Tag: urban/paranormal/romantic fantasy (Page 8 of 14)

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“He’s besotted with you.”

The voice curling over my left shoulder sounded pleasant, but it wasn’t. Instead, my instincts screamed “Angry werewolf behind you. Careful!” one second before I swiveled around with a fake smile pasted on my lips.

“Edward. Left your posse behind, did you? Braving the scary kitsune all on your lonesome?”

Because the middle-aged male who’d been Gunner’s principal ally in the battle against Liam was apparently not my greatest supporter. Moments earlier, Edward had stood at the center of the huddle of unhappy shifters shooting angry glances in my direction. So the fact he’d come all the way across the room to engage me likely meant he had an ultimatum to drop on my head.

Meanwhile, the rotten-egg aroma that permeated my cottage was so strong now I could only conclude it emanated from this shifter. It couldn’t have been his signature aroma, however, or someone would have warned me about the foul stench.

“Bad choice of cologne,” I noted even as he grabbed my arm and drew me into the dimly lit hallway with a grasp so bruising I had to fight down a flinch.

“This pack is barely hanging together,” Edward growled as soon as we were out of easy earshot of the rest of the partygoers, not bothering to comment on my snarkiness about his scent. “Liam was important to us and now he’s gone. Ransom was an asshole, but the transition away from him is still difficult. We don’t need you here making things more complicated. If you love Gunner, you’ll leave him alone.”

I wanted to snipe right back…but, unfortunately, Edward hadn’t said anything I didn’t already believe to be truthful. On the other hand—“Gunner asked me to come here. So I came.”

As I spoke, I stared at the hand clenched around my arm until Edward realized what would happen if his pack leader saw the lines of parallel bruises welling up beneath his fingers. Reddening, he shrank back so rapidly I might as well have swiped at him with my sword.

“Shit,” the male muttered under his breath. “If he smells me on you, he’ll go berserk.”

This, at least, I was prepared for. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out an aerosol can of scent-reducing compound, spraying it liberally across my injured flesh.

“I’m not here to make your life difficult,” I said as I worked, the chemical drifting up my nose in the process so I had to pause and stifle a sneeze before I could go on. But then I returned to the most important business—clarifying my place within the Atwood pack. “I’m here to support Gunner,” I continued. “And if you care about the clan, you’ll let me get on with my task.”

Which was all very true even though the words sat between us like a lump of brussel sprouts on the plate of a picky toddler. If Edward wanted the Atwood clan to hang together, he’d make nice and pretend he didn’t have a bone to pick with the pack leader’s mate.

I could tell from his scent—no longer quite so harsh and astringent—that Edward had gotten the message. Unfortunately, werewolves have a hard time dropping a juicy bone. “What happened four months ago…”

“Was the fault of an Atwood werewolf,” I interjected, not wanting to remember the awful battle of wolf against wolf fueled by the kitsune magic of my dead mother. “I would never do anything to damage this pack.”

The vigor of belief added volume to what was meant to be a private conversation, and this time I really did wince as my words rang a little too loudly in the echoing hall. Shit. I’d intended to say my piece to Edward then let him propagate it through the pack at the speed of werewolf gossip. I hadn’t intended to create a scene.

Ignoring the shifter beside me, I swiveled just as I’d done while walking up the path with Kira. Unfortunately, this time I wasn’t lucky enough to find our surroundings devoid of life. Instead, a tall, broad-shouldered werewolf towered in the open doorway between hallway and living room, silhouetted against the light behind his back.

“Something the matter?” Gunner demanded, taking in our proximity, our stiff-legged anger, the strange floral overlay of the de-scenting compound.

“Of course not,” I lied. “Edward was just giving me the recipe for his famous lasagna.”

Grimacing in what was clearly meant to be a smile, the male in question played along. “The secret,” he offered, “is in the sauce.”

“Hmm,” Gunner started, far from satisfied. Only he had no time to debrief us further, because the living room behind him erupted into howls, growls, and one long, quavering scream.

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If you’re just tuning in, be sure to start at the beginning….

The boxes were on the ground and my sword was clasped in white-knuckled fingers before several sets of hands—at least they were furless—yanked my sister into the death trap. But I was four steps too slow to prevent them from enfolding her into their midst.

Enfolding her…and flipping on the light switch to reveal smiling faces and party banners. Apparently my attempt to move in after sunset hadn’t been as secretive as I’d initially supposed.

