Morgan meant well, but she didn’t know the obstacles Gen had to overcome. The threat of insanity was much more of a deterrent to dating than just dealing with wimpy men.
“You’re not going to be alone forever. Even if Vincent isn’t The One, you’ll find your guy. I just want you to enjoy this pleasure I’m having right now.”
“Oh, the bliss of early love,” Gen teased and forced a smile she didn’t feel. “I’m not looking for a full-time man anyway.”
“Why not?”
Genevieve hesitated. She’d told very few people about her odd family and their history of evil. Morgan had turned into a good friend, and it would be nice to confide in her, though she was pretty sure what the analytical doctor’s initial reaction would be.
“The women in my family, we don’t do so well with long-term relationships.”
“Because?”
Gen leaned in closer to Morgan and dropped her voice even lower. “Because, we’ve been cursed. Long ago, a hex was put on us. Lose your heart, lose your mind. Any woman who’s ever become serious with a man ends up going insane.”
“Oh come on! Don’t be ridiculous.” Morgan tilted her head and stared at Gen like she’d just announced sex caused hair loss. “You’re an educated woman—you can’t possibly believe that.”
“It’s true. I’ve seen it happen.”
“You’ve seen the women in your family go insane?”
“Yes. I’ve met them.”
“All right, let’s suppose this is true. How does the curse know when you’re in love? What if it’s just infatuation? Or a crush? Or…”
“Believe me, I asked all the questions you are asking now. It just knows. That’s how magic works.”
“Then why don’t you find a way to break the curse?”
Gen shrugged. “Many women tried. My mom did, her mom did, their sisters did. I’ve spent some time digging around looking for how to get past it. No one has ever found a way. After a while it didn’t seem so terribly important.”
“Not important? Don’t you want to have families, children, all that?”
“We still have families. You don’t have to be in love to make babies, you know.”
“Yes, I’m aware how babies are made. Listen, we haven’t known each other all that long, but if such a curse existed, I can’t seriously believe you wouldn’t try to find some way to break it. That’s not the enterprising witch I know. Hold on.” Morgan grabbed her buzzing phone. “Shoot, I have to get going. We’ll talk more about this later.”
“Hey, wait up,” Greg called as they neared the door. “Some guy called this morning and told me to give this to you, Genevieve. Wanted me to deliver it. Since you’re right here, saves me a trip.” He handed Gen a bag. “Told me to make something you liked, lunch was on him.”
“This guy’s name is Vincent?”
“Yep, that’s the guy. Enjoy.”
“See? He’s a good man,” Morgan said. “He knows what a woman wants. Food! Don’t you think a guy who shows that kind of initiative is worth doing a little work for?”
“Maybe.”
In the parking lot, the women hugged and went their separate ways. At her shop, Gen opened the door, and as always, the scent of herbs, oils, and candles soothed her. As the day went on, Morgan’s remark stuck with her. Try as she would, she couldn’t get their conversation out of her head. This was the first time in years she’d told anyone about the curse, and for some reason, after speaking the words aloud, anger filled her heart.
Years ago, several weeks before she started high school, her mother told Gen to pack an overnight bag, they were taking a short trip. When they were in the car, her mom said they had to have a talk. Gen knew a lecture about the birds and the bees would follow, a subject she was quite familiar with. At thirteen, she’d already begun to notice boys and they her. She knew some girls in her class were already having sex. But even though Gen felt sexual stirrings, she wasn’t about to give it up just yet.
To her surprise, instead of awkwardly explaining reproduction, her mother launched into a history lesson about their family and a rival family of witches. An Ashcroft woman caught a Birch woman in bed with her husband. The Ashcroft witch put a curse on her and all the Birch females forever. A terrible curse, it caused insanity for any Birch woman who fell in love. Genevieve didn’t pay much attention to her mother, history not being a favorite subject. She figured this was her mom’s method of scaring her away from having sex. Gen just laughed. She was having too much fun as a teen to get serious with any one boy anyway.
