Series Firsts Box Set

by Laken Cane

  Sage had been born during the long winter of ’04, when Abby and the animals had barricaded themselves inside the house during a vicious ice storm that took the power, the water, and Abby’s clients.

  The week before the ice storm, three feet of snow had been dumped in Waifwater, making One Hex Hollow impassable. So for nearly a month, Abby had sat in her house by the fireplace with the dogs and cats for company, and she had built Sage.

  She’d carved ‘Sage. Meanest broom this side of the Appalachians,’ on the broomstick, and it was the truth.

  Sage sparked and fumed and trembled, her eagerness almost too much for her. The brooms got out so seldom—but none of them so seldom as Sage.

  The hounds finally appeared, their eyes rolling wildly, teeth snapping at the air, front paws hitting the ground in a rough dance that meant only one thing.

  Trouble was coming—and they were terrified.

  Blood decorated Sadie’s shoulder, and Abby bent over to investigate. “Who has hurt you, Sadie?”

  Elmer howled.

  “You, too, my love?” Abby ran her hands over his body, flinching when she touched a six inch gash on his front leg.

  He whimpered, then licked her face.

  “Wolves,” she muttered. “Wolves attacked my babies.”

  And she had no time to doctor them. Not then.

  “Stay here,” she told them. “Mind the hollow. I’ll be back soon.”

  They didn’t argue.

  She attached to Sage and the broom hurtled though the air, straight toward the burning Waifwater.

  And all Abby could think about was the alpha.

  Something was wrong.

  She felt it as fiercely as she felt Sage beneath her.

  Eli needed her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Becky had been right.

  Chaos had descended upon Waifwater.

  It had come on swift wings, bearing death and pain and annihilation for those it sought.

  Bad luck.

  All because of a discharged talisman.

  The townspeople were hiding, as much as they could hide, inside their homes. Wolf packs and bands of shifters roamed the streets, fighting, looting, destroying.

  And terrifying the humans, some of whom ran out onto the porches or leaned out their second floor windows to shoot down any foreign person running through the streets.

  She spotted police cars and had a moment to hope Wade would remain safe before a bullet whizzed by an inch from her face.

  Sage dipped and swirled, and took Abby a little closer to the ground.

  But Abby didn’t see the one she was looking for—she thought she saw some of his pack but couldn’t tell.

  Noah and Remy were not there.

  She flew out of town and headed for the wolves’ village. There, she found a young woman minding the children.

  “He was attacked before the outsiders came into the town,” the girl said. “He was lured out and…” Quick tears sprang to her eyes and she pressed tanned fingers to her lips.

  Abby grabbed her shoulders. “What are you saying? Is he…he’s alive?”

  “I don’t think so. He was too badly damaged.”

  Abby shook her. “Where is he?”

  “The betas took him to you.”

  “Shit,” Abby whispered. She whirled around, grabbed Sage, and attached.

  She didn’t have to tell the broomstick where she wanted to go, but before Sage could take her there, rogue wolves entered the village.

  Seven of them—shaggy, mad, and very, very hungry.

  “Inside,” Abby ordered the sitter.

  “But—”

  “Now,” Abby yelled, and she lifted her wand.

  The wolves didn’t stand a chance. Not only because she had an obedient wand and a hostile broomstick, but because she wanted nothing more than to get to Eli.

  And the wolves were standing in her way.

  She twirled the wand as Sage lifted her into the air, and with one encompassing burst of power, she killed every rogue there.

  She heard a squeak and turned her head to see the wolf sitter pressed against the house, her face pale. “Holy shit,” she said. Then, as though Abby had made a move toward her, she held up her hands. “Get away from me!”

  Abby realized when she was on her way back to the hollow that she hadn’t thought of her face once.

  Eli. Be okay.

  I’m coming.

  Halfway home, she looked down and saw three rogue bear shifters dragging what appeared to be a human male into the woods.

  She had to give Sage something, or the broom would pout for weeks. Worse, she would be slow to get Abby home.

