by Mary Hughes
“Sorry, time to open the doors. Gotta go!” Zoe clicked off and tucked the small earpiece next to the key in her cleavage—plenty of room, with her measurements.
Then, because she didn’t want to be a liar, she signaled the greeters to open the door.
Tuxedoed men and women in dresses from long and floaty to short and sassy flowed into the room. Zoe smoothed hands along hips, her stomach churning with both nerves and excitement. It surprised her; her wolf wasn’t usually jumpy. A good run would take care of that, but she couldn’t leave her guests.
She was double-checking the cheese table when she heard a cry.
“Get your paws off me!”
Female, high, stressed. Behind her.
Zoe’s wolf snapped her around. Her gaze zoomed in on a woman in a simple, silver lamé sheathe at a nearby hors d’oeuvre table. A woman from the shelter.
A would-be Romeo in a marquess’s sash with enough medals to be its own platoon had backed the woman into the table.
“Stop it.” The woman slapped at the marquessy guy, fending off his hands, her flailing arms stirring a storm of rose petals and heart-shaped confetti. “I said stop.”
“You like it, baby.” He grabbed private lamé and puckered up.
Damn it, this was exactly what the woman didn’t need. Zoe ran in, seized the guy’s wrist and yanked it like the string of a yo-yo.
He spun away from the woman, straight into Zoe’s glare.
“Romance, asshole.” To make sure he got the message, she put a little wolf into it.
His mask-on-a-stick dropped to swing from its ribbon. The surprised O of his mouth was almost funny.
Then she breathed in, and the alcohol fumes surrounding him stung her nose like a liquor smog. The guy was practically one hundred proof. Either he’d loaded up before coming or he’d been bathing in the champagne fountain. “On second thought, you’re done.” She marched him toward the door, trying not to breathe too deeply.
“Wh-why? I was romancing her.”
“Romance does not mean feeling a woman up like a Japanese body pillow.” She shoved him toward the greeters. She’d have applied boot to butt if her dress hadn’t been in danger of doing a window-shade roll up.
Twist her tail, this evening was not starting well. Palming her nape, she returned to the back of the room.
A dark-haired man bent over the parchment case, caressing it as if studying it—or trying to make out with it, she wasn’t sure. Still, if he was interested in the parchment that meant he was classy, right?
Zoe took a deep breath. Okay. Time to find romance. Donning her best Mona Lisa smile, she sidled up behind him and pitched her voice low and sultry, just short of Lookin’ for a good time, sailor? “Hello.”
He jerked around as if annoyed.
A brutal cowl of ripped, stitched leather, partially masking an equally brutal face, confronted her. Small, mismatched holes showed piggy eyes. His gaze dropped precipitously, catching on her breasts and heating as lustfully as if he had X-ray vision.
She had to work to keep her smile in place. “I’m Lady Mystery.”
“Not much mystery.” He pointed at her bared cleavage—like she was in danger of missing his clever wit. His voice was as rough as a chainsaw. Slowly, his gaze rose, not quite reaching the level of hers, and his lips curled in a smile made of creamed smarm. He held out his hand. “Zeus.”
The name of the top-of-the-food-chain Greek god. No lack of ego there.
Still, that flirting wasn’t going to do itself. She shook his hand briefly. Tried to let go, but he tightened his grip and used it to tug her closer. Her belly fluttered uneasily. He reeked of testosterone, the kind filled with anger and ambition. Her wolf’s senses were preternaturally heightened but even a human would have smelled it.
“Let’s you and me get to know each other, Lady Mystery.” He rubbed a palm over her arm, not rough, but not entirely comfortable.
She gritted her teeth and told herself she was overreacting. Flirt. Enjoy. “Sure.”
He put an arm around her shoulders. His fingers traipsed along her collarbone until they tickled. But then they took a walk on the wild side of her breastbone, spelunking down her cleavage.
Enough was enough. She cleared her throat to make some classy excuse to beat his head into the wall.
Before she could, a buzz at the door distracted her. She glanced up as the crowd parted.
