I nod.
“That means the ancestors are here, too.”
We wake the littlest girl. The older girl places one gold chain around each of our necks and instructs us to put our thumb over the spiral that our particular chain is attached to.
Somehow I know what to say and murmur with her. “This thread of the light, weave your magic spell tonight,” we say.
The older girl stops. “You have to speak the words, too, Sky.”
“I don’t want to.” She whimpers.
I wrap an arm around her. “We have to or we’ll die. Say it,” I insist.
The older girl and I start, again. “This thread of the light” — we pause for the littlest girl. Finally, she repeats it. “Weave your magic spell tonight. To be protected from harm, we seal this charm. Bind our souls as sisters bound, we’ll come again to this ground. Though our hearts joined as one, begin the shroud to be seen by none.”
Tears flowing, we break the triskele, each of us snapping one of the spirals from the rock hard charm.
My necklace.
“You don’t have a choice Cruz.” It’s Nash’s voice, whispering in an angry tone.
The warm body next to me stirs. I hold tighter.
“Jack is on the phone insisting. You need to be in on this call.” Nash whispers more, louder this time.
“Shh. You’ll wake her.” Warm legs attempt to untangle from mine.
I moan with disapproval and refuse to let go. Soft lips press to my forehead. The body pulls away.
Footsteps walk away. A door clicks open and close.
My body feels like it has been hit by a semi and that the truck reversed over it a dozen times. I make it move anyway — stretching stiff arms and legs.
Slowly, my feet touch the floor. My head swims. Someone left water on my nightstand. Grateful, I uncap it and drink the entire bottle.
Coffee.
After I fumble at brushing my teeth and peeing, I pause in the bedroom. I don’t want to go downstairs. I just don’t. I can get by with that nasty instant this one morning. I shuffle to the apartment kitchen. There on the counter is a brand new single serve coffee maker, all set up and ready to brew, along with an assortment of pods to go with it.
Nash.
I push the on button and wait for the water in the machine to heat.
Jack? Is it the same Jack who spoke to the older bouncer on the phone during my Dollhouse interview? If it’s the same person, he must be a wolf. I straighten my shoulders. Could he be a Native? Perchance someone who has info on Val’s whereabouts? What are the chances that the call is happening in Ben’s den next to his computer that I bugged?
Holding on to furniture and walls, I go to the living room as quickly as I can and lift the lid on my new Mac. Mousing over the spyware icon, I click and wait for the dashboard to launch.
What’s this? On the side table, I pick up a white feather and a calling card beneath it.
The French should take better care of their Soft witch.
What does that mean? Ben mentioned Soft witches the last time I listened in on a conversation. That tinge of guilt flits through my mind.
The dashboard pops up diverting my attention back to the computer. I pause, looking at Ben’s feed.
“Forgive me elders. This is for Val.” I click on Ben’s IP address.
“We don’t know, Jack,” Ben growls. “What we do know is that no hunters have been spotted in Colorado. None.”
“Well, find out,” a female voice on a speaker phone growls right back. Jack’s a woman, one with the vocal cords of a three-pack a day smoker. “What do you know about Cherie Valentine?”
What? I sit up straighter.
“She’s Shavone’s best friend,” Nash says.
“Well, she contacted dozens of wolves last night on Shavone’s behalf.”
Because I didn’t check in with the coven last night. Yay. Go C.
“Including Maria Santana. Have you ever gotten a call from a pissed off Maria Santana?” Jack’s gravelly voice seethes.
“No, ma’am,” Nash says.
Why is he calling Jack ma’am? Who is this woman?
“Let’s just say that I never want to get another one. Now. Mr. Cruz,” the lady says. “Fifteen years ago, the security committee expressly forbade any contact between you and Shavone Gentil.”
What? Why?
“Yet over the years you’ve have had the audacity” — she’s cut off by Enrique.
