by Mary Hughes
A hundred times worse was mating a man who might not want her at all.
The pain throbbed anew with each beat of her heart. God. Was this what Daniel had felt when she’d brushed him off in high school? Not that she’d ever been as bad as the other girls, but she’d blithely taken his help and hadn’t given him much thought beyond that.
Her nose itched under her mask. Her eyes prickled.
When her boyfriend, Tommy, had dumped her, Daniel had picked up the pieces. Offered, not just marriage, but something more important—respect. Support. Real, committed friendship.
A partnership, a we that transcended them both.
Now he was helping her, but he’d shut her out.
No longer we, but him and her.
More than romance, more than desire, she wanted their relationship whole again.
She wished with her whole heart that he’d call her back. She wanted him to talk with her, needed him to be present for her the way he had in high school…and what about her?
Her breath froze. Her needing, him doing…that wasn’t we.
We was a two-way street. Him doing things for her, but also her doing things for him. Beyond a blowjob, which, with his equipment, frankly wasn’t all give and no take for her anyway.
“What can I do for Daniel?” she asked out loud.
Well… He wanted the Quatrain. Maybe his magic would locate the parchment, maybe not. Wouldn’t that make a nice surprise if she found it for him?
“But who has it?”
Someone who’d made a copy of the key before it ended up in Daniel’s pocket…of course.
She’d smelled the key after Daniel had stolen it back from Zeus. All she had to do was eliminate the scent of the people she knew hadn’t made a copy, Daniel, Zeus, herself. Whoever was left was the thief, and her wolf could sniff the trail out.
Zoe made a beeline for the ballroom, recalling the mix of scents on the key. Four distinct smells. Daniel, Zeus, herself…
Hell. Dorine.
Her wolf howled. The hunt was on.
Chapter Eleven
Daniel quickly reassembled the elements of the Locate Object spell, the canned heat and lancet and chafing dish still filled with water.
But the water had been fouled by his search for the key. He’d have to get fresh. He dumped the stale water in the carafe and left the prep room with it, headed for the bathroom, prepared to make excuses to Zoe as he passed her.
She wasn’t there.
On the one hand, he was relieved; he could get on with his work. On the other, she’d seemed hurt. Had he, despite the impossibility of her caring for a dork, hurt her? He’d have to make it up to her, later. Discuss their future. Later.
In the bathroom, he dumped the foul water and got fresh. He wondered if it was possible she might actually might want to live with him…though that would be complicated. A joyous complication, but he’d have to make her see how serious the Council’s injunction was. Would she understand that they had to be cautious, if not for themselves, then for any children they might have?
Children. He’d be a father…and they’d have to pretend to be strangers.
Inside him, something howled against that. His inner wolf?
What an idea.
Returning to the prep room, he poured the water in the pan and set it over the flame. For now, they had the same goal, discovering the Quatrain’s thief. Which meant concentrating on his spell.
Carefully he unfolded his handkerchief, picked out the thread with his fingernails, and dropped it into the water. Stirred the liquid three times.
He pricked his finger with the lancet, held it over the water, and opened his third eye.
* * *
Zoe had last seen Dorine in the ballroom. Finding the woman’s freshest scent, she followed it to the south service entrance—heard running footsteps and looked left, down a long corridor.
The party planner sprinted toward the end, where she threw open a door and dashed outside.
“Dorine!” Zoe sped down the hallway.
She spun outside, saw she was in the courtyard just as Dorine reached the door on the other side.
“Damn it, Dorine.” She ran after her, stumbling in her high heels. “Wait.” She kicked them off as the planner tore open the door.
The woman glanced over her shoulder. Seeing Zoe, her face paled, and she ducked inside.
Zoe swore again. Only her wolf could catch Dorine now. Scanning for witnesses and seeing none, she prepared to shift.
