by Sela Carsen
Perfectly aware that she might be digging her career grave by rejecting the mayor, she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.
“I’m so, so sorry. I appreciate the offer, but I am otherwise engaged for the evening.” Ok, so her so-called engagement involved a long bath and a good book. He didn’t need to know the specifics. “But it’s kind of you to ask.”
The man’s face tightened as if he’d been slapped and Debra’s warning bells started tolling like a hunchback party at Notre Dame. The obvious rage was out of proportion to a simple refusal.
“Why would you do that?”
“Do what?” she asked, holding her ground. She wasn’t about to let him intimidate her.
“Say no when I hold your library’s fate in my hands? Is there someone else? Do you have some other man waiting for you somewhere?” His menacing whisper alarmed her.
Every muscle in her body pulled at her to cut and run. Fast. But he made her mad, so she stiffened her backbone and raised her chin.
“Mr. Mayor, my personal life is none of your business. Whether I choose to have dinner with you or anyone else has absolutely no bearing on our professional relationship. I hope that you’ll give appropriate and unbiased consideration to my library budget proposal, but that is the extent of our dealings together.”
Righteous anger flowed through her and her drawl deepened as she continued. “You ask why I won’t go out with you? Because you have the sheer gall to presume that I would date you for the sake of a budget. That my favors are for sale. It is unworthy of you, sir. Good evening.” She crossed her arms and raised her chin, skewering him with a dismissive scowl until he turned on his heel and marched out. The heavy door slid closed and she slumped. Crap. There went her beautiful library. She waited a few moments before she picked up her purse and hefted it over her shoulder. Even its utter cuteness couldn’t lift her spirits. She had to lean against the door with all her weight to escape the empty room.
Maddox Moreau broke off his conversation with the last few council members who remained and followed as she stalked down the hall. Her warning bells sounded for him, too, but in an entirely different way.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Henry.” His voice, sweet and deep as dark molasses, poured over her skin.
It was like she had some kind of radar where he was concerned. As he caught up, she realized he was hot. Not cutie-hot, but hot-hot. Waves of warmth billowed over her as if she walked next to a pulsing fire. She had to fight hard against the urge to stop and snuggle into the comfort he offered. This was a complication she did not need and the weight of it slowed her down.
Debra couldn’t put it off anymore. Since her car was in front of Charlene’s shop, she’d come in the back door. Everyone else was at the front of the building or already gone. She hadn’t seen Mayor Corvell when she left.
Now she was alone with Maddox. The door was right in front of her. She could still run away if she tried, but it was best to confront this bizarre attraction head on and get it out of her system. At least this way there would be no witnesses if she did something stupid like try to crawl up his body like a needy kitten.
She inhaled, shockingly aware of how close he stood, of the way his breath moved over her hair. She straightened. Pushed up her glasses. And turned.
Sweet Baby Jesus.
It was entirely unfair that he should be so attractive. His eyes were the most amazing shade of smoky blue and smile lines bracketed his mouth. Straight brown hair fell adorably over his forehead.
Dang it. Even his nose was cute, broken and crooked, but still strong. Not fair. If her nose were crooked, she’d be that girl with the crooked nose. Not all goose-bumpy and sexy.
He’d said something, hadn’t he?
Debra cleared her throat. “Likewise, sir.”
“Have dinner with me.”
Debra’s raised eyebrows made wrinkles in her forehead, but she didn’t care. “I beg your pardon?”
“Have dinner with me.”
Too bad all those good looks were wasted on such a jerk. The nerve. After her fight with the mayor, this was too much. She gave him her most glacial glare.
“Allow me to introduce you to the mechanics of the interrogative statement, Mr. Moreau.”
“Maddox, please,” he interrupted.
She glared harder and continued. “The interrogative is used to ask a question of another person. Whenever possible, it should be qualified by a polite phrase, such as ‘please’. For example, ‘Miss Henry, will you please have dinner with me?’”
Smile lines deepened. “And will you?”
“Yes.” She gasped and her eyes widened as she slapped her hand over her mouth. That was so not what she meant to say.
The lines blossomed into a full-on grin of triumph. “How does tomorrow night sound?”
The glare she gave him this time was far from glacial. What stupid impulse had taken over her mouth? Huge mistake. She didn’t want to date anyone, remember? And if the mayor found out, she’d be back on the job market faster than she could say Dewey Decimal System. Maybe she could bargain with him.
“How about a cup of coffee instead?”
“At your house?”
“No!” She winced. Way to be subtle. “I mean, something a little less formal than dinner.”
“I’m afraid not, Miss Henry. You agreed to dinner. I couldn’t possibly accept anything less.” He kept smiling that charming grin, though it had become a trifle fixed.
“I’m fine with a hamburger at the Sonic.”
“Keep trying to talk me down and I’ll take you clear to Columbia.”
The state capitol was closer than The Mill in Boykin, but where the idea of riding through the Midlands with the mayor sounded both dull and creepy, being cooped up in a car with Maddox Moreau would probably drive her insane.
Debra gathered what little grace she could muster and smiled grimly. “That won’t be necessary, I’m sure. Where would you like to go?”
