Wicked Wings

by Keri Arthur

  “We’re in a werewolf reservation,” Monty said. “Surely Aiden can motivate the packs to do a thorough check of their compounds.”

  “I doubt the Empusae would be dumb enough to roost anywhere near the wolves,” Ashworth said. “They’d surely know their scent would draw inquisitive noses.”

  “At least one of them was using that tree cave we found,” I said. “So we’ll need to set a trap around that.”

  Monty frowned. “If they’re capable of minor magic, they might sense any spell we place and simply avoid the area.”

  Ashworth nodded. “Which is why we’d also run a concealment spell through it. If they are capable of only minor magics, they shouldn’t sense it.”

  “Worth a shot,” Monty agreed. “And the sooner we do it, the better.”

  I pushed to my feet. “Then let’s go now, because I’ve a date with Aiden tonight.”

  “I’m rather surprised he’s not here,” Ashworth said. “Is everything okay?”

  I gave him a somewhat wry look. “Yes, and don’t start getting all grandfatherly on me.”

  A smile twitched his lips. “The local grump will never get all grandfatherly. He just doesn’t want to see two of his favorite people falling out.”

  “Aiden will be shocked to hear you place him in such a category.”

  “Why? As werewolves go, he’s pretty sensible, and there certainly isn’t enough sensible around these parts at the moment.”

  “Gee, I wonder where that barb was aimed?” Monty said.

  Ashworth’s eyes twinkled, though his expression remained stern. “Shall I drive, or would you rather, Liz?”

  I hesitated. Aiden still hadn’t returned my call, so who knew what was actually happening tonight. “You can drive. Aiden can always swing past and pick me up if we get delayed.”

  “We’ll have to detour past my place first,” Monty said. “I haven’t got my kit with me.”

  Ashworth made a disparaging noise. “That’s slack, young man. Very slack indeed.”

  “Well, if someone hadn’t been sitting on the horn in an attempt to hurry me up, maybe I would have remembered.”

  As they headed for the door, I ran upstairs to grab some clothes in case Aiden did swing by to pick me up, then raced down to the reading room to grab the backpack. Once I’d collected my keys and purse from under the counter, I said, Belle, will you be all right alone for the next few hours?

  Other than a slight headache, I’m perfectly fine. I’ll make another potion and then do some research, just in case Monty or Ashworth don’t come up with anything.

  Just make sure you eat something solid. We’re going to need you at full strength.

  It feels weird for you to be saying that to me; it’s usually the reverse.

  It is, and I personally hope it doesn’t happen too often. I don’t think I could stand the stress.

  Welcome to my world. Her mental tone was dry. Are you staying at Aiden’s tonight?

  I presume so.

  See you tomorrow then.

  I locked the front door and then ran down to Ashworth’s borrowed SUV. Once we reached Monty’s, I ran inside to grab his kit. This apparently didn’t please Eamon, who greeted me with a hiss and a flash of his dangerous claws. This time, though, he missed—deliberately, I suspected, if the glint in his eyes was anything to go by.

  It didn’t take us long to drive to the location of the tree cave, but getting through the forest with any speed with Monty on crutches wasn’t easy. At least this time he avoided falling over.

  When we did finally reach the clearing, Ashworth said, “Interesting spell.”

  I glanced at him sharply. “Why? It’s a simple trigger spell.”

  “There’s nothing simple about that. Not when the wild magic is present and concealing it.”

  I frowned. “How can wild magic conceal a spell? It can’t act without direction…”

  My voice faded. Except that some of it had, ever since Katie’s soul had become a part of it.

  “I suspect it’s not deliberate concealment.” Monty stopped beside me, the scent of his sweat stinging the air and his breathing a little ragged. “But rather the force of it overshadowing your spell and muting its power.”

  “Either way, its presence could be very useful,” Ashworth said. “We’ll use your simpler spell to hide our trap one.”

