Southern Shifters: Werelock (Kindle Worlds Novella)

MINA CARTER

USA TODAY Bestselling Author

Copyright 2015 Mina Carter

Cover Art by Mina Carter

Published by Summerhouse Publishing: August 2015

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Author's note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

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Was it still called paranoia if they really were out to get you?

Renae Brogan studied the street carefully as she drove along, alert for the slightest change from the norm. Well, normal for Deal’s Gap, Tennessee, anyway. Since the town was a refuge for the weird and wonderful of the paranormal world, “norm” meant something very different from everywhere else on the planet.

Here, outcasts from shifter clans lived side by side with half-breeds which all clans liked to pretend didn’t exist. She’d even heard there was a wererabbit in town. That had raised an eyebrow. Wererabbits didn’t hang out around predator types often, not unless they had a few screws loose, or a death wish.

Shifters or not though, people were people.

They got up in the morning, fetched the mail, drank too much coffee, and went to work like regular people. In the evening, they came home, cooked dinner, relaxed, fucked…all the normal sort of things. Unless they’d gone furry, in which case they headed off for a run in the wild or whatever else they liked to do when furred up. (She wasn’t adding fucking to that list because with some inter-species shifter relationships the mechanics were mindboggling.)

Regardless, the point was shifters had routines like humans, and that was what Renae learned to watch for. She was always alert for any change in the routines of those who lived around her. Changes were dangerous, not because she was some freakazoid OCD type, but because the slightest deviation could mean her ex-husband found her. Since he’d made it very clear the only way she was leaving him was in a coffin, she was eager to ensure he didn’t find her. Like, ever.

Slowing the car, she pretended to fiddle with the rearview mirror, using it to scan the street behind her in an extra check. Sometimes looking from a different angle revealed things her eye had slid past at first glance, but nothing. Everything looked normal.

A small sigh of relief escaped her lips and she shared an amused glance with her own reflection as she turned the mirror back into position. The long blond hair was gone, cropped shorter and covered by a dark dye she meticulously maintained. She missed her hair, but liked breathing too much. Like, really way too much.

Her eyes were the same green-gray, mainly because she couldn’t get on with the dark contacts she’d bought. Her inner lioness hated them and growled at the thought. Besides, she’d never figured out what to do with them in a shift, and the good ones that she could just about tolerate were damn expensive. With the way her shifts could hit, often out of the blue, she couldn’t afford to ditch that many pairs.

Satisfied nothing was out of the ordinary and the street was clear, she pulled her car into the drive next to her house. A small two-bed rental on a corner plot, it was cute and homey. The kind of place she could see herself settling into long term. Despite its unusual nature, Deal’s Gap was a nice place to live; maybe bring up a family…

She sighed and switched off the engine. She couldn’t afford such dangerous thoughts. There was no settling down for her, not unless Lance keeled over and died. Heart attack maybe… Actually, couldn’t people die of constipation? Her ex was so full of shit that would be a fitting end. Too quickly for her liking though. She’d rather he get hit by a truck, dragged for miles before being struck by lightning. Oh, and after contracting something nasty from all the whores he slept with.

I’m an alpha lion, baby. I gotta spread this goodness around, it’s natural.

She heard his excuse in her head as clearly as if he sat in the car next to her, and her cat snarled in response. He’d always had an excuse; every time she challenged him about his sleeping around. Until he’d run out of excuses and gotten angry. Then he’d just used his fists.

Pathetic. Can’t control your shifts. Weak. How did I ever find you attractive? You’re nothing without me. No one will want you. You should be grateful I look after you.

Lance’s taunts and insults were etched into her soul so deeply, some days felt like she’d never be free of them. But she had managed it, she escaped. Sure, she was alone and in exile, but that was better than the alternative. Her lip quivered and she controlled it ruthlessly. She wasn’t pathetic or weak. She was a strong, independent, and yes, she told herself fiercely, a damn attractive woman.

