Amber Quill Press
www.amberquill.com

Copyright ©2006 by Jennifer Colgan

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

WOLFSBANE:

ASPECT OF THE WOLF

by

JENNIFER COLGAN

* * * *

ISBN 1-59279-497-1

Amber Quill Press, LLC

www.amberquill.com

Also By Jennifer Colgan

(writing as Bernadette Gardner)

Ken'Ja

More Than A Fantasy

Renna's Sacrifice

Writing as Jennifer Colgan

Conjured In Flames

Ravenstar's Bride

DEDICATION

To the Divas, for all your inspiration

CHAPTER 1

Daniel Garrison took a deep breath of humid night air and swiped one hand over the sweat trickling down his forehead. The cramp in his left side felt like a knife wound, stabbing deeper with each breath. Despite the pain, he kept moving, pushing his toned muscles well beyond their limits. How could the beast move so fast?

Daniel listened while he ran, tried to slow his labored breathing long enough to detect a hint of movement in the bushes up ahead. He wanted to tire the beast, not corner it and force it to attack. At this rate, Daniel would collapse long before his quarry felt the least bit of fatigue.

"I'm still here!” he called into the dark underbrush. Perhaps it was a foolhardy taunt, but with the pond behind him he felt marginally safe. The creature avoided the water, terrified of its own hideous reflection in the glassy, moonlit surface. “Come and get me! Come on—I taste just like chicken!"

Some coherent part of Daniel's exhausted brain protested. He had his pride, after all. “Okay, not chicken. Beef. I taste just like a nice, juicy—lean—side of beef!"

He had to be out of his mind. Of course, he was. This entire situation was insane, and only an insane man could deal with it. He would have never imagined he'd be caught dead running through Oak Haven Park in the middle of a sultry summer night chasing a werewolf. Okay, maybe “caught dead” wasn't the best phrase.

This whole affair was his worst nightmare come true. Like a page from a Bizzaro World comic book, everything was turned upside down, dreamlike and utterly surreal.

Daniel halted in his tracks, grabbed the thick straps of the black backpack he wore over his hastily donned Delta Hawks T-shirt and ripped jeans. He should have been better prepared tonight, should have known a locked door wouldn't be enough to stop the beast. What a fool.

He turned in a half circle, ready to bolt at the slightest sound. “Where did you go?"

A heartbeat passed ... two...

Silence descended around him, and for a split second he marveled at how quiet the park could be in the middle of the night. The crickets and tree frogs had fallen mute, probably from fear of the abomination that lurked in the shadows. Nothing even breathed.

Then he heard it. A strangled sound—half moan, half growl—drifted through the trees from the direction of the waterfall. A dead-end. Damn. The beast had cornered itself. How long before anger overrode its confusion and it emerged from the underbrush in a rage?

Strike now, while you have this one small chance, Daniel told himself. He snaked one hand into the tight front pocket of his jeans and pulled out his only weapon—an eighteen-inch-long silver chain. The thick links glinted in the light of the full moon and clicked together as he wove the length around his closed fist.

This had better work, he thought, ducking forward through the low-hanging branches of an ancient willow tree. He pushed through the juniper hedge that separated the park's walking path from a hidden grotto and emerged where the faux rock waterfall tumbled into a man-made lily pond.

At first glance, everything appeared normal. One small halogen lamp, the kind with an opaque round bulb at the top, lit the grotto. The pump that powered the waterfall shut off automatically at sunset, so the black water of the lily pond lay as still as glass beneath a blanket of overlapping oval leaves. No reflection here. Thank God.

Then he heard the beast's panting, like a file rasping against dry stone. There in the deepest shadow, beneath an overhang of mossy granite, Daniel saw movement. The beast turned to look at him, its bile-yellow eyes aglow. A set of snow-white fangs gleamed as it drew back dark lips to howl in frustration.

"I know,” Daniel said. “You can't climb those rocks. You can't get out of here and run free, can you?"

The beast swayed from one clawed foot to the other, gauging its enemy. A low growl rumbled in its chest.

"Come on. Let's get this over with.” Daniel uncoiled the chain from his fist. The sound drew the beast's jaundiced gaze and another growl rattled deep in its throat.

"Yeah, that's right. I've got your leash here. Are you going to be a good pup and let me put it on?"

The beast snarled.

"That's right, get mad. Come on...” Daniel dangled the chain, swung it in a slow circle, and took one measured step forward. How close could he get before the creature lunged for him? He took another step, then one more.

Like the legendary Spring-Heeled Jack, the beast launched itself up and over the lily pond. When its feet hit the ground, claws raking against the cement pathway, Daniel struck. Double-fisted, he whacked his quarry squarely in the side of its elongated jaw. Silver links bit into the flesh of its snout, and it yelped like an injured dog. The sound startled Daniel, but didn't stop him. While the creature reeled away, stunned by the blow, Daniel flung the chain around its neck. It swiped one razor-tipped claw at him, tearing a nylon strap of Daniel's backpack. The pack dropped from one of Daniel's shoulders and dangled against his back as he lunged forward and closed the silver circle around the beast's throat.

"Sorry. This might hurt,” he said, pulling the chain tight. He twisted the links against each other where they fused, thanks to the spell he'd borrowed from an old book he'd vowed a dozen times to throw away.

Caught in the thrall of its natural weakness, the beast staggered backward. It clawed at its throat and let loose a scream of agony and betrayal that rattled Daniel's bones.

Panting, he sank back against the nearest sycamore and pulled the damaged backpack off his shoulder. The beast turned in a circle, dazed. As Daniel watched, it fell to its knees, whimpering.

Finally, the werewolf crumbled to the path that circled the pond and lay whining on the ground. One gnarled paw held the chain and the other grasped at empty air. Its eyes bore into Daniel's and finally its tongue lolled out between jagged teeth.

With a final growl, it fell asleep.

Daniel let out a long breath as he unzipped the backpack. He pulled out a black trench coat and shook it free of wrinkles.

He dropped the backpack and approached the beast. His shadow fell across the misshapen face. Just to be certain, he nudged the creature's outstretched hand with the toe of his Nikes. Nothing happened.

With a sigh, he dropped the trench coat over the creature's hairy body, then lowered himself to the ground and leaned against the low concrete wall that bordered the pond. He dropped his head into his hands and ruffled his hair, rubbed his tired eyes and stretched his aching muscles. He looked at the abomination now sleeping peacefully at his feet.

"Sorry, bro. I didn't have time to pack underwear. You'll have to go commando on the trip home."

CHAPTER 2

"Why can't he come today?” Emilie Swanson struggled to keep her tone light as she balanced the cordless phone on her shoulder and swathed the bathroom floor with a soggy mop. The blue water that crested in the top of the toilet bowl and dribbled down its beige porcelain sides had already permanently stained the old linoleum tiles. A steady drip from the broken shut-off valve beneath the tank added to the growing puddle.

The plumber's wife-slash-secretary assured her that Mystikal Excursions was first on her husband's list of stops for Tuesday morning, three days away.

Emilie nodded into the phone as she swept aside the useless old plunger and backed into the hallway that led to the front of her shop. “I'm really not trying to be facetious when I ask, how can he have a plumbing emergency tomorrow? If it's an emergency, I'd think he'd be taking care of it today, then taking care of my plumbing emergency ... also today.” Emilie tried to sound hopeful, polite and a little desperate. The overflowing toilet was actually the least of her problems, but certainly the most immediate since, without a working commode, the town health department might be inclined to shut down her business ... again.

Mrs. Plumber became evasive. “He's sort of out of town today."

"Sort of? As in not completely out of town? Straddling the border, perhaps? Within cell phone distance?” Emilie stifled an exasperated sigh. She took another step backward and bumped into the bucket of blue water she'd already sopped up from the floor. The water sloshed on the carpet in the hallway, creating a soggy patch of Berber that squished when Emilie stepped in it.

"How about this? Leave me on the schedule for Tuesday morning, and if I find someone else to take care of the problem before that, I'll let you know."

Mrs. Plumber agreed, the hint of relief in her voice unmistakable.

Emilie hung up, then jammed the cordless into the front pocket of her overalls just as the tinkling of the miniature sleigh bells attached to the shop's front door reached her.

She dropped the mop, maneuvered around the bucket and popped her head around the doorjamb to greet her newest customer.

"Mrs. Wenzel! Good morning!” Game face. Hundred-watt smile. Emilie repeated the mantra of a successful businesswoman in her head as she stepped up to the counter. “What can I do for you today?"

Mrs. Wenzel gave Emilie a shy smile. At eighty-five, the woman had the physique and countenance of a pixie—all wispy white hair, tiny eyes and a feathery voice that seemed to come from a great distance. Untapped magickal potential oozed from her pores, but Emilie didn't quite know how to explain to the woman that she was probably a descendant of faerie folk. In a conservative town like Cypress Park, she'd learned she had to be careful about introducing residents, even her best customers, to the mystical side of life.

"I'd like a bit more of that potpourri, if I may?” Mrs. Wenzel said. She hoisted her enormous purse onto the counter and pulled out a crinkled wax-paper bag with the Mystikal Excursions logo embossed on the front. “I'm afraid my kitty ate what I put out. I'll have to hide it from him this time."

Emilie gave Mrs. Wenzel a sympathetic smile. “Don't worry, it won't hurt him. It's all natural.” She took the bag and checked the label. Mrs. Wenzel favored the Cleansing Herbs potpourri designed to banish bad vibes. The lemony scent permeated the front of the shop where Emilie needed it most these days.

She refilled the bag from the container on the shelf behind her and Mrs. Wenzel held out a crisp five-dollar bill in exchange.

"Why don't I give you a mesh bag to keep that in?” Emilie grabbed one of the spell bags she kept in a box beneath the counter and handed that to Mrs. Wenzel. “Fill this up and tie it tight. Hang it in your kitchen window where the sunlight will activate the scent."

"Oh, good idea! Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Wenzel rummaged in her purse for more money, but Emilie stopped her.

"No charge. Just let me know how it works."

"Oh, thank you! Such a lovely girl!” Mrs. Wenzel took her purchase and stashed it in her purse, which she then hauled off the counter. Emilie watched the tiny woman swing the bag with her as she headed out of the shop.

Two hours, one sale. Her brilliant smile drooped as Mrs. Wenzel wandered out the door after stopping to peruse a display of mood candles.

No one ever told me it would be easy, she thought. With the reputation of the shop's previous owner, Emilie hadn't expected instant success for her business. Of course, she hadn't counted on the outright hostility of some of Cypress Park's resident's either. After all, she had helped banish that nasty band of demons that Chester Creek had conjured in the back room. Now if only she could get rid of the inscriptions on the floor.

"Next order of business,” she said aloud. “Tie some herb bundles? Restock the smudge sticks? Coffee break?"

The bells rang again.

Emilie whirled around, ready to greet customer number two. Tall, with a surfer's tan and sandy hair, he filled the doorway. With his dark jeans, neat button-down shirt and broad shoulders, this was the kind of man that made a witch wish love potions really worked.

A second later, Emilie's smile froze in place and her shoulders sank when she recognized her visitor. What in the depths of Hell was he doing here?

The shingle that hung outside Daniel Garrison's office around the corner on Lakeshore Drive read “Investment Broker.” Emilie imagined that was just a clever pseudonym for “Arch Nemesis,” which was what she preferred to call him. Of all the residents of Cypress Park that didn't like the idea of a fourth-generation witch running a magick shop in town after the demon debacle, Daniel Garrison was the most vocal and obnoxious.

Emilie could handle the subtle sidelong glances and the faint whispers. The plumbers who were mysteriously only partially out of town all week really didn't bother her. Even the shoppers who moved their children to the other side of the street as they passed the store didn't upset her. She wasn't the first in her family to come out of the broom closet and try to bring magick into the lives of the general populous. She'd come into the business with her eyes wide open and all her amulets charged.

Still, she hadn't been prepared for Daniel Garrison and his petition to the town council, or his eloquent rhapsodizing about the inherent dangers of mystical artifacts and magickal herbs. Well, hell. Fire was dangerous in the wrong hands, too, but people still lit candles and built fireplaces in their homes.

"Can I help you?” She forced the words out through her chilly grin and fixed him with a gaze designed to make his ears smoke.

"Uh ... well...” His bright blue eyes swept the shop from the besoms to the Beltane incense display. “Are we alone?"

"Do you mean ‘we’ as in mankind and ‘alone’ as in ‘in the universe'? Or do you mean literally—just you and me here in this room?” She crossed her arms over her chest, causing the phone she had slipped into her overalls to beep. She shut it off and gave him a languid glare.

"Ha. Ha.” There it was. That Daniel Garrison arrogance. For a moment he'd actually looked ... nervous, maybe? But the uncertainty in his eyes fled at her comment. He turned and flipped over the “Closed” sign that dangled from a pewter chain on the front door.

Emilie rounded the counter and propelled herself toward the door. “Excuse me, but I'm open for business. I don't do private consultations—at least not in the middle of the morning."

Daniel held up his hands to stop her. “Whoa! Truce! Just for a second. I came here to call a truce."

She stopped, crossing her arms over her chest again. “I don't see a white flag on you anywhere.” Nope. No white flag. His blue button-fly, stone-washed jeans fit nicely, though. Emilie silently berated herself for noticing.

"I said truce, not surrender.” He looked at her from under his eyebrows, and for the first time, she noticed his long lashes and the rim of dark blue that ringed his irises. The look he gave her was disconcerting and strangely compelling.

"Why do you want a truce?"

"I need ... your help."

Emilie blinked. The confession had cost him. His gaze dropped. He clasped his hands behind his back and bowed his head, as if throwing himself on her mercy.

"I have just the thing. A potion to banish bad habits. A dab behind each ear—and poof—you'll disappear.” That was low. Emilie regretted the comment the instant it came out, but it felt good also. He took the needling in stride, and she gave him credit for that.

A faint smile turned up one corner of his mouth. “I deserved that."

"Hmm. I have more, so don't think you're off the hook. My store should be full of customers right now, but thanks to you, people are still terrified to come in here. Most people."

"Chester Creek was conjuring minions in the back room. Cypress Park isn't ready for minions."

"I'm not Chester Creek."

"Which is why I came to ask for your help."

Again, he caught her in that compelling stare. She thought of the protection amulet that nestled between her breasts. He didn't seem the type to have any magickal powers, but she reached up to touch the amulet through her T-shirt just in case.

"What kind of help do you ... need?"

"It's a long story. Is there somewhere we can sit down?"

* * * *

And I thought chasing a werewolf around town was hard, Daniel thought, as Emilie Swanson led him behind the counter of Mystikal Excursions and into a narrow hallway. He'd expected hostility from her. After all, he'd drafted the petition to have the premises permanently closed and all magickal businesses banned from Cypress Park. Not that he had anything against witches like Emilie, of course. The whole thing rested on principal. One bad apple sours the bunch, as his grandfather always said. Of course, Nathan Bigelow Garrison had dabbled in witchcraft himself, which had ultimately led to disaster, come to think of it.

In the hallway, Emilie skirted around a bucket of blue water and a soggy mop and gestured him into a back room. He gave a skeptical glance at the mess and peeked into the lavatory, where an azure puddle spread across the aging linoleum.

"Plumbing problems?” he asked.

She rolled her gorgeous green eyes. Why hadn't he noticed those eyes before? Or the waves of lustrous chestnut hair that spilled over her shoulders?

"Again, thanks to you,” she replied as she followed him into the back room.

"How am I responsible for your plumbing?"

"If it wasn't for you, I could get a reputable plumber in here to take care of the problem. Everyone's terrified of the place. Except Mrs. Wenzel."

"I know her, she's—"

Something stopped him in his tracks. Whether it was the sudden rush of chilly air that hit him in the face, or the massive circle of ancient runes inscribed on the floor in front of him, he wasn't sure. At the center of the jagged, crudely formed symbol sat a fat black candle, burning merrily against the chill, and four enormous quartz crystals. A bucket of industrial floor paint sat on a pile of newspapers in the far corner of the otherwise empty room.

"I love what you've done with the place.” Maybe this whole asking-a-witch-for-help idea was just bad, bad, bad.

"Don't even go there, bucko.” Emilie punctuated her statement with a dirty look. A cute dirty look. “Three layers of paint and four cleansing candles still haven't sucked all the netherworldliness out of this room. I may actually have to do a full banishing in here."

Bucko? He mouthed the word and gave her a curious look. “A full banishing? As opposed to a partial?"

"I hate them."

"Why?"

"Banishing gives me a major migraine.” She sighed and tossed her mane. Rich brown curls cascaded over the front of her denim overalls. “But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.” She waited a beat while he stared. “And your problem was what again?"

"Oh. Right.” He gave the runes another sidelong glance and decided to ignore them for now. “It's ... an unusual ... you might think I'm crazy, but just hear me out."

"I'm hearing. I mean, I'm listening. I've heard it all, you know. I grew up in a house with three generations of witches, so nothing shocks me. What is it? Embarrassing warts? Scum in the bottom of your cauldron? Can't get your broomstick up?"

Man, she was a spitfire. “My broom—” He had to stop and clear his throat. “My broomstick is just fine, thanks. This is a little more complicated."

"Spill it."

He took a deep breath. “My brother is a werewolf."

"Oh my GOD! Are you kidding? That's unbelievable!"

Daniel rolled his eyes. “This was a bad idea—"

She put her hand on his arm. Her face broke into an endearing grin that caused a faint ping somewhere in the vicinity of the middle of his gut. “I'm sorry. I had to. You looked so serious."

"I am serious. This is very serious. I need someone to cure him."

She nodded. “It's not a simple thing, curing werewolf ... ish ... ness."

"You mean lycanthropy?"

"Yes, I believe that's the technical term.” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall. The movement seemed to cause a faint groan to emanate from the middle of the floor. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the desperate, hollow sound. “That happens. Now, let's get a handle on this. How old is your brother?"

"Does that make a difference?"

"Well, he's not a kid, is he? Teenagers are tough to deal with even when they're not changing into hell beasts three nights out of the month."

"No. He's twenty-seven. Two years younger than me."

"Does he know he's a werewolf?” She winced a little.

He imagined having to break the news to someone would be a bitch. “He knows. But no one else does. Part of the problem is we need to keep this very quiet."

"I can imagine, Mr. All-Magick-is-Evil."

For some reason, he didn't take offense at the jibe. To be fair, she'd already warned him to expect a few more zingers. This was number two. He planned to keep count.

"I don't think all magick is evil,” he replied with a pointed glance at the rune circle. “But having a brother who turns into a murderous, flesh-eating lycanthrope on a regular basis sort of tips the scales, if you know what I mean."

"Well, at least he's not a vampire."

"I suppose that's a small consolation. The truth is, he wants to keep this quiet from his fiancée. He's engaged to be married in a couple of months and this would destroy his plans."

She nodded. “Couples counseling might be in order. If you can't tell the one you love that you're a werewolf—"

"He can't tell her. And he shouldn't have to. Can you cure him?"

