by Leela Ash
Casey winced. That wasn’t exactly a resounding pledge of love.
But her next words were. “You’re also the bravest and most honorable man I’ve ever met. You care, about everything. Nothing – and no one – is too small to matter. You’re hot, you’re funny, and I, uh, I… you know.”
He peered at her. She scowled back.
“Fine. Make me say it. I love you.”
“Isn’t it the guy who’s supposed to have trouble with those words?”
“Well I already said them once,” she grumbled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Shouldn’t have to keep repeating myself.”
Finally, the dam inside him broke. As his Dragon reared roaring its joy to the sky, he kissed his love gently. “Then Lily King, Alpha of the Sand Pack, would you marry me? Will you be my Mate, the bright half of my soul?”
“I will. And I…”
Another Wolf trotted up. This one stuck it’s nose directly in her Wolf’s butt.
“People! What the hell? Why is everybody sniffing me tonight?”
Her Wolf glanced up at her. Words passed between Shifter and spirit animal, a private conversation he couldn’t hear. All the blood drained from Lily’s face.
“Oh hell…” she whispered.
All of a Dragon’s protective urges flooded through him. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just…” Another pair of Wolves ambled over, noses twitching. “She says everyone wants to smell me, now that I’m pregnant.”
“You’re…” His jaw dropped. “We have a… We’re going to be…”
Lily sighed. “I’m going to be a lousy mother.”
“You will not!” He gave her a quick shake and a slower hug. “You will make a wonderful mother!”
“Well, at least we’ll have the first toddler that can shoot her way out of the nursery.”
And I would be proud to be the father of such a girl, he promised himself, as their laughter twined together.
The End
Damaged Lost Wolf
Shifters of the Aegis 3
A Wellspring Chronicles Tale
Tabitha St. George
Leela Ash
Copyright ©2019 by Tabitha St. George & Leela Ash. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic of mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter 1.
Sunlight filled the dining room. Under its touch, the cream-white walls burned gold. Sparkles glittered across the spotless glass of the table and the sandstone tiles of the floor. Neither dirt nor noise was tolerated here. The only sound was the soft hiss of the air conditioning, the lone defender keeping the Arizona summer heat at bay.
Under her mother’s withering stare, Ash Anderson longed to melt away like an ice cube. Leaving nothing behind except a little puddle of misery.
“Am I in trouble?”
“You? No. I, on the other hand, have been reprimanded for your foolishness.” Her mother’s nose twitched, a subtle sign of her annoyance. Magdalene Anderson was a Shifter, a Witch Hare. Tall, rail-thin, with a crown of flaming red hair that trumpeted her magical power to any wise person. Her eyes, too, proclaimed her nature: one green, one blue, as with all the greatest Hare.
Ash’s eyes were brown, like her hair. Short, with soft curves and a round ‘cute’ face. She hadn’t inherited any of her mother’s looks.
Or her magical talent. Which was the very heart of the problem.
“I don’t understand why your Warren would be upset. It was a good paper, my Master’s thesis. My advisors said that…”
“Your advisors are professors, not Witches, Ashbaline,” her mother sighed.
Lord, how Ash hated her full name! No matter how much she begged, though, Mom wouldn’t let it go. “Did anyone even read it?”
“Yes.”
“And?” Resolute, confident, she prepared to argue. Her theory on the interpretation of Ancestral Pueblan religious symbolism was a startling breakthrough – which, to some people, meant it had to be complete lunacy. Ash had already been challenged a dozen times by fellow academics and researchers.
“And you completely failed to grasp what the Sedona Warren is.”
That argument caught her by surprise, and she felt all of her prepared speeches slip away.
Folding her hands on the table, her mother fixed a sad, pitying gaze on her. Beneath it, Ash felt her hard-won maturity slipping away. Every time her mother lectured her, she became twelve years old again.
“The Sedona Warren is the premier coven of America, one of the most prestigious in the Shifter world.”
