Moon Chosen Box Set (BBW Werewolf / Shifter Romance)

by Mac Flynn

  A figure with a pointy hat stood at the edge of the clearing. The fog wrapped around their form and gave them a phantom-like appearance. The person stepped from the fog and revealed a beautiful face but for a huge wart that grew an inch from her chin. She wore a lavender cloak that was open at the front and revealed a plain black dress. Her dark hair hung about her shoulders and her skin was as pale as the belly of a fish.

  She held out a bony hand to Erik. Her fingers were stained with a multitude of colors, and her dark, angry eyes dazzled in the gloom of the fog. "Give me that book!"

  CHAPTER 4

  "You know, I don't think it's Halloween yet," I quipped.

  The woman snarled at me, but kept her attention on Erik. "Give me the book or else!" she demanded.

  Erik frowned and held the book to his chest. "What is it to you?" he questioned her.

  "I have more right to that book then you, boy, so hand it over!" she growled.

  Erik's eyes narrowed as they swept over her form. "Are you a witch?"

  The woman rolled her eyes. "What a foolish question. Of course I am a witch, now give me that book!"

  "Do you have dealings with a man named Tyrone Blackwood?" he returned.

  The witch's eyes narrowed and her lips curled back in a snarl. "Who are you to ask me that?" she snapped.

  Erik straightened. "I am Erik Greenwood, son to the-"

  "-to that blowhard of a werewolf who sits in his crumbling halls," the woman sneered. "So you're that pathetic fool's son, are you? If I were you I wouldn't be bragging about that connection. He's ruining everything for everybody, and nobody knows about it except that smart young man, Blackwood."

  I snorted. "Smart and young, maybe, but he's still an asshole."

  She gave me a sharp look. "Who are you?"

  "I'm one of the people he's trying to kill," I quipped.

  The witch narrowed her eyes and studied me. "Oh, you belong to him." She jerked her heads towards Erik. "You can always count on a werewolf's mate to make herself known."

  I glared at her. "Jealous, old hag?"

  She took a step towards me and balled her hands into fists. "Not likely!" she snapped.

  "Ladies, I believe we have reached an impasse for insults," Greg spoke up.

  "Stay out of this!" the witch and I growled at him. He held up his hands and took a step back.

  Erik held up the journal. That caught the witch's attention. "We wish to trade information. Your knowledge of Blackwood's intentions for this book."

  The witch's eyes flickered between the journal and Erik's face. "How do I know I can trust you?"

  "I give you my word as a Greenwood," he swore.

  She snorted. "Not good enough." Her eyes flitted to me and she jerked her head towards me. "Swear on her life."

  Erik looked between the witch and me. "What has she-"

  "Nothing but that she's your mate, and if a werewolf won't swear on his mate's life than he's not worth his weight in his fur coat," the witch retorted.

  Erik pursed his lips, but nodded. "Then I swear on my mate's life I can be trusted."

  I held up a finger. "Wait a sec. My life better not be-"

  "Then I will tell you what Blackwood intends to do," the witch agreed. "Follow me." She turned on her heels and walked towards the ended path.

  I whipped my head to Erik and glared at him. He kept his eyes on the witch. "You'd better not have just sold my soul to a witch!"

  "We will see," he mused.

  "Stop dawdling and follow me!" the witch called from the end of the path.

  "We've got eyes. There's nothing there but bushes," Marge pointed out.

  A sly grin slid onto the witch's lips. "Nothing more than bushes?" She turned towards the bushes and stretched out her hand in a wave over the thick fog. The mist blew away, and with it the illusion of bushes. The brush rippled as though made of water and disappeared into the air to reveal the rest of the path. The witch turned to us with a smile and gestured to the revealed trail. "You were saying?"

  Marge's eyes narrowed. "Old hag. . ." I heard her murmur.

  The 'old hag's' smile fell off her face and she glared at Marge. "I don't have to help you, you know," she snapped.

  "No, but we will not grant your request for the diary," Erik reminded her.

