The Elementals Collection

by L. B. Gilbert

  “That’s already how Elementals inherit,” Alec protested, then added. “It’s in your bloodline. Just ask Logan—she has more Elemental ancestors than anyone I’ve ever read about. And Salvador doesn’t speak to anyone from his family.”

  Briefly, Gia closed her eyes. “He doesn’t speak to them right now. But life is long, Alec. If an Elemental could be born without their mother having to give up her abilities, it would be considered blasphemous to certain ears. The news the rules were changing so fundamentally would alarm and upset every major witch and vampire house—even those we’re on good terms with. Tell me honestly, how would the vampire council react if they learned your mate was carrying a child?”

  Alec fell silent. But Gia wasn’t going to leave it at that.

  “Now you have to ask yourself this—and keep in mind the safety of your mate and your possibly unborn child are at stake. If the Supernatural community learned Elementals were able to breed, who do you think would be the first to move against us?”

  The vampire’s face tightened. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. They both knew the clans who would be the most threatened were the big Seven—the major witch families. In her considered opinion, the Delavordos would be the first in line. However, for something like this, they might have help from the other houses.

  At this rate, Alec was going to rub a hole through his skull. “Do you genuinely think our child would be born with Elemental abilities?”

  “I don’t know. But the Mother keeps us in stasis while we serve for a reason.”

  The vampire ran his teeth over his lip in an unnerving gesture. “Diana once implied it was because She feared an insurrection in your ranks. The Mother didn’t want to be outnumbered.”

  “If She has reconsidered, it’s because She has identified a bigger threat.” The thought was not comforting.

  The vampire looked grim. “John.”

  Gia considered that, but this madman’s threat was just one in an endless line. “I wish I could definitively say that was it. But, honestly, I’m not sure—John is hardly the first person who has attempted to bring about the end of the world.”

  Alec snorted. “Don’t I know it.”

  14

  John threw the empty ice bucket up in the air just so, making it spin before the flat bottom landed adroitly on his open palm.

  He added a jaunty little hop to his step, wishing he could kick his heels together in celebration the way his favorite dancers did in the picture shows. Movies, he mentally edited. They called them movies these days…

  Whistling, he set the ice bucket on the bench with a feeling he could describe only as giddy. Today’s little experiment was going to go well. He could feel it in his bones. The ingredients were potent and powerful, but, more importantly, they were plentiful thanks to his stock of catalogs that sold scientific reagents. His chemist friend had recommended John take advantage of the suppliers when he made his umpteenth request for raw materials.

  At first, he’d been annoyed to be rebuffed. John paid the man good money to be his supplier for the particular chemicals he required, but he soon changed his mind. The suggestion had been inspired. No more crawling on his hands and knees in the dirt to dig up a handful of weeds he needed to crush for an experiment. Now, most of what he required was a few mouse clicks away. Not all, but the majority. He was still refining his technique and formula, trying to find adequate substitutes for the few rare components, but this morning had proven fruitful in that respect.

  Scaling up in volume was proving to be a challenge, but one he enjoyed. This was part was going to be fun. He was less sanguine about the move that followed, but his newest recruit was right. Successful deployment was all about location, location, location.

  15

  Connell’s nostrils flared. The woods stank of dark magic and blood. “Do you smell that?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Logan said, kneeling.

  They were in the Canadian Rockies, at least a hundred miles from the nearest town. They’d come here directly after a detour to a patch of land near Blessing, Texas, where Logan had shut a door into hell.

  Damn dragons, he thought as he scanned the trees around them. They could have gotten here much sooner if not for that errand, which had been anticlimactic, to say the least.

  Connell had been pumped when Logan said they were going to be facing off with a bunch of dragon shifters, possibly slamming the door to hell shut on them. But by the time they got to Blessing, only one waited. The rest had already come through the door and gone home, wherever that was.

  The dragon they’d left behind had presented Logan with a chest full of gold and jewels, calling it a tithe for their ‘necessary’ transgression. Connell had been tempted to bash the dragon over the head with his damn chest, but Logan beat him to it.

  “Open another door to anywhere ever again, I’ll shove that chest up your ass,” she’d snarled.

  “She can do it, too,” Connell had said with a smirk.

  The dragon—Jerik something—barely batted an eyelash. He’d simply inclined his head, informing them his chief would be at their disposal whenever Gia wanted an accounting. And that had been the end of it—for now. They had never found out what the Draconai Imperia were up to in Sheol.

  Now they were finally back on the hunt for John. If that fucker was hurting Elementals, then Logan was on his list. Connell was going to make damn sure that POS didn’t touch a hair on her head—preferably by breaking both his arms. And then shoving them down his throat.

  Except for the excursion to Blessing, he and Logan had been bouncing around the world for weeks. In between wild goose chases, they’d stopped in Costa Rica to check on Gia and make sure the pair of freaks, the vampire and the Delavordo warlock, didn’t do her in.

  Well, that was what Connell was keeping an eye out for. Logan trusted the vamp. Apparently, the fact Alec was mated to Logan’s sister meant he was above suspicion, but that hadn’t been the case with Serin’s first mate, so Connell was reserving judgment. As for that Salvador character, Connell trusted him about as far as he could throw him. Less than that really. As a werewolf, Connell could probably throw the witch pretty far.

