My beast picks up a sound. I look over at her. Lips move slightly, but even with wolf hearing, I can’t make out the words. Maybe she’s dreaming.
About two miles from the University exit, I recognize Nash’s truck behind me. At the roundabout into our section of Cherry Hills, I realize we’ve got another tail — Cruz’s Aston Martin. Who the fuck drives an orange car? I pull through the gate and keep going. Let Nash take care of the Native asshole.
Shavone’s lips move again and now I pick up tiny whispers. It takes a couple tries, though, to understand every word.
“The ancestors hold us in their arms. We are always safe from harm.”
It’s a witchcraft chant and she’s repeating it over and over.
Good girl, kitten. Use your power.
In the garage, I park. Nash pulls his truck in on my left. Damned if Cruz doesn’t pull in to the right bay like he owns it. He doesn’t even bother shutting off his car. He’s out and yanks Hannah’s passenger side door open.
Shav screams, twists and sends her right elbow toward his nose. The rumors of Cruz’s speed are true. He easily dodges her arm. Still. That Krav Maga shit is ingrained in her. Fuck yeah. Nash did his job.
“Careful. I think she’s hallucinating.” I close the driver’s door. She jumps at the sound.
“Step back, Cruz.” Nash shoves him out of the way. “Baby, don’t be afraid. It’s Nash.”
She shakes her head. “Nash hates me.”
“No, I don’t, Shav. I don’t hate you.”
“I deserve it. I was so horrible.” Big tears appear out of nowhere.
Nash reaches in to get her. She screams and ratchets her elbow, over and over, swiping at the air and anyone who comes near her.
“What the fuck?”
I try, too. She won’t let either of us touch her.
“Can she walk?” Nash rubs his head.
“Let me try again.” Cruz let’s his beast take his entire face and crouches down to her level. Shavone stills, completely freezes. Mouth open, she stares at the Native wolf. They don’t touch, don’t say a fucking word. Not a sound. Just stare with a connection I’ve never seen between anyone. Fuck. I feel like I’m intruding on an intimate moment — beyond lust or passion. More than love or devotion. It’s like they’re coupling their souls.
All of a sudden, she screams. “He’s got a knife.”
Cruz doesn’t budge, but he shifts to human. “There’s no one here with a weapon, Niña. Not this time.”
Her eyes dart around. “We’re safe?”
“Yes.”
“Oh,” she gasps in relief. “We’re safe.” She sobs and wraps her arms around his neck.
He lifts her from the seat. She wraps her legs around him, holding on to him for dear life.
“Come. Let’s get you inside.” He turns to us. “Which way?”
Nash’s jaw works. His wolf is dying to get his hands on Cruz. I grip my cousin’s shoulder. “She’s okay. That’s what matters.”
With a snarl, he spins and leads the way to her apartment.
chapter thirty-nine
DETECTIVE LAFONTAINE LEADS me up a flight of stairs just inside the house. Shavone is too limp in my arms. The feisty witch is somewhere under the drugs and fatigue. I feel it in the way she clings to me the best she can. I hold her close, thankful that she doesn’t appear to be seriously harmed.
It was clear that quite a struggle had taken place in the Dollhouse storage room. She hadn’t left on her own volition. Of that I was certain. The girl’s car was in the parking lot, her purse and street clothes in the dressing room.
I lost complete control. For the second time in my life, my beast took over both mind and body. Shifting in the middle of the employee parking lot, he followed her scent to the alley behind the diner. There it vanished most likely into a vehicle.
Though I hadn’t scented him, I immediately suspected that Detective LaFontaine was involved in the abduction. However, his reaction to my frantic phone call convinced me that he wasn’t.
The detective called his contacts at the police department. We both put the word to our wolf nations to be on the look out for the little witch.
It was a female Norse at The Kitten Club who came through with the news that Shavone was there. Sixty miles an hour and running red lights, I was halfway to the despicable place when LaFontaine called to say she was on her way home.
LaFontaine opens a door with a drywall repair to one side of it.
