“One touch and we’ll want to be inside you, baby. And you’re still raw. Touch yourself. Show us how you make yourself happy.”
She circles a middle finger over her clit. “I do it like this.”
“Aw, fuck me.” Ben’s going to town on his shaft. “Just one finger? Do you ever put it inside you?”
“No. But I will for you.”
The sight of her grinding on her own finger has me spurting seed three feet high. I tip my head back and howl my pleasure. Ben snarls and comes hard on the other side of her.
“Wow,” Shav whispers.
I pant, getting my breath back. “That’s why you shouldn’t fuck with our wolves, Shav.”
“But I like fucking with them.” She smirks.
Ben barks out a laugh.
I can’t help but laugh myself. “You are so naughty.” I zip my pants and wash my hands at the sink, enjoying the view of her laid out like a beautiful buffet. I lean down, kiss her silky lips. “I have to go, baby. We’ll talk about you working later.”
“We can discuss it, but I’m not going to change my mind.” She sits up. Ben helps her put her panties and pants back on. “Keeping my word to Mom is important to me.”
The witch has nerve, bringing up Mademoiselle Gentil, again. Keys in my hand, I move toward the garage shaking my head.
“Thank you for cooking breakfast,” her sweet voice follows me down the hall. “And the orgasm.” She laughs.
I smile. She just doesn’t quit. “You’re welcome.” I holler back, one foot into the garage.
chapter thirty-three
WOW. THAT WAS fast and intense. My core still pleasantly tingling, Ben helps me down from the counter. I kiss his cheek.
“Thank you, too.” I return to my breakfast.
Ben cleans up the semen from the floor. He sighs. “You’re good at that.”
“Good at what?”
“Playing Nash.” He snorts. “And me.”
“I did not play either of you.”
He studies me for a moment while he washes his hands — magic hands. Geez. I don’t want to think how he and Nash became such an experienced team at making a woman feel that good that quickly. I shift slightly on the stool.
After drying his hands, Ben takes one of mine in his. He isolates my pinkie.
“See this? You’ve got me wrapped around it good and tight in fucking days. And Nash? He’s wrapped dozens of times with no hope of ever unwinding himself.”
“Stop.” I frown and take my hand back. “I told the truth. My mother was adamant about both Val and me being able to take care of ourselves, ‘stand on your own two feet’ she used to say.”
Ben’s lips flatten into a hard line. “You don’t have to work.”
“Oh, don’t you start, too.” I roll my eyes. “I have a right to work if I want.”
Wherever I want.
“Kitten, look at me.”
I do, chewing the last bite of my granola. Something in his expression makes me pause. For a moment, I worry that he knows where I’ll be working.
“Shavone, what I said last night” — I cut him off.
“I took every word to heart, Ben. I’ll be careful — for Val’s sake.”
“And your own.” He insists.
“And my own.” I repeat and smile at him.
“Good.” He cups my face and plants a soft kiss on my lips. Closing his eyes, he kisses my forehead. His phone vibrates in his pocket. Groaning, he looks at the caller ID.
“I should take this.”
“Okay. I’ll clean up breakfast. Then, I have some errands to run.”
“Alright.” He kisses me and swipes his phone. “Yeah,” he says into it. In bare feet and bare chest, he pads toward his den and closes the door.
In my garage apartment, I gather my old computer, camera bag and purse. The shiny Mac on the coffee table catches my attention. I never did make sure that my test of Garrett’s spyware worked. If I’m going to try to install it on Cruz’s computer tonight, I should verify that it’s worth the risk.
Setting my things down, I sit and open the Mac. I mouse over where Garrett showed me and click on the spyware icon. Ben’s computer is pretty easy to find given it’s the only feed listed on the dashboard.
I click on it and instantly hear Ben’s voice. Oh, no. I wanted the test I made yesterday. I move the cursor to the little red dot to close the live stream.
“How does this affect the sisters?”
Sisters?