Now if she could make herself believe all that, she’d be golden.

Dragging in a deep breath, she grabbed her camera bag and got out of the car. At least money wasn’t an issue. Since leaving her pride, she’d done something she always wanted and picked up a camera. Her wildlife shots were in demand and the pay was excellent. Thankfully enough to fund her careful fugitive lifestyle. After being treated as a burden for so long, standing on her own two feet was a source of immense pride and strength.

More relaxed now, she reached the door and put her key in the lock. After a day out shooting, all she wanted was to boot her laptop to upload her shots. After that she had plans for a long, hot bath. And ever the carnivore, she had a steak resting in the fridge and a nice bottle of wine to go with it. She might even push the boat out and finish off the half tub of rocky road, her deepest vice, while she edited the photos she’d taken today.

Excitement filled her as she turned the key. Some were excellent, she’d felt it as soon as she’d taken them. The back of the camera view had confirmed that but she couldn’t wait to see them on a bigger screen to make sure. Photography was like that for her. A voyage of discovery each and every time. Some shots were obvious but some she hadn’t thought would work in the field surprised her, coming to life when she got them onto her laptop.

Anticipating a pleasant evening, she pushed the door open and took a step inside.

***

Hale Roark was the best tracker in the paranormal bounty hunting business. An experienced warlock with a weather specialty (hail, as it happened. The fates had a hell of a sense of humor) his reputation was built on delivering the goods fast.

Well, that and he was a mean son of a bitch who could get the job done despite… opposition. It was cheaper for the client to send one man in rather than a team, so Hale got a lot of jobs that would otherwise go elsewhere. He didn’t care. All was fair in love and the tracking down people for money business.

Plus, it kept him sharp. Something every warlock needed. A slow warlock was a dead one, if he was lucky. With the magic Hale wielded, there were much worse things than being dead. Being in a reality show for example. The shudder rolled through him before he could stop it. He couldn’t think of anything worse.

Sitting in his current mark’s living room waiting for her to return, he looked around. Tracking Renae Brogan had been the easiest job he’d taken in a long time. Most para bounty hunters tended to be wolf shifters, something with a good sense of smell and innate tracking abilities. Hale wasn’t a shifter and his sense of smell was shit, so he used magic. Not just any magic either.

High-level tracking spells took some serious magical mojo, the sort that usually required the blood of seventeen chickens and a virgin. The lore was a little hazy there. Hale had never been sure why seventeen chickens in particular, and whether one of them should be the virgin. That, of course, opened a whole new avenue of inquiry and it wasn’t like he could ask the chicken, now could he?

So, he went old school and used blood magic. His own. He drew the line at sacrifice. Besides, he didn’t need it. From a long line of witches and warlocks, he had enough of the good stuff coursing through his veins to power some seriously nasty casting.

He wasn’t a pure-blooded warlock though, so he was looked down upon in magical circles. Thanks to some randy ancestor who couldn’t keep it in their pants, Hale had been saddled with a little something extra, something feral hidden within him that made him yearn for the wilderness and to run. To feel the wind through a mane he didn’t have and the dirt beneath paws he’d never walked on.

He wasn’t a shifter. The thing within wasn’t that developed, but it was powerful. Powerful enough to juice up a tracking spell and bring him right to Renae Brogan. He rubbed his thumb over the photo in his hand, the silver of his thumb ring glinting in the low light.

The casting had been easier than he’d expected. Almost like the spell
knew
the woman and where to find her.

That bothered him.

Magic should not be easy. As a rule it was damn difficult to perform even the simplest of spells. As it should be, or all those human idiots trying to summon things they couldn’t control would have brought down the apocalypse. No, to perform magic, a caster needed patience, training, and a shitload of strength.

And a familiar…
A little voice in the back of his head added.

