by SJ Himes
Bertram frowned but managed to ask without sounding too disgruntled. “Will you and…” Jameson narrowed his eyes, and Bertram changed course. “… the Morrows be attending the pack run?”
He knew Rael had the night off, as did Scylla, though if either were in the mood to participate was currently unknown. He would ask Rael once he left his uncle’s. “I’ll let you know if our plans to join the pack run change.”
He heard Abigail approaching before she came around the corner. She pretended to be surprised to see him, a wide fake smile on her face and her hands resting proudly on the swell of her belly. “Jameson! How nice to see you! Did I interrupt an official meeting?”
“No, dear, nothing so important. How is your family settling in?” Bertram stood and went to his mate, hugging her with one arm while patting her stomach. She simpered, batting her eyelashes at Bertram.
“Mom wants a better set of bed linens and I told her you’d have someone go get her what she wants before she takes her afternoon nap. That won’t be a problem, right?”
Abigail sent Jameson another wide smile, this one approaching a smirk, like she was expecting Jameson to run to the nearest department store to buy higher thread count sheets. Not going to happen. Jameson decided it was time to leave. He’d find a better time to discern the scent markers of the wolves upstairs. He would take the chance to do so at the pack run. “Uncle, since you have guests, I’ll be taking my leave. I took the morning off to come talk to you, and I’m due back at the office after lunch. Have a great day, Uncle, Abigail.”
He stood before either could reply, and he could practically feel Abigail’s hateful stare zeroed in between his shoulder blades as he walked to the front door.
Jameson was by no means an investigative expert, but even he could figure out that Abigail wanted him, Rael, and Scylla gone. Her family visiting in the same time frame as Rael being attacked by another werewolf was too big of a coincidence. She wasn’t due for another month, and the drive between Worcester and Boston was a matter of an hour.
He left the mansion and headed down the street to where he’d parked the BMW. He checked the time and saw he had a couple hours to grab something for lunch and stop by Rael’s place before he was due back in the office.
He texted Rael to check if he was home. Have lunch with me? I can stop and get something.
Jameson got an answer just as he got to the car. If you get me a turkey BLT and a coke, yes. At home.
Sure thing. See ya soon. Jameson chuckled. He put the phone away and started the car, heading for his favorite deli to get sandwiches, cheered by the thought of seeing Rael again.
“Jameson is bringing me lunch,” Rael said when he saw his mom sitting at the kitchen table. “Want me to see if he can grab you something?”
Scylla checked her watch and shook her head. “I have to leave for my shift in a few minutes. You two have fun.”
Rael fidgeted with his phone before he decided to bite the bullet. He sat at the table and looked across at Scylla. “Mom, are we going to talk about this?”
She was dressed in deep pink scrubs, dark hair braided back away from her face, and for the first time in a long time, she looked tired. “Mom? You okay?”
She blew out a sharp breath and seemed to gather her own courage. “I’m not sure what to say. I love you, and I’m worried about you. I feel like I should have known. Seen the signs. Breakout events in hybrids aren’t unheard of, and I guess I was so worried about the pack and your werewolf side that I failed to see that you got more than your human genes from your father.”
“Was my father a practitioner?” He never really called Callum Redmayne his dad. He never met the man, as he died before Rael was even born.
Scylla did something Rael rarely saw her do before—she blushed. “I didn’t know him well. I loved him, but we weren’t together long before I got pregnant. He was gone a few months later.”
“Werewolves tend to mate fast,” Rael offered. It was normal for wolves to mate first then get to know their new mates afterward. He nudged at the question she hadn’t answered. “Was he a practitioner?”