I take my finger off the trackpad and listen — feeling vague guilt for invading Ben’s privacy.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to myself. “But I need to find Val.”
Ben mumbles something else that I can’t make out. I tap the volume key to turn it up.
“Look. There’s not a witch hunter within 400 miles of Colorado.” He uses a soothing voice with whomever is on the phone.
Shit! Witch hunters?
“Calm down,” he responds to whomever he’s talking to. “No one is worried except you and Nash. None of the soft witches are in any immediate danger.”
Soft witches? What does that mean? In certain contexts, Gentil means soft in French. Is soft code for Val and me?
“All three are safe,” Ben says.
Three. My heart falls. He’s not talking about us.
Ben ends his call. I want to go back in the recording and listen to the entire conversation. If there are hunters in the area, I want to know about them. But I need to go now. I wanted to be at my old place first thing this morning so it appears as though I still live there.
I look at the time. Shit. I’ll stop for a bagel and coffee. If anyone is watching the house, they’ll see me come home with breakfast and hopefully assume I stayed out all night.
On the drive to my old place, I mull over Ben’s phone conversation — specifically the worry that witch hunters are in the state. A shiver runs up my spine.
Once upon a time, witches were revered as healers and protectors. The rising priests with their hostility toward anything feminine, especially worship of Mother Earth and the goddess, declared witchcraft evil and the centuries long hunt of us began. Hating witches doesn’t appear to be ending anytime soon.
We’re careful, of course, closely guarding who we worship with and where. Losing Mom to hunter violence made it all too clear that the fear is real.
Bypassing my old driveway, I pull around the corner to the side street. It’s closer to my back door. Intuition tells me I might need to make a quick escape.
I turn off the engine, the memories from the night Mom died fill my mind. The char and heat of the fire — the angry shouts of the people surrounding our house echoing hatred of us.
Death to witches.
Shit. Are hunters hunting Val? That’s a good reason to cloak yourself. That could explain why none of my spells work. I sit up straighter. What if she’s trying to protect me?
Is that why someone bugged my computer? Hunters looking for her? No. That doesn’t make sense. If they’re hunters, they’d know I was a witch as well. They’d kill me, not put spyware on my computer.
My cell rings. It’s Cherie.
“Hey. We need to see you.”
“We?” I ask.
“Gabby and I. Well, mostly Gabs. Someone threatened her life.”
“What?!”
Gabriela is in the background laughing. “Would you quit freaking out?”
“Come by my old place. I’m here wrapping up loose ends,” I say.
“Okay. We just passed Mile High stadium. We’ll be there in a jiff.”
I open my car door and walk to my old mailbox. There’s a packet from DU. Putting in a change of address goes to the top of my to-do list. I sit on the front porch and open it, waiting for the girls. Cherie pulls up to the curb a few minutes later.
“Hey.” She hurries up the walk. Gabby follows her grinning and shaking her head.
“What’s going on?” I say.
Hands on her hips, Cherie looks at Ga
bby. “Show her.”
Gabby reaches in her back pocket to retrieve a folded piece of paper. I turn it over.
“Is this handmade paper?”
They shrug. I open it. Gabriela Santana is written in red. It’s not marker or pen. It’s blood. Someone wrote Gabs’ name in blood. Looking closer, I see hair embedded into the handmade paper.
I gape at it. “Is this a wolven blood threat?”
“Yup.” Gab’s cocky attitude slips for a moment. “Some wolves don’t appreciate a female Native mating with a Norse male.”
“So they’re threatening her life. Isn’t that mature?” Cherie scowls.
“Hey.” Gabby frowns. “Don’t knock my culture. It’s outgrowing its patriarchal past.”
“Not fast enough,” Cherie says.
“Did you show Baldwin? Or Jesse?” I ask. Baldwin is Gabs’ fiancé and Jesse his best man.
“Yeah,” Cherie snorts. “They’re taking it less serious than she is.” She frowns nervously at our Latina friend.
“It’s just some old guard bigot,” Gabby says. “Young wolves don’t care about inter-nation mating.”