Werewolves were human and beast, two halves making one whole like two halves of one brain. To shift, Zoe mentally hunched her human down then let her wolf expand until it enveloped her human, coming “outside.” When the animal manifested, she looked exactly like a natural wolf, although her human brain stayed dominant in the form, just like her wolf’s senses continued to function when she manifested as human. Some shifters actually moved blood and bone between the two forms, but her human stayed intact, clothes and everything. Maybe because being in the line of alphas, she was more powerful magically.
Whatever the reason, it took her less than a second to transform completely.
Her wolf bounded across the courtyard in half the time her human could’ve run it—and a third of the time her human could’ve run in heels and her rubber band of a dress.
She lost time shifting back to open the far door, and since shifting took energy, she was panting and dragging her tail by the time she hit the upper terrace.
Even so, she’d narrowed the gap. Dorine was just disappearing down the south set of stairs.
Zoe took a step after her—and trod on a canapé some asshole had dropped. She slid, missed a beat and nearly turned her ankle.
Since she’d have to be human when she caught up to Dorine, she tried to scrape the damned thing off as she walked—or rather limped—across the terrace. The stupid creamed goo refused to come off.
Grudgingly, she slowed to a walk, squishing every other step. She got to the top of the stairs in time to see a meeting on the lower terrace had begun.
Dorine, holding up a scroll case, was ringed by three men and a woman, all dressed and masked for the ball. One man wore a domino, the one with a dark purple nose was the drunken marquess, and the third…had an off-kilter nose in a ripped leather mask.
Zeus.
“Dorine, you traitor.” Zoe hobbled down the stairs. “Are you auctioning off my parchment?” She stumbled onto the lower terrace and nearly skidded on her canapéd foot.
“Ms. Blackwood. So sorry you felt you had to follow.” The planner raised her arm. “Stop right there.”
It wasn’t her cool tone that stopped Zoe dead in her tracks.
It was the fifty-caliber gun barrel aimed straight at her face.
As Daniel’s blood welled, an image slammed into him, so strong it nearly threw him off his feet.
The lower terrace. Zoe and her party planner. And a gun.
Dorine held a gun on Zoe.
The lancet dropped from his shocked hand, clattering to the floor.
He started to reach for it. The spell was incomplete, but the glove thread was already locked in. If he didn’t finish the spell, it would break, leaving the thread sterile. No second try.
Without the thread, he might never find the Quatrain…and the world would suffer. He had to finish the spell.
But Zoe needed him.
But the world…ah, fuck it.
Daniel spun and dashed out of the room. The spell broke, and he’d lost his only chance to find the Quatrain, but it didn’t matter.
He flew through the building and across the terrace. Even as he pounded down the stairs toward the lower terrace, his breath rasping and heart hammering, he knew the Quatrain had never mattered—not as much as knowing Zoe was safe and happy.
All these years spent painfully erecting a shield over his heart. None of it mattered.
What mattered was whatever it took to make sure Zoe was safe and happy. Even if the only way was to relegate
him to the role of the dork who helped her. Even if he didn’t count except as a poor soul on whom she bestowed the occasional kindness, he’d do it.
However much it killed him inside.
Shifting healed minor injuries including small gunshots, but that fifty-cal would leave a mark. Gaze on Dorine, Zoe held up her palms in surrender.
Or rather, mock-surrender.
Using careful, gliding footwork, she slid closer to the woman without her being aware she was moving. The footwork would’ve been easier without the smashed cream cheese on her sole, but she managed.
“Zeus I recognize.” She talked to cover her sneaking. “And Mr. Sash, though I can’t believe I actually invited him. But who are the rest of these people?”
“None of your business.” Dorine smirked.
“Fair enough. Tell me this, though. Why are you auctioning my parchment? The illuminations are nice, but it’s not priceless.”
Dorine shrugged. “For some reason, a lot of people are willing to pay a lot of money for it. I like money. And apparently, I’m the only one who could actually liberate the damned thing.”
“There’s a hex.” The woman buyer sniffed. “I’d have snatched it weeks ago, but my principal’s intent prevents me.”
