The Strip

by Heather Killough-Walden

  Lily’s mouth opened as if she were going to say something, and then she paused and closed her mouth again. She looked from Cole to Charlie – and then to Jessie once more.

  “I can’t do anything about it, Cole. And neither can you.” Then she nodded toward Jessie. “But he can.”

  Cole and Charlie both turned to gaze at Graves.

  Jessie stood. He didn’t seem too surprised, which served to further shock both Charlie and Cole. “All right,” he said, softly. “Now’s as good a time as any.”

  The others just watched in silent surprise, as Jessie moved away from the table to a briefcase that was sitting on a counter against one wall. He opened it and pulled out a manila folder. Then he walked over to Cole and held out the folder for the other alpha to take.

  Cole hesitated, just a moment, and then took the folder and opened it. Charlie stood to peer down at it as well.

  On the very top was a photograph of a young, handsome man with deep brown eyes that were nearly black. His skin was fair and his dark hair fell to his shoulders in careless waves. There was something secret in the man’s intense gaze.

  “His name is Rendor. He is the prince of the Boyash gypsy tribe in Romania,” Jessie said.

  “And that would be why he seems familiar to me,” Cole said. Charlie gazed down at him and then glanced up at Malcolm’s face. She thought of what she’d been told about the gypsy who had originally placed the red marks on his arms. And it hit her. The man in the picture was probably related to that gypsy. Maybe he was the grandson? Or great grandson?

  “Why are you showing me this?” Cole asked, his tone reflecting a sudden and stark irritation.

  Jessie took the final step necessary to close the distance between Cole and himself. He stood head to head with the man and easily held his gaze. “The Boyash tribe happens to owe me a favor Cole,” he said. He paused, then added, “and I will happily cash it in.” He cocked his head to one side, waiting.

  Charlie felt the tension spark between them and stepped back. Cole wasn’t stupid. He was obviously well aware that Jessie wasn’t going to do him any favors for free. “And what do you want in return?” Malcolm asked through clenched teeth.

  “I want guardian rights.”

  * * * *

  It was a long time before both Jessie and Lily were gone and Cole and Charlie were alone with the Overseer. All three of them were growing tired. They were inhuman, but they were still animals, and animals needed their sleep.

  “Now that I have you two alone, I need to talk to you about something very important,” Alexander began. He paused, searching for the right words. Then, with a deep breath, he ventured, “The witch Dannai is a very special individual.”

  Charlie’s heart skipped a beat. She realized, in that tense moment, that her grandfather could read her mind – and she couldn’t make herself stop seeing what it was that Dannai had done in that room of Maria’s house. She couldn’t stop seeing her heal Malcolm. Heal the woman. Heal herself. Her grandfather would know, even though Dannai had pleaded with her not to tell anyone.

  “It’s all right, child,” Alexander shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “You don’t need to hide her talents from me. I’m well aware of them. And she’s aware that I’m aware.” He chuckled softly at that. “She also knows that there’s no way around it. The two of you, Lily Kane, her guardian, and most of the alphas in our community have been made aware of her gift. She is a generous spirit, Dannai. She shares this healing power with us whenever we need it and never complains. However, should the rest of the world become aware of her abilities, she would be jeopardized. We must strive to keep it to ourselves.”

  Relief flooded through Charlie. But she was still confused. “Why? Why does she want to hide this? She could do so much good with it.”

  “And she does, Charlie, believe me. However, the ability to heal one’s wounds is a spectacular power. It’s unheard of amidst humans. Can you imagine what many fundamental religions would think of her? Can you see the tabloids? The government agencies? If word got out… there would be no place on earth that Dannai could hide.”

  Cole and Charlie were silent as they digested this. And then Alexander continued.

  “She agrees to work for the Council because the covens and the Council have worked together for hundreds, if not thousands of years. And she does so because she’s a genuinely good person. She can’t help herself. When she knows that someone is hurting, she has to be there to help them.”

  Charlie nodded. She could understand that. And she had sensed Dannai’s goodness.

  “Charlie, she has spoken with Lily and she wanted me to speak with you about it,” Alexander went on. “She wants to…” he trailed off as if searching for the right term. “She wants to join forces, if you will, with the two of you. If you three can work together, you can save many, many lives.”

  Charlie blinked. “What do you mean?”

  Cole stiffened beside her. She could tell he didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. But the Overseer continued, none the less.

  “Lily is able to see the future. You can transport people to the scene of a crime that will soon take place, and your fighting abilities are phenomenal. Dannai can heal wounds – along with a rather vast array of other impressive feats of magic.” He paused long enough for the information to soak in. “As a trio, you would be….”

  “Pretty awesome,” Charlie finished for him. She knew that her eyes were bright when Cole swore softly beside her and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair.

  “This night is just getting better and better,” he muttered.

  At that, Kavanagh chuckled. “I suppose everything is relative,” he said, softly. “And remember, Cole, you can accompany them. As I’m sure Charlie’s new guardian will want to occasionally do.”

