Curse of Iron

by D. D. Miers

  I flinched and stammered. I had no idea my hair was different from anyone else’s. “I don’t know, I guess I use excellent product.”

  He put my hand over his arm and led me outside. The moment we walked out the door into the night air, the oppressive feeling of being inside faded. I grinned up at him, my face nearly splitting from how normal I felt hugging his warmth in the chill of the evening. But he didn’t even look at me. Instead, his face grew dark and his eyes began to glow molten gold, a growl rattling in his throat.

  I followed his stare and gasped in horror at the sight of my car, smashed and broken, tires slashed, one glowing word etched into the side, PRODITOR.

  “Mother fuckers,” I sobbed, turning away from the threat. “Ten bucks says no one saw it, either.” I snarled at the five guys standing around the valet booth. “Did you? Did you see who did this?” They all shook their heads. “Right. Did they even have to pay for your silence, or are you all doing it for the entertainment value?” No one answered me, but five pairs of terrified eyes turned to Grayson, who stalked toward them, the growling growing in intensity and volume.

  “We didn’t see anything I swear.” The closest of them skittered back as he spoke. “It just appeared, like a giant invisible hand was crushing it.” He continued to retreat, the stink of fear rising off him in waves, until he fell on his ass whimpering. “We already called the cops, man. What else could we do, it just happened.”

  I crossed the street and took a closer look at the car, numb to the people who slowed down to rubberneck at the damage as they drove by. Proditor…traitor. Latin, of course, the first language western witches learn, even before their native tongue. Latin, because witches and religions made it a language of power.

  Hands gripped my shoulders and guided me back inside to a plush upholstered bench in the foyer. “I’m a little rusty on my Latin, but doesn’t that mean, uh…”

  “Traitor. It means traitor. And only a witch’s golem could have done so much damage and stayed invisible, so the big glowing sign in Latin was overkill anyway.”

  It was the witches had vandalized my car while I danced with Grayson. A childish, ugly prank meant to ruin my night and remind me I wasn’t allowed to have friends or a tribe of my own.

  “Was it the warlock?” I shook my head in response to him, fresh tears clogging my throat. “Was it your aunt?” I nodded, and followed my agreement with a shrug. Maybe it was her, maybe it was done without her knowing. Hatred of anything impure was a basic tenet of the witches ideology, despite the fact it went against everything good and wholesome about Wicca and the worship of Gaia.

  “They’re such fucking hypocrites, Grayson. Your people, even the terrible ones, they care about honor. I slipped my hand under his jacket to where I’d felt extra bulk. “You’ve been fighting, and Freya thinks you’re about to be the new alpha.” He scuffed his toes on the floor and sat next to me.

  “The fighting is hard, but yeah, the rules are pretty clear.”

  “Do you know what the one rule among witches is?” I asked, tears stinging my eyelids. “Harm none.” I scoffed. “An' it harm none, do what ye will.” I motioned toward the door and my squashed, defiled car.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” I looked up at Sylvie, her expression a mask of concern. She was hanging on Tryst like she’d had a little too much to drink, and he was staring out the glass doors in horror. He tugged on her hand and pointed outside. “Oh, shit. Do you know who did it?”

  I reiterated other than "witches", I didn’t have a clue. The lead valet was talking to the police at the bottom of the stairs and Tryst’s suit was bound to mark himself and maybe even Sylvie as Fae. No need for the good detective to make her harassment of me a Fae issue.

  “Look. The witch detective that’s probably going to use this as an excuse to drag me back off to an interrogation room would happily do the same to you, Sylvie. You still haven’t worked out your issues with Orson. You’d better go.”

  Tryst tried to lead Sylvie away, but she sat next to me, leaning in to speak softly to me. “Tryst wishes to speak with you. He’s not used to being put off, but he’s been patient with you because of who your father is.”

  “I don’t like what he does. It’s too close to the work of a warlock.”

  “Just meet with him. He knows everyone, moves in every circle, even the witches go to him.” I nodded, my eyes meeting his. They were dark, possessive, and moved over me like I was a particularly fine cut of meat he wished to buy. I wasn’t flattered.

