Early Grave: Grant Wolves Book 1

by Lori Drake

  One more punch was all it took; the witch went limp and Joey shook out her hand before sitting back on her haunches. Her knuckles ached, but it’d pass. Chris offered her a hand and she took it, hauling herself to her feet.

  “Two down, one to go,” he said.

  Tasha. Rage bubbled inside her as she contemplated the wrongs Tasha had done to her family. She may have told Pigtails it was personal, but with Tasha “personal” was just scratching the surface. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She didn’t want to merely punch Tasha in the face. She wanted to put her fist through Tasha’s face.

  “I think she’s starting to flag,” Joey said, studying her enemy with a critical eye. Tasha was holding her own with the wolves, keeping them at bay with balls of flame and slashing at them with a knife when they got too close. Her magical aura appeared dimmer, and her power suit was visibly torn in places where the wolves had gotten the better of her. Joey’s feet itched to run and join them, but she held off a few moments more. What was it her mother had said? Use her head, not her heart?

  “If I can sneak up on her, I can use this,” Chris said, holding up the necklace again.

  “Can you body snatch her?”

  “I can try.”

  “I’ll help them distract her.”

  “Okay.” His fingertips brushed her bare back a moment before he pressed his hand fully against her skin. “Be careful.”

  Joey sprinted off without making any promises. Calling her wolf to the fore, she shifted forms mid-stride, transitioning smoothly from two legs to four. The ease of it surprised her; she’d never had reason to try it before, but in the moment it felt perfectly natural. A distant howl boosted her confidence further. Backup was on the way.

  Truth be told, Tasha was doing an admirable job of holding three wolves at bay all by herself. The fireballs she slung were tiny in comparison to the one she’d blasted Emma with, but they were still hot. Joey caught a whiff of singed fur. Judging from the scent of fresh blood on the air, both sides had taken a few hits. Ben was limping, but still had plenty of fight left in him.

  Joey circled around to join Sam, creeping up behind Tasha while Adelaide and Ben harried her from the front. She launched herself at the witch’s back. Tasha spun and slashed at her. Joey twisted in an effort to avoid the blade, but it sliced across her shoulder regardless. It was a superficial wound at best, but it burned like fire. Joey skittered back out of reach.

  Tasha spun around and launched another volley of fire at Adelaide and Ben. Her brother ducked the ball of flame, but Adelaide zigged when she should have zagged. Joey watched in horror as the spell slammed into the ground in front of her mother, showering her in dirt and flame and knocking her off her feet. When she didn’t get up, Ben disengaged to run to their Alpha’s aid.

  Outraged, Joey ignored the molten agony in her shoulder and charged again. This time she went low and latched onto Tasha’s leg. Shrieking, Tasha swung the dagger again but Sam leapt to Joey’s aid. His massive jaws clamped on the witch’s forearm and he wrenched his head, shredding her sleeve and the flesh beneath simultaneously. She screamed and the dagger thumped to the ground. The siblings held on, teeth rending flesh.

  Tasha fell, shrieking. “Filthy fucking mongrels! I’ll slice you open and feed your entrails to my cat!” She slapped her free hand against Sam’s neck and power flared around her again.

  Sam jerked and slumped to the ground. Alarmed, Joey relinquished her witch-flavored chew toy and hastened to check on her brother. He was awake, but unmoving other than the rapid rise and fall of his chest. She nuzzled him and he whined. The sound tugged at her heart and filled her with rage at the same time. She rounded on Tasha again, but a phantom wind buffeted her before she could lunge for the bitch’s throat. She hit the ground hard, landing on her injured shoulder. Pain blinded her and the wind whipped at her fur.

  Tasha scrambled away and struggled to her feet. Her features contorted in anguish and blood dripped freely from her wounds, but she wasn’t finished. She limped for the blade while Joey fought against the wind. The wound in her shoulder screamed as she clawed her way to her feet, only dimly aware of Chris rushing forward to grapple Tasha from behind. A moment later, the magical glow around Tasha winked out and the gale died down as quickly as it had arisen.

