Shifter's Magic (The Wolvers Book 8)

by Jacqueline Rhoades

  "Steal a car, they call the cops. Steal a couple of rims and they call the insurance company," Boss Seaward had once told him.

  Brad always envied the people who owned those cars. Others might call Livvy's choice a slick-assed weasel, but that was Gilead. The outside world where Livvy now belonged would see him as smart, educated, and classy in a way that Brad could never be.

  Livvy was smart, educated, and classy, too, while he was little more than a junkyard dog. Why then, was he so angry?

  Livvy's jaw tightened and her lips pressed together to prevent what she was thinking from spewing out her mouth. She dropped her eyes and looked away, searching for another alternative, he figured. Finding none, she took a deep breath to gather her courage to admit defeat, and then turned back.

  "I suppose I've been left with no choice." Her nose rose haughtily in the air. "Let's go get my car."

  In the old days, he would have gotten out to assist her into the high seat and stolen a kiss while he was at it. Not anymore. He watched her struggle for a bit before guilt got the better of him. Too late to get out and go around the truck, he reached across. The feel of her soft hand that always looked so small in his, brought back memories he didn't want to think about. She was barely up in the cab when he pulled his hand away.

  "This is business," he silently reminded his chortling wolf.

  The hand he'd held contracted into a fist that she clutched to her chest, as if the contact hurt. She kept it there for a moment before she looked at the palm, and then wiped it roughly against her leg. She pulled the seatbelt across and locked it into its slot. She didn't speak, but turned her head away.

  Her car was another mile down the road. A hundred yards out, he turned on the beacons, and saw her frown at the display. She probably thought he was showing off as he had when he introduced her to his first sorry-assed rig. He was nineteen then, and thought that truck was the shit.

  "State law says I have to use 'em," he explained, "and even if it didn't, I would. It's my ass that'll be hanging out in the road while I change the tire. Since it's not only a fine ass, but the only one I've got, I'd rather not lose it to some dumbass driver."

  "It would be a shame, to lose it I mean, it bein' so fine 'n all." Her eyebrows lifted and she smiled in that beguilingly innocent way she had. It was something she would have done back in the day when his response would have been something to make her blush. She must have realized it, too, for her smile only lasted a second before, face flaming, she tucked it away. "Sorry, it was... How did you know I had a flat?"

  "Didi called it in."

  Livvy sighed and muttered. "There goes my chance of sneaking in unannounced."

  "Why sneak in? Nobody around here cares if you're slumming." It was another dig and he only said it to remind himself not to be fooled by memories of the past.

  "I never called it slumming," she snapped.

  "I know. You let your boyfriend do it for you." He watched her eyes, hating that he could read the uncertainty in them. "Someone overheard his phone call. Wolvers have good ears. Guess the wolfy weasel forgot."

  She closed her eyes, another habit she had when trying to hide what was in them. He always thought it was cute since what she was thinking was always written on her face as well. What he saw there now caused him to frown. It wasn't the defiance he expected.

  His frown deepened when he saw the rental trailer. It wasn't as dinky as Didi implied. "You're not coming home for good, are you?"

  "No." She shook her head at the impossible thought. "Not for good. I.... I'll be moving on soon, new job, new apartment. I just thought it would be easier to store my things here while I visit."

  The way she said it caught his attention. It wasn't what she said, but what she didn't; truth, but not the whole truth. It was another reminder of how well he knew her, how attuned he was to the inflections in her voice. He didn't want to be reminded.

  "Good. Give me your keys. I'll get the tire changed."

  Chapter 3

  And to think her only real regret in leaving Gilead behind came from breaking off her relationship with Brad Seaward. Chalk that one up to another major mistake.

  For weeks, she'd cried and listened to her wolf snarl and snap, angry with her for what she'd done. Brad was her first love and first lover and like all young lovers, they'd made plans for the future, but those plans and dreams were no longer shared. It was the right thing to do, but she would never forget the anguish she felt when she told him it was over and he turned and walked away.