  “They’re yours,” she told Sage.

  She realized almost immediately she’d made a mistake giving the broom free rein, because Sage wasn’t going to differentiate between energies to kill.

  She nosedived, speeding toward the shifters, buzzing with eagerness. Her excitement seeped into her attached mistress, and for a moment Abby didn’t want to control the broomstick.

  Sage understood Abby’s desire, however, and left the human alone—though it was too late for him anyway, as the shifters, rabid and mad and hungry, were dining on him even as Sage dove through the air.

  Sage speared one of the shifters through his back and the others scattered as the broomstick and Abby were withdrawing from the huge bear.

  As he dropped to the ground, bloody and dead, they went after the other two. In less than five minutes, the shifters were dead, scattered upon the ground with the half-eaten human.

  Abby flew home, sick with fear.

  She realized then she’d actually delayed her trip home because she was terrified of what she’d find.

  Her world was brighter with Eli in it.

  And she cared about him.

  A lot.

  She saw the dark shadows of Sadie and Elmer far below, sitting like sentinels before her house. The second she spotted them, they began braying.

  Remy ran out into the yard, shielded her eyes, and looked into the darkening sky. “Abby,” she yelled. “Hurry.”

  Abby zoomed toward the shed. She practically threw Sage into the broom closet and didn’t bother taking time to lock up before she sprinted toward the house.

  When she turned the corner, her breath coming in gasps, her hand to her chest, both of Eli’s betas were standing in her yard, waiting for her.

  “Hurry,” Noah said, grimly.

  “I’ve never seen a witch actually fly on a broom before,” Remy said, as they rushed her into the house.

  “He’s alive,” Abby said. They wouldn’t have been in such a hurry if he’d been dead. She dashed tears of relief out of her eyes. “He’s alive.”

  “Barely,” Noah replied. His voice was terse and hard.

  “You will fix him.” There was absolutely no doubt in Remy’s voice. She was calm and assured. Abby the Witch would fix the alpha.

  Abby wasn’t the most talented healer in the world—not when the injuries were life threatening—but she wasn’t going to tell the betas that.

  “What happened?” she asked, instead.

  “They wrapped him in silver and tried to kill him,” Noah bit out. “If we had found them two minutes after we did, they’d have succeeded.”

  “How?”

  “He was tricked,” was all Noah would say.

  And then, they were in her bedroom.

  The betas had put Eli on her bed.

  “You’re bloody,” Remy noted.

  Abby couldn’t look away from Eli. He made her bed look small, and she tried to concentrate on observations such as that one to give her shocked mind time to deal with the reality of his extensive and horrific injuries.

  “I killed some shifters on my way home,” she whispered.

  “Fix him,” Noah ordered. “Heal him so he can shift.”

  “That’s all he needs,” Remy said, staring at Abby instead of the man on the bed.

  And Abby realized the beta coul
dn’t look at him. She couldn’t handle the fact that he was as hurt as he was—so she concentrated instead on Abby.

  “If he can shift,” Remy continued, “he can heal himself. But you have to get him there, Abby.”

  Abby nodded, but was almost paralyzed with fear, dread, and insecurity.

  Eli hadn’t just been hurt. He’d been savaged. He’d been torn and battered and clawed and bitten.

  His lashes were dark and thick against the paleness of his face, and his hair was filthy and stiff with blood.

  Globs of blood, torn, jagged tooth marks, and horrific claw marks covered his body. All of him—his face, his torso, even his throat—sported blue baseball-sized lumps and contusions.

  Thin silver wire had melted into his flesh and continued to send wispy gray smoke into the air. She would never forget the sound the silver made as it burned him.

  Sizzling bursts of static.

  She gave a sob and dug her fingernails into his bloody, charred flesh, picking out what bits of silver she could reach.

  “We got most of it,” Remy murmured.

  “You should have gotten all of it,” Abby cried. “Shit. Shit!” She flung the awful metal threads away.

