Of Fear and Faith: A Witch and Shapeshifter Romance (Death and Destiny Trilogy Book 1)

by N. D. Jones

  Satisfied, Sanura pulled the covers up to Betsy’s shoulders then quietly walked toward the door. Dimming the lights, Sanura whispered a soft, “Goodnight, little sister. May the gods continue to bless and watch over you.”

  When she exited the room, it was to Assefa and Mike staring at the picture Betsy had drawn, their faces grave, no words needed. They knew what it was.

  “We need to talk,” she told the men.

  “I know,” Mike quickly responded. “How about we meet Makena for dinner and the three of us discuss the case?” He reached for Sanura’s arm, making a clear effort to exclude Assefa.

  She moved her arm out of his reach. “No, Mike, all of us need to talk. Mom’s house is a good idea. We can speak freely there.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Sanura? For the love of Dr. Phil, you only just met the guy and you want to bring him into our inner circle. You’re taking a huge risk, and for what? Because you think he’s good-looking with all those muscles and fancy clothes?” Mike snorted. “Well, let me tell you what, there’s a whole station full of women who would agree with you. That doesn’t mean you drop your common sense and start thinking with your girlie parts.”

  Yeah, well, she did find the special agent attractive, disturbingly so, but that didn’t mean she’d lost perspective. “You know me better than that, and I don’t appreciate the deliberate insult.”

  She looked at the man they were talking about, and that damn wickedly pleasant scent came again, smacking against all of Sanura’s well-fashioned walls. She shook it off and refocused on Mike. “Assefa can be trusted.” And how she knew that as fact, Sanura couldn’t reason. But every pulse point in her body responded to his, her aura tingling, her mind reeling from the possible implication of the introduction of this stranger into her life. But he could be trusted. That she knew with eerie certainty.

  “We need to speak candidly, and this hospital isn’t a safe place for us to do that. My mother lives about twenty-five minutes from here. If you’re free, I would like to invite you to dinner.”

  Assefa glanced at a disgruntled Mike, irritation clear in his cool, brown eyes. But when he turned his gaze back to Sanura, there was softness there, warmth even. “Thanks. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a long time.”

  Mike shot boulder-sized daggers at them, but Sanura and Assefa turned away from him. Neither spoke a word as they walked to the elevator, not about Mike, Betsy, the killer, or the energy pulsing between them. Sometimes when there was just too much to say, it was often best to say nothing.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Two hours later, Assefa arrived at the Williams residence in Mount Washington, a small suburb of Baltimore City. Among the tree-lined, winding streets Assefa drove down were professional offices, shops, boutiques, galleries, and cafes. At the intersection of Falls Road and Kelly Avenue, he saw a sign for a natural food market. He took a left onto Kelly Avenue and made a mental note to check out the market on his way home. He needed groceries, and he wasn’t so much of a bachelor that he couldn’t cook a decent meal.

  The monotone female voice of the GPS alerted him to his arrival. Assefa pulled in behind what he knew to be Mike’s please-wash-me-I’m-owned-by-a-slob mobile. The car was a beautiful dark-green, 1972 Mustang Convertible that, unfortunately, had Mike McKutchen as its owner. Assefa shook his head, closing the door to his car when he exited. What a waste.

  Assefa hustled up the steps and to the front door. He rang the doorbell, feeling he was late, although Sanura hadn’t given him an exact dinner time. Her mother’s address and Sanura’s cell phone number, in case he got lost, were all she’d given him before Mike virtually dragged her away from him and toward her car. But it was now almost seven o’clock. He grimaced, thinking he’d probably taken too much time in the shower and in finding something to wear that wasn’t one of his normal blue or black suits.

  Assefa reasoned he’d lost all his cool points earlier in the day when he’d mindlessly found himself staring, openmouthed, at Sanura Williams. Even now, he could feel the residual energy from her aura tempting him with its rhythm, making his own respond in a most primal mating dance. No woman had ever tapped into that special part of him. The part that was sacred and dangerous. It wanted more, wanted the dance Sanura’s aura dangled in front of him like a sensually gyrating Hula dancer, lei about her neck, arms open wide and inviting.

