The Werewolf's Wife

by Michele Hauf

  “I’m partial to the safety of vampires,” Severo said. “My wife being one makes me sympathetic to them.”

  “I am too,” Ridge offered. “And I’d love to set them all free right now.”

  “That wouldn’t be wise,” Severo said. “Half of them are insane with UV sickness. They’d go after humans and cause a great scare. They…” He sighed heavily. “Some should be destroyed. It’s the kindest thing to do.”

  Ridge stepped forward and held out his hand for Severo to shake. “Give me the vampire I came for, and I’ll help you do the job.”

  Severo nodded and shook his hand. “Let’s make this quick and efficient.”

  * * *

  Forty-five minutes later, Ridge and Maverick said goodbye to Severo, and wiped the blood from their eyes and necks as they left the Ely compound. Severo would remain behind to face the consequences with the pack leader. It was vigilante justice at its most grisly, but it had been kindest to stake those vampires with UV sickness.

  “That was tough,” Maverick said as they trampled across the field.

  Ridge carried Mac York, unconscious, over a shoulder, the vampire’s arms banging against his back. He could taste vampire blood in his throat, though he’d been careful to keep his mouth closed. They’d staked five vampires through the heart, and most had ashed immediately. One younger vamp had not, and had instead slowly burned away. The scent of ash and burned flesh had filled his nostrils, and he felt as if he’d never erase it from his senses.

  It had been a heinous job, but someone had needed to do it, because if they’d left the vampires to the pack, they would have been forced to fight one another to the death. A few had even nodded and submitted when they’d figured out what Ridge and Severo intended to do, taking death with ease.

  They’d released two who had been recent captives.

  “We won’t speak of this night,” Ridge said. “Ever.”

  “Deal.”

  They lumbered across the field toward the waiting truck.

  “I don’t get it.” Maverick’s breath huffed in clouds as he spoke. “Why would witches want a vampire? And so desperately that they’d kidnap some other witch’s kid to make it happen?”

  “Abigail said something about a source. You know witches need to consume a vampire heart once every century to maintain their immortality.”

  “That I did not know. Yikes. So they eat it whole?”

  “I’m not sure on the particulars, nor am I interested.” Especially not after the slaughter he’d participated in.

  “Then that means Abigail has consumed a few hearts in her days, ’cause I heard she was pretty old.”

  Ridge pictured the vulgar act in his mind. As much as vampires sucking blood from mortals repulsed him, the idea of a witch eating a whole heart was ten times worse. It was an animalistic act on level with the blood sport.

  “Everyone does what they have to do to survive,” he commented.

  He was defending the witch now? It wasn’t difficult to do. He’d committed acts on par with her dark deeds, so he could not judge.

  They reached the truck and Abigail jumped out to open the back door so they could shove the vampire inside. She grabbed his arm and wiped something from his face. He folded his fingers about her hand, and silently entreated her not to question him.

  With a nod, she wiped her hands off in the snow, and then gestured that he do the same to his hands and face because apparently he was covered with blood. Maverick followed in stride.

  * * *

  It made little sense to Abigail. If they had only to grab one vampire and run, why were both men covered in blood? Had the vampire put up a fight against two werewolves? It was unlikely so much blood would have been the result. And the vampire was relatively clean, though his shirt was torn and his long brown hair a tangled mess. Not a drop of blood spattered him or his clothes.

  Perhaps they’d had to battle other wolves? That had to be it. She’d read Ridge’s silent plea clearly. He didn’t want to talk about it. She wouldn’t question. She owed him that much for what he’d done for her.

  Maverick drove and Abigail, on the passenger seat, turned to eye the vampire Ridge held with an arm clamped about his neck.

  “I don’t think he’s a flight risk,” she said.

  Ridge did not let up. He seemed stuck on the precipice of shifting, so tense his musculature held him, and his eyes were narrow and fierce. If she had the scenting skills of a wolf she felt sure she’d read anger on him.

  “He’s going to pass out if you hold him too tightly,” she warned. “We need him to talk.”

