Cold Blooded jm-3

by Amanda Carlson

The long driveway disappeared as it wrapped behind the house. Once the vehicle crossed the boundary line from the street, a current of energy pulsed through my body. Strong wards were up, and if they hadn’t liked us, they would’ve slapped us back, like a flyswatter eliminating a pesky problem.

  Once we were through the main gate, the backyard opened up. I followed the driveway as it curved to the left. Tall shrubs ran around the perimeter of the yard. It was completely private from any curious onlookers. Up ahead was a huge garage with three stalls. Tally snapped her wrist at the windshield, and feathery lines, almost undetectable, shot out from her fingertips.

  The third garage door on the right opened.

  “Drive in there.”

  I maneuvered the beast into the stall with only inches to spare on either side. The moment I tugged it into park, the ground beneath us jerked and rattled and the vehicle began to sink. “I’m assuming we’re on a lift.” I angled my head at Tally, laying it on the headrest. “Either that or earthquakes have finally found the upper Midwest.”

  Nick tried to roll his window down, but it was locked into place. “It’s an underground lair.” There was a hint of awe in his voice and I knew he was refraining from making a Batman joke. We didn’t have anything cool like this up in the north woods where I grew up. No need for underground lairs when you had a thousand acres separating you from the world.

  “Of course the entrance is underground,” Tally said. “This is a Coven, one of the largest in the country. We protect ourselves well.”

  The hydraulic lift squeaked as it came to a stop and the Humvee bounced on its gigantic tires as it settled.

  The room was well lit and, unsurprisingly, held a dozen witches.

  Shifters and witches were not friendly, but they weren’t exactly enemies either. Tally had already indicated she’d known who my father was before she allowed her niece to work for me, so it was not out of the question to think these witches also knew who I was. It irritated me, because for the past seven years I’d been under the assumption I’d created the perfect cover. No one had seemed to lift an eyebrow or question me at all. I’d believed my alias had been foolproof. But I’d been mistaken.

  The supernatural community had indeed been onto me, possibly from the beginning. I knew this for certain, because the day after I’d become the first female wolf on the planet, I’d been brutally attacked. The rogue attack had been planned, and if that wasn’t enough, I’d found out my building super had been a supe himself. We were still trying to figure out who he was and who he’d worked for, but it had been no accident he’d been chosen for the job.

  “We’re not getting out to a roomful of hostiles,” Rourke said, his voice low, broaching no arguments.

  “Cool your jets.” Tally opened her door. “They’re harmless unless I tell them otherwise.”

  “I can taste their power from here,” he said. “And it’s far from harmless. They’re primed and ready to go. Tell them to stand down or we don’t move.”

  I glanced back at Rourke and raised a brow. I wasn’t going to argue with him, but I wasn’t detecting the same threat. I inhaled, pulling air lightly over my tongue. Their combined power prodded against my senses, but it didn’t raise any internal alarms. Not like Selene or the Demon Lord had. My wolf hadn’t even bothered to get up to investigate once the lift had stopped. Am I missing something? I asked my wolf. She lifted her muzzle and gave a gratuitous sniff. Alrighty, then. You know, we can’t afford to keep barreling into trouble because you think we’re above the threat. I need to be aware of everything, and once we have the data, we can make an informed decision together. She was my internal radar, my supernatural sensor, and she hadn’t triggered a warning when Tally had broken into my office, and Tally was a definite threat. My wolf was clearly taking a more relaxed stance than she should. You know, just because we’re strong doesn’t mean—

  A witch with long golden hair burst through a door on the other side of the room and hustled toward us. “Magdalene just had a vision,” she called, addressing Tally directly. “She wants you.” Then she grimaced. “And she said to bring along the … female wolf.”

  Tally nodded and took a step forward, sliding off her black skullcap as she slammed the car door. White hair cascaded down to the middle of her back. It was a lot longer than I would’ve guessed, and actually kind of pretty. It made her appear decades younger.

  I hadn’t expected that.

