Witch Hunt (City Shifters: the Pack Book 1)

by Layla Nash

  The rest of the coven waited in the living room, which had—of course—beige carpet and light-brown furniture and muddy red drapes on the windows. My aunt stood from her perch in a straight-backed dining room chair near the fake fireplace. “Well. Now that Deirdre is here, we can get started.”

  I hardly blinked as I looked at her. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “We,” she said, attempting a smile though it looked somewhat like a snarl, “are going to work on protection spells.”

  Protection spells.

  The other witches rose to form a circle in the center of the room, but I hung back despite Palmer trying to usher me in closer. “What do you need protection against?”

  Estelle glanced over at me before she opened a grimoire and peered at the page she’d marked. “Well, since you brought us to the attention of the other magical denizens of this city, we need to guard against being found out by others.”

  “I hardly think the shifters give a shit that we’re here,” I said, folding my arms over my chest. Uneasiness brewed behind the wall, though I didn’t want to acknowledge it. “And the ErlKing owes me a favor. He would hardly—”

  “He would be best served if he never had to repay that favor,” one of the other witches said. Donna was older than anyone else in the circle, and I tended to at least listen to her. I might have disagreed with her fundamentally about everything, but most witches knew to listen to age and experience. “It’s possible he would seek you out and try to draw you into a debt or simply get rid of you.”

  I didn’t admit that I’d already seen Smith recently; that would only push them into a frenzy. So I kept my mouth shut and stepped into the circle, not reacting as Palmer took up a spot at my left hand.

  The other witches let their emotions leak through, smiling or nodding at each other as they chanted the spell after Estelle got started, but I stayed silent and aloof. I would let them borrow my power, to draw from my strength, but I felt no need to be more active. It drove Estelle crazy, and she complained often enough that I wasn’t really “present” in the circle, but every time I’d offered to step completely away, she’d forgotten about the threats and instead reprimanded me for forgetting another meeting.

  She just wanted to use me, whether it was through matchmaking with Palmer or for magic or the poisoner’s garden or the books I kept in the attic. The coven needed things from me. They took from me. It never felt like a two-way street. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken comfort from them, or learned from them, or done more than just sat there as their lives unfolded around me.

  I started to suspect I’d outgrown them, their magic, and their way of thinking and everything about them. Their concerns about the shifters barely registered on my radar. I could stand toe-to-toe with the ErlKing and not feel threatened, and I’d confronted one of the animals along with him under a near-full moon in a cemetery. The protection of a few spells seemed laughable in comparison.

  But they could draw power from me and use the magic that flowed in my veins, that I connected to through the environment, and maybe eventually I’d be tired enough to sleep. I felt nothing, numb all the way through, as the circle joined hands and Palmer’s fingers tried to twine through mine.

  There had to be more—to life, to magic, to love... to everything. There just had to be more.

  Chapter 4

  Evershaw

  It took ten days to set up a meeting with the leaders of the wolves that escaped from the BadCreek compound outside the city. After the old alphas were killed or sold to their own dirty mob counterparts, only a handful of males were left who weren’t implicated in all the shady shit that united the rest of the shifters against them.

  A few women chose to stay with them, though the majority who were rescued from a hellish existence of medical experiments and a breeding program chose to disappear into the least populated parts of the country so they could start over. Luckily the Chase brothers had deep pockets and bought as much of Wyoming as they could buy to help the survivors find peace and quiet and a safe place.

  Just the thought of sitting across a table from any wolf from BadCreek made Evershaw’s skin crawl. He had a hard time believing any male could have lived inside that compound and guarded the cells and hospital rooms where the women were kept prisoner and yet hadn’t known the extent of the crimes. He just didn’t buy it. So he reserved judgment as they met in neutral territory in the middle of the city. He brought Todd with him and a few others for security, just in case the newcomers brought the djinn with them, and had at least warned Smith that the meeting would occur. He didn’t bother informing the rest of the alphas in the city; none of them gave a shit the last time he brought it up at a Council meeting, so he’d handle it on his own. The SilverLine pack would lead the charge once again.

  They met in an abandoned warehouse in the neutral zone, where Evershaw had held meetings with the coyotes before the bastards went completely off the fucking reservation. A battered metal table and a handful of chairs had been scattered around the cracked cement floor, and the broken fluorescent lights flickered and hummed as he walked in. Most of the men from the other side were younger and still unformed; they looked more like runners instead of fighters, without the heavy muscle of men who were accustomed to working outside and fighting for a living. Evershaw felt like a silverback gorilla in comparison. One dark-haired kid stepped forward to shake his hand, his voice deceptively deep. “I’m Holden, alpha of this pack.”

  “Evershaw,” the alpha said. He gripped the kid’s hand strong enough to send a message, then tilted his head at his second. “That’s Todd. I’m the alpha of the SilverLine pack. What are you calling yourselves now?”

  “RedCloud,” the kid said. “This is Serena, the alpha female.”

