Mind Mates (Pull of the Moon Book 2)

by Mary Hughes

  “Imbecile bitch.” Shalla slapped her. “He was being a man. Elroy, how fast can you pack? We need to leave. Now, before Delmar recovers.”

  Delmar is still alive?

  “Five minutes or so.” Emma’s older brother cocked a mean smile at her. “Nice job, Mouseturd.” He backed off the bed then sauntered for the door.

  Emma blinked. Hot tears overflowed onto her face. She touched trembling fingers to one cheek, surprised to find it wet, as if she’d been crying for some time.

  She glanced at Delmar. His face was so white…but his throat might have been a little less torn. Her head seemed stuffed with wet concrete, because she couldn’t quite get the thought through. “He’s not dead?”

  Elroy turned in the doorway with a sneer. “Better if he were. Damned iota ‘talent’. Now we have to run. This is your fault. You cunt.”

  “Language, Elroy. Emma.” Shalla shoved her into motion toward the door. “Grab whatever money you have and meet us at the car.”

  Numb, Emma did as she was told, snatching her crystal-studded dragon piggy bank and her father’s journal before heading for the car.

  As she came out of the house, her mother, already in the driver’s seat, looked up. The windshield magnified her expression. Emma could tell her mother didn’t think she could see.

  Shalla was angry. Disgusted. Afraid—no, terrified.

  Terrified of her own daughter.

  Her mother’s lips moved. No sound, but the words were clear. “Fucking beast.”

  Emma’s gut went cold. She ran to the car, offering her beautiful dragon to make things right.

  Her mother’s disgust blanked then was replaced by determination. “Good. We’ll need every cent we can get.” She took the sparkling ceramic bank…and smashed it against the steering wheel. Dollars and coins fell in her lap.

  Emma stood outside the driver’s window in white shock. Dad made that for me because I loved dragons… She clutched her father’s journal to her chest. It was all she had left of him now.

  All she had left of a life that had been happy.

  Shalla was counting the money. “Twenty-five dollars and thirty-five cents. Starvation is no fun. I hope your brother can do better.” She heaved a breath. “Well, come on. Get in.”

  Emma realized later her mother and Dickie’s brother had been having sex, if a very bloody kind. Her father’s body barely cold, and Shalla was cementing their new position in the pack by seducing the beta. Emma hated her for it.

  She hated herself more.

  Beast. This is your fault. Insane brute.

  She left that day with her mother and brother, but something fundamental was broken. Herself, the family, she wasn’t sure. Between the sideways glances and the aborted whispers, it isolated her.

  Her own family was afraid of her power—which made her scared to death of it.

  She’d vowed that day, I’ll never give in to the rage again.

  But the damage was done. She’d worked hard to make up for that horrible day, to atone, but while her mother seemed to go back to normal, Shalla had never really forgiven her.

  Emma straightened, shuffling numb feet on the hard stoop. Clown cars didn’t have much arch support. And with Ryder and an angry Noah out there somewhere, in a town that was maybe seven blocks long, she couldn’t stand on the stoop forever.

  Heaving a sigh, she knocked at the door.

  “Coming,” Shalla sang a moment before the door swung wide.

  A slim brunette faced Emma, mid-forties in appearance. Despite the late hour, her mother was not only awake but dressed, immaculately put together in a lilac cotton sheath belted by purple leather dyed to match her shoes. A gorgeous, brand-new amethyst necklace crowned the ensemble.

  Standing before her perfectly dressed mother, Emma felt even more like a stranger in her tent and clown shoes. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Emma?” The surprise in Shalla’s green eyes confused Emma.

  Who was she expecting with that cheery “Coming”?

  “Why aren’t you in Michigan?” Shalla glanced over her shoulder at the desk where Emma knew she kept the bills. “How will you send cash if you’re not at work?”

  “It’s a long story. Can I come in?”

  Shalla’s gaze swung momentarily toward the kitchen. “Well…”

  “Please? I won’t stay long, I just want the box I sent you for safekeeping, and a change of clothes—”

  “They’re gone. I sold your things.”

  Shock speared Emma, almost puncturing her lungs. She’d never even considered the possibility. She wheezed, “What?”

