Kept

by Shawntelle Madison

  The guests stared in shock. All of them were werewolves, and most of them suspected this visitor—who stank of magic—wasn’t a welcome one.

  “After I deal with you tonight, I’ll hunt down the warlock who helped you trap me,” Lisbetta purred. “Would you like to tell me his name before I pull out your lying tongue?”

  “Let me slit his throat,” Lisbetta’s father said. The word slit came out like a serpent’s low hiss. Compared to Lisbetta, he was less reserved in his anger. His pale fingers jerked madly.

  One of the guards in the corner hunched over. His face bulged from the approaching change. Other guards followed suit. A fight was coming. I felt it stirring in the air, and it drew me in to join them.

  Instead of giving in to the urge, though, I contemplated a question—Why the hell was I standing where I’d surely get mauled? My weak legs finally moved, and I backed toward the nearest wall.

  Roscoe’s date trembled in her seat, and then she bolted for the door.

  Lisbetta’s hands flowed through the air. The crates slid across the floor and slammed in front of the exit. Sparks danced across her fingers, filling the air with the tang of acidic spring fairy magic.

  Roscoe’s date yelled for help and banged her fists against the barrier, while the wolves crept up on the fairy trio in a standard attack formation. Lisbetta’s parents continued to hold their ground with their weapons.

  Wolves crept toward them from the front and the back. Roscoe continued to sit comfortably in his seat, while his guests all stood. At first I thought the wolves would be the ones to come for the parents. But it was the armed guards who moved.

  The men with AK-47s opened fire.

  I gasped, expecting the fairies to fall bleeding—their bodies contorting—to the floor. But they stood there, unmoving, as if the guns had fired blanks. Bullet shells rained down, and the fairies continued to just stand there.

  “Are you done yet?” For a moment Lisbetta appeared weakened, but then I realized she was merely bored. Her hands rose again. When they fell, the guns smashed to bits.

  “No more metal toys. No more games.” Her normally high-pitched voice sounded strange. More guttural. More primal.

  Roscoe glanced at the wolves behind Lisbetta. They rushed at her. I couldn’t tell how many. I saw only the pack leaping forward again, now toward Lisbetta’s mother. She moved deftly. The first attacker didn’t even touch her. The second flew straight into her blow. Its belly opened as if her blade were slicing through butter. The rest of the wolves went for Lisbetta’s father, but he was just as deadly. These fairies definitely knew how to use their weapons.

  Another wave of werewolves came for them—a larger and much faster one. From their approach, these wolves were far more experienced. The first one approached Lisbetta’s mother from the front, while the second came from the rear. A dark wolf grabbed her by the arm with an elongated snout and snapped down. The fairy screamed. Another one clamped down on the back of her neck. Now everything sped up, happening too fast. Lisbetta’s father had a wolf on his leg while another disarmed him.

  Lisbetta finally moved. And I wished I had closed my eyes at the sight. Her tiny form swarmed the wolves, leaping on one, then another. When she touched them, something strange happened. They folded in on themselves and withered away. Skin grayed and wrinkled. Hair turned white. Bodies convulsed. I couldn’t help but remember her young voice when she whispered at my neck, “Your life force smells warm and alive.”

  What kind of damn fairy drained the living? But drain them she did. With each touch, she moved faster. Lisbetta showed no mercy to the wolf that attacked her mother. With one lingering touch, it shrank to dusty bones.

  The once-bold guests slowly backed away from the carnage in front of us.

  Roscoe flipped open his cell phone and yelled into it, “Primus, get your ass down here right now!” Then, as Lisbetta advanced toward him, he inched backward. “I’ll have your sorry ass for every piece-of-shit spell you failed to cast. That girl got in, and she’s fucking pissed.”

  I just about laughed, watching Roscoe squirm. A line of sweat formed on his brow. His fancy jacket had sweat stains under the armpits. Wow, she’d worked on his psyche pretty fast.

  Lisbetta took several bold steps, then froze in place. Her face showed effort as she tried to move. The scent in the air changed. A faint whiff of cinnamon grew strong—and became overwhelming. A powerful spellcaster had arrived.

