Witch Hunt (City Shifters: the Pack Book 1)

by Layla Nash

  “No, it isn’t.” He eased to sit in a comfortable-looking chair near the window, still a good ten feet away. “You ran when the fight with RedCloud started. We found you at home in the middle of passing out, so I brought you back here.”

  I rubbed my forehead, earning a grumble from Cricket as I disturbed his rest, and struggled to find my way through the fog in my memory. The last thing I remembered was going to the coven meeting, parking my motorcycle in front of Palmer’s house, and the front door opening. Everything else kind of blurred into nothingness, then went completely dark until I woke up. My throat closed. What the hell had happened? Why couldn’t I remember anything?

  Evershaw looked at his hands, his voice low. “I had Tom test your blood, since you were pretty out of it, and it came back positive for Rohypnol.”

  “Rohypnol?” I shook my head. “That’s not possible. I was at a coven meeting. No one there would...” And then I heard what he was saying and what I was saying and realized someone at the coven probably would slip something in my drink. Estelle might have seen it as the only way to control me, the only way to know where I was going to be. Maybe she wanted me trapped at Palmer’s house.

  My hands trembled as I tried to smooth the tangled hair out of my face, the snarls of a rough night even worse after meeting Cricket’s paws and claws. I couldn’t formulate a coherent thought, and I fought the scary blankness in my memory for a hint of what had happened. All my joints ached and it felt like I had a sunburn all over, my skin too sensitive and tight. My eyes burned at the hint of such a serious betrayal. I could have passed out anywhere or died alone in my house or been attacked while I was too out of it to defend myself. Who could hate me enough to do that?

  “Smith checked you over and didn’t think there was anything magically wrong—just the drugs. He couldn’t find anything else that would have caused the disorientation and slow heart rate.”

  I blinked and dragged Cricket into my lap so I could sit up more and distract myself from Evershaw’s unnerving attention. The man had focus like I’d never seen, and when all of it landed on me—and wasn’t backed by fury and arrogance—I didn’t know how to react. It made me feel all shy and uncertain, and I became acutely aware that I did not have pants on and I wore a big T-shirt that wasn’t mine. “A medic and Smith? Who am I, the queen of England?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched, but the rest of him looked a touch uneasy. “We cannot afford to lose you.”

  Of course. I looked up at the ceiling, sighing, and worked my fingers into the soft creamy fur on Cricket’s stomach. He purred louder, rolling around, and braced his back paws against my side so he could rub his back in the sheets. “Right. Although—didn’t you catch the poisoner? Smith’s geas should have disappeared the moment the danger was addressed.”

  Evershaw frowned and rubbed his jaw, the gentle rasp of his hand against the beard filling the room. “I don’t know. Is there a way to test it?”

  I waited for the cursing or some kind of joke, but it was like someone had hexed him with a different personality entirely. Cricket started chirping when I stopped scratching under his chin, so I had to focus on placating the giant cat before I could make myself look at Evershaw again. “I guess I could try to hex you and see what happens.”

  His eyebrow arched. “Let me clarify. Is there a way to test it that doesn’t get me killed?”

  “Not a killing hex,” I said. A smile started to slip free, even though the underlying terror of the gaps in my memory lurked just in the background, as I started to relax. “Just a…prank.”

  Evershaw pondered it for a moment, then stretched his legs out in front of him and studied his socks. It seemed suddenly intimate to see him in his socks, like we were used to seeing each other in the morning before we’d decided to face the day. “Okay, then. Give it a whirl.”

  “Why are you being so nice?” I blurted out. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Something was definitely off, and it wasn’t just my memory. “Don’t be nice. It’s too weird.”

  His smile twisted. “I’m not always an asshole.”

  I focused on Cricket so I wouldn’t see his face or those calm dark eyes studying me. “I don’t think I’ve seen you be civil to anyone, Miles. Am I dying? Is that why you’re being nice?”

  “And you’ve been a coldhearted bitch for most of our time together, but that isn’t all that you are. Right?”

