Wicked Ride

by Rebecca Zanetti

  He barked out a laugh. “Witches are male and female—just another race on earth. We employ quantum physics, as humans partially understand it, to alter matter when necessary. Like to create fire and throw plasma.” Vibrations of fear cascaded toward him, and he paused, scrutinizing her. No fear showed in her expression, but he was scaring the hell out of her. While he appreciated her ability to conceal her feelings, he didn’t want her afraid. “I won’t hurt you.”

  She shoved wet hair off her forehead. “You need help. I can find you help.”

  Ah. Denial. Okay, he could deal with that. Again, he held his bare arms out and slowly pivoted all around. “I don’t have any weapons. A lighter. Even a match, Alexandra.” He waited until she gulped and nodded before concentrating to alter particles and create an undulating blue ball of plasma on his right hand. “You should be able to do the same in not too much time. Maybe fifty years or so.”

  She studied the ball of fire, his torso, and then finally his face. Her shoulders somehow moved even farther back. “Fine. I agree you can do something rare. Something new. So why is a triangle knot burned into my hip? That fireball is round, and so far I’ve only seen fire or round balls thrown by you.” Her voice remained soft and rational, even though complete denial glowed in her eyes.

  He snuffed out the flames. “It’s a marking from the mating—a simple Celtic knot symbolizing our union. The symbol of my people, actually.”

  She leaned back against the tree. “So you’re saying you, ah, witches mark your mates?” Disbelief echoed in her tones. She so was not believing him right now.

  The rain continued to slash down and into pine boughs above them, which weakened and began to allow small drips through.

  He nodded. “Yes. Well, human mates are marked. I do have a couple cousins who mated vampires, and you can’t scar a vampire unless he’s inches from death and somehow survives. I’m sure they burn their mates, but no scars.”

  She coughed, and her head lifted. “Vampires?”

  “Aye. More species roam this earth than you humans believe, sweetheart.” Should he tell her everything or ease her into reality? Judging by the widening of her pupils, she’d had enough of a shock. He rubbed the back of his neck, where tension gathered. “This complicates things.” The understatement nearly made him laugh out loud, but too much heat roared through him to be truly amused.

  He. Had. Mated. Her.

  The idea didn’t bring nearly as much panic as he would’ve thought. He eyed her and allowed the feelings coursing through him to take hold. Protectiveness. Possessiveness. Satisfaction. Maybe love. He’d known those who’d fallen in love immediately, and many were still together after centuries. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

  Wrong question. Way wrong question.

  She paled further, her eyes widened, and she held both hands out as if to ward him off. “This is bullshit.”

  He forced a gentle smile. “Forget it.” His left hand felt like it was on fire, and he shook it out, glancing down. Oh yeah. He held it out to show the mark on his lower palm. “We match.”

  She slowly, really slowly, shook her head. “No.”

  “Yes.” Man, there was a lot she didn’t know. “When a witch mates a human, the witch ends up with the brand on the hand and the human wherever the hand is during the bite.”

  She squinted. “What if a witch mates a witch?”

  Yeah, she was humoring him, but he couldn’t blame her. “They mark each other.”

  “Ah.” She took a discrete step away from him. “Do vampires mark their mates?”

  “Most vampires mate with a good bite to the neck, but there are other species out there who do brand and mate. I’ll give you the low-down later.” He only wanted to hit her with so much at one time.

  Her brows furrowed. “Wait a minute.” She glanced at the ground, her thoughts ticking so fast he could almost hear them. “The fire weapon. Holy shit.”

  Yeah, he figured she’d get to that once her mind calmed down. “Aye.”

  Her head snapped up. “You all think you’re witches? Everyone throwing fire?”

  “No.” He glanced around for his shirt and frowned at the wet, crumpled up mess on the ground. “Apollo, the damn drug, is created by melting down planekite, a mineral that harms witches and temporarily takes away our powers. It also gives humans a great high as well as witch-like powers before incinerating their organs.”

  “Planekite?” she asked.

  “Or phenakite . . . or a few other names. It’s mainly mined in Russia, although the mineral is found other places. The damn thing weakens witches and can eventually kill us.” He had to get her out of the rain before her lips turned any bluer. “Why don’t we go back inside to discuss this?”

