Witch Wolf

by Winter Pennington

  Arthur swallowed, loudly. “You’re saying this is another werewolf?”

  “’Fraid so,” I said and then motioned for him to follow me as I moved farther to the right, pointing toward the base of the tree. There were five very deep, very distinct claw marks etched into the bark.

  “Shit,” he said loudly, getting to his feet. I watched as a bit of my coffee sloshed out of the cup.

  “Arthur, you’re wasting my coffee.” Not to mention contaminating the scene, I thought.

  “You want to hold it?” he asked.

  I held up my bloody fingers and wiggled them. “Can’t.”

  He paled again.

  I sighed, casting my gaze toward the creek. I took an unthinking breath through my nose and coughed as that horrible smell hit me again. Anyone that has smelled death will tell you, you never forget it. It clings to your hair, your skin, your clothing. The blood itself didn’t smell all that bad, but the feces, that made my stomach turn. I got to my feet, carefully stripping the gloves off, avoiding smearing the blood with years of practice.

  “Where’s the trash?”

  “It’s up on the porch.”

  I walked past Witkins and climbed the wooden steps to throw my gloves away. They were using a brown paper sack as a trash bag.

  “Well?” Witkins grumbled. “What does your little witch think, Kingfisher?”

  Arthur stood at my side and handed my cup of coffee back to me. I took a sip, grateful that the smell helped mask all of the other smells in the air.

  “Ask her,” he said.

  “You still think it’s a werewolf?” the deputy asked.

  “I don’t think it is, Witkins. I know it is.” I intentionally left off his title.

  “Hmph,” he grunted and walked away.

  I gave Arthur one of those what-the-fuck looks.

  He shrugged. “It’s your job to hold our hands and walk us through the preternatural stuff.”

  I stared at the deputy’s back and said, “It doesn’t really look like he wants to go for a walk, not through this. What the hell is his problem?”

  Arthur’s eyes sparkled. “He thinks you’re evil.”

  “You’re joking?” I asked.

  “Maybe. If he does, he might be right about y—”

  He oofed as I drove my elbow into his rib cage. I did it lightly, just enough to make him shut up.

  “What was that for?”

  “You don’t want to call me evil, Kingfisher.”

  His mouth split into a wide grin.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. The glare elicited a rumble of masculine laughter.

  “You know,” he said, “I’m glad you’re short. If you were taller that look might actually work on me.”

  I rolled my eyes and took another drink of coffee. “I need to question Mr. White,” I said, ignoring his amusement.

  He gestured toward the door. “He’s in there with two of our men.”

  “Your men,” I corrected him as I opened the screen door and stepped inside.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Two men in dark blue uniforms stood in the middle of the living room. A young man with white-blond hair was seated on the couch. He lifted his head when he heard the door open. When his eyes met mine, I saw that they were blue with striking gold around his pupils. His expression was unflinching as he watched me.

  “Carver White,” Arthur said, “this is Preternatural Private Investigator Lyall.”

  “I told you what I know,” Carver said in a deep voice. It was a voice that didn’t match the youthfulness of his appearance. Then again, neither did mine.

  “Mr. White,” I said, smiling as professionally as I could. Given the fact that they’d woken me at four in the morning, it probably wasn’t as professional as I hoped. “I have a few questions to ask you.”

  Carver stood from the couch, moving until there were only a few feet between us. He looked down at me. “I told you,” he said, voice deepening, “I’ve already told the cops everything I know.”

  The smell of pine and moist earth hit me like a brick to the face. I stepped back, but it was too late.

  Carver’s blue eyes widened as an unseen breeze of energy tickled the hairs on my arms.

  My heart gave a fierce thump that echoed through every pulse point in my body.

  Arthur moved forward and his hand hovered above the gun at his hip. “Stay on the couch, Mr. White,” he warned.

  Carver sat back down, but his gaze hadn’t left my face. “Fine,” he said, eyes flicking to Arthur. “If I have to talk again…I talk to her.”