  Malcolm’s eyes shut tight and he swore again. “Christ.”

  Epilogue

  Lucas Caige tried not to think about what he was doing. It was painful, in a way. Like ripping off a Band-Aid over a wound that had healed long ago. Needed to be done, even though it hurt.

  And it was time.

  With one quick pull, he yanked the cover off of his bike and exposed the chrome and black-silver paint to the overhead lights of his garage. It had been too long.

  With a slow, appreciative gaze, he looked the bike over, running a check, as he always did, before getting on and starting the engine. He’d grown used to it over the last forty years or so. Ever since Scrubs had helped him build his first chopper in San Francisco.

  Since then, Caige had owned many bikes. But this one had always been his favorite. A 1978 Harley Davidson FXS 1200 Low Rider in contrasting black and silver. Pristine condition. He made sure of that.

  He had no idea where he was going. He had no plan.

  There were people out there who meant the werewolf community loads of harm. And he would have to watch his own back. He would always be looking over his shoulder.

  But he could handle that. He’d been there before.

  The open road called. That some other place that waited at the end of an empty gas tank – it was there. It always had been. His visit was long past due.

  “Had a feeling you’d be heading out,” Jake said, from where he stood in the doorway that led to the interior of Caige’s house.

  Lucas had known he was there. He’d sensed him approach. He didn’t look up as he lifted a red gas tank from the ground a few feet away and then topped off the bike. “Give Cole my best,” he said. There was no emotion in his tone. He wouldn’t let any out.

  He couldn’t afford to.

  Finally, as he put down the gas tank, pulled on his gloves, and settled into the saddle on the motorcycle, he dared to meet Jake’s blue gaze. “Keep an eye on him, mate,” he said, faint traces of his Australian accent lacing his words. It happened sometimes. When he wasn’t paying attention. “The pommie bastard attracts trouble.”

  Jake smiled, flashing white teeth, and nodded. “I will, Caig
e. Be safe.” He hit the garage door button beside him and Caige started the engine.

  A few seconds and the bellow of an engine later, Caige and his bike had roared out of sight.

  * * * *

  She wasn’t supposed to be here. This kind of thing was strictly forbidden by the Council, not to mention her coven. But damn it, she was pissed. She was tired and sore and angry at the world for too many reasons to count.

  She’d seen something she wanted. And the bad guy had no right to it.

  It may as well be hers.

  So with quick, determined steps, Dannai made her way through the holding lot where the Las Vegas police department kept their impounded vehicles. The cloaking spell she wore protected her image from the prying eyes and speakers of the cameras that whirred all around her.

  It didn’t take long for her to find the one she wanted. It seemed to be waiting for her. When she came around the corner and its large black frame slid into sight, her breath caught in her throat. It seemed to stare back at her as her gaze skirted over its shining length of hood, its charcoal on black paint, its tinted windows. She took in the Cobra emblem on the radiator and the GT500 mark on the side.

  It sat there, with two flat tires, and told her a story. It had been abused. It wanted something better. And that the something better it wanted was her.

  She smiled, her beautiful face flashing into a perfect, white grin. “Well, hello bad boy,” she whispered. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. Her heart skipped a beat and her stomach clenched. A nervous anticipation rushed through her, like a rolling wave. She squelched her fear and closed her eyes, taking a deep, calming breath.

  Okay, let’s do this thing, Danny, she told herself. Now or never.

  With that, she opened her eyes once more and searched around her for another car of the same general size as this one. When she found the one she wanted, she positioned herself until she was roughly at the center of the distance between it and the Shelby and she closed her eyes once more.

  She began to chant. A breeze picked up in the parking lot. Dust took to the skies and litter swirled in small eddies in between the vehicles. Lightning flashed somewhere near by and thunder split the sky. The harsh lights in the poles overhead flickered and went out.

  And then they came back on.

  When they did, there were two Shelby Cobras sitting in the lot and the white car that had been in the place of the second one only moments before was now gone.

  Dannai smiled a triumphant smile. “That’ll do,” she said softly. She strode to the Shelby with the flat tires and placed her hands on the car. A few more muttered magic words and, in a few seconds, the tires were whole again and filled with air.

  Then she opened the door and slid in behind the wheel. It smelled good. Leather and new car smell. “Beautiful,” she muttered to herself. “Okay, baby. Let’s get you out of here.”

  She touched the key hole and pressed in the clutch, shifting the vehicle into first as she did so. She whispered a single-word incantation. The engine roared to life and Dannai’s smile widened. She pulled the car out of its space and drove it to the front gates, all the while being careful to make certain that her cloak enveloped the car as well. It was draining and she was already pretty tired.

  But it was worth it.

  Another few words and a bit more expended energy and the chain around the front gate slipped away, dropping to the ground outside. The gate began to slide open. When the gap was wide enough, Danny revved the engine and shot through.

  First gear. Second gear. Third. The highway exit was up ahead. She had no idea where she was going. She had no plan.

  There were people out there who meant her coven harm. The Council was up against an army of Hunters and a megalomaniac sadist with too much power and far too much control.