  I frowned. “Your trap has to be pretty powerful to contain the Empusae, and I’m not entirely sure the wild magic will conceal it.”

  “We’ll run a second concealment spell through the weave,” Monty said. “Between that and the wild magic, we should be right.”

  I hoped so, because right now this was our one and only hope of stopping at least one of the remaining Empusae.

  “Can you disconnect your spell so that we can weave ours along the inside of it?” Ashworth said.

  I did so, and then tried not to feel like a third wheel as they set up their protection circle and stepped inside it. This was the main reason why I couldn’t be the reservation witch, no matter how deep my connection with the wild magic got. I simply wasn’t good enough at spell craft.

  Which didn’t stop me learning from every spell they did. I might not have the knowledge, but I did have a good memory.

  I crossed my arms and watched through narrowed eyes as their magic rose around the inside of my deactivated trigger spell. The two of them worked well as a team, and the spell was intricate and powerful. I wasn’t entirely sure I’d ever be able to replicate the thing in full, but there were certainly bits of it I could apply to the spells I did know. Monty might have warned multiple times about the dangers of ad hoc spelling, but I’d been doing it for nearly half my life now. When you didn’t have the training, you simply adapted.

  Once they’d tied off and activated their trap, Ashworth glanced at me and said, “Right, your turn.”

  I immediately reconnected my spell, then silently studied it. Ashworth was right. Between the pulse of wild magic and the concealment spell they’d threaded through their snare, there was no outward evidence of our magics around the tree cave.

  Ashworth helped Monty to his feet and then collected their spell stones. “Now it’s just a matter of waiting.”

  Monty nodded. “Let’s just hope the pair of them aren’t out hunting for another victim to strip tonight.”

  “If they are, there’s not a lot we can do about it.” Ashworth glanced at me. “Give us a call the minute your spell goes off.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I’m not daft enough to come out and confront this thing all by myself.”

  His expression was skeptical, though his eyes twinkled. “I’m not entirely sure that’s true.”

  I snorted. “For that, you can pay for your next coffee.”

  “And I’m more than happy to do so, lassie.” A smile tugged at his lips. “In fact, I think Monty should do his bit to support the café, too, and start paying for all those cakes he demolishes.”

  “I demolish the old stuff, not the new. I’m considerate like that.”

  I shook my head at their continuing banter and followed the two of them out of the clearing. Ashworth dropped us both off and then continued home to Eli. I didn’t bother going back into the café—I simply went around the back to collect our SUV, headed across to the supermarket to grab some food, then drove down to Aiden’s place.

  Once I’d let myself in—again without setting off the alarm, which maybe meant I was getting the hang of it—I went upstairs for a quick shower. He still wasn’t home by the time I’d finished, so I pulled on a loose-fitting summery dress and went back down to help myself to some of his rather fine whiskey. He rang just as I took my first sip.

  “Have you got an alarm on your booze cabinet or something?” I said by way of greeting.

  “No—why?”

  His voice, I noted, was etched with weariness. “I just raided your Jameson Limited Reserve.”

  He laughed softly. “Tough day?”

  “Yes and no.” I took an
other sip and felt the happy burn all the way down. “It sounds as if you’ll need a glass when you get home.”

  “Three or four, more likely. We’ve spent the day dealing with a murder in the Marin compound.”

  My pulse rate stuttered. “Not another flesh-stripper victim, I hope?”

  “No. Just two men fighting over a damn woman. Things escalated badly before we could get there, and the victim died on the way to hospital.”

  “Oh crap, Aiden, I’m sorry.” I hesitated. “Was it someone you knew?”

  “I went to school with both of them.”

  “Oh God—”

  “Yeah,” he cut in softly. “He’s looking at several years behind bars, at least, despite the number of people who’ve testified the death was accidental.”

  “And the families involved? How are they coping?”

