Tears sprang to her eyes. She missed her mother so much—a mother who was too weak, too afraid to leave a man like Gavin Brooks. Too afraid to stay in contact with her only child.
So Martine had left instead—the moment the ink was dry on her high school diploma. Packed her things at the tender age of eighteen with her father’s words roaring in her ears. “Someday you’ll pay for turning your back on your own kind, you stuck-up little priss!”
As another round of shuddering chills assaulted her, she began to wonder if someday hadn’t arrived.
Familiars, much like humans or any supernatural creatures, had their good and their bad. As she recalled, a good familiar was an advisor, a healer and a guide to their witch.
A bad familiar killed witches by betraying them and snatching their powers on a quest for immortality.
Her father was the bad. Super bad. A wicked, deceitful man who wanted nothing more than to become a warlock and, eventually, immortal. The problem with that was he’d been really crappy at it, if the hushed whispers of her mother and her now-deceased grandmother were true.
He loved the bottle and horses far more than anything or anyone, and dedication to his wish for immortality fell to the wayside more often than not.
Martine closed her eyes and fought the memory of her mother, Dianna, rushing after her the day she’d left, handing her a thick roll of bills, hugging her hard and pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before shooing her off to keep her husband appeased.
All her attempts to contact her mother were met with deaf ears from there on out. Though, over the years, she’d spied on her often, putting money in places where her mother would find it, like under the welcome mat of their old house in Queens where she knew Dianna would religiously sweep beneath each night after her long shifts at the hospital she cleaned.
All in the hope that one day her mother would try to find her, reach out, allow Martine the opportunity to ease the burden of her alcoholic father’s ever-increasing madness.
But in well over fifteen years, that hadn’t once happened. So she lived on the outskirts of her mother’s life, made sure from a careful distance that she was in good health, had enough money to survive her father’s gambling debts and drinking.
Don’t think about your mother, forget your father’s stupid words, Martine, and think. You can’t go back to Derrick’s with a bellyful of magic. Who knows what could happen. You don’t know the first thing about it other than Escobar uses it to gain rank and build his army of nutbags. Get rid of it before you hurt someone!
Purge. She had to purge. Pacing back and forth, she tried to forget the biting wind, lose herself in the memory of the few stories her mother had told her about how she’d stored and ditched magic.
If only she’d listened instead of shunning her legacy.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and focused. Purge. How to purge? Stick her finger down her throat?
Her hands went to her belly, as round as if she were going to give birth at any moment. It moved beneath her hands, growling with discontent at being captured. What would happen if she expelled it? What kind of magic was it? She’d never had magic retrieved from her when in human form.
When Escobar sent her into the realm, she never remembered much about her visits upon return. It was all like a hazy dream—a vague, floaty event where she only saw blurry images she could never quite piece together into something clear. But Escobar retrieved the magic from her cat form.
Oh, God. What to do?
The snow began to fall harder, fat white flakes of stinging cold against her face as she paced to keep warm, all the while her belly rolling, making noises akin to an angry, caged lion.
The pain began shortly thereafter, clawing at her insides as though it was trying to fight its way out. Panic seized her again when she doubled over and fought a scream.
Jesus, what would Derrick think if he found her like this? Surely he’d try to find her. She’d vanished right under his nose. He’d want answers—who wouldn’t?
Martine, focus! You’re going to freeze to death and it won’t matter what Derrick thinks unless he favors brain-dead popsicles.
And that’s when Escobar’s words came back to her. When he relieved her of the magic, he always chanted the same thing.
“Hand to me the powers that be.”
Right?
She shook her head, wrapping her arms over her breasts. Shit, Martine. What if that isn’t right? Why did you spend so much damn time tuning things out instead of being present? Escobar was forcing you to do his dirty work and you hid beneath the covers like a coward!
But what choice did she have other than to try? She had to get it out.