  “Keep your fingers at the ready, ladies,” she ordered. “As of right now, we are on a yellow alert. The sorcerers are on the hunt. These are my guests”—she jabbed her thumb behind her—“and they are not to be harmed … unless, of course, they draw first blood.” She glanced back into the car. “Good enough for you?”

  Rourke scowled but opened his door.

  Nick and I followed.

  I made my way around the vehicle, my internal feelers open despite my unaffected wolf. This Coven hadn’t accepted Marcy, and even though her aunt was the most powerful witch in the country—and presided over the Coven—Marcy hadn’t been voted in. Witches were expected to perform precisely every time. Their rituals and coming-of-age tasks were legendary. Marcy was extremely powerful but had a habit of misfiring under pressure. Tally may have been able to overrule to let her niece in, if Marcy’s last task hadn’t been such a spectacular blunder. Over the years, on those rare occasions we drank together, she’d given me snippets of a disjointed tale—something to do with a local donut shop, naked coeds, and a dead rooster.

  Needless to say, these witches were no friends of mine.

  We followed Tally through the curious spectators, who had stepped back to give us some space. Rourke had waited for me and ushered me in front. Nick had taken up the rear.

  “Nice assets, cat,” one witch cackled. “Those tattoos are rockin’.”

  “She doesn’t feel strong to me. I could take her.”

  “She smells like a garbage dump.”

  I had on a road-worn pair of leggings and a wrinkled T-shirt. I’d showered only once in the past few days. My wolf growled. Now you’re upset?

  “That cat is hawt.”

  Rourke ignored them like a champ, his hands firmly planted around my waist, his power sparking me through my shirt.

  “I like the brown-haired one. What is he?”

  “Smells like a total fox to me.”

  All these comments were for my benefit. These witches weren’t challenging me for Pack status, but they were challenging me nonetheless. My wolf was ramping herself up, getting more agitated by the second.

  “She does travel with some delicious men. I don’t care if he smells like a mangy feline—I’d still do him.” Several witches snickered.

  “I would totally fuc—”

  In the time it took to blink, I was an inch away from the speaker’s startled face.

  I clacked my teeth in front of her nose and smiled widely, showing her all my pearly whites. My growl was low and harsh and she backed up quickly. Her shocked reaction was immensely gratifying. My wolf let out a shallow huff of laughter. “In order to do my man, you’ll have to go through me first,” I said through a clenched jaw. “And after defeating Selene, kicking your ass would be like punching a kindergartener. Not exactly a fair fight.”

  Murmurs started in earnest, as I knew they would.

  Selene, the Lunar Goddess I’d just sent to Hell, was legendary among witches. She’d been a witch herself before ascending to her godhood. The spell caster in front of me gathered her composure with effort. She was young and not very powerful, according to her low signature. But she was gorgeous with sleek black hair and almond-shaped eyes. And I’d just called her bluff in a roomful of her peers. Her expression raged as she seethed, “You don’t scare me with all your big talk, mutt. There’s no way you took on Selene and won. You’re a liar.”

  Calling me mutt was standard fare, but calling me a liar was a hefty insult. Questioning someone’s honor provoked a challenge on the spot. I had to respond, but fighting
her here would start something bigger than I intended. “I’d be very careful if I were you. Calling me a liar makes me itchy.” I made a fist. “My wolf is begging me to show you some of our new skills.”

  “Go right ahead.” Her eyes narrowed.

  Tally turned from the door, her authoritative voice rang out. “Enough, Angie,” she ordered. “What she says is true. Selene’s presence on this plane has blinked off permanently. According to Lani, it happened more than a day ago. I don’t have time to referee a pissing match right now, so I’m ordering you to step down.”

  The beauty’s eyes widened just enough and I unclenched my fist.

  I knew without a doubt Marcy hated this witch with a fiery passion. Her inflated ego, likely due to her beauty because she had no power, was nauseating. And if I had to guess, Angie had led the vote to keep Marcy out of the Coven. I wanted to take a bite out of her in solidarity for my friend.

  Instead, I settled for snapping the air in front of her nose again with a decisive bite.

  She flinched, hitting her head against the wall.