  The man in question materialized in a black suit with a dark green shirt. His hair was long and dirty blond, with a trace of gray along the edges. He stood between Lisbetta and Roscoe, in the fifteen feet or so that separated them.

  I glanced around for her parents. Her mother perched on bended knee behind Lisbetta, nursing her bleeding arm. Her father lay on the ground, unmoving.

  “About time you got here,” Roscoe said with a visible pant.

  From the wave of magic around the newcomer, I suspected he was the warlock Roscoe had on speed dial. The man approached Lisbetta with a smug grin. “Now, how did you get out of my little cage?”

  He stepped forward. I wanted to speak, but I only growled instead.

  When the warlock glanced my way, I dropped closer to the ground and tried to look insignificant. Rather difficult with all the madness around me.

  “If you had only stayed put, your family never would’ve been hurt. But look what you’ve done.” The warlock continued to smile at her. “You’ve brought them right to me, so now I have two new playthings.”

  Lisbetta spat in some language I didn’t recognize. But I doubted she was reciting a nursery rhyme, from the way a bit of spittle clung to her chin.

  Primus placed his palm up and another bracelet materialized in his hand. “Once I put this little lovely back on your arm, we’ll hold another auction, to see where you’ll be useful. It’s a shame the Jackson pack won’t be interested buyers again.” He strolled toward her. “They paid a lot of money to assist Tamara’s spell-casting. I’m sure it would’ve been worth it in the end.”

  He fingered the bracelet. Lisbetta stared at it, but her expression didn’t waver.

  Primus glanced around the room. “So, who wants the honor of putting this on her?”

  “Why not do it yourself?” Lisbetta said with a smirk.

  Primus’ eyebrow rose and he shook his index finger at her. “I already know your range, sweetheart. I know your touch is a lot more powerful than most.”

  Lisbetta laughed. “I’ll slaughter any of these dogs you bring my way. Why not feed me more of them before I feast on you?”

  “Why don’t you have one of your boys take care of this?” He turned to Roscoe.

  Roscoe shook his head vigorously, then he spotted me. “Her! Make her do it!”

  Fear sucked me in, and I wished I could melt into the wall.

  Primus shifted his gaze to me, and then he pulled at me. At first I sensed it as a slight tug on my midsection. But then it strengthened, until I was shuffling across the floor. I tried to fight it. To use what little strength I had to propel myself in reverse. Nothing worked. My hand snaked out as if I were an eager child coming for candy. I heard whimpers and thought that perhaps Lisbetta’s father had awoken. But something inside told me that the whimpers came from me. That I knew this would be the end of me, either by Lisbetta’s hands, Primus’s, or Roscoe’s.

  I never should have returned here. For once, I should have taken advice, Nick’s advice.

  When I came to a halt in front of Primus, I noticed that, up close, he was a handsome man. His skin was flawless, without a single wrinkle. He continued to hold the bracelet out to me.

  With everything I had, I willed my hand to my side. After I closed my eyes, I finally felt it move. It shifted downward, as if something powerful, something besides my will, was pulling it there.

  Was it Lisbetta?

  Someone else?

  From my side, my hand moved to my pocket. It twitched as it tucked inside the fold of my jeans, then rested o
n something warm—something about the size of a pocketknife. I searched my thoughts frantically, trying to remember what the hell was in there. A pack of gum? A tissue box? Hand sanitizer? I’d gone daft standing there waiting for my demise. Now, when my hand emerged, I opened my eyes. I was holding something golden and rectangular. It vibrated.

  Primus whispered, “Most unexpected.”

  Then the lights flickered.

  Primus waved his hand toward the box, but nothing happened. His confident smile broke.

  Lisbetta blinked and then she took a step toward him.

  I just about shit my pants.

  What happened next wasn’t pretty. Whatever tricks or spells Primus had, the golden box had sent them flying south for the winter.

  Lisbetta came at him, leaping through the air. She landed on him, clamping down, refusing to let go. The stench of cinnamon overwhelmed my nostrils. Sparks—bright red and orange—flew from her hands, while the essence of Primus’s life force flowed into her. It was rather comical—for a moment anyway. Here was this little girl hugging a grown man. All the while, Primus screamed again and again—punching and flailing while Lisbetta drained her prey.