  Assefa raised his finger to ring the doorbell for a second time when it slowly opened. The flood of light from the inside settled upon an attractive woman in her mid-fifties. She could easily pass as an older version of Sanura in both height and body structure. The woman smiled warmly, eyes reflecting the same quiet strength as Sanura’s.

  “I’m Makena Williams. You must be Agent Berber.” Makena stepped aside and allowed him to enter the single-family, brick home.

  “I am. Thanks for having me to your home.” He took the offered hand in a soft handshake.

  Makena frowned and looked at their joined hands. Belatedly realizing his unintentional insult, he tightened his grip, giving her a respectfully firm handshake. Appeased, she gave a slight nod and smiled.

  Makena Williams was indeed an exceptionally attractive woman, her full-tooth smile reminding him of a toothpaste commercial actress. Definitely one of her finer features, but far from her only one. Like Sanura, she had long, unprocessed dark-brown hair that framed an oval face and fell over lean shoulders in a thick wave of barely-tamed curls. Dressed in gray dress slacks and a black-and-gray abstract designed blouse, the professional clothing did nothing to conceal the older woman’s full-body appeal. An appeal his widower of an uncle, even his uptight father, would find impossible to resist. Yet, it was her knowing brown eyes and powerful aura signature that gave him pause. She knew. Two minutes in her presence, and she knows what I am. Damn.

  He followed Makena into the dining room where they joined Mike and Sanura. Mike extended Assefa his usual frown, but Sanura greeted him with a pleasant, sensuous smile. With that, he knew his manly primping wasn’t wasted.

  She bit her bottom lip and gazed at him with unguarded attraction, then immediately lowered her eyes when she realized she’d been caught. Clearly discomfited, Sanura looked away, excused herself, and walked into the kitchen, followed by her mother a minute later.

  “So?” Makena asked, turning the sink faucet on full blast before taking a seat at the kitchen table across from Sanura.

  “Don’t start, Mom.”

  “What? Start what, Sanura? I only said one word.” Amusement glinted in Makena’s eyes.

  “Don’t play innocent with me. I know you.”

  “And I know you.” Makena pointed toward the dining room. “We both know what he is. I assume you invited Assefa here to tell him who and what you are, so you and Mike can drop the façade and get on with the business of capturing the monster responsible for killing our kind.”

  “That was the plan, but—”

  “No buts, it must be done. He’s the one and you know it.”

  “I also thought Richard was the one, and look how that turned out.”

  Makena scoffed. “Richard was never the one. You only wanted him to be. He’s a nice man, and he made you happy for a while, which made me happy. But I never once thought he was the one. If you’re truly honest, you’ll admit this and allow yourself to move on. For Oya sake, Sanura, he isn’t even one of us. It would’ve been impossible.”

  Sanura sighed, conceding the last point. In fact, it was the reason why they were no longer together. Sanura hadn’t dated anyone since Richard had broken up with her. Her trust factor was low, and the thought of opening herself up again to get to know someone new, taking with it the possibility of having him hurt her too, was a risk Sanura wasn’t sure she was capable of taking.

  “For our people, sweetheart, there’s only one other. We can spend a lifetime trying to find that one. It’s built into our DNA, whether we like it or not. And once we’ve found our other half, we cannot deny it. You feel the pull as much a
s he does. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be here. It’ll take the both of you, working in concert, to capture and vanquish the predator.”

  Makena reached across the table and covered Sanura’s hand with her own. “Your father was my one, and I was his. I had to leave my home in Nigeria and your father had to leave Trinidad before we found each other in America. Circumstances will always draw the two together. It’s the way of our kind. The reason why we’ve survived. The two of you are destined to save the world from the one who would see us all in a watery grave.”

  “I know, but what if he doesn’t understand or accept the truth?” Not that she truly accepted the truth herself.

  “You think he doesn’t understand, Sanura, but I’m sure he understands more than you’re giving him credit for. His inner spirit is as powerful and fierce as your own. I could sense that the minute I opened the door and let him in. You must go through with the ritual to be absolutely sure, but you know this already.”