A blond man glided in like a panther, stopped, and stood there, as tall and confident as if he owned the place. He was built like a true Greek god, inverted triangle torso on long, strong legs. His golden hair shone lustrous in the electric light. His strong features accented by a rakish black mask drew the eye of every female in the room.
* * *
After the ballroom doors opened, Daniel waited until the crowd had thinned to make a proper entrance.
He stepped into the ballroom with confidence. The space was lavishly decorated, an orchestra to one side. He gently flirted with a pair of blonde greeters.
Then the crowd parted.
A woman stood there. The rest of the room faded until bright light haloed her and only her.
Spring-green eyes shone against the black of her domino mask. Glossy hair rippled like a living mahogany waterfall. Her lush figure was banded provocatively in black glitter. She held herself with the sensuous grace, not of a dancer, but a lioness.
Daniel’s heart leaped and began to pound. His blood heated until it almost boiled. He started toward her with a lion’s hunting prowl.
As he neared, her scent hit him, a complex mixture of jasmine, saffron, and woman. That scent…
He knew her.
His breath caught. Pulse leaping, he took one last stuttering step toward her.
High school memories crowded him. Her lush body, her sweet smile, her kind soul…and the most erotic dreams a boy ever had. Or a man still had.
Zoe Blackwood.
* * *
Zoe peeled off Zeus’ arm and moved from him as if he’d never existed.
The blond man’s gaze swung to her—and stopped.
Instant connection sang between them. It rang in her ears, in her blood, so powerful and shocking it kicked the air out of her lungs.
The man started toward her, cutting through the crowd like a sleek ship.
Her breath returned in quick, excited puffs.
His scent hit her as he neared, catapulting her back in time to cheerleader sweaters and smoking blunts in the woods…and the burnt scent of an almost-failed chemistry class.
“Damn my paws,” she muttered.
Daniel Light.
Heart Mates
Pull of the Moon
© 2015, 2017 Mary Hughes
To survive, they’ll have to find the missing pieces—starting with their own.
Sophia Blue wishes the cute little doggie she’s found in her aunt’s abandoned magic shop could talk. Maybe he’d tell her if the old woman has wandered off on a walkabout, or if there’s foul magic afoot. Odd how the scruffy little fur ball seems to understand Sophia’s every word.
Just a few years ago, she might have cast a spell to translate the dog’s ear-piercing yaps. But her magic is out of her reach, locked away in penance for mistakenly helping an evil wizard.
Noah Blackwood was the last person to see Sophia’s aunt before she hit him with a spell gone sideways. By night he’s two-hundred pounds of authority, a respected local pack leader. By day? He’s twelve pounds of poof dog. A tasty morsel for the five anti-alpha wolves gunning for him.
The instant the sun goes down and Sophia’s eyes meet Noah’s, fire ignites between them in an incendiary kiss. But when the evil wizard reappears intent on murder, Sophia must break through killing layers of pain to find her magic. And Noah must reclaim all that he is—even defy the law—to claim the woman his heart knows is his mate.
Warning: Contains a sassy ex-witch princess who hasn’t picked up a wand in four years, and a rare alpha wolf who proves attitude knows no boun
daries. A little drooling, a lot of panting, and a few nips in all the right places. Flea collar not included.
Enjoy the following chapter from Heart Mates:
Noah Blackwood opened the door to the Uncommon Night Owl Bookstore, knowing full well he was walking into trouble.
He’d only been alpha a few days, but already he had a sense for when members of his pack were in trouble—and when they were causing trouble. Sure enough, as he glided soundlessly across the threshold of the bookshop, his foot struck broken glass. He scanned the store with a narrowed gaze.
Seventeen-year-old Marlowe stood to his left, beside a front display case. His dirty fingers were wrapped tightly around something, caught in the act of stealing it.
Marlowe was a bully in training and a young man with too much time on his hands.
By bloody tooth and claw, Noah would give the pup something better to do.
As he closed the door and strode toward Marlowe, Noah realized the pack youth was frozen in place, fingers squeezing the thing as if he couldn’t let go.
