Petey reacted quickly and grabbed her, leaving him pulling on her arms and the squid pulling on her leg. Caught in a game of supernatural tug-of-war, Virginia cried out.
There was a blur of movement—and suddenly, there was no more tension coming from the tentacle, yet it was still wrapped around her leg.
The beast shrieked.
Petey didn’t stop yanking on her, and she ended up sliding at him fast, knocking him over.
Confused, she looked down to find the green tentacle was indeed still around her leg. But it wasn’t attached to the squid anymore. It had been severed.
Petey helped to right her as they sat up together.
There, standing next to them, was Betty, holding up one hand—which now had long, dagger-like talons coming from it. She was licking the tip of each one. “Mmm, I love calamari.”
Virginia blinked in stunned surprise.
Betty motioned to the twitching severed tentacle that was still around Virginia’s leg. “Are you going to eat that? I have a wonderful family recipe it would go perfect in.”
Shaking her head, Virginia just sat there. Bewildered didn’t even begin to cover how she felt.
“And congratulations on the marriage. He’s a dear boy, isn’t he?” Betty bent, her hand returning to normal as she unwrapped the tentacle from Virginia’s leg. She gave it a look that said it was most certainly a prize. She then stood and walked off, carrying what was left of the tentacle without so much as a care in the world.
Petey and Virginia shared a look before they hurried to their feet.
Virginia just barely beat Petey to the edge of the deck. There was no sign of the squid or the kraken. “Where’s Sigmund?”
Petey shrugged. “Probably still beating the tar out of the seven-and-a-half-legged squid.”
“We have to find him. We have to help him!” she said, frantic, worry for Sigmund clenching her gut.
Petey put his hand on her shoulder. “We need to get you cleaned up and in some dry clothes. You’ll catch your death like that. Come on back to the inn. We’ll wait for Sigmund there.”
Her bottom lip trembled. “W-what if the squid hurts him?”
“Were you watching the same fight I was?” asked Petey. “Sigmund was the heavyweight champion there. Always knew that boy was capable of being very alpha if push came to shove. Guess he just needed to have his wife in danger.”
Chapter Twelve
Sigmund stood at the living room window of Hells Gate with a cup of morning coffee in hand, ignoring the object in his pocket—a gold coin. When he’d woken on the rocky shoreline, near the docks down by the marina, in nothing more than what he’d been born in and clutching a gold coin, his worst fears had been confirmed.
He’d lost control and shifted.
Whatever he’d done last night in kraken form had left him a bit battered and sore. It also left a gnawing feeling in his gut that he had to see Virginia. It had taken all of him to keep from running from the water’s edge straight to her house. Somehow, he doubted she’d be pleased to have him showing up in the middle of the night in his birthday suit on her front lawn, so he’d resisted.
Sigmund’s hand went to his pocket, and he nearly pulled the coin out to examine it more. Not that he needed to. He’d spent hours staring at it upon his return to the inn, wearing a robe he’d taken off a clothesline on his way back from the marina.
Someone in town was missing a pink polka-dot bathrobe. At least no one had seen him sneaking into the inn wearing the thing. At least he hoped no one had.
He’d gotten back to find his glasses were on the side table near the back entrance, neatly placed. He had no memory of putting them there.
His gaze returned to Runes, and his throat constricted at the thought of Virginia. He’d been right to resist the pull to her. Right to hold back. He wasn’t in control of his shifter side. She wasn’t safe near him.
No one was.
“You know, you could just ask her to dinner, or even lunch. It’s not like we’re expecting miracles here or anything,” said Luc, as he appeared in the living room of the inn from around the corner.
Sigmund’s posture went rigid, and he slid Luc an irritated look. “Don’t you have someone to tempt with an apple or something?”
Luc flashed a wide, mischievous smile and waggled his dark brows, amusement filling his expression. “Been there, done that. They even wrote a book about it.”
Sigmund gave a dry laugh in response. “I see what you did there.”