  “What the fuck?” Chris said, releasing his hold on Tasha and taking a staggering step backward.

  Tasha swayed on her feet, but made no further movement toward the dagger. “Joey, are you okay?” Her brows drew together in concern.

  Joey took a cautious step back, ears flattening in confusion. Her eyes caught on the dagger where it lay nearby. A menacing growl rumbled from her throat and she put herself between the witch and the dagger, baring vicious, red-tinged teeth in warning. Her eyes darted from Tasha to Chris and back again, watching as Chris shook his head and looked around him in confusion.

  Not Chris. Dean.

  “It’s okay, it’s me. It’s Chris,” Chris said, wearing Tasha’s skin now. “We have to end this.”

  Joey’s shoulder was still on fire. For all her bluster, she could barely put weight on that leg. She knew shifting forms was a bad idea, both because of the wound and because Dean—once again himself—stood right there. She did it anyway. Spots appeared in her vision as the pain flared, but she clenched her teeth and pushed through it, gathering her wolf back into her and tucking it away. It was only a few torturous seconds, but it felt like an eternity before she knelt on the ground in her human skin once more.

  The wound didn’t look like much. A few inches long, it curved down from the top of her shoulder along the back of her arm. But she could tell it wasn’t healing the way it should. She did her best to ignore it, looking at Chris-Tasha warily instead.

  “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but you could’ve done that a little sooner.” Joey bit her lip and glanced at Sam.

  “Not while she had the dagger. I tried.” He offered her a hand up.

  She ignored the offer, not wanting to touch Tasha. Instead, she picked up the dagger and gasped as a tingle ran up her arm. The burning in her shoulder subsided as the flesh knit, even faster than normal. The tingle spread until her whole body prickled with it. Looking up at Chris-Tasha again, she gasped as she saw Chris’s face superimposed over the witch’s.

  Joey pushed to her feet. “End this. How do we do that?”

  “You know how.” Chris’s expression turned grim.

  Joey looked down at the dagger in her hand, then back at him. “That’s murder.”

  “She’s a psychopath. Look around you, Joey. Look at what she did.”

  Joey knew what she’d see if she looked around her: a ring of scorched earth, injured parties and shattered dreams. She closed her eyes with a sigh. “You have no idea how often I’ve thought about what it would be like to end her, but not like this. Not when she’s defenseless. God.” She opened her eyes, gazing at his ethereal face. “Not with you inside her.”

  “It’s okay, I—” He frowned, and the image of his face flickered.

  “Chris?” Joey stepped closer, putting a hand on his arm.

  “She’s fighting me. I don’t—I don’t know how.” His visage flickered again and he growled, clamping a hand on Joey’s shoulder. “Do it. Do it now!”

  Joey looked at the dagger in her hand, hesitating. “I can’t.”

  Chris’s knees buckled. He slid to the ground before Joey could catch him, but she quickly joined him, kneeling at his side. Tasha’s body bucked and writhed, magic flaring around her briefly before winking out again.

  “Joey, please. I don’t know how long I can keep this up,” he panted, desperation in his eyes. He caught her hand, bloody fingers curled around hers where she held the dagger.

  Tears stung her eyes, but Joey let him guide the dagger into position. The tip of the blade pressed against Tasha’s stomach, angled up. “Please don’t make me do this, Chris. Please.”

  “We’ll do it together, on three. Okay? One… two…”


  Joey marshaled her will and slid the dagger beneath Tasha’s ribs before he got to three, thrusting it upward to do the most damage. Tasha’s body jerked and arched, fingers slipping away from Joey’s. Tears spilled down Joey’s cheeks as she shoved the dagger deeper, watching her enemy’s body convulse while the superimposed image of Chris’s face twisted in agony, flickered, then vanished.

  It was like losing him all over again. This time at her hand. Joey howled in anguish and fell over Tasha’s lifeless body, sobbing uncontrollably.

  Warm hands caught her shoulders, drawing her away from the corpse. She turned, breathing in Dean’s scent as his arms wrapped around her and she buried her face against his chest. His fingers stroked her hair as he held her.