  The witch's eyes flickered to him and the diary in his hand. "Perhaps I shouldn't be so nice to you. I could take the diary by force, you know."

  I folded my arms across my chest. "No, we don't know."

  She sneered at me and held up one hand so her fingers were splayed. "Don't tempt me, girl. I have more power in my pinky than most witches have in their whole body."

  "We are wasting time bickering," Erik scolded us.

  The witch sniffed and turned away. "Then follow me." She stepped forward a few feet, then paused and turned around. Her eyes fell on Methuselah. "Don't I know you?"

  Methuselah stared indifferently at her. "I do not have your memories to tell you," he snapped.

  Our new guide sneered at him and shuffled down the road. "Damn kids these days and their impudence. . ." she muttered.

  Erik strode past me and followed the witch. Marge walked past me and shrugged. Methuselah joined them. I jumped when a hand settled on my shoulder, and I turned to find it belonged to Greg. He smiled at me.

  "Trust Master Erik," he advised me.

  "Why should I? He might've just sold me to a she-devil," I challenged him.

  "He is your mate," Greg reminded me.

  "We're not mates by choice," I reminded him.

  "But you are mates in every other definition of the word. Even your personalities suite each other," he pointed out.

  My shoulders slumped and I glared at him. "I hate it when you make sense that I don't want to hear."

  Greg smiled and bowed his head. "I am glad to be of service."

  My eyes flickered to Erik. His attention was on the witch. I looked back at Greg and lowered my voice. "Even service to Lady Greenwood?"

  Greg's smile slipped off his face and he shook his head. "I am sorry you overheard."

  "I'm not," I quipped. "I don't want to be left out of anything, especially anything involving my in-laws. A daughter-in-law has to have something to bitch about."

  Greg chuckled and offered his arm to me. "I will be glad to offer my services in juicy gossip when all this is over."

  I grinned and accepted his arm. "And I look forward to hearing about it."

  Greg guided me after our companions and the hag. The witch led us down the newly revealed path and through the woods to a large clearing. The path widened to a lane and the brush on either side changed to wild flowers. The thick trees created a circular perimeter around the clearing, and in the center was a small, single-story shack with a porch that leaned to one side. Actually, most of the shack leaned to one side, and the porch leaned to the other. The only things I could see could that kept the place together was moss and the fog that lay thick around the building.

  The witch stopped in the middle of the path and admired her hovel. "Isn't it wonderful?"

  I noticed some of the porch railings were littered with holes. "The termites love it," I quipped.

  The witch glared at me. "You can stay outside."

  I folded my arms and planted my feet firmly on the ground. "Fine with me. When this place crashes down I'll be the sole survivor and tell everyone's story. Yours will be brief and full of insults."

  Erik grabbed my arm and turned his attention to the witch. "We will all go inside," he told her.

  She sneered, but turned away without comment and shuffled to her abode.

  Erik returned his attention to me and frowned. "We must be somewhat obliging to her," he scolded me.

  "It's hard to be anything to her but annoyed," I hissed.

  "I'll agree with her on that point," Marge spoke up.

  "A little decorum will go a long way," Greg argued.

  I glared at him and gestured to Erik. "Taking his side again?"

&nbs
p; "What fools. . ." Methuselah mumbled.

  I whipped my head to him. "What's that make you? After all, you're the one who wanted to come with us."

  "Enough!" Erik called over our heated words. He turned to me with a tint of yellow in his eyes. "We will oblige her for a short while. So long as we hold the diary she will do us no harm. If she proves to be a willing acquaintance we may be able to return to the Den with ample proof against Blackwood to lead to his exile."

  Marge straightened and glared at him. "The word of Captain Black isn't good enough for your father?"

  "It is merely his word," Erik pointed out. "Exile requires a great deal of evidence or the power to do so would be abused."

  "Damn politics. . ." I muttered.

  Erik grasped my shoulders in both his hands. I found myself caught in his beautiful eyes, so much so that I hardly heard him speaking to me. "Whatever the reason, I feel sure we will find the evidence with this witch. You must trust me."

