by Carter, Mina
“The claw,” the manager’s voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s on loan from the Latvarian Collective.”
Sully felt his eyes widen as the guy named one of the most brutal and dangerous werewolf alliances on the face of the planet. If the Collective owned the claw, then the Cat wasn’t just in danger, she was a dead woman.
2
The motorcycle roared between her legs, the powerful engine throbbing as she kept the big machine under control in the bend before straightening up. Her house, rented under a name that wasn’t the one she’d been born with, was halfway down the road. A nice little detached, it was picture perfect, with a manicured lawn courtesy of a gardening service run by an elderly werewolf and an attached garage whose door opened automatically as she approached.
Deal’s Gap, Tennessee, was as far down the rabbit hole as she could get. A sort of no-man’s land for shifters, there weren’t many warlocks in the area. Not ones that she knew of anyway. A fact she’d banked on when she’d made it her home a couple of years ago.
Home was a misnomer, though. She kept the shit she couldn’t or didn’t want to carry on a job, did her laundry, and slept here. It wasn’t a home. It was a base camp—a command point—from which she planned each and every job as she watched her bank balances rack up. Once they hit a magic number, she was home free and sipping margaritas on a beach somewhere.
But she wasn’t settled here or invested in the place.
Like the three rentals before it, she was always wary that her past, or the authorities, might catch up with her. Of those two, the chance of the former bothered her the most. The human authorities she could deal with if they even got this far. Her place was set up, spelled to the eyeballs, to allow her a quick getaway if she needed it. One word and the whole magical house of cards would come tumbling down and make whoever had decided to come after her very, very sorry they had. If they even survived to tell the tale.
She rode into the garage and pulled up next to the black SUV. Turning off the bike’s engine, she kicked down the stand as the door rolled shut behind her. Pulling the helmet from her head and letting her blonde hair cascade over her shoulders, she sat still for a moment and extended her senses to check for anything that shouldn’t be here.
The place was spelled six ways to Sunday. Total magical lockdown. Not even a damn fly would be able to get in without her knowing about it instantly. Nothing had changed. None of her spells had even been tested, never mind breached. Breathing a sigh of relief, she hooked the helmet over one side of the handlebars and swung her leg over the bike.
Today…had been a tough one. With the spells she’d had to pull, her magical batteries were flat and her body ached with weariness. She made her way through to the house, past the door down to the basement in the utility, and into the kitchen. Clicking the kettle on as she passed, she dropped her pack on the counter and shrugged out of her jacket to hang it up. All the while, she worried at her lower lip, her mind filled with thoughts of the job as she went through the motions of making coffee.
He’d been there. Her shifter stalker. She’d let him get too close. Shouldn’t have kissed him… At the memory heat flooded her system, and the thing in her blood stirred. She definitely shouldn’t have kissed him. But she hadn’t been able to stop herself. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the carnal feelings the shifter had elicited. Lust made her body hum with need as she remembered his scent wrapping around her and that damn sexy little purr.
What sort of man purred? And why did it make her press her thighs together, her pussy clenching with need? She’d never reacted to any shifter like that before, one reason she’d settled in Deal’s Gap. No temptation. And with the high number of shifters, it was less likely any warlock would wander in here. Not and stay to make friends anyway.
She snorted at the idea, pouring boiling water over coffee grounds. Born into a warlock family, albeit a lower caste weather bloodline, she was well aware of how snobby they were. Always aspiring to be higher and looking down on those they considered below them. As far as they were concerned, every single shifter out there was below them. In their minds, shifters were little more than animals and not worthy to kiss a warlock’s boot.
But the Roark family had a dirty little secret. Shifter blood from way back when that occasionally decided to show its black face. All through her childhood, she’d been aware of something, if not exactly what. Just that no one talked about certain members of the family to outsiders, and that the adults gave each other “that” look whenever she or her cousin, Hale, had asked.
Then she’d popped a tail trying to master a new spell and that had been that. She closed her eyes as she lifted the coffee mug to her lips, breathing in the fragrant steam to counter the bad memories. Her father had dragged her from her bed in the middle of the night and marched her into the woods behind their house. She’d cried, terrified, as he’d dug a hole. At eleven, she hadn’t realized he’d been digging a grave. Her grave. Not until he’d turned, lifted the machete, and she’d read the terrible truth and torment in his eyes.
All she remembered then was the screaming—hers—and running. She’d run from her father. Run and run until she couldn’t run anymore. Exhausted and heartbroken, she’d lain in the darkness and wanted to die. She was a freak. Her family had decided she was better off dead…so that’s what she’d wanted to be.
She shuddered, pulling herself out of the memories. At some point, she’d pulled herself together and lived rough on the streets until her mentor, a kind older lady who looked like everyone’s grandma, had taken her in. Her homely appearance had hidden the reality of what she was, a demon sorceress with more magic in her veins than any warlock. From her, Beth learned magic she’d never had access to at home, and, more importantly, she’d learned how to survive. How to capitalize on the skills she had.
