by Michele Hauf
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
He touched her wrist. “It’s important to me. I want to learn about you, Blyss.”
“Why? We don’t have a future together. Haven’t you figured that out yet?” Why had she said that? Her cruelties would push him away. And yet, cruelties were a part of the mask that protected her from heartbreak.
“I know our future isn’t bright,” he offered. “But I like you. And I’m here right now, for good or for ill, trying to help you out. Will you at least talk to me?”
She nodded. Because moments ago she had been grasping for the fantasy at Stryke’s side. Could she risk the heartbreak? It could be worth it, if only to have these few wondrous days with the most amazing man she had ever known.
“I used to go to a public school,” she said softly. Fine. The final bits of her truth must be revealed. Her mask cracked and fell away.
“Ah.” Stryke nodded knowingly.
“It was during my sophomore year. That awkward time for teenagers.”
It was difficult enough to go through puberty and gain the need to shift and heightened senses, and hell, the desire to howl at odd moments. But to do it in a public school, surrounded by humans who sought any little oddity to tease? Why hadn’t her mother warned her? Or even allowed her to complete her schooling at home?
“Did you ever see that movie Carrie?” Blyss asked. “It was sort of like that. Only my first shift came on me during an outdoor track event. I began to shift and raced into the nearby woods. The wolf came upon me so fast, my clothes tearing and falling away. And, as you know, you shift right back from were form and are left there naked and stunned by what just happened. I was found by a group of mean girls. They hadn’t seen the shift, but finding me naked without an explanation? I can’t even talk about it.”
He clasped her hand, and she melted against his shoulder, sniffling back tears. To show such emotion in a public restaurant was unthinkable, but she couldn’t stop the tears that needed release. And, thankfully, she felt safe with Stryke holding her hand.
“I know it’s stupid,” she started.
“It’s not stupid. Your pack should have prepared you for the first shift. Your...mother?”
“She’s always been self-possessed. And my brother was much older than me. He’d been out of school for years. He’s an Enforcer.”
“What’s that?”
“Sort of a werewolf cop. We police our own here in Europe. Kirnan is one of the highest-ranked wolves in pack Valoir under the principal and the scion.”
“You’re proud of him.”
“I am. I wish we could be closer. But I struggled with my wolf so much after that first shift. I wanted out of it all as soon as I could make it happen.”
“When did you leave your pack?”
“When I was seventeen. A vampire in school befriended me. We weren’t like besties, but he was kind and told me about some girls who went clubbing at the elite clubs and were able to...” She sighed.
There was a limit to removing the mask. She didn’t want to tell Stryke all the things she had done in order to survive on her own. All that mattered to her now was what happened to her moving from this day forward. Desperation had gotten her to this point. She didn’t want it to continue.
“Are you happy?” he asked.
She tilted a look up at him. His deep brown eyes gentled her anxiety. And yet... “I’m not sure what happiness feels like.”
The confession gripped at her heart. No one should ever have to confess such a thing. And yet it was her truth. Her deepest, darkest truth.
“Being with you makes me happier than I’ve been in a long time,” she whispered. “But I’ve already gone and spoiled my chances of us ever having a trusting relationship.”
“And I am a wolf. Not your favorite kind of guy.”
She smiled through tears. “I’ve never actually given a wolf a chance. You seem pretty cool to me. Not half as hairy as I’d expect.”
“Wait until you see me wolfed out. Which probably won’t happen. Because the glamour girl keeps away from all that mess. The full moon is in a few days. Don’t you need your pills? What will happen if you don’t get them?”
“I’ll shift. I do it once a year, as I’ve explained. I hate it. It’s so messy.”
“If messy is the worst complaint you’ve got about the shift then maybe you just need to learn to let your hair down and...”
Stryke’s phone rang. He didn’t want to take the call—it would be rude, he gestured—but Blyss encouraged him to dismiss himself to the lobby. It could be important. Promising he’d be right back, he headed out of the restaurant.