She met his gaze head on, and that strange ping echoed in the back of his brain this time. What the hell was that?

"I can try. It's not something I've actually done before, but I know people who—"

"No! No, no people. No anybody. He doesn't want this all over town."

"Uh ... it's not a one-person job. With my coven I could—"

"No covens. No group therapy. No gathering of distant relatives. Dis-cre-tion.” He emphasized the last word one syllable at a time. “I think he'd rather be a werewolf forever than lose his fiancée. She's the love of his life.” Bethany was a wonderful girl, perfect for Vance. He wouldn't let his brother lose the one thing that mattered most to him in the world. “Can you help? Will you help? I know I maybe owe you an apology for my vehemence in trying to get your business banished from the shopping district—"

"Maybe?"

"I was thinking of the town—the residents. This is a quiet place, a place to settle down and raise a family."

"Not a family of demons."

"Right, not a family of demons."

"Or witches."

"I didn't say that."

She sighed and looked up at him from under mile-long lashes. Were those flecks of gold in her eyes? “I'll need a few days to gather some supplies and do some research. I'm going to have to make a few discreet inquiries. I promise I won't name names. And I'd like to meet your brother before the next full moon."

"Any time. He works from the house—128 Hillside.” He dug into his pocket for business cards, his and his brother's.

Their fingers touched as he handed her the cards. Daniel felt a quick electric jolt that heated his blood and turned on all the nerve endings between his navel and his knees.

"One more question.” If she felt the same strange reaction to their touch, she didn't let on. Her voice had lost its sarcastic edge, though her gaze remained guarded. “Where was he bitten?"

"In the upper thigh ... I think, sort of, you know ... here.” He patted his back pocket.

"In the ass?” She shook her head, then pinched the delicate bridge of her pert nose between two fingers. “That's not what I meant anyway. Where in the world?"

"That makes a difference?"

"Who's the witch here?"

"Sorry. He was in Germany at the time it happened. About eight months ago."

"Yes. It makes a difference. The European lycanthrope is a bit meaner than the domestic breed. American werewolves are more wolf—less demony."

"So he's the more ‘demony’ type."

"Probably."

"You can still cure him, though?"

"I can try."

He gave her a long look. Something told him she meant it. Sarcastic cracks aside, Emilie would help him—help Vance. He'd owe her big time. “Thank you. I appreciate it, considering ... everything. Oh, money isn't an issue—whatever the cost."

"I don't charge. I mean, you know—maybe expenses for overnight herb shipments or something."

"Fine. Anything you need.” Another awkward moment passed and Daniel recalled his Junior Cotillion, standing with Martha Beckman by the gymnasium doors, too tongue-tied to ask her to dance. What was happening to him? “Anything else you need to know?"

She shrugged, glancing over his shoulder at the runes. “Not at the moment. I'll give you a call when I'm ready to meet with your brother."

"Okay. Thanks ... again."

Her gaze slid toward the door, a subtle invitation to leave. On the way out, he peered into the lavatory again. A steady drip from the shut-off valve created eddies in the widening puddle.

"I know a decent plumber,” he tossed over his shoulder while heading toward the front of the store. “I'll have him here this afternoon."

"Uh ... thanks..."

He looked back and caught her quizzical stare. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

CHAPTER 3

"Can't get your broomstick up! You said that to him?” Charlotte Swanson's infectious giggle reverberated long-distance. Emilie held the phone away from her ear while her cousin laughed.

"It just came out,” she replied. “This guy really brings out my wicked side."

"So let's talk about his broomstick. Give me details."

Emilie rolled her eyes as she nestled her teakettle onto the front burner of her kitchen stove. “His broomstick didn't enter the picture, Charl. This is the guy who wanted to run me out of town, remember?"

"And he just shows up in your store, looking all hunky and hot?"

"I never said he looked hunky and hot."

"So what does he look like?"

Emilie rummaged in her grandmother's antique cookie jar for a chocolate chip ripple to go with her tea. She chewed thoughtfully before answering. “Tall."

"Compared to you, every guy is tall."

"Nicely tall. Hunky. Hot. Very intense eyes. Compelling..."

The thought still bothered her that one long look from Daniel Garrison had left her nearly tongue-tied and ready to agree to anything he asked. She pictured him the first time she'd seen him, with his three-piece suit and embossed leather briefcase, addressing the Mayor of Cypress Park at the monthly town meeting—"Chester Creek nearly destroyed this town," he'd said. "Are we going to allow more of his ilk to run amok here?"

There. That image effectively drove away any warm fuzzies she'd begun to feel for the man who desperately wanted to save his brother.

"Buff?” Charlotte asked.

"Bodybuilder buff. But not—you know—scary about it. Anyway, that's not the point. He doesn't trust magick and I can't see how he can trust me."

"Well, I can understand that, considering you promised not to tell anyone about his problem and you're on the phone in less than eight hours, yakking to me about it."

Emilie dangled a bag of oolong into her teacup. “Well, considering you're a thousand miles away, and I need someone to give me some werewolf advice, I'm not going to let it bother me. I told him this wasn't a one-person job. I want to call all the girls, but that would freak him out. Can you send me the book I need?"

"I'm wrapping it in plain brown paper as we speak, sweetie."

"Thanks. I'm going to dig around in Grandma's old trunks and see if I can find that wolfsbane amulet she had. Do you know what might have happened to it?"

"Ah ... if it's anywhere, it's with her medicine stones. Be careful if you find it, though. That stuff will give you one hell of a rash."

"I'll be careful."

"And watch out for this guy, too, Em.” Charlotte's tone sobered and Emilie braced for the lecture. Too many men had hurt Charlotte over the years for her not to take a moment to warn her cousin about the potential pitfalls of the slightest romantic entanglement. “Maybe he's all dreamy-eyed now because he wants something from you, but leopards don't change their spots. He wanted you out of town once. Don't assume because he wants you to wax his broomstick that he's gotten over his heebie-jeebies about people like us."

Emilie's head fell into her hand. “Charl! I'm not going to—ohmyGOD, 'wax his broomstick.’”

"So you say now. I mean hey—I'm all for mixing it up. You want to have sex with him, go ahead. But that's all. Don't let him get to you."

"I'm absolutely not going to have sex with Daniel Garrison, Charl. I don't even like him."

"Famous last words.” Charlotte humpfed and the teakettle whistled. “I'm heading to the post office right now. You'll get the book tomorrow."

"Thanks, Charl. For everything."

* * * *

Daniel marked his calendar on Monday morning, as he did every day. Usually he ticked off days until an important meeting with a client or days left for Christmas shopping, but now he ticked off days until the next full moon. He'd heard nothing from Emilie Swanson since Saturday—except for a message on his office machine, thanking him for arranging the plumber.

He told himself he was anxious to finish the hocus-pocus and return Vance to normal, but the truth itched at the back of his brain. He wanted to see Emilie again.

He thought about dropping by her shop today, just to see how things were going, maybe buy a candle or something. She'd probably think he was checking up on her.

He poured himself an industrial strength cup of coffee and stared at the calendar.

"You're looking pensive this morning,” Vance said, startling him out of his reverie. His brother looked rather well for having woken up naked next to the lily pond three nights earlier.

Daniel poured another cup of java as Vance took a seat at the kitchen table. “Just keeping tabs on the witch."

"The witch? That sounds ominous.” Vance smirked and waggled his eyebrows as he sipped the hot brew.

"It's her job description, not a snide remark. We've got twenty-three days until you—"

"Shhh!” Vance gave his brother a severe look. “Beth is asleep upstairs."

"I didn't hear her come in last night."

"We got in about 4:00 this morning. Spent the evening by the lake after we finished house-hunting."

"Is she going to hang around today? We don't know when Emilie will be coming by."

"Don't worry. Beth has plans this afternoon with her grandmother or something. She'll be gone before noon, but I want to let her sleep in."

"Too late for that, sweetie.” A head of flaxen-blonde hair appeared around the kitchen doorway, followed by Bethany's slim form wrapped in one of Vance's gray sweatshirts.

She scrunched up her bare toes as she crossed the terra cotta tiles of the kitchen floor and grabbed a coffee cup from the rack. “What's all the hush-hush about this morning? Don't tiptoe around on my account.” She smiled up at Daniel and sidled past him.

Vance pushed back his chair so Bethany could snuggle on his lap. Their faces fused in a kiss that fogged up Vance's wire-rimmed glasses.

"Morning, Beth,” Daniel said. “Sorry if we woke you."

"It doesn't matter what time I go to bed, Daniel. I can't sleep past eight no matter what."

Vance gave him a pointed glance over the top of Bethany's rumpled curls. Point taken. Clam up about Emilie for now.

"Well, those of us who actually have to commute to work better get moving. Have a nice day, you two. Vance, I'll check in later."

"Bye, bro. Chill a little, okay? You work too hard."

Daniel rolled his eyes. Bethany waved, then wrapped herself around Vance again. Daniel left the house without a second glance from either of them.

As he walked across the lawn toward his car, he scooped up the morning paper. The headline of the Cypress Express immediately caught his eye—

DANGER LURKING IN OAK HAVEN PARK.

Late night jogger reports encounter with rabid dog.

A quick scan of the copy confirmed his fears. Someone had seen Vance in wolf form before Daniel reached him. The man hadn't been injured, but the encounter scared him enough to go to the police. The final paragraph of the article assured residents that the mayor had authorized extra police patrols in the park.

Daniel sighed and climbed into his car, tossing the paper across the front seat. He thought of the windowless basement room where Vance had spent two of his three-night curse this month. The steel padlock had been torn from the hinges, bent with an otherworldly strength. If Daniel hadn't found his grandfather's grimoire and hastily fashioned the holding spell for the silver chain, Vance might have hurt someone. And if Emilie Swanson didn't come up with a cure in twenty-three days or less, he'd have to consider more drastic measures to keep Vance safe during the next full moon.

He definitely needed to stop by Mystikal Excursions and check on her progress, whether she liked it or not.

CHAPTER 4

"There's no way this is going to work.” Emilie shut the spell book that Charlotte had overnighted to her and rested her chin in her hand. She sifted through a number of other references that she'd spread out across the counter and shook her head. “Where am I going to get the blood of a purebred wolf these days? It's not like I can just call up the county zoo. There's got to be a better way."

Quiet and sunny, the empty shop made no reply. Emilie gathered her paperwork and stacked it on the shelf beneath the counter. She rearranged the office supplies that occupied the same shelf and made a mental list of other sources to try for information on werewolf banishing, shapeshifters, curses and magickal cures.

When she rose, Daniel Garrison was staring down at her, looking devastatingly handsome in his navy suit and power tie. Her heart gave a strange flutter when he fixed her with that deep gaze of his.

"You move like a cat,” she said. “I didn't hear you come in.” She made a mental note to get a bigger set of bells for the front door.

"Sorry. I wanted to see how things were going."

"They're not."

"What do you mean?” He got that nervous look again, but this time Emilie couldn't bear to tease him.

"I have a lot more research to do before I try anything. The spells I've found so far all have nasty side effects if they're worked improperly. And some of them require ingredients you just can't get anymore."

"Like what? I told you, money isn't an issue."

She studied his earnest face. “It's not money. It's logistics.” She hoisted all her research material back up to the counter, spread out the papers, and pointed to the trouble spots. “This one requires a tooth from the werewolf that bit the victim. Your brother doesn't happen to have one of those, does he?"

"I don't think so."

She pointed to another spell. “This one requires the blood of a purebred wolf. It was written three hundred years ago—when they weren't endangered just about everywhere. So that's a no-go. This one ... well, this one just forget entirely."

"Why? What's wrong with that one?” Daniel slid the aged parchment from under the pile of papers.

Emilie winced. “That one requires the spell caster work skyclad."

"Naked?” Was there a smirk in his tone?

"Slashing, gnashing werewolf teeth, and naked little me don't mix."

He gave her an odd look, and she felt a blush creeping up her cheeks.

"Put your mental picture book aside, Prince Charming. It isn't going to happen."

"I wasn't thinking about anything.” He held up his hands in surrender, but the corner of his lip twitched. “Can we hold this one in reserve for now?"

"It also requires branding the werewolf with a holy symbol. The victim will retain the scar. That, of course, will keep him immune to any further werewolf bites, but in the middle of his forehead, it might be a problem in the wedding photos."

"Crap."

"Don't lose all hope. I'm working on a spell of holding we can use to keep him—"

"Been there, done that.” Daniel pulled a silver chain from the interior pocket of his suit jacket and laid it on the counter. “I used this the other night to subdue him after he got out of a locked room."

Emilie picked up the chain. She immediately felt the power in the wide silver links. “This is good. Who made this for you?"

"I did."

"So what do you need me for?"

"This is all I've got. My grandfather dabbled. He had a few spells lying around."

"Your grandfather was a witch?"

"Not really."

"But he could spellcast?"

"Yeah."

"And you—"

"He was the black sheep of the family."

Emilie sighed. “I'm not even going to touch that. Could I see his material? If he had a holding spell that works on werewolves, maybe he had something to cure them."

"I'd have found it."

"Can I look anyway?"

"Sure. Why don't you come by tonight? You can meet Vance and I'll show you what I have."

Emilie nodded. Her frustration level had reached a new peak. “Mighta mentioned this sooner, you know."

"Well, it didn't work all that well. We tried the chain before he transformed and it burned—he couldn't wear it. When he was in wolf form, it seemed to weaken him enough so he passed out, but it didn't cause him to transform back any faster."

"This is strong. I can feel it. It needs a little tweaking, but it's a good place to start. It might give us the extra time we need to work out the cure."

"He and his fiancée are getting ready to move in together."

"Well, unless he's prepared to tell her what's going on, that might have to wait.” Emilie gave him a long look and once again found herself floating into the azure depths of his eyes. She shook herself back to reality. “How about I come by around eight tonight?"

"That's fine. Do you like Thai? I could pick up some dinner on the way—"

The sound came like a gunshot, followed by the crystalline rain of glass from the front plate-glass window. Emilie ducked instinctively, clutching her protection amulet. When she looked up, she saw Daniel race for the door and fling it open. While he looked up and down the street for the culprit, Emilie surveyed the damage.

A hole the size of a fist interrupted the Mystikal Excursions logo, obliterating the “A.” Amid the shards of glass littering the floor in front of the counter lay a smooth gray stone about half the size of a baseball.

"Are you all right?” Daniel asked when he returned. She saw the concern in his eyes, and for a moment, she felt like she'd known him forever.

Charlotte's words came back to her, though. Watch out for him.

She nodded and sighed. After rounding the counter, she bent to retrieve the stone.

"Be careful of the glass,” he warned. “I didn't see anyone outside. In fact, the street is empty."

"Not surprising,” she said, rising with the stone in her hand. Vibrations of the fear and hatred that had gone into the act hummed through the chunk of granite.

For a moment, when their eyes met, Daniel looked uncertain. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but she cut him off.

"This won't be the last time."

"Do you have any cardboard and duct tape? I'll close up the hole. After you call the police, I'll help you find someone to repair the glass."

She grabbed a dustpan and brush from under the counter and knelt to sweep up the glass. “I'll take care of it. You should probably get back to work."

"I'm sorry about this.” He sounded sincere, but Charlotte's warnings echoed. He'd worked so hard to get her business shut down, why would he be sorry now?

"It happens. I can handle it. If I couldn't, I'd have given up this life a long time ago."

A low, hollow moan drifted from the back room.

Emilie rolled her eyes. “We'd both better get back to work.” She waited a beat, picked up the broken glass in the dustpan and slid it into the wastebasket.

He remained staring at her. “Will you still come over tonight?"

She gave him a smile she hoped wasn't brittle. “Sure. I'll see you at eight. I love Thai."

"Are you sure you don't need—"

"I'll be fine. I'll see you later.” She kept her smile in place until he'd gone.

* * * *

Daniel left Mystikal Excursions, feeling about as low as one of Chester Creek's demons. All he'd wanted was to make the town safe, to help undo some of the damage the warlock had accomplished while masquerading as a reputable business owner. He hadn't known Emilie when he drafted the petition asking the Mayor to ban her business from taking over the premises of Creek's Magick Shop. He had figured, if the petition succeeded, Mystikal Excursions and its young proprietress would just disappear, to be replaced by a normal business, like a bookstore or a flower shop. Something safe.

She'd been at the town meeting when he addressed the mayor, but she hadn't gotten up to speak. He'd thought at the time that the overwhelming positive response to his presentation had scared her into silence. A lesser woman might have given up and left quietly, but she'd hung on. The Mayor had agreed to allow her business to open, under the condition that it caused absolutely no trouble. Daniel wondered how long it would be before the seed of intolerance that he'd planted began to grow out of control, and what he could do to stop it.

CHAPTER 5

Despite the broken window and the odd brown stain that had appeared in the center of the floor in the back room, the day hadn't been a total loss. Late in the afternoon, a bus from the County Seat disgorged a hungry group of senior citizens on a shopping tour. Emilie never dreamed she'd see her shop so full. For three hours they came and went in between trips to the ice cream parlor, the quilt shop and the bakery on the corner. No one seemed bothered by the taped up hole in the front window or the growing chill seeping in from the back room. Amazingly, the nether realm remained quiet all afternoon.

By 6:00, wreathless and down to her last besom, Emilie felt a little less hopeless than she had when Daniel had been there. She bid the last of the souvenir hunters farewell and closed the shop, exhausted.

Tomorrow she'd begin filling the mail orders for stock and supplies she needed, and work on a flier to mail out to more than two dozen new customers.

Not a bad day after all, she decided as she locked up. Now for my next challenge—finding something to wear that goes with Thai food and werewolves.

As she climbed into her car and headed home, she tried not to think of Daniel. Her focus had to be on his brother's condition. But once she'd cured Vance Garrison, would Daniel still want to see Mystikal Excursions closed down? She'd always thought Charlotte's views on trusting men to be a little extreme, but perhaps in this case her cousin had a point. This wasn't about forging a friendship with Daniel Garrison. It was only about helping someone who needed help, then moving on, all the while taking care to protect herself and her business.

* * * *

"I'll be glad when I don't have to lie to Bethany any more,” Vance said, setting the table in the dining room for three. “She thinks I'm crunching numbers with you on the Peterson portfolio tonight."

"Good excuse. I could actually use some help with that. Red or white?” Daniel asked.

"What?"

"What kind of wine?” Daniel looked up, kneeling next to the sideboard, where a wooden latticework held a few bottles of decent vintage in the lower cabinet.

"I didn't know this was a date.” Vance adjusted his glasses and smirked. In the light from the modest chandelier hanging over the dining table, Daniel could see the faint swelling on the side of his brother's face from the recent blow.

He felt a pang of guilt. What might he have to do next time to stop Vance from running loose? How difficult would it be to hide the next injury he incurred while in wolf form?

"It's a business meeting,” Daniel said, rising. He wasn't trying to impress Emilie after all; just being an attentive host.

Vance nodded, apparently unconvinced. “White. How about candles?"

