The door burst open before he could reach it. Three of his father’s Betas – Gerard, Phil, and Samuel – pushed their way in. Phil flicked the light switch, causing Justin to wince and shield his eyes from the brightness. “What the hell?” Justin muttered. “What are you assholes doing, here? This is still my room – at least for a few more hours!”
“Look at his hand,” Samuel said, and Gerard reached out, grabbing Justin by his wrist.
“Hey!” Justin jerked back, giving them a warning glare, but then he caught a glimpse of his own hand and he frowned, seeing a sticky, dark red substance on his fingers. He blinked and sniffed, immediately identifying the scent. “What the fuck? Blood?” He stared at them. “Is this some kind of joke?”
Samuel shoved past him and scooped up the jeans and hooded sweatshirt lying in a heap on the floor. “You tell us,” he said, turning to show Justin the clothing. They, too, had dark stains, the strong iron smell of blood soaked through the material.
All of Justin’s previous anger fled along with his inebriation, replaced by the cold sobriety of fear. He flashed back to that night in the run-down tenement building, when he had held his mother’s body in his arms, sobbing and covered in her blood. That’s how his father had found him when he had arrived an hour later, searching for his missing wife and son. Justin shook himself to refocus his thoughts on the here and now. “Where’s my father?” he demanded. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I need to see him.”
“That won’t be possible,” Phil said, his tone as icy as his gray eyes. “Your father’s dead.”
Justin reeled, feeling like someone had just punched him in the chest. He staggered back; his calves hit the edge of the bed and he dropped down, legs suddenly too weak to hold him upright. “Dead?” he echoed. “H-how?”
Gerard made a derisive noise. Grabbing Justin by the throat, he lifted him off the bed and swung him around, slamming him up against the nearest wall. “Don’t pretend you don’t know, you worthless piece of shit,” he snarled, eyes glowing. Older, broader, and more muscular than Justin, he had acted as Randall’s bodyguard for years. “You didn’t even bother to ditch the clothes or clean yourself up – you just came back here and got drunk on your ass again, like you always do.”
“You’re crazy,” Justin choked out. In a quick move, he managed to dislodge the hand on his neck and twisted away. Grabbing Gerard’s arm, he wrenched it up behind his back and shoved him face-first into the wall. The fight did not last long – no sooner did he get in that little retaliation when Phil and Samuel jumped on him, holding him on either side, their combined strength too much for Justin to fight off. Gerard rounded on Justin with a fist to his gut, making him double over with a grunt of pain. That same hand caught him by the hair, using the short blond locks to jerk his head back. Justin gasped. “You’re making a mistake,” he ground out through his teeth. “I didn’t kill my father!”
“Yeah?” Gerard challenged. “Well, pretty boy, surveillance cameras caught you on tape outside your dad’s study wearing those clothes – and then there’s an eye witness who overheard you threaten your dad earlier tonight.”
Justin frowned. “What the fuck are you talking about? I never threatened him!” He struggled against Samuel and Phil’s grip. “Who told you that?”
“I did.” At that moment, Warren came into the room. He looked pale, visibly shaken. He stood in front of Justin, almost nose to nose; he had removed his glasses and now Justin could see the pale yellow of his irises. “I heard you arguing with your dad,” he said quietly. “You told him you’d be the next Alpha, ‘no matter what it takes.’” He gulped and shook his head. “How could you do it, Justin? He was your father – and he was like a father to me, too, taking me in after my parents died.”
“I didn’t do it!” Justin insisted.
“Maybe you were just too drunk to remember doing it,” Phil said. “Maybe seeing what you did will jar your memory.”
They dragged Justin from his room. Dressed only in his boxer briefs, they hauled him down to the main floor. The odor of blood got stronger when they reached the door to Randall’s study. Justin began to panic. “No,” he said, digging in his heels. He kept going back to that night and his mom, when he thought he would never get the smell of blood out of his clothes, his hair, or off his skin. “I don’t want to see.”
