by Michele Hauf
“Those are words you put into my mouth, Trouble. I hold nothing against Valor.”
“She was responsible for you losing your wings, man.”
“It was my choice.”
“I’m helping him to get his wings back.” Valor rushed in before Trouble’s bouncy stance turned into a one-two punch to the mean witch who had hurt his brother. The man had a tendency to react quickly and only ask the important questions after the pain had been delivered. “I have a spell that will open a portal into Faery. We need a few items for that spell. The first being a werewolf claw.”
Kelyn’s admonishing tilt of head was expected, but she couldn’t worry about pissing off the faery any more than she already had done.
Trouble slammed his fists to his hips. “You trust her?”
“I do. And I suspect Borse will be perfectly fine with one less claw.”
“You got that right. But you’ll have to take it when he’s shifted. He’ll tear you apart, brother.”
“Thanks for that vote of confidence.”
“No, seriously, Kelyn. I know you are the toughest and strongest of the Saint-Pierre boys. Or at least you were until...her.”
Valor caught the werewolf’s accusatory look, but she set back her shoulders and held her head high.
“You need help,” Trouble said. “And if the witch can get back your wings, I’m all in for ripping Borse’s claws out.”
“We only need one,” Valor reminded the guy, who, she had no doubt, would take off all ten of the werewolf’s claws if given the opportunity. “Kelyn and I learned he’s going out on the hunt tonight.”
“Then we are, too,” Trouble said. “But no witches allowed. This is a man’s job.”
“She’s got magic,” Kelyn said. “She’s coming along.”
* * *
They tracked Borse to the dive bar at the edge of Tangle Lake. It was a favorite watering hole for the Saint-Pierre brothers. The bartender knew Kelyn was always the designated driver and served him iced lemonade with a nod and a wink. Half a dozen humans lingered at the bar, a pair of them discussing the latest Twins game.
At the pool table, Borse commandeered a game to himself. He was drunk. And it generally took a lot of alcohol to get a werewolf drunk. The trio decided to wait and follow Borse out to his car before approaching him.
It felt wrong going after a drunkard. Even knowing what an asshole Borse was, Kelyn had problems using violence to get what he wanted. Completely the opposite of Trouble, who nursed a whiskey and eyed the dartboard. Kelyn had always won at darts against Trouble. He hadn’t attempted a game since losing his wings. He didn’t want to try now. He just didn’t.
Beside him sat Valor, who’d passed on the lowbrow beer and instead had asked for a lemonade, as well. She wore a thigh strap with a blade in the holster. She’d said it was a ritual blade she used for her spells and would be best to remove the claw. She and Trouble hadn’t spoken since they’d arranged to work together, and while Kelyn knew his brother had a stick up his butt about the witch after all that had happened, he was surprised he’d not picked up on any sort of weird sexual tension between the two.
Had Trouble lied about them getting it on? Valor had seemed defensive about just that, but Kelyn had cut her off, not wanting to listen to any excuses. The woman was an adult. She could have sex with whomever she wanted to.
The creaky bar door slammed and Trouble gave a short whistle to Kelyn. Borse had left, muttering something about vampires. The werewolf had parked down the street behind a chain-link fence and next to a rotting supply shed that sat at the edge of the city park. So they had the advantage of darkness and privacy.
“What the fuck?” Borse spun around at the approaching threesome. His stance wobbled, but he maintained an upright position. “Saint-Pierres, eh? That land isn’t all yours, Trouble, and you know it.”
Trouble punched a fist into his opposite palm and lunged for the man. The first smack of fist to jaw resounded through the park and scattered a flock of pigeons.
“Stay out of the way,” Kelyn said, stepping before Valor, who had pulled out her athame in defense.
She didn’t need to be told to avoid danger. But she didn’t need to be protected, either. Especially not by the man who had once already—ah, yes. What was she thinking? Valor stepped back, giving Kelyn every bit of respect the man deserved. She had to be careful not to offend more than she already had done. A man’s sense of pride was always a delicate thing.