  A tall blonde sauntered up, hard-eyed and wearing tight jeans, and shook his hand. She didn’t speak, but the set of her shoulders spoke volumes—she didn’t want to be there, she wasn’t happy to meet them, and she thought it was all a waste of time.

  He couldn’t quite figure out if she thought the kid was a shitty alpha or not an alpha at all, or if something else was stuck in her craw. A mystery. She had good hips, at least; he was an ass man, but her tits probably could have changed him. The thoughts and assessment scrolled through his head before he settled on an appropriate response: a chin-jerk that acknowledged her presence but didn’t engage. He couldn’t leer at another man’s mate and expect to get any business done.

  “No alpha female in your pack?” the kid asked.

  It could have been an innocent question if the kid hadn’t been raised around the right kind of wolves, but Evershaw never gave anyone the benefit of the doubt. Todd tensed behind him, and Evershaw rotated his head to crack the vertebrae in his neck. “That’s a rude fucking question.”

  Holden arched a dark eyebrow and shrugged. “Didn’t intend it to be.”

  “Never ask about another man’s mate,” Evershaw said. Maybe he needed to teach the kid a lesson. Depending on how many wolves were in their pack, he could always just fold them into SilverLine. Some of the larger packs had subordinate packs with lesser alphas controlling sections. It could work, depending on how well-behaved they were.

  “Serena’s not my mate,” the kid said. “She’s just the strongest female. Isn’t that how it works in all packs?”

  “No,” Evershaw said. Though since the blonde was unmated, it made the meeting all the more intriguing. She looked exactly like the kind of bad decision he was just itching to make. “How many wolves do you have?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Serena said before the kid could answer. She tilted her head at the table and chairs. “Do we need to sit or will this be wrapped up in a reasonable amount of time?”

  “Why, you got a nail appointment, sweetheart?”

  Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, then she studied her nails—red claws that looked just perfect for leaving scratches in a man’s back. “Now that you mention it, yeah. So get to the point, mm
kay?”

  He wanted to growl in anticipation. That was a fight he could get interested in. “Fine. You’re encroaching on territory that’s claimed. This is my only effect to figure out how we can all fucking coexist. You have two options—join my pack and swear fealty to me, or stay the fuck out of my city. That to the point enough?”

  Holden’s expression darkened. “We’ve had enough of following orders from a strongman, so threats won’t get you anywhere. We can’t stay outside the city because there aren’t any fucking jobs or houses or anything. So we need territory inside the city.”

  “You can find a new city,” Evershaw said. “Because the rest of this one already belongs to two packs. There’s not room for a third.”

  “That’s not what the coyotes said.” Serena tapped those red talons against her straight white teeth, dark gaze practically eye-fucking him.

  Those fucking coyotes. Evershaw refused to react to the femme fatale schtick, as entertaining as it was, and figured he’d have to have a word with the rest of the Council about doing something permanent to deal with the coyotes. He’d had enough of them spreading their trash around the city. “They’re misinformed. Your attitude is going to write checks your pack can’t cash.”

  Holden leaned his hip against the battered table, his focus never wavering from Evershaw. “We can find a compromise. We’ll take the territory if we have to, but I am more interested in an agreement between the three packs.”

  Evershaw snorted. The kid was in for a rude awakening. “That’s not how alphas work, kid. You keep what you’re strong enough to take. Your former alpha took that to the extreme, but don’t expect that Rafe and I will just roll over and surrender territory just because you’ve got some sob story about no jobs and other bullshit.”

  “It’s not bullshit,” Holden said. He hardly blinked; at least the kid had some control. Evershaw wondered if they’d kept any of the super-soldier vaccines and shit that the BadCreek alpha cooked up. Maybe some of those could have been useful, even if they were researched and tested in a fucking inhumane way. “One way or another, we’ll be a presence in this city.”

  “Then you can swear fealty today and everyone goes on about their business,” Evershaw said.

  “Not going to happen,” Serena said. “So looks like we’ll have to come up with option three.”

  “You’ve got four days.” Evershaw glanced at his watch, already thinking about the work he had to do to figure out how to handle those fucking coyotes, get the O’Sheas on board with his plan for this new pack, and make sure that the business deals Todd was supposed to be managing actually went through. He didn’t have time to deal with all of their shit. “We can reconvene, and if you’ve got a better option, I’ll consider it.”

  He wouldn’t actually, but four days would give him enough time to do a little research and plan a few other options for himself. He’d been meaning to find a woman he could tolerate, who could represent him well within the pack and to outsiders, and who’d give him kids. Serena might be a bitch on wheels, but he preferred that to some shy little mouse who startled at every loud noise.

  Evershaw didn’t wait around after Holden nodded and muttered that they’d meet at the same time and same place in four days, and instead strode through the dim warehouse toward where the cars waited.

  He was on the sidewalk outside, putting on his sunglasses, when a semi-familiar scent drifted through the air and caught his attention. His head snapped to the right and he searched for the source, puzzled and distracted. What the fuck was it? Something soft and flowery but still—wild. Spicy, almost. With undertones of earth and fresh rain.

  Todd paused next to him, hand on the door of the SUV. “What’s wrong?”