  One of his arms hung off the bed, and blood dripped from his fingertips. Each drop hit the wood floor like a gong of doom.

  His face was so swollen and misshapen he was unrecognizable.

  Not true. I would recognize him. I would know him.

  His naked body was agonizingly gruesome and she didn’t want to look at him. But once she did, she couldn’t look away.

  She hurt for him.

  And she couldn’t move.

  Remy grabbed her arm. “You care about him.”

  “Yes,” Abby admitted, almost ashamed to.

  “Then snap out of it and heal him, witch. Heal him!”

  “You should have given him the spell of protection,” Noah snarled. “This is on you.”

  “You were being traitorous to your alpha,” she snapped, finally pulling herself together. “The only people at fault for his beating are those who attacked him.”

  “You should have—”

  “No, Noah,” Remy said. “It’s the talisman. It has died. Our world has gone crazy.” She waited for Abby to look at her. “And that is your fault. Fix him, or I swear to God I will kill you.”

  “I’ll do what I can.” She ignored the beta’s threat. Remy couldn’t kill her—she had the obedient wand.

  She was not afraid.

  She returned her horrified stare to her injured charge. “Go tend your pack and finish this fight. Find the ones who did this to him.”

  The alpha’s lieutenants traded hesitant glances, then Noah nodded. “Guard him with your life. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

  “He’s safe with me.”

  “If he heals enough to shift before we return,” Remy said, on her way out of the bedroom, “don’t try to keep him here. When wolves have sustained this much damage, they do not always awaken completely…sane. If he shifts, get out of his way.”

  Noah caught Abby’s gaze. “Do not use your wand to paralyze him like you did me, either. He’ll kill you if you try.” He began to follow Remy from the room, then turned back. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I was trying to keep this from happening. It’s known that if the talisman falls, so will the alpha.”

  She nodded. “Go.”

  As soon as she heard the door close behind them she sprinted to the closet and grabbed the wheeled cot folded up inside.

  If the betas returned, neither she nor Eli would be there.

  She needed her mother.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Go ahead.”

  “Mama, I need help!”

  “Oh shit,” Basilia cried.

  Any other time, Abby would have laughed. Right then, she wasn’t in the laughing mood. “Hurry, Mother.”

  Basilia wrenched open the door and jumped back as Abby shoved the cot into the pocket.

  She didn’t say a word as she helped her daughter push Eli down the path and to the house. Becky was waiting at the door.

  “What happened?” she cried. Then, “The chaos!”

  “The chaos,” Abby agreed, grimly.

  The three of them stood in a semi-circle around the cot and stared down at the unconscious alpha.

  Becky touched his chest. “He is dead.”

  “He’s not dead.” Abby clenched her fists. “Don’t say that again.”

  “I can’t feel his spark, Abby.”

  Abby pushed Becky’s hand off Eli’s chest. “I can. I can feel his spark.” Then she turned to her mother. “We need your help. I can’t do this alone.”

  Basilia nodded. “Take him to my spell room. I’ll get my wand.”

  Every witch had a spell room. Abby had never entered Basilia’s, but she knew exactly where it was.

  “Help me push him into the kitchen,” she told Becky. Once in the kitchen, she opened the pantry door and pushed him through.

  The spell room was hidden behind a wall of canned food, and once she’d pulled open the ceiling to floor shelf, Abby guided the cot through the doorway.

  Basilia’s spell room could have been Abby’s back home. They were pretty much the same except, maybe, for the placement of the benches to the inextinguishable fire.

  There was even a long, dark door in the distance, surrounded by a glowing yellow light.

  If Abby were to step through that door, she would find herself back in her own spell room.

  Back in her own world.

  Basilia strode into the room, her face unreadable.

  Abby recognized the look though she hadn’t seen it for a very long time.

  Her mother was Basilia the Witch, at that moment—not Basilia the Mother or Basilia the Abandoned or Basilia the Betrayed.

  “Rebecca,” she ordered. “Out. This is witch business.”

