Book 2 Not his Werewolf

by Annie Nicholas

  “This is what I call our living room. A lot of the castle has fallen to disrepair over the decades and this is one of the few intact rooms.” She pointed at the glass windows set in the stone walls. “It's where we spend most of our time as humans.” She flopped onto a couch.

  Betty sat across from her. “So how did you shift?” The suspense was killing her. Did she have the solution to Betty’s problem?

  “After years of trying to figure out what I was, Eoin discovered I had a spell blocking my magic. That's why I never shifted. I wish I could get refunded all the money I spent on shifting lessons.” Angie sighed and hugged a decorative pillow to her stomach. “I used every dime I had to find my place in the world. At least until I opened Scratch Your Itch. That’s where I belong. Not some obscure clan.”

  “A spell?” Betty leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. Magic users existed, but like vampires, they lived very secretive lives. She’d heard of places where a person could purchase love spells or charms, but more times than not they didn't work. Her mother had warned her that real magic came with a price. She didn't mean the kind that had dollar signs either. Magic wanted precious things like life. “Why the fuck would someone put a spell on you to stop you from shifting? Pardon my French.”

  Angie snorted. “I spent a lot of time growing up on the streets. Swearing is just punctuation as far as I'm concerned.” Her smile turned sad. “It's a long story. Let's just say they did it out of love, not malice. So, I can't be angry. Well… Not much.”

  “I don't think anyone’s used magic on me. My parents and old pack turned themselves inside out trying to help me shift. Someone would have a sensed a spell and I don't have enemies who hate me enough to curse me or anything.” But maybe there was a spell she could buy that would help her trigger the shift instead of preventing her. Like the opposite of what Angie had. She wasn’t crazy about using magic, but she was desperate enough to at least consider it.

  “List all the things you've tried so I don't waste our time replicating things that didn’t work.”

  Betty went over the endless exercises and their variations.

  “Meditating with monks. Never heard of that one.” Angie chewed her bottom lip, looking lost in thought.

  “It was the longest week of my life.” The monastery had been quiet and boring, but boy, could those monks cook. They made the simplest of meals taste heavenly.

  Angie set the decorative pillow aside and leaned forward. “How far are you willing to go?”

  Betty’s heart thundered. That was the million-dollar question. She focused inward. If she didn’t learn how to change shape, the packs would either chase her away from Ken or kill her. She wasn’t stupid. Pack law was so firm she could bounce a quarter off it. Soulmates were always shifters and here was Ken, beta of a powerful pack, publicly claiming her after her pack declared her human. If the packs let this slide, other half-breeds would demand similar treatment. A line had been drawn long ago as to who was considered shifter and Ken had shoved her over it.

  They would probably let her live if she denied his claim. If she left him. A future without Ken was unthinkable though. She’d never accept another man in her life. Not after meeting her soulmate. She’d grow old all by herself.

  “Death. That’s how far I’d go. Until I die.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Angie gave Betty a slow blink. “Hey there, psycho. Good thing I'm not willing to go that far.” She grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Ken won't let you go, you know that right? He spent the last three years hunting for you.”

  Betty raised her eyebrows. Finding her soulmate hadn’t been on her to-do list. Especially when she had to leave her home and start fresh in New Port. Finding her next meal had seemed more important.

  With a snort, Angie shook her head. “Once he figured out none of the females in the New Port pack matched, he went to every multi-pack shifter event he found. Here you were right under his nose the whole time, thinking you were human.”

  “It's a miracle we met.” She swallowed with a throat gone dry. How many shifters never found their special someone? The stars and planets had to align in just the right way for soulmates paths to cross. What if Ken hadn’t taken his dogs for a midnight run? Who the hell runs at midnight? What if Trixie hadn’t been trigger happy?

  The whole thing smelled like fate.

  Angie thought death too high a price to pay for the ability to shift into a werewolf, but Betty had found the perfect mate. She planned on keeping him. Every moment together, every touch, just proved how much she wanted him. No pack would ever accept him if she couldn't shift, and she never wanted him to suffer as a lone wolf.