* * *
“Vail? Sorry, I’m out with Blyss at some fancy restaurant. What’s up?”
“I found a witch who might have some information on the demonic ritual that’s required to release Le Diabolique. I figured if you knew what you were dealing with you might be able to stop it before it happens.”
“Works for me.”
Vail gave him the witch’s address and said she expected him tonight. She said he’d know the house when he arrived; it was the only octagon-shaped house in the city.
When he returned, he discovered the food had arrived at their table. Maybe. Was that tiny medallion of dark stuff on his plate the food? And there were three peas artfully arranged around it in a dash of red stuff.
“Filet mignon,” Blyss offered. Her salad looked much more filling, but Stryke nodded politely and sat.
He wasn’t sure if he should cut the thing or swallow it whole, but to be polite, he made nice by cutting it in six small pieces. The peas barely topped off the meat in his stomach.
By the time the bill arrived and he handed the waiter his credit card, he was praying she wouldn’t hear his stomach growl.
Blyss leaned over and kissed him. “Not full?”
“Well, uh...”
“Please. That wouldn’t have filled a baby, let alone a strapping man like you.”
“I’m good.” For about five minutes, he figured. “That was Vail on the phone. Want to visit a witch?”
“I wouldn’t place it on my top-ten list of fun things to do, but sure. Why not?”
Chapter 13
The witch’s house was indeed an octagon. Eight white walls, capped by a turret-like roof and red slate tiles. The yard was larger than most in the neighborhood and was filled to the edges with lush green plants, trees and shrubs so abundant they looked as if they belonged in a tropical climate.
Stryke pushed open the creaky iron gate and someone popped up from behind a shrub. A tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and a keen stare. He wore a leather apron filled with gardening tools wrapped round his hips, and chain-mail gloves clasped a particularly nasty strand of thorned vine.
“Who are you?” the man insisted, eyeing both Stryke and Blyss with a pit-bull sneer.
“We’re here to see Libertie St. Charles.”
“It’s rather late for a social call.”
“I called earlier,” Stryke offered.
“Ah yes. You the werewolf with the demon problem?”
Stryke nodded. He didn’t sense the man was anything but mortal, but he could feel strength resonate from his body. He decided then and there that he’d be an equal match to him should the need to go head-to-head arise.
He was thinking like Trouble. Always assessing the possible competition. Just be cool, he coached inwardly.
“Go ahead, then.” The gardener stepped forward happily. “I’m Reichardt, Libby’s boyfriend. She’s inside making cookies. Be sure you do not leave without sampling a cookie.”
“Thank you,” Blyss said as they wandered down a mossy stone path to the front door.
Twilight painted a beam of setting sunlight across the path. Stryke wasn’t a fanciful sort, but he thought he saw a twinkle skitter amid the tall blades of emerald grass. Nah. Couldn’t be. Maybe?
The red front door magically opened inward when they’d breached the top step.
Stryke and Blyss exchanged glances.
From within the house, a woman called out, “Come in! I’m in the kitchen.”
Blyss clasped his hand and they wandered beneath a massive crystal chandelier in the center of the living room. He bent to kiss her and whispered, “It’s going to be okay.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, but he sensed a catch to her voice.
She was nervous. And he was, too. Not about talking to a witch, but rather, could he actually help Blyss? Was he promising her something he couldn’t deliver? He wasn’t sure how to track Le Diabolique now that the trail had gone cold. He hoped the witch had an idea.
Through swinging white doors, they entered a cheery, vast kitchen that smelled of melted chocolate and brown sugar. A woman wearing a curve-hugging purple dress and a white-and-pink polka-dot apron stood up from closing the stove and turned with a wide smile on her face, which was framed by red hair.
“You must be Stryke Saint-Pierre,” she said, offering her hand to shake. “Mmm, firm grip. Definitely werewolf.”
“And this is Blyss Sauveterre,” he introduced his anxious partner.
