She didn’t know the why of it, but after she’d killed the witches, she’d needed to live holed up in the earth. It gave her comfort, she could be private and her spell kept her secure.
She excelled in security spells like the one around her entire property. As much as any creature in Five Bridges could be secure, Maeve was.
Once she crossed the spelled boundary of her apartment, she headed down the spiral stone staircase that led to the first belowground level. The bottom step opened up to a large, high-ceilinged living room. Straight ahead was her bedroom and bathroom.
Sheba, her black cat and witch muse, met her at the bottom step and meowed at her.
“Hello to you, too.” Maeve was surprised. Sheba didn’t usually greet her like this. But Sheba was her own cat and expressed herself freely around Maeve.
With her clothes filthy from handling the shifter, Maeve wanted a shower. Sheba followed her into the bedroom, meowing the entire time.
Maeve slid her shoes off then unzipped her jeans. “What’s gotten into you?” Sheba sat right in front of her, but continued to yowl. Maybe she was out of food.
Just as Maeve pulled her shirt over her head, her cell rang. She plucked it from her jeans pocket. Alfonso. Oh, no.
Sheba let a long and almost hoarse meow flow from her furry throat.
She stared at her cat as she spoke to Alfonso. “What’s wrong?” He never called during a procedure. “Did he die?”
“No, our guest is very much alive. But he’s in bad shape and there’s something you need to know.”
She forced herself to take a deep breath. Every instinct she had now vibrated with warning. “Spill it, my friend.”
“It’s Officer Braden. The shifter we brought in was Braden and I’ll need your special witch blood to transfuse.”
Braden.
Time stopped. That’s the only way she could describe what happened.
Had she heard right?
She should have known, but how could she? His face had been bloody and badly swollen. There was no way she could have recognized him.
Her throat grew tight. Dammit, why was she having this kind of reaction, as though she was losing her husband all over again.
She and Braden weren’t that close. Except, she’d gotten to know him well over the many appointments he’d made with her. For over a year, he’d been on a mission to locate his wife’s killers. For eight hours a day, he worked as a Border Patrol Officer, one of the hardest, most dangerous jobs in Five Bridges. But after each shift, he was on the hunt in her territory. He’d even rented a cheap apartment in Elegance Territory so he could work the case off-hours.
Until this moment, however, she hadn’t realized how important he’d become to her.
Somehow, in the months she’d gotten to know him, he’d become a true friend. In that sense, he was one of the first friendships she’d formed in Five Bridges. His wife had been killed not long after Maeve had arrived in Elegance.
“On my way.”
She jumped into a clean pair of jeans and threw on a fresh t-shirt, then ran the entire distance back to the emergency room.
~ ~ ~
Braden hovered between worlds. Gray fog rolled through the space. For some reason, he now lay on his back. Was he in the Graveyard? He couldn’t tell.
From far away, he heard voices calling to each other. One male shifter appeared to be giving orders. But he couldn’t make out the words.
He felt a soft hand on his face.
He turned. A gasp shuddered in his throat. His wife had returned. He tried to speak, but his voice wasn’t working. He switched to telepathy. Laura, my Love.
I’m here, my darling.
Her touch was cool to his forehead, yet not quite substantial, as though air passed over him. I can’t believe you’ve come back.
And I always forget how handsome you are. She leaned close. He felt her lips on his. But again, not fully substantial, just a soft vibration.
He was comforted. Deeply.
Yet pain followed, rising from the well of his grief that she’d died.
You can let me go now, Braden. I know you miss me. But you’ve got to move on and you must do it quickly. You have work to do, my love.
What work? He didn’t understand.
She continued to pet his forehead. Just look at her. There, not far.
Images came to him of Maeve. She was a red-headed beauty his body always responded to. He’d spoken with her often in his investigations. She had a candle shop and he confessed he liked talking to her. But she was a witch and he hated her kind. A dark coven had taken Laura’s life.
