Her body straightened. She looked him in the eyes. “If I heal you, then I want something in return.”
He dropped his hand. Surprise shot through him. “You wanna make a deal?” What would a witch leader want from a shifter who lived across the ocean from her?
She nodded, her shoulders going back. “Yes.”
To live, he’d do almost anything. “What do you want?”
She met his gaze, her eyes deadly serious. “If I heal you, then we mate. For life.”
ALSO BY REBECCA ZANETTI
THE DARK PROTECTORS SERIES
Fated
Claimed
Tempted
Hunted
Consumed
Provoked
Twisted
Shadowed
Tamed
Marked
THE REALM ENFORCERS SERIES
Wicked Ride
Wicked Edge
Wicked Burn
Wicked Kiss
THE SCORPIUS SYNDROME SERIES
Mercury Striking
Shadow Falling
Justice Ascending
Wicked Bite
Realm Enforcers, Book 5
REBECCA ZANETTI
LYRICAL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Teaser chapter
Teaser chapter
LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2017 Rebecca Zanetti
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
LYRICAL PRESS and the Lyrical logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
First electronic edition: August 2017
ISBN: 978-1-6018-3868-1
ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-869-8
ISBN-10: 1-60183-869-7
This one’s for Karlina Zanetti,
my daughter who inspires me every day.
You’re so talented in every area from sports to school,
and the fact that you also work hard to reach
even higher levels of success makes me so very proud.
Your insights and kindness with people are true gifts
for somebody so young. Someday, in the far future
when you’re old enough to read my books,
I hope you remember that this one is for you.
I love you, Beans.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have many people to thank for help in getting this final Realm Enforcer book to readers, and I sincerely apologize to anyone I’ve forgotten.
Thank you to Big Tone for giving me tons to write about and for being supportive from the very first time I sat down to write. Thanks also to Gabe and Karlina for being such awesome kids and for making life so much fun.
Thank you to Augustina Van Hoven, who came up with the idea of using Wicked in the title of the Realm Enforcer books. Thank you for being my friend from the very beginning of this wild publishing journey;
Thank you to my hardworking editor, Alicia Condon, who is talented, creative, and insightful;
Thank you to the Kensington gang: Steven Zacharius, Adam Zacharius, Lynn Cully, Alexandra Nicolajsen, Vida Engstrand, Michelle Forde, Lauren Jernigan, Kimberly Richardson, Fiona Jayde, Allison Gentile, and Arthur Maisel;
Thank you to my wonderful agents, Caitlin Blasdell and Liza Dawson, who work so very hard for me.
Thank you to Jillian Stein for the absolutely fantastic work and for taking such good care of me.
Thanks to my fantastic street team, Rebecca’s Rebels, and their fearless leader, Minga Portillo.
And thanks also to my constant support system: Gail and Jim English, Debbie and Travis Smith, Stephanie and Don West, Brandie and Mike Chapman, Jessica and Jonah Namson, and Kathy and Herb Zanetti.
Chapter 1
Somebody was in his cabin. Beauregard McDunphy lumbered around the side of the modest wood structure, his fur rippling in the wind, his big paws leaving tracks in the wet dirt. At one point, not too long ago, he’d been bigger than any bear in the area—shifter or animal. Now he was merely normal size. Yet he could still take a human trespasser without much effort. He lifted his snout, and the fur rose down his broad back.
He was a loner, and he liked his privacy, so anybody who even remotely knew him understood to stay the hell out of his space. What was that smell?
Irish roses and something . . . female. The scent of woman.
He growled, the sound hollow.
Who the hell was in his cabin? He stalked toward the front door, which remained open. Oh, he was going to scare this interloper. He sucked in air to snarl, rolling his neck so he could fully flash his canines.
A woman came into view, turning around, skirt rustling. “There you are.”
He paused and studied her. Thick black hair piled on her head, violet-blue eyes, smooth features. Delicate. Something stirred inside him, and he shook his head, trying to focus. Why wasn’t she screaming? Most people freaked out when faced with a grizzly bear. Wait a minute. He knew her. Didn’t he know her?
She pressed her hands to her hips. Her green houndstooth designer suit looked like something out of the fifties. Somehow, it worked on her. “Do you mind shifting back to human form? We need ta talk.”
The brogue. Irish brogue. Pretty eyes. Small stature. Sparks of power all around her.