  “Shh, it’s okay. I’m okay,” he murmured, pressing his lips into her hair.

  Joey lifted her head and blinked through tears, looking into Dean’s eyes. “Chris?”

  He nodded, but she pulled away anyway, fingers scrambling for the hilt of the dagger protruding from Tasha’s lifeless body. As soon as her fingers closed around it, she felt that tingle again. She yanked the dagger out of the corpse and turned back to find Chris’s features superimposed over Dean’s.

  Chris’s eyes widened, fixed on the dagger in her hand. “Whoa, once was enough thank you.” He didn’t make a move to defend himself, so he couldn’t have been that worried.

  “I can see you,” she said, touching fingers to his cheek in awe and wonder.

  He tilted his head, leaning into the touch. “Joey—”

  “You don’t have to go, you know,” she said, interrupting. “We have the dagger, you can stay here with us. With me.”

  His lips curved in a sad smile. “What kind of life would that be? You don’t know what it’s like, being here but not really being here. I can’t take over someone’s body long term. And what if, god forbid, the dagger fell into the wrong hands?”

  Joey knew he was right, but hated to admit it. She sighed, looking away. “Then I guess this is goodbye.”

  Chris turned her face back toward his with gentle fingers beneath her chin. His eyes sought hers. “Joey, I—”

  She interrupted him again, this time by pressing her lips to his. He made a surprised noise but pulled her close as his lips moved against hers, returning the kiss and then some. Joey quickly became lost in the moment as passion sparked between them, burning as hotly as it had on that Mexican beach. The rest of the world faded away until there was nothing but the heat of his mouth on hers, the warmth of his hands at her back and in her hair. Desire pooled at her center, drove her to slip one hand up the back of his shirt to feel the heat of his skin beneath her fingers.

  He moaned when she did and broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against hers. She longed for more, but held onto him instead, lifting her chin to brush her nose against his. He lifted his head to look into her eyes. This time he touched a finger to her lips to keep them still.

  “I love you, Josephine Grant. I always have, and I always will.”

  Joey’s heart somehow melted and broke at the same time. Tears clouded her vision once more, spilling down her cheeks when she blinked to clear it. She didn’t know what to say. That she knew? That she loved him too, but she was so confused she wasn’t sure how anymore? That it was just too damn late to matter anyway? In the end, she couldn’t say anything because a little part of her was dying inside, faced with having to let him go all over again.

  He gave no indication of disappointment over her silence. Instead, he drew her head down so he could kiss her forehead. Then he gathered her into a warm hug.

  “Come on,” he said, bringing her with him as he got to his feet. “Remember what you promised me, okay?”

  She nodded, biting her lip. “Never give up. I remember.”

  Chris cupped her face with both hands, brushing tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “All those things we talked about doing but never quite got around to. You go and do them. No excuses, no regrets.”

  She nodded, mutely.

  “Keep dancing. Find yourself another partner, and for god’s sake let him lead.”

  Joey barked a quiet laugh at that, not quite able to keep it in.

  Chris smiled and leaned down, lips brushing hers once more. It was a soft, tender kiss this time. The sort a lover might give in the early hours of dawn before slipping away.

  She curled her fingers around the back of his neck with a sigh, holding him there just a moment longer before stepping back, eyes still closed. More tears leaked from beneath her lashes. She didn’t want to open her eyes and see the double image of Chris’s face over Dean’s. Instead, she held a picture of Chris, the real Chris, in her mind. He was smiling. Laughing. Vibrant and full of life.

  Perhaps sensing what she was about—he’d always known her better than anyone—Chris said quietly, “Goodbye, Joey.”

  Before she could lose her nerve, Joey lifted the dagger and curled her fingers around the blade. The sharp edges bit into her flesh as she bent the weapon between her supernaturally strong hands until it snapped at the hilt.

  “Goodbye, Chris,” she whispered into the cool night air, letting the two halves of the dagger fall to the ground at her feet.