  She shoved her hands in the jacket pockets. “Fine.”

  Good. He grabbed his shirt and turned toward the barely there trail. “Follow me, and if you need help, let me know.”

  She mumbled something.

  He kept to even footing, making sure to move branches and bushes out of her way. The rain continued to punish them, but he didn’t feel the sting. He had a mate. He was so preoccupied with the startling fact that he’d bitten and burned the woman trudging along behind him, he didn’t notice the SUV by the cabin until they were almost at the door. Well, hell.

  He shoved his way inside to find Simone at the table in front of a laptop, the fire crackling merrily behind her.

  She glanced up. “Well, I’d wondered—” Her mouth snapped closed when Alexandra moved in behind him. Her dark gaze swept Alexandra’s muddy shoes, wet jeans, and his leather jacket before her shoulders moved back. “You have got to be kidding me.” Her smile flashed perfectly white teeth. “It’s a bit of a conflict of interest to shag a suspect, isn’t it?”

  “Shut up, Simone,” Kell muttered, turning and closing the door behind Alexandra. “Why are you here?”

  Simone sighed. “Daire is in one of his moods, and I thought to use the cabin for peace and quiet.”

  Kell lifted his head. “Why is Daire in a mood?”

  “When isn’t he?” Simone rolled her eyes.

  Good point. He needed to talk to Daire, anyway. “We’ll get out of your hair.”

  Simone smiled and then stilled. She frowned, eyeing the desk, then the fireplace, and then Kell. “There’s a tingle.”

  Oh shit. “Nope. No tingle.” He tossed his ruined shirt in the trash.

  She stood up, her head lifted, her gaze sweeping the room. A witch on the hunt. “I feel something.” Almost as if responding to a homing beacon, she wandered around, ending up in front of Alexandra. Then she gasped.

  Kell pressed the palm of his hand against the bridge of his nose. Well, hell. “Simone—”

  “You mated her?” Simone asked, her voice a soft whisper. She turned to eye Kell, a witch usually full of fire and piss, but now quiet, her expression shocked. “I, ah—”

  “I know.” Kell slipped an arm over Alexandra’s shoulder. “It wasn’t planned.”

  Alexandra shoved away from him, her head slightly to the side, her gaze squarely on Simone. “Who the hell are you people?”

  “I didn’t sense she was enhanced.” Simone pursed her lips, her gaze thoughtful.

  “Me either,” Kell admitted.

  Simone snorted. “Ask Garrett Kayrs if he can feel any enhancement.”

  Kell stilled. “Garrett?”

  “Aye.” Simone shrugged. “He’s known for having an odd ability there.”

  Alexandra cleared her throat. “You think you’re a witch, too? What the hell is going on here?”

  Simone shook her head. “He hasn’t told you?”

  “Oh, yeah. A complete bullshit story about you all being a different species of witch.” A veil dropped over Alexandra’s eyes, giving her that cop look. “You claiming to be a witch, too?”

  That quickly, Simone stopped staring and started laughing. “Kellach Gideon Dunne mated a garda.” She laughed hard, her statuesque body shaking, tear
s gathering in her eyes. “The cousin who tried to chaperone every date I went on in my early centuries mates a cop. That quickly and without planning.”

  Alexandra stiffened. “Psycho or not, you either stop laughing, or I’m going to plant your face on the floor.”

  Simone quieted, glee filling her eyes. “Cop or not, I’m really starting to like you.”

  “Enough. Both of you.” Kell put formidable command into his voice, not really surprised when neither woman paid heed. “Simone, keep this under your hat for now. Alexandra, we need to go.”

  Simone sidled back to her seat. “At least you can become unmated if you decide this was a mistake.”

  “No.” The word burst forcefully from his chest, surprising him more than the two females facing him.

  Alexandra focused on Simone. “What is this mating bit you’re both talking about, and why the hell do I really have a burn on my hip?”

  Simone sighed. “The males just don’t explain it, do they? For centuries, whenever a member of a nearly immortal species mated, it was for eternity. One mate only, even if one died by beheading, which is the only way to go, really. If a mated person tried to get physical with anybody else but their mate, they’d develop a horrible, painful rash.”