  Evershaw stared down the street and then—there. A flash of dark hair and a pale face, and snapping green eyes that didn’t see him. The witch. It had to be her. What the hell was she doing in that part of town? He’d have expected her to be an uptown girl, even though she dressed like a slob. Some of those rich chicks liked to slum it, or so he’d heard. But the witch—no. Something was different. The way she carried herself wasn’t the ice queen floating above it all, impervious to the weather and criticism alike. Not that girl. Not the one wearing jeans and galoshes and a hooded raincoat and carrying an armful of flowers.

  He should have gotten in the car and driven away, especially with Todd and some of his guys standing around staring at him like he’d lost his fucking mind. Maybe he had. But something wasn’t right. The wolf itched and pushed, wanting to follow her. They needed to follow her.

  Evershaw rarely contradicted the wolf’s instincts, since they’d never steered him wrong. He muttered under his breath and closed the car door, shaking his head. “I’m taking a walk. I’ll call when I’m ready to go back.”

  “But...” Todd blinked, mouth agape, but Evershaw just slapped his shoulder and strode past, focused on the witch. He didn’t like mysteries. At all.

  Chapter 5

  Deirdre

  Maggie gave me the delivery with an apologetic smile and told me the regular delivery guy was sick and she needed all the help she could get. So instead of spending the drizzly day in the safety and comfort of the greenhouse, I was carting bouquets around the city and trying not to vomit as people oohed and aahed over the flowers. One woman even squealed when she saw the arrangement.

  I never understood the attraction of cut flowers. They died. Like so many things in life, they were beautiful for a short time and then withered and died. Why take a living plant and chop it up to stick in a glass tube inside your house? It made me cringe a little every time I picked up one of the bouquets, since the flowers no longer felt like flowers—the magic that made them real and alive had already faded by the time I got them out of the van, and instead it was like carrying a small bundle of bones from house to office building to restaurant.

  At least Maggie promised to pay me time and a half for the trouble, since she knew how much I hated having to talk to people. For her, I almost didn’t mind. She wouldn’t have asked if it hadn’t been important. That much, at least, I knew for sure.

  Unlike my aunt, who asked everything without thinking of the cost.

  She’d called two other coven meetings, all under the guise of protection spells and defensive charms, even though everyone was as protected and stocked up on charms as we could handle. Too much more and they would all start to influence each other and undo all the good we’d tried to do.

  I felt drained more than normal and draggin’ ass, as my mom used to say, as I drove to the second-to-last address on the delivery sheet. It was in a dicey part of the city, a former industrial neighborhood whose factories were long since silent and abandoned, and the alleys were often the sites of makeshift homeless camps.

  The arrangement featured Lily of the Valley and some greenery, a few more blossoms to accent the delicate white of the lily, and I frowned a little as I studied it. It was poisonous if ingested; its role as a wedding bouquet flower had always puzzled me because of it. The small white flowers were beautiful, but it seemed odd to want something poisonous in your hands for a special occasion.

  Still, it wasn’t my place to judge.

  I got out of the van at the address, just on the “up and coming” side of the wrong side of the tracks, and walked into the busy restaurant with an armful of someone else’s joy. It turned out to be a bridal shower in one of the fancy back rooms; the groom-to-be had sent the flowers because they were a copy of the bouquet the bride would carry down the aisle. I barely held on to my stomach as the mother of the bride signed for the flowers and everyone else fluttered around in a tizzy of white lace and streamers and tasteful little sandwiches with the crusts cut off.

  They did not invite me to stay.

  I should have escaped out the front or even through the kitchen and called it a day, but the bar was empty and I needed a drink. It might have been only two in the afternoon, but it was five o’clock somewhere and I only had to drive the van a few b
locks to the last address—a fancy-schmantzy office building downtown—before returning it to the florist shop and heading home. A little gin and tonic wouldn’t hurt, and it would take the edge off so I could face whoever ordered the giant-ass bouquet of red fucking roses.

  The bartender eyed me askance with my work clothes and galoshes, but I pulled a twenty out of my wallet and handed him the whole thing as I ordered the gin and tonic. I exhaled and closed my eyes after he handed it over, letting the glass rest against my chin so I could inhale the scent.

  I’d read once about a coven who only worked magic drunk, and who found a way of adhering charms and potions to alcohol. They’d merged the worlds of love potions and date-rape drugs and it turned out terribly for everyone. Several other covens banded together to get rid of them, and so the secret of linking magic into alcohol was lost. And good riddance. Too much magic or too much alcohol led to really poor decisions, so the two together... The world was better off without.

  I sipped the drink, saving the expensive gin I never bothered to buy for myself, and ran my finger around the lip of the glass until the crystal rang. There were also witches who worked magic with sounds, building and layering different tones as the spell was built until it created a symphony of power. I’d wanted to study it with one of the covens in Mongolia, where they used throat singing and a beautiful cello-like instrument in a haunting and truly humbling way, but we didn’t have the money and then Mom got sick and everything we had went to medical bills.