  The wind picked up, bringing a new brew of smells to dissect. The sting from the foul magic was the most prominent in the bouquet.

  “Any tidbits from your little friends?” Connell asked. Logan heard spirits. They whispered in her ears, a mishmash of secrets and lies she had to sort through for intel. Those voices had led them here in their search for John. From the smell of it, they were late to the game…

  “Nothing useful,” she replied.

  Logan didn’t attempt to keep her voice down, but it didn’t matter. The wind didn’t carry it far, just enough for him to hear. Otherwise, it would have given her position away to their enemies, and the element knew better than to do that.

  His mate’s expression was serious, but also a trifle smug, which was her right. She had won their wager. Before they got here, Connell had insisted the latest hint from long-dead things was going to be yet another dead end, and he’d been willing to put his money where his mouth was. Or, rather, his pride. He didn’t know exactly what kind of forfeit Logan would demand, but it would be colorful. And satisfying.

  Connell rarely won their bets, but it didn’t matter. After her wicked sense of humor had been assuaged, Logan made losing feel like winning.

  “Get your head in the game, wolf-man,” Logan murmured. “And stop checking out my ass.”

  “I wasn’t.” This time. But he had been leaning in that direction, which was unwise given the hint of death on the wind.

  The suggestion was faint, but even a trace was enough to make his hackles rise. It didn’t smell of decomposition. This was fresh. In his head, his wolf growled—at him. It was a reprimand, reminding Connell to protect his mate. Even if she didn’t need it most of the time.

  Logan was still fixated on the ground, where the spoor of some spell had fallen. She stood, lifting stained
fingers. “It’s shifter blood. Wolves.”

  He scowled, scanning the woods as he examined the panoply of scents again.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, his words a whisper. The wind wasn’t always so sanguine about not carrying his voice. “I’m not getting anything like that. Nothing recent anyway.”

  “The magic is overpowering it, but I can separate them. Just takes a little molecule maneuvering.” She straightened the fine features of her face, setting it in grim lines. “Whatever spell this is, its covering everything like a blanket over a flame.”

  So, this was related to John. A coven associated with him created a spell that suppressed the vital signs and scents of whoever cast it. Even a werewolf wouldn’t have known a practitioner masked by it was in the same room unless they happened to be looking at them. Variations of the spell had proliferated. One even masked the user’s aura, which had led to no end of grief in his pack.

  He took her finger and brought it to his mouth, taking a tiny lick before she could stop him.

  “Hey.” His mate smacked him with an open palm. “What did I tell you the last time you did that?”

  “Something along the lines of ‘don’t ever do that again’.”

  Logan tapped her steel-toed boot on the ground. “Because?” she growled, elongating the word into three syllables. Lengthening words was a new habit of hers, one she indulged in when he was driving her up the wall.

  “Because the black magic might infect me,” he finished with a shrug.

  When Logan threw up her hands, he patted her on the back. “Babe, you know that’s not going to happen from such a small taste. I’m an alpha werewolf who happens to be mated to an Elemental. No trace of a spell, no matter how evil, is going to overcome that. But now I can smell the wolves under the spell. The poor bastards can’t hide now.”

  His mate’s narrow-eyed glare alone would have felled a lesser wolf, but she knew he was right. Connell’s innate immunity was bolstered by their bond.

  Her nose wrinkled. “It’s still gross. Don’t even think about kissing me until you brush your teeth.”

  He snorted, then shifted to four legs. His sense of smell was better in wolf form, and there was a hunt to begin.

  The change was faster than normal, another advantage acquired since taking an Elemental mate. Some wolves had a difficult time transitioning form. In his pack, the time it took to shift was roughly correlated with the wolf’s position in the hierarchy. Since Connell was second only to his father, that meant he was accustomed to a fairly quick shift. However, since he’d hooked up with Logan, the change happened between one breath and the next.

  As an added bonus, he didn’t have strip anymore. Logan simply magicked his clothes away. And unless he truly annoyed her, she magicked them right back when he reclaimed his human shape…usually.

  When he was done changing, he shook himself, taking a second to make sure his brain caught up with his four-footed form. Glancing up a Logan, he gave her a wolfish grin. She tsked, waving him on.

  His mate kept her legs, keeping pace with him as he loped along, his nose to the ground. Unwilling to risk losing the scent, he kept his pace measured and even. Despite what he’d told Logan, the trace was faint, hints of it playing hide-and-seek in the cold moonlight.

  The night creatures didn’t react as they passed. Before he met Logan, that would have been unheard of. Rabbits and deer recognized him as a predator. It was instinct, but not one a werewolf minded. Giving chase was half the fun.

  Now he could float right past a doe and her young without either batting an eyelash. It made grabbing a midnight snack a lot easier, but also a little boring, too. Fortunately, his instinct for the hunt was more than satisfied by nights like these.

