by Danica Avet
Her eyes shot open as reality crashed over her. Grant was going to fuck her because he thought she was his mate. He’d want her to give him baby cows and shit. He’d want to take over her life, remove all trace of Izzy the Warrior and make her into Isola the Homemaker. Never!
Snarling as she realized how close she’d come to giving into him, Izzy slammed her elbow back catching Grant unaware. He grunted loudly, his mouth releasing her neck and his hands falling away from her chest. Her nipples mourned the loss, but Izzy had more important things on her mind, like getting away before he made her forget herself. Again. She heard a thump as he fell to the ground.
She kicked out with all of her strength. A century of training and honing her body into a well-oiled fighting machine paid off because she splintered part of the trunk, just enough for her to wiggle her hips free. Without even turning to look at Grant, she sprinted for the truck. She wasn’t about to become any man’s mate. Hopefully by the time he caught up with her, he’d have control of himself because she wasn’t sure she could go through another lesson in seduction at his hands.
* * * *
Grant rubbed his chest. The impromptu snow bath had killed his amorous mood. His cock lay on his thigh, a defeated and frustrated organ. So she wasn’t ready for a mating. That was fine. He could handle that as long as she didn’t break any of his bones.
Sitting up, he looked down at his chest and saw an Isola-elbow-sized bruise on his solar plexus. Yeah, she wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about being his mate. If anything, she was freaked out about it. But she’d get over it. For a short time, she’d been like putty in his hands.
He grinned as he pushed himself to his feet. All it would take was finding the right short time and making it into something more. But for now, he’d give her a little break from his attention. In the meantime, he’d learn as much as he could about the Amazon who would become his mate. Eventually.
Chapter Sixteen
The ride back to Grant’s house was silent yet filled with tension and angry words. At least on Izzy’s part. Again with the idiocy? Really? She wasn’t going to let herself get dragged into a relationship. No way in hells. She shuddered. How many women had she seen fall into that trap and lose their identity? Too fucking many, including her mother.
Her lip pulled back in a snarl as she thought of Trianna. The fool Amazon had taken a bear as a mate. A fucking bear! She’d let that bastard control every part of her life and nearly cost Izzy her own life because she wouldn’t fall in with what her stepfather planned.
“Did you just say ‘fucking bears?’” Grant asked in a hesitant voice.
Izzy glared over at him. He was just so damned cute she wanted to kill him and spare herself the pain of heartbreak. Oh yeah, Grant was her kryptonite; she sensed it. He would ruin her for any other man, not that she had a lot of faith that she’d find one worth having anyway. No, it was best to keep their time together strictly business. She could do it. She knew she could.
All she needed to do was refrain from talking to him because every time she opened her mouth, she ended up challenging him, and Grant was a male who loved a challenge. The bastard.
“What’s with the hostility to bears anyway?” He was like a dog with a bone.
Could she tell him? What would he think of her if he knew what motivated her? That damn terror spell forced panic through her, itching just beneath the skin. But now that she knew it was there, she could battle through it. She hoped. She really didn’t want to friggin’ faint again!
“You want to know?” The words were out of her mouth like bullets, fast and hard.
“Well, yeah, I did ask.”
Sarcastic bull. She turned her head to stare out at the landscape. This wasn’t going to be easy, no way in any hell would it be, but maybe finally, he’d see how flawed and ruined she really was and let her be.
“My mom was a tracker for the Thunder Wolf Tribe in Ireland. She was one of the best in the Amazon Nation.” She couldn’t help the ring of pride in her voice. Trianna had been the best and she’d taught Izzy so much…before everything went to shit. “I was her only child. She wasn’t even sure what race my dad was. Apparently there was a drunken orgy after some battle she fought in.” Grant’s choked laugh made her smile a bit. “Yeah, see, I was born to be wild.
“Anyway, we were a team. I was nearing my first transition. You know how that is, you’re cocky, full of piss and vinegar, and horny all the time. I lost my virginity to a bear I’d been seeing around the camp.”