  She rose to her feet, pulling Angie up onto hers. “Where do we begin?”

  “None of the fluffy, feel-good triggers have worked for you.” Angie cracked her fingers. “There’s an extreme thing we can try that packs won’t do.”

  “Oh?” Betty pressed her hand to her chest, trying to steady the beat. “Why?”

  “Too many deaths.” Angie's stare pinned hers. “You have to swear not to tell Ken or Eoin. They'll both get pissed.”

  “Is that why you asked to be alone?” She could do this. No matter how scary Angie was making it sound. Betty came from a long line of werewolves. Courage ran in her veins.

  “Smart girl.”

  “Let's do this.” Betty wrung her trembling hands. What was so extreme that shifters banned it? They tended to be a tough species. Kind of hard to kill.

  Angie took a deep breath and then slapped Betty across the face.

  Her vision blurred as it went from staring at Angie to looking at the fireplace. Her body had twisted with the force. The sting spread to her gums. She tongued her teeth, checking if any were missing. “Motherfucker, what was that for?”

  “The fight or flight response can trigger a shift.” Angie bounced on her feet, shaking out her hands as if preparing to box.

  “I've been struck before, Angie. This is what shifters ban? They hit each other all the time!”

  Angie slapped her other cheek.

  This time Betty tasted blood. “Wait…” She held up her hands to block another strike.

  “I was told the trigger responds once the shifter to-be is at death’s door.” Angie shoved Betty’s hands aside and punched her in the nose.

  She stumbled backwards, tripping over the couch and landing on her butt. Clapping her hands over her face, Betty bit back her tears. Would Angie’s Eoin eat her if she kicked Angie’s ass? It was worth the risk.

  The dragon rubbed her hands. “Shifters don't strike children and females.” She strode toward her. “For Ken, I don’t have a problem beating the shit out of you if you shift.”

  Betty crab walked away. What if she didn’t shift? She had said she was willing to die. That had sounded like a sound idea a few seconds ago, but the blood trickling from her nose was changing her mind.

  Angie still marched forward as Betty’s back hit the wall. Her foot landed close to Betty’s and she kicked out, sweeping Angie’s feet from under her. The dragon sprawled to the side, knocking a bureau onto its side.

  Something squeaked and scurried across Angie’s legs.

  She screamed.

  Betty’s ears rang from the dragon sized noise and she sat up in time to see a family of rats rush under the furniture. Like a circus performer, Betty leaped onto a coffee table across the room.

  Angie kicked the stone wall with her dragon might and a flood of rodents flowed out. Her eyes widened so much Betty could see her soul. With a soundless look of horror, Angie changed to her dragon form in a flutter of torn clothes and dragon feathers.

  It wasn't one of those smooth, fluid changes she'd seen many practiced shifters execute. Angie’s skin flashed to scales and feathers so she looked like a mutant dinosaur angel, then her teeth and claws grew before the rest of her body shifted.

  Betty’s jaw dropped open and she flinched at the residual pain from being struck. Where was her camera phone w
hen she needed it? No one would believe her.

  Angie’s silent scream turned into a roar until flames poured from her snout. The bureau and the lamp turned to ash.

  Betty dropped her hand over her swollen lips, ignoring the sharp pain. She been standing there a few seconds ago.

  The dragon jumped onto the couch in full huge beast form and it shattered to kindling. Little wooden projectiles struck Betty. She’d be picking splinters out of her flesh for the next month. Sentience was nowhere to be seen in Angie’s eyes as they daggered in the rats’ direction. Angie’s tail whipped Betty off her feet.

  She fell, in what seemed like slow motion, where she could see her feet in the air before landing on her back. Not fun. The air was knocked out of Betty’s lungs and she fought to breathe until they remembered how they worked. She rolled over, landing on her hands and knees. The coffee table had miraculously survived the impact. Betty crawled for the exit as fast as she could while Angie lost her shit.

  Once out of the room, she pressed her back to the stone wall. Not a rat to be seen. They had the right idea. Until Angie pulled herself together, Betty would hide. Barbecued was not the look she wanted to wear to her soulmating ceremony.