  I snorted and jerked my head towards the house. "It's not you I don't trust, it's her. I don't want to end up on the wrong end of an oven door."

  "Are you coming or not?" the witch shouted from the railing of her porch.

  Erik grinned and offered me his arm. "I will make sure it isn't turned on."

  I rolled my eyes, but took his arm. "You're a dear, Hansel."

  CHAPTER 5

  Our little group's discussion broke apart and we made our way to the hut. The steps and porch boards creaked under our feet, and I inwardly wondered if she had home insurance that covered termite damage. The witch led us into the gloomy building. There was a window on each wall but the front, and they were all covered in a heavy black cloth that cast the room in a heavy shroud of darkness and shadow. The only sources of light were a few scraggly candles situated around the room and a fireplace. There was a depressing atmosphere to the whole place. It reminded me of a school.

  Dust a mile thick sat on the jumble of tables and three-legged chairs that were scattered around the single-room place. A cauldron sat in the crackling fire in the hearth opposite the door and something brackish bubbled at the surface. Canisters and glass vials were filled with liquids of all the colors of the rainbow if the rainbow was ugly. Books were laid open or stacked in piles. Many were so dog-eared I wondered where the rest of the dog was.

  The witch waved her hand at a few of the chairs. "Sit down," she invited us. She herself stood beside the warm hearth and faced us.

  Erik reluctantly took a seat, and I took his lap. Marge wiped down a chair with her cloak, and Greg and Methuselah remained standing. The witch's narrow eyes swept over us.

  "I guess if we're to make a deal I should tell you my name. It's Hazel," she informed us. Erik bowed his head, and she continued. "Now what exactly did you want to know about your cousin's plan?"

  "We know he intends a coup against my father and wishes to extend the boundary of the fog," Erik told her.

  She snorted and waved her hand at the door. "He's already gotten his wish for that. The fog's been moved two miles inland."

  "Were you the one to perform the magic?" he asked our host.

  Hazel beamed and nodded her head. "I am, and I'll tell you it wasn't easy. My mistress-the witch who performed the first spell-was very good at her job seeing to its width and such, but I got past that with a simple blood of bat and-"

  "Wait a sec," I spoke up. I turned to Erik. "Didn't you say the fog was put here a couple hundred years ago?"

  He nodded. "Yes, it was."

  I looked to Hazel. "But you just said your mistress was the one who did it."

  Hazel's cheeks reddened and she shook her head. "No, I didn't."

  "Yes, you did."

  "No, I didn't."

  "Yes, you did."

  "Are witches as long-lived as werewolves?" Erik interrupted us. His question was aimed at Greg.

  He bowed his head. "It is possible."

  Hazel turned her nose up at our servant. "And who are you to know about witches?"

  "A humble servant," he told her. I snorted. There was more sass than humble servant in him.

  "Then keep your mouth shut like a good servant and let your master speak," she scolded him.

  "How old are you?" I asked the witch.

  She glared at me. "It's rude to ask a woman her age."

  "That's only if a man's asking. How old are you?" I persisted.

  She narrowed her eyes and stood. "Old enough to not have to stand for any of this."

  I pointed at her legs. "But you are standing."

  She whipped her finger towards the door. "Out."

  Erik held up the book. "Do you wish for this book?" he questioned her.

  Hazel furrowed her face. Her eyes flickered to the door and the book. She settled for the book and settled back into her seat. "All right, but out with what you want."

  "We wish for you to revert the fog back to its previous boundaries and to speak on our behalf against Blackwood in front of the Council," Erik requested.

  The witch shook her head. "I can't do the first, and I don't want to do the second."

  "Why not?" he returned.

  She looked away from us and her hand picked at the wooden mantel. A few mumbled words passed through her lips.

  "Come again?" I asked her. She spoke again, louder this time, but I still didn't catch the words. "A little louder."

  "She says she doesn't know how to decrease the size of the fog," Marge interpreted.

  I blinked at the witch. "But you made it bigger."

