Mind Mates (Pull of the Moon Book 2) (14 page)

Emma’s cheeks tingled with embarrassment. Shalla didn’t
mean
to hurt her, but Emma’s skin was paper-thin to parental disapproval, especially since she only had her mother now. “It’s not quite like that. Bruiser wanted to force me into his harem.”

A sudden frown sprang onto her mother’s face. “
Force…?
”

Her hand rose to her throat, touching her necklace. Her frown slowly dissolved. “Mating the alpha…” Shalla sighed. “A step up for you. Congratulations.”

“What?” Emma’s shock spilled out as a gasp. “Harem isn’t true mating.”

“Certainly it is. It’s a time-honored form of mating.” Pouring her own coffee, Shalla added pointedly, “It’s the most prestige an iota could expect. Be happy.”

“You think I should have
let
him…?” Shame flooded Emma at her mother’s reprimand. Was Shalla right? Should she have submitted to Bruiser’s enslavement? Maybe she didn’t deserve better.

No. A wizard prince is my friend. I don’t have to sell myself to anyone.

Emma sat straighter and said mildly, “I think I can do better than the lowest female in a harem.”

She knew that was the right thing to say when her mother twitched and started blinking rapidly, as if the words had broken through.

Her mother’s color rose. “Emma, I am sorry. If your brother was here, we’d have better leverage to get you a good marriage…” She jerked straight, her gaze clouding. “
If
he were here. Which he’s not.” Setting the cup down, she twisted her new necklace and loudly lamented, “Oh, if only he weren’t in that nasty Witches’ Council jail.”

The overdone sing-song, her mother’s gaze flicking toward the kitchen as she worried the amethyst pendant, jangled Emma’s intuition overtime. She made a shrewd guess. “That’s a nice necklace.”

“Yes. It was a present from Elroy…I mean Edge.”

Edge was her brother’s pack name, bestowed on him by the old alpha here, Slan Scauth. Emma kept it to herself that “Edge” sounded less like a pack name and more like a grooming product.

Under Scauth’s influence, her brother became quite a little villain. Not Edge’s fault, Shalla was quick to say. Scauth, into everything illegal and immoral, had dragged his lieutenants down with him, including good little foot soldier Edge.

Two months ago, a mundane deputy sheriff caught Edge carting the lifeless husk of a female across state lines. Edge was awaiting trial when Noah Blackwood defeated Scauth and found out what the evil ex-alpha was hiding.

The dead female was the tip of the iceberg.

Two very bad men had murdered several shifters magically by siphoning them to lifeless husks. The Council found Edge guilty on an accessory charge and misuse of a magical weapon—although the esteemed Council seemed more upset about the misuse of magic than the murders.

Edge was jailed…probably in a pocket universe, now that Emma thought about it. Inescapable. There should be no reason for her to suspect what she did.

Yet if
any
threat to her mother was in that kitchen, she needed to know before she left. Sipping coffee, Emma feigned a calm she didn’t feel and said conversationally, “Have you heard from Edge?”

“Of course not. Oh, I send letters to him, but the Council doesn’t allow communications out.” Shalla’s eyes flicked kitchenward again.

Was the male out there connected to the Council somehow? Stomach roiling, Emma set her coffee down. Not Ryder. He’d have already snatched her up and tossed her back in jail.

Her mother went on, “No messaging, or email, or even regular mail. How silly is that? They’re holding him incommuni…incommunical…in-something.”

“Incommunicado?” A pocket universe would do that.

“Damned fancy witches with their fancy language. Can’t they just say ‘no contact’?”

“I guess not.” Not Council in the kitchen then, not with her mother badmouthing witches. The idea that somehow her brother might be free…well, it was ludicrous. Which left the male as a bit of companionship for her mother, not a threat. Relaxing slightly, Emma placed a forkful of cake in her mouth.

Sugar, eggs, butter, and chocolate mingled on her tongue. She hadn’t eaten since the snack on the boat, and her mother’s baking was superlative. “This is delicious.”

“Thanks.” Shalla picked up her coffee again. “So when are you going back to Bruiser?”

That soured the bite. “I hoped I could find a job here. Now that the economy is better.”

“Thanks to Prince Noah. He’s a wizard prince as well as an alpha wolf, did you know that?”

“You mentioned it,” Emma murmured. “He’s also the pack’s king.”