It hit him then. A witch. There was a witch in his home. He growled again and set his bones to transforming into his human shape. The process took longer than it should have, considering he’d mainly been in bear form for nearly three months. Three useless months that hadn’t changed a damn thing about his failing health.
Pain lanced down his spine and through his arms. His bones broke and reformed, hurting much more than they should. The fur receded on his arms and then the rest of his body. Agony flared through his face, reshaping it, nearly making him black out. Finally, he straightened, his body elongating. He kept his expression stoic and tried to banish the ache.
“That looked painful,” she whispered, her gaze soft on his face.
“It was,” he responded before he could think. Then reality crashed back. “Why is there a Coven Nine witch in my fucking cabin?” His safe cabin in the Seattle wilderness where witches and the
Coven Nine couldn’t get to him. What was her name? He couldn’t place it. Everything was cloudy. Yet he remembered seeing her in Ireland at witch headquarters—she was a council member. When was that? Months ago.
She hummed and looked around, her gaze high and a light pink dusting her cheekbones.
He settled his stance. His human brain kicked back in. “As a member of the Coven Nine, what are you doing here?” She was on the ruling council of witches, and she should have security all around her. His back stiffened, and he turned to scan for threats.
“I’m alone,” she said.
That was impossible. Yet even with his senses returning, he couldn’t find any other people near, much less any witches. “Why?” he barked. His voice was rough and hoarse from disuse.
She blew out air, her pretty lips pursing. Her gaze rose nearly to the rough wooden ceiling. If she craned her neck up any more, she might fall backward.
Bear frowned. “What the hell?”
She cleared her throat. “Do you, ah, do you mind?” Her hand swept out, even the small movement graceful.
“Mind what?” he snapped, glancing over his shoulder again. Trees and silence met his gaze. Thunder ripped above, and an angry autumn rain began to slap the ground. Summer had given up the fight, and the oncoming winter scented the breeze. He stepped inside the cabin.
She backed up so quickly her butt hit the ancient stove, and she gave a startled eep. “Please, Mr. McDunphy.”
What in the world was wrong with the woman? “Please, what?” Was this some kind of trap?
“Put some clothes on,” she said through pearly-white teeth.
He started and looked down at his naked body. “Oh.” Clothes were such a damn annoyance. “Uh, okay.” A small dresser sat by the bed, on the north wall. He moved past the raggedy sofa and modest fireplace to yank out a pair of faded jeans. He struggled into them, wincing as he engaged the zipper.
Life was so much easier as a bear.
He glanced down. The jeans hung low on his hips—nearly too low. How much weight had he lost, anyway? He stretched his arm, noting the reduction in muscle mass. He’d get his ass kicked in a good fight.
The rain increased in force and blew water inside the door. He strode over and shut it. Silence descended. The smell of Irish roses filled the space, and he breathed deep before turning around to face her. He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms. With the dim light sliding in through the windows, shadows cascaded around the woman. But she was all light. What would she look like with that dark hair tumbling free around her shoulders? His groin tightened.
“Mr. McDunphy?” she asked.
“Nobody calls me that. You know my name is Bear.” The Coven Nine no doubt had extensive dossiers on him. They probably knew his shoe size, favorite color, and how many freckles he had on his back. He rubbed a hand through his shaggy hair. It reached his shoulders now. While his people weren’t enemies of the witch nation any longer, he still didn’t like witches. At all. Except for one, and that was because she was his sister.
His memories flooded all the way back in. Ah ha—the trespasser’s name. “Why are you here, Nessa?”
“You do remember my name.” Her focus landed on his chest and moved to his left arm. She gave a slight shake of her head as if to concentrate. “That’s, ah, a very nice tattoo.”
He glanced down at the talons over his left bicep and shoulder that led to a black dragon across his back. “Thank you.” He pushed himself off the door, noting her eyes instantly widening.
So she was afraid of him. At least a little bit. Good.
She cleared her throat. “A dragon. How apropos,” she murmured, her focus remaining on the tat.
He lifted his head, staring at her through heavy lids. His chest heated. “Don’t even think of going there, little girl. Ever.”
She shivered but met his gaze directly. “That’s why I’m here.”
He blinked. Once. “Then it’s time you left.” He moved to open the door.
“I can help you,” she said.
He paused, looking over his shoulder. “I don’t need help.”