  But if he knew everyone, maybe he had information to share. A guy like him didn’t give anything away for free. “Okay, I’ll meet with you. Sylvie, text me the information. A simple exchange to start with, right? I’ll listen to your pitch, and in return, I want some information.”

  Tryst licked his lips and leered at me. “I cannot wait to have you to myself.” In the blink of an eye, Grayson was on his feet between us. Sylvie giggled and winked at me before moving back to Tryst’s side.

  “You do look lovely dressed like a woman, niece,” she tittered as they moved off. “Like Cinderella at the ball.” Grayson held out a hand to me and opened his mouth to speak when a rush of chilly air hit us both and made him spin around, putting me at his back as he faced the new threat.

  “Morgana,” a grating voice called out from the top of the stairs. “You are awfully brave, showing your face here after what you’ve done.”

  My car was outside, crushed like a boulder had rolled over it. My home had been invaded, I’d been framed for a murder and survived an assassination attempt, and I was only halfway through my week. Rage burned away the fear she provoked in me and threatened to pour out of me like flames through the building.

  I swayed on my feet, fists clenched tight in the effort to control myself. I knew I must be bleeding. So much for the dress. “Don’t respond to her,” a stern voice behind me ordered. And enter detective bitch-face. Fuck me. I backed up against the wall, keeping both practitioners in my line of sight.

  “Detective, so nice to see you,” I chirped, doing my best to hide the pounding of my heart and the almost overwhelming urge to raze the entire building to the ground and damn everyone inside.

  “I saw your car. Somebody doesn’t like you very much, do they?” I almost cried at her matter-of-fact tone.

  “No, detective. I guess they don’t.” I didn’t know if she’d done it herself, or if Portia had simply mentioned it was too bad my car was in one piece and some obsequious bitch had done it for her to get noticed. I leveled my gaze at Tracy, trusting Grayson to warn me if Portia moved. “Some people will do anything to hurt someone they hate, won’t they?”

  Her hand wasn’t near her gun, but her face was angry and hard. “Yeah, it looks like they would. Like maybe even try to bullshit the police to get someone in trouble.” Her voice carried a warning I knew wasn’t meant for me, and my own hate and fury were pricked through with a tiny light of hope.

  “Or sending someone to their house to kill them,” I added. “Like the warlock who almost nailed my ass to the wall tonight.”

  I had the detective’s full attention. “What are you saying? Do you have a name to put with your accusation?”

  “No, I don’t, detective, just like I don’t know who made the golem that destroyed my car.” I glanced at Portia. “Doesn’t change the fact I was attacked in my home by a masked warlock, and now…” I gestured toward my car. “I’m getting tired, detective. I live by my creed to harm none, but I’ve forgotten why.”

  She took a step toward me, and another, hands raised in front of her like she was trying to calm a wild animal. “But what about the witch she kidnapped?” Portia called out, her voice almost panicked. “What about her crimes against her people?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Portia. Where in the hell would I have taken a witch, when I’m under surveillance by the police?” Confusion clouded her features and she stammered without replying. I began to chuckle. It grew, all the strain of th
e past days leaking out of me in hysterical laughter making my body shake. “Oh, by Dana,” I cackled. “You really did it to yourself, didn’t you?” tears streamed down my cheeks. Part of my mind seemed to pull away, curiously watching me lose my sanity, but I couldn’t stop.

  “I don’t know what…”

  “Of course, you do, you old bitch,” I wheezed. “You’ve been working so hard to get me jailed so you can have me executed, you painted yourself into a corner. You know I didn’t kidnap anyone, the cops watching me everywhere I go would have seen it.”

  “Well, she’s gone, and you were the last one to talk to her.”

  “Good. I’m glad she escaped your house arrest. I hope she’s somewhere she can be happy, away from your tyranny.”

  Tracy sat next to me on the bench and touched my hand. I knew she was reading me for falsehoods, but I didn’t care. I turned my palm over, so she could touch the wounds from my fingernails, the blood there already dry and flaking. I knew she’d find no lies in me.