The women shook hands. “Your hair is gorgeous,” Blyss offered. “So vibrant.”
“Thanks. It’s natural. As is everything else,” she said with a slide of hand over her ample hip. “I’m not getting a read on you, though, sweetie. Werewolf?”
Blyss nodded.
Libby leaned closer to Blyss as if to peer into a child’s eyes. “You sure, sweetie?”
“I, uh, take pills to suppress my wolf.”
“Ah.” Libby righted. “That explains it. No judgments here.”
Yet she did slide her eyes down Blyss’s figure in an assessment that Stryke felt was more judging than she would admit.
“So, you two are wondering about the Diabolique diamond and the spell to remove the demon from within? Who would want to release that nasty demon? I mean, seriously? You know the demon’s name? Xyloda. Sounds like some kind of prescription drug that’ll screw you up big-time. Ha!”
“We would like to keep the demon inside the stone,” Stryke said. “But most important, we need to find the stolen diamond and...” Then he’d hand it over to Blyss and let her do as she wished with it.
But would that make him responsible for unleashing untold evil if Blyss handed the stone to Edamite Thrash and he then released the demon within? Stryke could not live with that.
Now was no time to state his doubts. First, they had to actually find the missing diamond.
“Come with me,” Libby directed, taking off the apron and hanging it on a hook near the door. “I’ve found the spell already.”
She led them into another clean, bright white room. It was some sort of study or lab, and the table stretching in the middle was glossy and high-tech. It was lit by halogen lights from beneath the glass surface of the table. As well, the cupboards hugging the room were glass and lit with bright white light.
“The spell room,” Libby offered. “My sister Vika designed it. She’s into ultraclean high-tech stuff. I prefer a little less order to my things, but I haven’t gotten around to making it less sterile, if you will. Been spending most of my time with Reichardt. He used to be a soul bringer, but now he’s completely mortal and learning all about the world. He loves to garden.”
“Isn’t a soul bringer an angel?” Stryke asked.
“Yep. Used to be, anyway, until he took his earthbound soul. I gave it to him. Held his halo above his head and—bam! Mortal. So. You two a couple?”
“Yes,” Blyss offered, while at the same time Stryke wasn’t sure how to answer.
He glanced at Blyss. She smiled up at him. He took her hand and kissed it. “Yes,” he said. “We are.”
At least until she got what she wanted.
Which he was oddly okay with. He wanted her to be safe and to have the life she desired. And if that meant not being a werewolf? He’d hand over the diamond and kiss her goodbye. Remember his adventure in Paris forever. And lament a lover lost. On to the next story.
Right?
He met Libby’s green gaze and sensed she understood what he was thinking. Could she read his doubt?
“So the weird thing is...” Libby pulled a white linen cloth away from a large, ancient book that sat on the center of the white table. “...we happened to have a demonic grimoire in the library. Not sure how or why. My sisters and I only practice light magic. Demonic magic is very dark. Malefic, even. We leave that stuff for Vika’s man, Certainly Jones. He’s a dark witch, but the world needs dark magic to balance the light, you know?”
Stryke had no clue about magic and how it worked or what the various forms were. He did know Desiderial Merovech, who lived back home, an ancient witch who was the keeper of the Book of All Spells, an actual grimoire that contained all magic spells ever written or cast. It was constantly, and magically, updating itself. Creepy, but kind of cool. And she had saved his life when he’d been nicked by a hunter’s silver-tipped arrow. As well, she had helped Blade recover from a torture so heinous his brother had been forever scarred by it.
So magic was cool, in his opinion.
“This is it.” Libby pushed the book forward. Stryke and Blyss stood on the opposite side of the table. Both leaned forward to look over the old paper with dark writing scribbled across the page. “Don’t get too close,” she warned. “The magic will sense your innocence.”
“I don’t think I have to worry about that,” Stryke joked.
“There are degrees of innocence,” the witch stated seriously. “You are innocent of all malefic magic. At least, I hope you are.”