"Do we have any black ones?"

"No, but I can dig out the fake spider webs from last Halloween and whip up some eyeball soup."

"Black candles absorb negativity. She'd probably appreciate it, after what happened at the store today."

Glasses clinked and silverware chimed as Vance finished the place settings. “Guilt getting to you?"

"It's not guilt. I just hadn't expected a frontal attack."

Vance sighed. “Look, I know my situation hasn't helped your personal vendetta against magick—"

"I don't have a personal vendetta against magick.” Daniel plunked down the wine bottle in the center of the table. “I don't have a vendetta against any one or anything."

"You blame magick for what happened to Pop."

"I blame Pop for what happened to Pop. And what happened to you. He got you involved—made you go off hunting werewolves like it was the family business or something. Look where you both ended up."

Vance raised an eyebrow. “I'm not dead yet."

"No, but how many full moons before you end up with a silver bullet in your butt? Someone saw you this time. Now they're looking for a rabid dog in the park. You were this close to attacking me. What if next time it's Bethany?"

That thought sobered Vance. He stepped back from the table and dropped his gaze, concern clouding his features. “I could never hurt Beth. No matter what."

"You don't know that. You don't know what you're capable of as a werewolf. And neither do I. You saw what you did to the padlock. And how many times do you want to wake up tasting squirrel?"

"Uh. Did you have to bring that up? How'm I supposed to eat now?” Vance gave a theatrical shiver.

"Seriously. This is more than just making sure you don't transform in the middle of your honeymoon. You could hurt someone, and if you do, how can I stop the other werewolf hunters from coming for you? Your own friends will have to hunt you. You don't want to die that way, do you?"

Vance clapped Daniel on the back and gave him a reassuring look just as the doorbell rang. “I'm not going to die. That's why we've got Sabrina the Sexy Witch in our corner. Go let her in and let's get started on de-fanging me."

* * * *

Vance Garrison looked nothing like his brother. His glossy black hair had the unruly look of a self-inflicted haircut. Sensitive dark eyes hid behind copper-colored wire-rimmed glasses, and his lanky build reminded Emilie of a long-distance runner.

Unlike Daniel's somewhat stiff, gentlemanly manner, Vance seemed completely at ease with himself, his brother and their houseguest. By the time he poured her a second glass of wine, she felt like she'd known him all her life. She wasn't self-conscious talking about her family and even her coven. The twelve women with whom she met each month for moral support and friendship would have taken bids on the younger Garrison brother, if he hadn't already been engaged.

"Tell me about your fiancée,” she said when they'd finished their meal and moved into the spacious living room. For a home occupied by two males, the place appeared neat, nicely decorated and well maintained. The Garrison house had a homey feel that Emilie wouldn't have expected of Daniel. She'd figured him for stainless steel, ergonomic furniture and lots of sleek glass and leather. Seeing him comfortably seated in a corduroy recliner negated some of the stuffy attitude she thought he possessed.

"Beth and I met last year on a tour of Italy.” Vance swirled his wine, a fond reminiscence in his eyes. This was a man in love. “I'd never met anyone like her. She dazzled me."

Emilie glanced at Daniel, who seemed genuinely pleased for his brother, then smiled at Vance. “She's not going to understand about you being a werewolf?"

The dreamy look vanished from Vance's eyes. “She's a perfectly normal person. And I emphasize ‘perfect.’ She's a schoolteacher, works with disabled children. She doesn't even like scary movies. This would utterly freak her out."

Daniel cleared his throat. “You said something about tweaking the spell on the silver chain?” He seemed more anxious than Vance to begin the magickal work.

Emilie pulled the chain from her pocket and arranged it in a circle on the coffee table. “I'd like to see the spell you used to make this."

An uncomfortable look passed over Daniel's face. Vance eyeballed him suspiciously.

"The book is here.” He opened a drawer in the end table beside the recliner and pulled out a book bound in cracked burgundy leather. When he handed it to Emilie, she felt the resonance all the way up to her elbow.

"This was your grandfather's?"

Daniel nodded.

"And you say he wasn't a witch?” she asked, leafing through the old pages one sheet at a time. The book looked more like a diary than a grimoire, with dated entries written in the strong, angular hand of a man in a hurry. Here and there she recognized the cadence of spells and incantations, interspersed with accounts of what appeared to be werewolf hunts. “I understand."

"No, not completely,” Vance responded, but Daniel silenced him with a look.

"What? Don't keep me in the dark. If there's more I should know, then—"

"Pop hunted werewolves for thirty-two years,” Daniel said. “He personally killed more than a hundred in Europe and even chased one all the way to Australia.” Daniel leaned toward Emilie, flipped over a few of the book's crinkled pages, then pointed to an entry. “Here—a tribe of aborigines helped him track down a creature they believed had escaped from the fevered dreamtime of an injured man."

Emilie scanned the page. “It looks like they taught him a few protection charms. We may be able to use these."

"Do you think you'll be able to come up with something before the next full moon?” Vance asked.

"I'll try my best. At the very least, we'll find a way to keep you safe during the next cycle if I haven't come up with a workable spell. Do you have more of your grandfather's papers?"

Vance hesitated. What was he hiding?

"It's all right if you prefer to keep them private."

"Why don't you show her, Dan? I'm going to give Beth a call and let her know we're not coming up for air on the Peterson portfolio.” Vance stood and headed for the kitchen, grabbing Emilie's empty wineglass on the way. “I'll refill this for you."

"Just half, thanks. When I get home I've got to do some research. I don't want to fall asleep with my nose in a book."

"I'll show you the room Pop used as an office,” Daniel said.

He guided her out of the living room and up a narrow flight of stairs to a hexagonal garret on the third floor. The floorboards creaked and groaned as they stepped inside. The smell of old books and dried herbs surrounded Emilie, and she immediately got a sense of the man the Garrison brother's called “Pop."

"This was his house?” she asked.

Daniel found a pull chain that turned on a fringed lamp. The old bulb illuminated an open roll-top desk, overflowing with papers, letters, old-fashioned inkwells and bottles labeled in the same tight handwriting as the journal he'd shown her. “Vance and I inherited the place. I'm buying him out so he and Beth can get a house of their own."

Emilie's fingers ached to touch everything in sight. Pop might not have been a witch, but he had magick. A great deal of it still lingered in the room. Like her grandmother, it seemed everything he had touched contained a powerful essence. Emilie wondered if his grandsons had inherited any of the power. She certainly thought she felt something from Daniel.

Standing with him in the little room, she realized the feeling was more than just her own traitorous attraction to him. He possessed a hidden strength, something coiled just below the surface. She saw it in the tight set of his jaw and the controlled way he moved. She watched him now, bending to retrieve a box from under the desk. He brought it into the amber puddle of light and let her see inside.

"These were things he used on his trips. Maybe there's something that will help. You can have all of it."

She gave him a skeptical look as he handed her the box. “You're giving it to me?"

"Unless you'd like to work up here. You can use anything you find in this room, anything that will help Vance. In a way, I'd be happy to be rid of the stuff."

"It makes you uncomfortable."

He gave her one of those looks that made her tingle. “To me, it's like having a loaded gun in the house. It's too dangerous. Pop—my grandfather—experimented with magick and it caused him a lot of trouble. Vance is following the same path."

"Vance was hunting werewolves in Germany, wasn't he?” The whole story started to click now. Werewolf hunters rarely survived long once they'd been bitten—his own kind would turn against him.

"He's been spending summers doing it since we were in high school."

"They won't kill him unless he's transformed,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. She felt the tension in his muscles and the heat of his skin. “He's safe until next month."

"Then what? I don't want Vance to lose his fiancée, but I don't want him to lose his life either."

"I'll do everything in my power. And if I can't locate the right spell, I'll find someone who can. I promise."

A faint smile flickered on his lips, cutting the tension just enough for them to realize how close they were standing. Emilie felt Daniel's breath on her cheek, smelled the warm masculine scent of his cologne, and let her imagination run free. She imagined those muscular arms around her, his lips bruising hers in a demanding kiss and...

Fantasy over!

She backed up a step, putting Pop's wooden magick box between them and tightly pressing it against her stomach to ease the sudden ache below her navel. “I'd probably better get home and start working on the problem."

Daniel held her gaze for a moment longer, then sidestepped to give her access to the stairwell. “Let me carry the box downstairs for you."

She gave it to him, and he waited while she descended.

Vance met them in the living room. He eyed the box and gave his brother a smirk. “I see you found a way to get rid of some of Pop's junk."

"Would you rather take it with you to your new place?” Daniel rummaged in the box before handing it back to Emilie. He had pulled out a thin bottle made of dark amber glass. Something rattled within the nearly opaque container. “I'm sure Beth can find a way to decorate with silver coffin nails."

"Ooh! I could use them. Put them back.” Emilie grinned at Vance and shot Daniel a sidelong glance.

"Not for my coffin, I hope,” Vance said, feigning a tragic expression.

"They may be useful for a potion. I've got some ideas. Give me a few days to work on them, and I'll give you both a call."

"If you need any help before that, I'm here all day,” Vance offered.

Daniel's brows knit together. If Emilie didn't know better, she would have thought he was jealous. “You had better call me first,” he said. “Bethany stays here a lot. She's on vacation from school and you never know when she might be hanging around."

Emilie's gaze bounced between the brothers. She couldn't decide if she should be amused or disconcerted by their power play.

"I'll just pretend you're a client. If I call you Mr. Jennings, that means I can't talk,” Vance said.

"Should we work out a code word and a secret meeting place, too?” she asked.

Daniel moved between Emilie and Vance and herded her toward the door. “As I said, call me. This way we won't have to worry about Bethany getting suspicious."

Emilie waved to Vance as Daniel let her out. He led her down the driveway and held the magick box while she opened her car door. The night was bright with the three-quarter waning moon and crickets sang in the bushes surrounding the house.

"I appreciate everything you're doing,” Daniel said.

Emilie settled herself into the driver's seat with the box beside her. She wanted to assure him that she'd find a way to help Vance, but in truth, she still wasn't sure she could. If she failed, would she serve only to prove to him that his opinions about the dangers of magick were well founded? She gave him a wan smile and started the engine. She had a lot of work to do. No sense wasting the evening with empty promises.

"I'll call you,” she said before pulling out of the driveway. And she hoped she'd have good news when she did.

CHAPTER 6

The yellow eyes of the wolf met Daniel's and bore into him, challenging him for supremacy. He flung the flimsy silver chain from his hand; it coiled around the beast's throat. When he pulled it tight, it failed to fuse together. Instead, the links broke apart, snapped by the sheer force of the creature's fury. It swiped a claw at him, catching him across the face. Hot blood trickled down his jaw. Rage built inside him. The creature howled in triumph as Daniel backed away.

When the beast lunged after him, Daniel swung his fist, aware of an unnatural weight in his hand. A gun—the pistol Pop had proudly displayed for a decade above the mantle when he and Vance were boys—gleamed against his skin. He didn't need to check the chamber to know it was loaded with silver bullets, poured in a special mold by a gunsmith in Geneva who specialized in weapons to fight demon beasts.

Without remorse, Daniel fired at the wolf...

The sound woke him. He sat up in bed, gasping and covered in sweat.

He would never allow it to come to that. He'd given Emilie all of Pop's werewolf-hunting paraphernalia except the gun and the bullets. He kept them in the drawer by his bed, not because he expected to use them, but because he wanted to make sure no one else did.

Nathan Garrison had stared down that very barrel once. Daniel often wondered if his grandfather had heard the shot that plunged a silver bullet into his chest. He'd read that often people who survived gunshot wounds reported never having heard the shot that hit them. Unfortunately, Pop hadn't survived.

Daniel flung off the twisted sheets and paced the moonlit room. Years had passed since he'd dreamed of the wolf, years since he'd woken up with his hand curled around the trigger of a nonexistent gun. He eyed the drawer and the brass key in the old-fashioned lock that held it closed. He crossed the room and twisted the key until it clicked in the mechanism, then pulled it out of the lock and moved to the window. After throwing open the sash, he hurled the key into the garden.

No one would get their hands on the gun.

Not even himself.

And no more Garrison men would die at the hands of the wolf.

* * * *

"You're going to turn my brother blue?"

Three days later, Daniel stopped by Mystikal Excursions just as Emilie was closing her shop. He had made it to Thursday before the urge to see her became overwhelming, and she'd made the mistake of showing him her progress.

In the back room, where the rune circle was now fully visible through three layers of gray paint, thirty black candles formed a circle around a pile of quartz crystals. Emilie deftly arranged three more candles in the circle and sidled past Daniel on her way to the front of the shop.

He followed. “Blue?"

"He's not going to stay blue,” she said, rummaging under the front counter for a lighter. She stopped and stuck her hand down the front of her T-shirt. Daniel watched, intrigued and a little turned on, as she yanked out an amulet and let it dangle against her chest. It looked like a tiny silk purse stitched with a protection rune. The weight of it pressed her T-shirt deeper into the V between her breasts and Daniel found it hard to look away from the enticing little valley it formed.

When they returned to the back room, several of the clear quartz crystals had turned black in the intervening few minutes and four of the candles had fallen over, seemingly of their own accord.

"Yes, turning blue is a side effect of consuming large quantities of colloidal silver. Yes, it's irreversible, but note I said large quantities. Vance will drink only one small potion—just a few ounces. This blue is a magickal side effect and it won't last ... long.” She bent to reset the fallen candles.

He reached for her arm. “How long?"

"A day or two."

A desolate howl emanated from the floor.

"A day or two?"

"I'm sure he can avoid his fiancée for forty-eight hours. Tell her he had to go on a business trip or something.” She straightened up and gave him a stern glare. “In the meantime, unless you want to meet the next batch of Creek's minions, I suggest you go home now. I'll call you later."

Daniel swept his gaze across the frigid room. He saw his own breath in front of him. Emilie lit the nearest candle, then, with a wave of her hand, she seemed to spread the flame around the circle. All thirty-three candles flared to life and the disembodied wail from the center of the evil circle grew louder.

"Why are you doing this alone?” He could have sworn a few more crystals turned black as he watched. “And why not sooner?"

"I didn't have all the ingredients for the spell.” From her jean pocket, Emilie pulled out a small clear vial. A thick black liquid rolled within it. “And it's complicated, but I need to do it alone."

"It looks dangerous."

"It is, so back up.” She shooed him toward the door.

He held his ground, bracing against the pressure she exerted with her hands on his chest. “I don't think so."

She pushed harder, but he pushed back, surprised by the strength in her tiny frame and the fact he enjoyed the feel of her warm hands on his torso.

Emilie grunted and gave up her attempt to physically move him out of the room.

"I'm staying. This looks too dangerous for you to be on your own."

As if to punctuate his words, one of the candles teetered. If it fell, the whole circle would probably collapse like dominoes in a ring of fire. Emilie stilled the errant wax pillar with nothing more than a stern look. The netherworld growled. She raised the bottle of viscous black liquid and hell itself seemed to whimper at her threat. Daniel felt her power, right in the solar plexus. His heart picked up the pace when she turned her smoldering gaze toward him.

"Fine. Just stand back."

"You and your coven fought Chester Creek last fall. That's thirteen of you. I don't understand why—"

"That was business. This is personal.” She gingerly spanned the candles and positioned herself over the pile of crystals. Legs wide, arms outstretched, she closed her eyes and tilted back her head.

"How personal?"

She sighed and peered at him from under lowered lashes. “We all had our assignments. Six to gather the minions he unleashed. Five to cleanse the premises. Audra, the coven priestess, performed the banishing spell on Creek. That's heavy magick, not to be taken lightly. I was assigned to close the portal.” Again, she closed her eyes and threw back her head. “The spell I used was weak."

"Can't you ask for help?"

"I shouldn't have to. I should have done a better job. I should have pulled out all the stops, but I was afraid."

"And now you're not?” He had to give her credit. Standing on what was obviously an entrance to hell, ready to do battle like a warrior princess, she looked invincible. Something stirred in him. He should have been afraid for her, but instead he grew hard.

She didn't answer him. All the crystals in the pile had turned gray or black. Several candles seemed to burn faster than the others and disintegrated into puddles of black wax. The dark liquid, which resembled the stuff in Emilie's potion bottle, had begun to run in rivulets toward the center of the rune circle.

It didn't look good.

"Can we conclude Twenty Questions later?” Emilie said after another deep, cleansing breath. “I'm a little busy."

Before Daniel could come up with a pithy reply, Emilie's head fell farther backward and an agonized sound escaped her lips. Her body went rigid, and every flame in the circle flared several feet high.

Daniel waited only the space of a single breath before hurling himself over the leaping flames.

* * * *

Emilie felt the cold, black emptiness of the netherworld envelope her as it had once before. She'd vowed the first time to never again put herself through this torture, yet here she was, rooted to the center of the rune circle in the back room of her shop, caught in the throes of evil as Chester Creek's portal to hell struggled to open beneath her feet.

The girls would have had a fit if they'd known what she was attempting. Her cousin Charlotte would kill her, if the banishing ritual didn't do the job first.

Stupid pride, they'd say. Yes. Emilie knew she suffered from a form of hubris born of insecurity. As the least powerful witch in her family, she'd grown up with something to prove. The fact that the Swanson clan unconditionally loved their youngest, least talented daughter became immaterial. Emilie wanted—needed—to measure up.

Failing to fully close Chester's portal the first time haunted her. Audra had given her the assignment in good faith, and Emilie owned her sister-in-magick her best effort. She'd taken the easy route, the weaker spell because it was less painful. It demanded less of her and she had known, without a doubt, that her power was equal to it.

That made her a bad witch. And a bad witch wouldn't be able to help anyone. So she had to do this alone, to prove—especially to herself—that she had it in her. Only then would she be able to help Vance and show Daniel that Cypress Park wasn't better off without her.

Despite the cold, desolate hollow that crawled up into her gut, she managed to tighten her grip on the potion bottle.

A blur of movement passed through the corner of her limited vision.

She tensed. Had something already escaped from the portal?

The demons that the warlock Creek had brought forth had been small, wrinkled, hairless creatures with gnarled fangs and bat-like ears. Personal-sized nightmares, the kinds of things children feared lived under their beds or lurked in dark basements and dusty attics. The mischief-makers had proven fairly easy for the coven to catch, however, but alone and immobilized by the terrible cold from below, Emilie would be easy prey if one had gotten loose.

Daniel? Where had he gone?

Something brushed against her hand. She found the strength to jerk away from the chilling touch. The words of the incantation she'd memorized formed in her mind, and she spoke them, slow and deliberate, as she squeezed the potion bottle in her fist.

Malachus in severus!

This incantation forms a seal, what lies below to banish.

Bind the power that stirs within

And make the portal vanish!

A screech, like nails raking across a chalkboard, ripped through the room. An icy gust of fetid air followed. Emilie repeated the incantation, louder this time, as the wailing from below rose in pitch.

Malachus in severus!

This incantation forms a seal, what lies below to banish.