“Her bedroom’s to the back of the apartment.”
Why the fuck is she living over the garage like domestic help?
“Wash face,” she slurs.
“You need to get in bed and get warm. Lionel’s orders,” Benjamin LaFontaine says. “I’ll get you some water.”
“Who is this Lionel?” I ask.
“A medical professional.” He veers to the kitchen while the detective leads me down the hall.
“Please. Eyes burn.” Shavone shivers in my arms.
“Alright, Niña.” I allow my wolf to rise, to share his body heat. Keeping her warm is important once again.
“I’ll crank the furnace.” Nashton offers.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
In the bathroom, I set her on a stool.
“Ruined your shirt,” she whispers.
“That’s quite alright.” The white tank is smeared with eye makeup. “I have more.” This shirt and jeans is all I had in the car to change into, my best Caraceni suit ripped to shreds when I shifted. Had I not had the meltdown, I would’ve had the sense to take it off before morphing.
Doesn’t matter. Only she matters.
Nashton returns. He ties her hair back and keeps her upright while I wet a washcloth with warm water and lather it with a cleanser she has on the counter.
Benjamin returns with a bottle of water. He lifts her chin giving me access to her sweet face. Her lids flutter closed. One wipe isn’t enough to remove the vile makeup. It takes three more wipes over each eye and a couple of rinses.
“Stop wearing this shit,” I grumble.
“Amen,” Nashton agrees.
“Drops?” Benjamin asks.
She nods. He digs in the medicine cabinet to produce a bottle of eyedrops and administers them.
While I rinse and wring the washcloth, Nashton lifts her and carries her to the bed.
“Why is there a bandage on her arm?” He asks.
“Lionel took blood to test.”
Goose bumps raise all over her. She shivers so violently that her teeth chatter. I rummage through her dresser for pajamas — something warm.
In the mirror, I catch her drowsy stare at my shoulder. The shirt covers most of it, but the scar is clearly visible. Our eyes meet for a moment.
Yes, little witch. You remember, don’t you?
There are no flannel pajamas, but in her underwear section, I find a pair of winter thermals — white with tiny pink snowflakes. The three of us dress her in them. I’m proud that my beast behaves through the temptation of exposed creamy skin and feminine curves. She is a beauty. I’m equally amazed that I feel only concern for her wellbeing and no jealousy at the two men assisting me.
The detective is a different story. He radiates resentment every time I touch her.
“Enrique,” Shavone slurs. “Turn ‘round?”
“Why?” I smirk at her. “Don’t tell me you’re modest now.”
She shakes her head. “Please.” Her eyes beg. “I need to touch it.”
With a sigh, I do as she asks.
In confusion, the LaFontaine cousins narrow their eyes — at her, at me. I lower myself to the mattress, careful not to sit on her. She should see it all and the French wolves, too. This is our connection, she and I. They need to understand that she is mine.
I remove my shirt.
Gingerly, her fingers trace the large scar that spans my back. Her soft touch is a balm to my soul, a tender wakeup call to my wolf.
“So much blood.” She chokes on a cry.
“You saved me.”
“Your power saved you, Shavone. Saved us both.” I look at the LaFontaines. “Had the hunter succeeded in killing me, he would have killed you next.”
Nashton frowns. A slight nod confirms that he understands my meaning.
“How did you survive?” She asks quietly.
“Shortly after, my pack arrived and,” I shrug. “Wolves heal quickly.” I force lightness to my voice and move out of her reach. The pads of her fingers too soft and too appealing. I put the shirt back on. “Enough reminiscing.”
She yawns.
“Sleep, little witch.” I stand.
Her hand strokes her chest. “Oh, no! No!” Shavone shrieks, sits straight up in bed clutching her chest.
“What’s wrong?”
“My necklace.” She rubs the spot on her chest where the coral spiral typically hangs. She awkwardly scoots her legs to the side of the bed in an attempt to get up.
“Stop.” Nashton orders her.