“Married to a real live princess,” Shalla said as if Emma hadn’t spoken. “When Edge gets home, maybe he can even marry one of Prince Noah’s daughters when she grows up. Wouldn’t that be a step in the right direction!”

Appetite gone, Emma set down the cake. Why did her mother keep saying that? Life in prison meant Edge was
never
coming home. Though marriage wasn’t as far-fetched as it sounded. Shifters lived longer than humans. Eighteen years was nothing to wait.

Somehow, though, Emma didn’t think Prince Noah would let his daughter marry a felon. But her mother continued to spin the idea, until Emma shot to her feet. “Look, I don’t want to keep you from…” She glanced toward the kitchen. “…from whatever. I came for clothes and my box, and since they’re not here, if you’ll just tell me who you sold them to—”

“I heard
you
gave Princess Sophia up,” her mother said suddenly. “You’re the snitch.”

Emma froze. “That’s not true.”

Someone snickered, not her mother.

Emma’s head jerked toward the sound, her ears sharpening. That male giggle had come from the darkened kitchen.

That snicker ate Emma’s nerves and reversed her decision. The male might be Shalla’s boyfriend, but he bore no good will for Emma. Maybe even a personal threat…

Use me,
her talent purred.

No. I’ll never give in to the rage again.

Emma faced the kitchen. “I know you’re there. Come out
now.
”

“Hey, Mouseturd.” The familiar rasp sounded like Elroy.

But it couldn’t be.

Yet the he-wolf who stepped into the light, five feet eight inches of lanky not-quite-beta wolf, was all too familiar.

He cocked her a mean smile. “Guess who’s home?”

Chapter Thirteen

Emma sank to the couch, blinking at the apparition leaning against the kitchen doorway, not entirely sure he wasn’t a ghost.
Nobody
got out of a Witches’ Council prison once they were in.

Gabriel and I did.

But that was a special circumstance, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

Gabriel would know.
Excitement splashed her.
I’ll have to see him again.

Oh, thank you, wolfie libido.
Any excuse to get tingly naughty parts within rubbing distance.

She stuttered, “E-Elroy? What are you doing here?”

“The
name
is Edge.” Her brother’s mouth worked overtime as he spoke, like a foreign language film where the dub didn’t fit.

“Right. Edge.”
Get your mental head out of Gabriel’s lap and into the game.
“Um, you’re looking well.”

“You aren’t,” he said bluntly. “What are you wearing, a tent?”

Face heating, she muttered, “I borrowed a few things from a lost and found.”

“Should’ve stayed lost.” Her brother sauntered into the living room, chewing on a toothpick, which explained the bad dub. He always had been oral.

“Edge is out of prison,” Shalla said. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Wonderful,” Emma agreed, though the better word was
impossible.
“But how?”

“Me and the Council came to an ah-range-ment.” Edge drew out the word in a way that implied he and the elite Council witches were the best of buddies.

Even more impossible.

“An arrangement,” Emma echoed, suspicion sharpening her words. Edge tended to have no regard for consequences, so bombs meant for him generally blew up in other people’s faces—like her mother’s. Shalla was so trusting where her son was concerned. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“I don’t think I like your tone, Mouseturd.” Edge straightened, fists on hips, toothpick jutting like a lance. Emma’s glare lanced back.

“Emma, enough.” Shalla glowered at her. “Can’t you be glad for your brother? Must you always turn things into a pissing match?”

Distrust dissolved in confusion. “I didn’t—”

“The Council simply recognized Edge’s worth—
finally
—and released him. Now, Edge, would you like another piece of cake?” Shalla cut a generous wedge and shoveled it onto the plate that he’d probably been using before Emma arrived.

So who was my plate originally for?
Who was the second expected guest?

Shalla handed the laden plate to the he-wolf. “Did they have cake in prison?”

“Not like yours.” He grabbed it, spat the toothpick onto the edge, then shoveled down a big forkful. Eying Shalla, his chewing slowed, his gaze glittering in a way that sent Emma’s distrust back into high gear. “They’d’a never shut me away if I had my rightful place in the pack.”

“If only I hadn’t taken such a big step down marrying Ezra,” her mother said on cue. “I was a Greenhill, you know. My father was Slan Scauth’s beta. Yet I was given away like a dealer’s swag to a nobody to cement pack ties.”