  I grinned, ignoring her murderous glare, and whispered, “I win.”

  “You have no idea what I can do!” she yelled at my retreating back. “You better watch yourself!”

  “Quiet, Angie,” one of the other witches muttered. “Just let it go.”

  “Yes, Angie,” I said without turning around. “Let it go. If we fight, you lose.”

  “I won’t lose,” she called. “I can promise you that. And when I’m done, I’ll—”

  Rourke physically picked me up and carried me out the door.

  Nick slammed it firmly shut behind him, muffling the rest of Angie’s threats, which included a hearty description of her talents in the bedroom. “Easy, Jess,” Nick said when he saw my face. “Just ignore it. She got in over her head and she couldn’t back down.”

  “I don’t care,” I said. “She brought it on herself. A challenge is a challenge. You can’t expect me to ignore it.” Wolves didn’t back down from a fight. Ever.

  Tally stood at the bottom of a staircase, her hands on her hips. “Angie is no threat to you, but her sister is. Leave it alone. If Magdalene had a vision, we need to see her now before it’s gone. You’re wasting valuable time.”

  Rourke covered my lips in a quick kiss. He broke with a low growl and leaned in close, whispering, “I like you jealous.” He licked my earlobe and chills raced up my spine. “It’s sexy as hell.”

  Tally tapped her foot.

  I broke away, grinning. I wasn’t going to tell him it wasn’t jealousy that had motivated my reaction, because being sexy as hell worked for me. Not being able to have any alone time with my mate was testing my willpower on every level. The car ride home had been a torture of emotions and feelings, none of which we could act on, so right now I was willing to take what I could get. Sexy, jealous lover. Check. I turned, reluctantly tearing my gaze away from his clear green eyes, warm body, and delicious blond stubble, and headed down the long hallway. “Out of curiosity, who is Angie’s sister?” I asked Tally.

  “Ceres.”

  My brain filtered through the small information I had on her. “The Goddess of Crops?” I asked. Crops weren’t so scary.

  “Fertility. And if you want to keep your mate, stay away from her. Her specialty is stripping libido. She’s a cranky goddess and Angie is her only blood-kin. She’s not like Selene. She doesn’t play with her prey. She leaves them crying and eternally deadened with one flick of her wrist.”

  Jesus. “Good to know.”

  We wound our way through the mansion, passing by room after room filled with plush carpets and ornate furniture. The house was a strange mix of Mediterranean meets Tudor with lots of gables and dark woodwork, with the addition of huge, airy windows. It had a pleasant feel. Two sets of staircases later, we entered a small room in the attic. I ducked my head as I passed through the low doorway. The boys had to physically bend over.

  There, sitting on a bed covered in white chenille, was a toddler no older than three.

  “Maggie,” Tally crooned. “Mommy’s here.”

  3

  “That’s a child.” The tot in question extended her pudgy arms out to her mother. Tally plucked her out of bed and skillfully perched her on her hip. The toddler was flushed, appearing to have just awoken from her nap. Her fine blonde hair stuck to her rosy cheeks. It was clear she’d been crying.

  “Indeed,” Tally said. “She’s two.” Tally lovingly wiped her hair away from her face and planted a kiss on her forehead.

  A baby soothsayer? I assumed this child was the oracle, since Tally had just addressed her as Maggie.

  “Is she yours?” I asked. I wasn’t trying to be rude, but Tally was old by anyone’s standards—whether her face looked thirty or forty meant nothing. She had to be centuries old, gauging by her power alone. It radiated off her in currents that came only with age. I didn’t know the average life span of a witch, but I knew, like us, they aged slowly. No supe was truly immortal, and unless we obtained a godhood we could be killed a number of ways, such as by severing our heads or burning us alive. But the average mortality of a supernatural was thousands of years. “I mean”—I cleared my throat when she didn’t readily respond to my question—“not that she couldn’t be yours biologically, but I know witches adopt often.” Many Sects brought in children through legal adoptions.