Bind the power that stirs within

And make the portal vanish!

In response, the portal convulsed beneath her. Emilie's knees buckled. As she fell forward, she slammed the potion bottle onto the floor with all her remaining strength. At the moment it shattered against her palm, hell hiccuped.

The black liquid oozed onto the cracks that had formed in the floor and mixed with candle wax, crystal dust and her blood. The conglomeration solidified into an unbreakable seal that formed a black sunburst pattern across the floor, obliterating the circle of Chester Creek's satanic runes. One by one the candles guttered as the dark marks faded.

Emilie smiled at her handiwork. Not bad, she thought, just before a bomb exploded behind her eyes.

The world went icy black, and she passed out.

CHAPTER 7

"That was impressive,” Daniel said when Emilie's eyes fluttered open half an hour later. He'd stretched her out on the floor of the back room and placed his folded jacket under her head. A cool compress of paper towels from the bathroom rested on her pale forehead.

"Thank you. It was some of my best work,” she responded with a shaky half-smile. She brought her injured hand up to her face and surveyed the bandage he'd cobbled together from her meager first-aid supplies.

"I don't mean the spell.” He lifted each of her eyelids to check the pupils. “I meant that you managed to shatter that bottle in your hand and not need stitches."

He gently turned over her palm and looked at his work. No blood seeped through the layers of gauze he'd wrapped around her hand.

"What's important is the spell worked, right?” She sat up and tried to look past him.

He pushed back her shoulders and helped her adjust the compress on her head. “Take it easy. You've been out for a little while."

"I'm fine. Except for ... the blinding headache and mild nausea.” Her voice faded as she settled her head onto his makeshift pillow.

"Is plain aspirin okay? It's all you have in your medicine cabinet."

He rose and retrieved the glass of water he'd prepared and handed her four small, white tablets. Her hand shook a little as she reached for the glass, so he held it to her lips.

She cringed as the pills went down. “Thanks."

He gave her a dark look and tried to maintain his ire, which wasn't easy since he'd never seen her look sexier. With her hair spilling wildly around her face, a smudge of otherworldly soot above her left eye, and the fingers of her bandaged hand idly toying with the protection amulet on her chest, she appeared invincible and vulnerable at the same time.

It bothered him that he felt every ounce of her power, and seeing her in action, holding back the forces of darkness, had given him a raging hard-on. His blood ran hot at the thought that she might have tried this spell all alone and failed.

She blinked up at him, all innocence. “What?"

"This is exactly what my petition was about. Reckless magick."

"Reckless?” She bolted upright, then grabbed her head and moaned. “I closed a portal to hell,” she said through clenched teeth.

"By yourself. What if the potion bottle hadn't broken? What if I hadn't been here to pull you out of the hole?"

"What hole?” She looked around him again at the expanse of intact, but dirty, floor.

"The hole that opened up under your feet. The one you sank into about knee-deep."

She stared at him for a moment, obviously dumbfounded, then winced and rubbed her head. “I don't remember that part."

"I'll never forget it. Thanks."

When she struggled to her feet, Daniel forced himself not to go to her. He wanted to stay mad and make her fully understand how dangerous her plan had been. And he wanted to kiss her until she couldn't breathe and demand that she never put herself in that kind of danger again.

His resolve crumbled when she put her hand on his shoulder. Her touch electrified him. She still resonated with the power of her spell, and the energy in her body shot through him, straight to his heart.

"Thank you..."

Her voice was a whisper over the pounding of blood in his ears. He could have sworn sparks flew between them as she leaned closer and grazed her supple lips over his jaw. He turned just slightly, wondering how easy it would be to capture her lips with his and taste the power that emanated from her.

But she pulled away before he had a chance. “Now we're even."

"Even?” He backed up a step and glared at her. Sinful thoughts of taking her in the middle of the floor dissolved into frustrated anger. “How do you figure?"

"You tried to run me out of town. Then you saved me from being dragged through a portal into hell. I'd say the two things cancel each other out."

"Not wanting you to set up shop in Cypress Park, and not wanting you to fall through a portal into hell, are not the same thing."

"Obviously."

He made a sound much like the ones that had issued from the portal before it closed. “They're not opposites either."

"So you still want me out of town?"

God, the woman was impossible! He spread his arms wide to encompass the black, waxy sunburst on the floor. “If it means no more portals, minions, demons or warlocks, yes!"

She put her hands on her hips and squared off, ready for another battle, by the look in her eyes. “If I leave, you're on your own if Chester Creek comes back."

He squared off, too, all thoughts of kissing her into submission forgotten. “Your coven banished him, remember?"

"That doesn't mean he won't try to come back. Or send someone else in his place. You need a witch in this town, bucko. You need a lot of witches, in fact, because without us, your sleepy little town would be knee-deep in portals to the underworld."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

She tossed her hair and swayed a little. Daniel resisted the urge to steady her. He'd lose this argument big time if he touched her now.

"Fine. Well, thank you again for all your help, Mr. Garrison. There's the door."

"You're kicking me out?"

"Turnabout is fair play.” She held up her bandaged hand to stop his protest. “Before you say it, I'm still going to help your brother. In fact, I'll come over Saturday night. The spell I have doesn't require a full moon, but you may have to wait until then to find out if it worked. Oh, tell Vance to avoid dairy until then."

Daniel blinked. Not only was Emilie Swanson utterly exasperating, she was completely insane. “Dairy?"

"It makes phlegm."

He shook his head. “There's going to be phlegm?"

"I certainly hope not.” She roughly handed him his jacket. “Good night. And again, thanks for the bandage."

* * * *

"I'm vibrating,” Emilie announced when Charlotte answered the phone on the first ring. She slammed the door of her apartment and dashed her keys into the ceramic bowl on the end table.

"That's a little too much information, sweetie. What you do in the privacy of your own home—"

"I mean from a spell."

"Ah. Werewolf?"

"Demon banishing.” Emilie threw herself onto the sofa and stretched. Once the aspirin had kicked in and dispatched the pounding in her head, another sensation had taken over, a more intimate one that had her replaying every moment she'd spent with Daniel.

Even when she'd been yelling at him and shooing him out of the shop, she'd been hot and hungry for him. The aftermath of good spell work varied from total exhaustion and even amnesia, to the female equivalent of a five-alarm boner.

Now, home alone and frustrated, angry and shivering with unspent energy, she decided confession of her sins to Charlotte would cleanse her soul and help her put Daniel's deep blue eyes, broad shoulders and deliciously tight butt out of her mind.

"More demons?” Charlotte's voice took on a familiar tone of suspicion.

Emilie winced. “I had to re-close the portal in the shop. It sprung a leak."

"Would you prefer I lecture you, or should I call your mother?"

"You, please. That's why I called. If I can get this off my chest now, I won't feel the need to confess the next time I talk to her."

"Reckless."

Oh, God. Moaning, Emilie sank deeper into the sofa cushions and tried not to imagine how it would feel to have Daniel's muscular body on top of her right now. “That's just what Daniel said."

"He was there?"

"Yeah."

"Spill it. I want all the details."

"Okay, okay. But then I need a favor."

"Anything."

"I need you to talk me out of hunting him down and jumping his bones."

CHAPTER 8

Daniel greeted Emilie with a civil smile and a cool glare when she arrived at the Garrison house around 8:00 PM Saturday night.

Vance stood behind his brother, looking anxious. He took the box of magickal items from Emilie and carried it into the house. “So this is it? You've got a spell that will work?” He followed her into the dining room where, as she'd instructed over the phone earlier that day, he had covered the table with a red cloth. A small silver bowl filled with sea salt sat at each corner of the table, and in the center stood a fat red candle.

"This spell will separate you from the wolf,” she said, careful to keep her voice neutral. Daniel's proximity had already started her blood pumping and brought back unwelcome thoughts of lust. She allowed herself to glance at him when he picked up the brown bottle of coffin nails that rested on top of the items in the box.

"I see you brought these back."

"Don't worry. We won't be burying anyone tonight."

His gaze flickered to hers and her cheeks grew hot. Carnal thoughts churned in her. How was it possible that she would want to kiss him and throttle him at the same time?

Daniel set down the bottle and turned to open a cabinet in the adjacent kitchen. Vance helped Emilie unpack the box's contents, carefully placing her small cauldron, an herb bundle, his grandfather's silver chain and the small bottle of wolfsbane potion she'd concocted on the table with a few other magickal tools.

"Extra strength aspirin,” Daniel said, setting a familiar white bottle on the corner of the table next to her other necessities.

Warmth washed through Emilie's body, but she refused to smile at the sweet gesture. Was this his way of apologizing for the other night? After all, he'd insisted on staying for the banishing ritual after she told him to leave.

Vance reached for the aspirin. “Good idea. I could use some right now."

Emilie slid the bottle out of his hands and replaced it on the table. “You don't want to take anything that will interfere with the potion. You may need it afterward, though, more than you do now."

"That's reassuring.” Vance rolled his eyes.

"Sit at the head of the table. Take some salt from one of the bowls and rub it on your hands, then put the chain around your neck."

"I can't. We already tried it and it burned me."

"It won't now. I cleansed it and respelled it.” She handed him the chain, and it coiled harmlessly in his palm. “Daniel made it a little too strong. It'll be fine now."

Daniel gave her a curious look, but Vance did as she instructed. He sat patiently while she set up the cauldron and lit a fire within it.

While a small pile of rowan twigs burned in the iron pot, Emilie motioned for Daniel to turn off the lights. Vance placed the silver chain around his neck, and Emilie caught the look of relief in his eyes. She had to admit, she felt relief as well that it caused him no discomfort.

In a fifth silver bowl she set in front of the cauldron, she poured a small amount of blessed water. She dipped her fingers into it and began her incantations, drawing power from the elements to aid her in her endeavor. Fire, Water, Earth and Air commingled their essence in the room, and Emilie felt the power rise around her as she placed the ingredients of the potion in the bowl and stirred them.

To his credit, Daniel stood out of her way as she began walking the circle of protection around Vance. Three times around the table, widdershins she went, holding the water bowl in her cupped hands. When she briefly set the bowl on top of the cauldron, the liquid brew bubbled violently and turned from clear to blue. When Vance's eyes widened, Emilie wondered if Daniel clued him in about the color change. She hoped it was something he could live with for a day or two.

When the potion cooled, she plunged an empty glass vial into the liquid and let it fill. Then she blessed the bottle and its contents before handing it to Vance. She didn't need to tell him what to do.

He sipped the still-warm potion, made a face as she'd expected, then gamely downed the bottle. Emilie held her breath and waited.

After a moment, he shrugged. “That's it? Now I have to wait three weeks to see if it works?"

"Do you feel any different?” she asked, ignoring Daniel's questioning gaze.

Vance wrinkled his nose. “It tasted a little like mouthwash. With basil."

"How come he's not turning blue?” Daniel asked.

Vance laughed. “That's a good sign? Right?"

"I don't know. I used plenty of silver."

"Blue?” Vance's worried gaze bounced from Emilie to his brother.

"You didn't tell him?” Emilie asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Daniel shook his head.

"Aw, come on. Is this a practical joke? I'd rather be a werewolf than a Smurf!” Vance began checking himself for color changes.

"It was supposed to last for only forty-eight hours, tops,” Daniel said. “Anyway, it looks like it didn't work. Nothing seems to have happened."

Emilie frowned. She'd followed all the instructions to the letter. “Maybe the wolfsbane I used was stale. It's hard to tell with that stuff."

"This is not funny, you two. Honestly.” Vance started to remove the silver chain from his neck and gasped. His left hand ended in five misshapen claws. Dark hair began sprouting on the back of his arm and yellow rimmed his irises. “This shouldn't be happening, should it—?” His question ended in an incoherent growl.

"The chain should still arrest the transformation,” Emilie said, though she took a step backward.

Vance bolted from his seat. Both his hands had become claws. Gleaming fangs protruded over his lips and his ears had elongated to points. With a snarl, he pawed the eyeglasses from his face and raced across the room.

* * * *

"How can he be transforming? It's not a full moon,” Daniel yelled over Vance's unearthly howl.

Why hadn't they done this in the basement room where a brand new padlock gleamed on the reinforced door? He put himself between Vance and Emilie as his brother tore off his own shirt and scattered salt and silver bowls across the dining room with a swipe of his gnarled hand.

"I don't know what went wrong,” Emilie said, ducking as Vance yanked the red cloth from the table and threw it across the room.

Daniel sidestepped and caught the beast with a cuff to the back of the head as it bounded across the table. The creature—Vance—only glanced back and growled, then advanced toward Emilie, who held a bundle of dried herbs in front of her like a weapon. She shook the leaves at Vance, who swung at them, distracted by the movement.

While Emilie and Vance sparred with the herbs, Daniel picked up the discarded tablecloth and prepared to throw it over his brother's head. Unfortunately, Vance obviously noticed the movement and whirled around. He snarled and tore at the cloth. Daniel teased him like a matador, while Emilie scrambled for the spilled contents of the magickal box.

"Come on, bro, snap out of it,” Daniel taunted. “The moon's not full tonight. It's not your time of the month."

He dodged when Vance lunged. They crashed together anyway, knocking over a chair. The force of his brother's body landing on his chest knocked the wind out of Daniel. For a moment, he lay stunned, looking into the remnants of Vance's face as the last of his human features disappeared.

Triumphant, the beast snarled as it ripped the constricting silver chain from its neck. The creature leapt off Daniel and bounded across the room.

A second later, Emilie screamed.

CHAPTER 9

The beast vaulted over the dining room table, trailing shreds of red tablecloth. Its yellow eyes found Emilie and zeroed in, tracking her as she tried to run from the room. Enraged and slavering, the creature lunged for her before she reached the door.

She held up her hands to ward off the rake of razor-sharp claws and cringed as her back hit the wall.

Think! Think! she commanded herself as the creature's hot breath warmed her cheek. Pinned against the wall, she couldn't reach anything to use as a weapon. The bundle of wolfsbane lay discarded under the creature's feet, useless.

A low growl rumbled in the beast's chest and it swiped at her throat. Its claws just missed her flesh, but tore the protection amulet from her neck. The small pouch of herbs flew across the room.

Instinctively, Emilie ducked. She slid down the wall and bolted under the creature's legs. It howled, as if momentarily confused by her actions, then whirled around and tangled its claws in the back of her shirt.

At that moment, when the talons sliced through the thin fabric and into her skin, Daniel rushed toward them. He threw himself at the beast, and once again, they grappled. With blood pouring down her back and her shirt in tatters, Emilie dragged herself up and scrambled after the brown bottle of coffin nails, which had rolled under the table.

She grabbed the cylindrical glass and twisted the tight cork out of the top. The shiny nails spilled into her palm. As a weapon, a two-inch-long nail seemed desperately inadequate, but it was her best, perhaps her only shot, at wounding the beast.

She scrabbled out from under the table with a nail clutched in her fist. With the werewolf and Daniel locked in mutual chokeholds, they'd both probably pass out from lack of oxygen. But Emilie couldn't wait to see who gave out first. She ran up behind the beast and plunged the nail into the thick muscles of its neck.

The creature screamed. Sorry Vance, she thought, pulling the nail out of his flesh and jabbing it in again. The wounds sizzled, and dark blood matted the beast's rough fur.

Another jab and another finally enticed the beast to release its hold on Daniel. Enraged, it turned on Emilie and raked its claws across her shoulder before she could back away. She fell, weakened by the stinging pain, and tried crawling away. She didn't get far before the werewolf lifted her, struggling from the floor.

She braced for the attack, figuring the creature would bite her. Instead of sinking its teeth into her flesh, it tossed her hard across the dining room table. She slid across the polished surface, and her breath left her in a surprised gasp when she landed with a loud thud on the floor.

Dazed, she blinked at the ceiling, expecting the beast to come after her. Glass shattered. Daniel yelled his brother's name, receiving a howl of rage, receding in the distance, as the only response.

Emilie sighed and closed her eyes.

* * * *

Daniel stared into the darkness outside the shattered remains of the dining room window. Vance had hit the ground running and disappeared almost instantly. In the feeble light of the waning moon, the deep shadows revealed no trace of him.

A moan drew his attention. Emilie.

She had pulled herself up from the floor and used her torn shirt to wipe the blood dripping from deep scratches on her shoulder and back. Blood also covered her lacy bra.

He crossed the room and caught her as she swayed. “I'll call 9-1-1."

"No!” She put a hand on his arm and looked into his eyes. “They'll ask too many questions. Where's Vance?"

"He's gone."

Emilie's eyes widened. “Go after him!"

"You need—"

"I'll be okay.” She pushed him toward the door. “Just give me a minute and I'll catch up."

He took her arm and pulled her toward him. “You have to get these scratches taken care of."

"I'll be fine. Find him before someone else does."

How could he leave her? How could he not? What would he do when he found Vance? He headed for the door, but she called him back and her voice broke.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what went wrong."

"Don't worry. We'll find a way to fix it.” He wished he could believe it.

* * * *

The park. Daniel knew the wolf too well. It followed a predictable path through town, avoiding the well-lit areas, the busier streets and the shopping district. It always headed for the park, skirting the lake and winding its way into the deep, dark grottos where wise people didn't walk at night.

He saw a familiar footprint in the mud next to the jogging path. At the edge of the softball field, where willow trees formed a curtain separating the wide-open space from the shady lanes and picnic areas, stillness descended around him. Then he heard the squeal of a small animal, a snarl, and the snap of tiny, hollow bones.

"Vance!” Maybe a trace of humanity remained. But what if this unscheduled transformation became permanent? He thought of the gun locked in the nightstand drawer and cursed. Vance wouldn't want to remain a werewolf. He'd rather die. Could Daniel bring himself to battle the wolf to the death—again?

No.

"Vance! Come on.” He thrust himself deeper into the dark recesses of the park, tensed when he heard a siren and flinched at the sharp crack of a twig. “Vance?"

"Oh, God! Daniel!"

"Vance."

His brother lurched through the trees, naked and shivering, his hands and face bloody. He fell at Daniel's feet. “Emilie?” he croaked out the word, retched, and gasped. “Did I hurt her?"

"She'll be all right.” He hoped. “Come on. Take my shirt. Let's get you home."

Daniel yanked off his T-shirt and helped Vance pull it over his head.

"I ate a pigeon,” Vance said miserably, staggering to his feet.

Nodding, Daniel threw his arm across his brother's shoulders. “Coulda been worse."

"What if this happens every night now? I can't let Bethany see me. You'll have to tell her something. Tell her I had to leave town. Tell her—God, Daniel."

"Don't worry. We'll fix it. I promise."

CHAPTER 10

Emilie surveyed the magickal arsenal she'd spread out on her kitchen table. Spell reversal was a tricky business that sometimes required a “reversal of the reversal” to get it right.

I should call everyone together. The voice of reason droned in her head as she packed her assembled ingredients into a satchel. I can't do this alone.