  She would have to watch her back, and always be looking over her shoulder. But she needed a break. A vacation, so to speak.

  And the open road called. That some other place that waited at the end of an empty gas tank – it was there. It always had been.

  Her visit was long past due.

  The End.

  Look for the third book in the Big Bad Wolf series, The Spell, now available on Amazon…

  Dannai, who is also known as the Healer, has begun dreaming of werewolves. She'd always been able to hide the fact that she was a dormant, using her magic to shield the sweet, promising scent from the alphas she's been forced to work around. But now that they've invaded her dreams, her world has really been turned upside down. For, though every dormant dreams of her intended mate - Dannai is dreaming of two wolves, not one. And neither one of them is good news. One is a notorious killer. The other is Lucas Caige.

  Lucas Caige is a man with a haunting past. A warlock took his brother from him fifty years ago and he's spent his life outrunning that dark magic. But fate has a way of throwing sand in your gears - and just when Caige thought he could forever leave behind the magic that brought pain to his life, his path crosses that of the Healer. Dannai unwittingly casts her spell over him the moment he lays eyes on her. She's stunning, she's kind, and everything about her wreaks havoc on his senses.

  She's also magic incarnate.

  But if Dannai thinks that's going to stop him from doing everything in his power to make her his mate, the little witch has another thing coming.

  Also check out Heather’s new young adult paranormal suspense, Sam I Am, the first in The October Trilogy….

  SAM I AM

  By Heather Killough-Walden

  The October Trilogy, Book One

  Prologue

  61 A.D. Island of Anglesey, Britain….

  Keenan stumbled over something he couldn’t see and pretended not to notice that it was soft enough to give beneath his leather boot. “Faolan, lift her more on your end, son!” He hissed the command to his son, who was carrying Ciara’s legs. Keenan had her shoulders and head and though she was a wee lass, she was nearly a dead weight, and the night was without moon or stars.

  The terrain was deadly; it had always been, and the druid elders had long warned against going out on the crags at night without torchlight. But for the angry red glow that emanated from the burning village behind them, there was nothing to guide their desperate escape across the rocks and heather of what had become their final home.

  “Hurry, Keenan! We haven’t much time!” Ianna spurred them along from where she raced behind them, her small body wrapped in a cloak of sable, to hide her form from the eagle eyes of the Roman army. They all wore the cloaks, for what good it did them. Keenan was well aware that, before the sun rose on the horizon, the cloaks would become their death shrouds.

  “I’m movin’ as fast as ay can!” Keenan hissed back, knowing that it didn’t matter. The night would soon be complete and the door that Ciara had opened several nights ago would remain open. All would be lost if it did. The dead traveled through the door to their new destination, the land that had been ruled by Samhain since time began. But this door worked both ways. If it was not closed and locked by the end of the Harvest, the dead could return through it into the world of the living, and with them, their King.

  Ciara was the last of their druid leaders; all others had died on the coast with their soldiers and most of their women. The Roman general Suetonius Paulinus had attacked early in the evening and, though the village had managed to take many of their men down, it had lost in the end.

  The women, with their torches and long red hair had fallen beside their mates – and even their children. The druids’ spells had immobilized Paulinus’s army for long enough to maintain a steady line of defense for most of the early evening. But the Romans had adapted quickly – changing their tactics to take down the elders first, before the others, until there were no bards left. And no spells.

  And no hope.

  It was Aidan, the strongest of the druids, who called out to Keenan, even as he lay dying with his own mortal wounds. He
had warned Keenan that the spell had not been completed, and charged him and his son with Ciara’s safety.

  She was the one who had started it. Only she could complete it.

  Alas, we failed yae, Keenan thought now, as he tried to block out the sounds of another woman being defiled in the night. They had failed in Aidan’s task. Ciara was struck down with a spear even as they ran; the Romans did not mind killing women and children, and not even from behind. There was no honor in their attack, no honor in these deaths. It was slaughter.

  But it was still was up to Ciara to complete the spell. Too much was hanging in the balance.

  Keenan glanced down to see Ciara’s closed eyelids flutter. The blood still ran from the wound in her side. It meant her heart still beat. If it weren’t for those signs, he would think her already dead.

  Paulinus must be Samhain in disguise to attack on this night, in the midst of Samonois, Keenan thought as he gritted his teeth and took up the slack when his son tripped and momentarily lost his grip on Ciara’s booted feet. She groaned as her body twisted and a new well of blood appeared beneath her leather tunic.

  “Careful, boy!” he hissed.

  An arrow split the air somewhere nearby. The sound was unmistakable. Was it an errant shot by a ballista? Or had the Romans discovered their hasty retreat across the unlit crags in the darkness?

  Keenan hoped for the former rather than the latter. They had so little time as it was. He and his family were already doomed. His entire village was doomed. There was no hope for them – not now; that was clear.

  But if they hurried, if nature was on their side, they might yet save everyone else. Humanity. The future – every child yet unborn would still stand a chance.