It didn’t take long for Borse and Trouble’s scuffle to escalate, and as their antics moved them beneath a shadowed copse of willow, the men shifted. Shirts tore away, though they both had the sense to shift halfway. Keeping their lower halves in human shape ensured that they remained partially clothed. A necessity should an innocent wander onto the scene and a quick shift back to were form was required.
The two shifted wolves went at each other while Kelyn stalked close but did not step in to interrupt. Valor assumed they both knew what they were doing, so, holding her blade at the ready, she waited.
But would a little magic provide Trouble the advantage? Her air magic could make Trouble’s punches move faster, his leaps more aggressive. If she could focus it to land only on him and not the other wolf...
“No,” she admonished herself quietly. “Let the boys handle this one.”
Grunts and growls accompanied the battle that seemed as if it would continue indefinitely. Valor cast Kelyn a questioning look. He returned a shrug and a nod. He got the hint.
Kelyn lunged for Borse and delivered a fist to his bloody jaw. Valor had heard the rumors about Kelyn. That one punch from him would put any man—or beast—down for the count.
Borse shook his head and smirked at Kelyn when he realized the faery was not as strong as rumor told. He grabbed Kelyn’s arm even as Trouble swung a leg and took out Borse’s stance. Both Borse and Kelyn went down.
And Valor clenched her fingers into her palms. She thrust out her arm, bending her fingers in preparation to release some air magic. Sucking in her lower lip, she bit, almost drawing blood. Cursing at the pain, she inhaled sharply when she saw the fighters roll to a stop. Kelyn landed on top of Borse, and Borse lay still. The thug wolf was out. But for how long?
Kelyn thrust out his hand, gesturing for her to hand the knife to him.
“Oh. Right.” She rushed to him and slapped the hilt into his hand.
Trouble, in half his hulking furry glory, leaned over them. He smelled musky and hot. An animal riled. Valor didn’t fear the man whose upper half resembled an übermuscled wolf, including a full wolf’s head. The one she was concerned with now was Kelyn, and he—he had pressed the side of the blade to his forehead, as if in thought, and closed his eyes as he crouched over Borse.
“Kelyn,” she said, “hurry! He could come to any second.”
“I can’t.” He pushed himself up and stepped away from the fallen werewolf, walking a wide circle.
Trouble swiped a big, clawed paw for the knife, but Kelyn jerked it away from him. “Get out of here,” he said to his brother. “I’m not going to do it. I can’t.”
“What? Do you need me to do it?” Valor asked. Her whole body shook. She was nervous and exhilarated and scared all at once.
“No, I mean I won’t do this.” He handed her the blade. “Who am I to harm another man for something I want? It’s not a need, Valor. I want my wings back, but I’ll survive without them. As deserving as he may be, I won’t maim Borse just to make it so.”
The werewolf on the ground stirred.
“Let’s get out of here.” Kelyn grabbed her by the upper arm and pushed her in the direction of the bar where they had parked his Firebird. “Trouble! Go!”
Trouble growled and snorted, but the werewolf took off in the opposite direction and loped through the park.
And while Valor was disappointed they’d not gotten what had been but a stroke of the blade away, she was even more impressed at Kelyn’s sacrifice. Once again. And his honor.
He truly was a good man. And she was fortunate to know such a person.
They climbed into his car and watched through the chain-link fence for a while. To see if Borse would wander out in werewolf form, or perhaps man shape. And to make sure Trouble didn’t return looking for the trouble he famously indulged in.
“I’m sorry,” Valor said quietly.
Kelyn turned on her with a surprising rage in his eyes. “I am tired of your apologies. You did nothing wrong, witch!”
“Would you bring it down a notch? I was apologizing because I know you want your wings, and now getting them seems an impossibility. Would you let someone care about you? Seriously!” She gripped the door handle tightly. “You’ve more of a chip on your shoulder about letting someone in than about getting back your lost wings. What’s your hang-up?”