"But Daniel wants anonymity. I can't betray Vance,” she argued aloud. The painful scratches on her shoulder and back twinged as a reminder, that once again, she'd gotten in over her head.

All the training she'd had, the years of following her mother's and grandmother's instructions to the letter, should have made her a first-class witch. Where had she gone wrong? Why didn't things turn out perfectly for her the way they did for Charlotte and Audra and all the members of her coven? Even her own protection amulet had failed her tonight. And worse, she'd failed Vance. Assuming he and Daniel would ever speak to her again, could she find a way to fix her mistake?

She sighed deeply and shoved a bundle of sage into her satchel. “Pity party is officially over, Em,” she said. Get your act together—now!

The doorbell punctuated the end of her self-recriminations.

Emilie grabbed the satchel and slung it over her shoulder, cringing at the pain from the scratches. She shifted the heavy bag to her other shoulder and headed for the door.

Daniel stood outside, his handsome features sallow in the yellow glow of the porch light. Dirt smudged his shirt, and he smelled like damp grass and musky male. Emilie berated herself for the stab of desire she felt. This wasn't the time to get horny.

"How's Vance?” she croaked.

"He's fine. He changed back and I got him home before anyone saw us."

Without invitation, he stepped over the threshold and grasped her upper arms. For the briefest second, she feared he would shake her or berate her for screwing up so badly with the spell.

Instead, he hugged her. “Are you all right?” His rough voice sent a shiver down the center of her back.

"Yes ... um ... I'm fine.” For a moment, she indulged herself with a deep breath of his scent and the warmth of his arms. God he smelled so good, like night air. When he let her go, she stumbled backward a step and dropped the satchel. “I've got everything I should need to undo the separation spell. Then we can start from scratch."

He lowered his head and fixed her with a dark gaze. Its intensity frightened her a little.

Her pulse raced and she looked away. “I'm sorry about how things turned out. I went over everything and I don't know where I went wrong but I'll—"

"You put me in a bad position tonight."

Here it comes, she thought, bracing for a battle. But she had no strength left. “Vance doesn't blame you, does he? I'm not trying to make excuses but—"

"That's not what I mean.” Emilie felt the heat rolling off him in waves. She tensed and her muscles clenched when he tipped up her chin with his fingers and looked into her eyes. “I had to choose between you and Vance. I hated leaving you. I hated that I thought about killing the wolf to save you from him."

Emilie swallowed hard. Every possible retort crashed together in her mind, into a jumble of unusable words. Daniel plowed on, though, saving her from mumbling incoherently.

"Even when I was running through the park, searching for him, afraid the cops might find him, the only image in my mind was of you, under him, those filthy claws on your skin. I couldn't shake the image of him hurting you—and I wanted to kill him for it."

Emilie drew in a labored breath. It seemed as if the air had turned to liquid between them. Their faces hovered inches apart, and she felt her aching body drawn to his.

"I'm sorry.” Her words slipped out as a tortured whisper. She looked into his eyes again and saw something that made her blood pound and her knees weak.

He brushed his thumb over her lips; it felt like a kiss. Emilie closed her eyes.

"I'm the one who's sorry. I should have told you."

"Told me what?” She tipped back her head, her heart hammering.

"The wolf is inside me, too. Both of us."

Emilie's stomach flip-flopped as a rush of cold realization washed over her. “You're a werewolf, too?"

"Son of a werewolf. Grandson of a werewolf."

"Huh?"

Daniel took her hand and led her to the couch. “Pop was a werewolf hunter first. He became one when he was about twelve. He was bitten not long afterward, yet he managed to keep the secret for more than thirty years, even from our grandmother. Even after our father was born, he didn't tell her."

"But he told you?"

"I found out from reading his journals. My father didn't even know half of it. He had the wolf in him, too, but he didn't transform—at least as far as I know. He was never bitten, and you have to be bitten in order to transform. Pop apparently kept Dad out of it, wouldn't allow him to become a werewolf hunter."

Emilie nodded as the puzzle pieces fell into place. The spell hadn't separated Vance from the beast because they were too closely entwined. The wolf had an anchor to hold onto within Vance, and making it let go wouldn't be easy.

"Your grandfather was killed by a werewolf hunter, wasn't he?” she whispered.

The pain in Daniel's eyes told her only part of the answer. “He had a few close calls and finally stopped hunting. He tried to avoid his old friends because he didn't want any of them to have to kill him one day.” He looked away, stiffening under her touch as he spoke. “I was seventeen. Pop had a cabin that bordered on the state forest. He stayed there in the summers after my grandmother died. Sometimes Vance and I would sneak up there at night, but he'd drive us home in the morning and never tell on us. One weekend, I went there alone because Vance had chicken pox ... he was so mad I was going without him..."

He smiled at the memory, but it didn't reach his eyes. Apparently, the pain was too deep. Emilie touched his face.

"A group of deer hunters wounded something by the lake. When I got up there, I saw it, crawling toward the cabin. I called for Pop, but he didn't answer. I panicked. I let myself in the back door and got his gun."

Emilie squeezed Daniel's shoulder. Her heart ached for him. She didn't need to hear the rest of the story, but he seemed compelled to tell it.

"They'd wounded it pretty badly and it was crazy with pain. I was going to shoot it, but I panicked. I ran and it chased me. Then it cornered me, and I fired. Just once."

"I'm sorry.” Emilie wrapped her arms around him and cradled him against her. He clutched her to him, and she felt the ragged beat of his heart.

"I should have told you, but Vance doesn't even know exactly what happened."

Emilie wiped away the tears that brimmed in her eyes. “It's okay. It's okay. We don't need to reverse my spell, then. It worked—just not enough. It brought out the beast, but not far enough. We need something stronger."

"Can you do it? Can you separate him from the beast?"

"I think so. But I'm going to need Charlotte's help."

"Charlotte?"

"My cousin. She's from Seattle, so I don't think you have to worry about her spilling the beans to Bethany."

Daniel smiled. “At this point, it doesn't matter to me anymore. We have to get Vance back to normal before he hurts someone else."

"We will. We'll find a way."

* * * *

"He had a lot of nerve telling you that you were reckless when he kept a secret like that,” Charlotte said.

Emilie entered the kitchen with a newly delivered pepperoni pizza. She sat their dinner on the table and slid into the seat opposite her cousin. Charlotte's green eyes held disdain for the Garrison brothers.

"It wasn't an easy secret for him to tell.” Emilie's heart still ached for Daniel, and her body did, too, but she refused to dwell on that now. With Charlotte here, they had to concentrate on their spell work.

"You had no idea your spell would set off a transformation. God, you might have set them both off."

Emilie shook her head as she dug into her pizza. It was good to have Charlotte around. Her presence would keep Emilie's thoughts on the business at hand. “Daniel can't transform. He's second generation, only a quarter wolf, and he's never been bitten."

"The spell could have triggered a similar reaction in him, though.” Charlotte rolled her eyes and reached for a can of soda. “You could have ended up with the two of them battling it out over who got to eat your spleen."

"Nice image.” Emilie gave her pepperoni a skeptical look. “Thanks!"

"We've got sixteen days until the next full moon. It seems like a lot of time, but we can't waste it. The sooner we get this done, the better off Vance will be. I suggest when we do the spell, we chain them up just to be sure."

Emilie sighed. “I told you, Daniel doesn't transform."

"So he says. But who knows what else he hasn't told you? For all you know, he's a vampire, too, and just hasn't mentioned it yet."

"I doubt that. I've seen him in daylight."

Charlotte smirked. “But have you seen him naked?"

Emilie groaned. Just exactly what she was trying not to think about. “What's that got to do with him being a vampire?"

Her cousin shrugged. “Nothing. I was just wondering if you were heeding my sage advice not to get involved with him."

"Yes, I have heeded your advice.” Emilie kept her voice neutral. Lying to Charlotte was damn near impossible, but she had no intention of admitting that she'd been having impure thoughts about Daniel. In fact, she'd been plagued by them since he'd left her apartment on Saturday night. She still wondered why she'd let him go and had not invited him to spend the night. Maybe because she would have felt like a guy—taking advantage of his emotional state to sate her own desires. That's what Charlotte would say, of course.

Hopefully, with her cousin staying until the next full moon, Emilie would be able to refrain from doing something she'd regret, like inviting Daniel over for coffee, or dinner—or sex.

"All right. Why don't we start by taking a supply inventory?” Charlotte's segue to business interrupted another foray into Emilie's carnal fantasies.

"Good idea. I'm pretty sure we'll need some fresh wolfsbane."

"And chains. Don't forget the chains."

CHAPTER 11

"So what do you think of our new resident witch?” Bethany asked over breakfast on Tuesday morning.

Daniel nearly sucked coffee into his lungs at her question. He swallowed hard and coughed. On the far side of the breakfast table, Vance gaped.

"Who—?” Daniel's voice hadn't cracked so badly since the age of thirteen. He coughed again. It had been hard enough keeping Emilie out of his thoughts since he'd left her on Saturday night. But having Beth ask about her nearly caused him a heart attack.

"Don't play coy.” She grinned knowingly. “I saw you going into her magick shop last week. I hope you're not still trying to get the poor girl kicked out of town.” Beth's blue eyes twinkled, and she winked at Daniel over her glass of orange juice. “I stopped in there the other day to look around. She has some adorable things. Everything smells so good in there. I bought a set of wedding blessing candles to burn at the rehearsal dinner. I think I might go back and get one of her wreaths to put on our front door.” She nudged Vance, who had managed to wipe the look of shock off his face. “When we actually have a front door. So what were you doing there?"

"I just stopped in to check out the place.” Daniel put on his disapproving face. “No sign of trouble."

"I can't believe you're still holding it against her—that the previous owner was some kind of pervert."

"I'm not. I just ... looked around. That's all."

"Did you talk to her?” All innocence, Bethany dug into her scrambled eggs and waited for his reply.

"Not really."

"She's very pretty. A little lonely, I think. Oh, I heard someone threw a rock through her front window. Isn't that awful?"

"Terrible.” Daniel looked at Vance. His brother shrugged, then grinned at his fiancée. “I've got to get to work. Are you two going house hunting again today?"

"We're going back to see that cape on Morningstar,” Beth said, while Daniel congratulated himself on successfully changing the subject. “We really need to make a decision on it before Vance leaves."

"Leaves?"

"On my trip, the week after next,” Vance replied.

"Right. You'd better make an offer before someone beats you to it."

"That's what I said.” Beth plunked down her juice glass and nudged her fiancé again. “Mr. Indecision wants to look at split levels."

"I just don't want to make a hasty decision.” Vance defensively spread his hands. “The right place will come along and I'll know it when I see it."

"Just so long as you know it before someone else's name is on the mailbox."

Daniel gulped the last of his coffee as Beth and Vance merged in a passionate kiss. He rolled his eyes and got up to leave. “Whatever place you pick will be great. Good luck."

* * * *

The ride to work took him past Mystikal Excursions as usual. Today, instead of craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Emilie through the window, he parked across the street. A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk outside the shop, and a police cruiser had pulled up directly in front.

Daniel hurried across the street just as the officer parted the curious group. Daniel's heart dropped into his stomach when he saw the red puddle oozing from under the shop's front door, which still bore the “Closed” sign hanging untouched from its pewter chain. The officer waved people away from the viscous, transparent fluid.

"It's blood,” someone said.

Daniel stepped forward, pushing through the crowd. He kept his distance from the red stain. “What happened?"

"Is this your property, sir?” the officer asked.

"No, but I—"

"Then please step back."

"It's my store.” Emilie appeared with a tall redhead striding behind her. Her cousin from Seattle, Daniel assumed. The two women elbowed through the crowd. “What's happening?"

"Witches,” someone hissed.

Daniel glared at the onlookers, but no one made further comment. The redhead assessed Daniel with a searing gaze, then looked away.

"There seems to be something leaking out of the premises, ma'am,” the officer said. “It looks like blood."

Emilie glanced through the window. “It's all over the floor inside,” she said, pulling out her keys.

Charlotte bent down and boldly stuck her fingers in the substance. She brought the red fluid to her nose and sniffed. “It doesn't smell like blood."

"You shouldn't do that, miss,” the officer protested. “You don't know what it is."

"It's floor stain, probably Cedar.” Charlotte straightened and held out her fingers for the cop's perusal. “Looks like someone poured it under the door from the outside."

"What for?” Emilie gave an exasperated sigh as she jammed her key in the lock.

The officer began herding people away. “Move along, everyone. Looks like it's just an accident."

The crowd thinned, but a few onlookers kept careful watch on Emilie and Charlotte as the women climbed over the thick red puddle and through the shop's front door. Daniel and the officer followed as soon as the last of the curious residents wandered away.

"It wasn't an accident,” Charlotte said under her breath.

The cop pulled out his notepad. “Do you want to make a report, ma'am? Any idea who might want to cause you trouble?"

Emilie's gaze rested on Daniel. “No, I don't."

"I'll write it up as vandalism, then. If you have any more problems like this, be sure to call them in."

They waited quietly until the officer finished taking notes and left.

Charlotte gave Daniel a disparaging look. “Nice work."

"What are you blaming me for—"

Emilie stepped between them. “Charlotte, don't. It's not Daniel's fault. We need to get this stuff cleaned up."

"I'll see if I can find out where it might have come from,” Daniel said, careful to step around both Charlotte and the sticky puddle.

Emilie shrugged. “Thanks, but I don't know how much good that will do."

"Arresting someone for vandalism will do a lot of good.” He tried to keep his voice level, but his guilt ate at him. He wanted to touch Emilie, to comfort her, but her stiff posture and Charlotte's dark glare told him to stay away. Maybe Emilie's cousin was right to blame this on him. He'd set the stage for reactions like this. “I'll call you later. If you need any help ... let me know and—"

"We can handle this, thanks,” Charlotte said. Her disapproval seemed to follow him out of the store.

* * * *

"So that's big brother,” Charlotte said when Daniel's car pulled into traffic.

Emilie scowled at her cousin's back. “You didn't have to be so rude to him. He wanted to help."

"Help get himself out of his own mess. Where's your mop?"

"In the back.” Emilie began moving display racks to make room for their cleanup effort. Her gaze wandered out to the street, where everything had returned to normal.

Charlotte retrieved the mop and bucket from the bathroom. “You saw the looks on their faces outside. Everyone was scared. They think it's only a matter of time before your legion of flying monkeys swoops through town to carry off their babies."

"That's not true.” In fact, very few residents of Cypress Park actually knew the whole truth about Chester Creek's dealings in black magick. Most of them thought he'd been selling drugs, not conjuring demons.

"It is true. And Daniel is to blame."

"Chester Creek is to blame. And I've got to undo the damage he did here.” Emilie put her hands on her hips. “I never thought it would be easy."

"With Daniel Garrison on your side, it'll certainly be a lot harder.” Charlotte punctuated her statement by stabbing the mop into the puddle.

Emilie rolled her eyes. “That doesn't even make sense."

"Em, he's part of the problem, not part of the solution. And to top it off, he's drop-dead gorgeous, making it impossible for you to be properly repulsed by him. What does his brother look like anyway?"

"Just as hot, but with dark hair and glasses. The studious type."

"Engaged, you said?"

"Yeah."

Charlotte sighed and began mopping in earnest. “Too bad."

CHAPTER 12

Two and a half weeks later

One night before the full moon

"Is this really necessary?” Vance asked.

Using iron manacles, Charlotte secured his wrists to the sides of a chair. Another chain held his ankles secure and a third circled his waist. He tugged at the bonds and gave her a skeptical look.

"Do you want a repeat of last time?” she asked, handing Emilie the key to the manacles.

Emilie stepped back to survey her cousin's work and bumped into Daniel. She'd won the argument with Charlotte, so they hadn't brought chains for him as well.

Despite the tension, Daniel grinned at his brother. “Now that he's chained up, I can tell you about the time when he was seven and he tried on Mom's—"

"That's enough!” Vance paled. “I won't be chained up forever, and when I get loose, I will hurt you."

Charlotte checked her watch. “All right, we've got seven minutes until moonrise.” She backed away from Vance and handed small silver mirrors to Daniel and Emilie.

"Keep these facing Vance, and stand back,” Emilie said, adjusting Daniel's mirror.

Charlotte picked up a third mirror and a smoldering sage bundle from a shell bowl on the basement floor. Even though they were one night short of the full moon, she'd decided they'd be better off underground where there would be no chance of moonlight touching Vance during the spell. If he transformed again tonight, he wouldn't remain in wolf form for long, and hopefully he wouldn't be able to break through the chains that bound him.

With the circle of protection complete, Charlotte took up a spot between Emilie and Daniel. They all faced Vance, and she and Emilie began the incantation that would, if all went as planned, separate him completely from the beast. The mirrors would reflect the wolf aspect of his soul back to him and contain his transformation while the beast lost its anchor within him.

As they walked the circle of protection widdershins around Vance, they spoke the incantation Charlotte had prepared...

Joined together, blood and bone.

An ancient curse made one alone.

Defy the evil curse within,

What now is one, make two again!

Everyone held his or her breath, staring at Vance, during the ten-second lull that followed. Emilie started to declare the spell a failure when a rush of sparkling air surged around the room like a miniature whirlwind and drove itself into Vance's chest.

A howl escaped his lips. Within seconds, his face began to transform. Eyes gleaming yellow, fangs protruding from his suddenly elongated face, Vance screamed at his captors. He growled and slavered as the transformation contorted his body.

Daniel took a step toward his brother.

Emilie grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Keep the mirror aimed at him—make him look at himself."

Vance's hands curled into claws. His long black nails scraped at the chair's wooden arms. He bucked against the chains and snarled each time he caught a glimpse of his grotesque visage in the silver mirrors.

Undaunted, Charlotte began reciting the incantation again. As Emilie joined in and their voices merged, the beast rose from the chair, unencumbered by the chains—a shadow, incorporeal—leaving Vance's body behind.

The ghost werewolf circled Vance, whose head slumped forward. His body went limp against the chains. Clearly the creature wanted to get back inside its host. It clawed at Vance, but couldn't touch him. Its snarls of rage and frustration seemed to echo from a great distance.

"It's working,” Daniel whispered.

"Don't count your chickens,” Charlotte replied. “Point the mirrors at its face. Keep it distracted."

Following Charlotte's lead, they moved toward the specter as it hovered next to Vance's unconscious form. Fear curdled the beast's gaze. It crouched and began to whimper.

"Good. Good boy...” Charlotte said.

"When it fades completely, we break the mirrors,” Emilie instructed.

"Isn't that bad luck?” Daniel asked, stepping closer to the shrinking apparition.

"No worse than being a werewolf forever,” Charlotte retorted.

The beast howled again. It tried to menace them with a tortured snarl as they closed in on it.

"What the heck is going on here?” a feminine voice intruded, startling them all. Even the beast jumped as the cellar room door burst open and a petite blonde rushed inside.

"Bethany, no!” Daniel warned.

When the woman broke the magick circle, it sounded like breaking glass. She flung herself at Vance. “Oh, God! What are you doing to my fiancé? Vance—baby? He's unconscious!"