Despite his protests, he found himself shoved into the room. He stumbled and came to a stop, his eyes wide as he looked around in shock at the scene before him. There had been a struggle. Chairs overturned, books scattered on the floor, a lamp knocked off a table…and there, slumped in his leather chair, a gash where his throat used to be… “Dad,” Justin breathed. “Oh, God…God, no…”
“Justin Waylan,” Samuel said, addressing him formally. “On behalf of the Clan Council, I hereby place you under Pack Arrest for the murder of Randall Waylan, Clan Alpha. You will be held in confinement until the Council can convene for trial.”
“Which may wind up being pointless,” Gerard threw in. “The penalty for killing an Alpha is death.” He got up close to Justin’s side and growled in his ear. “When you see him again in the Afterlife, be sure to tell your father I said ‘hello.’”
“Dad,” Justin whispered again, too numb from shock to fight as they pulled him from the study. “I didn’t do this…I swear I didn’t do it!”
But even as he proclaimed his innocence, Justin found himself unable to recall anything that happened once he had entered that alcohol-induced fog, and it left him with a foreboding feeling of self-doubt.
Jesus…what if I did?
Chapter One
“Thanks for coming in tonight,” Savannah Goode said, holding out three dollars in change and a receipt to her last customer of the day. She tucked a spiral curl of black hair behind her ear with her free hand. “You have a great evening, now, Tom.”
“Ah-ah,” Tom said, shaking his head and holding up a thin, age-spotted hand. “Keep it.”
Savannah looked over at the place where Tom had been sitting at the counter and saw a five-dollar bill sticking out from under the empty coffee mug. She pursed her full lips. “I can see you already left me a tip, Tom,” she said. She shook a light brown finger at him in playful admonishment. “And from the look of it, you gave me fifty percent gratuity!”
The old man chuckled. “My dear Savannah,” he said, as he settled his tweed cap on his bald head. “I’ve been coming in here for years. I can be having the worst day of my life, but I know the moment I walk through that door I’m going to be greeted with a warm smile and a good meal. You’ve always treated me like family, and I appreciate that.” He motioned around the dining room. “I see you in here, working hard, never complaining. I have yet to witness anyone leave here without a smile on their face.” He gestured to the money. “You deserve that, and so much more.”
“Well, thank you, Tom,” Savannah said, genuinely touched by his words. She put the money back into the register and closed the drawer. “Hold on – I’ve got something for you.” She walked over to the dessert case. Boxing up a couple of banana-walnut muffins, she brought them back and passed them over to Tom. “There. A bedtime snack, or breakfast in the morning.”
Tom smiled, the lines in his craggy face deepening. “You’re a true gem,” he said. He tucked the box under his arm. “So, what are your plans for this evening? I couldn’t help noticing you seemed more upbeat than usual, today.” He winked. “You seeing someone special tonight?”
She winked back and replied, “I’ll never tell.”
That made Tom laugh. “Well, all right – you enjoy yourself, young lady,” he said, making his way toward the exit. “Just stay out of trouble, now!”
“Aw, what fun is that?” Savannah called after him. He waved to her from the door and she waved back. “Such a sweetheart,” she murmured fondly as she watched him go.
Reaching up to the small stereo on the shelf behind the register, Savannah hit the ‘play’ button to start the CD pla
yer. Upbeat rhythm and blues music began to fill the restaurant. Grabbing a plastic tub from under the counter, Savannah headed out to clear the dirty dishes from the counter and the now-vacant tables, humming along with the tune. Her voluptuous hips swayed to the song. She had been on her feet all day, cooking and doing her best to take care of her customers, but she always managed to find a little reserve of energy for dancing.
Tom had been right about her mood today. Savannah could not help feeling excited. She paused at the windows and peered out. Last night’s rain clouds had cleared away and now she could see the full moon rising large and silver against the rich, dark blue of the evening sky. Every month, even in winter, Savannah would retreat to her private garden on the rooftop, light candles, and celebrate with rituals. Tonight, she had a very special ceremony planned. As soon as she finished cleaning the restaurant, she would head upstairs to her apartment and go about her preparations – bathing, putting on her ceremonial robes, and setting up her altar for the rite just as her mother and grandmother had taught her.