I stand directly in front of her to prevent her from standing.
“We have to check Hannah,” she says.
“Who is Hannah?” I ask.
“My Mustang,” Benjamin says.
Strange, naming a car.
“Shav, you weren’t wearing it when I” — he pauses — “when I found you.”
“I have to find it. I have to.” She’s beside herself so much that she’s in danger of hyperventilating.
“Calm down, kitten,” he says. “I’ll call Foster. Tell him to look around.”
“It’s all I have” — she closes her eyes. “I need it.”
“We understand. Antonio will look at the Dollhouse as well. We’ll find it. I promise.” I lift her legs. “Come. Back in bed.”
“Why don’t you run away, wolf? He’ll kill you.” She whispers. Her eyes huge gazing at me, she sobs.
“Fuck. She’s hallucinating, again,” Benjamin says.
She takes a breath and whispers. “We are peaceful. We are strong, though the dark may seem long. The ancestors hold us in their arms. We are always safe from harm. You will see, so mote it be.”
“She was chanting that on the way home, too.”
And the night I pulled her from the creek. This spell is etched into my brain.
“Thank you for helping me,” she whispers, her eyes fluttering between the three of us before drifting shut.
Benjamin cocks his head toward the door indicating we should leave. I’m loathe to, and linger at the door.
“You drink cognac, Cruz?” Nashton’s bulky frame ambles down the hall.
“I will tonight.”
The finishes of the apartment are top notch. Still. Shavone is royalty. She should not be living above a garage of any home — no matter how nice. The pair of LaFontaines lead me back to the door of the apartment.
“Are you expecting me to leave her?” I chuckle sarcastically and halt.
Nashton pauses and swallows. He nods. “I’ll be right back.” He goes.
Benjamin falls into a chair. I stay standing, peruse Shavone’s books and trinkets on the shelves — pictures of her mother and sister, her friends. I recognize Dillon Monbeau and a few of the girls, the witches of her coven and the Santana girl. It’s the only personalization in the place, as though she wasn’t planning on staying long. Good.
The big alpha returns with a bottle and three crystal glasses. I accept one, generously filled with golden liquid. I take a healthy swallow. It’s too sweet for my taste. I prefer tequila. Beggars can’t be choosers. I swallow more.
I’ve known for a long time that if anything ever happened to Shavone, I wouldn’t survive it. Tonight was a confirmation of that. The details could take what is left of my control, but I need to know what happened to her at the Kitten Club.
“Was she raped in your club tonight?” My beast surfaces for a moment, threatening to tear the French wolf apart if she was.
“No. Not at yours, either. Besides, that doesn’t happen at the Kitten Club,” Benjamin says.
I snort.
“It doesn’t, Cruz. Sex at my club is consensual.”
“As are the beatings, or so I’ve heard. Didn’t another woman go to the hospital this week?”
He ignores my remark. “Let’s not forget whose club Shav was kidnapped from.”
“And when I find who did it, I’ll kill them.” I sip the cognac already planning the torture I’ll inflict on those responsible.
“Even if they’re Natives?” He drops an envelop into my lap.
“That’s absurd.”
“See for yourself.”
Setting the glass aside, I open the note. A small feather falls out. “It’s white.”
“What’s the fucking difference?” Nashton asks. “It’s a Native calling card.”
“If a Native sent this, they’re wishing her safety.” I hold the feather up. It is an astonishingly pure white. “White signifies protection from a guardian, an ancestor. To a witch, this is a blessing from the moon. A Native sending a message of harm would have used something else.” I shrug. “A dead rat, for instance.”
I read the card.
“I agree with the sentiment, however.”
“Do you now? Let’s remember that she was taken from your club, Cruz, right out from under your nose,” Nashton snarls, his beast making an appearance in his eyes.
“And why was she there in the first place? Looking for her missing sister, while you rest on your laurals.” I set the card and feather on the side table.
The cousins exchange a look. There’s more to this story.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“None of your goddamned business.” Nashton throws back the rest of his drink.