  “She’s mine,” she answered. “A witch is fertile once every year for her entire life. We are born of the earth and renew each year. Our problem is finding a compatible partner, like most Sects. It has been … difficult. This is only my second child and she is a gift. And if we don’t hurry, the information she has will be lost.” She turned and crooned, “Maggie, we’re going to play the Tell Mommy game, okay?” The child nodded and brought a chubby finger to her mom’s hair and started twirling. “Let’s get the crayons. This time we’ll color pictures. How does that sound?”

  Marcy had never mentioned a cousin her own age, so it was a good assumption Tally’s other child was no longer living. Children of leaders were vulnerable for many reasons, but I wasn’t about to ask. We followed them into an adjoining room, which was clearly the playroom. Tally set the child down at a little white table decorated with pale pink flowers and grabbed a box of art supplies from a nearby shelf. Two other witches were already in the room.

  “Maggie, did you see Aunt Marcy in your dreams today?” Tally coaxed, setting down an array of crayons and several sheets of white paper as she knelt by her side.

  The child nodded as she picked a brown crayon and started scribbling circles on one of the blank pieces of paper.

  “How did she look?”

  “Boy,” the child murmured quietly.

  “She was with a boy?”

  The crayon stopped moving as the child’s eyes fluttered and her head tilted up toward the ceiling. When she brought it back down, her eyes were completely white—like when you pulled your eyelids up and rolled your eyes back to freak out your friend kind of white.

  And they stayed like that.

  I covered my mouth to stifle a yell, but not very well. My wolf bared her teeth in my mind and we took a step back, knocking into Rourke’s chest.

  Tally glared up at us.

  “Sorry,” I squeaked.

  Nick was pale across the room. Shifters were concrete creatures. Witchiness of any kind made us uncomfortable. Rourke stood behind me, a low rumbling in his chest. We were all a little freaked out. Not because the child could harm us but because what she was doing was so creepy and unnatural.

  “You must be quiet,” Tally snapped. “She only has visions when something pivotal in our world happens. This means something. And it’s no coincidence she asked for the female wolf. She could have the answers to where my niece is, which would mean—”

  “Boy, he help her. They get away,” Maggie interrupted in her little voice.

  That was great news. “They get away” had to mean James had successfully tracked
Marcy and they were out of danger. I blew out a big breath. “Ask her where they are so we can go pick them up,” I urged.

  Tally shot me a death glare and I shut up.

  We all watched as the child started drawing circles again, which quickly bled onto the tabletop. I leaned forward as she discarded one crayon and picked up another. A crude drawing started of what appeared to be a wolf. It had pointy ears, so it was as good a guess as any. Then she drew a stick figure holding hands with the wolf. It had long hair and was smiling. It must be James and Marcy.

  The child’s eyes snapped shut and her head bobbed down like she’d suddenly fallen asleep.

  “So are you telling us that Aunt Marcy is okay, Magdalene?” Tally prodded in a voice full of love and patience.

  “They running.” Maggie’s head came up and I was relieved to see her eyes were back to normal.

  “Is someone following them?”

  “Bad men.”

  “Is Marcy going to come home?” Tally coaxed.

  Brief pause.

  We all held our breath.

  The child nodded. “Auntie Marcy. Home again.”

  Whew. “Ask her when?” I pressed. I couldn’t help it. A toddler having visions was a crazy thing to witness, but when she delivered good news, it made it less so.

  The child’s small face turned toward me, her gaze locking on mine like a clamp.

  I shivered.

  Her eyes rolled back to white as I watched. I cringed, but didn’t yell. I didn’t have time to congratulate myself, because I was crossing my fingers too fiercely, hoping like a madwoman her eyeballs were receiving the story from her brain so she could fill us in on Marcy’s location. I flinched back as she continued to stare at me with that milky stare. Rourke drew me to him, comforting me once again by wrapping his warm arms around my middle.

  Maggie pointed at me, eyes still frightening. “Finds you.”

  “Marcy finds me?” I asked hopefully. “When?”

  “Oracles don’t do time.” Tally shook her head like I was a moron. “Things shift. People make choices. They affect outcomes. There is never a time frame involved.”