Wolves, Witches and Bears...Oh My!

by Nicky Charles

  “That doesn’t sound like him. Even after Beth was killed he wasn’t like that.”

  Reno shook his head. “He was missing for quite a while. We don’t know what he was like at the worst of it.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Go looking for him. Sam wanted to go but I talked her out of it, said she should be at the house in case he returned.”

  “I’ll get dressed and go stay with her.” She hurried out of the room.

  “Good idea.” Reno grabbed his jacket and checked if he had his keys, then grabbed his phone from the bed.

  “Don’t wait for me. I’ll get a cab.”

  He nodded. “I’ll try to pick up his trail and see if I can track him down. Sam’s sending out the rest of the pack as well.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. He gave her a quick kiss and then hurried out of the room and took the stairs down to the lobby, not having the patience to wait for the elevator plus he needed to burn off some of the adrenaline that surged through him. This had something to do with Dante, he was sure of it. Damien hated the man. Knowing they were related must have made something inside snap; it was the only explanation he could think of.

  In his hotel room, Dante stared at his computer. An image of Gwyneth filled the screen, a candid surveillance shot he had taken at some point. Her chin was up, her gaze direct. A few tendrils of her hair hung loosely near her cheeks. It captured her perfectly. Strong. Determined. A softer side if you looked carefully. She’d been showing that side when he’d walked out on her today, actually moving towards him to offer comfort rather than backing away or erecting a defensive wall.

  Shock had muddled his usually clear thinking. She wasn’t to blame for her grandmother’s actions any more than he was to blame for Tomas’ actions. He was dragging his hand through his hair thinking he’d need to go begging forgiveness yet again when there was a knock on his door.

  He shut the computer and walked quietly to the door, checking the peep hole first before opening the door to admit Roxi. She was wearing street clothes rather than housekeeping garb.

  “Hey, Dante.” She gave the room a quick sweep of her eyes. “Not as clean as if I’d been on duty.”

  He shut the door behind her. “You have some information for me?”

  “I do. My cousin said the generational curse isn’t that hard to break.”

  “Really?” He felt the tension in his shoulders begin to ease. Damien might not be condemned to a life of unhappiness after all. “How is it done?”

  “Pay up first.” She held out her hand, her chin tilted up.

  “Half now, half later if it works.”

  She considered the offer and then nodded. Once the money was exchanged and counted she pulled a slip of paper from her pocket and tucked the money in its place. “My cousin said breaking the curse is easy-peasy. The witch just says this.” She glanced at the paper, shrugged and handed it over.

  Dante read the words. “I remove the curse once. I remove the curse twice. Thrice I remove it.” He frowned. “This can’t be it.”

  “My cousin copied it right from her mother’s grimoire.” Roxi rocked on her heels. “The only trick is that you need the witch who placed the curse to remove it.”

  “What? Damn. That’s impossible!”

  “A relative of the witch would work, as well, but the curse might then need to be individually removed from each member of the family,” she added.

  He stared at the paper again, lips pressed tightly together. Gwyneth would have to undo the curse and after he’d stormed out on her today he wasn’t sure she’d be up to doing him a favour.

  Roxi cleared her throat. “So, once you get the curse removed, you’ll call me, right? To pay up?”

  “Of course. You know I always pay my debts.”

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “You’ve got a good rep that way. So, who did you piss off? Gwyneth? Word on the street is that you’re hanging with her.”

  “None of your business.”

  “Got it.” Roxi gave him a wink and went on her way, humming a popular song.

  Gwyn walked around her apartment, trailing her hand over the furniture, stopping to examine a few of the pictures that decorated the walls or to pick up a trinket that sat on a shelf. None of it had much meaning; she’d learned long ago not to become attached to people or things. It was too hard to pack everything up and move. Leave the excess baggage behind and start anew, that was her motto.

  Sherman woke and gave her a quizzical look before wandering over to rub against her leg. She picked him up and stroked his chin.

  “Hello, Sherman. Did you have a good nap?”

  Poor guy. Not many people wanted an older cat. If this didn’t work, he’d be homeless again. He’d been a bundle of skin and bones when she’d found him, someone’s pet that had been left to fend for himself. Now his fur was thick and clean, his eyes bright.

  “You know, you never did live up to your end of our bargain. I’ve not seen you catch even one rodent.” She looked him in the eye.

  He yawned in response and she gave a small smile.

  “I guess being presented with a dead mouse would have been rather disgusting anyway.”

  The cat blinked at her as if it couldn’t believe she’d only realized the fact, then, with a contented sigh, it relaxed against her, nestling under her chin.

  She pursed her lips refusing to be the cause of the animal being homeless again. “Would you like to live with Matt? I know you were fond of Dante but I have a feeling he moves around a lot.”

  Setting the cat down, she texted Matt asking if he’d be willing to give Sherman a home if the need arose. Matt replied back in the affirmative while also inquiring why. An explanation would be too complicated so she ignored his question and sent a simple thank you back.

  Relieved that Sherman would be cared for, she gave him a dish of food and final pet before leaving the apartment and making her way downstairs.