“See? I’m funny, dark, and mysterious.” Luc took a sip of his own coffee as he joined Sigmund at the window. Unlike Sigmund, who was standing in nothing more than a pair of jeans, Luc was dressed in a tailored suit that was high-end. Didn’t matter that it was insanely early in the morning. Apparently, the devil was always on call.
Furfur trotted up and took a seat next to Luc’s right leg.
Luc patted the dog’s head as he stared out the front window of his bed-and-breakfast. He’d been spending more and more time there as of late. Something the staff and year-round residents took note of. Apparently, this wasn’t common for the devil.
“You know, I heard you and Virginia are expecting a baby and got married in a shotgun wedding, with Walden standing close by, ready and willing to end you for daring to touch his daughter,” said Luc without bothering to hide his amusement with the situation.
Sigmund groaned, still not used to the gossip machine in the small Southern town. He’d thought Everlasting’s rumor mill was impressive. It had nothing on Hedgewitch Cove. And ground zero seemed to be the barber shop. Between Hank—who had his finger on the pulse of the town—and the older gentlemen who sat out in front of the shop, complaining about today’s youth and the state of the world in general, not much got by them. “Let me guess…Hank?”
Luc snickered. “I’m sure Hank was the start of it all, but no. I heard Rockey telling Curt just outside of the bakery yesterday around lunchtime. I forgot to tell you about it when I saw you last night at Howlers.”
With a sigh, Sigmund shook his head and then stretched his shoulder, his muscles tight and sore for some reason. “Curt confirmed it all and laughed, didn’t he?”
“Who knows his Curt?” asked the devil with a snort. “He might have even added to the size of the rumor.”
“I’m going to wring his neck,” warned Sigmund, aggravation washing over him.
Curt had always been something of an instigator.
Luc wiped a hand over his mouth as if trying to press away the smile there. It didn’t work. “Missi will thank you for wringing her husband’s neck.”
Sigmund snorted, still having a hard time believing the men he’d grown up close to were married and starting families of their own.
Something he should be doing—would be doing if life hadn’t thrown him a giant curve-kraken.
“Shame that Hank was witness to the ladder ordeal,” said Luc, sounding anything but like he really thought it was a shame.
“I really need to learn to speak fluent Hank when he’s missing his head,” said Sigmund, scratching his scruffy jaw. He’d stopped doing a close shave when he’d left Everlasting and only used clippers now. His aunt had commented on as much. That and the fact he’d let his hair grow. “I thought it might be American Sign Language he was using, but I’ve got a decent understanding of that from taking courses when I was still teaching, before I became a principal. Hank doesn’t use it.”
“Oh, he has his own way of communicating.” Luc laughed. “Eventually it will make sense to you. In the meantime, consider it a fun game of Headless Horseman Charades.”
“Ever think about how disturbing it is that we’re even talking about understanding a man who doesn’t have a head?” asked Sigmund, shaking his own head in disbelief.
“Oh, Hank has a head. He just doesn’t take it running with him,” added Luc with another cocky grin. “Heard talk in the sewing circle that they were looking into making him a holder so he could wear it on his back o
r something when he goes running. Like those carriers you see people wearing with a baby in them.”
Sigmund gave Luc another fast look. “You frequent sewing circles?”
“I do,” said Luc, pride showing on his face. “I’m also in a knitting club. Helps me relax. By the way, I made you and Petey sweaters the other night. I couldn’t sleep. Betty helped with yours. Your sweater has runes knitted into it that may or may not summon demons. Her doing. Not mine.”
“Oddly, knowing the devil is part of a sewing circle and a knitting club is more disconcerting to me than a guy who jogs without a head,” said Sigmund, meaning every word of it. “Tell me you knit with a pitchfork. Make my day.”
Luc simply chuckled.
Sigmund got a mental image of the devil knitting. It was as bizarre and amusing as one would think it would be.
Hedgewitch Cove was a very odd place indeed.
