For the past few days he’d been studying the tome, hoping to arm himself with some insight into black magic before entering the Coven. Unfortunately, the darker spells must have been on the missing pages as those he’d deciphered thus far were quite innocuous covering topics such as removing warts, creating love potions and cleansing a room of negativity.
The purchase wasn’t a complete waste however. It was interesting reading and there was always a chance he’d find a way to end the family curse. He made a face. Most Lycans went through their entire lives without encountering magic spells, whereas he was up to his neck in them.
He settled more comfortably on the bed and turned another page. Now here was an interesting one. Time slowed and love cursed. To be used under a blood moon. The words of the spell were blurred and he stumbled through them.
By the light of the blood moon, the heart dies.
Without love, time slows.
The curse alone shall survive.
Woe to those that remain alive.
Thrice the spell will be said,
The words growing each time it is read.
The moon and the witch’s heart blood will blend,
Love will die whilst life extends.
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.
What was ‘time slowed’? And did ‘the heart dies’ refer to someone dying or was it a poetic reference to love?
‘The curse alone shall survive. Woe to those that remain alive.’ Well, his family certainly knew about curses. If his father’s stories were to be believed, their entire line was cursed because an ancestor had played fast and loose with a local witch. Since then the family fortunes had spiralled downward from being a long line of Alphas to mere Omegas of the pack. Land was lost, job prospects fell through. Love soured. Tragedies plagued mated pairs.
He stared at the spell again. The curse surviving could mean the witch who enacted the spell carried a curse, perhaps condemning anyone around her to unhappiness. Or maybe those that were cursed would die but the curse would continue to haunt those who still lived? ‘Woe to those who remain alive’ could be interpreted that way. Or maybe not. Every spell seemed to have layers of meaning that only another witch would understand.
He rubbed his eyes and a yawn overtook him. He’d read a bit more before trying to sleep again…
He hid in the shadows near a gap in the boards of the old building where the pack was held captive. How they’d come to be in such circumstances and why they weren’t fighting to leave, he had no idea, but the scent of blood and death hung heavy in the air, several already lying dead. A fire burned in the middle of the space, the flickering flames casting shadows on the wall, the smoke blurring his view. Unable to see the killer, he’d listened to the mocking tones as it was explained to the captive pack how the energy of their fear increased the strength of the life extended spell. That their blood, taken by force under a black moon, was even more powerful adding years to the spell’s efficacy.
Carlotta was sitting near the edge, not far from him but he dared not make a sound. A light breeze stirred, ruffling his hair causing errant strands to fall into his eyes. He pushed them away, keeping his focus on what was happening inside the building. Whether it was his movement or his scent carried on the wind, he couldn’t say, but she suddenly turned her head his way.
Across the distance, he could see her eyes widen, a soft gasp escape her.
Shaking his head, he’d pressed a finger to his lips.
She nodded in understanding, then glanced down to the bundle she held in her arms. A child. When she looked back at him, he could see the uncertainty in her eyes.
He tightened his lips, swallowing hard before forcing a faint smile and nodding. He’d heard in town that she’d had a child she’d named Damien Carlos, the father a tourist who had never returned. Despite being shocked, he’d had no doubt the child was his. Carlotta’s phone calls had hinted there was important news but damn. She should have told him. He’d have come for her.
A deep breath and he pushed his feelings to the side. Now was not the time for recriminations. Getting her out of this mess came first.
Slowly, she’d edged towards him, one inch then another, always with an eye to the individual at the front. He gripped the edge of the board, pulling on the rotten timber. The faint screeching protest of rusty nails had him freezing in fear. The killer didn’t seem to have heard but he dared not try again to make the opening bigger. He’d flicked his gaze between Carlotta and the gap in the boards. She’d fit…barely. A distraction would be needed, perhaps a rock thrown through the window?
He mimed his plan. She shook her head and lifted the child slightly. She wanted him to take the babe first. The opening was big enough, why not…?
“Please.” She mouthed the words.
Save the child, yes. But leave his love behind? He shook his head. No, the very idea unthinkable.
Her pleading eyes filled with tears and, reluctantly, he agreed. When she was close enough she bent her head and whispered to the child, then pressed a kiss to its head. She eased the tot from her arms and gave it a gentle push towards him. He reached for the child, pulling it through the opening and then quickly gathering it to him so its face was pressed to his chest, stifling any sounds it might make. He didn’t look at the boy, the flesh of his flesh. The child clung to him, trembling, but he’d kept his own eyes on Carlotta.
Lips pressed tightly together, she looked at him, tears slowly dripping from her eyes and trailing down her cheeks. Her grief had spanned the distance between them, tearing at his heart.
“Go. Save our son.” The words on her lips were as clear as if she’d spoken them aloud.
“No. I love you.” He breathed the words, wishing he could touch her, kiss her. “You have to try. For me. For the child.”
“I love you, too.” She flicked a glance at the front of the room and then back at him, finally nodding.
He stood, the child in his arms and threw a rock at the window. Even as the crash sounded through the night, he turned and tore at the board he’d already loosened.