  Angie backed into the window. Shattered glass tinkled down the exterior of the stone castle. This sent her into another spit fire roar.

  Seriously, how did she not singe her own feathers?

  Betty ran down the hall and took the stairs. She couldn't recall how many flights they had climbed but she kept descending. At the bottom, she continued running, glancing over her shoulder for any sign of pursuit.

  A thick wooden, iron studded door broke her stride. She stumbled back, the shockwave making her bones ache.

  She groaned. The silver lining? She’d been looking over her shoulder, so her throbbing nose escaped being squished again. She took note of the low ceiling and dank smell. She must be in the basement instead of the ground floor.

  “Hello?” asked a thickly accented voice on the other side of the door. Metal scraped on stone. “Who is that?”

  Her traitorous feet rooted to the floor. “Eoin?” She’d never heard him speak. Was he Russian?

  “No.” The noise stopped. “My name is Victor. Come in where I can see you, little thief.” His voice caressed her like silk. “I have been so lonely.”

  She cracked the door open.

  A bare-chested man stood in the center of the stone room. His hands were behind his back. Skin so pale, he appeared painted in the moonlight. Black hair flowed over his shoulders so straight and shiny it gave the illusion of liquid.

  “Hi,” she whispered. “I'm not a thief. I'm Angie's friend.”

  “I can barely hear you. Come closer. Do you have a name, Angie's friend?”

  All her danger signals went off but her feet moved forward. As she approached, she noted handwritten names tattooed all over his torso like lists. “Betty Newman.”

  “A pleasure to meet you.” He took her hand and raised it to his full bloodless lips. The kiss lingered on her skin just long enough to make her uncomfortable. His gaze traveled over her tattoos and he jerked her against him. “Who is your artist?” He twisted her left arm and examined the details of one of the designs. With a fingertip, he traced the symbols that flowed one into the other around her biceps. “This is wrong.”

  “She’s in Riverbend.” Betty noticed the thick manacles around his wrists. Two separate massive chains linked them to the stone wall. What kind of kink were the dragons into?

  “Are you my meal? A test to see if I’m sane yet?” He pulled her closer, his strength unnatural.

  She tried to yank free. “No.” Then she spotted the tip of his fangs pressed to his bottom lip. A chained vampire in a dragon’s basement. What the fuck? “You need to let me go. Angie is expecting me. She’ll be angry if you hurt me.”

  He gripped her upper arms. “You're bleeding.” He licked the corner of her mouth.

  So much for not dying. Out of the dragon’s fire and into the vampire’s clutches.

  “I'm not fond of shifters.” He grimaced. “You have a gamey taste.”

  “I'm not food. I came down here by accident.” Had he just said she tasted like shifter?

  “There are no accidents, Betty.” The vampire wrapped her in a constricting hug. “I have impulse control issues and I need a snack. Just a little more.”

  Eoin slammed the brakes of Ken’s sports car and screeched it into park by his castle.

  Ken’s chest strained against his seatbelt before he snapped back.

  The dragon ran his hands possessively over his steering wheel. “Thanks for letting me drive her. I've been thinking about purchasing one.”

  Ken had offered Eoin a ride home when he’d spotted him exiting the local art studio across the street from the coffee shop. Somehow the dragon had managed to talk him into taking over the steering wheel of Ken’s baby. “She's not for sale.”

  “Everything is for sale. It's just finding the right price.”

  “No.” Ken undid his restraint and climbed out of the car. Halting, he rubbed his eyes to clear his vision. Nope, he saw correctly. “Why is your mate's ass hanging out of the window?” He wasn’t supposed to come here while Angie trained Betty, but she could bite him. He wanted to spend time with Betty.

  Eoin climbed out of the car, stroking his hand absentmindedly over the hood while staring up at the white dragon’s tail. “I'm not sure but it’s a fine view.”

  “Don't you think you should change and help her?”

  “Yes, but is she trying to get in the castle or out?” Eoin had a point.

  Then Angie roared. Flames reflected on the intact windows.