“If it concerns my mate” — I pause to let the word settle into his brain — “it concerns me. Has harm come to her sister?”
“Don’t you know?” Benjamin asks. “Val ran off with a Native, a cousin of yours.”
My beast wants to shred him. We don’t keep tabs on our members anymore than they do theirs. He knows this.
“I’ll ask just one more time. Has harm come to her sister?”
“Of course not,” Nashton says. He stands, refills my glass. “Benjamin and I have to file a report with The Alliance.”
“Give Jack my best.”
They leave and I wander the apartment. The circumstances of me being here are horrid, but I enjoy taking in her scent and learn what I can about her preferences in food, her taste in books and stare at her photos once more. The resentment that I wasn’t in her life all those years builds. I move away, give my wolf a moment to calm himself.
One of the bedrooms holds boxes of her things, the other spare room looks like a shrine to Architectural Digest.
At the threshold to her bedroom, I pause. Here there are more personal items. White tulips in a pretty vase and dishes of jewelry are on the dresser. A pair of her jeans are draped over a chair.
My beast detects footsteps on the stairs near her front door. It’s the detective. I already recognize the cadence of his walk — a specialty of my wolf sense.
Once inside, he spots me in the hall. “Jack wants to talk to you.”
“Fuck, Jack.”
“It’s so cold,” Shavone murmurs with a slur.
I turn back to her. Her eyes are open, but she sees nothing. The drugs.
Despite the thermal wear and the thick duvet, the girl begins to shake uncontrollably.
“We are peaceful. We are strong,” she begins. I murmur along with her just as we did that horrible night.
“Don’t leave me, wolf. Please.” She sobs, hugging herself.
“Never.” I kick off my shoes, lift the duvet and get in bed with her. I don’t have to draw her near. She instantaneously wraps her body around me, her limbs like ice.
“I want to go home.”
“I know, little witch,” I mumble, briskly rubbing her back and arms.
“They’re dead. They’re all dead.” Shavone whispers. “My fa
mily.” The quiet wail so mournful, it’d break Satan’s heart.
“Oh, Jesus.” The detective purses his lips, obviously moved emotionally. “She’s remembering.”
I nod. She’s recalling an attack. Whether it was the one against the Soft family or the Gentil family isn’t completely clear. However the word all makes me assume she’s remembering the night the entire Soft family was slaughtered except for their three daughters.
“We are peaceful. We are strong, though the dark may seem long.” The witch resumes her soft chanting and I with her, rubbing her back and cradling her.
Nashton watches us for a few seconds. “I’ll tell Jack it’ll have to wait.”
“You do that,” I say.
He spins and goes.
“The ancestors hold us in their arms. We are always safe from harm,” she murmurs almost asleep.
“You will see, so mote it be,” I whisper the final phrase of the spell and kiss her forehead.
chapter forty
THE OLDER GIRL squeezes my hand. I squeeze back.
The little girl falls asleep cuddled between us. With sudden intensity, the hole we’re in goes from freezing to roasting. I gasp. I want fresh air.
“It’s going to be alright, Shav.” She knows my name. I don’t know hers.
The screaming and yelling outside fades. We hear car doors slam and engines rev. The sound of the cars get farther away until there’s silence — eerie, scary silence. The three of us don’t move. I want to. I’m afraid of being under here forever, but I’m more afraid of what is up there.
We sit, seems like hours. Then, in the distance, we hear the mournful howl of wolves — dozens of them. The sound means something horrible has happened, but I don’t know what.
Tears stream from the older girl’s eyes.“Mom said to do the spell if we hear the wolves.”
Wiping my own eyes, I nod like I know what she means, but I don’t.
She opens her hand. There’s a coral charm, about an inch or two in diameter, carved with three spirals in a triskele. Gold chains dangle from three tiny holes, one above each spiral.
A warm, calming zephyr flows through the dank hole.
“Did you feel that?”
Soft Shatter (Wolven Moon Book 1) Page 31