Her gaze fell to the pack on the counter. Skills that enabled her to procure items like the claw for a select group of buyers. Taking a swig of her coffee, she opened the drawer next to the sink. Three phones, all burners, lay there. All were deactivated, the batteries lying next to them. Selecting the one that corresponded with the buyer for the claw, she set it on the counter and closed the drawer.
She wouldn’t activate it here, just to be on the safe side, but would take a little drive out of town, halfway along the famous bike route called the Dragon’s Tail and mingle with the tourists before she spoke to her contact.
But first, she decided, finishing her coffee and putting the mug in the sink, she needed a shower and to change out of her “work” clothes. Looking out the window, she noted the falling darkness. It was getting late, so perhaps she might grab a burger and a drink or a pizza while she was out instead of cooking tonight. Her stomach rumbled in appreciation and she smiled, ignoring the fact that the sound was echoed by a soft rumble from within. Pizza and a movie curled up in front of the fire seemed an awesome plan for the evening.
Whistling a jaunty tune, she headed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to shower and change.
* * *
Contact by burner phones was such an old-fashioned way of doing things, but sometimes the old ways were definitely the best. At least this way Beth could be sure no one could track her location through the Internet. With burners, provided she kept the call short, they wouldn’t be able to track her by other methods.
Conventional methods, that was. She wasn’t bothered about magical ones. Born into a warlock family, she’d learned the forms of spells before she could walk. Simple stuff like lighting candles (although she still had no idea why they were taught that given the modern age, but tradition was tradition), before moving on to controlling the weather and other more complicated casting. All learned and memorized in preparation for her magic coming in at puberty. She had an excellent memory, near photographic, and enough power and creativity to bridge the gaps if she couldn’t remember the precise form.
Which meant that right now she was so spelled-up
with aversion and protection wards, she’d be surprised if any of the humans in the diner around her would remember her tomorrow. Hell, they probably wouldn’t remember they’d been out for a meal either.
No, if anyone wanted to track her by non-technological methods, they’d have to be packing at least demonic-level magic, and even then, she had a few tricks up her sleeve they wouldn’t be expecting. She never went into any fight unprepared, and she’d learned there was no honor among thieves. She always played dirty.
The phone in front of her rang. Once. Not checking the number, she picked it up. Only one person would call her on this cell.
“Yes?” She didn’t bother with pleasantries but made sure to speak with an accent not her own. Cut-glass English was always a fun one and confused the fuck out of people. As far as she knew, they’d linked her to England, Ireland (that surprised her because her Irish accent was horrible), Sweden and the Ukraine. She was working on learning Russian, just to throw them even more.
“You have the item?” The voice on the other end of the line was male, heavily accented and likewise didn’t bother with pleasantries. Eastern European of some flavor, she wasn’t sure what and had no way to find out. Usually, her buyers were as eager as she was to conceal their identities.
“I do. Do you have the money?”
She nodded to the waitress as the woman put a large mug of coffee in front of her. Hot, black and strong enough to fight for the spoon, it was just the way she liked it. She’d have to remember that for a future visit.
“We will. It will be wired to your account over the next twenty-four hours.”
Beth froze, the mug halfway to her lips. “Why the delay?”
A shiver of unease slithered down her spine. She didn’t like surprises, and this definitely counted as a surprise.
“We have had…issues getting your fee together. We may not be able to get the full amount to you in time.”
The mug clicked down on the table.
She had three rules. Very simple ones. The first was the deal did not change. One item per job. She didn’t do job lots. Ever.
The second was no discounts. Ever. She had a price for her services and never negotiated. If the buyer wanted the job done cheaper, they could go elsewhere. It was no skin off her nose. She could always find a new buyer for the items she “handled.”
The third, and most important, was payment up front—not before she did the job, but the day before handover. Sure, it meant that she was technically working without being paid, but she had a reputation. Once she lifted an item, the word went out in the media, and the buyer knew for sure she had it in her possession.
“May I remind you of my rules. Payment required in full, the day before the exchange, or I find a new buyer. No exceptions.”
“The price has changed. We are no longer willing to pay the—”
“Let me just stop you there, sunshine,” Beth’s voice was like a whip. “Price is as agreed, and will be in my account within the required time, or there will be no handover tomorrow. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?”
There was silence on the other end of the line. She bit back her snarl of frustration, looking around the diner for distraction. A couple just coming through the door caught her eye.
The man was tall and powerfully built while the woman was shorter with the sort of feral grace that marked her as a shifter. But it wasn’t the female who held Beth’s attention, it was her companion. There was something about him that seemed familiar somehow. An aura that reached out to her, pinged all her magical senses and wrapped her in warmth. It felt like she should…know him somehow.
Then he turned, but someone walked between them before she could get a look at his face.
“Yes,” the voice on the end of the line was clipped and unamused. If she didn’t miss her guess, there was more than one of them there and he’d lost the argument as to how to reply to her. His anger and frustration virtually hummed down the line to assault her ears. However, within a few seconds the tablet computer in front of her chirped to let her know funds had been deposited in her account. She checked the balance and smiled.