The bells on the front door jingled. With her back to the entrance, Savannah called out, “Welcome to The Goode Soul Café! Kitchen’s closed, but if you’re hungry I can still whip something up for you.”
“No, thanks – we’re having dinner downtown tonight.”
Savannah’s smile faded and her pleasant mood drained away like water through a sieve. Setting down her bucket, she turned to see two elegant, dark-skinned women striding into the small café, dressed in the latest fall fashions. Their expensive high-heel shoes clicked across the floor as they made their way toward her. Savannah managed to find a new smile, but without her usual warmth. She had learned some years ago not to bother when it came to dealing with people who made a habit of reminding her that they wished she had never been born. “Well, hello, Ceara and Tynice!” she said with mock cheer. She wiped her hands on her apron. “And how are my two sisters on this lovely October evening?”
“Half-sisters,” Tynice corrected, always quick to point this out. They may have shared the same father, but the two older girls had never treated Savannah or her mother like family. After Daddy had passed, there had been only one reason for Savannah to have any dealings with them, that being the restaurant he had willed to his three daughters.
Ceara’s painted lips curled in a smirk. “I see you’re still working alone,” she said. She walked around Savannah, eyeing her. “You look so tired all the time. Must be hard running this sorry-ass place all by yourself…unable to afford to hire anyone to help…”
Savannah had to chuckle. Shaking her head, she let out a long sigh. “Okay,” she said, holding up her hands. “I can see what this is. This is your monthly ‘sign over your share of the property so we can sell it to that real estate development office for more money’ visit. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but this is my monthly ‘Hell to the No’ answer.” She planted one hand on her hip and the other on the nearest table, and leveled them both a hard glare from her cool green eyes. “Daddy put a lot of his blood, sweat, and tears into this place. He also put a lot of his heart in it. He worked hard to make sure we all had clothes on our backs, food in our bellies, and a roof over our heads. He also made sure we each got into a good college. And for all his hard work, all he ever asked in return was for us to keep his legacy and this restaurant alive.” She folded her arms beneath the shelf of her abundant bosom and lifted her chin in defiance. “As long as I continue to draw breath, I will not let his dream die.”
“You can be so ignorant,” Tynice said with a derisive snort. She pointed a thin finger at Savannah, her long manicured nails and gold jewelry gleaming under the dining room’s dull lighting. “My husband works for the Alderman. All I have to do is give him the word and he will draw up the papers to have this place shut down.”
Savannah raised an eyebrow. “Good luck with that,” she said dryly. “The restaurant is up to code, and so is the rest of the building – including the apartment upstairs, where I live.” She looked from Tynice to Ceara. “I know you two never got over the fact that your mother walked out on you when you were little, that she just up and abandoned you without a word. No child should ever have to go through that, and no matter what you may think of me, I’m sorry that had to happen to you. I’m also sorry that you’ve always resented the fact that your father met and married a white woman – my mother – who did her best to raise you as her own despite how vicious you were to her. You hated me from the moment I was conceived. All my life, you’ve treated me like dirt, called me ‘high yellow’ and other racist names, and mocked me for being heavyset.” Savannah waved her hand. “I forgave you for that. I forgave you for making fun of my mom’s religious beliefs, and I even forgave you when you said nasty things about her after she got cancer and died – because that’s how she raised me.” She shook her head again. “I know you don’t care if I wind up homeless and jobless just so you can make some money off this property before washing your hands of it and me. But I’ve told you before, and I will tell you again: I am not going anywhere. I’m right where I belong – and while it goes against everything I hold sacred, don’t for one moment think I won’t curse you both before I give up.” She smiled. “Give that a moment to sink in.”
