The Werewolf's Wife

by Michele Hauf

  The counter was bare; no notes. He eyed the fridge, where the whiteboard hung. It was clean. The burned outlet sat like a silent warning that things were not right in Kansas.

  Now he was worried. Abigail should have gone directly home if she’d had any sense. But why he thought that was anyone’s guess. She was a fierce witch who took matters into her own hands and protected her own. She wouldn’t sit around waiting for the world to right itself. She’d take action.

  Unless someone had gotten to her first. Whoever had slammed into the truck had done so purposefully, Ridge decided. And the reason Abigail hadn’t been found behind the steering wheel was because whoever had hit her had then taken her from the scene.

  The scenario hurt his heart to imagine, but it was the only thing he could come up with. And he didn’t have to guess who had taken her.

  “Miles.” He slammed a fist on the kitchen counter.

  Ryan wandered into the kitchen, hands shoved in his jeans pockets. “Did you figure out where she is?”

  “I think Miles may have taken her after he crashed into the truck she was driving. It’s a guess.”

  “If that nasty witch took my mom—” Ryan kicked the counter baseboard.

  “Exactly,” Ridge said. “I’ve got to go back to where they held us.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “No, you’re going to stay here—” He couldn’t leave the boy alone. Not so Miles or his henchwolves could show up and snatch him again. “Change of plan. You are going along with me.”

  “Yes!” Ryan pumped a fist at his side.

  “Until I can find someone to watch you. I’ll have to give Maverick a call and see if he’s still in town.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Another wolf. He’s a good guy. You’ll like him. You run and get some clean, warm clothes on, and grab a jacket.”

  “What about you? You’re in tatters.”

  Ridge looked over his torn shirt. The counter clerks in McDonald’s had given him a long, strange once-over. He didn’t have time to run home and change. “This’ll do.”

  It would just get torn again when his werewolf got near that witch Miles Easton.

  Chapter 20

  Abigail surfaced from a bruised muddle of darkness and winced as various parts of her body screamed with dull pain. Her feet were on the ground, and she leaned against something. Her head hung forward, and the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes were her boots and the torn leg of the borrowed gray leather pants.

  Upright, then. She was standing, but not on her own. Weakness encompassed her muscles and she felt like a ragdoll harnessed to a mast.

  “Hell’s bells,” she muttered, as realization flooded her foggy senses.

  Trying to twist her hands resulted in no movement because her hands were bound behind her back, palms flat together and wrists tightly encircled with some kind of soft ribbon of flat rope. A leather strap crossed above her breasts, binding her back against a flat surface that with a bit of wiggling she decided was a square pole, like a support beam. Her hips were secured with more rope, but her legs were free.

  Not that she could walk away from the situation.

  She remembered wondering why Ridge had been stupid enough to get captured. And then she’d known he’d done it on purpose to save Ryan. And then—impact.

  Now she smelled blood and tasted it on her lip. Her skin tugged above her left eye and she guessed she’d been cut by windshield glass upon impact. Nothing else on her seemed to scream for immediate medical attention, save for a general overall ache.

  “Good morning, sunshine.”

  The deep voice put bile in her throat. She lifted her head and eyed the man who stood not five feet away, his arms crossed high over his chest and the devious smile she’d once thought sexy aimed like a laser at her.

  “Where’s my son?” she gasped, startled her voice was dry and barely there. She may have taken more damage to her body than she could assess. Didn’t matter. She simply had to stay conscious. And try to work her fingers apart. “Damn it, where’s Ryan?”

  “He’s gone missing, thanks to your pet hound.”

  “Ridge and Ryan escaped?” She didn’t try to hide her joy over that news. “So now what? You need to take your anger out on someone? Why don’t you release me and make it a fair fight?”

  Miles’s low chuckle tugged the thin skin on his face, shadowing his skull to a gaunt mask. What she’d ever seen in him was beyond her.

  He was like you. You both shared common magic. And he had, initially, been kind to you.