  “Duh, boy,” one of the cops, an older man with white hair circling a shiny bald spot on his scalp said. “That’s kind of what the nice detective here is trying to get you to do.”

  Carver leaned back and smiled. “Alone,” he said.

  I let out the breath I’d been holding. Arthur asked the question with his eyes and I nodded.

  He and his men went to wait on the porch. They didn’t look happy about having to stand out in the cold.

  I placed one of the chairs from the kitchen opposite to Carver, and sat down.

  “So,” I tilted my head to the side, “out for a midnight snack?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t kill that woman.”

  “Under the circumstances, I find that terribly difficult to believe.”

  “I didn’t do it!” his voice took on the edge of a growl. “I don’t even know her!”

  I met his blue gaze. The sunny gold around his pupils expanded, fluctuating. He dug his hand into the arm of the couch hard enough that the wood creaked.

  I leaned forward and hissed, “I don’t believe you.”

  A deep bass growl trickled from between his lips. “I…did…not…kill…her.”

  His chest was rising and falling too fast. He was angry, and that’s not a good thing when you’re a lycanthrope trying to stay in control. I wondered how bad Carver’s temper was. Should I push him? Should I wait for him to lose control and shift all over the place? Then let the cops cuff him and stuff him? The problem was, if I did that, I knew without a doubt he’d out me.

  He had to be the killer. It was his land. He was a werewolf. Gods, he was sloppy, but it made perfect fucking sense. He’d lost control.

  I stood from my chair, pacing. “What happened, Carver?” My gaze flicked to him. I heard the wood pop again. “What did you do? Did you invite her back to your place? Bring her home for a nightcap and decide to munch on her?” My eyebrows went up.

  Carver growled and said, “No.”

  I went to stand over him, leaning my face close. “What was it, Carver? The smell of her sweat?” I whispered. “Or the knowledge of hot blood pumping through her veins like sticky syrup? What made you lose control?”

  Carver screamed. His hands hit my shoulders as he rushed me, shoving me across the room. My back hit the wall and the trailer shook with the impact.

  “I didn’t fucking kill her,” he growled in my face.

  “Liar,” I hissed, waiting for him to hit me, waiting for his temper to finally erupt.

  Carver backed up, curling his hands into fists. His entire body shook. The energy of his beast made the air seem thicker.

  I felt the wolf stir in answer to that power and a warning growl started low in my throat.

  The front door clattered open, cutting off my growl.

  Arthur yelled, “Hands on your fucking head, now!”

  Carver glared at him, and then slowly, ever so slowly, put his hands on his head.

  He turned that light blue and gold gaze to me and I watched as his breathing steadied.

  “What happened, Kass?”

  “I pissed Mr. White off,” I said, getting up from the floor. Carver hadn’t put all of his strength into rushing me. If he had, I knew for a fact I’d be sitting ass first in the grass outside of the trailer, with a little hole left behind in the wall, like in one of those children’s cartoons.

 
Carver stared at me as if he thought he could burn a hole through me.

  “Go back out, Arthur,” I said. “I think Mr. White will keep his temper under control now, won’t you?”

  Carver said one word. “Yes.”

  “Are you sure, Kass?”

  “I’m sure. If I need your help, trust me, Arthur, I’ll scream.”

  “Don’t scream,” Arthur said, “just shoot the bastard.”

  I smiled darkly and turned that smile to Carver. “There is that,” I said.

  The trouble was, Carver had already caught me off guard once. He’d been so fast I hadn’t had time to go for my gun. There was no way I going to match him in strength around the cops. I wouldn’t risk exposure.

  Arthur holstered his gun. A moment later, I heard the door click shut behind him.

  “They don’t know you’re one of us, do they?” This time, it was Carver who smiled darkly.

  “That’s none of your business,” I said. “Sit down.”

