The Coyote's Chance (Masters of Maria Book 4)

by Holley Trent

  She stole a glance up at her giant’s accomplices and would have gasped if her mouth hadn’t been covered.

  They had to be related. If they weren’t, there was something in the water in Utah . . . She cut her gaze to the license plate. No, they weren’t from Utah. The water in New Mexico. She could make a mint by bottling and selling New Mexican water, if that’s what it grew.

  Tall, broad, tan, and broody. The brothers, maybe, had redder hair—one short-cropped, one a bit longer than the lead ogre’s.

  No, not ogre. Ogres didn’t have lush lips that begged kissing. Caveman would do.

  He stood, set Ellery’s bag on the tailgate, and reached into the truck while the other two men guarded over Ellery and her friends.

  The girls huddled together a bit more as the men eyed them up, assessing them as if they were cars on the lot and not women they’d just stolen from a campsite.

  The man with the longer hair nudged his companion. “How do we pick?”

  Pick? The word could have been an execution order for the way Ellery’s heart rate kicked up. Picking implied randomness. And if so, the harassment wasn’t about her being a witch at all. They were plain-old thugs, and thugs didn’t play by the rules, because they didn’t know them. They wouldn’t want to demand a duel with Agatha or barter for Ellery’s release. They wouldn’t know they could or should. So, what could they want?

  Doesn’t matter. Run.

  She didn’t think she’d get far, but if she could draw those Cats away from her friends, she could work up a little lightning, maybe. What she could put off wouldn’t put three men of their sizes down for long, but perhaps long enough for the girls to get to the rented Jeep.

  She scrambled to her knees, with Miles and Hannah following her cues, only for them to be quickly, and easily, suppressed by six large hands.

  “This is so fucking stupid,” one of the men said. “What if we’re wrong?”

  Please be wrong about whatever it is. Ellery craned her neck back to look at them. They didn’t exactly seem jubilant, but that didn’t mean anything.

  “Do you trust me?” Auburn ogre asked.

  The other two made what sounded like begrudging grunts.

  “You may not trust her, but you trust me. I’m not wrong. It’s these three.”

  Ellery didn’t know who the her in question was, but they didn’t seem to be indicating the women on the ground.

  “When was the last time anyone we know did this?” the third brother asked.

  “I don’t know. She gave me the sign, so here we are.”

  Being a witch, Ellery knew a little something about signs, but for the life of her she couldn’t speculate on what the men were going on about. Maybe some kind of ritual sacrifice? If she had any luck at all, they’d want virgins.

  He tossed bundles of rope to the other two. “Don’t make it harder for them. Remember what Mom said.”

  Mom? Was that the she they’d referenced? The idea that a maternal influence put them up to this made Ellery’s gut roil. What kind of dysfunction went on in that family? She would have sighed, if she could. Who was she to talk about dysfunction? Her family was the absolute worst for that. Southern Protestant witches had more hang-ups than Rascal Flatts had hits.

  “But what about the picking? It’s a reasonable question,” longer-haired brother said. He eyed all three women again, and then bent and looped the rope around Hannah’s ankles.

  “We have plenty of time to decide,” shorter-haired brother said. “Long drive home.”

  Auburn brother just grunted and knelt to bind Ellery’s wrists. As he tightened the rope, sliding a finger between the coils, he rolled his whiskey brown stare up to her face and asked, “Does it hurt?”

  She started to nod just as a matter of course, but then she wriggled her fingers, and flexed her wrists. She shook her head. She wasn’t much of a liar—never had been—but sometimes that worked in her favor. Her brother-in-law Claude had taught her to be honest for the small things so that if she had to tell a whopper of a lie later, it’d be believable. She got a sneaking suspicion she’d be telling plenty of lies before the day was over . . . assuming she lived to see the end of it.

  “Good.” He eased back and tied her ankles with the same careful attention as her wrists, and then pulled himself up to standing. He unzipped her backpack, and his brothers seemed to follow suit, sliding the other bags onto the tailgate and rooting through them.

  She furrowed her brow, wondering what he could be digging for, and then he produced her sky blue wallet. Sliding his fingers under the flap, he released the snaps and sifted through the contents.

  Was he looking for money? Phone numbers to call to secure her ransom? Nothing about their camping set-up had screamed excess of money, so they were going to be shit out of luck if that’s what they wanted. Miles had some, but had no family to give a damn or send it. Hannah had family in spades, but Ellery didn’t imagine she had much more in savings than a few months of paychecks.