  I didn’t know a whole lot about werewolf life within the compounds—no one did, outside the werewolves who lived there—but I had been into the Marin compound once as a guest, and I’d witnessed how pack leaders dealt with a suspected murderer. Or would-be murderer, in that particular case. Thankfully, the sharpshooter who’d actually been behind the attempt on my life hadn’t banked on Aiden’s quick reflexes.

  “You’ve met Rocco Marin. You can imagine how well he’s taking it.”

  “It wasn’t one of his sons, was it?”

  “No, but it doesn’t matter. The alphas are responsible for the behavior of the entire pack, and something like this is a major stain on their reputation.”

  I frowned. “How? It wasn’t intentional—”

  “No, but the punch that knocked Terrell down and eventually killed him was thrown in a fit of anger, and no wolf pack needs anyone thinking they cannot control their emotions. We’ve spent too long fighting that image.”

  “I can’t imagine there’d be many who believe the Hollywood version of a werewolf these days.”

  “Perhaps not, but that’s not really the issue. Few other packs want to deal with those who cannot control themselves—and that hurts their prospects when it comes to mates.”

  Which was a major problem with a pack as small as the Marin—they needed outside blood to prevent inbreeding.

  “Have you had dinner yet?” Aiden added.

  “No, but I stopped at Woolies on the way here and got some supplies.”

  “Steak and chips, by chance?”

  “Garnished with bacon and eggs, and no green shit for you.”

  He laughed softly. “You surely do know the way to a werewolf’s heart.”

  I wish… “You showering before dinner or after?”

  “Before. It’s been a hot and sticky day, and I think the deodorant has given up.”

  I grinned. “I certainly have no desire to sit anywhere near a stinky werewolf.”

  He laughed again. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

  I hung up and then walked across to the wall of windows, watching the ducks waddle around catching bugs in the grass, while I sipped the whiskey and waited for Aiden to arrive.

  As the lights of his truck lit the driveway and scared the ducks away, I went back to the kitchen to prepare him a drink and top up my own. He walked in a few seconds later, looking weary and radiating sadness.

  I walked over, handed him the glass, and then rose on my toes and kissed him, soft and lingering.

  “A greeting a man could get used to.” He tossed back the drink in one gulp. “I think a few more of each just might do the trick.”

  He snaked his free arm around my waist and pulled me closer. Our kiss was long and intense, filled with an aching hunger that came as much from his need to forget as desire. Even when the kiss did end, he didn’t immediately release me. He just rested his forehead against mine and held me, obviously needing the comfort of contact to ease the inner turmoil so evident in his aura.

  Eventually, he drew in a deep breath and released me. I plucked the glass from his hand and walked back to the kitchen to refill it. He followed me across and sat on one of the stools lining the counter. “Tell me about your day.”

  I did, knowing full well he simply didn’t want to think about the loss of a friend and the necessary incarceration of another.

  “I’ll talk to the council in the morning and get them to order a full search through all the compounds,” Aiden said. “But if they smell as bad as you’ve said, they would have been found by now.”

  “Which is exactly what Ashworth said.” I leaned on the bench and took another drink. The loose neck of my dress ballooned open, and his gaze slid from my face to my throat and then down. I wasn’t wearing any underclothes, and desire surged through his aura and stung the air. “How many mines are there in the reservation that match the horizontal criteria?”

  “More than a hundred. But once the compounds are searched, I’ll get them to check the surrounding areas. We might get lucky.”

  “Right now, luck might be all we have.”

  “Then here’s hoping that trap you set works.” He tossed back the remains of his drink. “I’m off to shower.”

  “Good. Even upwind, the smell was getting unpleasant.”

  A grin teased his lips. “The pong must be bad if your very human but delightfully cute nose is smelling it so strongly.”

  “It is, so get thee to a shower while I start cooking.”

  He grinned and headed upstairs. By the time he came back down—wearing loose sweatpants and a T-shirt that hugged his lean but muscular frame in all the right places—I was plating up our meals.