  She passed through the club, not taking time to look at the bar she and Dante had nearly had sex on….‘I don’t fuck.’ At the time, she’d thought he’d been crazy but somewhere over the past day she’d had an epiphany of sorts, his words about love never forgetting taking on a new meaning. All the lovers she’d had in the past were nothing but vague memories. She’d likely meant nothing to them and they’d meant nothing to her.

  “Except you, Sven.” She reassured the tat. “I’ve always remembered you.”

  And yet had she ever let him know he’d had enough impact on her life he’d be remembered? Or had he spent their time together thinking he’d fade from her memory once he was gone?

  How sad to die and not be remembered or missed.

  The stairs to the basement creaked as she descended, the keypad making soft beeps as she keyed in the code, the door swinging open with the barest whisper. She turned on the light, the bare bulb casting stark shadows over the small space and then took out the two grimoires, placing them carefully on the table. One was her family grimoire, the other the grimoire Dante had found. Her fingers traced the carved leather covers. Magic was so familiar to her, a part of her life like eating and breathing. She might not use it every day but it was there, like an old friend.

  If she reversed the blood spell and survived, would she keep her magic? And if she did, would it be as powerful or would it revert to the level it had been at when her journey had started? So many unknowns. Maybe she was a fool to even consider this.

  A shiver passed over her and she turned from the books, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, the chill of the room seeping into her very bones. The silence of the building seemed unusually oppressive. The club wasn’t open yet so there was no music or chatter coming from above. Not even the hum of the furnace or Sherman’s purr interrupted the nothingness that surrounded her.

  She was alone, completely alone. The knowledge was a millstone around her neck. Cold, heavy, pulling her down into a bleak existence that stretched ahead with nothing to offer but mo
re of the same.

  Slowly turning, she surveyed the room she’d always considered her secret haven. Old dusty bottles lined the shelves around her. Bottles she’d spent her life collecting, their contents rare and much sought after. As things stood now, they were her legacy to the world. Other people had family who lived on after they were gone. She had bottles of wine.

  If she continued as she was, her collection would grow but her life would remain empty. If she risked everything, there was a chance she’d gain so much more.

  The cognac she’d shared with Dante caught her eye and after a moment’s consideration, she took out a piece of paper and quickly penned him a note, then propped it against the bottle where it could be seen. He’d appreciate her collection if things didn’t work out.

  That task completed, she turned to the table, determined to proceed with her plan. She opened both books to the same page, the page containing the blood-moon spell she’d used all those years ago, and compared the text. Each word was identical up to the point where the page in her book was torn. Logically the spells would end the same. The final text seemed to match her memory but after centuries how accurate was that?

  She hesitated then moved to the sideboard, opened a drawer and took out a box. After removing the lid, she drew back a layer of cloth and picked up the old ceremonial knife that was within.

  It felt odd in her hand; cold and hard.

  Deadly.

  She took a steadying breath and returned to the table, pushing aside thoughts that these could be her last moments. The knife clasped in her hand, she began to read the words out loud.

  “If the heart dares love once more,

  The debt is paid by time restored.

  The crescent moon reversed with the athame blade,

  A heart is formed but life will fade.”

  She pressed the point of the blade to her chest, a tear slowly sliding down her cheek as the heat of pain mixed with the warmth of blood.

  Chapter 34

  Dante walked down the street, his pace quick, his stride determined. A traffic jam had caused him to abandon his taxi a few blocks back, it having had all the appearances of lasting for a considerable length of time. He wanted to speak to Gwyneth before the club opened, apologize for his reaction earlier and then beg her help to get the curse removed from his family before it affected Damien’s s relationship with Sam. That was provided Damien would listen to him.

  His son seemed to have a stubborn streak, just like his mother. Sam might be more open to hearing him out. A smile curled the corner of his mouth as he thought of that little spitfire. He’d taken an instant liking to her. Damien had chosen well.

  We need to find the witch. His inner wolf nudged him to walk faster.

  “We have time. Running down the street would attract unwanted attention. We don’t want someone to think we’re a purse snatcher, do we?”

  His wolf whined anxiously. We need to act soon. I can sense the evil building.

  He frowned. Over the years he’d come to value the animal’s intuition. He increased his pace. The club was only a block away.

  When he reached the club, he tried the door but it was locked. A glance over his shoulder revealed that the few people within line of sight were intent upon their own business. He pulled out his lock pick and worked the mechanism with practised ease, then slipped inside.

  The building seemed unusually quiet, the air cooler than normal.

  “Gwyneth!” He called her name and it echoed through the building unanswered.

  A soft sound drew his attention and he turned to see Sherman padding down the stairs, no doubt looking for a treat.

  “Later, buddy.” He murmured absentmindedly before calling her name once more. “Gwyneth!”

  “Is there a reason you broke in and began bellowing like a baboon?”

  He turned quickly at the sound of Gwyneth’s voice, relief filling him. “Are you all right?” She appeared pale, her shirt collar askew.

  “Yes? Are you?” She brushed a loose strand of hair from her face with a shaking hand. “You seem distraught.”

