by Shona Husk
When he found the person who’d sent his fetch back and forced the shift, he was going to eat them. They’d be crunchy and delicious, and he’d regret it in the morning, he was sure. But right then, it made perfect sense.
As he got closer, he smelled Alexis. Summer and flowers. For a moment he thought he glimpsed the golden ribbon that Noah had talked about. He followed, gliding through the darkness, and the darkness gliding with him until he reached the corner of the building. Light spilled onto the sidewalk and a dozen or so grey cats milled around the ankles of a woman dressed in yoga pants and a singlet.
Her red hair was loose, catching in the breeze.
It was too cold to be out here without a coat or sweater. But Alexis didn’t seem bothered. She hadn’t been bothered about the cold in days. That should be important, but he couldn’t process it right now. His thoughts weren’t as organized, nor could think through the multiple steps he did as a man. It made making decisions so much simpler. The scent of raw meat made his nose twitch and he wanted to stroll over and take it from her fingertips. Let her hand feed him and caress him the way she was doing to the cats. But his fur was course and patchy and his hide was thick and rough.
He was ugly.
His chin dropped. No one liked a hellhound. They were hunted because they made trouble and killed. How long would it before he was hunted down and killed even though he was only a part-time hellhound?
The woman’s gaze lifted and for a moment he was sure she looked straight at him; her eyes were bright green and a smile played on her lips.
“What do you think you’re doing?” An old woman stepped out of the apartment block behind Alexis. “I told you last night not to feed those damn cats.”
“They’re hungry.”
“They need to be rounded up by the city and put down. I’ll get some traps if they don’t leave.”
“You’ll do no such thing. They need a home, that’s all.” Alexis’ voice was all steel and ice. He’d never heard her so cold. Even her expression was wrong—distant and regal—but he couldn’t look away because there was something very beautiful beneath the obvious danger. He wanted to warn the woman to go in and leave Alexis to the feeding, but all that came out of his mouth was a low rumble.
“This isn’t their home. And it won’t be yours if you keep this up. Wait until the super hears about this. Feeding strays. What next?” The woman crossed her arms.
“I don’t know, Mrs. Brown? Maybe you’ll get a life instead of being the building busy body?”
The woman’s mouth dropped open. “Well I never.”
“Well I never, what? Never did anything of any use?” Alexis smiled. “Go in.”
This time Mrs. Brown obeyed. She muttered, but Peyton couldn’t hear what she was saying.
Alexis glanced over at him again, this time making a beckoning motion. She could see him. He stood frozen, his tongue thick in his mouth and his throat locked with fear. She shouldn’t be able to see him. Was she not afraid of him? Was he afraid of her when she smelled like flowers and summer? How could anyone with a glowing golden aura be bad? The fetch inside of him buzzed. This is where it had been; Alexis must have returned it. He should leave. His claws scraped the concrete, tearing up shards as he decided what to do.
She smiled and beckoned again and this time he let the shadows slough away. He couldn’t hide form her. Besides, he wanted her to undo this. He glanced up the road, not wanting others to see him, but there was no one about.
And no reason for him not to go over.
Except for the fact that his human secretary was beckoning over a hellhound and not batting an eyelid. Her coven was mixed up in something powerful, but that worry was swallowed by his need to go over. He was investigating. He was doing what Mason had asked and serving his coven.
The raven that had followed him cawed and then fell off its perch as though knocked by an invisible hand. He glanced at it as it ruffled its feathers and preened. The Morrigu wanted to be rid of him. So why couldn’t she leave him alone?
Peyton crossed the road.
Alexis held out a piece of steak to him. The cats hissed and edged away. He didn’t blame them. Why wasn’t Alexis stepping back or screaming? He leaned forward and took the meat from her fingers as gently as he could. It was a tiny morsel, enough for a cat to chew on but not enough for him. His teeth were made for tearing through skin and bone, for hunting the creatures that escaped from the lower levels.