  Shalla gave an irked shrug. “You’d made a new life in Michigan, and I needed the money for groceries. You don’t make as much as your brother did.”

  “I do the best I can.” Didn’t stop the words from skewering Emma with guilt and shame. Her shoulders hunched, and she nearly turned and left.

  But she hadn’t been gone long—if Shalla sold the journal locally, it was probably still in Matinsfield. Emma could buy it back. A new goal drove her, a quest for more information. “Can I at least come in for a minute?”

  “I suppose.” Shalla pointed toward the couch as Emma crossed the threshold. “Have a seat. There’s cake. I’ll get us some coffee.” She trotted into the kitchen.

  “Mom, I can’t stay long…”

  But Shalla had already disappeared. Eager to get away? Or was there something else?

  Stomach roiling, Emma perched on the couch. She considered the cake on its silver pedestal, three delicate dessert plates at its feet. Her mom was a great entertainer, always a dessert ready for company.

  A generous wedge of cake was already gone, crumbs decorating two of the three plates, as if her mother had expected two guests and had recently entertained one. Emma took a delicate sniff. The scent of male werewolf dusted the air, too strong to be a memory.

  Had a guest…or still had one?

  The roiling in Emma’s stomach increased. But there was no panic on the air, only that masculine odor—smelling oddly like her brother, though Elroy was in prison.

  She scolded herself. Her mother was entertaining a gentleman guest, so what? At least Shalla wasn’t lusting after a wizard prince.

  Gabriel, pressing that single hot finger against my clit… Swallowing hard, Emma cut a sliver of cake for herself, putting it on the empty third plate, and slid a wedge for her mother onto one of the crumb-decorated plates. Then she folded her hands over her crossed knees and waited. And waited.

  And waited.

  Good grief. Two minutes with Gabriel blew my mind. If I had this long to writhe under his hands…

  “So when are you going back?” Shalla finally appeared carrying a silver and bone china coffee service. She set the tray on the table and took a chair opposite Emma.

  Or maybe Mom was simply making coffee. Cursing herself for being a paranoid idiot… Gabriel would use one of his cute swears like idiot-over-easy…damn…she said, “Um, I’m not sure. Things happened. Look, I can’t stay long—”

  “You got fired, didn’t you?” Her mother stopped mid-pour and gave her a disgusted look. It wasn’t a question.

  “No! No, of course not. Dr. Light likes my work. He even said he’d give me a great recommendation if I ever needed one. But Bruiser—”

  “You disappointed your alpha?” Shalla sighed as she continued to pour. “Oh well. No more than I’d expect of an iota.” She clunked Emma’s cup and saucer before her.

  Emma’s cheeks tingled with embarrassment. Shalla didn’t mean to hurt her, but Emma’s skin was paper-thin to parental disapproval, especially since she only had her mother now. “It’s not quite like that. Bruiser wanted to force me into his harem.”

  A sudden frown sprang onto her mother’s face. “Force…?”

  Her hand rose to her throat, touching her necklace. Her frown slowly dissolved. “Mating the alpha…” Shalla sighed. “A step up for you. Congratulations.”

  “What?” Emma’s shock spilled out as a g
asp. “Harem isn’t true mating.”

  “Certainly it is. It’s a time-honored form of mating.” Pouring her own coffee, Shalla added pointedly, “It’s the most prestige an iota could expect. Be happy.”

  “You think I should have let him…?” Shame flooded Emma at her mother’s reprimand. Was Shalla right? Should she have submitted to Bruiser’s enslavement? Maybe she didn’t deserve better.

  No. A wizard prince is my friend. I don’t have to sell myself to anyone.

  Emma sat straighter and said mildly, “I think I can do better than the lowest female in a harem.”

  She knew that was the right thing to say when her mother twitched and started blinking rapidly, as if the words had broken through.

  Her mother’s color rose. “Emma, I am sorry. If your brother was here, we’d have better leverage to get you a good marriage…” She jerked straight, her gaze clouding. “If he were here. Which he’s not.” Setting the cup down, she twisted her new necklace and loudly lamented, “Oh, if only he weren’t in that nasty Witches’ Council jail.”