The old refrain. Emma didn’t know why Edge had started it, but once the ongoing family debate began, it played out like a recording. As if she was suddenly eight again, she felt compelled to say, “Dad wasn’t a nobody. He was Sharpclaw’s lieutenant.”

“An iota.” Shalla’s mouth tightened. “A beta’s daughter, a
Greenhill,
given to an iota because the old artsy-fartsy was useful.”

Emma ventured, “He was a good provider.”

“Good enough, I suppose. But it’s
my
beta genes that got Edge released, mark my words.” She grabbed Emma’s cup, filled it with coffee and passed it to Edge.

Emma sighed.

“Now we’re finally getting the recognition we deserve.” Shalla beamed at her son. “I bet Edge will even be beta someday, after he marries Noah’s daughter.”

Emma was suddenly tired of it all, of the ladder-climbing, the rose-colored glasses where her brother was concerned, tired of losing her food or money or whatever if Edge needed it, tired of the whole thing. She stood.

“Where are you going?” Edge challenged.

Where am I going?

Gabriel had said he would figure out an escape plan, but she wasn’t so sure she should return to him. Being around him made her feel things,
want
things she shouldn’t.
Like another five-second orgasm…
Taking his help was dangerous, not least because she desperately wanted to.

But if not Gabriel, where else could she go? Who wanted her, needed her? Not her mother, certainly not Noah, the alpha who thought she’d betrayed him. Bruiser wanted her, but only as a chew toy. A Council Enforcer wanted her as his prisoner.

Her wolf’s tail drooped more with each thought.

Gabriel wanted her for herself.

Her wolf perked up and wagged.

He lied to me
, she told it.

I don’t care.
Wag, wag, wag.

Stupid wolf.

Well, wherever she was going, she’d try to collect her precious journal first. “The box I shipped home. What happened to it?”

“I told you. I sold all your junk. ” Her mother had the grace to blush. “Edge needed the money.”

“The clothes and books, I understand. But even Dad’s journal?” The only thing Emma had left of her father. “Please, Mom, tell me you kept that. It’s an antique.”

“Another name for junk.” Shalla sniffed. “I don’t know why you hung on to the ratty old thing anyway. The whole box only fetched ten dollars.”

Emma clenched her teeth against words of frustration. “Maybe it’s valueless outside the family, but that journal is a Singer treasure.”

Her mother stiffened. “I’m not a Singer.”

“But Edge is, right? It lists every Singer ever born, Edge’s whole lineage, plus it has Dad’s art.” Her father had painstakingly inked and hand-painted an oak tree linking the Singer names, so beautiful it made her weep. “His best work, magical, alive—”

“Like
berserkers
have any use for beauty,” Edge sneered.

Emma flinched. Her iota talent was ugly, shameful.

But that was another reason her father’s artistic talent was so important—it was
proof
that not all iotas were worthless.

It
had been
proof.

Finally she managed, “Who did you sell it to?”

“You can’t get it back.” Her brother scooped up the toothpick and stuck it between his teeth. “I already spent the cash. In fact, if you brought any more, I could use a couple hundred—”

“Just tell me who.” Emma’s vision was watery.

“I don’t remember.” Shalla wavered in her sight. “I had a rummage sale. It could have been anyone.”

“Maybe you can bring in cash…” A crafty light entered Edge’s eye as he gazed at Emma, “…another way.”

Uneasy, Emma backed toward the door. “I’ll find the journal on my own.”

Grinning around his toothpick, her brother pulled a cell phone from his pocket. “Search. Bruce Smith in Scottville, Michigan.”

Emma’s breath froze. Would her own brother sell her to Bruiser? She wouldn’t have believed cash meant more to Edge than family.

But maybe it always had.

“Edge, don’t.” Emma’s mother put a hand on his arm as if to stop him. It raised his sleeve slightly, revealing a flash of purple at his wrist.

He glared at her. “Mind your place, woman.”

“I-I…” She released him to nervously stroke her pendant. “I’m minding my place.”

“Here is the number,” the phone chirped brightly. “Bruce Smith in Scottville, Michigan.”

Emma fled the house.

Her gut churned as she flew west on Main. What was going on? Her mother’s behavior was strange. Although…well, Edge had
always
had an emotional hold over Shalla. Maybe his getting out of prison had exacerbated it.