“A bear?” Grant’s voice was quiet and even, though she saw his hands tighten on the wheel. “Isola—”
“Shut the fuck up and listen, okay? I don’t want to do this again anytime soon.” She waited a minute, but he said nothing else. They were nearing his house, the driveway just a quarter of a mile ahead. She needed to get this shit said and over with so she could get back to the important stuff. Like not being vulnerable. “We just fooled around, had fun, all that stuff young Veilerians do. His dad found out and I guess he was afraid I was trying to hook up with him permanently, because he visited our camp to talk to Mom.” She shuddered.
“They were instantly attracted to each other. I mean, they went after each other like a house on fire. Mom recognized him as her true mate, and he knew she was his life mate. It was…great for a while, then they moved back with his clan. I stuck around the tribe more than with Mom and her new family.” She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together. “I missed her, a lot. So the day I began my spirit walk, I went to visit her.”
The laugh startled her, but she couldn’t hold it back. “It was ridiculous. She was this old-school Amazon, tough as nails, yet when I saw her again for the first time in months, she was…different. I could tell she hadn’t trained since the last time I saw her, she was softer.” Izzy laughed again. “She bitched at me for swearing. Seems her mate didn’t like that kind of talk from females. He ran his clan with an iron fist, and females were only good for cooking, cleaning, fucking, and making babies. She tried to talk me out of taking the walk.” That still baffled her the most. “You know, ’cause females shouldn’t war against men.
“Her mate came home while I was there and we fought. It was…ugly. He threw me out, told me never to go back which was fine with me, but then his son…the one…uh,” she stumbled, glancing at Grant, who eyed her with compassion. “Uh yeah, that one…he said he wanted me. His dad, siblings…they didn’t like that idea much so they went after me. I guess if I was dead, then his son would get over me.” She laughed softly though her heart ached. “Mom jumped in to save me. Stupid bitch. One of her mate’s other kids killed her, he killed them, they were still trying to kill me. It was kind of like the closing act of Hamlet.” He didn’t laugh. Okay then! “When it was over, it was just me and the…bear who uh, you know. He uh, well, he started crying and shit. It was horrible. I dragged myself out of there and finished my spirit walk, but I was never…comfortable around bears again.”
Phew, fuck that had been the hardest thing she’d ever done including walking away from her mother’s body. Sometimes she still had nightmares about that day. That Dov was stalking her, planning his revenge for the death of his father and siblings. That Trianna was really alive and waiting for Izzy to bring her to safety. It was why she generally didn’t let anyone close to her. If her own mother couldn’t love her enough to let her live her life the way she chose, then why should anyone else? But she felt surprisingly…free, like she’d just shed her burdens.
Giving a mental shrug, she opened the truck door. Maybe now he’d give her some room, ’cause this whole working with a male sucked monkey balls. She wanted her girls back. They didn’t ask questions she didn’t want to answer and they didn’t get her all hot and bothered. Which would have just been weird anyway. She got out of the truck and started back to the house. She had work to do and people to…damn, she couldn’t call anyone back home!
* * * *
Grant watched Isola walk into his hous
e like it belonged to her. If he had his way, it would. He stayed in the truck because he just couldn’t…let her know how much he hurt for her. She wouldn’t take his pity or compassion, not without punching him in the face for it. A small smile pulled at his mouth in spite of his inner turmoil. She was something else, his mate.
Still, she carried a lot more pain than anyone would guess, and he hated that. No wonder she was so resistant to mating with him. She’d nearly been torn apart by a bear clan who’d thought she wasn’t good enough for them. Those scars she carried went a lot deeper than her skin, and Grant wondered if she’d ever trust him enough to let him heal her. Probably not, he thought with an ironic twist of his lips. He had attacked her in the woods.