They pulled into a town. Gen had anticipated hours of clothes shopping, but instead they stopped at a small house where she met a great aunt she hadn’t even known existed. The woman didn’t look terribly old and was pleasant, but nutty as an oak tree. She had a live-in caretaker to do just about everything for her. Gen’s mom said as long as her physical health held out she would be okay.
The next stop, a slightly more upscale house where she met another relative, a distant cousin. Not only was this poor woman demented, she had physical disabilities and had to have constant care. She wasn’t elderly either and had money, for now. When that ran out, she was doomed.
“I won’t take you to visit the others, the ones in the nursing homes who can’t afford personal care. This is what happens when women in the Birch family fall in love. Not right away, but eventually, we lose our minds,” her mother said.
Genevieve asked a million questions then. How did it happen? How could they stop it? They couldn’t, her mother told her emphatically. Many had tried to find a cure, but there wasn’t one. Best to accept her fate.
Suddenly, every love story she’d ever seen, every romance she’d ever read, taunted her. Never would she know the joy of true love. She wouldn’t be a real woman. For a while, Gen spent time doing research, searching for a spell to break the hideous curse. There wasn’t much information out there. High school years went by, and as she got busy enough with her advanced education, the research went by the wayside. So did her dreams of true love, and frankly, she didn’t miss them. College guys were fun to play with, but she never met one who stole her heart.
Once she began working as a horticulturist, she dove into her career, again only dating for fun. Much of her work involved traveling, so having a full-time man in her life didn’t make sense anyway. Years of political bullshit at the university where she worked got old after a while, so she took business classes, quit the rat race, and opened her own shop. Nocturne drew her as it did many other magical folk. She fell into a nice routine of working, spending time with a few out-of-town Wiccan friends, and occasionally dating, but never anything serious. Since her friend Morgan had started seeing Dylan, Genevieve had to admit she’d felt the stirrings of desire for something more. The looks Morgan and Dylan exchanged sparked enough heat to start a bonfire. Even though they had problems with their relationship, they were making an attempt to work it out.
Now here she found a man—a damn fine-looking man—who radiated sex appeal, and was trying his best to woo her. Gen smiled as she put the bag from the diner into her refrigerator. Werewolves apparently enjoyed food, and in the short time they’d known each other, Vincent had figured out she did too. Lunch—an excellent way to apologize.
So far, he had shown himself to be smart, brave, kind, and loyal, all traits she looked for in a man. What really drew her to him was the strength and passion that emanated from him. Though she didn’t possess psychic abilities like Morgan, she felt desire and heat from Vincent every time they were together. Thinking about that kiss again caused her heart to race and moisture to form between her legs.
Pulling out her phone, she sent him a quick reply text, letting him know she had a few hours free on Sunday. She would spend time with him again, see how she felt. If her instincts told her to move forward, she would. Then, she’d delve back into finding a way to break this curse. Morgan was right. Time for a change. She would not let those sins of long ago haunt her today.
> Chapter 4
“The ceremony at our place starts at seven o’clock, after the viewing at Leidolf’s,” Vincent said for what felt like the hundredth fucking time. Pulling at the collar on his shirt, he gazed around the funeral home. Though no flowers filled this viewing room, the other odors of the building permeated the air. Chemicals used for body preservation, along with perfume, deodorant, and hair spray. All the scents humans dumped on their bodies to hide their natural odors. Disgusting. On any occasion where he had to spend time in a closed space where many humans congregated, Vincent itched to get away.
This place, with the added undertone of grief and death, reeked to high heaven and fired up his senses to peak irritation. Most of his pack too, Vincent observed. Which was why they didn’t have services indoors in these hideous places. Only forty more minutes and he could get the hell out of here. Mr. Leidolf would bring Michael’s body to their spot in the woods, and they could have a proper funeral, werewolf style.
