wolf senses; the world felt muted through Dean’s eyes, ears and nose. He still couldn’t sense the moon at all, but it was still a thousand times better than his out of body existence.

  “Thanks,” he said, not quite able to resist giving her a twirl. She laughed as he pulled her back in, and he observed a subtle lightening in her expression. He couldn’t sense her emotions anymore, but she’d never been difficult to read. Not for him, anyway. “You’re a good teacher.”

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  They danced a bit more. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up. It was like a painter forced to use only one color. Left to his own devices, he could fill this canvas with wondrous beauty, but as it was… he might as well have his hands tied behind his back. What’s more, once the initial impulse to interlope faded, he felt guilty all over again. He needed to stop doing this. When he left Dean’s body the last time, the medium had been very confused to find himself standing by his bike in the dark, hours after he had stormed out of the apartment. Dean hadn’t given any indication that he had been aware of anything Chris had done while inhabiting his body, of where that lost time had gone.

  He spun Joey out and back in again, but this time broke hold to put his arms around her. She gazed up at him with a tolerant smile, feet still moving but in more of a high school slow dance sway than anything. This, he could accomplish without giving himself away. All he wanted was just a few more moments with her. A few more precious moments. That was all.

  “You seem very serious all of a sudden,” she commented.

  “Sorry. I’m just—concentrating.” He made himself—made Dean—smile.

  “Still worried about my toes?”

  Leaning over, he glanced down and noted her bare feet in the sand. “Some,” he said.

  Smiling, she stepped up so that she was standing on his feet.

  He couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s cheating.”

  “No judges around now, are there?”

  “No, I guess not.” They swayed a bit more, and her eyes drifted to look past his shoulder. He kept his on her, but when she glanced his way again he looked elsewhere quickly. That was an old game; he was practically a pro at covert glances.

  “Do you still miss her?” she asked, hesitantly.

  Her? Who was she talking about? But he did miss someone, rather intensely. There was only one “her” in his mind. “Yes,” he said. And since she brought it up… “Do you miss him?” It seemed like a dumb question once it had left his lips.

  She sighed. “Every waking moment.”

  He stopped moving his feet so that they were just standing there. Lifting a hand, he cupped her cheek softly. She didn’t pull away, just looked up at him with the stars twinkling in the dark depths of her eyes.

  “He misses you too,” he assured her. Dean would know, right? That didn’t sound too weird. It was all going great, but the longer he stood there holding her in his arms, the more he realized that he might never get an opportunity like this again. Impulsively, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.


  She must have been surprised, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into the kiss and it swiftly progressed from a warm press of lips to something considerably less chaste. She was intoxicating. The warmth of her mouth, the sweetness of her tongue, it was everything he’d imagined kissing her would be. He tightened an arm around her, pulling her closer even as his fingers delved into her silky crimson locks. Her hands pressed warmly at his back, holding onto him as much as he held onto her.

  When he finally drew back to look at her again, his eyes caressed the familiar planes of her face. Her lips remained softly parted, eyes fluttering open to gaze up at him with lingering surprise and pleasure. There was a brief moment when their eyes met that he was certain she could see right through his ruse. It passed quickly, leaving behind another twinge of guilt over his duplicity.

  “From both of us,” he said, releasing her gently and taking a step back. He’d forgotten she was standing on Dean’s feet, but she dropped back nimbly into the sand. He collected her shoes for her, and by some mutual unspoken agreement they started walking back the way they’d come, following their footsteps in the sand back toward the house.

  He knew he’d really made a mess of things when her fingers laced with his.

  Fuck.

  He was still trying to figure out how to extract himself from Dean without giving the game away when they got back to the house. The porch light was on, and Harper sat beneath it in a chair, smoking a cigar as he watched them approach.

  The moment he met the older man’s still-glowing eyes, he knew the jig was up. He released Joey’s hand and gently ushered her ahead of him up the steps.

  “Did you have a nice chat?” Joey said.

  “Mmm. Nice as they come,” Harper replied, but his eyes lingered on Chris. “Would you mind excusing us, Miss Grant? I need to talk to our boy here.”

  Joey flashed Chris-Dean a brief smile over her shoulder before nodding and heading inside.

  Chris didn’t get a chance to say a word. As soon as the door closed behind Joey, Harper flicked his fingers and Chris was ripped from Dean’s body, flung aside with enough force that he tumbled right through the porch railing, landing on the ground below.