“Surprise!” werewolves howled, only some of the voices human. Then a whoosh of displaced air warned me of Gunner’s presence half a second before a large hand tucked itself into the small of my back. He guided me through the doorway, my sword reluctantly dissolving into the magical ether even as I did my best to paste a pleased smile onto my face.

“I take it surprise parties aren’t your favorite,” Gunner huffed into my ear while his free hand massaged tension out of my neck muscles. And even though I was bound and determined to give Gunner every opportunity to rebuild his splintered pack without our relationship derailing his efforts, I still found myself swiveling so his guiding arm turned into half of a hug.

“No, I’m not generally a fan of surprise parties,” I agreed. “But I am glad to see you.” After all, it had been nearly three weeks since we’d spent more than five minutes in close proximity. No wonder his fingers on my bare skin acted like balm. I melted into his arms, forgetting my worries as I tilted my head back in preparation for a kiss.

Only, no kiss was forthcoming. Instead, Gunner released me and pulled a small notebook out of one pocket.

“I’ll be sure to remember that in case it comes up later,” he said. And even though cold air where warm hands used to be explained the sudden rise of goosebumps along my exposed forearms, my shiver was out of proportion to the chilliness of the night.

Blinking slowly to tamp down my frustration, I stood up on tiptoes to peer at Gunner’s notebook. And what he’d written returned the smile to my face. “My place tonight once Kira’s sleeping?”

No wonder he hadn’t wanted to even whisper the words in the midst of the pack where shifter ears were bound to overhear him. My cheeks heated even as my head snapped up to peruse the partygoers. Somehow I was positive every werewolf present had read Gunner’s words right alongside me….

But the crowd looked just like it had previously. Werewolves partying. Werewolves laughing. Werewolves muttering in dark corners about the kitsunes in their midst.

“Maybe,” I answered, trying to decide whether I trusted Atwood shifters enough to leave Kira alone in the cottage after night fell.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Gunner interrupted, raising his voice until it was loud enough to be heard at the far end of the overcrowded living room. “New rule—all disputes must be settled with blades hereafter. Tournament rules, to first blood.” Then, as someone near us complained that he knew nothing about blades, that swords were archaic. “If you need instruction, I recommend asking our new sword master for tips.”

Gunner’s hand settled against the small of my back, subtly pushing me forward. And once every eye was upon me—exactly what I’d hoped to avoid by taking the walk of shame with my sister—the pack leader added: “Don’t forget to pay her. Old Red needs new brakes.”

Then just like that, Gunner left me alone in a room full of werewolves with nowhere to hide and no choice but to follow him deeper in.

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Or, rather, to face the two-legged wolf in human clothing. Gunner raised one eyebrow at the pointy blade just barely indenting the skin beneath his Adam’s apple. Then, ignoring my weapon, he held out a mug of chamomile tea, the sweetness of honey curling off the surface as the leader of the wolf pack I lived amidst greeted me aloud.

“Tough night?”

I shook my head, not so much in denial as in a refusal to rehash my dream landscape verbally. And in response, Gunner’s open face shuttered ever so slightly as if he was more disappointed by my evasion than at being greeted by the sharp tip of a sword.

But just as quickly, Gunner regained his customary smile, jiggling the mug between us so the ceramic clanked against my magically-created weapon. “We should do something fun before Kira’s custody hearing,” the ever-patient werewolf suggested. “Go for a run somewhere wild before we’re due in court. Or…shopping? Does Kira like shopping?”

“My sister loves nothing better than spending other people’s money,” I admitted, allowing my sword to diffuse back into a magical blob that slid along my skin to form a bracelet, a belt, a sheathed knife at my left ankle. In front of me, Gunner didn’t even twitch at this evidence of my kitsune nature. “But we shouldn’t spoil her,” I added. “And, anyway, I’ve got other plans.”

“Plans?”

This time I accepted the mug my companion brandished in my direction, pretending that I needed all of my attention to prevent a spill. Taking a sip, I noted that Gunner had steeped the tea just the way I liked it, not so long it turned bitter but not so short that it was simply sweetened water with a hint of aroma to turn hot liquid into soothing tea water.

The flavor was perfect…but my gut clenched anyway. Because it was time for our inevitable weekly ritual. No one managed to slip away from the pack without extensive explanation, but I couldn’t afford to let any of the werewolves I lived with know where I went on Tuesday afternoons. In lieu of the truth, I always ended up stuttering through an entirely unbelievable explanation, and the wolves around me always smiled grimly and allowed me to lie.

As usual, my body language broadcast my mistruth before I even opened my mouth to speak it. “Girl stuff,” I said stiffly, turning away from the piercing eyes of the far too astute werewolf who was providing food, housing, protection, and now the likelihood of ripping Kira out of the foster system permanently.