“My audacity, as you put it,” his voice is hard, “is to protect the little witch. Someone has to. During our interview earlier in the week the girl didn’t even realize that wolves can scent witches. That is basic knowledge that she should’ve known in grade school. The French have failed her in too many ways and put her at significant risk.”
“You asshole. She was at risk at the Dollhouse!” Nash grumbles.
“Had you been doing your duty, LaFontaine, Shavone never would have come to me in the first place.”
“Sorry, man,” Ben joins the conversation. “Hiring her was beyond irresponsible.”
“Says the man who beats women for a living,” Enrique snorts.
What?
“Fuck you.” Ben sounds angry.
“I won’t apologize,” Enrique continues. “Shavone needs guidance, knowledge and protection. If she comes to me for it, I will give it — gladly and willingly, the Alliance be damned.”
My wolf.
My wolf? Geez. Did I just think that?
“Stop it, all of you,” Jack rasps. “The shroud is weakest over Shavone. We believe, Mr. Cruz, that is due to your interference the night” — he cuts her off, again.
“Obviously, you’re wrong. The shroud was already weak. Had I not been there, the hunters would have killed her then and there.”
He’s talking about the night he saved me. The people who chased me, that man with the knife, they were obsessed, driven by some bizarre zeal. I heard it, felt it — their hatred of me. Enrique’s right.
“Be that as it may, Shavone’s been practicing the craft the entire time she’s been in hiding. Each time she practices, she weakens the shroud more.” The woman on the phone sighs loud. “But Mademoiselle Gentil insisted, the stubborn bitch wouldn’t listen to the Alliance.”
I bristle. Oh she did not just call my mom a bitch. I don’t like this Jack person.
“A wise woman,” Enrique defends her.
“Shavone isn’t ready! None of them are.” The lady on the phone gets even snottier.
“That speaks to the failure of the Alliance. If Shavone were my charge, she would have been ready years ago,” Enrique murmurs with a strong tone of regret.
A buzzing noise rings out both in the audio on the computer and at my door. I look around for the source. It sounds again. The security pad. I move over to it.
“Someone’s at the main gate,” Ben says.
The gate must have a doorbell. I punch a button on my security pad labeled gates. The back gate comes up on the monitor. No one is there.
Shuffling and footsteps noises come from the computer. “Be right back,” Ben says.
I punch the up arrow and the main gate shows up on monitor. A yellow cab waits there. Abruptly, the back door opens and a woman’s leg appears before she steps out. Impatiently, she pounds on the gate doorbell.
It’s Val! She’s here! She’s home!
I tap the open gate button and watch on the monitor as it begins to slide to the side. Opening the door to my apartment, I mean to fly down the stairs. However, the residual wooziness of the drug throws me off balance. I slow, and, holding the railing, take each step one at a time. Once off the stairs, I sprint like a drunkard through the hall toward the front door.
“Shavone!” Nash bellows from the den.
I ignore him, swing the double doors wide and stumble on the threshold, heading face first for the hard marble. Strong arms catch me.
“Slow down, little witch.” Enrique keeps his arm around me as we navigate the stairs.
The cab pulls into courtyard.
Enrique opens her door, stunning my sister for a moment. She purses her lips and gets out.
“Val.” I hug her tight. “Oh my god. I was so worried about you.” I try hard not to cry, but it’s impossible.
She isn’t hugging me back — at least not earnestly. Is she hurt?
I step back to examine her. “You’re okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” She gives me a tight smile.
Enrique frowns, his eyes narrow in confusion at Val’s back and blink to me.
The cab driver sets her luggage on the driveway. Ben pays the man and lifts her bags. We follow Ben inside as the taxi drives away.
Val passes a scowling Nash and takes a seat on a kitchen stool.
“What’s this shit about you working for his asshole?” She raises her chin at Enrique. “Don’t you have any self-respect, Shav?”
“You thankless bitch,” Enrique starts.
“Stop.” I put a hand on his chest and turn to my sister. “The Dollhouse was were Francisco hung out. It seemed a good a place as any to get a lead on you.”