She crawled through the opening. He bent and pulled her to her feet with his free hand. Shouts and cries sounded inside the building.
“Come on. Run.” He took off, half-dragging her behind him. Her movements were sluggish, as if she were drugged or being held back by some invisible force. They barely made it twenty yards when a blinding flash of light surrounded them and, with a cry, Carlotta fell to the ground.
He stumbled, turned. She was dead. A gaping hole in her chest. Blood everywhere. Spattered on his pants, pooling on the ground around his shoes. His knees almost buckled, his eyes riveted on the sight. An aching black chasm seemed to be filling him, stealing his breath, holding him frozen in place. Only the weight of the child in his arms kept him from giving in and collapsing beside the woman he loved.
The killer was approaching, the air chilling as evil invaded the space.
“Go. Save our son.” Carlotta’s words echoed in his head, her voice urgent, pleading, breaking the spell that threatened to entrap him.
With one last look at Carlotta’s face, he turned and ran, crashing through shrubbery, stumbling over roots, the child clutched to his chest. He ran until he was exhausted and out of breath and then continued on afraid to stop, to turn back and see if he was being followed…
A thud had him awakening with a jolt. He’d fallen asleep, the grimoire on his lap, only now it was on the floor. He groaned as he moved, his neck stiff, his eyes gritty.
It wasn’t the first time he’d relived the events that had set him on his current path. It probably wouldn’t be the last either. Maybe avenging Carlotta’s death would finally give him some peace…or maybe not.
Scrubbing his hands over his face, he forced himself to throw off the remnants of the dream. Light was st
reaming in through the curtains; it was time to get moving.
He got up and gathered the book back together. It was so old it couldn’t withstand much rough treatment. Wrapping it up, he carefully placed it back in the safe. A glance at his watch on the bedside table showed he had an hour before he had to meet Gwyneth. Good, there was enough time for a shower. Yawning, he headed to the bathroom eager to climb under the hot, pulsating stream.
He was sluicing the water from his hair when awareness had him stiffening. Something alerted him he wasn’t alone. Easing back the shower curtain, he stepped out from under the spray, purposely leaving the water running so as to not alert whoever was in his room. After wrapping a towel around his waist, he pressed close to the door to hear over the pounding of the water behind him.
Someone was definitely out there. Fuck. Shifting into a wolf without knowing what species one was facing wasn’t advisable. There was a chance it was housekeeping; not likely but caution was needed. He scanned the room for a weapon. Shampoo, his shaving kit, towels…
He grabbed the shaving kit and slung a towel over his shoulder. If need be, he could throw the kit at the intruder; most individuals automatically recoiled from a projectile lobbed at them. And a snapped towel could knock a gun from a hand. Not his preferred weaponry but better than nothing.
Armed, he placed his hand on the door knob and eased it open a mere crack. It was enough to suit his purpose. A scent reached him and he relaxed his tense muscles. Gwyneth.
Leaving the shaving kit on the counter, he flicked off the shower and then strolled into the bedroom area.
“So anxious to see me, you couldn’t wait?”
Gwyneth turned from her study of the items on the dresser. “You’re late.”
“Late? It’s barely…” He picked up his watch and glanced at the face. Damn. It was the same time it had been before the shower. “My apologies, the battery must have been defective.”
“That’s what you get when you buy knock-offs on a street corner.”
“I do not buy knock-offs.” He used the towel over his shoulder to dry his hair. “And speaking of the word knock, you obviously don’t know how.”
“You’re over half an hour late. I was concerned.”
Her attempt at looking innocent made him laugh. “Bull. You thought you saw an opportunity to do some snooping.”
“You said you did a search of my background. Turnabout is fair play.”
“How did you get in? No. Let me guess.” He noticed a hint of purple in her eyes, the sign a witch had been using magic. “You cast a spell on a member of housekeeping or—”
She shrugged. “A simple door opening charm.”
“Handy. You’ll have to teach me that one day.”
“Unless you have witch blood in your background, it wouldn’t work.”
“Shame.” He dropped the towel he’d been using on his hair and reached for the phone. “What would you like to eat?”
“I thought we were going to a rooftop restaurant.”
“You’re here. I’m not dressed yet. Weren’t you complaining the other day about not wasting time?”
“I—”
“Bacon? Waffles? Never mind, I’ll have them send an assortment.”
She leaned against the dresser while he ordered. He could see her in the mirror, feel her gaze traveling the length of him, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, traveling down his chest, pausing where the towel hung low on his hips. His body responded to her intense study. Her eyes widened and he tried to hold back a grin.
Hanging up the phone. “Like what you see?”
“I appreciate a good body as much as the next woman.”
“And I appreciate being appreciated.”
“I noticed.” She pushed off from the dresser.
He stayed where he was, wondering where this was going, letting her take the lead.
She stopped in front of him. “I had a vision a few weeks ago. It was during a moonlight ceremony.”
“Really?”