She ran her fingers over his rough forehead and scratched his ear. “You’re looking for a home too, aren’t you?”
He had a home…didn’t he? An apartment, anyway. What was a home, but a place to sleep?
“Do you want to come in, Peyton?” She smiled.
His heart almost stopped as he froze. How did she know? But he couldn’t ask while trapped in this body. He needed to be human and he wasn’t going to shift on the street where he’d get arrested for public indecency—he didn’t even know if he could shift. He hadn’t been able to at home. Would being here be any different?
Mrs. Brown wouldn’t approve of Alexis inviting naked men into her apartment. Giant dogs probably weren’t approved of either.
He nodded, a very human gesture at odds with the bulky body of the hellhound, and she led the way. He followed her up two flights of stairs and down the corridor to a small apartment that hadn’t been decorated since the sixties—though the rent probably hadn’t gone up that much either. Alexis shut the door and stared at him, the corner of her lips turned up into the smile he knew. She fed stray cats…no wonder they followed her everywhere. That didn’t explain why they followed him.
He sat on the floor. His tail thumped twice.
He shouldn’t be here. He was supposed to be working out why his fetch had been slammed back into him, forcing him into this body.
She ran her hand over his head and stared into his eyes. “Truly remarkable. Usually humans die after being bitten.”
He’d wanted to die after being bitten. The pain and the poison from the bite had burned in his veins for three days. The Morrigu had saved his life but had left the hellhound within him. He’d looked for ways to remove the ability to shift, but had found none. None that worked, anyway. The best he’d been able to do was contain the beast.
Something moved within him at her touch and his human body was freed from the bonds. She’d bound him, expecting him to come, and he’d obeyed. If it was a trap, there was no magic to physically bind him or trap him. But this close to her he could smell something on her skin. Not magic as he knew it, it was too rich and heady for that. That summery glow eddied around her like she was a spark, and it was hard to look away from the radiance.
“You can shift again if you’d like.” Her fingers trailed through his coarse, dark fur. “Or you could stay like this. A hellhound is a formidable creature.”
She spoke without fear, praising him. No one had looked at him like that. Even his fellow witches had stepped back, worry furrowing their brows and fear making their hearts beat faster like prey.
“Are you shy about shifting? Do you want me to turn around?”
He wanted to know how she knew who he was, but all he could do was nod. He didn’t want her to see the rippling of skin and the sloughing of hair that vanished into ether. It was bad enough she’d hear the cracking of bones and snapping of tendons as his body realigned. The shift looked far worse than it felt. To him it was like going to the chiropractor and having a really good back crack and stretch. His human body felt good after.
Why didn’t he do this more often?
He rolled his now-human shoulders and stood, holding his hands in front of his junk, waiting for the jaws to close on the trap or for an attack to come. If he’d gone to the coven in hound form they would’ve locked him in, not helped him. Maybe she wouldn’t attack. She just wanted to talk to him. Lately Alexis had wanted him for more than talk.
She turned as if she knew he was done. Her gaze skimmed over him like she was a cat appraising
a piece of meat and finding it very edible. Peyton swallowed, his mouth dry.
Alexis was dangerous…or whatever was cloaking her in power was. He could feel it like a buzz of electricity over his skin. But when she looked at him like that, all he saw was the desire that they’d been avoiding for two years. He could take care of himself, and he didn’t need his coven at his back—they hadn’t been there for the last four years anyway. He’d been a hinderance. But he was sure they’d miss the money, if not him.
Alexis stepped toward him and kissed him. Peyton didn’t resist, didn’t want to. Her lips were hot. Her hands left trails of heat as she slid them over the planes of his chest to rest on his shoulders. He shivered but wanted more, needed more.
So what if his fetch had been sent back?
And that she’d recognized him as a hellhound?