  Alexandra snorted. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. On the bright side, you’re about to be immortal. As a cop, that’s good, right?” Simone leaned back in her chair.

  “Seriously. How in the hell am I now immortal?” Alexandra hissed.

  Simone shrugged. “You’re not yet. It does take time. We’re different species with different chromosomal pairs. Humans have twenty-three pairs. Witches have twenty-seven pairs. So, the difference between witches and humans is similar to the chromosomal difference between humans and, say, a potted plant.”

  “Simone—” Kell warned. He was about to burn his cousin with a hard plasma ball if she didn’t knock it off.

  “So, when a witch mates a human, the human develops more chromosomal pairs until they’re at twenty-seven.”

  “This is bullshit,” Alexandra muttered.

  Fire crackled down Simone’s arms, bright and a deep pink, to morph into an undulating ball in her delicate hands.

  “Fuck.” Alexandra’s eyes grew wide as she stared at the ball of fire. Slowly, she moved forward, her hand outstretched.

  “No.” Kell yanked her back. “You’ll just burn yourself.”

  Alexandra swallowed. “This is unbelievable.”

  Simone sighed and snuffed out her flame.

  Alexandra immediately moved toward her and grabbed her hand, twisting it back and forth, looking up her sleeve. “Crazy.”

  Simone, rather gently really, removed her hand. “Don’t worry, cop. You don’t have to stay mated for eternity any longer. If you want to negate a mating, you can these days.”

  “No.” Kell shook his head.

  “How?” Alexandra asked, her expression still skeptical.

  Simone sighed and eyed her laptop as if wanting nothing more than to stop messing with Kell’s life and get back to work, but she wasn’t fooling him. She loved interfering. “There’s a virus that can attack the mating bond. At first, it attacked mates and witches, and we thought we’d die. Long story.” She waved her hands as if waving the history away. “Short story? We can use a manufactured strain of that virus to negate the mating bond. We have it narrowed down so the immortal doesn’t lose immortality with the synthetic virus.”

  Alexandra backed away, putting her butt against the counter. “I’m not immortal.”

  “You will be,” Simone said.

  “No. Saying I believe you, which I don’t right now, can you get rid of the immortality as well as the mating bond?” Alexandra asked.

  A sharp blade pierced Kell’s gut. “No.”

  “Probably,” Simone said, lifting one eyebrow. “You don’t want to be immortal?”

  “Why would I?” Alexandra pushed her shoulders back, turning toward Kell. “You said you were an enforcer for the Coven, ah, something.”

  Simone slowly smiled. “The Council of the Coven Nine is the ruling body for witches, and our enforcers protect us as well as rid the world of our enemies.”

  “You’re on the council?” Alexandra asked.

  “Of course,” Simone said softly.

  Kellach sighed. “I told you the truth about my being here to take out Apollo.”

  “I have work to do.” Without another word, Alexandra turned on her heel and strode toward the door. “Being immortal and all, I’m sure you can drive your bike through a rainstorm, right Kell?” She pulled open the door and stomped across the porch and into the thrashing storm.

  Simone chuckled. “You know? I really am starting to like her.”

  Chapter 18

  Lex walked into the station, her mind buzzing, her hip aching, and her heart thumping. Way too hard. Kell had dropped her off at her apartment, saying they’d talk later. He’d seemed a little preoccupied, and the tension in his jawline had made her neck ache. She hadn’t argued, glad for the reprieve. She had to focus on anything but witches, vampires, and planekite. . . .

  So she spent two hours hunched over her computer studying witches, vampires, and planekite, even digging up an old blog by a woman named Sarah Pringle about white-faced scary vampires, one of whom had killed her friend. A national search for the mysterious Sarah found that she’d been institutionalized for a while before escaping, never to be found again.

  Maybe that Sarah had been crazy, although Lex’s instincts hummed anyway. What the hell was really going on? Could Kell be a real witch, and if so, what the hell? Or was this some great illusion, and if so, how and why?

  She drew out a piece of paper and created two columns.