  I recoiled, although maybe I’d deserved it. He didn’t say it with malice, just an observation, and even though it was something I knew about myself and even practiced, him saying it hurt more than I thought it would.

  He must have seen my reaction, because he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Just because we’re one person in public doesn’t mean that’s really who we are, Deirdre. Don’t you agree?”

  I cleared my throat to try to get rid of a sudden knot; I didn’t want him to think I was a bitch, although I couldn’t tell why that had changed. I’d relied on being a total witch to protect me, and yet somehow, somewhere, he’d gotten around that. A vague memory of a gentle stroke of my cheek, a hand warm on my knee, and the firm muscle of an arm supporting me drifted over the surface of my mind and made me flush from head to toe.

  His head tilted as he studied me, a hint of a smile touching his face, and I wondered if he could read minds. Evershaw didn’t even blink. “I don’t think you’re actually a bitch, Deirdre. I think you’ve been hurt and you don’t have many people to trust. And anyone you let in or rely on...” He gripped the arms of his chair. “You trusted Smith and he betrayed you by tying you to me.”

  I avoided looking at him. “Well, I should have learned my lesson the last time that sort of thing happened. Fool me twice, you know.”

  “I know,” he said. “Believe me, I know. But I would hate to see—” He ran his hand over his mouth, like he wanted to hold back the words, then sighed and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I would hate to see this make you cold. Colder, perhaps. Don’t block more of yourself off, Deirdre. You should try to stay open to people, to experiences. Don’t let the world make you hard.”

  “You’re one to talk,” I said, trying for levity. I drew my knees up to my chest so I could rest my chin on them, studying him when I thought he wasn’t looking. “You’re the king of blocking yourself off.”

  “Yes, but I’m a bitter, angry old asshole,” he said. His smile widened just a touch. “You’re still young and beautiful and powerful, and it would be a shame to see you retreat from all that.”

  Beautiful. My nerves thrummed in warning or anticipation; both felt the same. He thought I was beautiful. After all the shouting and magic and threats, he thought I was beautiful.

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” he said.

  Maybe he could read minds. I sniffed and put my shoulders back. “I don’t see how you acknowledging a simple fact would go to my head. I’m objectively the most beautiful person in this whole building, clearly, so why should that feed my ego?”

  He snorted, lacing his hands behind his head, and eyed me where I sat. “Yeah. With your hair like a rat’s nest and wrinkles in your cheek and an old T-shirt, you’re real hard to resist.”

  I wanted to laugh but I couldn’t give him the satisfaction. “You’re not a very clever wolf, if you’re insulting me right before I hex you.”

  “Do your worst,” he murmured, his eyes flashing with something that could have been mirth or desire or just amusement. “Let’s see what kind of firepower you’ve got, witch.”

  Maybe we were flirting. Were we flirting? What the hell had happened between the coven meeting and waking up in that bed? Why was he suddenly relaxed and talkative and nonthreatening? It was like he’d decided he didn’t want to scare me, or at least wanted me to stay around. Maybe it was because Smith’s geas no longer obligated me to save his life. Maybe he wanted me to join the pack or be their captive witch.

  But the way he watched me, his head tilted, and the hair that fell a bit ov
er his forehead definitely distracted me from the possibility that his kindness came from ulterior motives. I carefully put Cricket on his own pillow so he wouldn’t get caught in any of the hex, and rubbed my hands together as I eyed Evershaw. I had a particular hex in mind that I’d occasionally used against the extended family and unwary coven members when I was young enough to pretend my magic had gotten away from me.

  And he would look quite fetching soaked through and covered in enormous soap bubbles.

  I swung my legs over the side of the mattress and untangled the sheets, just in case I needed to get out of the way if he lost his temper, and ignored that my legs were bare from mid-thigh down. Before I could react to the way his gaze drifted down to consider my thighs, I held my hands out and dragged the hex out of my memory to send at him.

  The moment I thought of hexing him, of doing more than just joking about it, static snapped through me and suddenly I was on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

  Chapter 33

  Miles

  Evershaw didn’t know what he expected, but he was entirely distracted by the smooth creamy skin of her thighs and the mysteries that waited between them when Deirdre lifted her hands, grinning in anticipation, and a bright bolt of lightning shot out of her. And then the air itself shook and she tumbled to the floor.