Gunner had done everything he could think of to enfold me into his pack…and yet I remained at heart a solitary kitsune.

“It might take a while,” I continued. “So I’ll meet you and Kira at the courthouse. If you don’t mind bringing her there for me….”

“Of course, I’ll take care of Kira,” Gunner agreed quietly. “She’s part of our pack.”

The unspoken addendum—that I lacked that distinction due to actions just like this one—separated us more effectively than my now-absent weapon.

But there was nothing I could do about the sad sag to my companion’s shoulders. Nothing except the impossible—turn myself into a wolf.

So, stepping backwards, I nodded once. “Thank you,” I murmured, eyes downcast in wordless apology, “for the tea.”

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Did you miss the beginning of the story? If so, please click here to start from chapter 1.

It was half past four in the morning, but I couldn’t close my eyes, let alone return to slumber. Not even after examining now-clean fingers and toes to reassure myself that the strange confrontation had only been a figment of my dreaming mind’s imagination.

Instead, I lay between soft sheets, listening to the silence of Gunner’s mansion. During the day, the halls filled with chatter and laughter. But in the wee hours of night, the place became positively peaceful with everyone sleeping.

Well, everyone except for me.

It wasn’t the first time I’d risen before dawn, unable to accept a wolf pack’s confining safety. So I pushed out of bed, pulled on clothes, and headed downstairs to the empty courtyard. There I drew upon my star ball and dueled against nobody, stretching muscles well toned from previously insomniacal bouts.

Fighting, at least, tired me enough so the questions and worries circling through my mind lowered their volume. Was I doing the right thing choosing momentary safety for Kira while going against every instinct toward self-preservation that our parents had taught? Slash, lunge. Would I come to regret accepting a so-called “job” that involved doing whatever I wanted while being paid more than I’d previously made as a teacher and cage-fighter combined? Riposte, retreat.

There were no more answers this morning than there had been last Tuesday or two weeks ago Wednesday or any other time I’d come out here to fight shadows rather than snuggle up in my bed like a good little wolf. Still, I couldn’t help smiling despite the sweat burning my eyeballs when the inevitable morning bickering rose with the sun, proving that my sister was now wide awake and much perkier than she’d been the day before.

“So you think it’s funny to let me fall into the toilet first thing in the morning?” Kira snarked from the east end of the first floor—the massive kitchen where everyone except me tended to congregate as soon as they got up.

“Come on, pipsqueak. Today’s the big day. Give me a break.”

Looked like my kid sister was back on task as self-appointed toilet monitor. And one of our house mates—Tank this time—had relieved himself in the night without remembering to re-lower that all-important white seat.

Kira grows more wolf-like and less fox-like every day, I noted, not sure how I felt about the matter. Foxes were reserved and elusive. But wolves, I’d found, expressed their affections best in the physical realm.

Sure enough, the crack of a snapping towel evoked a squeak from my sister even as another house mate, Crow this time, stated the obvious: “That’s our bathroom, puppy. You and Mai have your own on the third floor. So if you fell in, it’s your own da…ahem…darn fault.”

Logic, apparently, had no impact upon my sister. “I live in this entire house, not locked in the attic like a crazy auntie. For example, I spend a lot of time in the kitchen cooking. So if you want any of my bacon, you’ll start putting down the toilet seat everywhere.”

“Ooh, burn,” Allen murmured, far too quietly for the neighbors to hear him. My fox senses, on the other hand, caught the comment quite ably…along with a salty sweet scent that had me slowing my morning exercise into a cool down. Perhaps being part of a wolf pack wasn’t so terrible if it came with bacon at the exact moment my stomach started growling….

Except even as I started imagining breakfast, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. My nostrils flared, my muscles tightened. There was something nearing, something watching….

Bacon abruptly forgotten, I whirled in reaction, raising my sword as I turned to face the stalking wolf.

Keep reading the next scene on my blog. Or dive straight into the full book on the retailer of your choice.

I realized I hadn’t posted here in nearly two months — oops! In my defense, I’ve had my head down following Mai through the winding path of book two in the Moon Marked series. And now Shadow Wolf is finally ready for your eyes. If you missed book one, I highly recommend you start with Wolf’s Bane instead. Otherwise…enjoy!

***

Dried blood coated my cuticles and I blinked, unable to make sense of the unexpected sight. Safely sheltered by werewolves, I’d gone on frequent fur-form expeditions in recent weeks. So maybe that explained the dark circles beneath my fingernails…but since when did I pounce upon unwary rabbits and rip open their throats while I was sleeping?