And that the thing was a foot-long psychedelic capped tower that looked uncomfortably like an erect penis.
Noah scowled. He wasn’t sure what was more unnatural, that frozen boy or the flower-power dildo.
A rattle of beads from the back of the store caught his attention.
“Mr. Blackwood.” The store’s proprietor—Linda Blue, styled herself as some sort of seer—swept apart a back curtain of beads and trundled out. “You’ll need to keep better control of your people. You’re better than Scauth, of course, but…oh my.” As she neared, her hand fluttered to her ample bosom.
Magic flared in his sight, nearly blinding him. She’d cast a spell.
Damn it, she was a witch.
Noah’s palm pressed automatically to his chest, shielding his wolf medallion. Witches trouble. Big trouble. The sooner Noah got Marlowe out from under her feet, the better.
“This won’t happen again, ma’am.” He half-growled it, his inner wolf close to the surface.
“And how do I know that, Mr. Blackwood?” She looked down her long nose at him, a difficult feat considering Noah was almost a foot taller.
He was angry Marlowe had put him in this situation. He wanted nothing more than to take the boy and leave, but witches took careful handling. “Let me talk with the boy. You’ll see.”
She waved a hand. Marlowe staggered as if released. Noah’s hackles rose. A witch who could manage to freeze a wolf was no mere dabbler.
Marlowe dared to snarl at him. The idiot.
Noah seized the pup by the scruff of the neck. Marlowe swung at him with the pink rod.
Noah saw red. The pup wasn’t an idiot, he was an imbecile. He snatched the rod from Marlowe’s hand and hoisted the pup until his legs batted air.
Snarls changed abruptly to thin whines. Noah set the rod gently on the display case. A doodad in a magical store full of doodads that did who-knew-what, and the pup had been swinging it like a bat. Barking dogs, he didn’t know how close he’d skated to disaster.
Noah gave the pup a good scold, letting his roiling anger and alarm bleed into his tone. When he set him down, he rapped his nose for good measure.
The boy slouched, as if his tail were tucked between his legs.
Noah turned to the witch. “I’m sorry for the boy’s behavior, Ms. Blue. Naturally, I’ll pay for any damages.”
“Well…” She rocked on her toes and Noah could see her mind working. He waited for the worst, but her plump cheeks went rosy. “If it can make us friends…apology accepted.”
“Thank you.” Friends? With a witch? He’d rather pal around with a rabid badger. “I’m glad to have this settled.”
He grabbed Marlowe by the shoulders and marched the pup toward the door. The witch hustled past them to open it.
She misjudged the distance and plowed into them both. Noah twisted to catch her from falling.
She blinked up into his eyes, beaming. “Oh, thank you!”
That girlish batting disoriented him just long enough for Marlowe to twist and duck away.
The pup, laughing, ran to grab the dildo then dashed toward the back of the store. His running fist pumped the tower in the air like a bizarre personal barbell.
“My vibrating skyscraper mushroom!” the witch cried.
“Mushroom?” Marlowe, as if trying to aggravate the damned witch, turned and crowed. “It’s a psycho dildo ’shroom!”
The witch flitted after the pup, spinning her fingers like a thousand itsy bitsy spiders, her jewelry clacking like an antique train. “One for the money, two for the show.”
Noah launched himself after her. Twist his tail, she was casting a spell. She looked sweet but if she had real power, well, he’d seen the destruction of mages’ battles. “Don’t—”
“Three to get ready and four—”
“No!” Dread kicked Noah to leap for the boy.
“—to go!”
He cut eyes back. Air warped toward him, wavering like hot day. Before it hit, Noah tackled the boy, taking him to the floor. The impact took the dildo from his hands, flying in an arc through the beaded curtain of the back doorway.
Noah raised his head.
The warped air rippled past them, sailing into a free-standing Snow White oval mirror near the doorway.
The spell rebounded off the mirror. No, the mirror didn’t just bounce it. It augmented it.