  “I…” He studied Gwyneth more closely. Her voice held the hint of a quaver and there was a look about her eyes he couldn’t place, a softness he’d not seen before.

  Something is not right, his wolf muttered looking about uneasily.

  “Dante?” She prompted him. “Did you break in—again—for a reason?”

  He blinked. “Um, yes. I…er…I wanted to apologize for my outburst this morning.

  She considered his statement and then nodded. “Accepted.”

  He blinked. “That was easier than I expected.”

  “I decided I would have reacted in the same way.” She averted her gaze, her hands tightly clasped in front of her. “I wasn’t completely pleased you are related to Tomas so I suppose we’re even.”

  “It was a shock for both of us.”

  She seemed to want to say something but then changed her mind. “Would you like a drink? Some of the cognac you’re always asking for?”

  “The private stock reserved for friends?”

  “Yes.” She finally looked at him again, a tentative smile hovering around her lips.

  The offer was definitely an olive branch, one he was more than pleased to accept.

  Once the curse is dealt with. His wolf gave him a nudge.

  The animal was right. For all that he wanted to explore this new side of Gwyneth, dealing with the curse should take priority. Once it was gone, they’d have all the time in the world. “Thanks, but not right now. I’m actually here for two reasons. First, because I’m sorry and secondly, I need a favour.”

  Was there a flash of disappointment in her eyes? He wasn’t sure.

  “A favour?” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “And what would that be?”

  He explained about the curse and how he’d come by a possible reversal, carefully omitting Roxi’s name.

  “I’d need to see the spell.” She furrowed her brow. “I won’t believe the word of some unnamed witch.”

  Thankfully, he’d taken a picture of the original as well as bringing along the reversal Roxi’s cousin had written out.

  Gwyneth studied both and nodded. “They seem compatible.”

  “Excellent. If we head to the pack house—”

  He was interrupted by a pounding at the door followed by the sound of someone yelling. “I know you’re in there, Dante. Your putrid scent is all over this place.”

  “Is that Damien?” Gwyneth cocked her head.

  “It is.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’ll deal with him.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of—”

  The door burst open and Damien half fell into the room, obviously drunk. “Where are you, Dante? I’m going to beat your sorry ass.”

  “Damien!” Dante took a half step forward but Gwyneth pushed past him seeming to revert to her usual self in the face of this new disturbance.

  “Masterson, you damned well know the rules around here. Get yourself in line or I’ll ban you for life.”

  Damien swung his gaze her way. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about your rules. Fucking witches killed my mother. And you,” he turned to face Dante again. “You’re a lying, stealing, murdering bastard.”

  Each word was like a physical blow to Dante. He’d done things in his life, things he wasn’t proud of, all in the name of finding the malefic witch. Yes, he’d done some good, helped bring down several groups that were the worst kind of criminals out there, but even if Damien were to listen, did the good outweigh the bad? He had to try though. Some kind of line of communication needed to be in place.

  The evil is here, his wolf announced.

  Dante frowned, then looked at Damien. Was this more than normal grief and anger? Could the curse be driving the boy into wildly, self-destructive behaviour? From what he’d learned of Sam, she wouldn’t tolerate a mate who acted like this.

  He is our pup. It is our duty to help
him.

  Dante stretched out his hands and stepped forward. “Damien, I—”

  In a blur of movement Damien attacked, crashing into him, sending him careening backwards into a table. It broke under the force of their combined weight, both of them to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

  Dante rolled away and sprang to his feet just in time to dodge a chair that Damien swung at him. The wood splintered against a nearby post, bits of wood flying through the air. Dante reached out and yanked the remaining chair leg from Damien’s hand before he could use it as a weapon. Even drunk, the boy was a good fighter. A flash of fatherly pride sprang up in him until Damien’s fist crashed into his cheek sending him reeling.

  “Take that you cock-sucking douchebag.” Damien snarled the words, his eyes narrowed.

  As he turned from the force of the blow, Dante swung out his leg, catching Damien in the back of his knee, knocking him off balance.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Damien.” He panted the words only to feel Damien grab his ankle and jerk his leg out from under him. The boy apparently had no such reservations.

  Somehow, he landed on top of Damien and they rolled about, each trying to hold the other down. At one point, he had Damien by the shoulders, then Damien had him by the throat. They knocked over another piece of furniture and shards of glass exploded around them.

  “My new glasses!” Gwyneth’s angry cry barely registered as he staggered to his feet and rushed at Damien pushing him back against the wall.

  Damien struggled to shove him away. Nearby a picture jiggled loose and clattered to the ground, then another. Suddenly, Damien reached up and grabbed an overhead wall sconce and used it to lever himself up so he could kick out with both feet.

  “Oomph!” Dante grunted as the force of Damien’s kick expelled the air from his lungs and shoved him back. He staggered, sucked in a deep breath and rushed forward, ramming his shoulder into Damien, once again pinning him to the wall.

  Somewhere to the side he was aware of another presence, another Lycan and prepared himself for another attack when, seemingly out of nowhere, a bottle came crashing down on Damien’s head. The boy’s eyes widened, rolled back in his head and then he crumpled to the floor.