She knew what magic was, had her own coven and wasn’t scared of him. This was a good thing. It’s what he’d been wanting for so long. He didn’t know why they’d been waiting and resisting when this felt so good. He put his hands around her waist and pulled her closer. Her body melted to his as she moved against him.
She moaned as he pulled off her T-shirt. She shoved down her pants, toeing off her shoes and pushing him toward the bedroom. He obeyed, needing to feel her, have her. She shed the rest of her clothes between kisses and steps.
Her skin was hot beneath his hands as he caressed and touched. His nails were too long and claw like and left faint marks on her fair skin.
There was something he was supposed to ask her…but he couldn’t remember. The scent of her skin and the heat of her kiss had swallowed all thought. While a small part of his brain knew that was bad, he couldn’t focus on it.
Her fingers wrapped around his dick; he was already hard, aching for her. She pushed him back onto the bed and crawled over him. He claimed her mouth again, hungry for a taste. The golden heat of summer was in his mouth and in his blood. She sank onto him in one smooth motion that stole his breath.
Outside the apartment cats were hissing and ravens were screeching.
Even in the dark room Alexis seemed to glow, her skin catching the light through the open curtain. Her red hair was dark like blood. Her nails pressed into his chest as she rode him hard, so hard it almost hurt. But he wanted it. He wanted her to take what she needed. She ground down on him, shuddering as her climax tore through her. It was only then he was able to find his release. The rush dragged his strength and breath out of him. His skin became too sensitive to touch.
Alexis smiled, a soft rumbling purr in her throat. Her eyes were bright green and slit like a cat’s. He blinked but couldn’t look away from the face that was alien yet so familiar.
He blinked again and it was dawn. The room was cast in grey. The panic of waking somewhere strange gripped Peyton, his muscles tensed but otherwise he didn’t move. Not until he knew where he was. And could remember why he was here.
No answer appeared.
Shit.
He took a couple of steady but useless breaths. He was cold and he didn’t feel right. This wasn’t a hospital. It was a bedroom. Wherever he was, he needed to sleep for one hundred years to recover from the night before.
Had he been drunk?
No…his mouth didn’t taste like decade-old carpet. And his head wasn’t pounding. He was cold and all he could taste was honey. Which was troubling. Someone or something moved behind him. Feigning sleep, he rolled onto his back then cracked his eyes open. Red hair was streaked across the pillow.
Alexis.
Then the memories started slotting into position and he really didn’t like the picture they were forming. He shouldn’t have left his apartment after shifting—what had possessed him?
Wait…what had possessed him?
He glanced at Alexis, able to feel the heat radiating off her. Her touch had almost burned last night. His chest was marked by the crescents of her nails. And while a few scratches and love bites didn’t bother him, the way she’d looked at him did. The wild hunger in her eyes was burned into his memory.
He wanted her to open her eyes so he could check if he’d imagined the cat’s pupils or if what he remembered was real. But he didn’t want to touch her and wake her either.
He did a quick inventory of the trouble he was in, and it went well beyond no clothes and no phone and no idea where he was. Somehow, he’d been coerced into running around as a hellhound, shifting in front of his secretary, and then letting her screw him unconscious. He realized what was wrong with him: he was running on empty and desperately needed sleep and food. His heart kicked over as fear squeezed him tight.
If he got up and looked in the mirror, would he have aged?
Fuck he hoped not.
While he hadn’t preyed to the Morrigu very often since the bite, today was a really good day to beg for Her mercy. Not that mercy was one of Her attributes. He closed his eyes and went into himself.
The field where they usually met was there. But there were no cattle and was no goddess, just a single raven feather. No!
He sat up with a start, the word still on his lips. His goddess had truly abandoned him. He’d proven himself unworthy to be Her witch or warrior, so She’d left him to his fate. Her grace had been with him his whole life. The magic in his blood. Now there was nothing.
What had he done?
Alexis rolled over and opened her eyes. He hadn’t been imagining the change in her eyes. They glowed like emeralds, each split with a vertical line. It was all he could do not to leap out of bed. That wasn’t Alexis.
