Southern Shifters: Werelock (Kindle Worlds Novella) (3 page)

He was younger than she’d thought a werelock would be. Not that she’d thought of them often. Like werebears, she hadn’t really believed they existed. They were a tale to scare werelion kids.

“Behave or the big, bad werebear will get you.”

“Eat your dinner or the werelocks will steal you away.”

But she’d seen both in Deal’s Gap. If that wasn’t a clue to reassess her beliefs then she didn’t know what was.

He carried her plump, curvy form easily, his gait smooth and steady. After all Lance’s taunting about her weight, having a man not even mention it… not even break a sweat when lifting her like it was a total nonissue, made her release the little breath she held deep inside.

It was easier to breathe without his unsettling gaze on her so she took the opportunity to study him. The typical tall, blond, and handsome, he looked the typical jock type gone rebel with earrings, chains, and fingers full of silver rings.

Only someone who knew what they were looking at would spot the real magical symbols hidden among the fashion pieces. Hiding in plain sight. The MO for almost every magical race out there.

His features were classically handsome. A strong brow was set over blue eyes that ranged between the color of the deepest ocean and pale as a winter sky. His nose was straight and perfectly Roman. His lips fascinated her. Sensuously full, they were maybe a tad too wide for the ideal of perfection but they suited him.

How old was he? He looked mid-twenties, which would put him only a few years younger than her. Fine lines had already formed around the corners of his eyes. Laughter lines, but she got the feeling he didn’t laugh often. His whole demeanor was less young buck out to get drunk and laid, and more dangerous predator prepared to do whatever it took to get the job done.

A dangerous bad boy.

Shit. She’d always had a thing for the bad boy. It was what had gotten her into a relationship with Lance, but now she saw Lance wasn’t a real bad boy, he was a wannabe with a mean streak playing at being dangerous. He thought hitting women and those weaker than himself made him powerful.

Real danger carried her in his arms like she was the most precious thing in the world.

He turned, catching her gaze and for a moment it was like she could see into his soul. Her cat purred, wanting nothing more than to turn belly up and invite this powerful male to take whatever he wanted.

Her cat was a freaking hussy.

A second later, the shutters came down in his eyes and he smiled. Far from reassuring her, the expression made all her guards go back up. She fought the feeling of safety which tried to wrap her in its snares, urging her to relax and trust him. Persuasion spell. Had to be. He’d compelled her cat too easily for it to be anything other than magic.

Crap. And her cat already liked him way too much. She was on her own in this particular fight.

No matter. Given that her cat was the weaker of her forms, she’d long ago gotten used to overriding her natural instinct to shift, controlling her cat ruthlessly to keep them both safe. She’d get them out of this. She had to because no way was she going back to Lance. Not with what he threatened.

“Ever try to leave me and I’ll put you in the ground with your dead parents. Bury you alive in a silver banded box. You’ll die down there knowing no one’s coming to save you.”

He’d made the promise with such relish, she knew he’d carry out the threat at the earliest opportunity. He’d probably had it planned for years.

But she wasn’t dead yet. Her natural stubborn nature kicked her up the ass before she could slide into depression and apathy. Her mind went into overdrive, turning over all the options. If she could get free, she could try to make it to the sheriff’s office or maybe the Dark Moon and beg for help. She’d been in the roadhouse once or twice, strictly in passing and keeping on the lowdown, and the guys that ran it were seriously scary dudes. They might help her.

No. Instantly she rejected the idea. Had Lance sent the usual shifter-type of bounty hunter after her, then she might have tried that, but a werelock was a whole new level of nastiness. Especially when she barely knew anyone in the town, preferring to keep to herself. Long experience had taught her not to make friends and the only person she could rely on was herself.

They reached the back of her property, but instead of turning left and walking up her garden, he carried on and turned into the next one. The Kirkpatrick house. They were away for a couple of weeks. She had no idea where, just that they’d packed up that big camper of theirs and waved goodbye as they’d driven off, all smiles.

A big, black muscle car was parked at the side of the garage, out of sight of the road. Definitely not the Kirkpatrick’s. Mr. Kirkpatrick owned a staid urban utility vehicle a world away from the sleek, powerful machine in front of her.