“Right.” Stryke stepped back a pace along with Blyss. “What does it say?”
“Is it written in Latin?” Blyss asked.
“Yes. It details the spell, and how when all the blood sacrifices have been made, then they must be added to the stone to release the demon.”
“Blood sacrifices?” Blyss said on a gasping tone.
“Twelve demons must be sacrificed simultaneously,” Libby explained. “They are each a different breed of demon and some quite rare. It may take a while to gather them all. Which could buy you two some time.”
“Does this spell list the twelve demons?” Stryke asked.
“It does. Why don’t I copy it out in English so you can understand it? It won’t take but ten minutes. While waiting, the two of you go help yourself to some cookies.”
* * *
Reichardt waited with the plate of cookies in hand. Stryke politely took one, but after the first bite, he nabbed two more. The former soul bringer nodded in agreement as the threesome enjoyed the most delicious cookies Stryke had ever tasted.
The conversation was stilted, but he did manage to seem enthusiastic over the clump of silvery-green herbs Reichardt showed them and asked them to smell. Very pungent and not like any kind of cooking spice he’d ever encountered.
“For death spells,” Reichardt said with a wink. “I harvest it for Certainly Jones, Libby’s brother-in-law.”
“The dark witch,” Blyss confirmed at Stryke’s lifted brow.
“Right. Witches are an interesting bunch,” Stryke said.
“Indeed.”
Libby spilled into the room on an air of hyperenthusiasm and before handing Stryke the list apologized for the hearts dotting the Is. “Reichardt thinks it’s funny I do that. I just like to spread the love,” she said. “The world is desperately short on love, isn’t it? Well, save for Reichardt and me. He’s my sweetie.”
“And she’s changed my air.”
“Aww, I adore you, lover.” The witch kissed her cookie-eating former soul-bringer gardener of a boyfriend.
Hugging both of them, and sending them off with a spoken spell for their best future, Libby and Reichardt watched them leave down the path before closing the red door.
“Now what?” Stryke asked as he handed Blyss the spell.
“I don’t know. I thought you might take the lead.”
He wrapped h
er into his embrace. “I can do that. I need some time to think about it. I have no idea where to start hunting for demons. Want me to take you home?”
“Sounds good.”
“How about we head to my place and muddle over what we’ve got?”
She nodded and turned against his body, allowing him to lead her. She was lost and fragile, and he didn’t want to hurt her or break her.
But was it even possible to protect her from the ultimate harm? If they couldn’t find the diamond, she’d never get more pills. And without that Blyss would have to face the one thing she had kept out of her life so well.
* * *
Blyss had not balked when Stryke had suggested they pick up chicken gyros on the way. Food was a necessity after that pitiful afternoon snack he’d had at the fancy hotel. He suspected fast food was the last thing she would ever eat, but as she settled before the white marble counter in her kitchen and forked in her first taste, he noticed her shoulders relax and she even smiled as she sipped wine.
“Not bad,” she said. “This came from that sorry little restaurant? I’m impressed, even. I’ve never walked in the 5th where all the tourists go.”
“That is not a surprise.” He swallowed a few bites, eating the sandwich as it was meant, with both hands instead of a fork. This was heaven. He should have ordered a couple for himself. “You like neat and orderly. I think it’s time...” Stryke dipped his finger in her wineglass then snapped it toward her chest, dispersing red droplets across her skin and blouse. “...you get messy.”
“Stryke, don’t. This is silk—I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Wishes don’t always come true, glamour girl.”
He bent to lave the wine off her skin with a lash of his tongue. Blyss’s protest ceased with a pleasurable moan. He’d never thought to pair wine with chicken gyros, choosing water to go with his, but this vintage was delicious. Or probably it was because he now followed a droplet down between her cleavage and caught it as it curved along the side of her breast.
Blyss stroked his hair. She slid a leg along his thigh and cooed. She was in the mood. And so was he. But first, he had a point to make.