“Why did you need a lead on me?” She throws up her hands. “I told you before I left that’d I’d be with him.”
“That was months ago. And every time I tried to contact you, I came up empty. I tried calling, texting, emailing. I contacted all your friends. All you had to do was return one damn text. One!” I hold up an index finger.
“Stop being so melodramatic.” Val shakes her head, rolls her eyes to the ceiling and sighs.
What? My jaw drops. After everything that happened? Last night?
“Don’t look at me like that. I was kinda busy.” She studies her fingernails.
“Oh? Take a lot of effort to hang out with Francisco?”
She practically sneers at me. What the hell is wrong with her?
“I was this close” — her thumb and index finger are about a half-inch apart — “to getting the hunters who set our house on fire.”
What?
I didn’t know she was looking for them. “How do you know who they are?” I stammer. “Or where they are?”
“Francisco. He helped me track them.”
“He what?” Enrique snarls.
That’s insanely dangerous. No one has to tell me that. “Why didn’t you tell me? Don’t you think I’d want to be involved? She was my mom, too.”
“No.” Val’s eyes get hard and her head tilts to the side. “She wasn’t.”
All the childhood anguish of abandonment, unworthiness, being an outsider trying to fit into a new family — all that reemerges and effervesces in my stomach.
Either oblivious to or callous of my hurt, Val continues. “My mom was your caretaker, a babysitter until” — she’s cut off.
“Shut the fuck up!” Nash barks.
“Until what?” I whisper, blinking as fast as I can to hold back the emotion.
“Shavone.” Ben puts a hand on the back of my neck. “Don’t listen to her.”
I shake him off. “I need to know what’s going on. Now.” I demand. “You’re aware of what I’ve been doing, Val. How did you know I was working at the Dollhouse? How did you know where to find me? That I was living here?” I indicate the mansion.
Her glance at Nash is slight and quick, but I see it. I narrow my eyes at Nash.
He sighs hard. “I called her last night when you disappeared,” Nash murmurs. He won’t look at me. “On the off chance that you were on your way to Texas.” He glares at Val. “No one told her to come home.”
“You knew where Valerie was?” Enrique voices the very question in my head.
I hold my breath for an answer that I’m fairly certain I don’t want to hear.
With a loud exhale and closed eyes, Nash nods once, twice.
My world stops, everything I’ve ever trusted pulled out from under me. Vaguely I hear Enrique’s booming voice chastising Nash and Ben for not being honest with me.
“You knew from the beginning?” I whisper, staring at Nash.
Again, he nods once slowly, guilty brown eyes appealing for understanding. But I don’t understand. Nash knew all along. Worse, he made me feel like a complete idiot every time I brought him a clue.
Oh my god this hurts.
I slap him as hard as I can across his arrogant face. I beat on his chest with my fists.
“Shav.” Wide eyed, he easily catches and holds my hands.
“You son of a bitch. I trusted you more than anyone,” I choke out. “Not only did you play me for a fucking fool, you put my sister in danger.”
Nostrils flared, Nash’s face turns red. “I did not put her in danger. She put herself there!”
“And why should I believe anything you say?” I hiss. “You’re a dirty rotten liar.”
Nash gasps, acts all affronted. “I was trying to protect you from this.”
I yank my hands away and slap him, again.
“Oh, Jesus, Shav, get ahold of yourself,” Val says.
“Get ahold of myself?” I gape and turn my anger on my sister. “I worried about you.” I realize now that she probably knew that. “You got my messages, didn’t you?”
She shrugs, as though it doesn’t matter.
“What a callous sister you are,” Enrique murmurs to Val.
“Why didn’t you let me know you were okay? What if something horrible had happened?”
“Something horrible did happen! My mom was killed because of you!” She blurts out.
I freeze. Once more, within seconds of the last, the oxygen squeezes from lungs. “What?” I squeak out with the last bit of air.
She swallows tears of her own. Her eyes dart to each of the three wolves before her gaze comes back to me. “The hunters were after you, Shavone, and they got her.”