  She recognized her driver’s license by the barcode image on the backside.

  He read it—studied it, apparently, judging by the way his eyes tracked side to side repeatedly—and turned to his brothers. They all held cards. Red-haired brothers extended theirs to the auburn caveman.

  “They’re all the same age,” he said.

  “That’ll make picking harder,” longer-haired brother said.

  The picking thing again. She didn’t see how their ages would make any difference unless they planned on sacrificing them in a particular order.

  “Maybe not.” He slipped the cards into his shirt pocket and bent low. He picked Ellery up in one easy heave and set her onto the tailgate. “There are some cushions in the back. You won’t be comfortable, exactly, but it should make the ride a bit more bearable.” He zipped up her backpack—sans wallet—and pushed it farther back into the compartment.

  She didn’t move, just stared at him. Couldn’t send a blast of wind at him without freaking out her friends. She should have given him a static shock when she had a chance . . . if she hadn’t been so busy sampling the goods. She regretted it, but damn. When she’d become an active magic user a year ago, she uncorked a voracious libido along with it. She’d thought there was something wrong with her, until Gail assured her it wasn’t just her. It seemed that having a little power did wonders for freeing a woman’s inhibitions. Perhaps that was one of the reasons so many covens cautioned against the use of wild magic. They’d all turn into a bunch of witchy wantons. She didn’t mind being a wanton, but she needed to be able to think strategically. With the Were-cat so close, she was failing hard at it.

  “Back you go, Ellery,” he said, and he canted his head toward the opening.

  Her cheeks burned hot at the sound of her name, but she didn’t move. She just stared.

  He stared right back, those cat eyes of his practically fluorescent in the waning light. Hypnotizing, but not in a way that had anything to do with magic. He was just that stunning. “Would you prefer I use force?”

  She closed her eyes, and suddenly she could think.

  “Believe it or not, I don’t want to. In fact, I don’t want to be here at all.”

  A reluctant thug. Well, that made the situation so much better.

  She opened her eyes, and in her periphery, caught a glimpse of Miles writhing under one of the Cats’ grips. Ellery didn’t want to make it worse for Miles or Hannah and needed to lead by example. The sooner they got out of the men’s grips, the better. They could go with the flow for the moment, and figure out a plan. “Thinking’s best done when you’re calm, fille,” Claude always said. He was usually right. She climbed in, put her back against the left wall, and watched him pick up little Miles and test her bindings.

  Hannah eased back to the very rear of the bed and put her back against the toolbox.

  Miles came last with the auburn giant checking her restraints and nudging her knapsack into the back.

  “We’ve got about a three-hour driv
e, and we’re going to do it non-stop. I hope that doesn’t cause any problems for you.”

  All three women squirmed and whimpered.

  “I’m sorry. You’ll have to hold it.”

  He closed the gate.

  Fuck.

  Gail wasn’t going to believe it, but this kind of crap always happened to Ellery.

  Kidnapped. Again.

  The last time she’d been abducted, a megalomaniac quarter-demon snatched her up as she was crossing the parking lot at the hospital where she worked. He’d been after Gail, and Ellery had just been convenient. Being that she was two thousand miles from home, it didn’t seem like she could blame Gail for the current misfortune.

  Somehow, that didn’t make Ellery feel any better.

  About the Author

  Holley Trent is a bestselling author of paranormal romance. She matriculated at the University of North Carolina intending to earn a degree in music but decided her job prospects would be better if she transferred to the English department. However, during her season with the Marching Tar Heels, she did learn that polyester pants rarely flatter the figure and that capes are heavy. Nowadays, she saves her performances for her car.

  She resides on the Colorado Front Range with her husband, two kids, and two cats.

  So you don’t miss future stories about Maria, New Mexico’s secretive shapeshifters, sign up for Holley’s paranormal romance newsletter at: http://holleytrent.com/blog/newsletter-sign-up/.

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  Copyright © 2017 by Holley Trent.

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  First Crimson Romance ebook edition DECEMBER 2017.

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  Interior images © 123rf/Teerachai sahassa, © 123rf/Viorel Sima, © 123rf/Andrei Ivashenko

  ISBN 978-1-5072-0737-6 (ebook)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

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