Cold Blooded

A witch with long golden hair burst through a door on the other side of the room and hustled toward us. “Magdalene just had a vision,” she called, addressing Tally directly. “She wants you.” Then she grimaced. “And she said to bring along the … female wolf.”

Tally nodded and took a step forward, sliding off her black skullcap as she slammed the car door. White hair cascaded down to the middle of her back. It was a lot longer than I would’ve guessed, and actually kind of pretty. It made her appear decades younger.

I hadn’t expected that.

“Keep your fingers at the ready, ladies,” she ordered. “As of right now, we are on a yellow alert. The sorcerers are on the hunt. These are my guests”—she jabbed her thumb behind her—“and they are not to be harmed … unless, of course, they draw first blood.” She glanced back into the car. “Good enough for you?”

Rourke scowled but opened his door.

Nick and I followed.

I made my way around the vehicle, my internal feelers open despite my unaffected wolf. This Coven hadn’t accepted Marcy, and even though her aunt was the most powerful witch in the country—and presided over the Coven—Marcy hadn’t been voted in. Witches were expected to perform precisely every time. Their rituals and coming-of-age tasks were legendary. Marcy was extremely powerful but had a habit of misfiring under pressure. Tally may have been able to overrule to let her niece in, if Marcy’s last task hadn’t been such a spectacular blunder. Over the years, on those rare occasions we drank together, she’d given me snippets of a disjointed tale—something to do with a local donut shop, naked coeds, and a dead rooster.

Needless to say, these witches were no friends of mine.

We followed Tally through the curious spectators, who had stepped back to give us some space. Rourke had waited for me and ushered me in front. Nick had taken up the rear.

“Nice assets, cat,” one witch cackled. “Those tattoos are rockin’.”

“She doesn’t feel strong to me. I could take her.”

“She smells like a garbage dump.”

I had on a road-worn pair of leggings and a wrinkled T-shirt. I’d showered only once in the past few days. My wolf growled. Now you’re upset?

“That cat is hawt.”

Rourke ignored them like a champ, his hands firmly planted around my waist, his power sparking me through my shirt.

“I like the brown-haired one. What is he?”

“Smells like a total fox to me.”

All these comments were for my benefit. These witches weren’t challenging me for Pack status, but they were challenging me nonetheless. My wolf was ramping herself up, getting more agitated by the second.

“She does travel with some delicious men. I don’t care if he smells like a mangy feline—I’d still do him.” Several witches snickered.

“I would totally fuc—”

In the time it took to blink, I was an inch away from the speaker’s startled face.

I clacked my teeth in front of her nose and smiled widely, showing her all my pearly whites. My growl was low and harsh and she backed up quickly. Her shocked reaction was immensely gratifying. My wolf let out a shallow huff of laughter. “In order to do my man, you’ll have to go through me first,” I said through a clenched jaw. “And after defeating Selene, kicking your ass would be like punching a kindergartener. Not exactly a fair fight.”

Murmurs started in earnest, as I knew they would.

Selene, the Lunar Goddess I’d just sent to Hell, was legendary among witches. She’d been a witch herself before ascending to her godhood. The spell caster in front of me gathered her composure with effort. She was young and not very powerful, according to her low signature. But she was gorgeous with sleek black hair and almond-shaped eyes. And I’d just called her bluff in a roomful of her peers. Her expression raged as she seethed, “You don’t scare me with all your big talk, mutt. There’s no way you took on Selene and won. You’re a liar.”

Calling me mutt was standard fare, but calling me a liar was a hefty insult. Questioning someone’s honor provoked a challenge on the spot. I had to respond, but fighting her here would start something bigger than I intended. “I’d be very careful if I were you. Calling me a liar makes me itchy.” I made a fist. “My wolf is begging me to show you some of our new skills.”

“Go right ahead.” Her eyes narrowed.

Tally turned from the door, her authoritative voice rang out. “Enough, Angie,” she ordered. “What she says is true. Selene’s presence on this plane has blinked off permanently. According to Lani, it happened more than a day ago. I don’t have time to referee a pissing match right now, so I’m ordering you to step down.”

The beauty’s eyes widened just enough and I unclenched my fist.

I knew without a doubt Marcy hated this witch with a fiery passion. Her inflated ego, likely due to her beauty because she had no power, was nauseating. And if I had to guess, Angie had led the vote to keep Marcy out of the Coven. I wanted to take a bite out of her in solidarity for my friend.