Just as she wondered what would happen if she didn’t at least give it a shot, her stomach heaved, shifted, distorted, her skin stretching, pulling unbearably tight.
And then her belly began to split as though she had some alien baby needing birthing.
Stuffing her fist in her mouth to ward off a scream of agony, Martine stumbled, tripping over a stump.
She threw her hands out to brace the fall and as she did, she bellowed without thinking, “Hand to me the powers that be!”
The earth shifted, rumbling and groaning as she landed hard against a fallen tree, tearing a stinging gash in her arm.
As she looked to assess her injury, her mouth fell open of its own will, as though it were on a hinge and someone had pulled it open. Her lips spread wide, her throat grew so tight she couldn’t breathe.
When her hands reached for her throat was the moment lava erupted from her mouth, hot and thick, roaring in an eruption of color and sound, spraying everything in front of her.
Trees lit up as though strands of lights had been wound around them, the sky exploded with colors of pink and purple, illuminating the snowflakes still falling furiously.
And a man with wild sprigs of hair streaming from his head.
Her lava vomit highlighted a large man, hair covering his body and face in only random patches, his hands holding a bunny, a look of complete guilt in his eyes.
As she spewed the last of whatever the hell had just projectile flown from her mouth, she coughed, sputtering and choking.
Then she burped, long and loud. So loud, the release of air echoed, the acidic taste on her tongue bitter and hot.
Martine, head rest between her legs, was sucking in the frigid air when a hand fell into her line of vision. A hand with patches of hair. “I’m Jerry.”
She coughed again, wiping tears from her eyes, her teeth beginning to chatter. “I’m naked.”
“Don’t be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you.”
She fought for another breath. Jerry. She remembered Derrick mentioning a Jerry. “O…okay.”
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.” And she didn’t know. What the hell had just happened? Her hand went to her belly, never very flat to begin with, but flatter than it had been when she was swollen with ill-gotten magic. She sighed in more relief. She was beginning to heal already.
Thankfully, she, much like Derrick, was capable of self-healing. Because wow, that would have taken some explaining.
Then she really realized there was a half-man, half-somethingorother staring down at her in all her nakedness. Her hands flew in every direction, trying to cover her exposed bits.
And hello, Martine. Sasquatch alert. She should be afraid of this Jerry, who resembled something out of a horror story. But after what she’d just hurled into the forest from her mouth, she didn’t have the energy.
The man fell to his haunches, his eyes red and glowing in the darkness, but his face, changing rapidly back to his human form, was full of concern. In a calm voice, he asked, “Are you Martine?”
Now was maybe the time to be alarmed. How did he know her name? She backed away, catching her hip on a limb from the fallen tree and wincing. “How did you know that?”
He half-smiled at her, his hazel eyes, as thickly fringed as Derrick’s, crin
kled at the corners, making him almost adorable in the right light. “I’m Derrick’s cousin Jerry. That thing you did, you know, with your mouth—that was really something else. I thought you were a cat shifter, not a witch?”
She shook her head, her hands trembling. “I’m not a witch. I am a cat shifter. A familiar, to be precise.”
Jerry’s mouth fell open then snapped shut before he said, “Oh.”
His one word held all the condemnation she knew she’d face if anyone ever found out what Escobar made her do.
Putting her shaking hand on his arm, she shook her head, her sodden hair clinging to her cheeks. “I swear, it’s not what you think. I was just getting rid of something I was forced to take. Please believe that.” Why did she care if he believed her?
Because you like Derrick’s family, and you don’t want them to think ill of you.
“Here, take my coat. You’re gonna get real sick out here in the cold, and Derrick won’t like that.” He shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around her with tender hands.
Stupid tears, hot and salty, sprang to her eyes at his kindness. Why were all the Adamses so damn nice? Enough with the nice, it was making keeping her secret from everyone even harder. “Thank you,” she murmured, pulling it tightly around her.
“I have to get you back to Derrick. Will you let me help you?” He held out his hand again, now shifting back to normal.