He banged his head on the steering wheel. He was an asshole. Now he’d have to work that much harder to prove he wasn’t some kind of beast—even though he was—with no other thought than fucking—even though it was mostly true. He had to prove to her he could be a valuable member of their partnership, someone she could lean on, someone she could trust, and fuck when she was ready. Smiling as the plan settled into place, Grant got out of his truck and headed to the house.
He found Isola in the middle of his living room with his hamper of dirty clothes. She muttered to herself as she upended the basket.
“Do you not wear underwear or something?” She glared over at him as she picked up a pair of his socks with a pair of tweezers.
“My feet don’t stink,” he chided. “And nah, I don’t like ’em. They’re too confining.” He strolled over to flop in his easy chair. The way she eyed him in it told him she remembered exactly what he’d done in this chair last. His cock remembered, too.
She shook her head and went back to sorting through his clothes. He should probably get up to help her, but some part of him liked watching her go through his laundry. It was kind of sad that he was so turned on by her picking through his laundry, but his beast knew Isola would be coated in his scent when she was finished. He smiled.
“You could help me, LaMotta,” she muttered as she curled her lip at his work jeans. “What the hell do you do in this shit anyway? I thought you were an office geek.”
Grant heaved a sigh and pushed out of his chair to join her in the middle of the room. “I do own a ranch and sometimes I have to, you know, work on it.”
“Sarcasm is very unattractive in minotaurs.”
He snorted.
“Do you have cattle and stuff?”
Grant gaped at her as he held one of his shirts. “What?”
The glare she shot him was equal parts annoyed and embarrassed. “Did I stutter? I mean, what would you need a fucking ranch for anyway if you don’t have livestock?”
“Okay, first of all, remember the conversation we had about me being an herbivore? I don’t eat meat of any kind, nor do I keep…full animals for slaughter”—he swallowed back bile—“or for anything else. I don’t judge people who do, but I don’t do it and neither does my father. Secondly, what would I need them for? I have four hooves that carry me when I need them to, a truck when I need to go further and a credit card when I need to go really far.” He glared at her. “Just because I’m not a ‘rancher,’” he said, using air quotes, “doesn’t mean I don’t work on my land. There’s always something to be done and I get dirty doing it. Is that okay with you?”
She was silent for several minutes as she picked through his clothes. “You’re so sensitive. Sheesh.”
Grant gaped at her, not sure how to respond. She thought he was sensitive? Ms. Don’t Want to Talk About Myself? Frustration boiled through his veins. He wanted to put her over his lap and spank her juicy ass, but he was trying—gods help him, he was trying—to ease his way into her confidence. He rolled his eyes skyward, praying for patience.
Of course the damn woman didn’t stop there. Oh no, that would’ve been too easy.
“Ask a simple question and get bitched at,” she muttered under her breath. “And men say women are hormonal! Ha! Hypocritical bastards.”
Grabbing the nearest object at hand, which happened to be one of his socks, Grant balled it up and threw it straight at her. It unraveled as it flew through the air, coming to land with perfect grace on her head. Her hands paused on the jeans she was going through. She shook her head and the sock flopped on the bundle of clothing in front of her. He saw her lips twitch, but because her head was still tilted down, he couldn’t be sure if she was fighting a smile.
“I should strangle you with your own jeans.” Then she paused, her hand on the jeans he’d worn the night of the attack. “I knew it!” She jumped to her feet and strode to the picture window, her eyes narrowing on the fabric in her hands. “We need to talk to Duffy and a witch.”
As sorry as Grant was to see their play come to an end, he was relieved that she’d found something to point to his faulty memory. It was a relief to know he hadn’t lost his mind, although he was pissed at those little bitches for messing with him. Anticipation rolled through him. They would catch the nymphs and find out what the fuck was going on.
* * * *
Duffy didn’t want to see them. Izzy could see that from the way the demon lord’s face turned to stone the second they walked into his bar. There was a woman sitting at the bar, her doughy body encased in a pair of tight jeans and an even tighter sweater. She had to be the witch, not because of the way she was dressed, but because of the powerful magic that hovered in the air around her.