But if he was calling Bruiser to sell her, she was out of options.

I have to get out of town.
She slowed. The gas station, where the bus stopped, was east, behind her. She started to turn around.

Something twisted her, a tug west.
Father’s journal.
If she left town now, she’d leave without it. Maybe never find it again.

She stood on the sidewalk, exposed yet unable to decide.

How much time did she have? Probably not much. Even if Edge didn’t get hold of Bruiser immediately, there was always the possibility that her brother would simply truss her up then call the alpha to negotiate.

For a couple hundred dollars.

Get out of here. East, west, doesn’t matter. Just move.

She kicked back into motion, only realizing where her subconscious had directed her when she saw the sign—Uncommon Night Owl Bookstore. Not to look for her journal. That was where
Gabriel
was.

Deceived by her own hidden needs, but the promise of relief of his strong, comforting arms drew her, hurrying her toward the entrance.

The store’s front door slammed open.

She flinched back. Instinct ducked her into the narrow causeway between buildings.

Ryder stalked out, followed by his hopping bit of vermin.

Hunkering in the shadows, breathing fast, she gave thanks that neither cricket nor man had a shifter’s nose, because she was spurting frustration and fear like a skunk.

The Enforcer marched west along Main, disappearing around the corner onto First.

Anxiety nearly goosed her into running inside, into the safety of Gabriel’s arms.

But he’d want to whisk her away immediately.
Not before I find Dad’s journal.
She stayed where she was, gulping breaths.

Who might know who bought her box of stuff? One answer to that—the Misses Jamies.

In a small town where everyone gossiped for fun, the Misses were professionals. The two spinster sisters had been Matinsfield’s source of gossip seemingly forever, the greatest thing since sliced bread…or since that was invented in 1928 while Betty White was born in 1922, maybe even the greatest thing since Betty White.

Zig-zagging behind random stores and houses, Emma made her way to West Second and Main. As she hurried up the Jamies’ front walk, the door swung open.

Miss Almira peered out like a tall thin jackrabbit stretching to peep over the long grass, if jackrabbits had shoe-polish black hair.

“Emma. Good. It’s about time you came home to stay.”

“I’m not staying—”

“Of course you are.” Almira latched onto her arm and dragged her inside with the strength of a pro wrestler. “Your alpha pair needs you.”

“Unless that nice young wizard needs her more,” a voice chirped from inside.

Emma’s feet stuttered at the one-two punch. Mundanes didn’t, shouldn’t,
couldn’t
know about shifters
or
witches.

Magic was a huge secret, because if mundanes discovered it, it’d be gone. Gabriel probably knew the theory of why, but her understanding was that the mundane world was Yes-No, while magic was Maybe. If enough mundanes knew magic was real, the whole of Maybe would condense into Yes-No, like crystals from sugar water, and magic would be gone forever. Witches somehow nudged individual Maybes into Yes or No without collapsing the whole.

“Close your mouth and come inside.” Almira tugged harder. “Gladys Louise, go get refreshments.”

Stumbling over the doorsill, Emma gaped at the woman as her brain finally framed a reply to the easiest of the stunners. “Um…how do you know about Noah and Sophia and…alpha pairs?”

“Please. We have a reputation to keep up. Would you be here for news if we didn’t know?”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“Now you will.” Almira raised her voice. “Gladys Louise! Where are those refreshments?”

“Please don’t go to any trouble on my account,” Emma said. “I had some coffee and cake at my mother’s—”

“Nonsense, dear,” Miss Gladys Louise piped, bustling in with a tray. She always piped. Heavyset with short wavy blonde hair going gray, eyes small and bright, she set the tray loaded with cookies and a sweating pitcher on the coffee table. “It’s no trouble at all. Sit, dear, sit. We’re so glad Gabriel doesn’t have to handle the Enforcer problem all on his own.”

Emma felt her mouth fall open again. Witches and wolves, bad enough. Did the sisters know about the
Council?

“You seem a bit off your feed today.” Almira’s appraising gaze scanned her. “You sick? Or is it that sack you’re wearing like clothes?”

Gabriel had given her these clothes. Emma said staunchly, “They fit well enough.”

“Sure—if you’re an elephant.” Almira handed her a plate heaped with cookies wafting sugary steam.

Saliva glands suddenly pricking, Emma managed a watery, “I don’t really have time to eat—”