Witch Wolf

Preternatural Private Investigator and Paranormal Huntress Kassandra Lyall is used to working alone. Whenever there's a murder or a mystery to solve that involves the preternatural-she's the witch they call. When she's called in to help the local cops work on a mysterious murder case, she finds herself needing all the help she can get.

A bloodthirsty werewolf is loose in the city and on a killing spree.

As if her plate weren't full enough, a strange she-wolf seeks Kassandra's aid, asking her to help find her missing brother. Kassandra soon learns that the strange she-wolf serves two masters, and one of those masters has taken quite an interest in her.

In a world where vampires have charmed their way into modern society, where werewolves walk the streets with their beasts disguised by human skin, Kassandra Lyall has a secret of her own to protect.

She's one of them.

The First Book in the Kassandra Lyall Preternatural Investigator Series.

Witch Wolf

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Witch Wolf

© 2010 By Winter Pennington. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 10: 1-60282-177-1E

ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-177-4E

This Electronic Book is published by

Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 249

Valley Falls, New York 12185

First Edition: June 2010

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Credits

Editor: Victoria Oldham

Production Design: Stacia Seaman

Cover Design By She
ri ([email protected])

This book would not have been possible were it not for the love and unwavering encouragement of my kith and kin. I feel that any words I summon will pale in comparison to the gratitude and love in my heart.

Thank you to my mother and father for your unfailing love, support, and generosity. I am truly blessed and proud to be your daughter. To Rebecca, my love, I am equally blessed to have you in my life and equally thankful for everything you've done. Without your love, my nights would be moonless ones. To Tony, my brother, for answering all of my weapon questions and for being the best big brother a little sister could ask for. To Desiree, for being the sister I never had and for being understanding when I've been kidnapped by the muse. To Dee, for the many conversations we shared over hot chocolate and for not being afraid of the dark. To Colette, for the words of wisdom and encouragement you offered when I needed to hear them the most. It is an honor to call each of you friend.

Last, but not least, my appreciation goes out to Radclyffe and Victoria (without whom this book would not have been possible). Rad, thank you for the belief you've shown in my work and for being a truly awesome publisher. Victoria, your input and guidance have been invaluable. I've enjoyed working with you and look forward to working with you on the books to come.

My sincerest thanks and appreciation go out to everyone at Bold Strokes Books.

To Rebecca.

For the sacrifices you made in love's name,

I am deeply grateful.

"I need a gun that leaves a good-sized hole in a body." I emphasized the size of the hole I wanted by making a fist.

Rupert stared at me for several moments and then burst into laughter. "What in the world would you need a gun like that for?"

I tapped my foot impatiently against the tiled floor. "Is asking that sort of question part of your job description?"

"No, but it makes a man curious."

If ever there was a weapon-Rupert was your guy. We'd met when I was still on the force. He'd been working with us as a bounty hunter. It wasn't until I got to know him that I found out he used to be some type of professional assassin. Technically, even after the years that I'd known him his past was shady. So, to anyone else, he was a bounty hunter, a weapons genius, and the guy I got my guns from. I looked up at him and widened my green eyes pleadingly. Rupert wasn't built like a bounty hunter; in fact, he looked more like a computer geek with the dark-rimmed glasses. It amused me, because he didn't even need them. I'd know. He'd hunted with me enough times that I knew he could shoot yards away without them and still take his target down.

It was just another part of his cover. He thought it made him seem more approachable. I thought it made him more like a target for bullying.

"Kass, don't bat your big green eyes at me," he said and crossed his arms over his chest. "I know how gay you are."

"Aww, shucks," I said. "Come on, Rupe, give me a good gun. The firestorm isn't going to protect me from angry paranorms, and you know it."

"Being a werewolf doesn't automatically count as having an arsenal at your disposal?"

I frowned, but was glad he had kept his voice down. That was another thing my colleagues didn't know or need to know. After a bad accident three years ago I found out I was turning furry once a month. Oh, the joys of living.