Grant kept trying to walk in front of her as though he was trying to protect her from the duo at the bar, but Izzy was having none of that. With a sharp elbow to his ribs, she cut in front of him and sailed to the demon lord and witch with all the confidence in the world.
“Duffy, how’s it hangin’?” she called out, her eyes on the witch who’d turned to look at her.
Duffy rolled his eyes, but she could’ve sworn there was a smile just screaming to get out before he turned his attention to the witch.
“This is Glenda. Glenda, this is the Amazon.”
Glenda? Seriously? Izzy wanted to ask her how Oz was this time of year, but there was an expression in the witch’s face that told her it was something she’d been asked before. And Izzy did her damnedest not to be predictable.
“’Sup, Glenda? Think you can tell us what the hell is up with this terror spell and the memory spell on the bull?”
Grant came to stand next to her and from the corner of her eye, she saw him wince at her question. Yeah, whatever. He probably would’ve started chitchatting like they actually had time to play nice. It was much better to get to business right away. At least that was her story and she was sticking to it.
The witch seemed surprised, but her silver eyes held grudging respect and approval. Bingo! Izzy knew exactly how to talk to people. Her sisters were insane to think otherwise.
“I can feel the spell on you,” Glenda said softly. She cocked her head, her silver hair swinging over her face. “Whoever cast it is very powerful.”
“Can you remove it?”
She hadn’t realized how much she wanted the spell removed until the witch shook her head. Well, damn, there went her chance to torment Grant’s cousin without being scared shitless!
“Only the spell caster can revoke it. Any attempt to tamper with the magic and it could kill you.”
“Bummer.”
Grant’s body was tense as though he could physically protect her, which she so didn’t need, but it was sweet anyway. She heaved a deep sigh. “What about the memory spell?” she asked as she waved Grant’s jeans at the witch.
Duffy coughed into his fist, drawing her attention to Grant. His face was the color of a ripe tomato. “What? It’s just a pair of jeans. It isn’t like I stripped them off of you on the way over here or anything.”
He shook his head, but his eyes promised retribution. She smirked back at him.
The witch took the jeans from Izzy, pinching them between her index finger and thumb. Her nose twitched with distaste as she studied the
clothing for a few moments before she handed it back to Izzy.
“It’s definitely a memory spell. I think it was cast by the same person who cast the terror spell.”
Izzy turned her attention to Grant. “You didn’t notice anything?”
The minotaur shook his head, a frown pulling his eyebrows into a sharp V above his nose. “There weren’t any witches here that night. At least, I don’t remember there being any.” He looked over at Duffy. “Do you remember seeing a witch a couple of nights ago?”
The demon lord frowned thoughtfully. “This is the night you lit out with those nymphs, right?”
It didn’t seem possible, but Grant turned redder as he flicked a glance at Izzy. She did her best to keep her expression bland. Now that she’d spent some time with him, she didn’t like the idea of him planning a wild orgy with a bunch of nymphs, but yeah, whatever. He must’ve read that in her eyes because he winced slightly before turning back to Duffy.
“Yeah, that night.”
There was a loud, raspy sound as Duffy scratched his chin, his face flexed in thought. “Nah, didn’t see any witches.”
So much for her theory! Izzy was pissed. “Son of a—”
“But I did see a warmage earlier in the night,” Duffy continued in a steady drawl. He pinched his bottom lip. “Seem to recall he didn’t order nothing, which I found strange, but lots of strange types come in here.”
She could’ve kissed him! “So is it possible for a warmage to cast these spells?” she demanded of the witch, who nodded. “Then we need to look for a bastard warmage.”
Glenda stiffened, her silver eyes narrowing.
This time it was Grant’s elbow that found her ribs, expelling a loud “oomph” from her. “Um, sorry. No offense.”
The long-suffering sigh next to her ruffled the hair straggling out of her ponytail as Grant gave her a mock glare. “Is there any chance we can track the warmage through the spells?”