  That was it. It had been more admiration and mutual teaching than an actual heated sexual affair. They’d been intimate, but never more so than when they’d been using their magic together.

  “If Ridge has Ryan,” she said, “you’ll never lay your hands on him again. You know that.”

  “I don’t know that. The boy is mine. I’ll fight the werewolf, and anything else you put in my way to get him.”

  “You don’t love him. You want to cripple him so you remain strong. You’re such a bastard.”

  The stroke of his fingers along her cheek sent a chill up her neck. She wanted to spit in his face, but her throat was dry. “A bastard you once loved. We shared everything, Abigail. More than everything. When we conjured magic together it was better than sex. You deny it?”

  She shook her head. “That was the only thing I could tolerate about you.”

  “You’re lying. I know because you can never look me in the face when you fashion a sweet little mistruth. It’s something I adore about you.”

  “Let me go. Let’s end this once and for all.”

  “You think so? You don’t think the werewolf will consider handing over one insignificant man-child in exchange for the woman he loves?”

  “He doesn’t love me.”

  “I think differently. You always were blind to emotions. I think that was because you’re such a raging tornado of emotions you cannot see beyond your own storm. The wolf adores you. Poor guy.”

  “He has a heart, unlike you.”

  “Oh, I’ve a heart. Recently ate a vampire heart, too. Tasty.”

  “You—? You took a source when we were seeing each other. That was thirteen years ago. You only need to do that once a century.”

  His cadaver grin cracked. “I do it as often as I’m able. No reason why I shouldn’t build up superimmortality, eh?”

  “I don’t think it works that way.” And how sickening he could engage in the ritual so frequently. Consuming a beating vampire heart was not for the squeamish, but it was a necessity if a witch wanted to retain immortality. A necessity required only once a century. “Thought you said you weren’t a vampire hunter?”

  “That’s why I have my wolf pack.”

  “You’re twisted, Miles. What do you want to let me go? Information about Ridge?”

  He shook his head. “The wolf is too easy. I suspect he’s gone to your house with the boy. I’ve sent my pack after them.”

  “How did you ever get those wolves to work for you?”

  “They’re bewitched, of course. Dumber than logs, but nothing a little magical instruction can’t correct.”

  “That was always the one thing you said you’d never do.”

  “Control others with magic? Yes, it is grounds for banishment from the Light.”

  “You’re a warlock, Miles. You’ve committed heinous crimes against the Light.”

  “This, coming from little Miss Never Does Wrong? You’ve centuries of indiscretions racked against you, Abigail. Wouldn’t the Council love to know your connection to The Order of the Stake?”

  “They know.” They didn’t know she had been instrumental in forming the order of mortals that hunted vampires, but she wasn’t about to give him the upper hand. The Council overlooked most of her indiscretions in exchange for her service. “I promise I won’t allow Ryan to use his fire magic.”

  “Not good enough. You know when the boy comes into his magic it
will be innate. He won’t have to study. It’ll just be—” he flipped out a hand dramatically “—to hand.”

  She closed her eyes. Without her hands free, she was helpless to direct her magic. And if werewolves had gone to her home, then Ridge and Ryan could again be in trouble.

  She scanned the room. The dirt floor and support beams hinted that it was a basement. Nothing sat on the floor. Not a single box or piece of furniture she could send at Miles in an attempt to knock him out.

  “So, while I have you here…” He dug out a piece of paper from his shirt pocket and unfolded it. She recognized the binding spell photo taken from the vampire’s back. He must have taken it from her after the crash. “Let’s make sure I’ve no competition from you should you find a way to wiggle from those restraints.”

  “No, Miles, don’t do this. It’s not going to change anything.”

  “Of course not. The only thing that’ll make me happy is binding the boy. You don’t think I enjoy consuming vampire hearts, do you? I want to protect all my hard work.”

  He flicked the paper dramatically, and began to read the spell.

  Something on the level above them toppled and hit the floor with a thud. Abigail searched the ceiling, hearing footsteps. “He’s here.”