The geis. A witch couldn’t steal it, nor a mundane working for a witch. So Dorine was mundane, and not working on anyone’s behalf but her own.
Mercenary bitch.
“Well,” Zoe began, “I don’t know much about hexes, but I hope your principal’s intent doesn’t also stop you from collecting the parchment after you pay for it. Because it’s still mine, you know. It would be too bad for you if I’m the only one who can really give it away.”
“Not an issue,” Dorine said. “I took it, I’m the new owner.”
“You hope.”
“I am.” Dorine steadied the gun on Zoe and mimed flicking the hammer. “Or I’ll make absolutely sure by getting rid of the previous owner.”
“Right.” Zoe swallowed her next taunt and tried a different tack. “One thing bothers me, though. If you knew you were going to take it, why leave the key in the lock? Did you really forget it there?”
Dorine rolled her eyes. “Hardly. That was so the theft wouldn’t point to me.”
“But I locked the case.” She edged ever nearer. “How did you get the parchment out without breaking glass?”
“I’m not stupid, am I? I made a copy of the key, just in case.”
“Smart.” She was in striking distance. “Then, though you could’ve taken the parchment at any time, you waited until closer to the auction.”
“Which is happening now. This girl talk has been fun but enough stalling. The bidding is at two million. Do I hear two-point-two?”
The instant Dorine’s attention was split, Zoe lunged in, arm swooping up and out. She caught the woman’s wrist with an outer block so hard it knocked the gun out of her hand, sending it skittering across the terrace.
“You fucking bitch.” Dorine swung a fist at Zoe.
She ducked the punch, bounced back like a spring, and grabbed for the scroll case.
Dorine hopped back. Zoe’s grab swished air.
But the planner’s hop carried her into one of the men, who tried to grab the case.
As Zoe leaped in, Dorine swung it away and clocked her.
Shocked, pain ringing her jaw, she stumbled and fell, automatically grabbing the planner’s wrist for balance. They both went down, Zoe pulling Dorine on top of her.
Dorine scrabbled, trying to escape. Zoe, when she realized what she’d done, held on for dear life.
“Girl fight,” the sashed-up creep crowed.
“Yeah,” Zeus said. “Show those boobies.”
Zoe glanced down. Damn her paws. Her neckline had lost round one. But for Daniel, she had to get that case.
Using her hips, she levered on top of Dorine, flipping them so hard it knocked the air out of the smaller woman.
Dorine thrashed, trying to suck in a breath. Zoe grabbed for the case. With the planner’s arms flailing, it was like swatting at flies.
Exasperated, she just snared the mercenary bitch’s upper arm with both hands and ran her grip up like a sleeve. When she controlled Dorine’s wrist, she levered the case away from her.
With a triumphant crow, Zoe sprang to her feet, scroll case in hand.
The marquessy guy hooted. “Wave at me, big girl.”
She gave him a cocky grin and waved—until Mr. Sash reached out to honk her breast like a bicycle horn, fingers biting into naked flesh as he twisted her nipple.
“Not a-fucking-gain. I am not some crappy radio!”
She cocked a fist to punch out his lights, but he hopped back, hands covering his nose.
“Don’t hurt me! Your tit was asking for a honk.”
“And your face is begging for my fist.” She paused to tug up her bodice, only to feel a chill at her bikini line. A quick glance down revealed her exposed her lace undies. She’d thought Dorine had picked this dress to distract men—but maybe she’d picked it to distract Zoe.
Which, she realized as she gave up on the garment and returned her attention to the buyers, it had done admirably.
Zeus was holding a curl of mahogany hair and chanting.
“By this tress, oh so fine, by this lock, you’re locked as mine… Give me that scroll case.”
His command rang in Zoe’s head. To her shock, her limbs locked like an automaton, and she spun from the marquess to haltingly bring the case to Zeus, fighting herself the whole way.
He reached out to take it. Tears stung her eyes and she couldn’t even blink them away. She’d lost.
