Inquisitor (Witch & Wolf Book 1)

by RJ Blain

  “Do whatever you feel best, Dr. Engleburg. Research it, if you desire. Please email me with the information for the next charity drive done by your hospital, and I will ensure you get your donation. I’ll provide you with a list of organizations and names the donations will be coming from.”

  “Thank you very much, Ms. Hanover. I’ll keep researching this disease and see if I can find out any more information for you. I will email you the complete report from my private email address this afternoon once I’m off shift.”

  Dr. Engleburg hung up. I stared at the shattered screen of my phone. It was tempting to throw my cell across the room just for the satisfaction of watching the blasted thing fly apart into a hundred pieces. Instead, I set it on the vanity.

  It wasn’t proof of wrongdoing, but I couldn’t imagine how else Samantha would have contracted a disease with similarities to ebola without magical intervention. I turned on the taps to fill the jacuzzi.

  If her death and her contraction of the disease hadn’t been natural, how had the Inquisition done it?

  Dr. Engleburg’s call left me with many more questions than answers.

  Chapter Twenty One

  The store associated with the charges on the werewolves’ accounts was a tiny gas station where the only road in the area ended. A dirt and gravel trail barely big enough for a car led into the mountains.

  “Stay here, all of you,” I ordered. Anderson swallowed and looked like he wanted to protest, but nodded. Both of the kids whined. “Do you want anything?”

  “Beef jerky,” Emily announced in her most solemn tone.

  “Nothing,” Alex mumbled.

  A faint smile tugged at the corner of Anderson’s mouth. “Coke, please.”

  “Plllleeease,” Emily sang.

  Kids. I chuckled and got out of the car.

  The store was larger than it looked from the outside, stocked with anything a camper might desire. A gray-haired man sat on a stool near the register, watching a tiny black and white TV.

  I could smell the wolf in him from the door.

  Bingo.

  A sneeze burst out of me. The old man looked up with bloodshot eyes. “Good morning,” he said, his tone as dead as his expression.

  “Good morning.” I didn’t fake a smile for him. Some grief couldn’t be cheapened like that. I didn’t want people grinning at me with fake sympathy over Samantha.

  I didn’t want to be forced to smile, either.

  I grabbed four packs of homemade beef jerky, four Cokes, and a case of bottled water. I thunked the items on the counter.

  “That all, ma’am?”

  I considered the bank accounts and the similarities in the totals and how the charges were handled. Then, I made a guess. “Twenty-eight in gas, please.”

  The old man froze. Pretending I didn’t notice his reaction, I scratched at my nose to hold back another sneeze. “Of course,” he stammered.

  As he busied himself behind the register, I let my wolf out for him to catch my scent. He jerked towards me, eyes wide.

  “You’re not from around here,” he whispered, his scent souring with fear.

  I leashed my beast, reaching in my purse for my allergy meds. Cracking open a can of Coke, I took a double dose. “I’m not. Is all of your pack dead?”

  A flinch answered me. I tossed down my credit card, which he took with a trembling hand.

  “I got two kids in the car,” I said, taking another sip of the too-sugary soda. “They smell like wolves. Their ma and pa are dead. I’m hunting werewolf hunters, and if you want your pack to keep on living, you’ll give me the info I need. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Pack’s gone, even our pups. Four of us are left.”

  I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath. My instincts demanded I safeguard the Submissive wolf and his scattered pack. I was an Alpha. It was my duty.

  But I wasn’t his Alpha. I didn’t dare risk it.

  “Someone has been killing werewolves under my guard. I managed to save two pups, but it’s only a matter of time before they’re hunted, too. I tracked the pack to here. If you’re the last of them, you’ll be next. I need to know what happened to your pack.” I glanced at the front door of the shop. The pumps blocked my view of Anderson’s car.