  After meeting Terrence, the pain became a dull ache which she assumed would fade away over time. It never did, but she learned to live with it just as she learned to live with the never quite satisfied feeling she had each time she slept with Terrence. Neither her wolf nor her body ever responded to him the way it had to Brad. This, too, she attributed to a wistfulness for the youth she left behind. This, too, she believed would pass.

  Following the tow truck back to Gilead, and thinking of the wolver behind its wheel, Olivia was certain she'd made the right decision in breaking up with Brad. He was nothing like the young wolver she'd fallen in love with.

  As a teenager, she'd been fooled by his bad boy good looks; the half smile that played over his lips and the deep-set bedroom eyes that closed halfway when she caught him watching her, as if he was thinking about what he would do once they were alone. And hoo-boy, what that wolver could do. The silky, dark hair combed back from his forehead, except for that one little, slightly curved lock that always worked itself loose to hang over his eye, was another attraction she could do without. She could never resist that one little curl, to play with it, to finger it back into place only to watch it fall over his forehead again. His face had been softer and smoother than the one she'd seen today.

  Once clean shaven, he now sported a mustache that accented his full and sensual bottom lip. His jaw was outlined by a short and much too sexy fringe of beard. Olivia wanted to dislike it, but was forced to admit the look suited his deep set eyes and broody good looks.

  His body had changed, too. The slimness of youth had thickened into a much more defined and bolder build. He'd always been strong, but now it was plainly evident even beneath the loose fitting reflective jacket he wore. His once flat rear end had rounded into two high and firm mounds of muscle that improved the drape of his jeans and might have been a pleasure to watch had they belonged to someone else.

  Her wolf snickered it's appreciation of the wolver's fine ass and the comment made to that effect.

  "It wasn't funny, it was embarrassing, and I didn't mean it that way. I'll thank you to remember that I'm in charge here, not you. Stop putting meaning where there is none."

  There was no point in lying to your wolf. The animal ignored her excuse. It squirmed and wiggled in a happy dance.

  "Okay, I said it and I meant it, but you're the one that made me say it aloud. The subject of Brad Seaward's ass is now closed."

  But the subject of Brad wasn't. She tried to pull her mind away and when she couldn't, tried to take a more negative view.

  His hands were more deeply veined than she remembered. They'd never been smooth and soft, but now were heavily calloused and worn. The knuckles were scarred. His nails were clean, but uneven, and one of them was blackened at the base. He needed a shave and his face was beginning to show the aging effects of wind and weather. He was nothing like the refined wolvers she'd grown used to, she told herself.

  In the years since she'd last seen him, Brad had changed, and not for the better if his attitude was any indication.

  The Brad she knew would have worked past the hurt and seen that her decision was for the best. They were two different people headed in two different directions. The old Brad wasn't one to hold a grudge. The new one's hostility had filled the cab of the truck and he'd let it loose when he saw the tire.

  "What the fuck's wrong with you, Livvy? Better yet, what the fuck's wrong with that boyfriend of yours?" He walked around the car, viciously kicking
each tire.

  What was wrong with her? How about him, attacking her without reason?

  "Kicking the tires doesn't prove anything," she said primly. She didn't know much about cars, but she knew that. "And it's Olivia, not Livvy."

  "If Weasel-boy was here, Livvy," he said, emphasizing the hated name, "I'd kick his ass for letting you drive on tires like that. Since he's not, I'm makin' do with the tires. They're flat out bald, every damn one of them. You got a blister the size of your fist on the left rear and you're damn lucky this one went flat and didn't blow out."

  She was lucky she had a car at all once she realized she couldn't make her car payment and still pay her rent. Selling the shiny new Audi didn't cure the problem, either. She owed more than the car was worth, but with the money she'd put by and the sale of her furniture, she managed to make up the difference and get the rent paid. The piece of junk she was currently driving was all she could afford with what she had left.

