Jane poured the blood into the glass and swirled it like a fine wine. “That sounds feasible. It makes sense if you think about it.”
“It does. Definitely.”
“So, all that’s left is the last line. ‘All must be lost to find everything.’” Jane took a swig of O positive and grimaced. “That doesn’t sound promising.”
“Okay, but everything else has been vague. I mean, ‘when man becomes beast.’ If we’d read this a year ago, that wouldn’t have made a lick of sense either. None of it would have. Maybe I’m going to lose my purse, and when someone returns it, I’ll buy a lottery ticket because I’ll be feeling so lucky. Then I’ll win.”
Jane arched a brow. “That’s a stretch.”
“It could happen.”
“I guess.”
“Anyway, the important thing right now is that I’m not going to turn into a werewolf. It says so right here.” She jabbed her finger at the third line of the prophecy. “And the path that has been forged is my way to becoming a witch. I was ready to give up, but now I have a renewed drive. ‘All must be lost’ is so vague, it could have already happened. Hell, maybe it happened tonight. I’d lost my will to continue, and now I’ve found a reason to go on. That’s it!”
Sophie closed the book and stood, parking her hands on her hips. “I figured it out. I’m going to become a witch, and the only werewolf I’ll ever have in me is the massive dick of the one who’s going to make my innermost dreams come true.”
Jane laughed. “You go, girl. Grab your destiny by the cock…I mean horns.”
“Who’s Destiny?” Sophie grinned. “Oh, that’s right. She’s my bitch.”
Chapter Two
She smelled like a witch. Five male dogs, at least three of them alphas, strolled along in a semicircle around her without so much as a raised hackle or growl of warning, and that feat in itself would require mad magical powers. That many males never got along so peacefully, especially tethered together like they were.
She had to be a witch—an unregistered one, the most dangerous kind. And he was the dumbass who bit her.
Trace Thibodeaux crouched behind a trash can on St. Philip Street, looking like a lunatic as he observed the woman walking the dogs. Sophie Burroughs. Her warm cinnamon and cider witch scent drifted on the breeze, igniting a fire inside him the way it did the night he met her. But now, a slight woodsy hint tainted the fragrance, an indication that his magic was mixing with hers, possibly turning her into a werewolf by the next full moon.
If she was the one responsible for the hell that had broken loose within his pack—and he was 99.9% positive she was—he could’ve used any means necessary to force her to lift the spell and turn over his missing friend.
Could have. Until, in a flash of confusion he still didn’t understand, he’d bitten her, transferring his magic and possibly turning her into one of the most powerful weres alive. Sure, she’d lose the ability to cast spells if she made the shift from woman to beast, but her inborn power would remain. Anyone who had that kind of control over alphas was a threat to his kind. He’d screwed up royally, and now he had to do something about it.
That was what he got for mixing business with pleasure.
She turned the corner with her pack of leashed dogs, and Trace straightened, shoving his hands in his pockets and strolling toward the intersection. He peered around the corner and paused, admiring the swing of her hips and the way her thick blonde hair bounced with each confident stride. It was just his luck the woman he’d been sent to investigate was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen.
During their brief encounter at the Halloween party a few nights ago, her stunning smile and contagious laugh had almost reeled him in. He would have gladly spent the night with her—but thank the gods he didn’t—using their mutual attraction as a way into her house to investigate her crimes. Would have. Until she’d excused herself to the “restroom” and the weirdness had begun.
He followed her a few more blocks, pausing as she bent down to pet one of the dogs, scratching it behind the ears and flashing that breathtaking smile. Damn. The things he’d like to do with that woman…
But he was on a mission, damn it. He had to find his missing packmate and the witch who cursed his kind, and this exquisite blonde was the prime suspect. The only suspect. The head on his shoulders needed to have a come-to-Jesus meeting with the one in his pants, because he was not getting in bed with the enemy. Not again.