“I don’t have a hang-up, other than wondering why in Beneath I decided working with you would be a good idea.”
“Because you trusted me.”
“Trust had nothing to do with it. I’m here because you were my only hope.”
“Sorr—” She cut off the apology. “Fine. I disappointed you.”
“I was the one who refused to take the claw. It’s all on me.”
“Right. Do you thrive on the guilt, Kelyn?”
He cast her a condemning glare, which Valor felt at the back of her neck like an icy prickle over her skin. So maybe he wasn’t as honorable as she’d surmised.
“Okay, not going to discuss that one,” she said. “On to plan B. Do we have a plan B?”
“I do.”
“Which is?”
Kelyn shifted into gear and the vehicle rolled over the tarmac. “There’s a cabin about ten miles south from here. Belongs to a peller. My sister’s husband, Beck, had a run-in with the owner a few years ago. The man...can time travel.”
Valor shot him a glance, but it was too dark in the car to see his reaction to her sudden interest.
“I’m not so sure I believe in the time-travel stuff,” he continued. “But he was also a wolf hunter. He hunts all sorts of species, actually. Anyway, the cabin is sometimes empty because he’s gone. In another time.”
“That sounds too cool, and at the same time, severely whacked.”
“Yeah, but if the cabin is empty, I say we take a look around. If the guy hunts wolves, there could be...things.”
“Like claws?”
She sensed Kelyn nodded. And Valor smiled. “You’re in the driver’s seat.”
Chapter 5
Kelyn used the GPS on his phone to locate the farmhouse he’d been to twice before. And that annoyed the crap out of him. Normally, he’d navigate ley lines to find his way or simply recall the directions and turns. The ability to do so had always been innately a part of him, aligned with the sigils he’d once worn on his body.
He did not want to think any more about the skills that giving away his wings had stolen from him.
“Denton Marx is a peller,” he explained as he parked the Firebird on the gravel drive before the guy’s place.
“A spell breaker,” Valor confirmed. “They are generally good, bad or nasty. I’m guessing Marx was the nasty sort?”
Kelyn wobbled his hand back and forth. “Depends on whose story you listen to. He did some bad things for what he thought was a good reason. My sister, Daisy Blu, suffered because of it. But her husband, Beck, who was under a curse that was killing him, gained back his life, so they both sort of won because of Marx. I’d call him situationally convenient.” He peered out the window, eyes taking in the periphery. “Doesn’t look like anyone is home.”
The lot did appear abandoned. Massive willow trees hung over the unmown front yard that edged a gravel road. Tall grasses disguised the ditch and frothed along the narrow drive. The rambler-style house was dark, as was the garage. The forest grew thick right up to the back of the house, though Kelyn knew there was a shed beyond it.
He’d been here a few winters earlier with his brothers. Denton had sought Daisy Blu’s werewolf soul to rescue his lost love who was trapped in another time, a witch who could time travel. And Denton also time traveled. Wonders never ceased. A soul had been a requirement to work a spell to breach time. The man had failed. Thankfully.
“I don’t think he’s around.” Kelyn opened the door and thrust out a leg, sniffing at the air. Normally his senses were dialed up to ultra. But since losing his wings? Forget about it. “I don’t scent any others beyond the wildlife and floras. Let’s take a look out back.”
Valor followed silently, which he appreciated. If anyone were on the premises, he didn’t want to alert them that they had visitors.
Pressing his wrists together to invoke magic that would heighten his senses, Kelyn cursed under his breath and swung his arms away from each other. Even after four months, he still forgot about his missing sigils. And a twinge in the center of his back, between his shoulder blades, reminded him what a fool he had been. Could a man be too damned nice?
Obviously, he could.
The grass was dry and brown here behind the house, and his footsteps crunched even as he left the gravel drive. He hadn’t come armed. He didn’t want to call up any more bad mojo from the universe than his actions had already done.