  She wasn't about to tell Mr. Nasty Attitude that.

  "He doesn't 'let' me do anything. I make my own decisions," she said haughtily. "I don't drive it that often, anyway."

  "You shouldn't be driving it at all. You could have gotten yourself killed." He'd looked at her like he wanted to kick her ass, too, the big jerk.

  Olivia sighed. Why then, if he was so changed and her decision so right, did she still have the urge to brush that errant strand from his forehead? Why did that coarse and callused hand still carry the warmth of deep feelings in its touch? Why did she long to see those lids lower to half-mast over dark and smoldering eyes?

  Her wolf wiggled and squirmed. Its tail swung in loops like a windup toy. It knew why. It was acting like a child begging her teacher to call on her to answer.

  "Forget it. I don't want to hear it. Don't even think about it," Olivia snarled at the squirrely animal. "It's no different than speculating about a book boyfriend or a movie star," she justified as she made the final turn. "Brad Seaward will always have a place in my heart, but he's a memory, nothing more, just like Gilead. You saw him. You heard him. I'm a memory he'd like to forget. I've burnt all the bridges, wolf. We don't belong here anymore."

  No one would believe she didn't belong here if they saw the way the Alpha's Mate grinned and began to wave a welcome when Olivia's car crested the rise in the road. Jazz stood on the porch of the house that she shared with their Alpha who she called Griz and everyone else called Doc.

  The house was painted in shades of violet and white and was the first house you saw when entering their village. It was a funny looking house, listing a little on its foundation with a chimney that leaned the opposite way. It was over a hundred years old, and the design and colors were totally inconsistent with its woodland setting. Terrence had laughed at it, but maybe that was the Mate's intention when she chose the colors. According to Jazz, laughter was always better than tears.

  She felt a sprinkling of that laughter in the love that spread over her like a warm woolen blanket. It was one of Jazz's abilities as Mate. She could share her emotions with her pack. She could also receive the emotions of each member in it. Olivia would have to step carefully if she wanted to avoid Jazz knowing the truth. Though it would be polite to stop and pay her respects, she wasn't yet ready to meet the Mate's penetrating gaze. She smiled and waved, and drove on.

  She followed Brad's truck until the narrow road forked and breathed a sigh of relief when he veered off to the left. He wasn't going to follow her home.

  Her family's welcome was a lot more exuberant than the Mate's when she pulled up in front of the little house that had, she noted, been painted a robin's egg blue sometime since her last visit. She barely had the car in park before Justice had the door open and was dragging her from it. She slipped, he caught her, and the next thing she knew, she was lifted off her feet and whirled around in a circle. No one would mistake him for the youngest of the litter now. He'd outgrown Tommyboy by at least a foot.

  "Hey, Liv." Lucy was just behind him. She didn't wait for Justice to put Olivia down before she started in on him. "Quit showing off and get her bags." She swatted at him for tagging her hair before doing as he was told. "He thinks he's something else since he got that growth spurt."

  "Next time it'll be me," the youngest of their litter interrupted Lucy's complaint.

  He'd changed, too, and was now all arms and legs and feet awkwardly attached to a skinny body that had yet to grow into the size of its limbs.

  "I guess it will, Tommyboy," Olivia said, laughing at the cub. "You're taller than me already."

  "Jeez, Liv, doesn't take much to be taller than you, and I'm a little old to be Tommyboy, don't ya think?"

  She didn't argue with his use of the nickname. As hard as she tried to get them to change, she would always be Livvy here. "You're right, Tommy," she said, ruffling his hair because she knew it irked him. "I keep forgetting that time moves on in Gilead, too. Big man about town now, eh?"

  "Too big for his britches by half. Go help Justice," Lucy scolded. She was growing into the spitting image of their Aunt Donna, personality included.

  Her parents were slower to arrive, but no less happy.