Charlotte rushed forward to push Bethany out of the way “The mirrors!"

Emilie realized the sound she'd heard hadn't been the breaking of the magick circle, but the mirrors, which fell from her and Daniel's hands.

Charlotte's intact mirror wasn't enough to hold the beast at bay. It rose and sprung across the room.

Daniel put himself between the apparition and the open door. It ran at him, claws outstretched, jaws snapping.

Emilie screamed when the beast hit Daniel full force and knocked him over.

Then all hell broke loose.

While Charlotte battled with Bethany, Emilie raced after Daniel. Though she'd seen the shadow beast knock him to the floor, he seemed to recover quickly and crept on all fours into the hallway. He hesitated just a moment, then sprung to his feet and looked around as if he'd never seen the place before.

Emilie reached for him. He glared at her, his dark blue irises ringed in yellow. A faint smile turned up the corner of his mouth before he whirled and bolted up the cellar stairs.

At a dead run, she followed him through the house and out the front door. He moved with purpose, though she couldn't fathom what. He hadn't transformed—at least not completely.

Was the beast taking advantage of Daniel's human form and intelligence to attempt a permanent escape?

She called his name as she tracked him down the driveway and around the corner of the property.

The park. Yes! Daniel had told her the beast always headed for the park.

She followed.

* * * *

Of all the times he'd battled the beast, it had never been from within.

Daniel felt it, clawing its way deeper inside him, looking for the dark recesses it craved. It hunted for the rage that he'd suppressed after Pop's death, the resentment he'd felt at Vance running off to follow in a foolish old man's footsteps.

It found frustration and exhaustion and unrequited need.

Then it found something it could use.

Her scent reached him on the wind, filled him with a hunger beyond anything he'd ever experienced.

He ran. Not to elude her, but to lead here where he wanted her to go.

He heard her call to him, and the human part of his brain recognized the worry in her voice. That part understood that she would follow him to his destination.

He ran over familiar territory, growled at the water reflecting the silver moonlight that burned his soul. He recoiled from it, and stuck to the shadows beside the path that led into the dark places. He slowed his pace, allowed her to catch up, then darted under the overhanging trees.

Where the path branched off, he took the shadowy trail toward the small pond and the rock wall that fascinated him. Now, in this new body, standing upright, his reach extended by supple human muscles, he could finally climb to the small dark hole near the top of the rocks that beckoned him.

The lair he'd longed to possess was finally within reach. And the mate he desperately needed, an arm's length away.

"Daniel! Stop. Come back down!” She climbed even as she pleaded.

He glanced back at her and the need to possess her became overwhelming. She was almost close enough to touch—close enough for him to drag her into his hidden burrow and make her his.

No! He had to make her come to him, draw her all the way inside before he struck, so as not to frighten her away while she had a chance to escape.

"Fight it, Daniel! You were never bitten. The beast can't survive inside you."

No! He growled as he pulled himself through the narrow entrance of the tiny cave. Now that he'd found this kind of freedom, he would never relinquish control. This body belonged to him, and soon, her body would as well.

He crawled across the cave floor, oddly smooth and free of debris. The place, lit with the dim glow from the round lights outside, was large enough for him to crouch.

At the back of the cave, a bundle of wires disappeared inside a humming metal box. His human brain recognized the controls for the waterfall pump, and he understood that this little niche was the access point for park maintenance. This made it a poor choice for a permanent den, but for now it would serve his purpose well. Yet the beast wanted to rebel at the loss of his chosen territory, but a greater mind held sway. In this body he could roam free and find another place when he needed it.

"Daniel!” His mate appeared at the cave entrance, a dark shape against the amber glow of the outside lamps.

He filled himself with her scent and his body responded.

He reached for her.

CHAPTER 13

Daniel's hand closed around Emilie's wrist. He yanked her into the manmade cave at the top of the waterfall. She landed on a rubberized mat that covered the floor, and her breath left her lungs in a whoosh.

She gasped until her breathing slowed to normal. “Daniel! What ... is this place?"

His eyes glittered gold in the darkness, and her blood froze. He'd lured her here. Why hadn't she realized his intentions before she dragged herself up six feet of manmade boulders?

She pushed herself up onto her knees and scrambled backward.

He rushed forward and tackled her, rolled her onto her back and straddled her. “You're mine!” The words came out as a husky command, a claiming.

She should have screamed, should have kicked him and clawed her way to safety, but something in her blood stirred, answering the challenge. She tensed and met his feral gaze. “Daniel, the beast can't live in you.” Despite the fact that her heart thudded so hard she could barely breathe, she forced her voice to remain neutral. Forced her body to remain still, rather than arching against him the way she wanted to.

He bent over her, pressing his body against hers. She felt his tongue on the sensitive skin of her neck. He licked a hot path from her collarbone to a spot beneath her ear, then nipped the skin. She gasped, and her body stiffened. Electrical shocks went off along her spine and arrowed to the hot spot between her legs. She tried to deny the response as her nipples hardened and began to ache.

"I want you,” he said in a deep growl. The demand made her arch her back, involuntarily pressing her hips up against his. She wanted him, too. She wanted Daniel, not the beast. How long could the creature survive in a body that hadn't been prepared for it?

She wiggled upward a few inches, in hopes that breaking contact with the hard ridge in his jeans would cool her blood. She didn't get far before he clamped a hand on her shoulder and ground his body against hers.

"Fight it!” she said, more for herself than for him. What on earth would make her consider this—letting him take her, right here, right now? Was she insane? If she could hold him off, he'd return to normal, wouldn't he?

Already it seemed that the yellow rim around his irises had faded a bit. He panted, and each time he filled his lungs with air, his chest pressed against hers. That deliciously large ridge in his jeans fit perfectly between her thighs, resting right where she needed it. Each movement drove the iron bulge deeper into her flesh, tighter until she could think only about removing the barriers of denim that separated their bodies.

Her blood surged hot and needy when he ground against her once more. How could she want him like this? Why did it feel so good to know what he wanted to do to her—and to want it, too?

"Fight me!” he said, lowering his head to her chest.

Fight him? Was that the real Daniel, begging her to hold out against the beast that drove him, or was it the beast taunting her into making the chase last a little longer?

He bit gently just above her collarbone, then brought his hand from her shoulder, tearing open the soft neckline of her shirt.

She gasped when he dove for her exposed breast. She arched her back when he nuzzled her nipple, and moaned when he took it into his mouth. An arrow of sensation sliced through her when he sucked the tender, aching tip against his tongue.

To ease the answering fullness between her thighs, she wrapped her legs around him and pulled his body against her, rocking against his erection.

"The beast can't have me,” she said, thrusting her hand between them and opening the button of her jeans. “But you can. If you want me."

What was she doing? Why did she feel compelled to force him to take her like this? Had the beast somehow gotten inside her, too?'

If it hadn't, it was certainly about to.

* * * *

The creature inside Daniel clawed for control, and howled unmercifully when it felt that control slipping away.

Could Emilie be right? Could he hold the beast at bay until it died?

Not with her beneath him. Not with the taste of her in his mouth and her body yielding to his demands. She wanted him. Was it wrong to let the beast watch while he claimed its chosen mate for himself?

He tore off her shirt and reveled in the feral sound he wrung from her. The human part of him, fortunately, still understood zippers. He'd never have been able to tear the denim with his bare human hands.

He rose above her and yanked open her jeans. Savagely, he thrust his hand under the waistband of her panties and found her wet for him—hot for him. She moved against the intrusion of his fingers into the soft folds of her sex.

"Oh, God, Daniel!"

So ripe. The scent of her drove him mad. He pulled off her jeans and barely contained himself as she kicked off her shoes and wriggled out of her underwear.

Naked now, her breath coming in ragged gasps, she gave him a dark look, worthy of the she-wolf she'd become. “Let's go."

He didn't need her permission, but having it set him on fire. Her urging vindicated the human part of his soul. Now, he could claim her without remorse. What the beast would have taken by force, she offered freely to him.

The creature whimpered when he reached for her again. He thrust his hand between her legs and the demon lost its hold on him. As it weakened, inch by inch, the true wolf in his blood took over. Its strength grew as the beast shrank back, still longing to claim the mate it was about to lose forever.

He grasped her hips and flipped her onto her stomach. She rose on her knees and glanced at him over her bare shoulder, her eyes alight.

"Any way you want it."

He stripped off his clothes and pounced. For a moment, the beast reveled. The claiming came wild and hard, as if the demon remained in control. He thrust inside her, and she cried out, urging him on with ragged gasps. The beast howled, but its protest became lost in cries of passion as its mate surrendered to the man.

* * * *

Emilie felt as though the beast had completely taken her over. She surrendered control to the she-wolf inside her, and oddly, heard Charlotte's voice in her head as she braced her thighs against Daniel's and took him deeply.

There's nothing wrong with mixing it up, but don't get involved.

Too late. She was involved. No way now to get uninvolved. He was inside her, not just buried in her body, but in her blood, in her soul. She felt him everywhere, and with each thrust, her body contracted around him and her heart ached.

When Daniel released his hold on her long enough for her to turn over, she thought she saw the shadow form of the wolf slink into a dark corner of the cave, slouching like a wounded dog. She ignored it. The tumult of sensation building inside her eclipsed everything else.

They coupled like wild animals, tearing at each other, licking and biting. Yet now, it was only Daniel above her, his hands on her breasts, his mouth coming down hard on hers, devouring her with a hunger that came from the aspect of the wolf. He carried it in his blood, yet she felt it course through her as her inner muscles convulsed around him. She saw it blazing in his eyes when he came, and she saw nothing else as together they plunged over the edge of reason.

She dug her nails into his back, raked long scratches in his flesh, as her climax ripped through her. He seemed to revel in it, and she drank in his sigh of contentment when he exploded inside her.

As they lay panting in each other's arms, the beast died a quiet death. Emilie barely noticed its glowing yellow eyes fading away to nothing in the darkness.

CHAPTER 14

When Daniel awoke, Emilie lay beneath him, still panting, her skin slick with sweat. He rose up on all fours and surveyed the damage they'd done to each other.

Her lips were bruised and swollen from his savage kisses. Bite marks and scratches dotted her luscious skin. His back stung where she'd dug in with her nails and hung on for the ride.

How could he apologize for this?

Under his scrutiny, she opened her eyes and smirked. “Wanna go again?"

Her question hit him like a punch in the gut. She wanted more? His immediate reaction was, Oh, God, yes! Then his vision cleared and his thoughts calmed. What had they done? And where in the hell had they done it?

Weak morning light streamed into the tiny opening of the cave. Birds had begun to sing outside. Any moment the pump would start drawing water up from the lily pond to create the waterfall. They couldn't stay here. Not that he wanted to.

"Hold that thought. We need to get out of here,” he replied to her wanton question.

She struggled to sit up. He offered his hand, and she curled up her battered body around her crossed knees. She regarded him through a tangle of chestnut curls that hid one eye. God, she was beautiful.

His chest tightened and his heart hammered just from looking at her. “Did we really—?"

She nodded and ticked off positions on her fingers. “You on top, you on top again, me on top, then you on top again. I like you on top best."

Four times? Was that all? He could definitely go again—right now, in fact—but...

"How the hell did we get in here?” And where were all their clothes? He felt behind him and located his jeans, which he slipped on as quickly as possible. Then he found the shredded remains of the shirt she'd been wearing.

"We climbed,” she said.

"No kidding. Why up here?"

"Do you mind?” she asked, holding up his own shirt. He nodded, and she slipped it over her head.

"Where are your pants?"

"Over there. I think.” She pointed to a crumbled ball of dark denim that lay in the corner. He retrieved it and tossed it to her. “The werewolf needed a lair, I guess. He wanted a mate."

"So that's why Vance kept coming here and staring up at the rocks every time he transformed. He knew of this place and wanted to bring a mate here. I wonder why he didn't try to go after Bethany."

Emilie shrugged and shimmied back into her jeans. Daniel found he couldn't take his eyes off her. Her every movement fascinated him. He remembered every nuance of her body, every plane and curve. He tasted her in his memory and found himself rock hard again, even though she was now fully dressed.

"Maybe he would have if he could, but you've been keeping him pretty well guarded and making sure Bethany didn't try to come around on the nights he transformed."

Daniel shook off the carnal thoughts that plagued him. Why could he remember Emilie screaming his name as her body surrendered to his, but he couldn't recall leaving the house last night? “Does this mean Vance is cured? We pulled the beast out of him and it died?"

Emilie swept her hair from her eyes and grinned. “I told you it couldn't live inside you because you hadn't been bitten."

"I remember you telling me that ... but, oh jeez.” He suddenly had a clear vision of Vance chained to a chair in the basement, unconscious. “We'd better get home."

After a brief reconnaissance to make sure no one saw them leaving the cave, Daniel helped Emilie climb down from the rock wall, just moments before the pump started and water began spilling over the entrance of the lair, hiding it from view.

They stood on the path, looking up at the water as it obliterated the entrance. Reluctant to break contact, he slipped his arm around her waist and drew her to him.

"I'm not sure what to say about what happened up there. I feel like I should apologize."

"Are you sorry?” Her big green eyes dared him.

No. He wasn't sorry. He'd never felt so possessive in his life. She belonged to him now. He'd claimed her and beaten down the beast at the same time.

He cupped her jaw and kissed her hard, her body melding against his. “I'm not sorry at all."

Her answer made his heart thud. “Me, neither."

* * * *

Charlotte was sitting on the front steps of Daniel's house, sipping coffee from an oversized mug, when they strolled up the driveway. “Morning,” she said after a yawn and another sip of java.

"Uh, good morning,” Emilie asked. “How's Vance?"

"Not good."

"What?” Daniel bounded up the stairs. “Did he transform? Were there side effects?"

"Calm down, Romeo.” Charlotte rose, dusted off the seat of her pants and gave Emilie a pointed look. “Nice T-shirt, by the way, Em. Not the one you were wearing when you left. Anyway, Vance is physically okay. He's cured. Once he woke up and we unchained him—not necessarily in that order—he spent the rest of the night trying to explain our dark, Satanic ritual to the future ‘Mrs. Anyone But Vance.’”

Emilie covered her eyes. “Oh, no. She dumped him?"

Charlotte nodded. “She tore him a new one first, though. Bit of a harpy, if you ask me. She looks like Meg Ryan, but she can curse like a Sopranos marathon."

Daniel moaned and seemed to sag. “Crap!"

Emilie whimpered. “I'm sorry, Daniel. Why did she show up here anyway? Didn't you guys tell her Vance had a business trip?"

After another sip of coffee, Charlotte answered. “She apparently forgot her address book. She dropped by to see if she'd left it on the kitchen counter. When she heard us chanting, she let herself into the basement."

"Maybe we could talk to her.” Emilie sank down to the spot Charlotte had vacated on the steps.

Her cousin gave her a disparaging look. “I don't think there's anything you could tell her that we didn't already try."

"I'm going to talk to him. Will you be okay?” Daniel touched Emilie's shoulder.

She shivered at the electric jolt the contact gave her. She smiled up at him. “I'll be fine.” After he disappeared inside the house, she rubbed her eyes and sighed. “That went just exactly as we hoped it wouldn't."

Charlotte joined her on the steps and gave her a sidelong glance over the wide rim of her coffee mug. “Looks like you got some aspect of the wolf on you."

"Don't start."

"I'm not lecturing. I'm just making an observation. If Miss Perfect hadn't blundered in, I think everything would have turned out pretty well. At least the spell worked. According to my research, it was a long shot."

Emilie stretched her aching muscles. “Vance won't change tonight, right?"

"Nope. Not that he much cares at this point, though."

"Did he turn blue?"

"No, also, not making much difference to him at the moment."

Emilie made a weeping sound and cradled her head in her hands. “All he wanted was not to lose Bethany. I feel terrible."

Charlotte patted her on the shoulder. “He's a man, sweetie. He'll get over it."

* * * *

"I'll never, ever get over this.” Vance stared at the dark sludge in the bottom of his coffee mug and shook his head.

Daniel pulled up a chair beside his brother at the kitchen table. “Maybe if you give her a little time—"

"Time to what?” Vance turned bleary eyes and rubbed his stubbled chin. He removed his glasses, then resolutely tossed them across the table. “Time to leave the country? Time to change her name? She thinks we're all insane. Psychopathically insane."

"But the other day she was talking about Emilie's shop. What about the wedding blessing candles and the wreath she wanted to buy? Witchcraft was okay, then."

Vance bobbed his head. “She thought Emilie's shop was like—like—Pier One with herbs. She thought it was a gimmick. She didn't believe Emilie was a real witch."

Daniel hunched over the table, contemplating the grain in the polished wood, and wracked his brain for a solution to his brother's misery. “We'll figure something out. You'll get her back."

Vance seemed to deflate. “It's done. She's gone. Beth isn't the wishy-washy, mind-game type of girl. She isn't going to give me the silent treatment for a few days until I go insane from missing her, then call me up and tell me what to buy for her at Fortunoff to make it better. She has principles. She said good-bye last night, and she meant it."

"Vance—"

He rose and scrubbed his face with one hand, blinking and retrieving his glasses. “I've got a killer headache and my tongue is a funny shade of green. I'm going back to bed. Wake me some time after New Year's."

"It's August."

"Okay, make it sometime after Valentine's Day.” Vance slouched away, his footsteps one slow thud after another as he climbed the stairs.

CHAPTER 15

Just before moonrise, Daniel hovered outside Vance's bedroom door. He thought of knocking, but stopped himself. His brother needed time alone ... but not too much time.

The spell had worked, he told himself, again reaching up to knock. He's not going to transform! Yet something in the back of his mind insisted on further proof.

When Daniel finally rapped on the door, Vance opened it almost immediately. “I said don't wake me.” Though he looked like hell, he was fully dressed and wide awake.

"You don't look like you were asleep."

"Does a misery-induced coma count as sleep?” Vance leaned against the doorjamb.

"Come on. Have you tried calling her?"

Vance held up his hand. “No lectures, no self-help. This is all my fault. I should have been more careful. I never thought about Beth's key. I never figured she'd drop by if she thought I wasn't here. I'm an idiot. I accept that."

"Why don't you let me call her. I'll—"

He'd what? Beg her to take Vance back? Try to convince her that she had nothing to fear from magick?

He gave up. “I'm really sorry about this."

Vance shrugged. “It's not your fault. Are you going out?"

"Yeah."

"Where?"

To see Emilie ... I need her. “Dunno. Wanna come?” Please say no.

Vance rolled his eyes. “No. I'm busy booking a trip."

Daniel groaned. Why couldn't it all be over? “Aw, you're not going werewolf hunting again, are you?"

"It's in my blood. I can't give it up."

"You're insane."

"Maybe. But since I can't be reinfected, I'm safer than I was before. The other guys will be jealous."

"So the werewolves can't turn you—but they can still eat you."