Savannah watched the shadow of fear chase across her sisters’ thin faces. Oh, yeah – they knew she had power. They had witnessed it as young girls, when she had called upon the spirits to get back at them after they had pushed her down the basement stairs and broke her arm. Savannah had been seven years old at the time, and she had watched her mother perform rituals asking for the punishment to fit the crime. In her pain and anguish, Savannah had pointed at her sisters and announced that they would pay for their cruelty. The next day, Tynice had fallen from the balance beam during her gymnastics routine and wound up shattering her ankle, thus ending her dream of becoming an Olympic competitor. Later that same afternoon, Ceara had been clipped by a city bus while crossing the street on her way home from school, resulting in a fractured jaw. Most people would have brushed it off as coincidence, but the two older girls had no doubt that their injuries had been the result of Savannah cursing them.
Savannah’s mother had scolded her when she had found out. You have to be careful, she had said. Our kind values all life. Anger can lead to destruction of life. When we ask the spirits to exact justice, we have to divorce our own personal feelings from the request. If we don’t, it will come back on us threefold. Once she had explained this, Savannah had been careful. Still, she found sometimes just the threat of a curse could be enough to get things accomplished.
“You know,” Ceara said, in a blatant but vain attempt to show she would not be intimidated even as she started to back away toward the door. “Maybe you should use those ‘powers’ of yours to conjure some winning lottery numbers. Then maybe you can buy us out.”
“Oh, but you know she won’t do that, Ceara,” Tynice said. She looked Savannah up and down, making no effort to hide her disdain. “You think you’re so high and mighty, so noble.” She let out a cold laugh. “Just because you call yourself a witch doesn’t make you any better than anyone else.”
“I never said I was better,” Savannah said, unflinching. She continued to meet her sister’s hard stare, calm in the face of her fury. “And I don’t just call myself a witch – I was born to it. It’s in my blood, going back to my mom’s Strega ancestors.” She rolled her shoulders. “Even if I could change it, you’d still hate me just the same.” She made a shooing motion with her fingers. “Now, why don’t you two just take yourselves on out of here, and let me finish closing up. I’ve got trash in the kitchen that needs to go out, too.” She smiled, content to let them decide if she had meant that as a double entendre.
“Come on, Tynice,” Ceara said with a petulant huff. “We’ve got to get downtown.”
“That’s right.” Tynice gave Savannah an icy smile. “Our husbands are waiting for us.” She could never resist an opportunity to make a petty dig at S
avannah’s solitary lifestyle, pointing out how she and Ceara had both married rich, powerful men after years of being sought after for their physical beauty alone. “Enjoy your evening with the dishwasher, little sister.”
Laughing, they left the restaurant. Savannah sighed and walked over to lock up behind them. She stood there for a moment, watching them climb into the back of an expensive, chauffeur-driven car. They had both done well for themselves after college – Tynice had pursued a career in law and local politics which led to her marriage to an Alderman, while Ceara chose to go into Marketing – and had worked hard to obtain their place in society. But they hated being reminded of their humble origins, that they had once lived above a greasy spoon of a restaurant run by their father. They didn’t really need the money they would get from selling this place to a developer. They just wanted to be rid of the embarrassment. As if they could erase that chapter of their lives with a wrecking ball. They had no respect for tradition, and no appreciation for how hard their father worked to give them everything they had ever wanted, always blaming himself for driving their mother away. Savannah’s mom had explained this to her once, when Savannah had asked why her two older sisters never seemed to show any gratitude, always demanding more. Some people feel like the world owes them, her mother had said. It’s like having a craving that you can’t name – so you eat and eat, but you still aren’t satisfied. People who feel entitled are always hungry because they never allow themselves to be happy with what they have. There will always be an emptiness inside them that they can’t fill. All you can do is feel sorry for them, because that’s no way to live.
“I do feel sorry for them,” Savannah murmured. She gave a soft snort of amusement and shook her head. “Even if they do come in here, putting me down, bringing all their negativity…damn. I am going to have to burn a lot of sage before my ritual tonight.”
Bonded to the Alpha Wolf: Paranormal Bad Boy Werewolf Interracial BBW BWWM Witch Romance Page 2