The evening sun began its descent behind the nineteenth-century French Quarter buildings, painting the sky in shades of deep purple and orange, casting long shadows across the pavement still damp from the afternoon rain. A violinist played a classical tune on the corner of Royal Street, drawing a crowd, and Trace almost lost sight of the beautiful vixen.
His heart began to sprint, but as he rounded the corner, he found her on the front steps of a Creole townhouse, unleashing a boxer and patting it on its flank before it bolted inside. She wound up the leash, clipping it to a ring near the wrist strap of her dog-walking apparatus, and continued on her way.
Trace blew out a relieved breath and followed as she delivered the rest of the animals to their homes. He was pushing it staying this long in the Quarter. Hell, spending five minutes within a two-mile radius of the place was dangerous for a red wolf shifter these days.
Someone, and he was looking at the probable culprit, had cursed his pack, forcing them to shift at random times. Whatever form they happened to be in when the spell struck, their bodies seized, their vision tunneling as the magic forced them to shift.
A wild boar had nearly impaled Andy when he chased it too close to the city and was force-shifted mid-fight. He came to seconds before the tusk pierced his neck and then had to run home naked as a newborn.
Whatever magic she was using, it was sticky, and it took a good half hour for it to wear off so they’d have control of their forms again.
Poor Becky was in bed with a human when the spell struck her. Imagine her date’s surprise when the woman he was doing doggie style turned into an actual doggie. She’d had to enlist the help of a vampire to glamour the guy and make him forget he’d gotten lucky that night. Of course, he was lucky Becky didn’t bite off his willy when she came to and found herself nose to nose with a shotgun. She’d made it out an open window before he had the chance to shoot, but that situation could have gone downhill fast.
The witch had to be stopped, and Trace was the werewolf to do it.
He followed her two more blocks, waiting on the sidewalk as she disappeared inside a coffee shop. Through the front window, he kept an eye on her as she chatted with the barista. She laughed, tossing her thick golden hair behind her shoulder, and as she turned, he caught a glimpse of the most radiant smile he’d ever seen.
His heart rate kicked up again, and he fisted his hands at his sides. He had to shake these unwelcome emotions stirring up his hormones. If the shit hit the fan between the red wolves and the witches, he did not want to get caught sheathing his sword in the enemy’s scabbard.
Sophie rubbed the chill from the back of her neck as she waited for Crimson, her upstairs neighbor and owner of Evangeline’s coffee shop, to finish mixing a weird concoction in a copper bowl. She’d had the strangest feeling that someone was watching her all afternoon, but every time she looked over her shoulder, no one seemed to be paying her any mind.
She’d been paranoid the past three days, ever since that damn werewolf bit her on Halloween and then took off without so much as an apology. Gaston still hadn’t had any luck finding the bastard, but he assured her that if any of the wolfman’s—or wolfwoman’s—magic transferred to Sophie, they’d come looking for her to make sure she wasn’t going to become one of them.
Her mind drifted to the delicious man she’d met that night before everything went to shit. Big and buff, with a full beard and thick, wavy hair, the guy was as close to a werewolf as she could imagine, and he looked like the perfect candidate to fulfill the palm reader’s proph
ecy. Even if he couldn’t have made her innermost dreams come true, she would’ve had a blast watching him try.
But her bladder had other plans for her that night, damn the bitch, and she’d lost him. She’d looked all over the club, but he’d vanished like the last homemade brownie at a church picnic. Disappointed that her awkwardness had once again lost her a potential date, she’d wandered into the courtyard and found what she’d thought was a dog cowering in the bushes.
It so wasn’t a dog. She should have figured that out when it didn’t calm down and take to her immediately. All animals loved her. All except werewolves, it seemed. She’d glimpsed yellow eyes and massive teeth as it snapped at her arm, and then it shot out of sight before she could get a good look at it.
So, she’d finally met a werewolf, but she still didn’t know what one looked like. If this bite wound healed, she may never know. Hell, with the way things were going, it seemed she’d stay just as clueless about supes as the day Jane told her she’d become a vampire.