Instead, I settled for snapping the air in front of her nose again with a decisive bite.

She flinched, hitting her head against the wall.

I grinned, ignoring her murderous glare, and whispered, “I win.”

“You have no idea what I can do!” she yelled at my retreating back. “You better watch yourself!”

“Quiet, Angie,” one of the other witches muttered. “Just let it go.”

“Yes, Angie,” I said without turning around. “Let it go. If we fight, you lose.”

“I won’t lose,” she called. “I can promise you that. And when I’m done, I’ll—”

Rourke physically picked me up and carried me out the door.

Nick slammed it firmly shut behind him, muffling the rest of Angie’s threats, which included a hearty description of her talents in the bedroom. “Easy, Jess,” Nick said when he saw my face. “Just ignore it. She got in over her head and she couldn’t back down.”

“I don’t care,” I said. “She brought it on herself. A challenge is a challenge. You can’t expect me to ignore it.” Wolves didn’t back down from a fight. Ever.

Tally stood at the bottom of a staircase, her hands on her hips. “Angie is no threat to you, but her sister is. Leave it alone. If Magdalene had a vision, we need to see her now before it’s gone. You’re wasting valuable time.”

Rourke covered my lips in a quick kiss. He broke with a low growl and leaned in close, whispering, “I like you jealous.” He licked my earlobe and chills raced up my spine. “It’s sexy as hell.”

Tally tapped her foot.

I broke away, grinning. I wasn’t going to tell him it wasn’t jealousy that had motivated my reaction, because being sexy as hell worked for me. Not being able to have any alone time with my mate was testing my willpower on every level. The car ride home had been a torture of emotions and feelings, none of which we could act on, so right now I was willing to take what I could get. Sexy, jealous lover. Check. I turned, reluctantly tearing my gaze away from his clear green eyes, warm body, and delicious blond stubble, and headed down the long hallway. “Out of curiosity, who is Angie’s sister?” I asked Tally.

“Ceres.”

My brain filtered through the small information I had on her. “The Goddess of Crops?” I asked. Crops weren’t so scary.

“Fertility. And if you want to keep your mate, stay away from her. Her specialty is stripping libido. She’s a cranky goddess and Angie is her only blood-kin. She’s not like Selene. She doesn’t play with her prey. She leaves them crying and eternally deadened with one flick of her wrist.”

Jesus. “Good to know.”

We wound our way through the mansion, passing by room after room filled with plush carpets and ornate furniture. The house was a strange mix of Mediterranean meets Tudor with lots of gables and dark woodwork, with the addition of huge, airy windows. It had a pleasant feel. Two sets of staircases later, we entered a small room in the attic. I ducked my head as I passed through the low doorway. The boys had to physically bend over.

There, sitting on a bed covered in white chenille, was a toddler no older than three.

“Maggie,” Tally crooned. “Mommy’s here.”

3

“That’s a child.” The tot in question extended her pudgy arms out to her mother. Tally plucked her out of bed and skillfully perched her on her hip. The toddler was flushed, appearing to have just awoken from her nap. Her fine blonde hair stuck to her rosy cheeks. It was clear she’d been crying.

“Indeed,” Tally said. “She’s two.” Tally lovingly wiped her hair away from her face and planted a kiss on her forehead.

A baby soothsayer? I assumed this child was the oracle, since Tally had just addressed her as Maggie.

“Is she yours?” I asked. I wasn’t trying to be rude, but Tally was old by anyone’s standards—whether her face looked thirty or forty meant nothing. She had to be centuries old, gauging by her power alone. It radiated off her in currents that came only with age. I didn’t know the average life span of a witch, but I knew, like us, they aged slowly. No supe was truly immortal, and unless we obtained a godhood we could be killed a number of ways, such as by severing our heads or burning us alive. But the average mortality of a supernatural was thousands of years. “I mean”—I cleared my throat when she didn’t readily respond to my question—“not that she couldn’t be yours biologically, but I know witches adopt often.” Many Sects brought in children through legal adoptions.

“She’s mine,” she answered. “A witch is fertile once every year for her entire life. We are born of the earth and renew each year. Our problem is finding a compatible partner, like most Sects. It has been … difficult. This is only my second child and she is a gift. And if we don’t hurry, the information she has will be lost.” She turned and crooned, “Maggie, we’re going to play the Tell Mommy game, okay?” The child nodded and brought a chubby finger to her mom’s hair and started twirling. “Let’s get the crayons. This time we’ll color pictures. How does that sound?” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">