She gave a slow, shallow dip of her chin. “He was wizard-ranked. He always said his talents were mediocre at best, and his family considered him something of a black sheep. I think they were all stronger, more powerful than him, and made him feel bad about it, too. Callum never made a big deal of his magic, and didn’t use it; he worked at a construction company. Worked with his hands. The most mundane practitioner I ever met.” She looked close to tears, and Rael reached across the table and took one of her hands in his.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Rael whispered. It was obvious his mom had really loved his father, no matter how short their relationship might have been. “You never talk about him, and I guess I never really thought about him, either. I should have asked more questions about him.”
“No.” Scylla wiped at her eyes before tightening her grip on their clasped hands. “None of this is on you. Magic wasn’t part of our relationship, and after he passed, I never really gave it any thought. I had a baby to raise on my own, and then the strife started over whether or not you’d ever transform, and I never considered that you’d inherit his magic. Werewolf genes are almost always dominant in hybrids.”
“Do you know what his affinity was?” That was the question bothering him the most. He didn’t know much about practitioners, but affinities tended to run in bloodlines, though the more famous practitioner families had a good spread of all the more powerful affinities, and even some of the rarer affinities. Older families tended to breed for exactly that access to variety. No one living in Boston could escape the Salvatore name, and in three generations, they’d had earth, fire, air, and death magics.
“I’m trying to remember, but I’m not sure,” Scylla shrugged, and he tried not to be disappointed. “I asked Dr. Cranston if that mattered, and he said that your affinity could be any of them, it’s more common for parents and kids to have different affinities than to have the same. The same affinities would appear over generations more often, though. Anything you remember about what happened?”
“Just intense pressure, and a mossy green light.” He tried to focus on what exactly had happened, but the last he remembered was the truck headlights and thinking he was going to die. A flare of dark green light and then nothing until he woke up in the hospital.
“Dr. Cranston said the color of your magic would be a hint,” Scylla sounded more animated, more hopeful. Her phone beeped at her, and she checked it. “Crap. I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now. Do you want me to call in and stay with you?”
“I’ll be okay, Mom. Jameson should be here soon. Go to work. You’re still in the running for that promotion, right? Calling in will look bad.” She deserved that promotion and staying home when he was fine might hurt her chances.
“I think I could risk it, but I appreciate the thought, honey.” She stood and grabbed her stuff. “Call me if something happens, and please take a Lyft to work instead of walking. I don’t want another werewolf mugging to happen. Please text me if Jameson has any news on that front, okay?”
“I will, I promise,” he followed her to the door and hugged her goodbye. “Love ya.”
“Love you, too!”
He shut the door and listened to her start her car and then pull out of the driveway. He locked the door after thinking about it. A locked door that wasn’t sealed with a ward wouldn’t stop a werewolf if they wanted in, but it might slow them down long enough for him to get away. Moon Goddess knew he was in no shape magically to do a thing. He couldn’t even feel if he had magic.
Swearing under his breath, he pulled out his phone and searched for magical affinities based on colors. Might as well act like it was actually happening instead of sulking in his room. He needed to know before he went to college.
Head swimming with all the different affinities and the conjecture about what the colors meant and the numerous exceptions to the rules made him want to hu
rl his phone at the wall. He was still standing in the middle of the kitchen when he heard a car out on the street, and instead of passing by, it came to a stop and idled out front. Thinking it was Jameson, he went to the front door at a sprint, excited. He unlocked and then flung open the front door and stepped out on the stoop. Shielding his eyes, he squinted, confused.
A long black limo idled at the curb in front of his house, double-parked. The closest he ever got to a limo was during prom season, not that he ever had a date to prom—he always went stag and hung out with classmates then left before the stupid shit started. He’d graduated from high school the month before and had another month and change before college started.
Whoever it was in the limo must have seen him standing there staring, as the back door opened, and a short guy climbed out. The guy was hot for an older man—probably thirty or something. Jameson was twenty-four, but he was a werewolf, and they lived for a few centuries. Practitioners rarely made it past one-fifty. Longish dark brown hair, dark eyes, and a trim, athletic build—as much as Rael could tell due to the bulky, dark fisherman’s sweater the stranger was wearing, which meant he was one of those humans who were cold all the time or it was spelled to regulate temperate no matter the season. A whiff of magic was on the breeze, a hint of something metallic like copper or even blood, and a shiver of something intangible but powerful swished over Rael. Rael jumped, glaring around suspiciously, and the stranger’s brow rose in a high arch, his expression both smug and giving the impression he was trying not to laugh.