She skimmed her finger over his collar bone. “I saw the image of a man. Ghost-like, barely there; something about you reminds me of him.”
He thought of the witch’s circle he’d come across. Should he mention what he’d seen? He opened his mouth to speak, but her finger was trailing down his sternum.
“He was bare chested like you.” She pressed her palm to his skin.
The heat of her touch had him swallowing hard.
“But wearing jeans, not a towel.” Her hand slid lower to trail the line where the towel rested on his hips.
“And?”
“I wanted to kiss him.” She stared directly into his eyes, leaned forward and brushed her mouth over his.
“I’m sure I wouldn’t have protested,” he murmured.
“Really?” She rested her hands on his bare shoulders and caught his lower lip with her teeth.
He groaned and pulled her tightly against him, kissing her, tasting her, pressing her hips to his aching need.
She responded in kind, raking her fingers through his hair, down his back, moving against him as passion began to flare out of control until she suddenly jerked back, breathing heavily. “You bastard!”
“What?” He blinked. “You started it.”
“It was you in my witch’s circle.”
“I—”
“That’s right. You said ‘I wouldn’t have protested.’.”
“In my defence, I wasn’t really there.” He raised his hands. “I stumbled upon the circle when my wolf and I were out for a run. I had no idea what it was.”
She gave him a considering look, eyes narrowed and then folded her arms and turned away. “I really don’t like Lycans.”
“I’d never have guessed based on what just happened.” He shifted uncomfortably.
“Consider it a taste of your own medicine. You’re always getting me all worked up.”
“I am?” He grinned. “Thank you for confirming my suspicions.”
She opened her mouth as if to speak then shut it again and glared at him. Finally she spoke, “I need to use the bathroom,” and stalked out of the room.
“Don’t be too long. I need to use it as well, thanks to you.”
She slammed the door shut.
He laughed softly and went to answer a knock at the door. Breakfast had arrived.
Inside the bathroom, Gwyn splashed cold water on her face and then stared at her reflection in the mirror. What had she done? By no stretch of the imagination had kissing Dante been part of her plan today. Hell, she wasn’t even sure why she’d decided to break into his room. The sudden decision to do some snooping had seemed like a good idea at the time. And when he’d stood there, half-naked and wet from the shower, the memory of that vision had popped into her head.
Somehow this had to be his fault. Exactly how she didn’t know, but it was preferable to blaming herself at this point, no matter how unfair that might be. She dried her face and hands and hung up the towel with quick, angry movements.
She’d get the stupid interview over and leave as soon as possible. And if he tried to contact her again, no matter what the reason, she’d kick his ass to the curb. She had more important things to do than cross verbal swords with him. Last night, she’d spent hours familiarizing herself with the darkest spells in her family grimoire, grabbing only a few hours of sleep before heading over here.
Maybe it was exhaustion that had made Dante so appealing. It was a weak excuse but she’d run with it. It was preferable to admitting she found the dog attractive!
Chapter 19
Reno circled his shoebox of an office for what was probably the fifth time. He needed to call Damien, had started to a number of times only to set the phone down again. How did you tell a man his father was the lying piece of shit he hated? There just wasn’t a good way to do it.
He went to take a drink of coffee only to realize his cup was empty. Maybe he’d call after he got more? Nah. He was being a wuss. It was time to man-up and get
it over with. He sat down at his desk, took a deep breath and then grabbed the phone before he lost his nerve again. Like taking off a bandage, he told himself, do it and deal with the pain.
The requisite number entered, he pressed his lips together as he counted the rings. Maybe Damien wasn’t home. Maybe…
“Hello?”
“Oh, hey Sam.” He grinned and leaned back in his chair, the tension in him easing. It was fine to talk about manning-up, but a small reprieve was nothing to sneeze at.
“You sound awfully happy.”
“Just glad to talk to you. What are you up to?”
“Er…I’m folding laundry.” She sounded suspicious, like Brandi did when he tried to pull one over on her. “Was there a reason you called?”
“Uh, yeah. Is…er…Damien there?”
“No, he’s out right now.”
“Oh. Good!” He winced. He sounded like an idiot.
There was a pause and then she replied. “Okay, spit it out, Smith. There might be a thousand miles separating us but I can tell when something is up.”
“Sorry.” He stood up and paced the small room. “I have news on Dante.”
“Dante? Excellent. What did you learn?”
He hesitated and then related what he’d learned right up to the point about the baby being alive.
“So, Dante might have a kid out there somewhere?”
“Yeah, so it seems.”
“Huh.” Sam didn’t sound very impressed by the news. “Interesting background. I guess it explains why he’s a twisted bastard.”
Reno rubbed the back of his neck. Sam obviously hadn’t connected the dots. Did he tell her?
She continued talking. “None of this really explains what he’s doing in Chicago, unless…”
“Yes?” He stiffened thinking she’d realized the Damien connection. He was wrong.
“You mentioned rumours of witchcraft and black magic being involved in the girl’s death. He’s hanging around Gwyn. Could he believe she’s somehow involved?”