“Excellent. Handover will be tomorrow at nineteen hundred hours at the following coordinates.” Quickly she rattled off a set of numbers. “One person or the deal is off. Any law enforcement of any kind, the deal is off. If you’re late, the deal is off. A pleasure doing business with you.”
With that, she cut the connection and, with an ease that spoke of long experience, snapped the battery and card out of the cell. She couldn’t risk calling magic here, so she dropped the card to the floor beneath the table and crushed it under her heel. Best use for stilettos, ever.
Taking a quick mouthful of coffee, she gathered everything else into her bag and walked through the diner. As she went, she kept her eyes peeled for the couple she’d spotted earlier. Her buyer completely forgotten, she focused on the task at hand. The familiarity tugged at her memory.
She’d thought at first that perhaps she’d seen him in a movie or something. Deal’s Gap was on the Dragon’s Tail, one of the most well-known motorcycle rides in the US. It wasn’t unknown for celebrities to head out here to say they’d tamed the Dragon.
But now she wasn’t so sure. She had an excellent memory for films, and the sense of knowing felt older than any film she’d seen recently. It couldn’t have been something more than a few years old either, not if she recognized him as he looked now. No, it wasn’t a film, she was sure of it. She’d seen him…maybe…or someone who looked very like him.
Her heels tapped against the floor of the diner as she walked, and she spotted the couple in the corner. As though he could sense her interest, the man looked up as she passed and she caught her breath.
Shaggy blond hair, feline-set eyes and a quirk of the lips she remembered like it was yesterday. She dropped her gaze and scuttled out, her heart pounding. Thank the heavens she’d paid a banshee years ago to subtly alter her appearance because she’d been right. She knew him.
It was Hale. Her cousin.
His presence near Deal’s Gap could mean only one thing.
He was here to kill her.
3
One last job. She just needed this final handover to go without a hitch and she was free and clear. The money was in her account, so all she needed to do was decide where to retire and book a ticket.
So why did her stomach feel like a pit of pissed off snakes? It roiled and grumbled as she leaned to the side, turning the big motorcycle off the main road and into a smaller industrial estate.
This late on a Sunday evening, the entire estate was deserted, which was the reason she’d chosen it. That and it was within easy reach of at least three main transport routes, which meant she could escape. She’d be in the wind within five minutes, and given the power of the baby between her legs…they’d have to be packing some serious horsepower to catch her.
She slowed down as she rode through the closed down warehouse and factory units, circling before she made her way closer to the centre and the meet point. She’d chosen it carefully, making sure that none of the routes in and out were covered by security cameras of any kind.
A trip down here earlier in the week and a few hex bags hidden about the place, stuffed into gutters and bound to the top of lampposts, ensured that magical surveillance wouldn’t be a problem either.
It was perhaps a little more time and effort than she would normally expend on a handover, but she was tired. Ready for this life to be over. She’d been running as long as she could remember…since the night her father hadn’t been able to kill her…and she was worn out. Tired of concealing who she was, what she was. Tired of the strange presence in her blood that stirred each time she cast a spell. She didn’t know what it was, just that she was different. Not the warlock she’d been born and bred to be. And the only way she could see of dealing with that difference was to not cast magic.
Hence her much-desired retirement. With that kind of money, she never need cast a spell aga
in. Bliss.
The unsettled feeling got worse the closer she got to the drop point. Engine throttled down low, Beth turned the corner and pulled to a stop in the shadows. Her pack with the claw was crosswise over her chest, the draw top prepped for a quick open.
Putting a booted foot on the ground, she considered the scene in front of her. Two men stood by the hood of a big SUV with blacked out windows. Both wore clothes that wouldn’t look out of place in a mobster film—heavy trench coats over suits. Even from here she could smell the expensive leather of their shoes. That and the gun oil of the heat they were packing. She almost snorted at that. Guns? They’d bought guns to a magic fight? Really?
And there were two of them. Fuck. She nibbled her lip. It was against her rules but she needed this to be over. Finished. Done.
And she could handle two wanna-be gangsters. Easy.
Shaking her head, she dismissed the silencer spell on the bike’s engine and with a twist of her wrist on the throttle, roared up to pull to a stop in front of the twins.
“You’re late,” the one on the left, slightly taller than his companion, complained, a flash of anger in pale grey eyes. She suppressed a shiver. Something about him set her teeth on edge and the hackles on the back of her neck to rising. Even the strangeness in her blood was quiet, as though it were wary…watching him.
Flicking a glance at the other one, she realized his eyes were exactly the same shade of pale silver. It wasn’t a color that appeared amongst humans and the scent rolling around both screamed shifter. Some sort of lycan, but not like any werewolves she’d ever encountered before.
“I think there should be some discount for you being late.”
“Price is the price, bud. Not my fault if your watch is fast.” She shrugged, not really caring what he thought. All she wanted was to get this over and done with as quickly as possible and she could get out of here. They were both giving her the heebie-jeebies big time.