The stranger closed the door of the limo and went to the curb, and Rael, curious and somehow trusting that the practitioner wasn’t there to hurt him, went down the steps and the walkway to meet him. He stopped about six feet away, and they stared at each other. He was taller than the stranger by a few inches, and probably outweighed him by twenty pounds of muscle, but the shorter man carried himself like he could handle himself in a fight. Confident, chin up, shoulders back, arms and hands loose, eyes bright and seeming to take in everything around him. Rael was used to reading body language—werewolves had the same basic behaviors as mundane humans with some extras thrown on top due to their magical natures.
This man was dangerous, and he knew it, and he didn’t care if anyone else knew it too.
“Nice limo,” Rael said after a minute, for lack of anything else to say. He had no idea why this guy was hanging around in Southie, much less right in front of his house. The limo and the clothes and the way he held himself said money. Definitely Back Bay or Beacon Hill. “You lost?”
The stranger grinned, a quick flash of teeth that was definitely predatory, but not at all creepy.
“Not lost at all, though I was searching for someone,” he replied, and Rael pegged the posh influences despite his attempts to mask it. This guy was money.
“Was? That mean you find whoever you were looking for?” His heart thumped loud in his chest. There was no way.
“Just now, in fact.” The stranger tilted his head, then stepped forward a couple more feet and carefully lifted his hand. “My name is Angel Salvatore, and I have been looking for you since the night before last.”
Surprised by the gesture since practitioners rarely touched strangers, he accepted the hand and shook it before the name registered. Holy shitballs. Angel Salvatore.
Rael gaped and tried to find his body since he was sure he just died and his brain was flatlining in shock. This high-class retired twink was the most powerful and dangerous sorcerer on the East Coast—hell, probably the entire country, and he was looking for Rael.
“Breathe,” Angel teased, and he carefully squeezed Rael’s hand, helping to break him out of his shock.
Rael dropped his hand and wiped his palms nervously on his thighs. “What can I—fuck. Looking for me? Why?” he stuttered, hoping that made sense.
“Well,” Angel began, looking around the street casually before putting his hands in his pockets and rocking on his heels. “I was coming back from my family home, it’s along the coast to the south of here—and a little after midnight I sensed a sudden burst of magic, uncontrolled and explosive. I didn’t recognize the signature, but it was powerful, and it strongly reminded me of an instinctive reaction made by untrained practitioners.” Rael’s eyes went wide. Angel continued. “I’m a tutor—I train sorcerers in the more difficult high magics that aren’t taught in private academies and schools of magic. I know the signs of a breakout event in a young practitioner. My teaching partner and I asked around, and eventually we got pointed in this direction.”
Angel hooked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Athens Street. “I found where you blew up the truck. Checked with the cops, and they had an incident report saying a young man named Rael Morrow almost got hit by a truck and used magic to save himself.”
“Are the police…” Rael flushed, worried. His mom had been on the phone with the cops the day before, and he was worried he might be in trouble. She said it was okay, but he thought she just might be hiding things from him.
“You’re not in trouble,” Angel said. Rael slumped in relief. “You were close enough to a crosswalk, and the truck was speeding, so it’s being written off as an accident so neither you nor the driver are getting charged.”
Rael squinted suspiciously at Angel, thinking this guy must have done something to make it fall that way. Cops never did anything helpful for people in his neighborhood. Angel smiled innocently, and Rael called bullshit, but he wasn’t going to openly question it. Unless… “What do you want in exchange for making that go away? I have a boyfriend, and he’s an alpha in my pack.”