That was open to debate. Ash could name three Warrens off the top of her head that wouldn’t cede first place to Sedona.
“We are a working Warren. We are Witches, not researchers. Shifters from around the globe come to us for spells and guidance.”
“Proper guidance requires knowledge!” Ash protested.
“It does. And in our off-time all of the Hares do, of course, continue their studies. Yet mundane research is not our focus. We are Hares. We are Witches.”
“But…!”
“Stop.” One word, one tired hand rising into the air, and all of Ash’s arguments died away. “Ashbaline, you will never be welcome in my Warren. You’re not a Hare. You’re just Kin.”
There it was. The bottom line. The fact that made her face burn with shame.
Only a handful of Shifters’ children grew up to be Shifters themselves. Some Kinds, like Wolves, often bred true. Not Hares, though. At birth, Ash lost the Shifter genetic lottery. No matter how hard she studied, no matter how much she pushed herself, she would never be her mother’s equal. She wasn’t a Hare… so she wasn’t a Witch.
End of story, to Mom.
Though not to her. “I may not be a full Witch, I admit. However I still believe that I’ve got some sensitivity, some psychic abilities that…”
“Stop.” The command was sharper now, frustrated. “This is pathetic. If you had any useful magical skills, I would know.”
‘Pathetic.’ Her cheeks burned as hot as the afternoon sun. That was what her own mother thought of her.
“You need to stop requesting admission to the Warren. You’ve become embarrassing.”
Nausea swept over her, a shame so deep it twisted her guts.
“My Witch Queen was especially displeased to find that you stole my ID and used it to infiltrate the Warren. A crime that reflects badly on me, too. Oh, Ashbaline, what were you thinking?”
I thought that if I could get my thesis on Danielle LePierre’s desk, she’d read it and then she’d see how much I could contribute to the Sedona Warren.
“You need to accept reality. You are not a Shifter. You will never be a Shifter – or the equal of a Shifter. Accept what you are.”
A failure. Kin. A disappointment.
“Do you understand me? This ends, now. Agreed?”
“Yes.” Her mouth said the words, as it had a dozen times before.
This time, however, even her heart couldn’t disagree.
That cloud of gloom hovered over Ash all the way back to her apartment in downtown Phoenix. It stayed throughout the weekend, as she brooded about her future. What was the point of getting a Ph.D. now? Nothing she did would ever be good enough for her mother or the Warren.
On Monday night the phone rang. When she answered, a cheery woman’s voice poked the first hole in her misery. “Hi, I’m trying to reach Ash Anderson.”
“Speaking.”
“Are you the author of ‘Continuity of Liturgical Symbolism in Ancestral Pueblan Art’?”
“Yes…” Summer was a strange time to get a call from the university.
Delight bubbled around the caller’s words, a contagious excitement that felt like a cool breeze on Ash’s scorched soul. “Great! I’m Lucy Adams from the L.A. Warr
en.”
Shock nearly made her drop the phone. A Hare… calling her? And from L.A. – a Warren every bit as good as Sedona! “How did you hear about my thesis?”
“One of the Hares in Sedona sent me a copy. It’s… wait. You’re Magdalene Anderson’s daughter, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. So you’re not going to flip out if I talk about Shifters.”
“No, not at all,” she said with a laugh.
“Whew! That’s a relief. Well, as I was saying, I got a copy and thought your ideas were brilliant. They could be the breakthrough we need to understand what the rock art in this region truly means.”
Each word enveloped her like a loving hug. A gentle kiss to whisk away all the pain of her bruises. “Thank you. Hearing that means… well, thank you.”
“Of course! Though I have to ask an awkward question. Why didn’t Sedona snap you up?”
Oh. That explained why she was calling. Ash’s heart sank as Fate forced her to destroy her own chances. “I’m just Kin.”
“Okay.” The Hare paused, long enough to stir a confused hope. “And that keeps you out of their research cadre… why?”
“Research… what?”