  The werewolf shoved the vamp against the truck door and pinned him with a hand about his neck. “You hear the lady? Talk.”

  “Wh-what do you want? I can’t breathe. Fuck. That hurts. The vein.”

  “They’ve cut into his carotid and opened it wide,” Abigail said, wincing at the cruelty the werewolves had inflicted. Then she reminded herself she had done some heinous things over the centuries. “It’s scarred, but it will give him pain ever after. Ridge, let him relax. I’ll keep him from escaping.”

  The vampire eyed her with wild, nervous eyes. He smelled of sweat and urine.

  Manipulating the air in the vehicle, she coaxed the door lock next to the vamp’s shoulder shut. And to make it more interesting… Blowing toward the door heated the metal. The vampire yelped and scrambled from the hot metal, but that put him right back in Ridge’s clutches.

  “What the hell is she?”

  “The baddest witch in the Midwest,” Ridge said with an interesting tone of pride.

  Abigail accepted the compliment with a blush. He was the only one she’d ever abide to give her such a title. And what was wrong with that title? Someone had to be the bad witch. It was much easier than this good-girl bull crap she’d been dabbling in unsuccessfully for years.

  “We need to know why you’re so important to a bunch of witches,” Ridge said. “They want you like a drug dealer craves his stolen dope. They kidnapped her son to make her find you.”

  “Really? I haven’t been aligned with the Light in over a decade. They kicked me out after they learned I was a half-breed.”

  “Half-breed?” Abigail peered into the vampire’s hazy eyes. He returned the stare and his pupils widened as they prepared to fix onto her soul. Only another witch could fix a witch in a stare and read the other witch’s soul, and he seemed capable— She abruptly stopped that nonsense by blinking. “You’re half witch!”

  “Born that way,” the vampire said. “Both of my parents were fire witches.”

  “Did you come into your fire magic?” she asked hastily.

  “Briefly. I was transformed to vamp, much against my will, ten years ago, about six months after puberty granted me fire magic, so I hadn’t much time to use it. Spoiled my plans of world domination, let me tell you.”

  Ridge delivered her a confused lift of brow.

  “World domination?” she questioned. “I’ve never heard of you until a day ago. The Council—”

  “The Council?” The vampire laughed until Ridge slammed his hand under his throat, choking him into a wincing cough.

  “Just talk nice to the lady, and I won’t have to get rough,” the werewolf warned. “Why would the witches want you?”

  “If he was born of two fire witches,” Abigail said, “then he must be a very powerful witch.”

  “Should be,” the vampire corrected. “That all got fucked up when I was bitten. My magic hasn’t been the same since. They have your son?”

  She nodded.

  “Heh.” The vampire smirked, but controlled his laughter with an abrupt squeeze from Ridge’s hand. “If you’re a fire witch,” he said to Abigail, “then where’s the father? Actually, who is the father?”

  Ridge gave her a scathing look. Abigail moved her hand before the vamp in a threatening manner. He got the hint and said, “If the father is a fire witch, then the son is a valuable commodity. Who wouldn’t want him?”


  “But they offered to make a trade,” Ridge said. “The boy for you.”

  “That makes little sense.” The vampire coughed and blood trickled over his bottom lip. “Sorry. Those damn UV lights work a number on a guy. I feel like my lungs got fried and are slowly bleeding out my mouth. Thanks for the rescue, by the way. You are going to let me go? Hell, you’re not going to slaughter me like—”

  Ridge squeezed the man’s trachea. “Like I said, we’re going to trade you for her son.”

  The vampire sputtered blood. His eyes bulged and Ridge reluctantly released him.

  “Why would they want me instead of the fire witch? Oh, wait.” He bowed his head and shook it. His eyes glittered as he looked at Abigail, and she felt the immensity of his unspoken words. “I know.”

  “You know what?” She spread out her hand and curled her fingers in succession toward her, coaxing his confession by tapping into his vampiric influence and turning it on him.

  “No need to influence me, sweetie. I’ll fess up. But this is too rich. I’m not sure why they would want to bind your son. Unless the father really is a fire witch.”