Shock, mirth, and something close to disgust all coalesced in Angel’s expression and then he was shaking his head, hands out. “No. Gross. No.” Angel pointed at Rael. “Get that nasty thought out of your head. I am not perving on you. I am very happily perving on my mate, thank you very much, and have no interest in sleezeballing high schoolers. Ew.”
Rael laughed. “College freshman, thank you.”
“Oh hey, good for you. Where at?”
“Harvard,” Rael answered a bit cockily, “I start next month.”
Angel gave him a slow smile. “Not bad.”
“What do you want?”
“Let’s talk inside. I promise you’re safe with me.”
Rael shrugged. “I’ll turn you into a chew toy if you try anything.” Rael managed to flash his upper fangs at Angel, who just quirked that doubting brow at him in reply.
Rael led the way to the house as Angel waved off the limo, the vehicle finally departing in a slow roll, clearing the narrow street. Rael checked for Jameson, who honestly ought to show up at any time, but there was no more traffic.
The house felt tiny when Angel followed him into the living room, and he had a minor mental freak out when Angel sat on the couch and looked around curiously. When was the last time they vacuumed? Rael went and sat on the loveseat that was older than he was, and stared at Angel.
“I’m gonna be rude and ask some private questions,” Angel started. “Your mom is a werewolf?”
That was private? That was about as public as anyone could get. “Yup.”
“Who’s your father? You’re a practitioner, so he must be as well, or at least with a family history of magic.”
Rael hesitated for a moment but figured it didn’t hurt anything. “Callum Redmayne. He died before I was born.”
Angel sat back in his seat. “That sucks, I’m sorry. Mine died a while ago, too.” His expression was thoughtful. “Redmayne, huh? Not an East Coast family. There is an old practitioner clan by the name of Redmayne out in San Francisco. If he’s listed on your birth certificate, you can see if he was born in San Francisco, might help narrow it down.”
“Mom says that he was a practitioner, but something of a family embarrassment. Something about how he didn’t use his magic. I got the impression he wasn’t strong enough for his family, so he left. I don’t know much more than that. Mom told me all this an hour ago.
”
“If memory serves, that clan is lousy with earth and water mages,” Angel frowned. “She told you an hour ago? You didn’t know?”
Rael shook his head. “No clue. I thought he was a mundane human until the truck incident.” Rael sighed long and tired. “Alpha is gonna love this,” he grumbled.
“Who is your alpha?”
“Bertram Mercer.”
Angel grimaced. “Oh.”
“You know him?”
“No, but I’ve heard of him. One of the traditionalists, right? Not human friendly.”
“Yeah, I’m too human for him. He wants me out of my pack.”
“What? Why?”
Rael paused but then shrugged. He had nothing to hide. Everyone would know soon anyway. “I can’t transform, the most I can do is fangs, claws, and heightened senses. I’m strong, but I can’t transform fully. I’ve got the human form traits of werewolves, but that’s it. He said I was too human, and humans aren’t pack. Me having magic is just gonna make him kick me out sooner. Practitioners aren’t welcome either.”
Angel went from causally friendly to livid in a heartbeat, though he was composed. Rael could smell the anger rolling off Angel until it filled the room. Angel crossed his arms and asked, “Want me to kill him? I don’t mind killing bigots.”
“Please don’t,” Rael said, though he was cheered by the offer. “Thanks, though.”
Angel grumbled about convenient accidents and coincidental hellfire exposure and Rael snorted out a laugh. The scent of anger faded away. Angel gave him a tiny smile. “So, onto why I’m here. You need training or you’re going to hurt yourself or someone else.”
Rael blinked in surprise. “Um, okay. Yeah.” He didn’t disagree, but how to go about getting training was something he needed to figure out still, never mind how much it would cost.
“You’re too old for the schools, and most practitioner children get the basics from their families before schooling anyways. You haven’t had any training at all.”