No.
Her bitter eyes burn into mine, condemning me. And, I realize she’s telling the truth. Somewhere in my subconscious I knew it before she said it. On some level, I knew it even then, the night of the fire.
Breathe. I need to breathe, but I can’t. My chest muscles won’t work.
“Enough.” Enrique steps between us. Forcing me to break eye contact with Val. With a soft gaze, he grips my shoulders. “Breathe, Shavone.”
How can I breathe when my lungs won’t function? I simply stare into his eyes, at the familiar wolf visible there.
“Close your eyes, little witch,” he murmurs like he did that night as the knife wielding hunter lay dead beside us, Enrique bleeding profusely.
My eyelids come down, obeying him.
“Now take just one breath.”
I do and it’s a massive one.
“Good. Another,” he whispers to my lips.
Inhaling a few times more, I feel calmer. Or maybe it’s his touch and voice.
“Open your eyes and look only at me.”
Again, my lids obey him. He smiles. “You’re coming home with me,” he murmurs. “Go upstairs and pack — just what you need immediately. I’ll send someone to collect the rest of your things.”
I nod and turn to the stairs to my apartment.
“Shav.” Nash grazes my hand with his fingertips.
I flinch at the contact.
“Don’t touch her.” Enrique’s wolf emerges and he shoves Nash away. “Not ever again, LaFontaine.”
Ben snarls a warning to Enrique and steps right in front of me. “It’s our duty to protect her.”
Val snorts. Even a glare from Enrique doesn’t wipe the contempt for me from her face.
“Fuck you,” I sneer at Ben. “You’re both liars.”
Ben licks his lips. He’s hurt. I don’t give a damn.
“We were just trying to protect you.” His voice softly explains.
“I’ve just seen how you protect her, how you treat her.” Enrique includes Val in his scowl. He presses a hand to my lower back. “Go,” he mouths. He leads me to the stairs. “I’ll wait here for you.” He turns and stands guard, his stance daring either
of the LaFontaines to interfere.
In my apartment, I strip off the thermals and tug on some yoga pants — moving as if in some surreal world, as if it’s someone else doing this. Maybe I am someone else — altered by revelations of deception and scorn from people who I thought cared for me. Yes, I’m a different person than I was a mere ten minutes ago.
Well, the anger seems to have burned off the more of the drug.
I stuff essentials into my large suitcase — just some clothes and my toiletry case. I close the Mac and slide it next to the old computer in the case and zip the it closed. The only thing I feel wheeling my bag downstairs is emptiness. I felt this way before — a long time ago.
Nash and Ben have moved to the foyer. Val watches dispassionately from the doorway of the great room. Enrique hasn’t budged.
“You’re trusting the wrong guy,” Nash says.
I shake my head with a new certainty that precisely the opposite is true. “I’ve been trusting the wrong guy. I won’t make that mistake ever again.”
He swallows. I see the hurt in his expression. Thirty minutes ago, I’d done what I could to ease it. Now? I cannot care less how he feels, or Ben, who radiates a red hot anger I never would have expected from him.
Subconsciously I reach for my necklace, the one that gives me solace in times like these. Of course it’s not there. That much I remember from last night.
Enrique opens the front door. A zephyr flows in, wrapping calm around me. I lift my chin and move my numb body.
A witch walks out of the only life she’s ever known. It sounds like the beginning of another spectacular story, doesn’t it?
WOLVEN MOON SERIES
SOFT SHATTER
SOFT FATE - coming in 2015
ACCIDENTAL MATING
at THE AVALON - coming in 2015
SOFT UNLEASHED - coming in 2015
For sneak peeks and other fun goodies, get on Dany Rae’s reader list by clicking here.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hey there, I’m Dany Rae Miller.
In former lives, I was an advertising rep, then, a property manager. After getting my ass back to school, I became a TV producer and an award-winning screenwriter. My day job now involves putting together a lifestyle magazine.
Soft Shatter (Wolven Moon Book 1) Page 32