He’d sent an email to their pack and made a dozen phone calls but was still being asked the same questions. His job as pack leader required he answer them, but today he had a hard time being civil. He didn’t look forward to getting together with his pack like he usually did and just wanted to get this business over with.
He wasn’t the only one. Looking at the casket put everyone on edge, Vincent could tell. Pack members drifted into Leidolf’s, walked up to the casket to see Michael, then turned away quickly and rushed out the door. Not the way weres honored their dead. Outside, under the stars, everyone would be more comfortable. He shouldn’t have even told the pack about this observance, but since the viewing had already been set up, he didn’t want any of Michael’s non-were buddies walking into a big empty room with only a casket occupying center stage.
Sharon and several of her friends had already escorted the sobbing girlfriend in and out, much to Vincent’s relief. Sharon had called him, anger in her tone, and told him Jessica wanted to ride with her, but she didn’t want anything more to do with the bitch. Vincent gently suggested they both come early and leave quickly before the weres had too much of a chance to figure out Jessica’s relationship to Michael. Sharon climbed several more notches in his estimation as she agreed, and hustled Jessica in and out today without the woman making a scene.
Please, no fucking drama. Pack bullshit would be more than enough to deal with. Though some Howlers came to pay their respects, attendance was low. Many pack members were angry with Michael and refused to attend either this affair or the ceremony in the woods. Fine by him. Anybody with shit to start needed to keep it to themselves, not share with the others today.
“So what the fuck, man? What happened to Michael?” Vincent didn’t recognize the guy asking the question. One of the weres from out of the area. Though he appreciated the dude showing up, Vincent knew some weres came because they were curious and thrived on drama. They weren’t going to get their fix, if he had anything to say about it.
“He had a lot of problems. They got to him. Not everyone can deal with our lifestyle, you know?”
“I hear ya.” The man nodded solemnly.
Vincent stuck with this simple explanation. Everyone knew Michael killed himself, but Vincent didn’t think anyone else knew all the circumstances, and he wasn’t about to tell them, for many reasons. First, Michael was shamed enough; he didn’t need any more disgrace heaped on his spirit. Second, if the weres thought a woman responsible for his demise, they could decide to take revenge. And third, Vincent could not appear to be a weak leader. He did a good enough job, no one challenged him for the position, and he wanted to keep it that way. To deny knowledge of Michael’s situation would reflect badly on him.
This explanation also implied that those still standing had strength, and it was true. Not everyone could handle being a werewolf or werecat. Speaking of which, here came Paul, a jaguar who had been involved with the maniac attacking weres in the area. Vincent was pleased to see the young man had made the trip from Mico.
“Sorry to hear about your friend,” Paul said, shaking Vincent’s hand.
“Thanks.”
Paul lowered his voice. “Have you got any information on the guy who gave me that drug? I hear you’re looking into it.”
Not the time and place to go there.
“We’re working on finding out who the dude is. I’ll let you know.”
Mercifully, the viewing finally ended, and everyone headed to their ceremonial site in the woods. Vincent, last one out, stopped at the casket for a final, private goodbye. “I wish I could have helped you with this, my friend,” he said, laying his hand on Michael’s cold, stiff one. “You should have talked to me; we would have worked it out.”
How, exactly? What could he say to a man who knew he couldn’t have someone he loved? Who knew his life was cursed by the moon?
By the time Vincent arrived at their ceremonial location, most of the others had already gathered there. The fire was built, and the scent of sage and marijuana burning wafted through the air. It also appeared a bottle was being passed, a tradition one of the weres had started that was heartily embraced by all. They would spend some time drinking and bullshitting, then go around and say their last words about Michael. Hallmar would say a prayer honoring the religion of the deceased, and they would have their fire ritual.