Strangely, Sigmund found the town less and less weird with each passing day he resided there. After all, he did technically live in the devil’s inn, which had its own ever-moving portal to hell, and a hellhound that followed him around town wherever he went. Just the other day, Sigmund had walked into the bathroom attached to his room to find the portal to hell’s entrance was in there. Made showering interesting, especially when a demon had strolled leisurely through the portal and glanced at him while he was in the buck, under a stream of water. It had given an approving nod and then kept on going.
Weird was a thing of the past.
Sigmund’s free hand went to his front left jean pocket once more. The second he’d looked at the coin closely last night, he’d known what it was and why he’d gotten it.
It was part of a pirate’s treasure. One that was enchanted and belonged to the legendary pirate Blackbeard. The man wasn’t alive per se, yet seemed very much so to everyone when he was within the confines of Hedgewitch Cove. Had Sigmund not been told Blackbeard was technically a ghost, he’d have never believed it. That man was as living and breathing as the next guy, as far as Sigmund was concerned.
He’d also become something of a friend over the last few months. Sigmund had learned all about the man’s bespelled treasure and the cursed coins just over six months back, when Curt had shown up in town with the same gold coins appearing around him seemingly nonstop.
As Petey liked to put it, Curt was making change.
Apparently, so was Sigmund now.
The coins had been a message to Curt—and were no doubt one to Sigmund as well.
The majority of Curt’s coins had a symbol for dark magic on one side and a lion’s head on the other. That made sense if you took into consideration the man was a lion-shifter. A few had the magical crest for the Caillat witches. Since Curt’s true mate, Missi, just happened to be from that line of witches, it all became very clear what the coins were doing—bringing together mates.
Luc sipped his coffee. “Want to talk about it?”
“About what?” he asked, hoping this was not another of Luc’s all-knowing moments.
“What’s eating at you,” replied Luc.
Sigmund slid his finger into his pocket more, making contact with the coin, his gaze fixing on Runes. “Nothing is eating at me.”
“Really?” asked Luc, his voice rising slightly. “I’d have thought waking up in your birthday suit, unsure what, if anything, you did in kraken form last night, and getting confirmation on what I’m sure you already knew about Virginia would be weighing on you to some degree. If not the coin and its meaning, then the fact you woke up knowing you lost control again last night and shifted—something you’ve avoided at all costs and live in constant fear of.”
With an annoyed breath, Sigmund glanced at his friend. “There are times I really hate the fact you are who you are.”
“You and me both, Sigmund,” said Luc, something off in his voice. He cleared his throat. “I can feel the dark magic coming from the coin in your pocket, Bails. For now, I’ve blocked Blackbeard from sensing it too.”
“Why block him from sensing it? It’s part of his treasure. It should be back with him,” said Sigmund. “I was planning to stop by the shaved-ice stand today on my way over to see Walden and return the coin to Blackbeard.”
“It won’t do any good. If you try to ignore the coin or its message, or get rid of it, more will come,” warned Luc. “And if you’ll recall, when more showed for Curt, the spell took a scary turn. It marked him for death.”
He was aware. He said nothing as he drank his coffee.
Luc turned his head, staring at Sigmund, who pretended like he didn’t notice. “That what you’re hoping for? That the spell Marie-Claire cast does you in? That it stops you because you see yourself as a monster?”
With a grunt, Sigmund remained silent. He really, really disliked how all-knowing the man was.
Luc shook his head in disbelief. “Listen, I know you’re not like your friends. I know you don’t feel the need to wear your alpha-ness on your chest like Hugh or feel the need to be the center of attention like Curt, but I never once took you for a coward, Bails. Not once in all the years I’ve known you, have you come across as one who would throw in the towel. Yet here you are, doing just that.”
“I’m not a coward, but I am a monster,” said Sigmund. “She deserves better than that. Better than me.”
“By she, you mean Virginia, your mate,” Luc added.
Sigmund sighed. “How long have you known?”
“That she’s your mate?” Luc paused for what felt like forever. “I think she was maybe three or four minutes old when I sensed it.”