As she gazed up at Jerry, even in her shivering state, she couldn’t help but notice as he shifted back, how handsome he was. Classically handsome with chestnut brown hair that fell to his collar, high cheekbones with two red patches defined by the cold air, and an easy, calming smile.
“Martine?” he prodded in that hushed, gravelly tone he had.
Fear swept over her. If they knew about Escobar, if Escobar knew about them, he’d come looking for her. She’d seen the damage Escobar could do when he’d snatched her right out of a nightclub, trashed the place, and left everyone with no memory of it. She didn’t want that to happen here to these nice people who had no choice about their involvement with her.
Which meant, she had to tell them so they knew what they were getting into. She didn’t come free of baggage, and maybe Derrick wouldn’t want his life saved by someone who might put it in even more danger before they ever got around to the death-sex.
“Will you tell Derrick what you saw?” She wouldn’t blame him if he did.
Jerry’s face, now fully in human form, was sweet and soft when he cracked that half-smile again. “Nope. He won’t hear it from me. That has to come from you. So I need you to promise you’ll tell Derrick, because I get the feeling whatever just happened out there wasn’t good. Just like I’m going to have tell Hector I was out here hunting bunnies when I found you. Honesty’s the best policy, even if he’s going to kill me for it.
Martine took his hand and let him help her up, groaning at the ache of her muscles. “You mean Hector of the amazing brownies?”
He nodded his dark head and smiled. “Uh-huh. Did you like them? He put catnip in them just for you. He said cats love catnip.”
Well, that explained her uninhibited-dirty-girl performance back at Derrick’s and her heightened sense of awareness. She and catnip had a touchy relationship. “Okay. So we both come clean on our own terms. Fair?”
“And as long as you promise you’re not here to hurt anyone with whatever just happened. Because I’ll eat you for dinner and pick my teeth with your bones if you hurt my family.”
“Promise.”
Her heart did a funny shift thing as she agreed. Rather like it had when she and Derrick made love. Martine believed he would make a meal out of her if it meant protecting the people he appeared to love enough to threaten her. That was what she’d heard family was all about.
She’d just never had one like it.
And you don’t want one now, do you?
Affirmative.
Now what she wanted was to figure out how to deal with Escobar when he found out she’d thrown up his magic like a day-after hangover.
Eventually, he was going to come hunting for her to collect what he called his.
Another violent shiver raced along her flesh. “Can you take me back to Derrick’s, please? I have no idea where I am.”
He hitched his clean-shaven jaw. “Hop on. I’ll piggyback you.”
“But I’m naked,” she squeaked.
“Yep. And fifteen miles from Derrick’s. We could walk it, if you want. Or you could shift into your cat form. Though fifteen miles is still a long haul as a cat. I have super speed, even if I can’t fully shift. We’d be there in no time, and I’d never do anything forward. Derrick would kill me.”
He couldn’t fully shift? Martine couldn’t tell if it upset him or not, and she didn’t want to pry.
But she didn’t have to. Jerry offered. “I’m sorry if I scared you when you first saw me. I’m a defective werewolf. I’m pretty sure Derrick told you about the curse and us affected weres. I’m the product of one of the weres who was experimented on. So I can’t shift, and yes, that sucks. But it would suck a lot more if not for Max and Derrick. They make me feel like I’m a productive part of the pack even though I’m, in all truth, kinda lame.”
If she wasn’t so damn cold, she’d melt right there on the spot. She vaguely remembered Derrick telling her about the affected weres, she just hadn’t realized the extent of it.
Her heart flipped in her chest when she looked up at him, his eyes no longer red, his expression full of hesitance. “I don’t think you’re lame at all, Jerry. I think you’re a real knight in shining armor for saving a mess like me. Turn around,” she ordered, placing her frozen fingers on his shoulders and hopping onto his back.
“I promise, no funny business,” he said before he took off.