  I poured us both another whiskey then moved across to the other side of the counter and sat beside him. We chatted as we ate, our conversation moving easily across a number of topics, all of them deliberately light. He really didn’t want to think about what had happened during the day, let alone talk about it. Not any more than he already had, anyway.

  Night had well and truly set in by the time we’d finished dinner and moved on to coffee. Though it was still relatively early, he yawned hugely.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I think the late nights have finally gotten to me.”

  I clucked my tongue. “My werewolf has no stamina. How sad.”

  His blue eyes twinkled. “I’ve more than enough stamina to tumble you, my dear witch.”

  “How about a massage first?”

  His eyebrows rose. “Me or you?”

  I placed a hand on his arm and felt his muscles twitch in response. Felt the tension of grief underneath. “I’m thinking you need it more than me tonight.”

  “Possibly.” He caught my hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed my fingers. “I must, however, warn that having you sitting naked astride my buttocks while you massage my back could lead to a very thorough ravishing.”

  I grinned. “I’d be disappointed if it didn’t.”

  “Good. Shall we retire upstairs?”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  He rose and, maintaining his grip on my hand, led me up the stairs. The cool light of the rising moon filtered through the vast wall of glass lining the lakeside wall of his bedroom and gave the masculine tones of the room a silvery glow. While he stripped off, I went into the en suite to grab the massage oil. It was one I’d made especially for him, and contained little more than the faintest whisper of sandalwood, a scent I liked and that didn’t overwhelm his more sensitive olfactory senses.

  He was lying on the bed when I walked back into the room. I took a long moment to admire him in all his naked glory, running my gaze from his feet, up his well-toned legs, then over his hips and firm butt and up his spine to his slightly wider shoulders. Werewolves might generally be on the lean side, but his body was powerful and perfectly proportioned. Beautiful, even.

  And, for this moment, totally mine to do with as I pleased.

  Anticipation shot through me as I walked over. “Ready?”

  “And raring,” he murmured. “You might want to play, but with the scent of your desire riding the air, it’s already taking every ounce of contro
l I have not to haul you into my arms and make love to you.”

  I tsked. “All good things come to those who wait.”

  “As long as I’m not waiting too long,” he said, his eyes filled with warm amusement when his gaze met mine.

  I dolloped oil into my palm, then put the bottle down and started massaging his feet. He made a growly noise and then closed his eyes. I gradually made my way up his legs, letting my thumbs intermittently tease the inside of his thighs and brush across his balls; the growly noises became more constant. Grinning, I stripped off my dress and then sat naked astride his butt.

  He groaned. Loudly. “Damn it, woman, are you trying to kill me?”

  I laughed and slapped his back lightly. “Hush. I’m working here.”

  He muttered something incomprehensible and then closed his eyes and let me continue. I worked my way up his back, pressing my fingers into his muscles until the knots were released and the tension in him gradually eased.

  “And now,” I murmured, reaching for the oil again, “we need to do the front—”

  He muttered something under his breath and then, after a flurry of movement in which the oil bottle ended up on the other side of the room, I was lying underneath him.

  It felt good. More than good.

  The glint in his eyes was decidedly wicked. “And now it’s your turn to feel a little torture.”

  I raised an eyebrow, amusement teasing my lips. “Given the thick rod of heat currently pulsing against my stomach, I’m thinking the torture won’t be lasting too long.”

  “Oh, I do so like a challenge,” he murmured. “Consider it accepted.”

  He kissed me softly, tenderly, and then moved down, touching and tasting and kissing, all the while avoiding the one area that ached so badly for his touch. When his tongue did finally flick—ever so briefly—over my clitoris, a moan that was part pleasure, part frustration escaped. He chuckled softly, his breath fiery against my wet skin. “Had enough yet?”

  “If you don’t finish what you started, I’m going to—” I cut the sentence off and gasped as his tongue flicked again.

  “Going to what?” he murmured.