  "Increasing the size of a spell is easier than decreasing it," she replied.

  "That doesn't make any sense. Of course it should be as easy," I argued.

  She glared at me. "It's not a simple matter of adding more of the same ingredients like for increasing the size. I have to know how to break down the spell back to its original parts, and I don't know some of the original ingredients."

  "Wait, so you're telling us you made something bigger that you don't know how to shrink?" I questioned her.

  "That is a minor inconvenience I can fix later," Hazel assured us. Her eyes fell on the diary in Erik's hands, and she nodded at the book. "And that may help in my studies."

  "It's only got some business stuff," I informed her.

  A sly grin slid onto her lips. "That would be what a werewolf would believe, but diaries such as that held hidden information that no untrained eye can see."

  Erik raised an eyebrow. "What sort of information?"

  "Nothing that would interest a mere werewolf, now hand it over," Hazel demanded. She held out her hand, but Erik stuffed the book into his cloak.

  "If the information is as valuable as that then we must insist that you come with us to the Den," he informed her.

  Hazel scowled. "I will do no such thing, and I have told you as much as you need to know. Any more and I-" Erik's eyes widened and he jumped to his feet. Greg joined him, and for the first time I noticed Methuselah wasn't in our party. Hazel jumped up and glared at Erik. "Now you've done it! They've followed you and you're in for it now!"

  I didn't know what all the problem was about until I heard the faint sounds of feet on the marshy ground outside. The footsteps raced in our direction. They soon pounded up the stairs and across the porch. The door swung open and faint light streamed into the dark room. A figure stood in the doorway, and behind them were the shadowy forms of a dozen transformed werewolves. The end of their long, pointed snouts glistened with snot and their yellow eyes glared at us from the gloom of the fog. Tufts of fur poked out from their ragged cloaks and tattered clothes, and their lengthened, curved feet tread almost noiselessly across the creaky boards. Their long, hairy arms swung at their sides and ended in long, sharp claws.

  The leader stepped into the room and I caught sight of their face.

  "Carey?" I spoke up.

  It was indeed my one-time nemesis from the group of kidnapped girls. Her dark hair streamed down her shoulders and over the rough hunting shirt which she wore.
She sported some khaki pants, heavy-duty boots, and an attitude that reminded me why I hated her.

  She grinned at us and folded her arms across her chest. "My my, if it isn't my old friend, Sophia. How have you been?"

  I narrowed my eyes. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "I could ask you the same question," she retorted. She stepped further inside and the werewolves behind her crowded into the room. They were hulking monsters with the tattered remains of dirty clothes that spoke of their occupation as Guards. "But I already know the answer."

  I glanced from one ugly werewolf face to the other. "I'm guessing this isn't a reunion party you brought."

  She laughed. "Hardly." She leaned her arm against the closest werewolf. "These fine boys are from my mate, Blackwood."

  I rolled my eyes. "You two would get together."

  Erik stepped forward and shook his head. "That isn't possible. Blackwood has no mate," he argued.

  "He does now." She pulled down her right sleeve and showed off a marking that resembled a full moon. My eyes widened and my eyes flickered to my left shoulder where there was the same mark. "Besides, why don't you use that powerful sniffer of yours? That'll tell you I'm telling the truth."

  Erik's eyes narrowed and I noticed his nostrils flared. "Well?" I asked him.

  He nodded and his eyes fell on Carey. "She holds his scent, but I don't understand it. He had no mate before the Choosing of this year, and you were given to another."

  Carey sneered and pushed off from her werewolf toy. "Don't remind me. That fool was nothing more than a pathetic, lying sack of worms."

  "Then he was your mate," I quipped.

  She whipped her head and her hair flipped from one shoulder to the other. "He was of no use to me, so I divorced him and picked up a new mate."

  "Werewolves don't divorce. We're kind of stuck together for life," I argued.

  A sly grin slipped onto her lips. "You think so, don't you? Well, I'm here to tell you that my dear Blacky found a way for me to divorce my pathetic mate and have him take me."