  He waited for something else to happen to him, but when nothing did, he went to his knees to check on her. He brushed the tangled hair off her face, not sure whether to laugh at her or call for the medic, and felt his throat constrict as her bright green eyes found his.

  The cat stalked to the edge of the mattress and gazed down at them, observing the goings-on, and Evershaw growled just a touch to warn the beast away. He didn’t feel like dealing with the pushy little beast.

  Then Deirdre made a huffy little sound that could have been the harbinger of a hell of a crying jag, and Evershaw braced himself to clean up a puddle of tears. Instead when he gazed down at her, she’d pursed her lips and fought to keep from laughing out loud. His eyebrows rose as he studied her, brushing her hair back once more. He wanted to keep touching her, to carry her back to that chair so they could sit together. “Is that what you intended to happen?”

  Her eyes narrowed but her voice went high and giggly when she tried to answer. “Yes, actually.”

  “Then well done,” he said. He smiled too, feeling ridiculous kneeling there on the floor, but he wouldn’t have moved except to defend her from something coming through the door. And he couldn’t stop touching her, brushing his thumb along her cheek and the wrinkles from her pillow.

  Deirdre sighed and held her head. “So the geas is still in place.”

  “You think?” He chuckled and ran the back of his knuckles across her cheek, mesmerized by the length of her eyelashes and the soft pink of her lips and the curve of her ear. “What tipped you off?”

  “Look, buddy,” she said, still laughing, and sat up.

  He didn’t get out of the way and instead found her nose just an inch from his, and he couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward and kissed her, one hand sliding into her hair to cradle her head. Deirdre made a surprised noise and kind of tensed, and Evershaw waited for her to pull away completely and maybe slap him—since she couldn’t use magic against him, apparently.

  But then she softened and closed her eyes and kissed him back. Evershaw swallowed a groan as she turned hesitant, a little uncertain. He didn’t mind taking the lead, and teased her tongue with his before deepening the kiss still more. Her arms linked around his neck and he started to lean forward, to press her back against the floor so he could feel her all soft and sweet beneath him.

  A hiss was the only warning before four sparks of agony ignited in his shoulder as a fucking sandbag landed on him. Evershaw jerked away and twisted, trying to get rid of whatever it was that attacked him, and growled as the hissing and spitting and a lashing tail revealed that the fucking cat wanted to protect his mama.

  He couldn’t blame the thing, but that didn’t mean Evershaw wanted to be a fucking scratching post.

  “Cricket!” Deirdre clapped her hands over her mouth as she stared at where her attack cat tried to claw him to pieces.

  Evershaw finally managed to reach over his shoulder and grab the beast by the scruff, dragging him off his back to drop on the floor, and growled as the damn thing hissed and arched its back in warning as it almost levitated across the carpet to hop into the witch’s lap. He scowled. “A beast that large should live outside.”

  “He’s my little baby,” Deirdre said, gathering the cat up to her chest and burying her face against the fur.

  For a split second, Evershaw thought she meant to protect the cat from his irritation, but when another squeak escaped from the witch, he suspected something else was afoot. His eyes narrowed, and when Deirdre peeked at him over the cat’s poofy tail, his suspicions were confirmed—Deirdre laughed. She shook with it, gales of it, until the cat untangled himself and stormed off with a disgruntled mrow.

  So he took the opportunity afforded to him and tickled her. He had an almost out-of-body experience of shaking his head at himself, since he’d never tickled anyone in his entire life, but he couldn’t resist. That laugh, the way she curled in on herself, the soft shine of her hair as it covered her face to hide her from him... Evershaw slid his hands against her side and Deirdre squeaked, trying to fend him off, though she kept laughing and got all breathless and huffy as she tried to brace her foot against him and push him away.