  The overdone sing-song, her mother’s gaze flicking toward the kitchen as she worried the amethyst pendant, jangled Emma’s intuition overtime. She made a shrewd guess. “That’s a nice necklace.”

  “Yes. It was a present from Elroy…I mean Edge.”

  Edge was her brother’s pack name, bestowed on him by the old alpha here, Slan Scauth. Emma kept it to herself that “Edge” sounded less like a pack name and more like a grooming product.

  Under Scauth’s influence, her brother became quite a little villain. Not Edge’s fault, Shalla was quick to say. Scauth, into everything illegal and immoral, had dragged his lieutenants down with him, including good little foot soldier Edge.

  Two months ago, a mundane deputy sheriff caught Edge carting the lifeless husk of a female across state lines. Edge was awaiting trial when Noah Blackwood defeated Scauth and found out what the evil ex-alpha was hiding.

  The dead female was the tip of the iceberg.

  Two very bad men had murdered several shifters magically by siphoning them to lifeless husks. The Council found Edge guilty on an accessory charge and misuse of a magical weapon—although the esteemed Council seemed more upset about the misuse of magic than the murders.

  Edge was jailed…probably in a pocket universe, now that Emma thought about it. Inescapable. There should be no reason for her to suspect what she did.

  Yet if any threat to her mother was in that kitchen, she needed to know before she left. Sipping coffee, Emma feigned a calm she didn’t feel and said conversationally, “Have you heard from Edge?”

  “Of course not. Oh, I send letters to him, but the Council doesn’t allow communications out.” Shalla’s eyes flicked kitchenward again.

  Was the male out there connected to the Council somehow? Stomach roiling, Emma set her coffee down. Not Ryder. He’d have already snatched her up and tossed her back in jail.

  Her mother went on, “No messaging, or email, or even regular mail. How silly is that? They’re holding him incommuni…incommunical…in-something.”

  “Incommunicado?” A pocket universe would do that.

  “Damned fancy witches with their fancy language. Can’t they just say ‘no contact’?”

  “I guess not.” Not Council in the kitchen then, not with her mother badmouthing witches. The idea that somehow her brother might be free…well, it was ludicrous. Which left the male as a bit of companionship for her mother, not a threat. Relaxing slightly, Emma placed a forkful of cake in her mouth.

  Sugar, eggs, butter, and chocolate mingled on her tongue. She hadn’t eaten since the snack on the boat, and her mother’s baking was superlative. “This is delicious.”

  “Thanks.” Shalla picked up her coffee again. “So when are you going back to Bruiser?”

  That soured the bite. “I hoped I could find a job here. Now that the economy is better.”

  “Thanks to Prince Noah. He’s a wizard prince as well as an alpha wolf, did you know that?”

  “You mentioned it,” Emma murmured. “He’s also the pack’s king.”

  “Married to a real live princess,” Shalla said as if Emma hadn’t spoken. “When Edge gets home, maybe he can even marry one of Prince Noah’s daughters when she grows up. Wouldn’t that be a step in the right direction!”

  Appetite gone, Emma set down the cake. Why did her mother keep saying that? Life in prison meant Edge was never coming home. Though marriage wasn’t as far-fetched as it sounded. Shifters lived longer than humans. Eighteen years was nothing to wait.

  Somehow, though, Emma didn’t think Prince Noah would let his daughter marry a felon. But her mother continued to spin the idea, until Emma shot to her feet. “Look, I don’t want to keep you from…” She glanced toward the kitchen. “…from whatever. I came for clothes and my box, and since they’re not here, if you’ll just tell me who you sold them to—”

  “I heard you gave Princess Sophia up,” her mother said suddenly. “You’re the snitch.”

  Emma froze. “That’s not true.”

  Someone snickered, not her mother.

  Emma’s head jerked toward the sound, her ears sharpening. That male giggle had come from the darkened kitchen.

  That snicker ate Emma’s nerves and reversed her decision. The male might be Shalla’s boyfriend, but he bore no good will for Emma. Maybe even a personal threat…

  Use me, her talent purred.

  No. I’ll never give in to the rage again.

  Emma faced the kitchen. “I know you’re there. Come out now.”

  “Hey, Mouseturd.” The familiar rasp sounded like Elroy.

  But it couldn’t be.