  Bullshit Reality

  Witches don’t exist Kellach created fire with his bare hands

  Maybe she’d been drugged

  Chromosomal pairs couldn’t multiply She hadn’t been drugged

  She felt weird. Tingly, breathless, odd

  She’d had great sex, which led to tingles

  It was more than tingles

  Drugs couldn’t incinerate organs Apollo definitely incinerated organs

  If there were immortals, she’d know it Says who?

  She didn’t like the lists. The more she tried to find the bullshit, the more reality intruded. While maybe she could come up with some sort of explanation as to how Kellach had created fire, what about Simone? There hadn’t been anything up her sleeve—literally.

  Lex turned back to the computer and researched everything she could find on both planekite, phenakite, and the Dunnes. Interpol had sent over information on the family, and it was, well, boring. Basically, Interpol either didn’t know shit or wasn’t sharing.

  A ruckus behind her made her turn around to see Detective Bundt hauling in a short, skinny, dirty guy with stringy black hair and a leather jacket so beat up the black had shredded to gray. He protested, kicking out, but his scuffed boots made little progress.

  “You got the wrong guy, man,” he muttered, spittle flying from his mouth. “Why you cops always get it wrong, I’ll never understand.” He shook his greasy hair, protesting until Bundt tossed him into the interrogation room and shut the door.

  Lex straightened up and narrowed her focus. Her heart started to pound. She stood just as Detective Masterson strode into the room. “Was that Spike Evertol?” she asked, stepping into line with him toward the interrogation room.

  “Yep.” Masterson opened the door to the viewing room and stomped inside, not holding open the door.

  What a jackass. Lex followed him, ignoring the strong scent of drugstore grade cologne, and stood looking through the one-way mirror. “What’s the collar?”

  “Snitch.” Masterson tapped a manila file folder in his hand. “He’s been snitching for Bud almost five years now.”

  Oh. She hadn’t known. “So Evertol isn’t dealing any longer?”

  “Wasn’t. The asshole still uses, as you c
an see.” Masterson jerked his head toward the trembling junkie. “Didn’t Evertol run with your old man way back when?”

  Lex stilled. “How did you know that?”

  “Evertol dropped your name when we picked him up.” Masterson looked down at her jeans and sweater. “No slut dress today?”

  “Fuck you.” She pressed closer to the glass, her gaze on the snitch. Years ago, so long ago, Spike Evertol had been almost handsome. When he’d dealt drugs with her father. She remembered he’d actually had a tea party with her once. God. A flush heated up her neck, and she forced her voice to remain low. “Why did Bud bring him in?”

  Masterson smiled. “Because you and Bernie have fucked up the case enough that we’ve been brought in to clean up. Our first step is to hit the streets and snitches.”

  She stilled. “We’re not off the case.”

  “No, but you should be. Seriously. Hanging out with a member of Fire.” Masterson clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Ovaries taking over for brains.”

  She whirled on him, half-chuckling and half-snarling. “Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me, Masterson?”

  He took a step back, his eyebrows going up. “Huh?”

  “You’re that much of a fucking male-chauvinist of a cliché? Really?” She slammed both hands on her hips, shaking her head. “Really?”

  He held out a hand. “I—”

  “No. Honestly. Slut cop? Ovaries?” She advanced on him, incredulity heating her breath. “If I wanted to create an asshole moron from the seventies, I’d create you. Seriously.” She poked him in the chest. “Do you really believe women can’t be cops? Really believe that bullshit?”

  “Uh, no?” His smooth forehead wrinkled, surprise filling his blue eyes.

  “No?” She poked him again, square in his muscular chest. “Then what the hell are you talking about?”

  He took another step back, his head tilting to the side. “That’s, ah, what we do.”

  She paused. “Huh?”

  He gently grasped her finger to draw it away from his chest. “What we do. You know. Give each other a hard time, especially if we’re competing for a case.” He released her finger and ran a hand through his thick, black hair. “Geez, Lexi. We harass Bernie for being old and having one foot in the grave, but really? He’s the best cop I’ve ever met. We give Jon Newty trouble for having six kids because the guy can’t walk by his wife without knocking her up. Doesn’t mean we don’t like him or wouldn’t take a bullet for him.”