Everything became a blur around her due to his insane speed, and as trees sped by, and the muted lights of Derrick’s house grew closer, she hunkered down against Jerry’s back, grateful.
Very grateful.
Chapter Nine
“Jesus, Martine!” Derrick yelled when Jerry pushed his way through the door, depositing her in the living room.
Her hair began to melt almost instantly, dripping snow in splotches in the middle of the room all over the beautiful hardwood floors. The jacket Jerry had loaned her clung to her in soggy patches, her toes were so numb she almost couldn’t walk.
Derrick scooped her up immediately while Nat grabbed a throw from the back of his couch and ordered her brother to put Martine in the chair in front of the fire.
Nat knelt down in front of her, helping her peel Jerry’s jacket off, tucking the blanket around her naked form. “Oh, Martine, what happened?”
Well, I was doing your delicious brother and poof, just like magic, I ended up fifteen miles from here, naked and a belly full of stolen magic. Swear, it was like I’d gotten myself knocked up. Then I yarked it all over your beautiful forest and I think I set a couple of things on fire. So sorry. But you should have seen it. It was spectacular—like the Fourth of July.
Martine shook her throbbing head, wincing when Nat began to rub life back into her legs. She couldn’t say that. So she lied again. For now. Until she could gather her wits about her and explain. “I don’t know. I—”
Nat squeezed her arm through the blanket, her eyes so warm and blue they brought tears to Martine’s. “Don’t say another word. Just warm up.”
“I found her in the snow. She was freezing. As soon as I found her, I brought her right back here, Derrick,” Jerry added, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“What were you doing in the woods this late at night, Jerry?” Derrick asked, definite suspicion in his voice.
“Taking a walk,” Martine interrupted with a croak, her throat sore and on fire. “He was just taking a walk.” They’d forged an unlikely bond back in the woods, and she intended to keep him out of trouble for just a little longer.
She heard Derrick slap Jerry on the back from her position on the
chair. “Thanks, Jerry. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“I’ll make her some hot tea. She needs to warm up,” Jerry offered, dropping his shoes by the fire and shooting her a conspiratorial wink.
Derrick was there then, his blue eyes roving her face. He brushed a long, wet strand of hair from her cheek, letting his thumb caress her skin. “What happened, Martine?”
She wanted to lean into his hand, but she didn’t deserve his compassion. Instead, she was going to stall him. No compassion required. “Can we talk about it later?” she asked in hushed tones, hiding her eyes for fear he’d see her guilt written in them.
Nat gripped Martine’s hand and nudged Derrick with her knee. “Say no more. Just warm up and rest. You can talk later.”
Jerry brought her a steaming cup of tea, handing it to her and smiling. “I hope you feel better soon, Martine. Maybe we could take a walk when you do. I’ll show you around the woods. I know them well.”
Using all of the energy she had left, Martine leaned forward and grabbed Jerry’s hand, squeezing it hard, letting him know she appreciated him. “Thank you for helping me, Jerry. I’d love to take a walk with you sometime.”
Derrick shook Jerry’s hand, and for some reason that small gesture made her heart skip a beat. Jerry was right. Derrick was a decent man, and each moment she spent around him, she liked him more.
“Martine?” he said, running a finger down her cheek. “Let’s get you to bed. You need to rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Rising, he pulled Nat up with him and gave her a hug. “Appreciate it. You go home and get to bed. You have a job you need to get to tomorrow.”
Nat nodded, her worried eyes looking to Martine before she brought her gaze to Derrick. “Call me if you need anything.” Squeezing Martine’s shoulder, she left, leaving them alone.
Her eyes grew heavier by the second as she warmed from the tea and the fire, and the amazingly welcoming bunch of people she’d somehow managed to horn her way in on.
Derrick took the tea from her, setting it on the table and pulling her toward him. He enveloped her in his arms, this man everyone accused of yelling all the time.
What's New, Pussycat? (Wolf Mates Book 2) Page 9