He didn’t consider this venture breaking and entering. Just...taking a look around. Surely Denton owed the Saint-Pierre family for the pain he’d put them through with Daisy Blu and Beck.
“How do you know this guy?” Valor asked quietly as she caught up and reached his side. They wandered over some old, rotted wood boards that had been placed on the ground as a sort of walkway leading to the shed.
“He almost killed my sister and her boyfriend. Of course, that was when Beck was cursed as the ghost wolf.”
“I remember that! That was a couple years ago. There was an article in the local paper about a big white wolf roaming the area.”
“Beck was cursed as that white wolf.”
“Wow. And you’re friends with this Denton guy?”
“Not officially.” He stopped before the steel door to the shed, suspecting the security would be excellent for a man who might take frequent trips away—to completely different centuries. “But if anyone has a werewolf claw, it’ll be this guy. Keep watch on the house, will you?”
“Larceny. Love it.” Shoving her hands in her back pockets, Valor turned to face the house.
Satisfied there were no cameras attached to the outside of the building, nor any connected on the nearby yard lightpost, Kelyn jiggled the doorknob. It was a standard knob and lock. Nothing digital. He didn’t have anything to pick the lock with, so...he stepped back and gave the door a fierce kick right beside the lock mechanism. It slammed inward with a loud bang and a plume of dust.
Valor turned and gaped at him.
He smiled at her and shrugged. “Some of my talents have less finesse than others.”
“So it would seem.” She walked in after him. “Nothing like making an entrance. I like it.”
The shed was dark, but pale moonlight strained through a dirty glass window panel set into the roof. The paned glass stretched eight feet square. It was littered with fallen leaves, yet the center of the room was lit enough to make out the dirt floor and assorted items sitting about. A mounted full-bodied buck greeted them with eerie glass eyes, its ten-point rack gleaming like ivory.
“Yikes.” Valor walked up to the taxidermied creature. It stood as high as she. She studied it from head to tail, then walked back up to look into its eyes. She stroked its nose, pausing with her palm flat on its fur. Bowing her head, she said, “I’m so sorry for you.”
Her empathy hit Kely
n right in the heart. Any chick who cared for nature was all right by him. “You see? The guy is an asshole.”
“Duly noted. This poor creature didn’t deserve such an end. I hate trophy hunters. So let’s take a look around. I’ll look over here and you—” He’d already begun to explore the north wall. “Yep, you know what you’re doing. So, are you prepared to leave the country?”
“What?” Kelyn brushed his fingertips over an assortment of knives and tools he assumed were taxidermy items. None were clean, which made him wonder about the man’s methods. Trophies would be created and tended with care and clean instruments. Magical items, on the other hand, wouldn’t require such surgical cleanliness. He called over his shoulder, “Why leave the country?”
“The next item on the list is in Western Australia. Lake Hillier. The pink lake.”
“Pink?”
“Yeah, I think it’s algae or something that colors it literally a bubble gum pink. We need water from that lake specifically.”
“Right, the unruly lake. What is an unruly lake anyway?”
“Apparently, a pink one.”
“Australia is a long flight.”
“That it is. And...spendy.”
He caught her anxious tone. “You mean you’re not going to treat me to an adventure across the globe?”
“I can pay for my own ticket. I’m just hoping you’ll pay for yours?”
“I can cover us both,” he offered.
“No, I can take care of myself.”
“Valor. Send me the flight details and an online link and I’ll take care of it. Okay?”
She nodded and picked up an old, rusted spring-loaded trap that creaked as she turned it about. “This looks dangerous and it smells.”
“Probably blood on it from whatever the man last trapped.”
She dropped it with a groan.
Kelyn’s hand landed on a dusty glass quart jar without a cover. He could feel the vibrations wavering out from within and he bowed his head over it, placing both hands on the glass. Thankful that his senses were not currently superreceptive, he could only imagine the pain he’d sense if they had been at normal capacity.