Seeking clues, I tipped my head upwards to take in the crescent moon then stamped bare feet against bent and splintered grass blades. The strands caught against my toes, clinging as if coated with glue…or with some other halfway-dried and considerably less savory substance.

Blood?

I leapt sideways, the harsh tang of copper following me away from the trampled circle of earth. From the amount of bodily fluids I’d brought along with me, I could only assume I’d waded through the same carcass that had sullied the grass and soil…or had been the one to spill those bodily fluids myself.

There has to be a rational explanation for all of this. Closing my gaping mouth and forcing air to flow more naturally through flaring nostrils, I peered out at the darkened landscape in which I found myself. I was perched atop a rounded knoll, encircled on four sides by tree silhouettes while the moon shone down through a gap in the canopy to illuminate the spot where I now stood…

…Where I stood beside a cloaked figure all too familiar despite the three months since I’d seen him or her last. The being had bought Mama’s star ball and absconded with it last spring despite all of my efforts to reclaim the magic….

So I was dreaming. I exhaled in relief, pinching my forearm. Unfortunately, the sharp burst of pain failed to wake me back up.

Well, if I had to repeat a three-month-old battle against the owner of my mother’s star ball, perhaps this time I’d win the fight. Change the rules, change the game….

To that end, I yanked at the source of my magic, the glow of a sword arcing through the air between me and my enemy. And in instant response, lightning bugs rose in a wave of green-hued reaction, their sheer numbers proving that this was not memory but rather dream. I’d never known so many of the bioluminescent fliers to exist in one location…had rarely even seen a smattering of their neon lights at the wooded edge of the city park where I sometimes went to be alone.

But I wasn’t located in my home city any longer. Instead, forest stretched out around me, lacking streetlights, porch lights, even the barest hint of asphalt and diesel fumes to pinpoint a nearby road.

Where was I? And why had I moved this frequently remembered battle from the abandoned theater in which it had actually occurred to an idyllic spot lifted from a fairy tale?

All of these thoughts flooded my neurons in the time it took for the lightning bugs to wink out and return the scene to near darkness. Meanwhile, as if my enemy had been waiting for the return of my attention, cloaked arms rose in a flicker of black on black. Then a shining orb levitated out of the being’s right sleeve.

Now I could see my opponent easily as he—she?—beckoned me forward with one curving finger. Come, the gesture demanded as Mama’s star ball winked at me from around the being’s gloved hand. I cocked my head in response to the magic’s odd behavior. Then the glowing star ball shifted, stretched…and turned into a whip that lashed out faster than a cobra to encircle my arms and chest.

The magic burned. Cut through my silk kimono and almost—but not quite—prevented me from noticing how dramatically this nightmare had gone off the rails of its usual script.

Since when was there a lasso involved in our battle? Since when did I wear kimonos? Since when did the anonymous being I fought against wield magic I had yet to understand?

“Who are you?” I demanded, not even trying to bring up my magical sword to sever the imprisoning connection that pulled me one step closer to my nemesis, then another. Because I could feel my mother’s essence within the glowing rope restraining me—who knew what would happen if I cut that soul-bound magic in half to free myself?

The words had been a parry, meant only to win me another moment in which to think. But, to my surprise, my opponent didn’t ignore them. Instead, lasso pressure on my stomach eased as a hooded head cocked to one side in mimicry of my own earlier gesture. I could almost smell the being’s confusion as he or she paused rather than continuing to reel me in.

Scent. Yes, of course I should use every weapon at my disposal if this really was a face-to-face meeting with my nemesis rather than a rehashed memory-turned-nightmare.

But the breeze was flowing from behind me, the air too dry to be redolent with identifying scents. And as the wind whipped unbound hair against my cheekbones, I flinched, realizing what I should have gathered from the start.

The body I inhabited wasn’t my own—how could I have missed that? Instead, I stood in the skin of my dead mother. More slender than my real body, a trifle shorter, and enfolded in the subtle haze of jasmine that always preceded my mother whenever she entered a room.

Then my lips opened and Mama’s voice spoke through me. “Master…” she started, chilling me to my core. So the cloaked being had figured out how to use Mama’s star ball since I’d last been in his or her presence. Had figured out how to use her magic…and her as well.

But before Mama could bow to the Master further, before I could beg forgiveness for letting her fall into such a trap, my earlier wish was granted. I slipped out of my mother’s body and woke in my own bed with a start.

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