  She did know, but her mother always had a gentle yet unrelenting way of helping her shine light in corners she would otherwise leave dark and unexcavated.

  “Give him a chance. If you don’t, you may not live to regret it,” Makena said, sounding far too prophetic.

  “‘Live to regret it’?” Sanura repeated, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t be so dramatic, Mom. Having been an attorney, I would’ve thought you could come up with a better cliché than that.”

  Makena arched an eyebrow of her own before bestowing Sanura with her haughtiest judge glare.

  Sanura smiled and squeezed her mother’s hand. “What would I ever do without you?”

  “Let’s hope, for both our sakes, you won’t have to find out for a very long time.” Makena returned the smile. She looked at her daughter thoughtfully, then a wickedly playful grin crossed her lovely face. “So what does he smell like? And don’t tell me he isn’t emitting his pheromones, or you haven’t detected it, because I won’t believe you.”

  She rolled her eyes at Makena’s annoyingly smug smile, not wanting to admit her almost overpowering physical attraction to a man she’d only just met a few hours ago. After a few silent moments, Sanura huffed and gave in. “Fine. He smells of a sweet spice.”

  To Makena’s credit and Sanura’s relief, her mother allowed the subject of pheromones to drop, chucking Sanura under the chin instead in a way that told her she was pleased with her response. “Now, let’s rejoin the men before Mike burns a hole in Assefa with his overprotective eyes and sends the man running.”

  Doubtful.

  Nothing about Assefa screamed “coward,” although, she admitted, retaking her seat at the table, his aura thrummed with the tempo of a sensitive soul. But a sensitive soul was not the same as the soul of a coward. A man with a coward’s soul would turn tail and run, whereas a man with a sensitive soul would search out every avenue of peace, using violence as a last resort, then praying for his soul and the soul of his enemy when he delivered the killing blow.

  After dinner, Makena discreetly excused both she and Mike, leaving Sanura and Assefa alone in the dining room. Assefa had caught the show of motherly matchmaking, but he was unwilling to complain. Makena had given him an opportunity to get to know Sanura better without Mike’s watchful and intruding eyes. Obviously, Sanura picked up on her mother’s intention as well, her lively conversation at dinner now replaced by uncomfortable silence.

  “Would you like to go for a walk?” Assefa asked. He stood then moved away from the table.

  “Yes.” Her relief was immediate and clear. She stood, leading the way from the dining room and to the front door.

  It was a balmy spring night, stars overhead casting a hypnotic glow, making Assefa feel as if he was the right man, in the right place, at the right time. He spared Sanura a quick glance. With the right woman.

  They walked the length of the block in silence, Assefa patiently waiting for Sanura to work out whatever was on her mind. He had a good idea of what she wanted to say to him. Assefa had, after all, overheard most of her conversation with Makena. He would’ve heard more of the discussion if Mike hadn’t diverted his attention with station gossip. The detective knew all—affairs, financial troubles, health problems. Apparently, nothing escaped the man’s keen eyes and ears, and it was just as apparent that Detective McKutchen enjoyed being the teller of other people’s not-so-secret secrets.

  And then there was the running water. Assefa almost laughed at that one. Makena Williams really did know what he was, and apparently, she’d learned a lot being married to a man just like him. He wondered how many times she’d played that trick on her husband. Many, he assumed, for the water pressure in the kitchen faucet was abnormally strong, the sound distractingly high. But he’d managed. He always managed.

  As they made their way back toward the house, Sanura finally spoke. “I gave Betsy Ferrell a charm bracelet today to hide her scent so the killer can’t find her.” She paused, nervously biting her bottom lip, then tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

  “I know.”

  Apparently, that wasn’t the answer she expected to hear from him, her arched eyebrows and frown saying as much. “You know?”

  “Of course, I know, Sanura. When I first entered the room, I cataloged her scent and knew she was in the closet. Deductive reasoning aside, my sense of smell is almost 100 percent accurate. When she came out of the closet her scent had changed, and a sparkling charm bracelet dangled from her wrist.”

  “What do you know of charms, Assefa?”