  Logan held up a hand, pausing mid-step. She signaled with two fingers, telling him to follow her as she broke left. Silently, they topped a rise, shielded by a clump of bushes as they peered down at a clearing. Two people, a man and teenage girl, stood close together in a shaft of moonlight.

  The girl was little more than a child. Her tears shimmered, dripping down her chin, but she was barely making a sound despite the deep shudder that ran through her tiny body.

  Connell’s attention turned to the man, her brother judging by the resemblance. There was something off with the way they just stood there. Why weren’t they moving? Their relative stillness was unnatural, especially given the cold. Both were coatless. The threat of hypothermia should have kept them moving.

  His lupine eyes studied the young man’s averted head. The tendons of his neck stuck out in stark relief. They’re bespelled.

  That was why they were frozen in place. Nudging Logan, he tried to call her attention to the man’s neck, but Logan was way ahead of him. She’d found the source of the dark magic.

  Connell almost missed the witch in the shadows. Swiveling his head, he followed Logan’s line of sight, belatedly spotting the creature who had her arms out, pulling at nothing as if she were drawing in an imaginary net.

  The witch’s sinister whisper rose and fell with the breeze, barely audible despite his superior hearing. Logan reached down, and he stifled a whine of surprise that would have given away their position.

  A shimmering net of gooey-looking black threads covered the man and his sister. A curse held them prisoner, sapping their strength. The male fought it with all he was worth, but the girl was almost spent. The only thing holding her up was the last shreds of her brother’s will.

  Anger exploded inside him. Logan’s touch on his head firmed, holding him back when he would have leapt down, teeth bared.

  “Allow me,” she said. Her tone was clipped, almost formal. Yeah, she was pissed.

  Her next move was a blur. Connell saw the silver flash of her sword, but only for a second before he ran full tilt down the hill, snarling.

  He didn’t know what Logan was doing, but the threaded net of the curse was glowing now, the bright orange of heated coals, as if it were fighting back. But it was no match for his mate’s determination. The net flew off the huddled pair, releasing them. It blasted backward, covering the witch in her own curse.

  The creature didn’t have time to react before he barreled into her, knocking her to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two bodies fall. The brother and sister hit the soil with twin cries, but he didn’t glance in their direction. Leaping off the witch, Connell rounded on her.

  The creature stank of blood and dead raccoon, the animal she’d killed to curse the shifters. Black magic required sacrifice. The strongest spells needed death to power them.

  Connell dropped back with a snap of his jaws before the witch could get to her feet, blocking her with bared teeth from advancing. He could feel his mate at his back, wondering for a second why she didn’t come forward to take the bitch’s head off. That was when he scented the second witch—a male this time.

  Damn spell, he thought, following it with a monologue of swear words Logan would smack him for saying aloud.

  “Get them out of here,” Logan called, drawing his attention back to the boy and girl.

  He didn’t need her to tell him twice. As satisfying as eviscerating a couple of black witches would be, saving the innocents came first.

  Connell’s paws dug into the dirt for traction, letting him twist his body to shoot in the opposite direction. He pounded after the two wolves, who’d managed to get to the edge of the clearing despite their weakened states. But they wouldn’t get farther without help.

  The girl fell on her knees at the edge of the clearing. Connell chuffed approvingly as the brother took her in his arms, lifting her before trying to make a break for it, but the kid stumbled as he reached their side, the second witch hot on their trail.

  Connell thought about shifting to human form, but his teeth made better weapons than any sword at the Elemental safehouse. He snapped and feinted forward, distracting the second witch as Logan’s sword sang. There was a thump right before a head rolled by.

  That was aroun
d the time the second witch realized he was screwed. The man had been raising his arm, a spell vial in his hand, when his partner’s dismembered head smacked into his shoe. Screaming, he checked his motion, dropping the vial and running away like a little bitch.

  Connell was on him before he reached the trees. A quick snap of his wolf’s jaws severed the witches jugular, and it was over.

  Shifting back to human, he rolled his shoulders as the tendons slid into place over his wide frame. He spit out the taste of black witch, wiping his mouth with a scowl.

  “Damn, they taste like shit,” he muttered to no one in particular.

  He was trotting back to the strange wolves when he realized his family jewels were swinging in the breeze. That and the wind was blowing hard now. “Um… babe?”

  Logan was busy searching the witch’s corpse. She turned out the pockets, her hands working quickly.

  Finally, she lifted her head and blinked, absently wiping her hands on the witch’s pants.

  His grin was slow and easy when Logan’s eyes grew slightly glazed. They ran over his muscled form as if she just couldn’t help herself. His mouth went dry when her gaze lingered on his ten-pack, but the sound of someone else’s stomach growling disrupted his increasingly dirty train of thought.

  Pointedly clearing his throat, he gestured to his naked body, then to the huddled pair of skinny wolves. Belatedly, his clothes reappeared. He scanned the woods, wondering if there were a third witch.

  “There aren’t anymore,” Logan said, reading his mind. “I would feel the gap created by their bodies.”

  When she gestured, he realized she meant the wind. Logan was employing it to do a bit of reconnaissance, using it to measure the negative space around them. How had she separated a body from a tree that way?