  Yet the he-wolf who stepped into the light, five feet eight inches of lanky not-quite-beta wolf, was all too familiar.

  He cocked her a mean smile. “Guess who’s home?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Emma sank to the couch, blinking at the apparition leaning against the kitchen doorway, not entirely sure he wasn’t a ghost. Nobody got out of a Witches’ Council prison once they were in.

  Gabriel and I did.

  But that was a special circumstance, wasn’t it?

  Wasn’t it?

  Gabriel would know. Excitement splashed her. I’ll have to see him again.

  Oh, thank you, wolfie libido. Any excuse to get tingly naughty parts within rubbing distance.

  She stuttered, “E-Elroy? What are you doing here?”

  “The name is Edge.” Her brother’s mouth worked overtime as he spoke, like a foreign language film where the dub didn’t fit.

  “Right. Edge.” Get your mental head out of Gabriel’s lap and into the game. “Um, you’re looking well.”

  “You aren’t,” he said bluntly. “What are you wearing, a tent?”

  Face heating, she muttered, “I borrowed a few things from a lost and found.”

  “Should’ve stayed lost.” Her brother sauntered into the living room, chewing on a toothpick, which explained the bad dub. He always had been oral.

  “Edge is out of prison,” Shalla said. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “Wonderful,” Emma agreed, though the better word was impossible. “But how?”

  “Me and the Council came to an ah-range-ment.” Edge drew out the word in a way that implied he and the elite Council witches were the best of buddies.

  Even more impossible.

  “An arrangement,” Emma echoed, suspicion sharpening her words. Edge tended to have no regard for consequences, so bombs meant for him generally blew up in other people’s faces—like her mother’s. Shalla was so trusting where her son was concerned. “Meaning what, exactly?”

  “I don’t think I like your tone, Mouseturd.” Edge straightened, fists on hips, toothpick jutting like a lance. Emma’s glare lanced back.

  “Emma, enough.” Shalla glowered at her. “Can’t you be glad for your brother? Must you always turn things into a pissing match?”

  Distrust dissolved in confusion. �
�I didn’t—”

  “The Council simply recognized Edge’s worth—finally—and released him. Now, Edge, would you like another piece of cake?” Shalla cut a generous wedge and shoveled it onto the plate that he’d probably been using before Emma arrived.

  So who was my plate originally for? Who was the second expected guest?

  Shalla handed the laden plate to the he-wolf. “Did they have cake in prison?”

  “Not like yours.” He grabbed it, spat the toothpick onto the edge, then shoveled down a big forkful. Eying Shalla, his chewing slowed, his gaze glittering in a way that sent Emma’s distrust back into high gear. “They’d’a never shut me away if I had my rightful place in the pack.”

  “If only I hadn’t taken such a big step down marrying Ezra,” her mother said on cue. “I was a Greenhill, you know. My father was Slan Scauth’s beta. Yet I was given away like a dealer’s swag to a nobody to cement pack ties.”

  The old refrain. Emma didn’t know why Edge had started it, but once the ongoing family debate began, it played out like a recording. As if she was suddenly eight again, she felt compelled to say, “Dad wasn’t a nobody. He was Sharpclaw’s lieutenant.”

  “An iota.” Shalla’s mouth tightened. “A beta’s daughter, a Greenhill, given to an iota because the old artsy-fartsy was useful.”

  Emma ventured, “He was a good provider.”

  “Good enough, I suppose. But it’s my beta genes that got Edge released, mark my words.” She grabbed Emma’s cup, filled it with coffee and passed it to Edge.

  Emma sighed.

  “Now we’re finally getting the recognition we deserve.” Shalla beamed at her son. “I bet Edge will even be beta someday, after he marries Noah’s daughter.”

  Emma was suddenly tired of it all, of the ladder-climbing, the rose-colored glasses where her brother was concerned, tired of losing her food or money or whatever if Edge needed it, tired of the whole thing. She stood.

  “Where are you going?” Edge challenged.

  Where am I going?

  Gabriel had said he would figure out an escape plan, but she wasn’t so sure she should return to him. Being around him made her feel things, want things she shouldn’t. Like another five-second orgasm… Taking his help was dangerous, not least because she desperately wanted to.