  All was quiet for a moment, and then she heard Dean—the real Dean—exclaim, “God fucking damnit, would you QUIT DOING THAT?”

  30

  Joey smelled the rich columbian roast even before the mug was placed under her nose. It still took her a moment to reach for it. She looked up at Ben as she did, murmuring a quiet thank you. He settled beside her on the bench with his own mug and draped an arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. The scent of scotch tickled her nostrils, but it was too faint to be in her own mug. It must’ve been in his. Closing her eyes, she leaned against him.

  “How’s he holding up?” she asked, in the quiet that followed.

  “Not too bad, really. However, Mom’s still pissed that you shifted in front of him,” Ben said, tipping his head back to look up at the stars. It was a cloudless night, and the moon was still high. It had only been two hours, at most, since the incident in question. At least Dean hadn’t freaked out too much, and she’d gotten an answer to the question of whether or not he’d known lycanthropes existed. He hadn’t.

  “I hoped he was too disoriented and night-blind to notice,” she murmured, grimacing.

  Ben chuckled and sipped his drink. “No man is too disoriented or night-blind to not notice a wolf turning into a gorgeous naked woman. Especially not a straight one.”

  Joey sighed and pulled away from him. Or tried, anyway. His arm only tightened, holding her there. In fact, he set his mug aside and wrapped both arms around her.

  “Don’t run away from us, Roo.”

  Her throat tightened. He hadn’t called her that since she was a kid. “I’m not running away,” she protested.

  “Then why are you out here by yourself?”

  It was a good question, and she didn’t have a ready answer for it. The battle was over. They hadn’t suffered any casualties. The surviving Eastgate coven witches were on their way back to Nevada with tails firmly between legs, promising never to return. Cathy had left too, citing a need to get some rest and put her affairs in order so she could leave town the next day. Her mother was with Dean and Emma, doing damage control. Her father and the rest of her family were in the library with their guests from the Newman pack—they’d arrived too late to join the fighting but just in time to make sure the two remaining enemy witches were sufficiently cowed. Facing down over a dozen growling wolves tended to do that. The mood in the library was jubilant. They’d beaten the odds and won the day.

  In spite of it all, Joey felt little urge to celebrate.

  “I just… needed to think,” she said, running a fingertip absently along the rim of her mug. “I killed a woman tonight.”

  Ben gave her a squeeze. “You did what you had to do. She was a fanatic. She wouldn’t have stopped until we were dead or she got what she w
anted.”

  “Maybe,” Joey said, unconvinced. The specter of Chris’s face layered atop Tasha’s as the blade found its mark haunted her. But she wasn’t ready to talk about that. She wasn’t sure she ever would be.

  They sat in silence for a time before Joey heard quiet footsteps behind them. She didn’t look behind her until a throat cleared quietly.

  “Sorry to interrupt. Got a minute?” Dean said, standing just outside the patio door.

  Ben caught Joey’s eyes and stood only after she nodded to him. Turning, he walked back into the house, clapping Dean on the shoulder briefly in passing.

  “What’s up?” Joey asked.

  Dean joined her on the bench. “So, you’re a werewolf,” he said, without preamble.

  Joey winced, finally taking a sip of her coffee. The warm liquid soothed her like a balm for the soul. “We prefer the term ‘lycanthropes’ but usually we just refer to ourselves as wolves.” She glanced at him, studying his profile in the moonlight.

  He nodded, calm as could be.

  “You’re taking this really well,” she said.

  Dean shrugged, looking over at her. “I knew there was something different about you, I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Honestly, I’m a little disappointed.”

  Joey blinked. “Eh?”

  “I thought you were a mutant or something. That would have been really cool.”

  Joey blinked again, totally at a loss for how to respond to that.

  Dean smiled and chuckled as he nudged her with his elbow. “That was a joke.”

  “Oh.” Joey chuckled awkwardly and took another sip of coffee. “Well, in that case I’m sorry I’m not a mutant.”

  “It’s a shame, really. You’d look great in a spandex costume.”