  Carver sat and smiled at me like a happy four-year-old who’d finally managed to find the stash of hidden lollipops.

  “I’ll tell them,” he growled. “If you arrest me, I’ll take you down.”

  I let the coldness I felt seep into my eyes and said, “I know.”

  Carver frowned.

  I went to the kitchen, retrieving my neglected coffee. “Which is why I am going to tell you something that I rarely tell people, Carver.”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Go to hell.”

  I went to the door. I couldn’t arrest him. If I arrested him now, in front of the cops, he was going to spill my beans. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

  Then again, I’m a licensed paranormal huntress and a preternatural investigator. Arresting isn’t what we do.

  We dig for facts. We hunt and execute.

  Carver White had just made it to the top of my shit list.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I woke out of a dreamless sleep wondering why. Someone was touching my hair. The realization hit me with a rush of fear, and I rolled out of the bed in a fluid motion that had nothing to do with human grace. The pads of my feet landed on the floor with a soft thud and I looked up into Rosalin’s honey-colored eyes.

  Her hand stopped in mid-motion and she let it fall into her lap. “You’re cute when you’re asleep,” she said and curled her legs up under her body. She leaned back against my pillows.

  “Why did you wake me up?” I asked, sounding grumpy.

  “Lenorre called. She wants you to meet with her tonight. She has a reservation at Francesca’s.”

  I just looked at her. Francesca’s was an Italian restaurant in the city. It was by reservation only, and they usually put a person on a weeklong waiting list. I’d been there only once and that was for a friend’s birthday party. I never knew food could be so expensive. It was classy as all get-out…fine dining for the best dressed and the richest. I couldn’t believe what Rosalin was telling me.

  “You look shocked,” she said. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  “I would say no, that I think you’re joking, but I’m afraid you’re not.”

  “Lykos’s honor.” She grinned. “She wants you to meet her there at seven.” Rosalin crawled out of bed and headed for the door. She stopped in the doorway, turning to look at me. “You’ll want to wear something nice.”

  “What if I don’t go?” I asked.

  “Trust me, Kassandra. You don’t want to test her kindness.” The look in her eyes was very serious. I nodded. Surely, I could find something nice?

  I looked at the clock. I’d slept through the entire day. The red numbers glowed brightly in the dim lighting. It was six o’clock.

  “You’re fucking kidding me!” I hissed at it. I had less than an hour to get ready. I still had to take a shower, find something to wear, and get there. I took the dress that I’d worn once to a witch’s ball off a hanger. It was one of the few expensive outfits I own.

  I grabbed everything I needed, trying to hurry.

  Rosalin peeked around the corner of the door. “By the way,” she said, “where’d you go last night?”

  I’d gotten home just as the sun was rising. The note had still been on the coffee table. I’d thrown it away, thinking that she’d slept through the whole thing.

  “Police business.”

  She nodded, turning to go.

  “Rosalin,” I said, catching her attention. She paused.

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you happen to know a wolf named Carver White?”

  Her eyes widened. “Why? Was there another murder? Do you suspect him?”

  “Answer my question first,” I said, “and then I’ll answer yours.”

  “Yes,” she said, leaning against the door frame. “I know him.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “He’s the pack’s gamma.”

  “Gamma?”

  “Alpha, beta, gamma, delta, epsilon…”

  “Ah,” I said, “the whole pack is based on the Greek alphabetic numerals?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, he’s third?” I asked. “Just below you?”

  She gave me a look. “I keep telling you more than I should,” she said. “I can’t tell you any more than that, Kassandra. Besides, you never answered my questions.”

  “Yes,” I said, “there’s been another murder.”

  “Do you suspect him?”

  I wanted to tell her, yes, I did, but I didn’t know how much to tell her, so I decided not to give her a yes or no answer.

  “I don’t know. What do you know about him?”

  She looked thoughtful. “He’s a nice guy,” she said, “but he’s got a horrible temper.”