“What about your family?” I ask. “How does the very traditional Santana pack feel about your wedding?”
“You think it’s my family?” Gabs eyebrows raise in askance.
“At this point everyone’s a suspect.” Cherie’s hand is on her hip again as she echoes my thought.
Gabby lifts her chin, ready for a fight. “Santanas don’t attack Santanas.”
“Okay. Stop. It doesn’t matter who it is, Gabs. You need protection.” My tools are at the mansion. I turn to Cherie. “Do you have your tools?”
“Yes.”
From her car trunk, she grabs her tote. We walk to my circle hidden behind the house. Cherie hands me her athame and digs for candles.
Gabs uses her wolf sense to make sure we’re alone. “It’s clear, but” — long hair flutters as she shakes her head — “let’s do this fast.”
I set the bag down just outside the circle. When I moved to Denver, my coven came from the Springs to help me bless the sacred space, to leave a bit of their energy and aura here. Of course, I returned the favor for my girls in their new spaces — even flying to New York to initiate Lauralynn’s circle.
My besties and I step into the circle. With Cherie’s athame, I draw the pentagram, quickly summon earthly and spiritual elements, and launch right into the spell.
“Here me elders, hear me spirits, I summon your might to banish evil day and night.”
“I feel them,” Gabs whispers.
Cherie shrugs. “That other circle is far more powerful.”
She’s right. Shit. This is important. Gabs really needs protection. To accomplish that, we need more energy.
I gather the votive candles from Cherie’s tote. Summoning as I go, I light the candles and place them clockwise within the points of the pentagram.
“Guardians of the north, the east, the south and the west, I invite you to join our quest.”
I light a taper candle for Gabs to hold since this spell is for her. I hold her free hand to signify that, though she isn’t a witch, she’s a friend deserving protection.
“Sacred candles, sacred lights. Craft our spell in your fire, weave it now, weave it higher.”
Every candle flame flares briefly telling us the guardians have arrived and are listening.
“Your protection to us be bound, sink all evil to the ground.” I smile at Gabs. “Chant that three times with us.”
In soft voices, we repeat the spell three times. I let go of Gabs to close the spell.
“By the power of three times three — elders, spirits and guardians, hear my plea, so shall it be.”
The candle flames flare three times in acknowledgement.
“Thank you elders, spirits and guardians, for your brave fortitude, you have my solemn gratitude.”
“If it cause no ill, do as you will.” Cherie and I murmur our coven’s end to the Wiccan Rede.
The candles snuff themselves out.
“Done.” I turn to Gabs. “Was that fast enough?”
“Yeah. And we didn’t even have to get naked.” With a great sigh of relief, she hugs me. “Thank you.” She’s more worried about this than she lets on.
“You’re welcome. I hope it works.”
“I know it will. I feel it. I do.” She smiles. “And as much as I hate to use your power and run, I have a meeting with our travel agent to confirm honeymoon plans.”
I purse my lips and cock my head. “Isn’t the groom supposed to plan the honeymoon?”
None of us like Baldwin. He’s a taker and a user. No wolf family has more eminence than the Santanas and marrying into that family gives Baldwin instant clout. That, and the family is richer than all the gods.
There’s hope. Gabs hasn’t committed completely yet. They haven’t marked each other as mates. She wants to save the ritual biting for their wedding night. Once their fangs break skin, that’s it. As a wolf, she’ll be mated literally for life. There is no such thing as divorce among wolves.
Gabs waves her hand dismissively. “He’s too busy.”
Cherie shakes her head and rolls her eyes. With a blink, her attention turns to me. “What are you doing here anyway?”
I show her the envelop from DU. “Mail,” I lie. If she knew what I was up to, she’d bonk me over the head with her athame.
“Oh, yeah.” Gabs smiles. “I hear we’re neighbors. Grandmother’s place is the pink stucco on the south side of the circle.”
That puts her one property away from Cruz. Cherie and Ells have been to the big Santana property. I was invited, too, but the timing was always off and I never made it to any of them.