  Miles glanced upward, and then resumed the spell. Faster.

  Chapter 21

  He could smell the witch’s presence. Coconut, overlaid with an acrid fear. He didn’t like that. Charging the burly wolf who blocked the door, Ridge guessed behind that door, he’d find Abigail.

  He collided with solid muscle and bone. The wolf didn’t move a step upon impact. He lifted Ridge by the neck until his feet left the ground, and then flung him with seeming little effort across the room. He landed at the convex corner of two walls, the sharp edge like a blade to his spine.

  Dropping, Ridge blinked at the blackness threatening to knock him out cold. He breathed in deeply and growled. It kept him conscious. And now he was angry.

  Talons clicked on the hardwood floor. He stretched his neck and twisted as it lengthened and thickened and fur grew from his pores.

  The wolf who’d tossed him let out a howl, and stomped toward him, in werewolf shape. And across the room, two more fully shifted werewolves entered.

  * * *

  Abigail shouted at the noise of a scuffle overhead. It distracted Miles but momentarily. He refocused and studied the photo he held. It was a clear photograph of the binding spell, but the words were tiny, and blurred a bit by the old tattoo. He spoke the next Latin word, and Abigail felt a tingle scurry through her veins.

  The binding was beginning to enter her on the growling tones of Miles’s recitation. He was halfway through. She screamed again, and twisted her body forward, feeling the leather strap above her breasts loosen, but her hands remained clamped together as if glued.

  * * *

  The female’s screams echoed from below as Ridge’s face met the floor and his nose crunched. Blood spilled down the back of his throat. His canine teeth grazed the floor and his tongue lolled. But he sensed the next attack, and swung out his paw, talons extended, catching the wolf across the chest and dragging deep wounds through his rib cage.

  The wolf gave a howl tangled with a whimper and rolled away, clutching his chest.

  Dragged upward by the scruff at the back of his neck, Ridge was smashed against the wall. Teeth tore through his shoulder and ripped his skin. He kicked backward, dislodging the attacker, and leaped toward the one who stood by the door. With a swing of his arm, his talons cut through flesh and bone and took the werewolf’s head from his shoulders.

  * * *

  Abigail tried a movement spell on the beam she was bound to. The wood rattled, but the nails held it securely, and she guessed it was probably cemented into the floor as most support beams were.

  Frustrated, she struggled and continued to scream, hoping to throw Miles out of his concentration, but the witch maintained the spell by speaking it slowly and with fierce intent.

  Now he held his palm up to focus his magic upon her, and though he stood four feet away, she could feel the heat of his power. His determination melted her resolve and she stopped struggling.

  The door above smashed open and wood shards clattered down the concrete stairs.

  Miles shouted the next word, and then…he waited.

  A werewolf trampled down the stairs, stood its full seven feet tall, and scanned the scene, chest heaving and arms flexed. Its maw revealed bloodied teeth and its talons were dripping with blood.

  But the golden eyes softened at sight of her.

  “Ridge, wait!”

  The werewolf clenched its talons.

  Miles hissed, “What the hell? Where’s the last word?”

  The werewolf stalked up behind Miles, though the witch was unaware of the wolf’s proximity, so stymied he was by the missing word.

  “I burned it off the vampire before I took the picture,” Abigail said, triumph lifting her head. “I win, Miles. You’ll never bind me or my son.”

  Behind him, the werewolf raised a paw, prepared to slice off the witch’s head.

  “Ridge, no!”

  Miles spun about and blasted the wolf with a stream of fire. It hit the beast directly in the gut. The witch scrambled for the stairs, clambering over the fallen wolf.

  “Help me, Ridge,” Abigail yelled. “Get me loose!”

  The werewolf’s fur smoked and he shook his head miserably at the sudden blast. Finally he stomped over to Abigail and, chest heaving and jaw open to reveal deadly weapons, looked her over.

  She knew he was now equally in his animal mind as he was his human mind, so he must recognize her. He had before.