“This is us,” her werelock announced, and bent at the waist to set her on her feet.

She saw her chance and took it before he could move away. While his arm was still around the back of her knees, she lifted hers and dead-dropped, driving the point of her elbow into the back of his neck. He grunted and collapsed to the paving slabs like a stone, sprawling to lie still on the driveway.

Too still. Fear closed her throat. Shit. Had she hit him too hard and killed him? Even though she couldn’t afford the delay, she knelt next to him and pressed two fingers against his throat. Please say she hadn’t killed him. Even though he planned to take her back, he was only doing a job…

A strong heartbeat pulsed under her fingers. Relief shuddered through her, leaving her in a ragged breath. He was okay. Ignoring her cat’s need to wrap around him and keep him warm until he woke, she patted him down and found keys and a wallet in his pockets. Snagging both, she raced to the driver’s side and unlocked the door. Her heart pounded in her chest, adrenaline energizing her system. It couldn’t be this easy. Any moment he’d wake and fry her with a spell, stopping her escape before it had begun.

He didn’t, lying unmoving even when she gunned the big car out of her neighbor’s drive, fishtailing the back end a little before she got it until control and roared down the road.

She’d done it.

She’d escaped.

Again…

Werelion prides, as a rule, liked a lot of room to run and a fair amount of privacy which meant Renae had lived most of her life in the country. As such, driving big cars was no problem at all.

She gunned the beast of a machine out of Deal’s Gap like the hounds of hell were on her ass and turned onto the road heading for the interstate. It was the most direct route out of the area. There was just one problem, the Tail of the Dragon was between her and her escape. The number one motorbike and sports car route in the U.S., it was three hundred and eighteen curves in eleven miles with a reputation for chewing up and spitting out unwary drivers.

She grinned and put her foot down. As soon as she’d swung the big car into the first turn, she’d realized that while it might look like a well maintained classic model, the werelock had added some serious upgrades. Brakes, suspension… the whole kit and caboodle meant the thing handled like a dream.

The perfect car to take on the Dragon.

She kept her eye on the rearview all the time, although she didn’t know what she expected. The werelock couldn’t shift, that was the point. They sacrificed that ability to power their magic. It wasn’t like he was going to come racing after her in lion form. Especially out here. This might be the neutral zone, but most paranormals were careful around humans. Although it would be just her luck to get one that wasn’t…

The road changed and she touched the brakes, her focus complete. The road was a perfect racetrack, but that didn’t mean she could go hell for leather. Precisely because it was popular with bikers and sports car owners meant that law enforcement had a high presence and there were radar points all along the route.

Nearing the first one, she brought her speed down even more. Given it was a mid-week early evening, traffic wasn’t so bad, but she didn’t want to get picked up. It would be easy for the werelock to find her then. Especially as she was driving his car and the police would inform him she’d been pulled over.

She reached the first radar point and a ping and shimmer on the dashboard of the car caught her attention. Frowning, she looked down, and her eyes widened. Small words shimmered in moss green across the speedometer.

Cloak enchantment activated, road speed measurements negated.

The car was speed-cloaked?
Neat.

Spotting a patrol car parked in a passing place just up ahead, she grit her teeth and put her foot down. In for a penny, in for a pound. She’d soon know if the spell was for real.

The officer didn’t even look up as she sped by.

“Fuck. Me.”

With a whoop of elation, Renae kept her foot to the floor and took the Dragon with a vengeance. Eyes on the road, the scenery either side of the road became a blur as she threw the big car into the twists and turns. She overtook cars and bikes, weaving between them on the two lane road in a dizzying display of speed. Some drivers gaped at her, but others barely noticed her thanks to the spell, and before long she cleared the main section.

Settling down onto the straighter road, she reached for the werelock’s wallet and flipped it open. It was full of cash, enough to see her through a couple of days of motel living. Everything else, like getting access to her bank account and dealing with her belongings in the rental, she could deal with later. Right now, she had more important things to think about, like staying alive.