  He started to chuckle a little too, and leaned in. He finally got the chance to touch her, to feel her skin. He didn’t mind at all as the T-shirt she wore rucked up in her squirming and revealed the curve of her hip and the kissable softness of her stomach and waist and... He tried not to groan as the witch flopped on her back and gasped for breath, trying to drag the T-shirt down to cover herself, and practically panted as his hands stilled. “Oh my God. Stop. I can’t breathe. I’m gonna pee on your carpet, wolf.”

  Evershaw wouldn’t have minded. He’d buy her new carpet or get hardwood floors or maybe ceramic tile. Easier to clean. He dragged his fingers down her side, across her ribs, and was rewarded with a full-body twitch. He couldn’t help but imagine all the fun they could have figuring out where else she might be ticklish, or what else made her move like that. He could just imagine the insides of her thighs, the underside of her breasts, the side of her neck... His wolf side got all riled up as his imagination ran wild, and he found himself gazing down at her, completely wordless.

  Deirdre finally managed to wiggle around enough to get the T-shirt past her panties, and though her face was still red, she managed to give him a narrow-eyed look that was somewhat close to threatening—if he hadn’t just tickled her until she was helpless and almost peed her pants. “You best be careful, wolf. I have a long memory.”

  “So do I,” he said. His head dipped so he could press a kiss against her side, just below the line of her ribs, and kept his voice a low murmur, wanting to tease her more into rolling right into bed with him. “When I touch you here, you start giggling.”

  He moved so he could kiss just below her breast as all of her stilled. “And right here is where you jump and start to squirm.”

  The witch’s hand rose, hesitant and careful, and he held his breath as he watched her eyes. But instead of pushing him away, her fingers threaded into his hair and her nails ran against his scalp until he wanted to stretch and rub against her. So he kept going, dragging his teeth down her midsection to the welcoming give of her lower stomach, and listened for the hitch in her breathing. “This is my favorite part so far, since it makes you go all breathless. And hungry.”

  Both her hands slid into his hair and she seemed to have stopped breathing. Evershaw’s palm chafed the inside of her knee, wondering if he dared explore a little further. He didn’t think she was ready to just roll into bed with him; her initial reaction to his kiss was a pretty damn clear signal she hadn’t expected any of it. He could be a patient h
unter. She needed to be ready, and he didn’t want to lose his chance to enjoy all of her.

  Despite the bastard side of his personality that told him not to lose the opportunity to fuck her right there and be done with it, he knew she deserved more. She meant more. She wasn’t one of the women he’d picked up at bars or at coffee shops or wherever it was he found women. Deirdre felt real, more real than anyone else he’d ever met.

  And that scared the shit out of him.

  Before he could decide what to do, his hand resting just north of her knee on the deliciously smooth skin of her inner thigh and her green eyes smoky and half-closed as she watched him, someone said, “Evershaw, we were supposed to meet with Smith thirty minutes ago. Have you—”

  And the door swung in and suddenly Todd stood there, staring down at them, and Deirdre squeaked and snapped her legs together on his hand and dragged her shirt down and Evershaw had never been so close to outright murder in his life.

  He half-turned but didn’t take his hands off Deirdre as he spoke to his cousin. “Get. Out.”

  Todd disappeared without a word and closed the door behind him as he went. But the spell was broken and Deirdre scrambled up, her face red, and she didn’t meet his eyes as she fumbled at the sheets to cover her from the ribs down.

  Evershaw stepped closer, wanting to reassure her, and she flinched. He stopped dead. He didn’t deserve that. Well, maybe he did. He couldn’t remember if he’d manhandled her before he finally figured out how fucking perfect she was. He kept his voice calm and tried not to communicate that the rejection made him want to bristle and still show her he wasn’t that kind of guy. “I have some business to look after this morning. Mercy will be in with clean clothes, but we packed a bag for you and left it in the closet. She’ll bring food, too.”

  Deirdre cleared her throat and nodded, still not quite looking at him. “Right. Thank you.”

  The cat hissed from where it crouched on a pillow, and Evershaw glared at it. Ornery beast. “I’ll call Smith about the gee-whatsit. Just—rest today, take it easy.”