Sophie still couldn’t get the witches in the tourist shops to give her a lick of information about their coven. Even when she showed them her grandma’s grimoire, proving she was a descendant of a witch, they turned up their noses and directed her to the bookshelf if she wanted to learn about magic.
She watched the barista sprinkle a white powder into her bowl. Crimson was a witch. Sophie was sure of it, but she’d learned her lesson. They were becoming friends, and she wasn’t mentioning magic until her neighbor brought it up.
Crimson’s dark spiral curls bounced as she giggled and jumped, apparently pleased with whatever she’d been mixing. “Sorry about that.”
She poured the mixture into a small glass bottle—a potion bottle for sure—and wiped her hands on a dishcloth. Her deep purple nails matched her satin shirt, a color that looked amazing against her dark brown skin tone. She wore skinny jeans with black ankle boots, and a gold rope belt accented her hoop earrings. The woman knew how to dress.
“Agrimony leaves have to be mixed when they’re fresh, or they lose potency.” She locked eyes with Sophie, suppressing a smile.
“What were you making?”
“It’s an herbal remedy for a friend who isn’t feeling like himself lately.” The corners of her mouth twitched like she wanted to say more, and Sophie raised a brow, urging her to continue. Instead, Crimson inhaled deeply, two lines forming between her eyes as she cocked her head. “You smell different.”
“I do?” Sophie sniffed her shoulder and then lifted her arm to smell her pit. She’d remembered to put on deodorant, so at least her friend wasn’t reacting to BO.
“Yeah.” Crimson leaned forward over the counter, inhaling again. “You’ve got a hint of a rustic, outdoorsy scent to you.”
“I’ve been out walking dogs. Maybe that’s what you smell?”
Crimson crossed her arms, drumming her fingers on her biceps. “Maybe. What do I smell like to you?”
Now there was a weird question. Well, weird for a human, which added more proof to Sophie’s theory that the barista was a witch. “All I can smell is coffee.”
“Really?” Crimson looked disappointed. If she was human, maybe she got a new perfume, and no one had noticed. Seriously, though, how could they over the rich, decadent scent of the best coffee in the South?
A black cat hopped onto the counter and let out a deep meow before rubbing against Sophie’s arm.
“Hey there, handsome.” Sophie ran a hand down the animal’s back. “I didn’t know you had a cat.”
“Shoo, Jax. I told you to wait.” Crimson chased the cat from the counter, and it sulked into the back room. “I’ve had him for a week or so. It’s temporary. Like fostering, actually. He doesn’t usually venture into the front like that. I’m not sure what’s gotten into him.”
“I have a way with animals.” Sophie pushed up her sleeves. “Always have. Sometimes I could swear they understand me when I talk to them. Crazy, I know.”
Crimson reached for a mug but paused. “That doesn’t sound crazy. More like a gift.”
“I’ve been thinking about getting a dog of my own. Taking care of other people’s animals is fun, but it would be nice to have someone warm and loyal to come home to at the end of the day.” She’d put off getting a pet in her younger years, when she was going out a lot and bringing random men home. Now that Jane was married, and Sophie’s life had calmed down, she was itching for some stability. For somewhere to belong.
“Pets are a helluva lot easier than men, that’s for sure.” Crimson laughed then sucked in a quick breath, touching her fingers to her lips. “What happened to your arm?”
“Oh. A w…weird dog bit me. It’s nothing.” She jerked her sleeve down, clamping her mouth shut to keep the word “werewolf” from slipping out. Supes weren’t too keen on their secrets getting around, and if whoever bit her did come looking for her, she didn’t need them knowing she’d blabbed, even if it was to a probable witch.
Crimson glanced toward the doorway the cat disappeared through before leaning her forearms on the counter. “What did it look like?”
“I don’t know. It was dark, and it ran off before I got a good look at it. A German shepherd, maybe?”