  I hadn’t noticed. “How horrible? Horrible enough that he’d kill someone?”

  Rosalin shook her head. “Honestly,” she said, “I don’t know.”

  “Rosalin, you can’t tell anyone in your pack about this conversation.” I walked toward her, giving her a hard look. “Give me your oath that you won’t.”

  She laughed. “God, first Lenorre makes me give her my oath, now you. I’m beginning to feel like no one trusts me,” she said.

  Strangely, I did trust Rosalin, but for the life of me I couldn’t tell you why. There were some people in my life that I’d met and trusted on an instinctual level. It happened very rarely, but Rosalin was one of those people. Being a witch could come in handy when trying to figure out if someone was likely to try and kill you. Lenorre I wasn’t so sure about. Oh, I trusted that she would help me. I just didn’t trust her motives for helping me.

  “Rosalin,” I said.

  “You have my oath, Kassandra. You have the oath of the beta of the Blackthorne Pack. I will not tell anyone in the pack what you have told me here.”

  “Give me your oath that you won’t tell anyone,” I said, “period.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  She gave me a look. “If Lenorre asks me then I am bound by my previous oath to her. I am not an oath breaker, Kassandra.”

  “Fine,” I said, “but no one else. Promise?”

  “I do so swear.”

  “Good,” I said. “If you do, Rosalin, there will be hell to pay. I promise you that.”

  “Are you threatening me?” she asked, blinking.

  “No,” I said, “I’m simply stating fact.”

  *

  The dress was a nice combination of medieval gothic and modern Goth fashion. The corseted bodice was lined with red trim. The same bright red material peeked through the lace that crisscrossed up the front of my torso. Two thin black straps were more for style, as the dress was tight enough it would’ve clung to my body without them. The off-shoulder sleeves looked like a splash of blood against my very pale skin. The rest of the dress flowed gracefully to my feet.

  I knew it was inevitable that I was going to be late. If Lenorre hadn’t made the reservations at Francesca’s it probably would’ve bee
n a different story. She had, and that meant that unless I wanted to stick out like a sore thumb, I had to look my best. It took two hours minimum to look my best.

  I leaned over the counter by the sink and applied the kohl to my eyes. A light coating of black shadow added dramatic effect. The gray eye shadow in the crease made them smoky, and white beneath my brows made them stand out. I’m not one of those women who wear makeup like icing on a cake. Makeup is supposed to enhance, not cover. I put on mascara and brushed the ivory powder across my face, smoothing it out with the palms of my hands. A little bit of sparkling clear lip gloss and I was done.

  I went to the closet door at the end of the hallway, pulling out a trench coat that matched the outfit. The trench was unmistakably feminine. The back of the coat cinched at the waist. The hood of the coat was lined in faux fur, as were the sleeves. I put it on and buckled the front straps.

  “Meow.” It was Rosalin’s voice.

  I spared a glance at her, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Aren’t you portraying the wrong animal?” I asked with a hint of sarcasm to my tone.

  “Would you prefer I bark? I’ll bark if that’s what you want.”

  She was still wearing the shirt I’d loaned her. I watched as her hips swayed. The muscles worked beneath her skin as she came to me. I froze with my hands hovering over the last buckle and closed my eyes, listening as she stopped in front of me. With a gentle touch she lifted the white streak of my hair. It slid through her fingers before falling back into place.

  Her breath was warm against my lips. “You look beautiful.”

  I opened my eyes to argue with her when she leaned in. My entire body went rigid a second before her lips brushed my cheek.

  “Have a wonderful evening,” she said with a light in her eyes. She’d meant for me to think she was going to kiss me.

  I grabbed the keys and put my cell phone in the pocket of my coat. There’s one problem with wearing a dress, and that is there’s usually no room for concealed weapons. I left my guns and knives at home and prayed to the Morrigan I wouldn’t regret it. I stopped with my fingers hovering above the doorknob.