“I have somewhere in mind. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know.”
That was her cue to write down her phone number. Give him some personal connection to her. But she was ahead of him this time. Debra stuck her hand into a pocket of her bag.
“I’ll be at the library. Here’s my card.”
A business card was supposed to be impersonal, but he took it gently between two long, strong fingers and lifted it to his nose, as though it was a precious love letter imbued with perfume. He smiled and Debra became short of breath.
She had to get out. She stumbled backwards into the heavy double doors. “Right. So. I’ll, um, talk to you tomorrow then. ’Kay. Good night, Mr. Moreau.”
“Maddox,” he called after her, but the door clanged shut.
Chapter Two
Debra nearly drowned in the early autumn humidity. At ten o’clock at night, the temperature had dropped to eighty degrees. She put her hand over her chest to calm her erratic heartbeat. Big presentation, confrontations with two different men. Why didn’t the universe space these events out so she could catch her breath a little?
Upset and confused, she dug in her purse for keys as she walked across the darkened town square. The nerve of that man. Those men. If she were honest with herself, the mayor had frightened her a bit. She didn’t know that much more about the park ranger, but at least he hadn’t scared her. She was just going to have to watch herself carefully.
When she heard the rustling, she wanted to put it down to a roaming cat or possum, but her newfound instinct for danger clanged wildly in her head. She stiffened, her fingers grasping the cold serrated edge of her keys.
A hulking black figure came out from the cover of the overgrown azaleas that surrounded the slightly shabby little gazebo in the center of the square.
He held out his hand and growled something, some liquid phrase that slithered into the air. The words slammed against her like a physical force, binding her in place.
Debra tried to open her mouth to
scream, and realized her jaw was as locked down as the rest of her body. All she could do was wait for him to get to her. And scream in her mind.
Well over six feet tall, he didn’t walk fully upright, but hunched, sharp-shouldered and long-armed. His face was inhuman, caught in an eternal hell between man and animal. His jaw jutted, and unnatural fangs gleamed in the fitful moonlight.
“Not running away, bitch?” he rasped. He walked right up to her, not even bothering to sneak. “You can’t do anything to me. You don’t have any power over me.” Foul breath washed over her face and she wanted to gag. “I know what you are,” he crooned. One hand, hairy and claw-tipped, combed through a strand of her hair. “Witch. Bride of Satan. What’s the matter? Can’t get to your power?”
Debra’s throat worked uselessly to refute him, but she remained unable to speak. Terror grew.
He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Where’s the Book, hellspawn? I need the Book. I have this power, but I need more.”
A cry, low and pathetic, broke from her.
“Aw. So sad. So lovely. So evil. All witches are evil. They steal men’s souls. They cloud men’s brains. Good thing I’m not a man, then. I’m better. But to be the best, I need that Book.”
His hand clutched her hair, yanking it back and causing a spear of agony to shoot down her neck. “Where’s the Book?” he screamed, spittle flying from his misshapen snout.
Debra’s heart beat so hard she thought it might shatter right in her chest. Panic, pain and helpless fury combined into a bitter lump of bile in her throat.
He knew. How did he know what she was? It wasn’t like she hung a shingle on her front porch: Witchcraft, Spells and Potions. She didn’t even know any spells or potions and her power was a pitiful, tiny thing. Barely a flicker and just enough to guard her secret. And pot, meet kettle. She might be a witch, but she didn’t go around scaring people to death.
Her eyes darted to the darkness beyond them, sensing something else in the shadows. He saw the movement and laughed.
“What’s the matter, trying to call for help?” He let go of her hair, but she still couldn’t move. Couldn’t run, couldn’t escape, couldn’t even lift her hands to shield herself from the blow. The back of his hand—rough fur that stank of unwashed beast—connected with her cheek and Debra’s head whipped around. Stars exploded in front of her eyes and her mouth filled with pain and blood. Tears tracked down her face and the monster laughed. Everything within her recoiled in disgust. He was enjoying this.
The laughter died abruptly at the sound of rustling leaves. He wheeled around and whatever power restrained her melted away.
She’d dropped her keys when he hit her and she fell to her knees, sweeping the ground with her hands until she touched them. The feral moan of an animal hungry for blood spurred her to clumsy speed. She stumbled the few feet to her car, one hand cradled to her cheek, and fumbled with the latch.
The sound changed. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder though her mind screamed at her to get in the car. Instead, she watched what emerged from the bushes.
Her attacker tried to escape, but a massive black wolf leapt, knocking him to the grass before circling his prey, growling and snarling. The monster stood up and feinted to the side, but the wolf was too fast, snapping those fearsome jaws around the rank creature’s knee. Debra heard a wet crunch as the abomination screamed, but he didn’t go down. Instead, he pulled something from a bulky pouch at his waist and thrust it at the wolf, who wrenched away.
The injury didn’t slow the villain at all as he turned and hurtled towards Debra, screaming, “You’re mine, devil’s whore!”
Her thumb finally punched the door latch button and she slid into the car, slamming it before he reached her. Her eyes widened. The demonic thing was holding a knife, the blade glinting silver and deadly as it sliced toward her window. It never reached her.