“Freeze.” Male, commanding as hell, from above. “Step away from her. Now.”
Zoe’s other nipple rose in recognition. Daniel.
The marquessy guy and the two other buyers stiffened, but Zeus snarled, “You’re too fucking late, Hero.” He grabbed the scroll case, turned, and ran.
Zoe tried to pursue, but her legs were still locked. She tried to shout, “Daniel. Go after him!” Her voice emerged in a whisper, so she tried to urge him mentally. Be the alpha for me.
Instead, he reached into his pocket, drew out a black, wire-wrapped wand, and threw it.
She groaned. “That little stick won’t do anything…” She petered out as the stick grew to the size of a log. It caught the cowled wizard in the head, the clonk against his skull audible.
He went down, and stayed down.
Pride swelled her chest. She should have trusted him. That was her Daniel. Always thinking. Always saving the day. She loved him a little more right then.
Oh God. She loved him.
He plunged down the stairs toward her. “I saw a gun. Are you all right?”
She tried blinking. When that worked, she said, “I think so.” With Zeus unconscious, his spell freezing her must’ve ended. She tested all her limbs, wiggling them. Everything seemed normal, although the shaking popped her breasts out again. She sighed.
Mr. Sash grinned. “N-i-i-ce.”
“Shut up,” she said.
“You heard her.” Daniel rubbed the knuckles of his fist suggestively.
The marquessy guy turned his grin on Daniel. “Hey. You’re a guy. You know it’s flattery. Chicks should learn to like it.”
“You really are a shit.” He took two steps and punched Mr. Sash in the face.
His eyes crossed, and he folded unceremoniously to the pavement.
Her wolf approved.
The other buyers melted away into the night.
Zoe retrieved the scroll case from Zeus’ limp hand. Daniel’s wand lay next to the man’s head, normal size now. She scooped it up and handed it to him as he came up beside her. “That was a pretty slick trick. Why didn’t you simply blast him?”
“Security cameras.” He flicked a glance at the mounted electronic eyes. “They cover the terraces, but not the air above them.” He nodded at the case. “The parchment is in there?”
She pee
ked inside. “Yes.” It was hers to give away again. She could finally get the romance she’d desired with her whole heart. “You still want it?”
He frowned. “Yes.”
She reminded herself romance was a two-way street. And sometimes, that could be fun. She grinned and waved it in front of him. “Then you’ll have to earn it.”
She turned and bounded up the stairs, hoping he followed.
Chapter Twelve
Zoe ran all the way to the prep room, feeling excited and reckless, and a little too much like the night she’d told her boyfriend she thought she was pregnant. She had no reason to believe this time would turn out differently.
But the strong breath and steady footfalls behind her gave her hope.
She stopped in the middle of the prep room and turned to him. “Are we safe here? From the Witches’ Council?”
“Safe enough for now.” His back was to her as he locked the door. “What did you mean, earn the parchment? What do you want from me? Flowers, candy, sweet words of love?”
“No.” She set the scroll case aside. “Daniel, I want you to…”
He turned then. The fire in his eyes part arousal, part fury.
She blinked. “That’s wrong. I don’t want you to anything. I want you.”
He froze. His breath released in a groan. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.”
In two steps, he swooped in, seized her, and swept her off her feet. He carried her to the fainting couch behind the screen, and when he laid her on her back, there was no doubt who would be on top.
Because the instant he set her down, he pushed apart her thighs and went down on her.
The heat of his breath on her panties was scorching. He licked her. Her whole body tightened in response, wringing a mewl from her throat. He licked again, and once again, over and over until the panties were damp and molded to her. Licked until she was on fire. Until her muscles melted and she moaned, her head falling back, too heavy for her limp neck.
The moment she yielded, he grabbed the skimpy lace and yanked the panties off. Seizing her naked hips, he pulled her to him and kissed and licked and sucked until her limp muscles went taut, and she was so aroused she was practically riding his jaw.