The setting didn’t seem familiar, though, so he knew he wasn’t in Maeve’s store. She sat on a stool near what looked like an operating table. A team worked on the body, but his gaze stayed focused on her.
Then he saw the line attached to her arm and leading to the patient. She was donating blood.
Huh. The witch continually surprised him. She was a blood donor.
He shifted his gaze fully to the patient. It took him a moment to recognize himself. Maeve is donating to me?
She is. Her blood has strong healing qualities, especially for wolves and no, I don’t know why. She hungers for you, Braden, the way I used to. You should give her what she needs.
I can’t. She’s a witch. I hate them all because they killed you.
Laura turned toward him and held his gaze. She petted his forehead again. You need to make an exception. Maeve is a powerful woman and I value her immensely. She did me a service once. A very great service.
I didn’t know you knew any of the witches in Elegance.
Not many. But Maeve, oh, yes.
What did she do for you?
Laura leaned over him once more and kissed him on the forehead this time. Again, it felt like air against his skin. No more talk. Work at your self-healing. Mind the witch.
Laura faded away. He wanted to call her back, but he couldn’t. His brain remained in a foggy state, his gaze now fixed on Maeve. Why did he have to mind the witch? ‘Mind’ as in obey? He didn’t understand.
He’d always been attracted to Maeve. He wouldn’t deny it. He’d spoken with her often during his hunt for Laura’s murderers. He suspected she knew something about the night his wife died, but she’d denied it. Repeatedly.
Last week, she’d finally admitted that her memory had gaps and it was possible she knew something she simply couldn’t remember. Maybe that was why Laura wanted him to pay attention to Maeve. The witch knew the truth about how she’d died and who was responsible.
Laura’s voice returned on a whisper. Maeve can help you find my killers.
Then nothing.
~ ~ ~
Maeve sat on the stool beside the operating table, a line running from the inside of her elbow to Braden’s neck.
This wasn’t a human procedure. Very little was sterile. But an immaculate workspace wasn’t necessary for alter beings. They were long-lived because germs didn’t infect their bodies the way they could easily engulf a human wound.
Alfonso worked quickly. Braden had been slashed in a dozen places and kicked hard. Alfonso had ripped into the side of Braden’s chest to pull the ribs out of the lungs and set a few broad sutures.
She kept shaking her head. There was no way Braden could survive what he was going through.
Maeve said good-bye repeatedly. She petted the top of Braden’s head and spoke softly to him. She thanked him for being a good friend to her. In many ways, he’d helped make her life in Five Bridges tolerable. He’d lived in Savage ten years. He knew a lot and he was fully acclimated to the alter way of life.
His eyelids weren’t taped down so he stared straight out at nothing. Once he actually looked at her, yet she knew he wasn’t there. Not really.
She finally understood the saying, ‘hanging on by a thread’.
When she’d donated all she could, a shifter female came forward to take her place. Wolf blood would be almost as healing as Maeve’s. For wh
atever reason, her witchy life force held power for the wolf.
She watched the new line get hooked up.
Then something unexpected happened. Her nose wrinkled and her lips pulled back. She felt a growl form in her throat. She didn’t like that another woman was helping him.
What the hell?
These were wolf behaviors.
At almost the exact same moment, the monitor showed a slowing heartrate.
One of the techs called out, “We’re losing him.”
Alfonso spoke in a tense voice. “I’m almost done. Just a few more stitches. Hang on, Braden.”
Without giving it a thought, Maeve hurried to the opposite side of the table. She dipped down beneath Alfonso’s quick-working elbows and grabbed Braden’s free hand. Her heart raced. She felt panicky. He needed the connection to her, not to the female wolf. To her.
To her.
She gripped his hand hard and planted her free hand on his forehead. She turned his face toward her. His eyes flitted back and forth. Look at me.