A growl fell from my lips that sounded more animal than human. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Rupert, don't bait me."

The smirk he gave me was sarcastic. "Why not? It's so damn easy."

"Because I can still kick your ass from here to Nevada."

"That hasn't been proven."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of air. "Will you just find me a gun?"

"Fine, what kind are you thinking?"

"I already told you I need a larger caliber than the .380."

"Sawed-off shotgun?"

I stared at him in disbelief. "You've actually got one of those?"

"I've got a few of them. They're loud, obnoxious, and will definitely discourage any would be super-beastie."

"They're also highly illegal. Even with my concealed weapons license I couldn't pack that much firepower."

He shrugged. "You wanted something that would leave a fist-sized hole. The sawed-off shotgun would do the trick."

"It would also land my ass in jail," I retorted. "Let's think of something, um, well, legal for a start."

Rupert leaned over the glass counter looking thoughtful. I stared at the guns in the case below him.

"Think you've got enough Smith and Wesson guns?" I asked.

"They sell fast," he said. "There's a few guns in there that aren't Smith and Wesson. The Glock, for one."

"The Glock doesn't look bad, but I'm not fond of plastic and it's too big for my hands. It's also what every cop is carrying."

I heard more than saw the grin spread across his face. "Kass, you're not on the force anymore. I don't think you have to worry about that."

There wasn't any reason for him to remind me I was no longer a cop. It was his way of being a pain in the ass since I'd opened my own business and become a private investigator. I didn't have much of a choice. I couldn't work on the night of the full moon without my secret getting out.

Oh, I'd tried to avoid quitting. . . I'd even entertained the thought of telling my boss I'd joined a coven and had a ritual every full moon.

In law enforcement that wouldn't slide, so I'd had to figure something out where I could create my own hours. In the long run everything had worked out for the best. My old boss still treated me like I was a member of the team.

I wasn't always open and honest about practicing witchcraft. Being a witch doesn't endow me with any magical powers. It's a spiritual belief, similar to Wicca, but not quite. It's still an earth-based spirituality, but I don't follow a specific tradition. A spell, to me, is like a prayer in action.

Granted, I rarely cast spells, but I still keep up with my studies. I talk to my old mentor about once a year.

Once I finally came out of the broom closet, my boss realized he had one person on the team who knew something about the metaphysical and didn't believe it was evil and was willing to deal with cases that most of the other cops wanted absolutely nothing to do with.

"I still work with the force," I said, frowning at him.

"But you're your own boss now." The look he gave me was like that of a proud parent.

"That look." I shook my head.

"What look?"

"The look on your face. . . you look. . . proud or something."

"I am proud of you," he said. His tone was as serious as I'd ever heard it.

"Why? All I did was become a bitch in more ways than one."

"No, you became stronger, faster, and better."

I looked away from the intensity of his gaze. There wasn't a happy medium with Rupert. He was either lighthearted and funny, or deadly serious. He was rarely this serious.

"You need to stop being so hard on yourself," he said.

I looked at him then. "Rupert, if anyone knew, they would hunt me down and kill me."

"You don't know that, Kassandra."

"Yeah, I do. I've seen it."

He shook his head and dropped the subject. Rupert didn't work with the cops intimately enough to know what they do to animals. I did. I do.

The rule was that if it's more powerful than you are-you kill it. It helped that there weren't any laws protecting us, though there was a bill being tossed back and forth in the hands of congress.

They just couldn't make up their minds yet. Did they really want animals to have legal rights?

Would it make the world a better place if they couldn't kill us on sight? I didn't pay too much attention to it. I hate politics.

I heard him draw in a deep breath.

"I think I've got the gun for you."

Black is a good color to wear when you don't want blood showing up on your clothes. I wear a lot of black for that reason. If you've ever tried removing a dried bloodstain, you know how difficult it can be, and some clothes are just not salvageable. On that day three years ago it had saved my life.