Hale ignored it. He always did. He didn’t have a familiar because unlike every other freaking warlock on the planet, he couldn’t bond to one. He’d tried; really he did. Cats, dogs (and he was so not a dog person), rats…hell, he’d even tried toads and snakes, but nothing doing. All that happened was the beast that lived in his blood stirred, yawned, and broke the connection. It didn’t matter though. He was powerful enough not to need a familiar.

Diverting his train of thought to the job in hand, he looked at the photo. It was old, showing a young woman. Masses of tawny blond hair fell to shoulders bared by a strappy top, surrounding a face with delicate features. Obviously a candid photo, she looked away from the camera with a smile, but the warmth in her feline-tilted eyes said she shared a joke with someone she loved.

A pang of…something speared Hale’s chest. Rubbing a hand across his breastbone, he concentrated on the image, feeling the tug of the spell. She was close by, but not here yet. Perhaps a few minutes more.

He relaxed minutely, his gaze still on the girl in the photo. What would she look like now? Brogan had said his ex-wife was a lying harpy who’d caused so much damage in his pride that he had to bring her back and make an example of her to the people she’d hurt. That Hale could understand.

Shifter rules were near primal and absolutely brutal. To fuck with the group was to fuck with every member and they dealt with issues in-house. If this woman had hurt kids, as Brogan had intimated, then she deserved everything she got. Nothing to do with Hale, even though by serving her up to her pride there was a good chance he’d be sentencing her to death.

Not his circus, not his monkeys.

So why couldn’t he take his eyes off the photo? Why did the more primal instincts inside him want to snarl and reject everything Brogan had said? The guy was an asshole, yes, and he’d all but announced that Hale could “have a little fun” with his target, but did that mean he was wrong about the woman in the photo?

The sound of the key in the lock brought Hale’s head up.

Time to find out…

*

Shit. There was someone in her house.

Renae froze on the doorstep, her lioness on alert and all her senses extended. The house was silent, but it wasn’t a welcoming, comfortable silence. Instead, it was an absence of sound that told her someone inside listened as well.

She took a deep breath and the scent of virile male hit her hard and fast, wrapping around her. The moan welled in her throat as her body responded, heating instantly. Need surged through her, her limbs weak, and a quivery feeling in her stomach she’d never felt before.

Lion. Alpha. Male.

The three words blazed like wildfire through her mind and her lioness wanted to roll over in submission. Panic caused her human half to seize control before the cat could make its needs a reality. Without pausing to think she dropped her bag to the floor and ran.

No time to get into her car. Despite being half human, she’d lived around lions all her life, so she knew how damn fast they were. Heart pounding in her chest, she ducked around the side of the house and sprinted for the garden.

Who was he? The scent had been alpha, and powerful. Her ex-husband, Lance, was an alpha, but nothing compared to the scent in the house. It wasn’t one she recognized. Not a Brogan lion…she’d have recognised it. Shit. He must have called in help from another pride. No way would he allow a male that powerful to join the small Brogan pride.

She hit the back gate and crashed through it, taking it off its hinges. It slammed against the side of the house as she raced through the back garden. Her property, like many in Deal’s Gap, backed onto wilderness, a fact that she’d considered when renting the house and might, just might, save her life now.

The living room window exploded outward behind her, and she got a vague impression of a tall, powerful male figure leaping through it, out the corner of her eye. A startled cry erupted from her lips and she found an extra burst of speed from somewhere.

Hurtling through the tree line, she stumbled a little but kept on running. Her body ached to change, her cat roaring and fighting against her control. She held her human form with iron control. Other shifters might have been faster on four paws, but not Renae. The car accident that had robbed her of her parents as a child should have killed her, her injuries so bad the doctors didn’t expect her to survive.

Shattered pelvis, damaged hip joint, femur broken in three places including just above the knee damaging the growth plate… she should never have walked again, but her cat, although not fully formed, had internalized the damage. She healed as a human, but when her cat had manifested at puberty she had a bad limp. Bad enough that running was slow and leaping was out of the question. She simply didn’t have the power in her hindquarters. A physical weakness made her an easy target for the bully that Lance was.