  “Bind him?” Her heart fluttered like a butterfly with broken wings. It sounded so wrong. And yet, she knew what it was, a process similar to shackling she’d performed on Creed Saint-Pierre last summer. Only binding hurt ten times worse, and was a permanent means to strip the magic from a witch. “He’s just a boy. He hasn’t even come into his magic.”

  She caught Ridge’s gaze and couldn’t find the words to plead for his help. How had this happened? Who was doing this to her and Ryan? Why would they want to harm a boy?

  “Best time to bind him,” the vampire said. “So he never comes into his magic. Whoever binds him ultimately controls him. I should know.”

  “Yeah?” Ridge tightened his grip about the vamp’s neck. “And how is that?”

  The vampire looked from Ridge to Abigail. “If I help you, I need assurance I get out of this safely and you won’t throw me to the wolves.”

  “Can’t do that.” Ridge increased pressure under the vamp’s jaw, making his face go white. “Besides, you’re already in the hands of wolves.”

  “How can you help?” Abigail pressed. “Can you prevent them from binding my son?”

  “I can,” he managed, though his voice was fading as the pressure on his throat increased.

  “Ridge, let him speak!”

  The werewolf growled at her, and the vampire cringed from Ridge. Now was no time for the wolf to go aggressive. She needed the information the vampire was willing to give.

  She waved her hand before her, twitching her fingers in a familiar gesture. Ridge flinched and released the vampire, but the angry growl he delivered her pierced her heart. She’d threatened him in front of his own, and he wasn’t pleased about it.

  “You don’t want to hand me over to the witches,” the vampire said, stroking his reddened neck.

  “Why not?” Ridge growled.

  “Because you’ll be handing them the binding spell. That’s what they need. They don’t care about me.”

  “Do you know the binding spell?” she asked. “It’s supposed to be rare, inaccessible to most of the Light.”

  “Know it? Not without looking in a mirror.” He turned a shoulder toward the front seat. It was easy enough for him to rip down his tattered shirt.

  Beneath it, tattooed on his back, read an ancient binding spell Abigail recognized was in Latin.

  “I was bound a decade ago,” he said. “I had begun a stint working for Himself—I was power-mad with my new fire magic, and there’s a reason they call the devil the Great Tempter—until the vampires changed me and it all went wonky. Himself had no use for me after that. You want to bind a fire witch, this is the spell to do it.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” Maverick commented from the front. “Why’d you tattoo it on your back?”

  “It wasn’t me. Himself did that with one lick of his thorned tongue. Said it was a joke. That dude has the weirdest sense of humor.”

  “So if we stake you,” Ridge said, “that solves our problem.”

  “No,” Abigail said. “We need him.”

  “We’re not going to hand him over to the vampires. They’ll harm your son. My son!”

  “Dude, he’s your kid?” The vampire blanched. “Then he can’t be a fire witch, and I haven’t a clue why the witches would want him.”

  “He’s not his father,” Abigail protested. “His father is a fire witch.”

  “As far as you know,” Ridge argued. “But there’s a chance you could be wrong.”

  The vampire whistled. “Sounds like you two need to work a few things out.”

  “Silence.” Abigail swept her hand before the vampire, and his next protest was muffled because he couldn’t open his mouth no matter how much he struggled. “We need to keep the spell out of the witches’ hands, but if Ryan comes into his magic…”

  The idea of binding her son did not sit well. Hell, she wanted him to come into his magic, to grow powerful and revel in his skills. Sure, he’d drain her of her fire magic; that was what occurred when the child came into his magic. She didn’t care. She’d give up all her magic for Ryan. But it could be more dangerous to him if she allowed him to come into his magic. He would never be safe. There would always be some power-mad maniac who sought to take from Ryan what he craved.

  “We’re here.” Maverick parked the truck in the lot next to his car. “You two need me anymore? I’m willing to help.”

  “I think we got what we need,” Ridge said, his gaze fixed to Abigail’s.

  A witch could fix another witch in her gaze and stare directly into her soul. A werewolf couldn’t, but right now, she felt Ridge was doing just that to her. And he didn’t like what he saw.