Slowly, his eyes focused and settled on hers. Stay with me, Braden. Dammit, you gave me such a hard time in my candle shop, but I’ve gotten used to having you around. I need you to stay. I can’t explain why, but you’re needed here.
His eyes had an otherworldly glow.
She waited.
Talk to me, Braden, from this dark place you’ve gone to. Talk to me. Come back to me. We need you in Five Bridges. You’re one of the honorable few. I know that. I’ve always known it. Lives will be lost because you’re not battling for all of us as you’ve done for the ten years you’ve served on the Border Patrol.
His heart-rate stopped plummeting but it didn’t rise either. It was still too slow. Any good nurse would tell her he was in heart failure.
She stayed with it and reminded him of their shared histories. I know you lost everything when Laura died. I know what that’s like. Veyda killed my Frank the day he was to leave me here forever. We’d said our good-byes. He’d be starting a new life without me. He was moving to Atlanta, on the other side of the country though he promised to visit me once a year.
Veyda killed him, Braden. He was my joy, my life. I know what it is to lose so much and I don’t want to lose you as well. You’re my good friend. You’re important to me.
So, get your ass back here, do you hear me?
For a moment, his eyes grew clear and she felt the faintest pressure as he squeezed her hand.
“Blood pressure’s going up.” The tech called out again.
Maeve choked on a sob. His eyes closed and his body fell limp once more.
“Is he okay?” she asked.
She looked from the tech to Alfonso. Each nodded.
She’d pulled him back.
“What did you do?” Alfonso asked, setting the final stitch.
“I talked to him. Telepathy, I mean.”
“You did good.”
She looked up and down the stitched-up body. He looked like the worst quilt ever made. He was bruised in more places than she could count. He shouldn’t have survived. This was nothing short of a miracle.
“He’ll need at least one more transfusion to put him on a solid path. We’ll find a couple more wolves to donate.”
Again, she felt an odd, unexpected growl form in her throat.
~ ~ ~
As Braden came to full-consciousness, he felt two things. First, he’d never been more comfortable in his life. He was cradled in the softest mattress he’d ever slept on. His wolf liked it.
Second, he had no idea where he was. Of course, he hadn’t opened his eyes. He wasn’t sure he could. He felt exhausted beyond words.
He knew he’d drifted to the shores of death at least once recently. He’d seen Maeve-the-witch a couple of times, which seemed odd. He could also recall a conversation with his deceased wife, Laura.
His beloved wife, his soul-mate, his alpha-mate.
His heart melted all over again with thoughts of her.
She was kindness personified and his pack had loved her. He wasn’t the only one to grieve her death. His entire pack had mourned. Bonfires had been lit in her honor night after night. Howling had filled the air. His wolves had been heartsick.
He’d been inconsolable.
A year-and-a-half later, he still was.
He’d left his pack in in the care of his second-in-command, Jeremy. The strong, beta wolf was close to alpha status and had done an excellent job keeping the pack in order while Braden worked his mission.
Braden went back to Savage monthly to sustain his bond with his pack. His wolves supported him completely in what he was doing. They’d lost Laura as well and wanted justice for her as much as he did.
As he grew more awake, he became aware of an unusual scent in the room, something like lemons and lavender. His cheap hotel room didn’t smell like this at all.
Right. So, he wasn’t at his hotel.
Where was he then?
He struggled to open his eyes, but gradually forced his eyelids up. Since he was on his back, the ceiling came into focus first. It was tall, maybe ten feet high and had squares bordered in dark wood. The ceiling itself was painted a muddy mustard color with a slight sheen. Oddly pleasing. There was a name for framed-up ceilings like this, but he couldn’t think of it.
His brain sloshed around.
Coffered. Right. A coffered ceiling.
His gaze took in the space. Maybe he would recognize something. Shake his memory loose.
He reclined in a king-sized bed. To the right, a large painting hung on a dark purple wall, an abstract floral, with glitter in some of the paints. It should have been garish, but wasn’t. Purple. Gold. Some red.