  He smiled a little more than necessary, then took her hand and placed a soft kiss on the top. “I know Mike wears a silver necklace he tries to hide, under his shirt, to cover the unique scent all dwarfs emit. I know Dr. Peterson wears a silver watch to cover his were-leopard scent.” Although, Assefa’s other talent allowed him to figure the ME out, there was no need to get into all of that tonight. Keep it simple, Berber. Don’t frighten the woman.

  Sanura jerked her hand from his. “You seem to know a lot, Agent Berber.” A brief pause, and then she asked, “Do you have a profile of me?”

  They stopped at the bottom of the steps to Makena’s home. At 10:00 p.m., the street was quiet and free of people. Save for the porch lights from the neighboring homes and a few street lamps, it was dark and still, just the two of them. But Assefa didn’t need light to see Sanura’s beautifully unsure face. He had excellent night vision. All of his kind did.

  Assefa purposefully reclaimed her hand, hoping she would relax and open up to him. But she didn’t know him. No more than he knew her. Yet there was something unexplainable between them, something that, upon first seeing her, had forced its way into him and had refused to leave. It was with him now, lurking deep within, setting up stakes as if it planned to lay claim and never leave. And the most disturbing thing about it was that it didn’t feel like the uninvited guest that it was. No, it had knocked, and without conscious thought, Assefa had opened up his soul and let it in. Let her in. Insane.

  “I know you value your privacy and safety against those who may do you or your loved one’s harm,” he began, pleased she hadn’t yanked her hand away from him again. “I know you use your knowledge and skill to create charms to protect the prey from the predators. Your mother probably wears one as well, but not in her home. Or maybe,” he said, scratching his head, “she took it off to test me. I’m sure you told her about me before I arrived.”

  She briefly lowered her eyes. He was right.

  “I also know that while I can’t see it, you also wear a charm. Although, I suspect it does more than cover your scent.” The last part was truly a guess. He had no idea why that baseless claim came pouring from his mouth, although something within him knew it to be true. “Finally, I know only one species can make charms like the one you gave to Elizabeth Ferrell.”

  She tensed.

  He paused.

  A car sped up the street, making a rolling stop when it reached the stop sign.

  Assefa tightened his grip on
Sanura’s hand then gave her his most charming smile. “Only a witch could make such a charm. And only a powerful witch could make a charm potent enough to fool the predator we’re after.” He wanted to say more but knew tonight was too soon for full disclosure. Sanura was already skittish. He didn’t think it wise to push.

  Keeping her hand firmly in his own, he began walking the few steps to the front door, eyes, nose, and ears alert to any potential danger. He sensed nothing, nothing but the now-familiar magical energy wafting from Sanura—his witch. Not yet, but soon.

  “You figured all that out about me in the short time we spent together at the hospital?” she asked when they’d reached the last step, the house quiet, serene energy surrounding it. Witch magic. Subtle but effective.

  “You smelled wrong. I was drawn to you the minute I saw you, and there’s only one reason to explain our instant connection.”

  She gave him a guarded but sincere smile, which Assefa latched on to as a good sign. He leaned in close and gave her a short peck on the cheek. “Prepare the ritual and I’ll be there.” He gave Sanura his “friend plus” smile. The plus was whatever she wanted to add to what he hoped was the beginning of a friendship.

  Sanura said nothing, just stared at him.

  He nodded to the front door. “Go in, so I can make sure you’re safe.”

  Without a word, Sanura dug in a metallic leather handbag she wore crossed over her body and removed a ring of keys. Unlocking the wrought iron security door, she entered the house and closed the door behind her. But she didn’t move, just stood there watching him with those big, brown eyes of hers. And Assefa couldn’t help but wonder what she saw when she looked at him. A threat? A protector? Her mate?

  Assefa could still feel her eyes on him as he walked down the steps and got into his car. Once settled, he turned around to see the front door closed and Sanura gone. He put his key in the ignition, turned it to the right and the engine came to life, strong and smooth. He touched his lips, still feeling the warmth of her cheek and wondered if he’d finally found his witch. He then grimaced, knowing if she were his witch—the witch—everything in their world would change. Then again, maybe not. Perhaps it’s just a myth, a story passed down from one generation to the next and told to children as a bedtime story.