  Ken’s heart stopped. Betty was in there. He shoved Eoin out of his way and kicked their front door open. He hadn't been here before but followed Betty’s scent to a set of stairs. He paused, the smells confusing.

  She had crossed the area twice and the freshest scent went to the basement. Betty hadn't been in the room with the blast of fire, but he smelled blood. It was faint, but his mate was hurt.

  He stormed down, taking the stairs two at a time.

  At the bottom, he found an open wooden door. Hushed voices carried from the room. Inside, he found Betty in the arms of another man as he licked her face.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Knuckles white, Betty used every ounce of her strength to escape the vampire’s grasp. “You said you don't like the taste of shifters.” She gasped between words, losing the struggle.

  The vampire’s hold didn’t budge. It was like he was made of steel. He inched closer, a teasing smile tugged at his lips. “Beggars can't be choosers.”

  Betty had met other vampires before. None this aggressive or blood thirsty.

  She didn't get a chance to respond. A furry arm shot over her shoulder, thick with muscles and fingers tipped with claws. It gripped the vampire by the throat. Her assailant shuddered from the impact. She jerked in surprise and twisted to look over her shoulder.

  Ken had shifted. Shreds of his outfit still clung to his shoulders and hips. He was the most wonderful thing she’d ever seen.

  “Let her go or I rip your head off.”

  His gravelly voice was also the scariest thing she’d ever heard. So far Betty had only known Ken as her mate. This was the beta of New Port Pack.

  Her mate shoved her behind him and stepped kissing close to the vampire. “You dare lick my mate?” Spit flew from his sharp toothed muzzle and dark blood trickled from where claws pierced the vampire’s skin.

  She grimaced at the acrid smell and rubbed her sore upper arms, the pain blending with the throbbing ache in her face. What a bride she’d be, covered in bruises and cuts. She sobbed and laughed at the same time. What if her nose was broken and crooked? She didn’t heal as fast as full blooded shifters. The injuries would need time to fade.

  Ken glanced at her, his eyes narrowing at her injured face. His body seemed to grow bigger as he loomed over both her and the vampire. The musc
les in his neck corded and he turned back to the vampire with a snarl. “I’m going to eat you slowly.”

  She gagged. “No you’re not.” Shifters didn’t eat people. They left that to the vampires. Though she wasn’t sure if she considered Victor a person by the way he was acting, she’d give him the benefit of the doubt.

  Thundering steps descended the stairs. “Victor!” Eoin swept into the room, followed by Angie back in her human form, an old tattered robe wrapped around her body, the hem dragging on the floor.

  The dark dragon came to a sudden stop. His gaze scanned everyone in the room and he ran his hand over his shaved head, lips pressed together.

  If anyone was going to eat anyone, he stood two feet from her and could barbeque all three of them in one breath.

  “Betty Newman.” She held up her hand as a reflex, heart in throat and a prayer on the tip of her tongue. “Dog rescuer.”

  Eoin blinked and shook her hand. “Eoin Grant, scourge of New Port.”

  Angie looked past Eoin, eyebrows furrowed as her gaze traced the chains from Victor’s wrists. “Why is there a man chained in our basement?”

  “Vampire,” Betty clarified.

  Eoin shot her a warning glare before addressing Ken. “Don't kill him. Victor’s not sane. He can’t be held accountable for his actions.”

  The vampire threw his head back laughing. The sound haunted and sad.

  Ken tossed Victor against the far wall. The vampire’s feet never touched the ground. He puddled to the floor, still laughing.

  She shuddered and stepped closer to Ken. She hoped to never see Victor again.

  “He hurt her.” Ken scooped Betty in his arms and knocked Eoin out of his way. “That’s the last time I trust you, Angie.”

  “Victor,” the black dragon hissed behind them. “What am I going to do with you?”

  Angie blocked the stairs. “Actually, that was me. I hurt her.”

  Betty could've heard a pin drop in the sudden quiet.

  Even Victor quit his manic laughing. “This should be good.” The vampire rose, untangling the chains from his legs.