  But I felt something in her too, an uncertainness that hadn’t been there in the interrogation room, or when she confronted me at work. Detective Mills was starting to have second thoughts about my perceived inherent villainy, and our people’s unfailing integrity. I could only pray her own sense of duty would win, when my aunt forced her to choose between being a good police detective and being a proper witch.

  Sixteen

  “We need to go. I’ll have a tow truck pick up your vehicle and take it to the shop I use.” Grayson took my hand from Tracy and helped me to my feet again, his eyes lingering on my leg as the dress fell away from it. “If you need Ms. Silk, she’ll be at my place.” I raised my eyebrows at him, but he ignored me, giving the detective a slight bow before he led me away. “Don’t look back. Just walk away like they didn’t even effect you.”

  “I lost my shit and was laughing like a crazy person, Grayson. I doubt that escaped their notice.”

  “Yeah, I saw Portia Mac Solais’s face when you laughed at her. It was horrifying,” he snickered softly. “I’ve never been so proud of a non-shifter before.”

  He handed the valet his claim check and the kid swallowed hard and raced off, his Adam’s apple still bobbing madly as he dashed toward the parking structure next door. A cop was talking to the other guys, taking notes as one of the valets pointed at the car and made a smashing motion, grinding his fist into his palm.

  “It’s just a car. Niall’s brother owns a dealership. The car’s going there, and we’ll get you a loaner in the morning.”

  “I don’t want a loaner, Grayson. I want to be left alone to live my life. I’m done playing on the defensive. The Witches Creed is do what you will, but harm none. But I’m not allowed to be a witch, am I?”

  The look on his face was something I couldn’t quite read, but he nodded. “So?”

  “So, I will be Fae. The Fae don’t turn the other cheek, Grayson. They fight, they kill if necessary. They will stop at nothing to protect themselves and their homes.”

  The car pulled up in front of us and bumped against the curb. Grayson scowled at the poor young shifter but handed him a twenty and winked at him as he opened my door for me. He ignored my silent question until we’d pulled away and were headed towards the upscale apartments he’d taken me to before.

  “They’re good kids,” he finally broke the silence halfway up the winding road to the Piedmont. “They told the police everything they saw, and they would’ve alerted me if they’d seen who did it.”

  “Because you are the alpha.”

  “Temporarily.” He shook his head and stared out the windshield. “There’s never been a gap in leadership before. The challenger wins, the alpha dies or secedes, there’s always someone in charge.”

  “But Gideon was in his prime and there was no challenge.”

  “Exactly. We’ve been forced to rely on archaic rules some of our kind didn’t know existed. Niall and I were Gideon’s left and right hands. We carried out his sentencing of shifters, watched his back in public and in private, and assisted in the coalition.”

  “Will you fight Niall?” I tried to keep the concern out of my voice. The handsome Irish wolf had to be powerful to have attained his position, but I couldn’t imagine him being able to best Grayson, who I’d seen in action.

  “Worried for him?” Grayson grumbled, and I shrugged. “No, Niall isn’t interested in running the show. He’s a diplomat, as much for the parties as for keeping the peace. He just wants to drink, screw beautiful women, and leave the heavy choices to someone else.”

  I let go of the breath I’d been holding. “I would hate to see best friends torn apart by power.”

  He didn’t respond, but the mood in the car got less chilly, and he was almost smiling when he pulled into a parking spot on the street. “C’mon, let’s get you out of that dress.” I folded my arms and stared out the window. “And into some sweat pants, while I cook us up a couple of burgers,” he finished after a short pause.

  I leveled my best bitch-faced stare at him as he tried to stifle a grin. “All right, good save. Don’t look so happy with yourself.” As soon as he hit unlock I jumped out and slammed the door, making him jog to catch up with me. My heels beat a staccato fuck you with every step that I was sure he heard because he didn’t say another word until we were standing in his apartment and he was locking the door.