“Research cadre. A body of academics, both mundane and Shifter, associated with a Warren. Focusing on specialized but non-magical projects that augment the Warren’s magical work.”
Holy crap! That had been her dream since she was a little girl.
Though it was a dream her mother’s Warren didn’t share. “Sedona doesn’t have a research cadre.”
“Seriously? No cadre? Okay… not judging… not judging… but wow.”
In the pause that followed, a bitter joy welled up inside Ash. Sedona was the world’s premier Warren? Hah! So much for her mother’s pride!
When her shock passed, Lucy chuckled. “Well, I guess that’s good news. When I heard they turned down such a brilliant woman I figured there had to be something desperately wrong with you. Glad to find out you’re not a serial killer!”
Brilliant? A Hare, a full Witch, had called her brilliant? Giddy with delight, Ash joined the Shifter’s laughter.
“Okay, since you’re not chopping up homeless people, let me get to the point of this call. Unlike Sedona, L.A. does have a research cadre. Is that a line of work you’d be interested in?”
Would she be interested in her dream job? “Uh… yes?”
“Great. I’m currently renting a place outside of Yuma. Any chance you could do an interview tomorrow? In person. Sorry about that,” she added. “I know it’s a long drive but I need to examine your aura and run a few tests to check for magical sensitivity. Can’t do that over the phone.”
The L.A. Warren believed in psychic abilities? They didn’t think that all magical power resided solely in the hands of Shifters? Ash’s mind whirled. Everything she had dreamed of… everything was coming true! “I can be there, yes.”
“Awesome. Will 7:00 pm work?” Lucy rattled off an address. “Don’t let the dirt road scare you off. The place is a bit remote but after you get here, you’ll see why. Maybe you can help me figure out what’s going on.”
A Hare wanted her advice. Ash Anderson, Magdalene Anderson’s greatest disappointment, would advise a Witch! She could barely keep her voice from shaking. “That sounds amazing. I will be there.”
“Seven it is then. Oh, and one more small thing.”
For the first time, a chill dimmed the cheery Hare’s enthusiasm. “Could I ask you to keep this quiet for now? Warrens can get very irate when they think someone’s ‘poaching’ from them.”
“It wouldn’t be poaching. Sedona doesn’t want me.”
“Ever heard of the Aesop fable, ‘The Dog in the Manger’? About a dog who can’t eat hay but won’t let any of the horses eat it either?”
Ash had to giggle at that. “I hate to say it, but that sounds like my mother.”
Lucy chuckled too, though her initial glee seemed dimmer. “Trust me, Witch Wars suck. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep this quiet at first. If we decide to hire you – and if you like our offer – then I can let my Witch Queen figure out how to announce this.”
“Of course. Makes perfect sense to me,” Ash assured her.
Frankly, if she mentioned this now, her mother would just mock her. That was the last thing she needed: Mom shredding her self-esteem right before the most important interview in her life!
“We’ll see you tomorrow then!”
“Tomorrow at 7:00!”
Chapter 2.
Good thing Lucy had warned her about the dirt road because the ‘road’ was enough to give any sane person nightmares. Ash had seen four wheel drive tracks in better shape.
In high summer, sunset came late in Arizona. Which, fortunately, meant she could clearly see every rut, pothole, and sharp rock in the miserable cow path. For almost a mile she inched her way around gaping holes and cringed as rocks pinged off the undercarriage of her Nissan.
But she didn’t let it scare her off, not even when she was sure her little sedan would bottom out on the next bump.
What Warren will ever take me if I’m too chicken to even make it to the interview site?
However she did make herself a promise: as soon as she got her first paycheck she was shopping for a pickup. Archeological sites didn’t have convenient paved roads running up to them. If she worked for the L.A. Warren, she’d need a solid off-road vehicle.
Sunlight glittered off something in the distance. That light quieted the nervous voice in her head that whispered she’d missed the turn-off and was now blundering off into the desert. Closer, the glitter resolved into a gorgeous new Jeep. A coat of dust dulled its sleek black paint, but no mud or dents marred it. A car like that could fly up this stupid trail!