  Because she denied he could possibly be Ryan’s father. It didn’t make sense. She had to be prepared, and to prepare for the worst. Whether or not the werewolf liked it.

  Hell, it was difficult acting against him. She didn’t want to hurt him. She wanted him to respect her, and yes, all she really wanted from him was to fold her in his arms again and make everything all right.

  “Thanks, Dean,” she said. “I owe you a big one.”

  “I will remember that.” He shook her hand, then nodded to Ridge, and left them in the dark parking lot across from the café where he’d parked his car.

  “Now what?” Ridge asked. “We’ve the night and then tomorrow afternoon the meeting. And we’ve got to figure out what to do with the longtooth.”

  “Let’s go to my house.”

  Chapter 11

  Abigail directed Ridge to the basement, and left him to secure the vampire. The last thing she wanted to do was turn over the vamp if he wore a tattoo of the ritual that could bind her son. But she wasn’t about to let their one bargaining chip free until she had Ryan safe at home.

  Whoever held Ryan must be thinking to use the binding spell against him. But why did they expect she would willingly hand over something so detrimental after she figured it all out? The logic was distorted. She must be missing some integral piece to this puzzle.

  Agitated, she paced the living room above the basement, hearing a few warning growls from Ridge, and then went back into her bedroom. She wasn’t tired, though it was late. Her body shook with raw energy. She knew she should sleep so she was rested for tomorrow. But how to sleep with a werewolf and a vampire in her house?

  Especially, a sexy werewolf who had kissed her and held her so tenderly. It seemed impossible Ridge could be so gentle. Everything about him appeared harsh.

  Everything on the outside, that is. She had gotten glimpses inside the man’s soul, and frankly, she liked what she had seen. He did not react to situations with violence, as most men were wont. Careful consideration went into every move he made, and he regretted nothing.

  But he hadn’t tapped his gentle nature when he’d learned about Ryan and the possibility he could be his father. That was to be expected, however.
r />   But really, she didn’t need acceptance or approval from any man. She had raised Ryan well, and would continue to do so, no matter what life presented them.

  But the result—if Ridge were Ryan’s father—was something she was not equipped to handle. A werewolf son? How did she begin to explain a shifter’s nature to Ryan? That he could be part animal whose cycles were ruled by the moon?

  “Don’t think about it,” she murmured. “The possibilities are a long shot.” She absently ran a hand over her stomach, as she’d done so many times when she had been pregnant. She’d counted the days dozens of times. Miles was the father. Ryan could not have been born a month late. “He’s a witch, I know he is.”

  Anything is possible. You know that.

  “Abigail?”

  Ridge stood in the doorway to her bedroom, stretching an arm along the door frame. He looked opposite of her agitated state and was probably tired and hungry.

  “You can use the shower,” she offered. “I’ll make you some tea. Or maybe some beer and a sandwich? I have no meat but I might surprise you with a little almond butter and green apples.”

  He winced at the idea of consuming the meatless fare. “Sandwich sounds fine. I’m so hungry I could eat anything. I secured Mac. He tried to bite me, but I punched him on the jaw. Knocked out a fang. I wasn’t trying to hurt him.” He rubbed his knuckles. “Hell. This day has been too long. You figure out what you want to do with him?”

  “Not yet. I’m still running on adrenaline, and trying to come down and relax.” She needed an outlet for all this frantic energy. A jog usually helped. Or some good old-fashioned vacuuming; yes, without the use of magic. “I’ll come up with something. I promise. You take a shower and relax. You did good, Ridge. Thank you.”

  He nodded, and tugged off his shirt and turned down the hallway.

  “Use the one in my room,” she said. “The pipe leaks in the guest bathroom.”

  He balled up his shirt and the movement flexed his hard pectorals. With a shy nod, he walked past her into the bathroom. Abigail inhaled as he passed, closing her eyes to file away the scent of the most honorable man she had ever known. Fresh and woodsy, as if he belonged in the forest, a creature of nature. Wild and wolfish.