“Are you sure it was a dog?” Her dark eyes were intense, and Sophie almost gave in and told her what she knew. She wanted in with the witches of New Orleans so badly she could taste it, and Crimson was her ticket. She could feel it in her bones.
Instead, she simply shrugged. “Yeah. It’s a little sore, but it’ll heal. It hurt my pride more than anything. I started my dog walking business in college, and this is the first time I’ve ever been bitten.”
“I thought you were new in town? You just moved in below me a few months ago.”
“I started the company in Texas. I’ve got a manager running the business over there now, while I’m operating the new branch in New Orleans. I moved here to be with my bestie, but she works nights, so I don’t get to see her as much as I’d like.” Her bottom lip started to poke out, so she bit it. It wasn’t Jane’s fault she was dead to the world during daylight hours and would fry in the sunlight. The perks of being a vampire far outweighed the drawbacks, according to her best friend.
Crimson smiled. “Well, if you’re ever in need of a friend to paint the town with, you know where I live.”
“Thanks. I might take you up on that.”
“I hope you do. Now, what can I get you?”
“The usual. A nonfat decaf vanilla latte.”
“One what’s the point? latte coming right up!” Crimson turned to the espresso machine, and Sophie laughed, tossing her hair behind her shoulder and glancing out the front window.
A man stared back at her, his dark honey eyes and auburn hair adding warmth to his tanned skin tone. He had a thick, well-groomed beard and a broad, muscular chest, and my, oh my, he looked like something she needed in her life. In fact, though it was hard to tell from the glare in the window, he looked an awful lot like the scrumptious man she lost in the club on Halloween.
“Hey, Crimson, hold off on the coffee. I may have found something else to warm me up tonight.”
As her gaze locked with his, he jerked his head down and strode away, like he didn’t mean for her to notice him. But honestly, how could she not? He was exactly the type of big, burly, alpha-looking man she’d been searching for.
The witch’s smile slipped as her gaze locked with his through the glass, and her lips parted slightly. Crap. Trace ducked his head and paced up the sidewalk, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as he sensed her exiting the coffee shop.
Two more steps would have taken him to the corner, where he could disappear from her view, but the magic slammed into him like a frying pan to the face, knocking him mindless and sending him careening into a pothole the size of Lake Pontchartrain. Muddy water splashed around him as he shifted against his will, and he barely had time to shimmy out of his shirt before the entire world went dark.
�
�Oh, you poor little guy.” The sweet voice danced in his ears, bringing him back to coherence.
He blinked his eyes open and found the blonde he’d been tailing hunched over him, biting her bottom lip and glancing up and down the street before returning her gaze to him. How long had he been out?
She offered him her hand, palm-down, holding it near his muzzle as if she expected him to sniff it. “Are you okay?”
Of course he wasn’t okay. The witch had just forced him to shift in the middle of the street, and now his clothes lay beneath him, covered in mud, and he had to play the role of a house pet to avoid attracting any attention. Lucky for him, she’d made sure no witnesses were around, but damn she was bold performing magic in the open like that. He didn’t know whether to admire her tenacity or bite her again.
He sniffed her hand, going along with the charade, a little whine emanating from his throat so she’d think he was scared.
Her smile brightened her sky-blue eyes. “That’s a good boy. I thought I was losing my touch.”
As she scratched his head, her sleeve slipped up to reveal the bandage on her forearm. A little pang of guilt shot through his chest before he reminded himself who she was and what she’d done to his pack. Her magic must have been animal-related, because his beast had been tamed at the first sound of her voice. Luckily, the man in him remained in control.
The sound of tires rolling on the pavement came from behind him, and Sophie looked up before rising to her feet. “Let’s get you out of the road, okay, buddy? Can you stand?” She scratched under his chin, urging him to rise, and damn it if he didn’t obey her command.
With her hand on the scruff of his neck, she guided him to the sidewalk as the car splashed through the pothole, ruining any chance he had at retrieving his clothes.
Shift Happens Page 2