  "Lord, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." Her mother grabbed Olivia's hands and bounced them up and down. "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow. Come on in. Did you eat? That trailer yours? How long you staying? Does this mean you're moving back? That can't be the car you talked so much about, is it?"

  Her father saved her from answering. "Good gravy, woman, give the girl a chance to answer one question before you ask another." He opened his arms and Olivia stepped into his embrace.

  "Hey, Daddy," she said, forgetting for the moment that a grown and sophisticated woman would call him Father.

  "Hey, yourself." He held her away to look at her face. "Welcome home, honey."

  "It's good to be here, Daddy." And it was. She'd dreaded this visit and yet now that she was here, she was flooded with relief and overwhelmed with love. She wasn't alone anymore.

  Ellie started flapping her hands as if her family was a flock of geese. "Inside, inside. Come in and have something to eat."

  Not 'What can I get you to drink?' but 'Come in and have something to eat.' In Gilead, food was love, and family, friend, or stranger, they stuffed you with it.

  "Good trip?" her father asked as, arm still around her, he led her to the house.

  "No problems I couldn't handle," she answered. No problems but one, or two if you counted Brad Seaward and that one she didn't handle very well.

  "That's good. It's a long way for my girl to travel alone."

  He always said that, as if she'd traveled a thousand miles instead of a hundred. Though in some ways, her father was right. The distance between the city and Gilead was huge, though it couldn't be measured in miles.

  The house was as crowded as it always was. A couch, two easy chairs, and a wooden rocker worn out by too many nights of wagging too many fractious pups, filled the small living room. The television was crammed in the corner. It was an old set that weighed a ton. The DVD player Olivia bought them last Christmas sat beside it. The family Christmas tree in the other corner reduced the size of the room even further.

  The oblong table in the kitchen was new – to the family, at least – but freed no more space than the round one it replaced. Still, it felt good to sit shoulder to shoulder with her family, always touching, petting, and bumping with good humor in the way of wolvers.

  In the city, it was different. Leery of drawing notice from the mostly human population, the wolvers there didn't touch like the ones she'd grown up with. In Gilead, it was rare to hold a conversation without someone touching your arm or laying a hand across your shoulders, cupping your cheek, or reaching out to take your hand. They needed the tactile contact. Touch was as important to them as food. It was an expression of unity and love. It was pack.

  Olivia had forgotten how good it felt, and the meal was half over before she realized her mother had nowhere to sit. Ellie D
awson was often on her feet during a family meal; putting out another stick of butter, filling a glass, pouring more coffee. She used to laugh about feeling like a Jack-in-the-box, but she never complained. It was easier for one person to do the fetching in the crowded kitchen. But her chair was always there, waiting.

  A quick glance around the table told her it wasn't Ellie's chair that was missing from the mismatched batch. The only empty seat was Matt's. The missing chair was her own. In the homecoming commotion, she hadn't noticed that the chair with the chipped blue paint no longer had a place at the table. Her mother's stood in its place.

  She was surprised by the prick of pain she felt over the absent chair and wanted to ask, but Justice started talking about the truck he'd bought from Carmichael's car lot and she let her question go. The conversation flowed, and Olivia was able to keep it centered on the goings on of Gilead instead of on herself.

  In spite of her mother's protest, Olivia helped with the dishes. She nodded and smiled in all the right places as Ellie relayed the gossip she didn't feel appropriate for the 'young ears' at the table. It wasn't that hard to listen. Most were wolvers she'd known all her life.

  When they finally finished and returned to the living room with the others, Matt was coming in the door. After the greetings and her mother's return to the kitchen to fetch him some supper, Olivia asked him to go out to her car for the pair of comfortable boots she kept behind the driver's seat.

  "Aw, come on, sis, that's a long walk. I ought to know, I just walked it. Now you want me to walk it again? Twice? I'm hungry." He looked at her and shook his head, giving in to her pleading look. "Fine. Let me go get my keys. I'll drive." he huffed.