  “Six months ago, several of my pack were killed in car accidents. One was hit by a drunk driver. Another got sideswiped. Then… then the murders started. We thought it was a home robbery gone sour, taking out three of our pack…”

  “But it’s not easy to kill a werewolf,” I said, leaning against the counter. I took another guess, entirely based on how excited Emily had been as we approached the mountains. “Then one of your pack was shot outside of her work.”

  The old man’s eyes widened even more. “How did you know?”

  “Emily and Alex are in the car. I picked them—”

  With the speed only a werewolf possessed, he jerked around the counter and swept me up in a hug. I was spun in a full circle before he deposited me on my feet. “They’re alive?”

  He hugged me again.

  The tears streaming down his face kept me quiet for a full minute before I couldn’t stand the stench of his wolf all over me. I growled, the sound rising from deep within my throat. He jerked away, face flushing a brilliant scarlet.

  “Alpha,” he whispered.

  “I’m no such thing,” I snapped. He recoiled back a step. I softened my tone. “Are they werewolves?”

  “Emily was changed when she was two. Alex is a true born,” the old man replied, lowering his head and tilting his chin to the side to expose his throat.

  My eyes widened. “A Submissive true born?”

  True born werewolves, so far as I’d ever heard, were always Alpha.

  “No.”

  “No? He’s no Alpha, Pops.”

  “Omega,” he whispered.

  “Omega.” I feared my eyes were about ready to pop out of my skull. “He’s an Omega?” I pinched the bridge of my nose.

  It made a sickening amount of sense. Why else would I have gone to such lengths to bring them into my home and protect them? I’d never met an Omega. I didn’t know of a single one alive.

  But to be a true born and an Omega?

  “They are Omegas,” he corrected.

  I put my hand to my mouth. “Who was your Alpha?”

  The old man’s head lowered in shame. “We don’t have an Alpha, ma’am.”

  Omega. Tamer of the wolf, restorer of humanity. A pack without an Alpha would’ve needed one to survive.

  “Who taught you to control your wolf?”

  “Taught?”

  I closed my eyes and sighed. “The children kept your wolves from becoming dominant, then?”

  “Their mother found me and brought into the pack shortly after I was made a Fenerec, ma’am. No one taught me.”

  “You were found? Who performed the ritual?”

  “Ritual? I… I don’t remember what happened when I was attacked, ma’am.”

  “You were attacked.” I ran my hand through my hair. Werewolves didn’t spawn because of a bite or mauling. A ritual was needed to transform human into beast. It could be forced, as it had been forced on me, but it wasn’t easy to do.

  A ritual by force was a risky proposition at best.

  “We all were.”

  “What?” My hands curled, fingers resembling claws. “You were all attacked? Forced to become Fenerec? By who?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Even Emily?”

  “Even Emily.”

  I didn’t need to ask why the Inquisition wanted the pack dead. Rogues like me were hunted and put down as a risk. They didn’t want us forming new packs.

  A pack without an Alpha was a pack that put every human around them in danger. Ignorant werewolves couldn’t even call themselves Fenerec, not really.

  Fenerec understood how to live as wolves and as humans. Werewolves couldn’t.

  I didn’t consider myself a Fenerec for that reason. Witho
ut Samantha, I’d lose to my wolf—eventually.

  I wasn’t ready to find another witch to help me stay human.

  “Where is your hunting ground?”

  “I’ll show you myself.” The old man hesitated, then thrust his hand out. “The name’s Mike.”

  I reached out to shake. To my surprise, he kissed the back of my hand. “Victoria.” I freed myself from his grip. “Get your stuff, Mike. We’re going on a little drive.”

  While I pumped gas, the old werewolf went about closing up the shop. Within ten minutes, we were on the road.

  ~*~

  I had Anderson drive, ordering him to follow Mike’s beat-up truck down the trail. I bit my lip. The route would, if my guess was right, take us deep into the secluded mountains. How far was a mystery known only to the driver in front of us.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea? We know nothing about this guy,” Anderson said, glaring at me.

  I wished I had left Anderson at the hotel.