Noah shoved to his hands and knees as a glittering tsunami of magic whooshed out of the mirror, heading off to his left. Damn it, this was why he hated magic. Unpredictable, uncontrollable. The spell shot into a glass curio cabinet full of pictures, hit one, and ricocheted—
Straight into his face.
It punched him like a fist. He spun on his knees and fell onto his back, magic shivering into his skin like a thousand tiny barbs. The spell spiraled down into him, condensing in the middle of his chest…and then nothing.
While Noah lay there panting, Marlowe leaped to his feet and disappeared through the beads.
Barking dogs. The pup had probably scooped up that damned mushroom on the way.
Noah wrestled to his elbows. His face hurt like he’d taken a fist. The witch packed quite a wallop for looking like a long-nosed Mrs. Santa.
Weaving fingers fluttered in his face.
Acid splashed into his belly. “Lady, don’t—”
“Reveal.” She stared down at him in plate-eyed horror as her face drained of all color.
“What in blazes is going on?” His words were more growl than voice. Normally, he had excellent control of his wolf. But this, on top of being forced into the alpha fight and the challenges to his new leadership, would make even the calmest wolf howl. He shoved himself to his feet. “What did you hit me with?”
The witch’s fingers covered her mouth. “You felt that? Oh my. Oh dear. This is not good. This is very not good.”
“If you don’t tell me what—”
“Nothing. Everything.” The plump woman flitted to the mirror. She traced its dark wood frame with fluttering fingers, her eyes surprisingly intent.
“Lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about. But that was some serious magic.”
She whirled, skirts flying. “How do you know that?”
“Same way I know you’re a witch.” He tapped his nose.
“That’s impossible. No one can sense a witch.”
He shrugged. “I can. I’m pack alpha.” The truth, in so far as it went.
She whirled back to the mirror, studying it so intensely Noah was surprised it didn’t blush. She was muttering to herself. “Impossible. Magic is paradox. Witches sense the paradox but shifters are the paradox. A shifter sensing magic would be like…like a color sensing itself.”
Typical witch. No real answer. “Just tell me what you hit me with, Ms. Blue.”
The witch’s cheeks pinked. “Call me Linda.”
He tapped his dwindling reserve of patience. “Nice to meet you, Linda. I’m Noah—
stop that!”
She wagged fingers at him, muttering.
Noah stepped sharply back, too late. The spell hit him with a brief glitter. “Damn it, I hate sparkles.”
“You saw that?” Her eyes widened like hobbit doors. She spun, trotted to the curio cabinet, opened it, picked one of the pictures and carried it back to him. “It hit Sophia’s photo before it struck you. Do you know her?”
Sophia. The name rang like the purest bell in his mind.
Then she pushed the picture into his nose, and the woman’s face hit him harder than the spell. Sophia.
Smooth, elegant, so beautiful he wanted to howl. Glossy bronze curls, elegant nose, and eyes that hit him in the gut. Big and intelligent, yet hinting that if a man got her someplace private they’d do some amazing things—
Noah backed away. He’d never heated up that fast. Damn it, what had the witch done to him? He tried to speak, but nothing came out. He swallowed and tried again. Still nothing.
Desperate to hang onto his control, he closed his eyes and used his three-two-one descent to his quiet place, one of the few things he’d kept of his father’s. After dipping a toe in the cool, calm waters of rationality, he opened his eyes again on the witch. “No. Never met her.”
She tapped the frame against her lip. “Interesting.”
“Linda, enough. What hit me?”
“The tiniest of hexes.” She bustled to put the picture back then trundled to an armoire to lift a folded white sheet from the shelves. “A simple bur.”
He shook his head. “That didn’t hit like a bur.”
“Yes, well, it took a few detours first.” She closed the cupboard, trotted to the mirror and threw the sheet over it. The cloth slithered into place like silk. She twitched a few places to cover the mirror completely. “There, that’s taken care of. I—oh dear.”
She stared at the front door.
“What’s the matter…yip?” Suddenly dizzy, he pressed a hand to his head. Or tried to. A paw wavered in front of his face.
“We’re closed.” Linda’s tone was strained.