The wolf’s bulk slammed him sideways and they rolled together onto the sidewalk. The creature stabbed wildly at the wolf. Debra heard the animal cry out as one slash hit its body.
Her eyes were accustomed to the dark now. The wolf stumbled back and the creature limped away into the darkness. A glistening trail of blood sank into the thirsty earth.
Oh God. She had to get out of here. Her keys fell to the floorboard and she scrambled for them, uncaring that her head hit the steering wheel. She had them in hand when she heard the whimper.
The wolf stood staring at her, one front paw off the ground, dripping blood from its foot and its jaw.
It had saved her life. She could do no less in return. A flicker of something in her mind told her she was in no danger. Debra opened the door of the car and stretched out her hand slowly, slowly. The animal took one hopping step back from her and she stopped.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
The wolf swayed, then shook its head like a human trying to clear away a fog. Its form shimmered, shivered somehow, and Debra—practical, boring, only slightly out of the ordinary Debra—watched in fascinated horror as the wolf disappeared and the long, lean form of Maddox Moreau fell naked into her lap, out cold.
Chapter Three
Debra’s fingers slipped off the key as she tried to start the car. She gripped the steering wheel until her skin pinched painfully against the hard plastic.
Maddox sat in the passenger seat, floating in and out of consciousness, his muscles twitching with each interval of semi-lucidity. She’d had a job hauling him into the other seat, but it finally worked and he was safely buckled in. Her demonic attacker was gone, leaving only a pool of dull black blood behind.
Debra shook her head. No, that hadn’t been a demon—demons only existed in fiction. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to examine the man next to her.
Man.
Wolf.
Something. But not what that creature had been.
Right now, she had her hands full with other problems. She tried the key again and the car started with a shudder. Where should she take him? An emergency room seemed wrong. If she wasn’t completely insane, if what she had seen actually happened, she didn’t think a local ER was prepared to deal with him. Anyway, how was she—or he—supposed to explain how he ended up buck naked with a knife wound in his shoulder, accompanied by the local librarian?
She could take him home with her. Debra didn’t know where he lived, didn’t know anything about him. Except that he was naked. And a wolf-shapeshifter thing. A werewolf. A naked werewolf. Sitting in her car.
Her gaze slid off the road to the man beside her. His eyes were closed again, but his mouth was tight, as if it held back the pain. Well, he wasn’t completely naked anymore. Her cardigan was wrapped against the slash in his shoulder, but blood seeped through the cotton knit, staining the fabric an ugly purple.
Debra tore her gaze away from him and back to the road in front of her. It was wrong to ogle a bleeding, unconscious man, even if he was gorgeous. And naked.
Would you stop with the naked thing already? It’s not like you haven’t seen it before.
An image of Maddox, standing woozily in front of her the moment before he collapsed, flashed to the front of her brain.
Yeah, but none of the guys she’d slept with looked like that.
Maddox awoke to pain. He was moving. Apparently his body was functioning enough to help whoever he was using as a crutch up a couple of stairs and onto a front porch. A tiny hand on his waist and one on his chest. A sweet, southern voice saying words he barely understood.
“Now, you just stand right there for a second while I open the door.”
It was her. His...he couldn’t think straight. She sounded so pretty. Debra was the wrong name for her. She should be called Beauty. Or Lovely. Or Mine. He’d settle for Mine. There were other words, but he didn’t think they were meant for him. She was talking to herself.
Aww. That’s so cute.
The dog that met them at the door was not cute. He growled in wary aggression, ears flat against his rounded sk
ull. Barely past the puppy stage, he nevertheless perceived the threat to his beloved mistress and did his best to warn Maddox away.
The trouble was, Maddox couldn’t get away right now if he tried. Bastard had used a silver knife on him. He was lucky it was only a gash. Had the silver touched any vital organs, he’d be one dead werewolf.
“Hush now, Twister. He’s hurt and we have to help him.” His savior, his unknowing mate, shushed the animal. The dog, which looked like a Boxer now that his vision was clearing, backed away, but continued to growl low in his throat. Maddox didn’t blame him. He’d growl, too, if Debra had her hands all over some nude stranger.
She walked him to the couch and tried to help him down gently, but he was too heavy for her. Dizziness overwhelmed him and he fell forward, face down onto the cushions.
The next time he awoke, he stared over at a coffee table that wasn’t his. He smelled blood and there was a hot weight on his legs. He looked down his body and found that his shoulder hurt like a sonofabitch. Debra had cleaned him up and put some tidy butterfly bandages over his wound to hold the edges of the skin together. She’d also draped a blanket over his naked ass.
“No dogs on the couch.”
At the sound of her voice, he looked up and there she stood, carrying a mug of something in her hands. There was a smear on her cheek and her clothes were a wreck, but it hardly mattered.
Debra Henry was one of the prettiest women he’d ever seen. She’d cut her hair. When he saw her the other evening at sunset, it had been long—pulled away from her face and tied up in a ponytail. This swingy look that grazed her chin suited her better.
“What did you say?”
“I said, no dogs on the couch.”
“Oh. Sorry.” He tried to get up and she chuckled, a muffled sound.
“Not you. Twister.”