  “My hands,” she said. “Please. And then we can go after Miles. Where’s Ryan?” She knew he couldn’t communicate with her. “Stay shifted. We can’t let Miles get away. But I need you to free me first. Please, Ridge, my hands.”

  The wolf drew a talon down her arm, carefully, not cutting, until he moved around behind her. She felt the sharp, solid heat of a talon slice between her palms and winced as her skin took a cut. But her hands were free, followed by her arms and hips.

  She stumbled forward, and the wolf hooked her under her breasts with one arm, holding her up. This was no time for a reunion hug or celebratory cheer. He was in predatory mode, and she didn’t want to spoil that.

  “Now we go after him,” she said. “Lead the way.”

  The werewolf bounded up the stairs and she followed, using the handrail because she still felt weak from the accident.

  Above, three werewolves lay sprawled on the floor. One began to shift as she walked by, and her gaze was drawn to the detached human head that began to shed fur.

  Ridge’s werewolf grabbed her upper arm and tugged her away from the scene. He kicked open the front door—and was put back by a blast of fire.

  The werewolf swung his arms but flames quickly encompassed him, igniting his fur. He stumbled backward and Abigail tried to push him down to help snuff out the flame.

  “Shift quickly,” she directed, knowing if he could do so, then he might have a chance at smothering the flames.

  The werewolf howled and slapped the floor with a paw, which shifted into a human hand.

  At the door, the wood frame ignited. Miles was throwing fire at them. They couldn’t stay inside, but Ridge was in no condition to do anything but try to defeat the flames right now.

  He transformed completely to were shape, and his skin smoked but there were no flames. His shoulder revealed a gaping wound and he lifted his head, stunned by the shift and the fire.

  Abigail knelt by him. “Miles is outside. The house is on fire, but the door is right behind you. Can you manage?”

  He nodded, and dropped his head.

  “I have to go after him.”

  Ridge grabbed her hand and tugged her close to his face. “Give him flame, Abigail. Give him flame.”

  * * *

  Oh, she would give that bastard flame. />
  Dodging a lash of crackling red fire, Abigail slapped her hands together and rubbed them fiercely. Chanting a summons that drew up the earth’s energy, she combined it with her fire in a wicked roil of flame. Beneath her feet, the earth rumbled and shuddered with a static electricity of motion. The leyline fixed to her power, and the truck Miles ran toward suddenly burst into flame, sending the hood flying into the air.

  Miles turned and thrust a rolling wave of fire toward her. She couldn’t dodge that large ball, but she was able to send out her own flames in a wall before her that defeated Miles’s magic by dispersing it, and scattering millions of fire sprites to the snow, where they sizzled and smoked out.

  “You’ll never win!” Miles called. “Give it up, Abigail!”

  Drawing in a deep breath, she focused on the man who had harmed her son, and her lover. “Eat my flame,” she said calmly, and then thrust out her arms, fingers spread, to open herself wide to the fire and earth magic.

  A roaring wave of fire charged toward Miles, catching his flailing limbs and slamming him against the blackened hood of the vehicle, pinning him there and moving over his flesh. He couldn’t fight the enormous flames, and in seconds they consumed him.

  Dropping her arms, Abigail lifted her head but couldn’t witness the death of one of her own. He’d been a warlock, deserving of the punishment she’d served him. If she had not ended his life, he may have harmed many more.

  “An ye harm none,” she recited softly as the flames incinerated her ex-lover in her peripheral vision. It was the beginning of the witch’s rede that insisted on karmic way. “Unless you harm my own.” Screw the rede.

  Stalking to the house, she called on her water magic to lift the snow banked along the front porch and fling it toward the burning threshold. It took three large waves of snow to put out the flames. In its wake, the charred wood dripped with water and steamed as if hell had opened wide.

  She ran inside and found Ridge huddled against the wall, clutching his burned gut. The wound was red and angry, yet he smiled weakly at her before falling to the floor and passing out.