Vance shrugged, and it hurt Daniel to see his brother so defeated. “Then I'll give them indigestion.” He closed the door.

For a moment, Daniel contemplated. He hadn't really saved Vance at all. He'd just made it easier for his brother to continue his insane pursuit of werewolves—the Garrison family business.

Vance would have given it up for Beth, but now, without her in his life, he'd probably continue to hunt werewolves ... until the day he died.

* * * *

Emily braced her arms on Mystikal Excursions’ bathroom sink and stared at her reflection, which seemed to be in Technicolor. Her hair looked darker brown. And were those coppery highlights around her face? Her lips seemed fuller, redder, and her eyes were brilliant green. Was it all because of Daniel?

She felt odd, a little shaky and unsettled. She felt caged. Her hands shook when she held them straight out in front of her.

She'd had sex before and never felt like this the next day. She'd been in love before also, and never...

Or had she ever been in love before? Was this what it really felt like to have someone else's soul inside you? Was that why her body hummed whenever she thought of him? Was that why her intimate muscles ached to feel him again?

She jumped when Charlotte knocked on the bathroom door. “I'm starving. Are you ready to get something to eat?"

Emilie cracked opened the door. They'd spent the day cleaning the store, rearranging displays and making batches of incense and candles. Maybe the work had caused the edgy, needy feeling in her belly. “Almost ready. Why don't you get us a table at the café and I'll catch up in a minute?"

Charlotte's gaze swept her from head to toe. “Are you all right? You look flushed—no pun intended."

"I'm fine. I'll be right out.” How could she explain it to Charlotte? I've been claimed, she longed to say. I belong to him now.

The front door bells rang.

"I'll get that and be right back,” Charlotte said. “And I'm not going to the restaurant without you!"

Groaning, Emilie shut the bathroom door and looked in the mirror again. She didn't like what she saw. It scared her to think that she'd taken on a bit of the wolf, despite the new, voluptuous image. How much of the beast lingered inside her?

With a shuddering sigh, she shut off the light and left the bathroom. Her stomach did a 180 when she found Daniel standing in front of the counter. Charlotte waited by the door, obviously eager to escort him out.

His eyes locked with hers, and something inside her went hot, like an ember. His compelling stare held her, and though the counter separated them, she swore she felt his hands on her. Dimly, she registered the end of Charlotte's sardonic comment.

"...having dinner all by myself."

Charlotte let herself out of the shop. Emilie heard the click of the front door lock as her cousin left. “How's Vance?"

"Not good."

"How are you?"

"I feel strange.” Daniel punctuated his reply with a low sound that came from his chest, like a growl. Emilie felt it.

"Me, too."

"Is this a side effect of the spell?"

She shrugged. Why hadn't she explained it to Charlotte? Maybe her cousin could have helped them get over this. “The wolf has always been in your blood. Maybe it's in mine now, too. Because of Vance."

"Vance?” Daniel's voice went rough. His eyes flared with a sudden pang of jealousy. He moved around the counter, and she felt the heat rise between them. “What did Vance do to you?"

"When he scratched me.” She had the sudden urge to pull off her shirt and display the healing wounds on her back and shoulder. The marks were almost gone, but maybe Daniel needed to look at them, to touch the places where the wolf had gotten inside. “A scratch won't turn me, but he still may have transferred some of the—"

Daniel grabbed her, yanking her into his arms. “What about me? I was inside you. I claimed you, not him. What did I give you?"

She gasped at the raw pleasure at finally having his hands on her. Trapped against his chest, she felt his heart beating under her fingertips. His breath warmed her neck and his body commanded hers once again. Something took over, just as it had the night before, and she lost herself in the desire to be taken again.

"You did something to me. You changed me, too.” She nuzzled his neck and nipped at his jaw. “I can't stop thinking about you. I feel like I'm in heat or something."

Daniel met her gaze. Did he growl again as he lowered his lips to her neck? He gripped the collar of her shirt and exposed enough skin to place a branding kiss over her wounds.

"It definitely has to do with moonrise. I was all right until then. I've been desperate to get near you since I left the house."

She smiled and ground her hips against his. “So now you're near me."

"Not near enough.” Daniel tugged open her shirt and feasted on the flesh above the lacy edge of her bra. He bent her body back against the counter and started to explore under her clothes.

The logical part of her brain spoke up. “Not here ... someone might walk by."

She squirmed out of his grasp and rounded the counter. He reached for her, but she ducked into the back corridor, laughing as she led him to her own lair.

* * * *

When Daniel caught up to her, Emilie stood in the center of the black sunburst that now decorated the floor of the back room. She wore nothing but her jeans and an inviting look. In the far corner of the room, a black pillar burned. The flame reflected in her eyes as she beckoned him to touch her.

In the space of a heartbeat, he had her on the floor, stretched beneath him. His vision blurred with uncontrolled desire as he tore open her jeans and slid them down her legs. It shocked him that she wore nothing underneath. He would have enjoyed ripping off her underwear, but this made things easier.

Completely naked now, she arched her back and opened for him. He settled against her, letting her feel his need pressed tight against her warm center, while she pulled off his shirt.

She grinned and licked her lips, running her hands over his chest. He followed the movement of her tongue, hungry for a taste of her. He took that taste, ravaging her mouth while she opened his pants and thrust her hand inside to find him. She curled her fingers around his shaft and caressed it, helped him slide out of his pants.

Emilie drew him toward her and gasped when he thrust deep. He loved the sound she made, loved that her pupils went wide with pleasure at the feel of him cleaving into her. She wrapped her body around his and matched his rhythm, pumping back against him until they reached the edge of the precipice. He rose up and watched her eyes lose focus as she came hard. The grasping contractions of her body milked his own release from him. He loved everything about her. He loved her and yet he hated the wolf that brought him to this.

"Tell me again what you think Vance did to you.” He punctuated the command with finishing thrusts that wrung wanton moans from her lips. “Who claimed you? Who made you? I did. You're mine. My mate, not his. Not the beast's. The wolf inside you is me!"

She nodded, breathless, and she came again, shuddering in his arms.

When they lay spent and shivering on the cold floor, she drew his face to hers and kissed him hard. “Now what do you say we try this in a bed?"

CHAPTER 16

Emilie awoke disoriented. The unfamiliar walls around her looked gray in the dim light oozing from a partially open window. She felt turned around, and for a moment, wondered if she'd rearranged the furniture in her bedroom before she went to sleep.

"Where—?"

Then it came back to her. Daniel had taken her to his house. Vance's car had been gone when they'd arrived, and finding they had the place to themselves had sparked a wild session of lovemaking on the living room floor, then onto the stairs, and finally, hours later, into Daniel's bed.

The feeble light of a cloudy dawn filtered in through the blue curtains, casting long shadows across the bed and across the sleeping form next to her. Daniel took up most of the mattress, his strong arms flung wide, a pillow bunched under his shoulder. The tangled sheets concealed little, and Emilie indulged in looking at him, long and lean, his handsome face relaxed in sleep.

Suddenly, she felt naked. Whatever had possessed her at moonrise seemed now to have fled, leaving her vaguely uneasy. She pulled her side of the sheet around her and nudged him. He grunted in response.

"Wake up."

"Wha...? Huh...?” He blinked at her. “What time is it?"

"I don't know. How do you feel?"

One eyebrow rose. “Like I should be sleeping."

"I mean, do you still feel ... you know?” She shrugged, unable to put the feeling into words.

He shifted in his position, careful to take the sheet with him, and rose on one elbow. “Insatiable?"

She nodded. That about summed it up.

"Uh ... no. I'm satiable ... sated, right now. You?"

"Mmm."

"What's wrong?” He had that look, that clueless guy look.

"It has to be the moon. That ... last night ... was so unlike us."

"But yesterday morning you said you wanted to—” He pulled the sheet a little tighter around him and gave her a searching look.

"I know. But the way it came on last night."

Daniel sat up all the way and ran one hand through his hair. He looked stark in the colorless light. Stubble darkened the lower half of his jaw and his eyes lay in shadows.

When she looked at him, Emilie felt a familiar ache low in her belly. The attraction to him still existed, but the clawing, biting she-wolf that had begged him to ravage her last night had vanished. In its place had settled a mild self-consciousness that bordered on embarrassment. She'd done things with him, gone places she'd never gone with another man—never thought she would go. What could he possibly think of her?

He stretched and groaned. “Maybe we'll need that spell reversal after all. Or maybe it will wear off in a couple of days."

"Do you think we should just wait for it to wear off? What if it happens every month?” Her voice rose as she considered the consequences. Would they tear each other apart for two more nights, then just get over it and go their separate ways?

"I don't know, Em. I can't think straight right now.” He put his hand on her shoulder.

The familiar touch seemed right, comfortable, yet her nerves flared and her muscles tightened. Involuntarily, she shrugged away from him.

"I want to check on Vance,” he said. “Then I'll make us some breakfast and we'll work this out. It'll be all right. Won't it?"

She nodded. “I'll meet you downstairs. If you find my underwear..."

He grinned, which made her blush. “I think you left your panties in the shop."

"Oh.” She watched when he climbed out of bed, leaving the sheet behind. Yes, the attraction was definitely still there. She bit her lower lip as he bent to retrieve his pants, then rummaged in a bureau drawer.

"Could I borrow another one of your shirts?” she asked.

"Help yourself. Top drawer, shirts. Bottom drawer, underwear.” He laughed. “On that note, I guess I'm glad we ended up at my place."

Her heart ached as she watched him cross the room. He stopped at the bedroom door and turned, a sober look replacing his smile. “Uh ... the fact that we didn't ... use any..."

"Protection.” She her stomach rolled. “I'm on the pill."

He sighed. “That's good. Not that I—"

"I know we should have."

"Well, magickal side effects tend to eradicate logical thought."

Emilie wanted to laugh. There stood the petition writer, the three-piece-suited investment broker disguised as the man with whom she was falling in love.

"Why don't you call Charlotte and see what you two can cook up by way of an antidote?"

"Good idea.” Great idea. Emilie definitely needed an antidote for what she felt for Daniel. And fast.

* * * *

Breakfast at the Garrison house was quick and silent. Vance joined them, looking morose. He explained, between sips of coffee, that he'd gone to see Bethany but she hadn't been home. He'd waited outside her apartment all night and had finally given up and come home at daybreak.

Emilie apologized to him again before she rose to leave, her nervous stomach full from half a bran muffin and a few sips of orange juice. Daniel walked her to the front door and gave her a quick kiss.

"Let me drive you home,” he said.

"I could really use the walk. I'll be fine."

"Call me.” He looked a little lost, sweet, tired and too damn sexy for his own good. She kissed him back.

"I will."

* * * *

At home, Emilie found Charlotte asleep on her couch. Her cousin woke as she tiptoed past.

"Maybe you should pack an overnight bag the next time you see Daniel.” Charlotte sat up and stretched, then eyed the gray T-shirt Emilie had borrowed. “I know that's not your shirt."

Emilie read the upside down words—the caption, “Property of the nearest blonde,” hung mid-torso—and moaned. “This was the first thing I pulled out of the drawer.” She plopped onto the couch and put her feet on the coffee table. “I need help."

"My rates are reasonable and I happen to have an opening in my schedule,” Charlotte quipped as she mimicked Emilie's posture. “Where would you like to begin?"

"I don't need therapy. I need an anti-love potion. Something to cool me off and keep me away from Daniel. Whatever happened during the spell the other night has taken over both of us, and I don't know what to do about it."

"Anti-love potions are tricky. They're best reserved for psycho-love, like stalkers and such. You could end up hating each other."

Emilie gave Charlotte a sidelong glance.

"Besides, are you in love? Or just lust? If a spell like that backfires, you could end up finding him utterly repulsive and still feel compelled to jump his bones every time you see him."

"What am I going to do, Charl? I've never felt like this. It's like having something inside gnawing at me. It hurts."

Charlotte stared at her with the Swanson eyes, sympathetic but stern. “Pull yourself together, girl. Get rid of that stupid T-shirt and take a long hot shower. I'll open up the shop for you, and when you get there, we'll work on something that will cool your jets and help you put things in perspective."

* * * *

"Why don't you come to the office with me?” Daniel asked Vance. He paced back and forth in the kitchen, feeling a little shameful that he hadn't insisted on taking Emilie home. He felt somehow incomplete now, jittery and at loose ends. Maybe she was right about needing a long walk.

Vance grunted.

"How about a run around the park? Then we really can work on the Peterson Portfolio?"

His brother only blinked.

"Come on! You've got to get moving or your arteries will harden!” And Daniel had to keep moving to keep his thoughts off of Emilie and how much he hated letting her go this morning. He already had gotten used to seeing her in his clothes, and she looked amazing, draped in an oversized T-shirt, her hair mussed and her big green eyes sultry and sleepy. She glowed this morning, and he felt a surge of male pride that he'd done that to her. He wanted to do so much more.

"She was out all night,” Vance said, rising to dump the last of his coffee in the sink. “Who could she have been with all night?"

Like a bucket of cold water, Vance's pain washed away Daniel's growing lust. Back to reality. Focus, focus, his mind commanded. “Bethany's parents live over in Carrington Heights, don't they? Maybe she went over there."

"I called them. No answer."

"What about her girlfriends? She probably spent the night eating Häagen-Dazs and begging them to let her call you. You know how women are, they rally when relationships fall apart and they...” Had he said, “fall apart"?

Vance glared at him. “That's good. I feel so much better now. Hey, speaking of women—who put claw marks in the wallpaper next to the couch?"

Daniel coughed and looked away. “You're the one with claws, not me."

"Come on."

"It's nothing. The spell seems to have affected us a little bit. We got ... carried away."

"Aspect of the wolf,” Vance said under his breath.

Daniel shook his head, not because he disagreed with his brother, but because he didn't want to believe it. He'd kept his one-quarter werewolf blood under control all these years and now, because of Emilie's spell, it had broken loose. Even now, hours after moonset, his body hummed with unspent energy. He felt like a jet engine, ready to take off.

He needed a good run, a hot shower ... and he needed to get his hands on Emilie again. The wolf wasn't satisfied. He'd claimed her, bruised her with his lips, bitten her and devoured her over and over, and still he needed more.

"I can control it,” he said, more to reassure himself than Vance. “I know I can."

His brother shrugged, unconvinced. “Maybe you can, but can Emilie?"

* * * *

"Give him this. Make sure he drinks all of it and you drink all of yours.” Charlotte corked two small bottles of the potion she and Emilie had cooked up. In the cauldron that sat between them, the remains of the red liquid still bubbled over a low flame. The steam smelled like licorice and chamomile.

"Do you think just a calming potion will be strong enough?” Emilie held up the bottles and looked at her cousin through the glass. She'd wanted something that would cure her attraction to Daniel completely, not just quiet the urge to tear off her clothes whenever she saw him. She didn't want love as the side effect of a spell.

"This will be fine.” Charlotte patted her arm. “Anything stronger and you might develop the urge to push him off the pier."

"I'd better take this to him before moonrise. I'll bring it to his office right now."

Charlotte began cleaning up the remnants of their spell work. “I'll watch the shop. I think I'll bottle the last of this just in case you come across a need for it in the future."

Emilie felt a surge of panic. “Do you think—?"

"I mean for someone else. Now, don't forget—you have to be looking at each other when you drink it, like a toast."

"Cheers.” Emilie slid the two potion bottles into her purse. She gave Charlotte a half-hearted wave and headed for the door.

CHAPTER 17

"Are you going to finish that spreadsheet or are you going to look out the window all day?” Daniel asked shortly after 3:00 PM.

Vance let go of the curtain and rose from his chair. “I'm going for a walk."

Before Daniel could protest, he saw her through the window. Emilie stood on the front stoop, looking uncertain. Vance cast him a questioning glance when she knocked.

Daniel's first instinct was to shove his brother out the door and sweep everything off the nearest desk. Then he'd drag Emilie inside and—

"Maybe you should stay."

He moved past Vance and opened the door.

Emilie bolted inside, rummaging through her purse and babbling about herbs and incantations. He barely heard a word. The wolf awoke the moment she passed him, and suddenly, he couldn't think straight.

He tried to focus on her words as she handed him a bottle of blood red liquid. “What's this?"

"A calming potion. It should counter the ... effects we've been experiencing."

"That was fast.” Why did he feel disappointment? Aside from the overwhelming desire to have his way with her, he felt great—strong, confident, invincible. He didn't want to calm down. The logical part of his brain vaguely recalled that, in psychology, they called feelings like his “mania.” Great, now I'm a maniac!

He uncorked his bottle and Emilie put her hand on his arm. The touch galvanized him. He wanted her, not some magickal sleeping pill.

"Wait,” she said. “We have to drink it at the same time. All of it."

Vance eyed the bottles. “Does this come in aerosol form? A calming potion could be very useful for a few of my clients."

"It's meant to counter the effects of a spell,” Emilie replied in a patient voice. “It won't work on non-magickal excitement."

"Too bad."

Daniel gave his brother a dark look. Emilie opened her bottle and tapped it against his. “Cheers,” she said.

They both drank. Daniel gasped as the last of it burned its way down his throat. The stuff tasted like Sambuca and had about the same kick as the anise-flavored liqueur. “Packs a wallop,” he said when he regained his voice.

Emilie coughed and fanned her suddenly pink cheeks. “Charlotte's recipe. How do you feel?"

"Okay.” In truth, he felt no different. His body still vibrated with the same unmet need he'd battled all day. If anything, Emilie's presence had increased his agitation and the kick in the gut delivered by the potion only intensified his desires. “How do you feel?"

"I guess I feel fine.” She kept her eyes averted.

"How long does it take to work?"

"It should work immediately."

"Good."

Vance walked in a slow circle around them. “You both look the same."

"That's actually a good sign, Vance,” Emilie said.

"Oh, so nobody gets to turn blue this time?” The sarcasm in his brother's voice struck a chord with Daniel. He laughed.

Emilie did, too, then headed for the door. “I'd better get back to the shop."

"You're leaving?” Daniel followed her a few steps, wishing he could lock her in and keep her with him all night.

"It's probably better that way."

"Right."

"Call me if you feel any—side effects."

"You, too. Bye.” Daniel sighed and leaned on the door when it closed behind her.

"You don't look calm,” Vance said, crossing his arms over his chest. “In fact, I've never seen you wound so tight."

"I'm fine."

"If you want her—"

"It's the spell,” Daniel growled, returning to his desk. “It's just a side effect and the potion will make it go away."

"It doesn't look like it's going away."

"It is. I said I'm fine.” Daniel focused his attention on his computer screen. “Let's get back to work. It's the best thing for both of us right now."

* * * *

At midnight, Emilie decided that pretending to sleep was a waste of time. Bored and restless, she rose and paced around her bedroom for a while. Then she dressed and left the apartment, careful not to wake Charlotte, who slept curled under a nest of quilts on the couch.

The shop was her destination. She planned to make candles, brew up some luck charms and put a batch of orange slices in the dehydrator for her new “citrus happiness” potpourri.