Chapter 8
Alexis let a lazy smile form. She hadn’t felt this in…in forever. She reached for Peyton, but he drew away. His gaze wasn’t filled with the desire that had been in his eyes last night.
“What’s wrong?” Her voice was almost a purr, deeper and more sensual than she was used to hearing pass her lips. She liked it. She liked seeing Peyton in her bed even more.
“Last night—”
“Was amazing.”
He’d come over and they’d finally stopped playing games.
Peyton didn’t smile. He held the sheet tighter around himself, as if it were a shield. “How did you know it was me?”
She propped herself up on one elbow and face him. “What do you mean?”
He pressed his lips together, grimaced, then spoke like the words had to be torn free of his throat. “I wasn’t me.”
“I’ve known you were a shifter for a while, could smell it on you. I just didn’t know what you shifted into. I was surprised to see such a strong and large hellhound.” She ran her hand up his sheet-covered thigh.
He caught it and held it still, his skin cool against hers. “Don’t you think it’s a little odd you know what a hellhound is? That you aren’t just a little freaked out by the fact I can turn into one?”
“I figure you must have been bitten, that is how shifting is passed on. Though most people don’t survive a tumble with a hellhound.” She rolled over and prowled toward him, crawling over his legs, wanting to kiss him again.
He put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Alexis…this isn’t you.”
Her head tilted. “This is me. The better me that wants more from life than scraps.” She pushed him onto his back. He resisted for a heartbeat and then gave in. A moment later she was staring up at the ceiling. He’d thrown her off. His hand rested lightly on her throat, but hard enough she could feel it with each swallow. Her body hummed with delight—he was such a fighter. A real warrior.
“What are you and where is Alexis?”
Alexis laughed, but it wasn’t her laugh. This was ancient and gurgling, like it had been dragged up from places no human should ever go. “Witch.”
She threw him off like he weighed little more than a pillow. His back hit the wall. But that didn’t stop him. He stood, his fingers curled and ready to fight. She gathered the sheet around her until it formed a dress that billowed like a cloud. “Are you still a witch? Or has that bitch left you to
my care?”
She stepped off the bed, the dress swirling around her. It had been a long time since she’d walk the Earth in a human body and it felt grand to have flesh again. This willing vessel had gotten what she’d wanted, this man. This witch…though the woman didn’t know his true worth. Magic flowed through his blood. Through his lineage, tracing through history. That he’d been saved from a hellhound and now held that power made him all the more desirable. He had a strength she could use to keep this host alive.
“Who are you?” His voice was level and he didn’t lower his gaze as one should when addressing her. It might be fun to punish him. But the human soul still in this body didn’t want that. The human woman squirmed, panicked at the idea of the witch getting hurt.
“You may call me Freya. And you may kneel at my feet.”
He didn’t. He stared at her, bold despite his nakedness. His form most pleasing—no matter the body he wore. The Morrigu did choose Her warriors well, and their tastes did overlap. It would be nice to steal this one away. The grace that had aided him last night was falling away. Perhaps the Morrigu had released him from Her service already because he’d been unfaithful.
Would he be eager to serve another goddess to keep his power? Most witches would. They loved what little power they were given.
The little ball she’d returned to him eddied within him. Mostly his, but a little bit of her magic was within him. Last night she’d been able to lure him here with that magic. He could’ve resisted, but he’d barely put up a fight. Unlike this morning. But that little bit of magic was fading. Come full dawn it would be gone. She needed his agreement now so she could bind him to her, and feed this body with his life.
He liked this human woman. What would he do to save it? Her lips curved.
“Do you not know a goddess when you meet one?” She stepped closer.
“Goddesses don’t have mortal bodies. What are you?”
“A goddess.” The words hissed out, laden with power, and his knee buckled. She couldn’t force him to swear; it had to come from within. He had to want it, need it.