  “Yes, I’m certain. Trust me and drive,” I snapped before turning my attention to the window and the trees beyond.

  Ten minutes went by in silence that the kids didn’t even dare to break.

  “Something is bothering you,” Anderson finally said through clenched teeth. The car bounced over water-filled ruts. I missed Samantha’s SUV. It had treated bumpy mountain trails as if it had been engineered for that purpose.

  “Solemnly swear you will never speak of this conversation to anyone ever,” I replied. It took trust to get trust, and I wanted to give him the option to run away. I couldn’t give him that choice without telling him a little of the truth. I didn’t want him—or anyone—to replace Samantha. I didn’t want his life on my hands.

  I wanted him to live.

  “I solemnly swear.”

  “If I told you that as soon as the kids and I leave the car, you’re to turn around and leave this mountain as quick as you can, would you?”

  “No.” The lack of hesitation in his answer almost made me smile.

  “Even if it cost you your life?”

  The kids fell quiet in the back set. I glanced in the rear view mirror. Wolf-yellow eyes stared into mine.

  “You think the killer will come here?”

  “I’m expecting it.”

  “And you want me to leave you? Are you insane? Of course I’m not going.”

  “Look, Elliot.” I turned my head to glare at the young CEO. “Do you know why I didn’t die in that explosion?”

  “You’re special. That’s why.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  The ghost of a smile graced Anderson’s lips. “You’re special. You walk into a room, and time just stops. You speak, and people listen to you. No one questions your authority. People trust you because you’re you. You’re different.” He paused, shrugging his shoulders. “In a good way.”

  “The last time a poet tried to woo me, I ate him,” I announced.

  “Ouch.”

  “But thank you, Anderson. I really do want you to turn this car around and leave when we arrive. I want you to be around for the kids.”

  “That has a rather final sound to it, Vicky.”

  “I’m old, Anderson.”

  “Forty-seven is not old.”

  “I agree. If I were forty-seven, that is.”

  Anderson slowed the car to a crawl. “You’re not?”

  “I’m not.”

  “How old are you, then?”

  “Isn’t it rude to ask a lady her age?” Emily asked.

  I bit my lip to contain my laughter. “While true, Emily, he is your elder,” I chided.

  Emily made a whining noise, which I ignored. “If I tell you, you must promise to leave after you drop us off. Go back to Atlanta. Pretend you were never here. If you are asked where I went, you’ll say I’m visiting friends in West Virginia. Mike’ll bring the kids to you.”

  It was a good thing Anderson wasn’t a werewolf. I could smell the lie in my scent.

  “Why do you want me gone?”

  “I don’t want you gone. I want you alive. I don’t want to see you killed too.”

  “And what if I’m willing to take that risk?”

  I winced. The problem with founding Marrodin with good people was simple: They were good people.

  “Do you believe in things like Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, or the Tooth Fairy? Or things like witches and vampires?”

  “I stopped believing in Santa when I discovered my mother putting coal in my stocking when I was ten.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed. The anti-allergy drugs made me a little woozy, but it helped me imagine a miniature Anderson earning coal for Christmas instead of gifts. “What if I told you some of that stuff is real?”

  “I’d believe it,” Anderson replied in an indifferent tone.

  “Why?”

  The car bounced along, tree branches beating against the windows as we traveled deeper into the forested mountains. “Because it’s you. It isn’t like you to make things up. Not like that.”

  Shaking my head, I propped my elbow on the armrest and stared through the trees. “Fine. Play me as some noble beast, then.”

  “Well, I doubt you’re a unicorn, if that makes you feel any better.”

  It was a good thing my glare couldn’t light Anderson on fire, because his life would’ve ended through spontaneous combustion. “And why not?”

  “You, Vicky, are a hunter. Unicorns are peaceful beasts.”

  That was one way of putting it. It was even true. I snorted. “Unicorns have weapons on their brows, I’ll remind you. Walking weapons.”