  Not far from us, Roscoe was cursing in Russian, running to join his floozy at the blocked door. “Shit! Shit! Shit! Oh, God, help me!”

  The whole time, I stood there like an idiot, holding the golden box in the air. I had no idea what the hell it did, but if I just had to stand there to save my ass, I’d do it.

  Dust covered Lisbetta’s hands. She even had a few handprints on her pretty coat. I found it creepy that my first thought was to offer her something to clean it off.

  Lisbetta walked slowly toward Roscoe. His girlfriend now tried to get help on her cell phone, but who the hell could she call at a time like this? Another warlock? Roscoe turned to face Lisbetta, his face ash-white.

  She briefly turned my way, winked, and then skipped toward him. Talk about a mind-fuck in the making.

  Like a cockroach caught in daylight, Roscoe tried to scamper away, but Lisbetta trapped him with her tiny clawed hands.

  “You almost won again tonight.” She threw a quick glance at Primus’s corpse. “Your warlock’s dead, and you’ll soon follow. But—” Her head whipped in my direction. “We have business to settle for the Little Wolf.”

  She ran one clawed hand down the side of his face while the other one gripped his windpipe. “What is it you need to do to clear her moon debt?”

  “I need to call her pack leader,” Roscoe moaned.

  “By all means.” Her hands flicked, and a phone snapped out of his pocket into his hand. “Make the call.”

  Roscoe choked as he tried to take a breath. He squirmed, and I saw Lisbetta’s grip tighten.

  His hand barely held the phone while he dialed. I heard a familiar voice over the speakerphone.

  “Roscoe, you dumbass. You know what time it is, boy?” Old Farley Grantham grated.

  “Yes.” His response was so low it barely sounded like one.

  The other end of the phone went quiet.

  Roscoe’s voice was wet and weak when he said, “I … release Fyodor Stravinsky from his moon debt.”

  The cell phone was silent for a bit. “Are you sure about that?”

  I rolled my eyes. Of course Farley would say some bullshit like that.

  “Yes,” Roscoe choked out.

  The spring fairy queen spoke next, in the voice of Roscoe’s girlfriend. “Honey, you need to come back and give me attention. Tell him you’re busy.” Lisbetta’s free hand shot out to crush the cell phone.

  With the moon debt lifted, my hand lowered. Instead of gripping a box, I now held a blade. The goblin’s blade. Well, who would’ve thought it’d come in so handy?

  Lisbetta flicked her fingers, and the crates moved out of the way. Roscoe’s girl beat a hasty retreat.

  “It’s time for you to go home, Little Wolf,” Lisbetta said softly.

  I took a tentative step toward Roscoe. Here was the man who’d taken my father. Called him a bastard, had him beaten to near death, plotted to have Thorn and me captured by the goblin. Seeing tears streak down his face, I almost wanted him released—so I could beat the shit out of him myself. But I knew our ways. If he was caught by anyone from my family, they’d slaughter him without an afterthought. Since he had no honor, he never would have agreed to release my family from the debt.

  My voice wavered, but I spoke true. “I want to see his punishment.”

  Lisbetta slowly grinned. “No, you really don’t. There’s a part of you that’s human—and that part isn’t ready for what I’m about to do to him. What I did to Primus is nothing compared to the punishment Roscoe shall receive.”

  The little girl was gone. Only the bitter spring fairy remained. She yanked harder on his neck. “Just think of it this way, you’ll have your revenge tonight. And so will I.”

  As I turned and walked out of the room, I pondered the Code and what it meant to be an honorable werewolf. Who was the strong one now? I wondered if Roscoe would be thinking the same thing before he died.

  Chapter 16

  The first thing I did when I entered South Toms River was find my dad. I was practically gnawing at the bit to snuggle with my niece, but that could wait. I’d have plenty of time to get acquainted with her and play babysitter.