Dynamic.
A dark, large Asian chest stood directly across from the bed, with intricate wood carvings. Above the chest, a Samurai sword.
An antique, full-length mirror stood in the far northeast corner. His wolfness had easily fixed the compass settings in his mind. Yup, the bed faced east.
A massive mahogany dresser rested against the adjacent wall to his left.
He worked hard and craned his neck all the way to the headboard wall and saw an opening of some kind, an entrance, maybe to a bathroom. It was strange, though, because the space held a small dark wood table against the wall with an arrangement of fresh flowers on top.
He lifted his wolf nose. Then he knew, he was in an underground apartment of some kind.
The air was fresh enough, but a table with flowers was a trick to give a feeling of the outdoors. Even the yellow ceiling gave a sense of airiness.
Still, nothing looked familiar. His pack had an underground compound. But he knew he wasn’t there. He sensed he wasn’t in Savage Territory at all. He was still in Elegance.
He drew a deep breath and forced himself to relax. He’d been a warrior for ten years. He lived on the edge. But he’d always been able to rely on his instincts once he’d become an alter-wolf.
He moved his arm and felt a tugging sensation. He looked down and saw he was hooked up to an IV. What the hell? Was he ill? And what wolf ever needed treatment like this? He could self-heal better than most.
His memory roared back to life.
The Graveyard.
Six toughs. One of them a warlock. Gammet, with five shifters under his command.
Knives and boots.
More pain than he’d ever known.
How the hell was he still alive?
He shifted his shoulders back-and-forth. He felt bruised inside and out. He tried to sit up, but the effort was too much.
Right.
The shores of death.
Again, where was he?
He heard footsteps. His adrenaline kicked in, but he couldn’t exactly move.
A tall, African-American man appeared in the doorway and the moment he met Braden’s gaze, his brows rose. “You’re awake.”
“Who the hell are you?”
~ ~ ~
Maeve rubbed the back of her neck. Again.
/> She was in her workroom modifying an infusion spell designed to aid Braden’s healing. He’d been in her bed for four days and still wasn’t awake.
Her cell rang. It lay near her on the wooden work table she used to create her potions, pastes and infusions.
Alfonso.
She’d call him right back after she was done.
Sheba sat at the end of the table supervising her work, her cat’s eyes intent on the process.
Maeve had the healing concoction warming above a tealight so she could catch all the fragrances and their properties. She added a pinch of dried hyacinth to the lavender-marigold blend. She stirred the little black kettle that contained a cup of purified water. She was very witch in this moment, even hunched over.
She hadn’t understood the witch’s bent-over posture before. Now she did. Keeping her head positioned parallel to the table allowed her a full blast of the infusion.
Her nostrils flared and each floral fragrance sent spirals of sensation into her brain.
She closed her eyes to experience each one.
The lavender had definitely improved the infusion. She was much closer now to the balance she required.
In fact, she knew she’d reached the right level of floral healing elements.
The next step, however, made her heart pause and even skip a couple of beats. She had a terrible secret, one that made her feel like a traitor to both human and alter-kind alike. She often used a few grains of the drug, emerald flame, in the products she created.
The amount was infinitesimal, yet the difference was profound in terms of results.
Despite the amazing effects just a touch of the flame drug could create, Maeve always felt guilty using the illegal substance. Flame drugs had landed her here.
The drugs had been the method by which the alter serums had been introduced into human society. Originally designed to be a synthetic competitor for cocaine and heroin, the flame drugs had quickly garnered a third of all drug-trafficking in the U.S.
Thirty years ago, the original creators of the drug had accidentally developed serums that changed the human genome and the five alter species became known to the world: Vampire, witch, wolf-shifter, fae, and dead-talkers.
Worse, once infected with a serum and transformed, every person was immediately quarantined in lands set aside throughout the U.S. to keep the populations separate. The early alter-species had been notoriously violent.