Was Hallmar here yet? At the sound of the shaman’s laughter, Vincent’s shoulders dropped a notch. Good. He’d made it. Hallmar traveled a lot but tried to get to Bethany on a regular basis and when Vincent asked. The old man always had a calming effect on Vincent’s nerves. Leidolf’s hearse sat parked nearby so Michael’s body had made it here also. His pack would have Michael laid out on a wooden platform one of their members had built for their ceremonies. The funeral director had done him a favor, putting the body on display at the last minute then bringing him to the woods. Vincent’s own people usually took care of transport and sure the hell didn’t bother with a viewing. He made a note to pay Leidolf back.
Hallmar wasn’t technically a shaman, according to what Vincent understood the word to mean. Some Howler pack member had given him the title and it stuck. Whatever they wanted to call him was fine with Vincent. The older man had been with the Howlers even before Vincent arrived in Bethany. He’d traveled around the world and studied various religious and spiritual practices and served as a big help in keeping their members grounded and reminding them that they were more than just monsters.
Long ago, as a new werewolf, Vincent hadn’t been interested in any kind of spirituality. He was angry and wanted to fight, not learn about religion or how to deal with what he’d become. Hallmar never pushed his beliefs on anyone but Vincent began to watch him. Hallmar stayed cool and collected all the time. He fought, but only when necessary, and he always won. He used aikido, a martial art that enabled practitioners to blend with an aggressive force without doing permanent damage.
After Hallmar taught Vincent this better way of controlling his anger and dealing with aggression, Vincent opened up to hearing more of what the older man had to say. His religious views were a mix of everything he’d learned and made sense to Vincent. In addition to being were, Hallmar had other magic in his bones, Vincent suspected. He’d questioned him until Hallmar finally admitted to being a type of wizard but would give no more details no matter how often Vincent interrogated him over the years. Vincent swore one day he would uncover the man’s secrets.
Once Vincent became the pack leader, he encouraged members to turn to the wise man whenever they needed spiritual, or other kind of help. Being a were was not an easy life, and the more they helped each other, the better. Less chance of shit like this happening. How many others in his pack had secrets, dark ones they didn’t share, that could drive them to the point of suicide? Don’t think about it. Concentrate on Michael and all his good points.
Closing his eyes, Vincent leaned his head back and took several deep breaths, pulling in the cool, crisp air and clearing his mind in preparation. G
oing into one of these observances was best done in a relaxed state. Usually he could get to that place fairly quickly but not tonight. Another breath in, one out. Again.
“So we’re going to have the ceremony anyway? Even after he…you know.”
Vincent opened his eyes. A young guy, another dude he didn’t recognize stood right in front of him, mouthing off loud as could be. Cocky kid, showing off for his friends. Ignoring him and walking away would be the smart move, but Vincent wasn’t feeling smart tonight. He stepped closer to the guy, right up in his face, and bared his teeth.
“Yeah, we are. He was our brother and deserves respect. You got a problem with that?” Nice and loud so everyone could hear. Might as well get it out there now, in case anyone else cared to voice their opinion.
“Naw, man, I just, you know…”
“What I know is Michael was a were. One of us. We’re having the ceremony, and anyone who doesn’t want to be here is welcome to leave. Now.”
Conversation stopped, and Vincent knew he had everyone’s attention. The kid dropped his head, a sign of respect, and backed away. Vincent turned toward Hallmar, and the man gave him a slight nod before resuming his exchange with a woman seated across from him. Vincent moved to a quiet corner, out of sight of the others. Holy hell, would this night never end? When it did, he planned to hit a top-shelf bottle of whiskey hard and…shit. Not the way to deal with stress. Maybe one of his guys would be interested in hitting the mat for an hour of aikido, burning off some of this energy. Or, he could always shift and go for a run.
An image of Genevieve formed in his mind. She stood naked in candlelight, and she gave him a smile that made his cock stand up and beg. Yeah, Gen was what his soul really craved tonight. Even better than a workout or a run. The increased volume of the murmur of voices let him know, time to start the ceremony. A quick text to Gen first.
Sins of Long Ago Page 5