“Alright, bridezilla, c’mon.” Cherie tugs Gabs’ sleeve.
I walk with them to Cherie’s Toyota — a car older than mine, where we hug goodbye.
“Any new developments, you let me know, okay?” I say to Gabs.
“You got it.” She closes the passenger door and I watch them drive off.
Back inside my old place, I turn on the clunker computer. I pull up my favorite psychology site. Anyone monitoring, will think I’m reading. Lifting myself to sit on the kitchen counter, I ready my camera with a fresh media card and my badass lens. The perch is perfect. I can see out of three windows from here. The bonus is that it’s a hop and yank to leave through the back door. Now I just have to hope I didn’t miss the stalker.
I take photos of each car that comes down my street. All of them go on by. An SUV, though, slows considerably about three houses away. Snap, snap, snap. I take a quick series of shots. When the guy glances over, I recognize the older bouncer from the Dollhouse. His head turns my way. I duck, hopeful that he didn’t see me through the window.
What is he doing here? Is it a coincidence? Did Cruz send him? I suppose my computer could have been bugged as part of Cruz’s asinine employee background check.
I blow out a breath, annoyed that he’s featured in my dreams now. There were new scenes this morning and they were super vivid. In the chaos of rain and blood, my mind, again, made Cruz the wolf protecting me. It’s insane. Enrique Cruz risking his life for me isn’t the kind of man his legend describes.
You think you know me based on rumor and false accusations.
That’s what Cruz said at my interview. And he’s right. Judging anyone on rumors about them is unfair.
Movement through the kitchen window interrupts my thoughts. I haven’t been paying attention. The vehicle has already passed my place so I catch just the back of it with my lens. It is all I need to see to know that it’s the landscaping van — the same one that was at Cruz’s place. No question.
What is it doing in my neighborhood? First his bouncer, now this? The van slows at the end of the block and makes a u-turn. They’re coming back for another look.
Shit.
I snap a few quick shots of the front. It’s the same lady who was driving the other day. There isn
’t anyone with her this time.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I’ve learned long ago to heed those sensitive tufts of fuzz. Fairly certain I found my computer stalker, I scramble to get the hell out of there.
Not bothering to power it down, I close the old laptop and shove it back in the bag. I leave the camera around my neck. Hurry. Hurry. I dart out the back door and into my car. The van slows to a crawl in front of my house.
The expression on the driver’s face is tight and angry. With me? Or having to do surveillance? That no one is home dawns on her, reflected with an even angrier scowl. She presses the gas, bypassing the side street I’m on and nears University Boulevard.
I sigh with relief and put the camera in its case. Key in the ignition to start the car, the ground shakes with an eerie roll. The booming thunder sounds like it’s coming from the bowels of the Earth. The tremor gets stronger. I hold my breath and grip the steering wheel with white knuckles.
Earthquakes happen in Colorado, but not on this scale. After a few seconds, it stops.
Shit.
Legs like jelly, I get out of the car and look around. Some of the houses have slight damage — a few broken windows and collapsed decks. I hope no one’s hurt.
Rushing water noise and human shouts from the intersection behind me turns my attention to University Boulevard.
My jaw drops.
The spot where the van was is now a giant sinkhole — large enough to swallow a van. Tentatively, I walk closer to the corner.
Yes. Just as I thought. The landscaping van is indeed in the sinkhole. The woman driver screams for help and a few people at the rim tell her to calm down. In the distance, emergency vehicle sirens wail.
chapter thirty-four
THE SWEET SCENT that I have been looking forward to is not what walks into the Dollhouse.
Rage seizes my wolf, his internal roar louder than the music pounding through the lounge. Three young wolves sitting at the bar wisely get up and move away.
“Leave, Enrique.” Antonio insists.
Shavone’s luxurious essence steeped in French stench. My beast bays a forlorn cry, a true physical agony joining the fury.
Soft Shatter (Wolven Moon Book 1) Page 26