The Jeep was parked beside an ancient adobe house with a sagging roof. A ratty, rundown shack that probably cost a tenth of what that car did.
What could draw a Witch to such a desolate place? Ash’s heart beat faster as she parked. Lucy warned that there was a mystery here. Solving it might guarantee her a place in the L.A. Warren.
Grabbing her satchel, Ash hopped out and smoothed her short skirt. A strange chill lurked in the air. Above, the sun beat down with relentless ferocity. Around her, heat waves shimmered across the land. Yet standing before this ramshackle hut, she shivered, even as the first beads of sweat trickled down her forehead.
Uneasy, she clutched her bag close.
Okay, there’s a spell here. So what? If I’m scared of a little magic I better find a different profession!
Calm and sensible, that thought settled her nerves. The last bit of worry faded away when Lucy’s bubbly voice answered her first knock.
“C’mon in Ash!”
The door opened onto a ruin. Dirt floor, cobwebs in every corner. The air that rushed out was dank and cold. Dazzled by the evening sun, Ash couldn’t see much. A few dark shapes that might be a table and chair. Blinking, she edged forward into the dusk to let her eyes adjust.
“I assumed that was you,” Lucy teased, “since coyotes can’t knock. So… hi!”
“Hi!” Her skin crawled as a draft slithered across her skin. Despite the Hare’s friendly tone, Ash’s mouth grew dry. Something was wrong here. Desperately wrong.
Though… maybe that was the point. Lucy had said she wanted to see if she had psychic abilities. Was that why they were meeting at this creepy ruin?
A person stood before her in the dimness. Lucy? She inched closer, testing the floor for holes.
Without warning, the door behind her closed, plunging the room into complete darkness. For one second…
Then Lucy clicked on a lantern, filling the decaying room with a pale light.
What it revealed sent a wave of fear coursing through Ash.
Her host stood beside a rotting table, one hand on the lamp switch. She looked like… well, the average Hare. Tooth-pick thin, a cascade of red locks, and not an ounce of body fat to be seen. No surprises there.
What did startle Ash was the fact that they weren’t alone.
Five men ringed the room, backs to the wall, arms folded across their chests. Faces blank, they stared straight ahead like mannequins. Only the rise and fall of their chests proved they were alive. Under their soul-less, empty gazes she shivered.
The dim light played tricks on her. A shadow, a smudge of darkness lay beneath the eyes of each man.
“Lucy? What’s going on?”
The Hare didn’t answer, and as Ash looked at her more closely she spotted shadows under her eyes too. A tiny sliver of gloom that she would normally write off as smudged mascara.
Only everyone in this room had it. Except her.
“Brothers.” Lucy’s voice rang out, cold and hollow and nothing like her usual chipper self. “This is the host. Which of you will wear her?”
Wear me? Wear me?!? What the hell does that even mean?
Ash’s hand slipped into her satchel and found a familiar, comforting cylinder. Pepper spray. She wasn’t helpless, not even against an enemy like this. One of the men blocked the door, but she scurried closer to him.
A tall, muscular man with short cropped hair answered first. “My clothes are dull and have proven useless. I would discard them.”
“Then take her,” Lucy urged him.
Take? Wear? Clothes? What on earth did that mean? None of it made sense. But all of it terrified Ash.
She knew one thing, though. This was not an interview. It was a trap
The thug turned to face her. He came no closer, a fact that offered a flicker of hope. Until he started to cry.
Black, inky ‘tears’ gushed out of his eyes. They poured down his cheeks in a thick stream that soaked his shirt. More and more, a torrent that plunged across stomach, down legs, to pool around his feet. As the last drops of black slime dribbled to the floor, the man wobbled and blinked as if he had no idea where he was.
“What’s going on h—”
The man to his left raised a gun and fired two bullets at pointblank range. Painting the wall with blood and bone.