  Werewolves usually don’t need medical care, since we have the ability to heal rapidly. But sometimes—like when a wolf is at death’s door—we must turn to a werewolf who knows the healing arts. Most healers were pack members who have had training as veterinarians. The pack offered them additional money on the side to provide care as needed.

  When I arrived at the healer’s home to see Dad, he had a look of shock on his face. His wide eyes told me everything. He hadn’t expected his daughter to live through fulfilling—or not fulfilling—the moon debt.

  After what I’d experienced in Maine, and at Roscoe’s place, and finally with Nick’s kiss, I felt like I couldn’t experience anything crazier. Even taxes in April seemed a welcome trial to have to go through.

  “You’re alive,” he said with relief. “Farley called not too long ago and told me I was free.”

  “Looks like I don’t get to be the one to share my good news.”

  Dad’s large hand stretched out and pulled me into a warm hug. I might be a grown woman now, but hugs from my dad still felt good. Especially after how things had been a few months ago. We hadn’t spoken to each other much after I’d been kicked out of the pack.

  “How did the trip go?” he asked.

  I gave him the blow by blow. Minus the details of what had occurred between Nick and me. When I got to the part where Lisbetta manhandled Roscoe, Dad feigned disgust. But he didn’t have to hold back his anger from me anymore. I knew more about his dirty little secrets now.

  “You never should’ve been involved in this. I never wanted you to see such things,” he said. “My daughter should be married with kids. Not rescuing her old man in Atlantic City.”

  He left out the fact that I’d also seen him beaten to near death. That was something I really hadn’t wanted to see. Even after my family had turned me away, I never would have wished for something like that to happen. My father was irreplaceable.

  When tears threatened to come, I rolled my eyes and tried to look cheerful. “Dad, it’s all over now. You can forget Roscoe and all the bad things about him.”

  “He was once another man—in another time. When he saved my life, his intentions weren’t malicious back then.”

  Well, time had done a really bad number on Roscoe, then. My father hadn’t seen the look on his face when Roscoe’d told me he wanted to kill me.

  “Would you have given him mercy even after what he did to you?” I asked.

  Dad sat for a bit, thinking. He scratched the bald spot on his head, like he always did when he thought deeply. “I think I would have—unless he threatened to hurt my children. Every man tries to do the right thing, but that ends when anothe
r man hurts—or attempts to hurt—one of his own.”

  His voice lowered. “Did he threaten to take your life?”

  “He wasn’t happy I’d failed …” My voice trailed off, and so I changed the subject. “Your color looks good, Dad.”

  “Yours doesn’t.” He chuckled and patted my shoulder. The bad one.

  “Easy there.” I cringed and couldn’t stop from making that noise best described as something between a sheep bleeting and a bear groaning.

  The healer came in to investigate. At around five foot one, Pearl McDowell was smaller compared to most wolves. In a way, she reminded me a bit of my grandmother, if you rewound the clock a century or two. Pearl was around my mother’s age and had the same brown hair and soft brown eyes as Grandma. Maybe one could even say she had gentle features that would’ve offered a nice smile. But that’s where it all ended. She wasn’t as gentle as Grandma, and I’d learned the hard way she believed a firm hand was needed with ornery werewolves.

  “In the examination room,” she snapped with her hand on her hips. “Now. You stink of death and blood, so I’m curious to see what you’ve broken.”

  After a quick exam, the healer wasn’t happy. “You’ve broken your shoulder. The healing’s coming along nicely, but it’s much slower than it should be. You’re also barely awake right now.”

  She examined my eyes and checked my pulse. “Way too slow. Rather weird.”

  “The fairies somehow hijacked my body to reach the man who held my father’s debt. Maybe I’ve got a few residual signs.” I didn’t dare tell her about everything else that happened during the trip. Especially since it involved a wizard. It wouldn’t take long at all for the news to go from my father to my mom. She’s always had a personal vendetta against spellcasters.

  “I honestly don’t know. In all my years, I’ve never heard of such things before.” She shrugged. “Magic’s not something I deal with in my trade so anything could be wrong with you. It could very well be exhaustion.”

  “But I’ve been exhausted before and it’s never been like this.”