  Becky didn’t argue, just gave Basilia a startled look and scurried from the room.

  “Stay away from Jewel,” Basilia called after her. “Just in case.”

  Then it was time to save the alpha.

  “Mother,” Abby begged.

  “He won’t die, Abby,” her mother said. “I won’t let him die.”

  And Abby believed her.

  Basilia murmured orders and the two of them began yanking small pots, bags, and jars from the drawers and shelves hidden in the shadows.

  They poured healing potions into the pot over the inextinguishable fire, then set them to simmer. “Mingle,” Abby muttered, giving the swirling liquid a gentle stir with her wand. “Mix and mingle. You have a very important job to do.”

  She shook a yellow, iridescent powder onto the ground, then flung traces of cheer and bliss into the air, where they floated sweetly and tirelessly.

  She clenched her wand so tightly she thought she felt it give like warm wax, but when she glanced at it, it was unchanged.

  “Are you ready?” Basilia asked.

  They lowered their wands into the pot hanging over the inextinguishable fire and stirred the bubbling liquid inside. Sparks the likes of which she’d never seen flared and flashed, cool against her face when they jumped a little too high.

  Together, they murmured nonsensical words, hummed tuneless songs, and even donated a tear or two as they poured tiny bags of powder into the swirling liquid.

  “What do you have, Abby?” Basilia asked.

  Abby reached into her pocket and retrieved the hair she’d hidden there.

  Eli’s hair.

  She’d taken it the first day she’d met him.

  As soon as she’d plucked it from where it’d lain innocently on his shoulder, she’d begun preparing it.

  For hours, she’d coaxed and coddled that special strand. She’d spelled and hexed and coated the hair with protection and left it to soak overnight in a shallow bath of power.

  Hadn’t she known from the beginning that she would need that hair, someday?

  “A life for a life,” she whispe
red.

  She dropped the strand of hair into the pot, closed her eyes, and centered herself.

  No thoughts were allowed to enter her mind.

  No thoughts but Eli.

  The ease of that was a little frightening.

  She pictured his carved, strong face with the full lips—the lips she’d seen turn up in a smile, thin out with displeasure, and frown in anger.

  She pictured his eyes, deep velvety eyes filled with promise and mystery, eyes that had turned toward her, filled with confusion, or rage, or humor.

  Eyes that never turned dark with disgust when he looked at her.

  She pictured his body. Tight with smooth skin, rippling with muscles, scars, and strength. There had surely never been a more beautiful body. Never, in all of existence.

  Eli.

  The alpha.

  Basilia handed her a heavy gold chalice.

  Gold, because silver would have killed him.

  Abby dipped it into the brew bubbling in the cauldron, and finally, she and her mother went to Eli.

  She held the chalice up to offer it first to the God and Goddess, then slipped an arm under Eli’s neck to raise his head. She lifted the chalice to his mouth. “Drink, my alpha.”

  She let drops of the brew slide between his lips, and when the chalice was nearly empty, she handed Basilia the cup.

  His eyelids fluttered, and the tired, pained lines on his face relaxed. He gave a small sigh and slid into a magicked sleep probably better than any sleep he’d experienced in his life.

  “Rest, my alpha,” Abby said. “Heal.”

  She and her mother scooped thick, creamy ointments and balms from Basilia’s stores of supplies and slathered them over his mangled body.

  They applied warm compresses and ice packs. They beseeched and chanted, and dosed and patched.

  They applied plasters and splints to broken and dislocated bones and washed and treated burns and bites.

  Once, Abby spoke into his ear, her lips moving against his hot skin, and forbade him to die.

  She caressed his flesh, gently, and thought that perhaps he was less swollen, less broken, as she devoured his face with her desperate stare.

  There was nothing but the alpha.

  No chaos, no Waifwater, no talisman.

  There was no world outside that spell room.

  And all through that endless night, Abby and Basilia took turns feeding him the brew, in hopes that the morning light would find him far receded from the greedy black shores of death.