  “But they’re herbivores with a thing for virgins. I doubt you’re a virgin, Vicky. You’re far too pretty. I stand by my belief you are not a unicorn.”

  My face burned. I was a virgin, but that was none of his business. Werewolves mated for life. Old habits died hard, and unless I selected a mate and had my fancy wedding with a loyal groom, I’d end my life as an old virgin maid.

  “Werewolf, actually.”

  Silence answered my statement. After a few long moments, Emily made a high-pitched, excited noise.

  “Emily,” I warned.

  “Sorry.”

  “Werewolf,” he echoed.

  “A werewolf,” I confirmed.

  “Damn. I had you pegged as a witch.”

  I twisted around to stare at him. “What?”

  “You know, a witch. Broomstick, funny hat? Witch.”

  “Well,” I huffed. I couldn’t think of anything to add, so I shut my mouth.

  “No warts at least,” Alex said in a snicker.

  “Why thank you, Pup,” I grumbled under my breath.

  “Are you sure you’re not a witch?” Anderson sounded disappointed.

  I mocked him by sticking my tongue out. “You’ll just have to keep dreaming.”

  “How terribly mean of you.”

  “I’m serious, though. Unless you want to become one of us or be put on the menu, you’ll turn the car around and leave. Do you understand?”

  “You’re really serious.”

  I sighed with frustration. “Deathly so.”

  “So, you’re really a werewolf?”

  “I am.”

  Anderson scowled. “But you’re allergic to dogs.”

  “A little ironic, isn’t it?” I shrugged. “Yes, I am allergic to myself.”

  “Damn, that’s rough.”

  That was the truth. “You’re taking all of this surprisingly well.”

  “I knew you were different. Always did. Just didn’t know how. Damn. A werewolf? That’s insane.” Chuckling, Anderson sped up, letting the pseudo-SUV bounce down the trail in a demented version of a roller coaster ride. The kids giggled in the backseat.

  “I’m so glad you’re amused,” I muttered.

  “How old are you?”

  “She’s really old,” Alex chimed in.

  “Alex, if asking a lady’s age is rude, calling her old is a death wish,” I said, twis
ting around to glare at the boy.

  A wolfish grin greeted me.

  “Brat.”

  “Well? How old are you?” Anderson drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

  “Old enough. Everyone I grew up with is dead. Their children are dead, too. Time isn’t kind. I’m not human. Not anymore. Unless someone kills me, I’ll be alive long after your children have died.”

  “And those people who were killed, they were werewolves?” Making a thoughtful noise in his throat, Anderson focused on following Mike’s truck. I caught him glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

  “Samantha was a witch.”

  “You said she was family.”

  “I met her when she was fifteen.”

  Anderson winced. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault, Anderson. I doubt the people who killed Samantha know I’m a werewolf. I try to hide it.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “How does it feel to be trapped in the same car with three ravenous, terrifying beasts?”

  “Roar!” Alex leaned forward, bearing his teeth. Smothering a giggle, Emily joined her brother by hissing like a cat.

  I snorted.

  Anderson lowered his voice to a husky whisper, “The question is, and pardon me for asking, is whether or not you’re a beast in bed.”

  I felt my face burn again. “Elliot Andrew Anderson, there are children in the car.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re a virgin,” he teased.

  “Do you want to die, Anderson?”

  “Beef jerky?” Emily asked, thrusting the packaging between the seats.

  “Please,” I growled, accepting a piece from the girl. “Thank you.”

  The silence in the car didn’t last long, broken by Anderson choking on a laugh. “One of the most powerful women in the USA is a virgin.”

  “Fe—Werewolves mate for life,” I snapped.

  That shut him up for about ten minutes.

  “For life?” he asked.

  “Till death do you part. Literally.”

  “How old can a werewolf get?”

  I sighed, biting my lip as I glanced out of the window. While the sun still streamed through the trees, a few tattered clouds marred the blue sky visible through the naked branches of the trees. “I knew an old wolf who lived when Jesus was alive.”