There was a driver’s license in the wallet so she pulled it free. Her werelock looked back at her from the photo. He was Hale Roark, twenty-six, six foot three, blond hair and blue eyed. It looked like a normal driver’s license until she tried to look at his address or the issuing state, then it got all blurry. How odd. She squinted her eyes and tried again, but the details remained stubbornly out of focus. A spell on his license… what did he have to hide?

Tucking it into the sun visor, she settled down to drive. The rumble of the road was comforting. Cleared her mind and allowed her to make plans. At least, it should. Instead, all she could think about was that kiss and the way the werelock’s, Hale’s, lips had felt on hers. They had been warm and firm, tender but sure with banked depths of fire she knew, once released, would scorch her to her soul.

A couple of hours down the interstate and exhaustion began to pull at her. She sighed. If she pushed it too much her cat would get crabby and that wasn’t her only problem.

Much as she liked the car, she needed to ditch it and find another ride. Car or bike, she didn’t care which, she could ride or drive anything. She cast quick glances at the motels she passed, nibbling her lower lip.

The trouble was, if she stole something that belonged to a human, the owner would report it missing. Given the werelock—Hale, she corrected herself—was paranormal, it was less likely he’d report his car stolen. The enchantment on his license showed he preferred to fly under the radar. No, he wouldn’t report the car; she was positive he wouldn’t. She did need to ditch it before he could track it down though, which meant she needed to find alternative transport.

But that was a question for tomorrow. First, she needed sleep and something to eat.

Pulling into a crowded motel, she parked out of sight of the road. A quick check of the bag on the back seat and she had a pair of pants. Nothing she could do about her bare feet, but with the pant legs rolled down it wasn’t so obvious. Besides, at this time of night, it wasn’t likely anyone would be checking out her feet.

Ten minutes later and she had a key to a quiet room at the back. Opening the door, she sighed in relief. Bog basic, it was clean which was all she needed. A shower and a nap and she’d hit the road again, put as much distance between her and Deal’s Gap with the werelock she’d knocked unconscious as possible.

She dumped Hale’s bag on the bed and walked out of the few items of clothing she wore  en route to the shower. The water was hot, and the pressure decent enough to make her moan with pleasure as it battered her sore muscles. Much as she loved her cat, shifting always took it out of her. It was like any physical activity, it needed practice. Perhaps she would have shifted more had her cat form been anything other than damned useless.

Shame hit her as soon as the thought registered and she
shhh’d
her cat, reassuring she didn’t think it was useless. It had saved her life and given up its mobility so she could have hers. A selfless act she was grateful for every single day.

The bed in the other room began to call her name. Quickly, she washed and stepped out to grab a towel from the rail. It was tiny and barely contained her ample curves.

Grumbling to herself, she tugged it this way and that, but if she covered her breasts it left a gap that was one flap away from revealing everything she had. She knew it was all about keeping costs down, but really, would it have killed them to get something bigger than a damn postage stamp?

Not that it mattered, she was alone, so there was no one to be disgusted if she flashed them. Opening the door to the bathroom, she took a step into the main room, and pulled up short as she realized two things.

Her cat purred.

And Hale lay on the bed, his hands above his head.

Shit. She froze in the doorway.

“Nice outfit,” he drawled, an easy smile on his lips. “But I preferred you without anything on. Don’t bother running. I have all the exits sealed.”

Lifting a hand, he waved it lazily. Runes shimmered in the air in front of the window and the door. She turned her head to see similar runes over the bathroom window.

“How did you find me?”

She’d been sure she could stay ahead of him, especially in the speed machine that was his car.

“Tracker hex carved into the chassis. It’s a custom job. The gal who does the work for me is as handy with a spell as she is with a wrench.”

“A witch mechanic? Is that allowed?”

He snorted. “I don’t think she’d care if it wasn’t. Probably do it anyway.”

“Bit of a rebel? Like you?” She cocked her eyebrow, trying not to let her attention get sidetracked by the sight of him on the bed. He hadn’t replaced his shirt, instead throwing on a battered leather jacket that left his ripped and toned abdomen visible. He didn’t wear pendants, she noticed, but his wrists were covered in bangles, both silver and etched leather that radiated power.

He didn’t move, just watched her levelly. “What makes you think I’m a rebel? You know nothing about me.”