  “Okay, it’s weird to do that,” he sighed, unlocking it, then flipping it locked again. “I’ve never locked my door before.” He looked so unhappy, I almost offered to leave the door unlocked. But then he ran his fingers down my arm to my hand. “I’ll show you to your room.”

  “Which is not your room, right?” He scoffed at my answer and pulled me toward the hall I knew would lead to two bedrooms and a guest bath. It was a similar layout to home, which was to be expected. After all, how inventive could you be, creating floors of separate living spaces that all had to be square to fit together?

  The room he offered me was sparsely furnished, with a queen bed and a desk on one wall. There was no art on the walls and no clothing in the closet. Somehow, knowing he hadn’t put any effort into trying to make it inviting, made me feel better. This was no room to begin seduction in.

  “Hey,” he interrupted my thoughts as he came in with clothes and a towel over one arm. “Sorry, it’s not, uh, pretty in here. I don’t have many guests.”

  “Well, I’m sure the ones you have stay in your room, anyway,” I scoffed. “The room is perfect for me. Comfortable, yet uncomplicated.”

  He tossed the clothes on the bed and scowled at me. “I’m not Niall. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t too busy trying to protect my pack, or keep it from tearing itself apart, to even have a proper good time.” He turned to go, then spun back around. “Like tonight. You look like walking sex, smell like heaven, and we couldn’t even enjoy an evening meant to honor my best friend and the only father I’ve ever known.”

  My jaw hit the floor, my heart in my mouth. “Shit. I’m sorry, Grayson.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it, Gorgeous. I get it.”

  “Get what?”

  “You’re just completely self-absorbed.”

  Without a word, I pushed past him. My chest hurt from his words and I wanted to get away from him and back to my own apartment.

  “You’re not being judged. It comes from having to watch your back and never getting to just relax and trust anybody.”

  “I’ve done everything in my power to be accommodating, trustworthy, dependable, for everyone else, even though I’ve never gotten the same in return, Grayson. You don’t have the right or the understanding to judge anything.”

  “I told you, I’m not judging. I’m just trying to tell you you’re safe here. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to…unless I’m saving your life,” he quickly amended. It made my heart flutter, and I frowned to cover the rush of whatever I felt that made my chest seem too tight for my lungs.

  I halted my dash for
the door and stared him down. “Was there any other way you could’ve phrased it, that didn’t make me sound like a narcissistic bitch?”

  He put his arms around me, pinning mine between us. “You’re Fae. You love honesty.”

  “I’ve lived with very human witches my entire life. I’ve learned diplomacy,” I grumbled into his chest. He smelled like the woods and soap, and under them was musk and fur and the wild hunt.

  I’d caught the same off Freya, and assumed she was part Fae. But what if all shifters were? What if that was the root of all shifters, no matter their shape? I pulled away enough I could meet his gaze.

  “Grayson, are all shifters Fae?”

  He laughed and brushed hair back from my face. “Are you telling me I’m Fae?”

  “Well, you, and Freya, for sure. I’ve never been as close physically to any other shifter.” I scoffed at myself. “It’s dumb. Never mind.”

  “I smell like the Fae because I’m always around them, nothing more.”

  I nodded and pressed my face into the folds of his silk shirt. “I don’t smell Fae, Grayson,” I said, breathing him in like a drowning woman who finally found the surface. “Just magic.” When I turned my face up to him again, his mouth was so close to mine I could breathe the warm air he exhaled. It made my power flare to connect with that whisper of magic in him, and his responded to me, his eyes glowing gold when I stared into them.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he rasped, but his arms clenched around me and I could feel him pressed hard and tight against me.

  “I don’t know, Gray,” I breathed. He lowered his mouth to mine, brushed my lips, then attacked me like I’d torn the controls off a dam of need. I opened my mouth to him, tasted the champagne he’d drunk on his tongue as it tangled with mine, his hands cupping my ass and lifting me to him.

  When I pulled away to catch my breath he lifted me higher and kissed my neck, his teeth, tongue, and lips sending my pulsing through the roof as I wrapped my legs around him, my dress hiking up around my waist, so I could lock my ankles behind him.