Sigmund nearly dropped his coffee as he spun to face the devil. “You’ve known since she was born?”
The man had the nerve to shrug as if it were no big deal. “Yes.”
“Yet you never said a word in all the years I’ve known you?”
Luc didn’t bother looking at him, but he did nod in the direction of Runes. “You weren’t much older than her at the time. It wasn’t like the information would have done you any good back then.”
Sigmund stared blankly at the man. “Well, it would have done me a ton of good when I became an adult. Then would have been nice to know. Don’t you think?”
Luc shrugged again. “She needed to grow and find her way. You needed to find your path in life too. Destiny can’t be forced. When you try, chaos happens. Haven’t you learned as much from Curt and Missi and what her grandmother tried to do? That could have ended very poorly, Bails. Curt could have been killed, and would have been, had the curse not been broken—appeased, if you will.”
Sigmund nodded. “Yes, but this is different. I could have met her before I turned into this. I could have met her when I was just a man. Not a monster. When I could have offered her a life. A future.”
“Turned into what kind of monster, exactly?” asked Luc. “The type of monster who would give the shirt off his back, if he actually wore one anymore? The type of monster who would do anything for the people he loves? The type of monster who suffered through the loss of his parents at an early age and went to live with his aunt in a town that was filled with supernaturals, yet he never fully felt like he was one of them? Then, when he became a shifter, became part of their world, he hated himself for ever having wished he could be more than he was? That type? Oh, terrifying. Excuse me while I try to contain my fear.”
“Think Father Walker is up for a trip down here and willing to do an exorcism?” asked Sigmund, giving Luc the side eye.
Luc laughed. “Oh, he’s tried more than once to be rid of me. Never works out as planned for him.”
“Pity,” said Sigmund with a snort. “I feel like having holy water stocked around this place would be a good thing.”
“You’ll for sure want some if you wear the sweater Betty helped to knit,” said Luc. “And, um, odds are, if demons do show while you’re wearing it, they’ll be her extended family members.”
“You’re saying I’d be a walking family reunion invitation?” asked Sigmun
d.
Luc nodded. “And lunch for a few of them.”
“Something to look forward to.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sigmund remained at the window, still trying to process all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. A part of him had suspected he was losing control again when Walden came by the docks yesterday, telling them about the body that had been found.
A piece of Sigmund simply knew he was involved. That his worst fears had been realized.
Yet he’d still gone out with the guys, kicked back a few beers, and tried to have a nice, stress-free evening. Had he just come straight home after work, maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have gone out trolling the waters, doing who knows what while on the loose.
“Sigmund,” said Luc evenly. “I know evil. It’s my job to be its caretaker, for lack of a better word. The eyes are the window to the soul. I’ve looked into the eyes of real monsters, of real killers, and seen no remorse, no sympathy, nothing. Just darkness. When I look you in the eyes, I see warmth, goodness, and, since you came into your shifting abilities, fear. Instead of embracing who and what you are, you try to defy it, stand against it, keep it suppressed. Last night was your kraken side showing you how much that does not work. If you don’t embrace it, things will end very badly for everyone involved.”
Sigmund’s stomach tightened. “I keep waiting for someone to come and tell me I killed again. That while I was in shifted form, I took more lives.”
“And if you did?” asked Luc.
Sigmund gasped. “Did I?”
“Answer me this—why did you try reaching out to Walden last night when you got back to the inn?” asked Luc.
Sigmund stiffened. “H-how do you know that?”
With a sideways grin, Luc merely shrugged.
Sigmund swallowed hard and explained his reasoning. “I reached out to him because I lost control last night. I remember having a few drinks with the guys at Howlers. Petey had mentioned Virginia was borrowing his van for a catering gig, and that she’d be taking a lot of food out to the high school late at night. I, um, well…I didn’t like the idea of her being near Darrell, especially at night, so I left the bar earlier than the rest of the guys. I was heading here to change and then help Virginia, if she needed it.”
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