Shoving her wet hair back over her shoulder, she shrugged. “There’s all the leather and the bad boy ‘look’ you got going on there. And I’ve never heard of a werelock working as a bounty hunter before.”

The sudden movement as he sat up startled her and she jumped backward, but all he did was rest his arm on his knee. “Don’t you mean
war
lock?”

The way he said it caught her attention and she looked at him carefully. “No, werelock. Admittedly, they’re rare, but you’re from a magical family so surely you’ve heard of them? Merlin was one, wasn’t he?”

His expression was carefully blank. “My family are weather witches and warlocks. Nothing earth-shattering. We don’t play in the big league with the battle magicians or anything. And I’m not even a full warlock… muddy blood from way back when resurfaced in me.” He touched the center of his chest. “I have something here that’s not human, something primal. It interferes with my magic sometimes.”

She took a step forward, her cat murmuring in pleasure as they got nearer the male who smelled so good. “Your inner animal. Werelocks aren’t like normal magic users or shifters, they’re a combination of both.”

He shook his head, looking up at her as she reached the end of the bed, but she caught the tiniest expression, quickly masked, at the back of his eyes.

“You know I’m right. As children, werelocks are normal for whatever family they’re born into. Magic doesn’t show until puberty, right? Well, neither does a shifters' animal. So with werelocks, they make a choice at puberty… either the inner animal manifests, or they sacrifice the shift for magic. That happened didn’t it? You made that choice not to shift.”

His expression altered and she knew—he remembered that moment.

She’d reached the bed and sat on the end, reaching out to him. Something about the set of his eyes, the way they glowed when he pulled magic, was almost golden. Her fingertips touched his cheek.

“You’re a lion, aren’t you? Or you would have been. My cat senses yours.”

*

Hale shook his head, but her words rang true. The thing inside him would have been—was—a lion. He didn’t want to hear the words though, closed his mind off to them. Didn’t want to have her verbalize what he’d suspected for years and none of his family had ever wanted to talk about.

The Hale family’s dirty little secret.

Their muddy blood was something whispered about during his childhood, but no one would ever admit it aloud. Instead, they whittled and watched one another for signs of anything different. Always the elephant in the room, always the rumors. An uncle who had to cut his nails with an angle grinder, or a great-aunt who’d been committed to an asylum because she couldn’t control her magic.

Then his cousin, Elizabeth, had disappeared abruptly when they were both eleven. Her magic had just started to manifest, and he’d been so jealous because they were the same age and his hadn’t come in. One day she’d been there, and the next gone, her mother’s eyes swollen from crying when she told him Elizabeth wouldn’t be playing again.

When he’d asked at home, Hale had been told never to mention her name again, but he’d overheard his parents talking that night. Elizabeth had grown a tail during a simple spell, and her father had “taken care of it.”

Even at eleven Hale didn’t need to be told what that meant.

His cousin was dead for being different.

So when he’d felt the new presence in his blood, he’d kept his damn fool mouth shut about it and hoped to hell he didn’t sneeze and pop a tail. He hadn’t, and he’d found a way not only to keep his different nature under wraps but also to use it to strengthen his magic. More than strengthen. He was the most powerful warlock in his family.

His inner beast snarled. Let them try and “take care” of him now.

Lion. He rolled the word around his mind and the creature rumbled in agreement of both her words and the female’s touch. It wanted to know more about her, wrap around her and beg for more of her touch.

His familiar’s touch. He shut down the male needs raging in his body. She was his familiar and he shouldn’t have such thoughts about her. He certainly shouldn’t have kissed her. Warlocks didn’t have that kind of relationship with their familiars. They were a grounding mechanism for magic, leeching away any dangerous backlash that would otherwise have killed a magic-wielder. A vent, not a bed partner.

She moved on the bed, the rustle of sheets accompanying the soft stroke of her fingers over his cheek, and down his jaw. The pad of her fingertips teased at the corners of his lips and it was all he could do not to turn his head and kiss them.

But she wasn’t a normal familiar, was she? She was a shifter, not the domesticated or wild animal familiars normally were. He wasn’t a normal warlock either. He was a
were
lock. Apparently. Perhaps it was normal for werelocks to have shifter familiars?