Her snort was unladylike and somehow adorable. “Sure you don’t. Look at you. You’ve lost substantial weight since I saw you in Ireland.”
He turned quickly, gratified when she took a step back, putting her flush against the stove again. There were yards between them, but they both knew he could get there, and fast. Yet as a witch, she had powers, too. So why was she afraid? “I’ve been on a diet,” he lied. His neck started to pound, and his bare feet swelled. His lungs hurt. Hell. Everything hurt. Yet he refused to wince.
She rolled her stunning eyes. “You screwed up, Bear.”
“Did I now?” he asked softly.
She swallowed. “Aye. You know as well as I that species, immortal species, can take one form and one form only.” She wiped her small hands down her slim skirt.
“Time to leave, Nessa,” he said, reaching for the doorknob behind his back. Not in a million years was he going to talk about his health or his lineage with a witch. Even one as pretty and intriguing as the one staring at him . . . and not moving. When he told people to move, they usually moved. “Don’t make me kick your pretty ass out.”
“You’re dying.” Her head lifted. “Period.”
Yeah, he was. If three months spent mostly in bear form hadn’t healed him, then it wasn’t gonna happen. “Leave me to it, then.” Patience had never been in his arsenal, and he was done. The door opened easily, and then he turned to head straight at her, windy rain in his wake, his bare feet slapping the cold floor.
She held up both hands, her eyes widening as she pressed back against the porcelain stove. “Wait a minute. Just wait. Let me explain.”
He stopped two feet from her. What was up with the damsel-in-distress act? In his current state, she could probably take him. “Why aren’t you throwing fire?” Witches could alter physics and create plasma fire out of air, and the stuff really burned.
She rolled her eyes and reached behind her to clasp the edge of the cooktop. “We’re not in a fight, for goodness’ sake. I just want to engage in conversation like civilized people.”
He leaned toward her, scenting both fear and awareness. “I’m neither civilized nor part of people.” He was a bear shifter, for Christ’s sake. One who had to get his affairs in order rather quickly. While he’d like to mess around with the witch, and he’d love to get her out of her head and that dignified suit, he didn’t have time. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
She looked up at least a foot to meet his gaze. “You tore yourself apart on a metaphysical level when you shifted into dragon form so many times three months ago.”
The hair rose at the base of his neck. His temper stretched awake. “Tell me something I don’t know.” His father had been a dragon shifter, and his mother a bear shifter. Shifters could only have one true form, and his was as a bear. Shifting into dragon form had been suicide. “But it was worth it.”
Nessa’s breath panted out. “It was?”
“Yes.” He took another step toward her. Shifting into dragon form had been necessary to save his half sister, and he’d known the risk. The cost. But Simone was safe now, so he didn’t regret a moment. “Tell me you’re not here to study me.” As part dragon who’d been actually able to shift into the form, he was an anomaly.
“No,” she burst out. “Not at all.”
“Nessa,” he warned, reaching for her shoulders. Man, he’d love to mess her up. She was just so proper and put together. Damn witch.
She swallowed and went still beneath his touch. “I, ah—”
“Am trespassing,” he finished for her. “Now you’re leaving.” Her bones felt fragile, but warmth came from her body. Witches were hotter than most, weren’t they? A tug centered low in his belly. One he ignored. “Thanks for dropping by.”
Faster than he would’ve expected, she slammed the toe of her shoe down on the flat of his foot.
Pain
ricocheted up his shin, and he bit back a howl. “What the fuck?” He tightened his hold.
She leaned up into his face, her blue eyes glittering. “Next time, it’s the heel.”
Not good. That thing was at least four inches long and kind of spiky. He growled and lifted her up on her toes to prevent any further injury.
She gasped, her breath brushing his chin. “Bear.”
For good measure, he lifted more, taking her completely off the ground. He didn’t have the strength to hold her aloft for long, but a lesson needed to be taught. The second her temper arose, he saw it. “Kick me and you’ll regret it. A lot.” He leaned down into her face, his nose almost touching hers.
Thoughts crossed her expressive face so quickly he had trouble keeping up. She stared into his eyes. “This is not going as planned.”
His arms protested, so he lowered her back to her feet as if he were in complete control. Yeah, right. Why hadn’t she burned his hands completely off? “What plan?” he rumbled.
She drew air into her pert nose. “That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to you. Do you know how witch powers work?”
Wicked Bite Page 1