Her hands shook as she fit the key into the lock on the shop's front door. She thought of the third bottle of calming potion and wondered if an extra kick might be what she needed to shake free of this incomplete feeling. One more night unable to get Daniel out of her thoughts and she'd go insane.

The moment she stepped over the threshold, she heard it. A low, throaty rumble drifted from the far side of the rack of altar cloths.

"Daniel?” Had he come for her? Immediately, the she-wolf awoke, intrigued by the thought that her mate had come to claim her. Her body tensed and warmed for him, and she forgot to be afraid. “Where are you?"

A snarl and a swipe of claws answered her.

Emilie screamed. She reared back, instinctively dropping into a crouch.

A dark shape leapt at her, bowling her over onto the floor. The werewolf rose above her, its yellow eyes aglow in the dim light from the outside street lamp. It growled and snapped its jaws at her, and Emilie kicked viciously when it pulled her under its body. The creature raised one clawed hand high above her head, and Emilie vaguely registered an object clutched in the gnarled fist.

She thought of Daniel before the weapon smashed into her skull.

CHAPTER 18

"Rough night?” Vance asked when Daniel lumbered down the stairs the next morning. He felt like a truck had run him over a few dozen times.

"Couldn't sleep. Coffee?"

"Looks like you could use a bucketful.” Vance poured him a full mug.

Daniel gulped the bitter brew. “I hope Emilie doesn't feel this bad,” he muttered.

Vance rummaged through the nearest cabinet. “Aspirin?"

A vicious pounding on the front door assaulted Daniel's head like a jackhammer. He cringed and rubbed his throbbing temples while Vance went to answer it.

A moment later, a redheaded whirlwind flew into the kitchen. When Daniel looked up from his coffee, he found Charlotte Swanson glowering at him.

"This time it's real blood,” she said, forcing the words out through her rage. “And the whole store is trashed. Emilie is going to freak! I don't even want to tell her."

Daniel looked past Charlotte, figuring the cousins had arrived together to blame him for another act of vandalism. “Where is she?"

"What do you mean?” Charlotte's freckled face blanched. She looked on the verge of panic. “I thought she was with you. She snuck out around midnight when she thought I was asleep. I figured she'd come here to—"

"We both drank the calming potion. Why would she—?"

"Because she's in love with you, idiot. The calming potion isn't going to cure that."

Daniel's mind skipped past Charlotte's confession. If Emilie wasn't with her, and she wasn't here...

Cold fear gripped him. “Where would she have gone?” The wolf awoke. His mate was in danger. He realized that explained why he felt the way he did. Emilie was in pain, tired, shaky and cold. He had to find her.

Behind Charlotte, Vance grabbed the phone. “You said the blood was real this time?"

Charlotte gasped. “Oh, my God!"

"I'm calling the police. You two get back to the shop and don't disturb anything."

Daniel jammed his feet into his sneakers and paused long enough to grab his car keys from the kitchen counter. Charlotte trailed him out the front door, whispering an incantation as they raced toward his car.

"Water of the oceans, fire of the sun

Help us find the missing one,

Guide our hand, steer our sight,

Help to set the world to right."

The words ran together in Daniel's mind, and rage clouded his vision. Someone had touched his mate, hurt her and tried to take her from him. No potion would calm him now. He wouldn't stop until he got her back and exacted his revenge.

* * * *

The world faded back into view in shades of green and brown. Emilie smelled honeysuckle and fresh earth. Above her, birds chirped with maddening cheer, and insects buzzed. “What the hell?"

"Good. You're awake. I was getting tired of listening to you snore."

Emilie craned her neck toward the oddly familiar voice. The movement set her nerve endings on fire. Every muscle in her body ached, and her head pounded relentlessly. When she tried to reach up and keep it from tumbling off her shoulders, she found her hands tied behind her back. The tight bindings had cut off circulation. Her fingers felt like tingly sausages dangling uselessly from her hands.

Propped against a tree, her feet also secured with a thick length of clothesline, she was completely at the mercy of her captor, who sauntered into view. Through a tangle of sassy blonde curls, the petite woman regarded Emilie and gave her a deceptively sweet smile.

"Bethany?"

"That's right.” The woman sat on the ground cross-legged in front of Emilie and shrugged. “The former ‘future Mrs. Vance Garrison,’ thanks to your meddling."

"Huh? Oh...” Bethany the Psychopath? It just didn't seem to fit. “Don't you think breaking up with him was a bit hasty?” Emilie squirmed against her bonds. She found no play in the ropes, and the movement only made her arms and legs hurt more. “After all, we were only trying to spare you from having to plan your wedding around the full moon."

Bethany's sunny smile faded. Her blue eyes hardened. “Stupid bitch. I didn't dump Vance because he was a werewolf. I dumped him because you cured him. Do you know how rare it is to find a mate like that—aspect of the wolf in his blood twice—once by birth, once by bite? Just like me."

Emilie gaped. “You?"

Beth seemed to preen a little, obviously proud of her unusual heritage. “I'm an Alpha female. Vance and I would have led our own pack. Together we'd have produced full-blood offspring, every one a born Alpha. Now I have to go crawling back to my leader and beg for my place in the pack, thanks to you, witch."

Tugging on the ropes behind her back, Emilie winced. “You don't look like an Alpha female. You're so—"

"Don't say short!"

"Okay, petite."

"I can rip out your throat with my bare hands. Is that Alpha enough for you?” Bethany surged forward, bearing her teeth in a fangless snarl.

Despite herself, Emilie shrank back. “Did I mention that I love your hair? Your highlights are just gorgeous. Are they natural—"

"Shut up!” She settled back, unimpressed by the fake flattery.

Emilie clamped her lips shut and focused on her surroundings. Sunlight filtered through thick branches above, and in every direction, she saw only row upon row of dark tree trunks and mossy rocks. Though they might have been anywhere in the world, Emilie decided the nearest place to Cypress Park that fit the description was the State Forest about two hours to the north.

As she looked around, she noticed dried blood on her left ankle. “You didn't bite me, did you?"

Bethany laughed. “I wanted to. But you're a gift to my pack leader. He'll bite you—that is, if he wants to keep you. My bet is he'll probably just eat you."

"Bitten or eaten. I'm really not sure which I'd prefer.” Emilie struggled a little more and wracked her brain for a quick spell that might loosen the bonds. Nothing came to mind. “You know, Vance would probably still make a good husband. Being one quarter wolf and all—you guys could probably have lots of slightly furry babies."

"If it wasn't for big brother, we might have mated already. Then it wouldn't matter if you cured him. I'd at least have one litter from him. But of course, Daniel had to interfere, keeping Vance on a tight leash every time he transformed, so we never got to mate in wolf form. I couldn't risk getting Daniel out of the way too soon, but as soon as the wedding was over ... now that's all screwed up."

"If you don't mind my saying, maybe if you'd told him you didn't mind the werewolf stuff, he'd have—"

"Shut up!” Beth growled. This time, her incisors grew longer. A half-blood, bitten by a werewolf, could probably transform at will. That wasn't a theory Emilie wanted to test. “You killed the were in him. You ripped it out of him and let it die. I'm going to enjoy watching my pack leader tear you apart."

"Can't we come to some kind of compromise? Maybe if you talked to him, Vance would let you bite him again"

Bethany rose and towered over Emilie, all five feet of her, casting a menacing shadow. She slapped Emilie hard, then kicked her wounded ankle for good measure. “Don't you think I know he can't be reinfected? He's useless to me now. But Daniel ... he's still a possibility.” Bethany smiled wickedly. “Maybe I can turn him tonight. Then he can join in the fun when my pack strips the flesh off your bones. I bet he'd like that."

"I think he's vegetarian."

Bethany kicked Emilie again and laughed. “He won't be when I'm done with him."

* * * *

"Werewolf,” Charlotte said. She looked at Daniel through the strands of spiky hair she'd found on the floor of the shop and hidden from the police while they searched the place for clues.

Cypress Park's finest had ascertained that the smear of blood on the floor near the front door was human. That evidence meant they had to treat the case as an assault and kidnapping.

Yellow crime-scene tape stretched across the front door, and a chalk mark outlined the bloodstain that marred a newly refinished section of floor.

"It wasn't me,” Vance said. “I was with Daniel all night and I didn't transform."

"I know my spell worked,” Charlotte countered with a disparaging glare.

Daniel might have enjoyed their sparring under other circumstances, but with his blood boiling and his gut churning in rage against Emilie's attacker, he could barely think straight.

A werewolf had her.

First Pop, then Vance. Now the beast had taken Emilie away from him. He couldn't stand any more, couldn't lose someone else to this curse. He flung himself toward the door, tearing down the police tape as he went.

"Where are you going?” Vance trailed after him, his voice sharp with concern.

"I'm going to find Emilie—and kill a wolf."

CHAPTER 19

Emilie cursed at the pain in her wrists and ankles but kept pulling and tugging at the stiff white ropes.

Bethany had left hours ago, threatening to return before moonrise. Now, the shadows grew long across the forest floor, and mosquitoes started biting in droves. The birdsong had died down, replaced by the sound of crickets and the trill of tree frogs and cicadas.

She'd screamed for a while, hoping some of the hikers that frequented the State trails might hear. No one came, though, and Emilie decided Bethany must have brought her to a spot far away from the most popular hiking routes. She'd also tried a spell to dissolve the ropes. Her hopes soared when she felt a fiber or two snap with little pressure, but then nothing. Subsequent castings failed miserably. Hungry, tired and mostly numb proved not the best condition for performing spell work. Her concentration drifted, and eventually she forgot the words to the incantation entirely.

Finally, she fell back against the tree trunk, exhausted and angry with herself. Why hadn't she gone to Daniel last night? Why had she foolishly insisted that a potion could change how she felt about him?

She'd fallen in love—sweaty-palmed, no-appetite, gnawing-hole-in-the-gut love—with a man who hated magick. And he probably hated it more so now that her spells had made mess of his brother's life.

On the upside, she'd cured Vance, which is what Daniel had asked her to do. She'd sealed Chester Creek's portal to hell, all by herself—mostly—and despite a broken window and a sticky floor, her shop was up and running.

But why hadn't she remembered to retrieve her protection amulet from Daniel's dining room after the first spell failed? If she had it now, maybe she wouldn't be in this mess.

As darkness closed in and the forest sounds grew louder, Emilie comforted herself with visions of tearing Bethany's pretty blonde highlights out of her skull.

"You can call me a bitch all you want,” she muttered, working on her bonds again, despite the pain. “But let's not forget who's the female dog around here!"

* * * *

The locked drawer didn't stop him. Daniel lifted the end table and smashed it to the floor, strangely satisfied by the sound of splintering wood. He tossed aside shards of polished oak and closed his hand over the gun's gleaming silver handle. Cold as ice, it did nothing to cool his anger.

He'd just finished loading the chamber with bullets when Vance burst through the bedroom door. “That's Pop's gun. You've had it all this time?"

Nodding, Daniel slammed the chamber shut.

"Let me do it.” Vance held out his hand. “You said you'd never kill another werewolf."

Daniel flicked the safety on the gun before shoving it into the back of his jeans. “I said I'd never get lucky enough to love someone the way you love Beth. I was wrong about that, too."

Vance followed him out of the bedroom and into the darkened hallway. “Where are you going? How are you going to find Emilie?"

"I can feel her. She's in me. When the moon rises, I'll know exactly where she is."

"I'm going, too."

At that moment, Charlotte's red curls appeared at the bottom of the staircase. “Me, too."

He glared at them. It didn't matter if they came to help since this was his fight, his duty to protect his mate. “Fine. But don't get in my way."

* * * *

Bethany finally returned just after dark.

"I bet you thought I wouldn't hang around, but I hate to miss a party,” Emilie said. Her throat burned with the effort, but she refused to lie mutely and wait for her own death.

It surprised her that Vance's former fiancée still remained in human form, as the four men and three women who appeared out of the shadows behind her.

Emilie stiffened when she saw the feral glow in their eyes. These were more than just hapless victims of an ancient curse. These were true lycanthropes—beings that embraced the wolf, tamed it and used it to their advantage.

They surrounded her, with Beth at the center of their circle, her gaze locked on their obvious leader. “She's a talkative one, Julian. I know you like the chatty ones.” She gestured to her offering.

Julian stood more than six feet tall. Blond, like Beth, he had striking green eyes and a cruel smile. He approached Emilie and crouched before her, moving easily in clothes that looked painted on his muscular body. When he tugged on her bonds, they came free. Her limbs screamed in agony as she attempted to kick him. He easily caught her foot, however, and twisted her sore ankle until she whimpered.

"I'm glad there's still some fight left in you.” He turned to Beth, and his appreciative expression faded. “You left her out here all day with no water. She might have died."

Beth's proud smile dimmed. “It was only a few hours."

"Who would have thought the Big Bad Wolves would have to tie up their dinner?” Emilie couldn't resist the taunt, despite the rush of blood to her numb extremities, making her feel lightheaded. There were eight of them all together—and one helpless witch among them. “What's the matter with you? Too weak with hunger to chase me?"

Her heart pounded, but she met their arrogant gazes one by one. The others looked as though they wanted to tear her apart, but Julian had control. He kept them docile with subtle movements, commanding glances. They feared him, but they didn't respect him. He was obviously the leader because he fought for the position. Any sign of weakness and the others would pounce.

"I'm not going to eat you, witch.” Julian moved closer and pushed the tangled hair away from Emilie's face. He licked his lips in a way that made her stomach sour. “I'm going to claim you as my mate."

"What?” Beth rushed forward and clawed at Julian's broad back. The others growled, shifted for position as the Alpha female's jaws and teeth began to elongate.

"She's perfect for my needs,” Julian replied, dismissing Beth's anger. “Though I'd prefer it if she had a little more strength in her."

Emilie squirmed away from Julian's grasp as the feeling began to return to her arms and legs.

Behind the pack leader, Beth hunched over, ready to fight. “I thought I would be your mate! I'm an Alpha and my mate is gone! The witch turned him human again!"

"That's too bad for you, isn't it?” Julian dragged Emilie to her feet. The new altitude made her dizzy. She swayed, but he caught her. “You wanted to leave the pack. You don't get to come back on top."

"But Julian—"

"You know your place, Bethany. You start at the bottom and you have to earn the right to mate.” Julian smiled down at Emilie, who struggled to get her exhausted legs under her. She cringed when he leaned in and licked her neck. When she spat at him, he laughed. “Once I'm finished with my witch, you might have to watch your back. As a member of the pack, she may just be stronger than you."

A shot rang out in the distance. Bethany screamed. The pack members scattered into the shadows, yelping and growling as they transformed. Julian dropped Emilie, and she collapsed, grateful to be left alone while the pack leader and Bethany also transformed. He became a shaggy gray beast with long, curving fangs, while she became a smaller creature with a stiff brown pelt and red eyes. They howled at each other and loped into the woods.

* * * *

Daniel felt her—as if her heart beat inside his chest and her breath filled his lungs. Her fear and anger mixed with his, and it drove him, as bright and strong as a beacon in the dark forest.

Behind him on the barely visible hiking trail, Vance and Charlotte struggled to keep up. He heard them panting and cursing him, but he didn't care.

His mate was close—as was the beast. He fired his shot into the air and heard the fearful yowls as a pack of wolves ran for cover.

He kept his eyes focused straight ahead and kept moving. The scent of the pack leader lingered nearby, and Daniel understood. He'd have to fight not just to keep his mate alive, but to keep her for himself.

* * * *

Emilie rubbed her arms and legs to get the blood flowing and tried to gauge the direction from which the gunshot had come. In the deep woods, the sound echoed. Like the songs of the crickets and tree frogs, the blast seemed to come from everywhere at once.

She tried to calm her labored breathing and ignore the throbbing pain from where Bethany had hit her to knock her out. Standing on her own, slowly getting her bearings, she became aware of something she hadn't noticed before. Her senses felt sharper than they should have been after her ordeal, heightened. Almost instinctively, she now knew from where the shots had been fired. She sensed Daniel and her heart raced.

As soon as her legs felt steady enough, she ran, flinging aside low-hanging branches as she went. A few yards down a rocky incline, she crashed into a hulking form and screamed as she fell backward, scrambling to get away.

The creature swiped at her with its gnarled claws, its red eyes glowing. Bethany!

Emilie tore at the ground in an effort to drag herself back up the slope, but the were-female pounced, bowling her over. Long jaws snapped at her face as she struggled to get away. In an instant, another creature sailed through the air and knocked Bethany aside. While Emilie scrambled away, the two beasts rolled along the forest floor, snarling and tearing at each other with teeth and claws. Emilie recognized the larger one with its gray coat and yellow eyes. Julian had come to claim his prize.

While the creatures fought, Emilie crawled up the incline. When she reached the top, a strong hand closed over her shoulder and someone dragged her to her feet.

"Daniel!” She sank into his arms and he crushed her against him. Shielding her, he aimed a gleaming silver pistol over her shoulder at the tangle of furry bodies. “No! The smaller one is Bethany!"

He lowered the gun a fraction of an inch and stared at her. “Are you sure?"

"She attacked me at the shop. She brought me here to give me to the other one—that's Julian, the pack leader. They're more than werewolves—they're lycanthropes—half-bloods that have been bitten."

Daniel seemed to shake off the knowledge that the woman who might have become his sister-in-law was now lying on the ground, whimpering as a male werewolf tore at her pelt with his claws. He fired the gun, but the shot went wide, scaring the two beasts away from each other.

Julian immediately broke off the attack, and Bethany, the brown beast, slunk into the shadows, beaten and bloody.

Daniel pushed Emilie behind him and aimed the gun at Julian. The beast rose on hind legs and lunged up the slope, leaping at Daniel.

Two shots rang out, and Emilie screamed.

CHAPTER 20

The first shot had hit the beast in the shoulder, driving it backward, barely a foot. It howled, staggered and lunged again, claws outstretched. Daniel's second shot toppled the creature. With a human-sounding moan, it rolled down the embankment, clutching its wounds. When the werewolf came to rest at the bottom of the slope, it lay unnaturally still, but Daniel kept his aim steady nevertheless.

He registered only vaguely that Vance and Charlotte had appeared, out of breath, but relieved to find Emilie safely in Daniel's presence.

A strangled scream interrupted their reunion.

Bethany crawled out of the underbrush below, naked, bloody and bruised. “Vance! Kill it. It tried to eat me!” She sobbed and dissolved into hysterics. Vance rushed toward her, past the gray hulk of the injured pack leader.

"No!” Daniel's sharp command stopped his brother in his tracks. “She's one of them!"

Vance rounded on Daniel with his fists balled. “Look at her! It attacked her just like it attacked Emilie."

"It's true—Bethany was the one who attacked me,” Emilie said, stepping between the brothers. “There are six others out there somewhere."

Behind them, Bethany cried and screamed. Her pitiable whimpering became vicious curses when she realized her former fiancé was not coming to her aid. Vance looked over his shoulder, but made no move toward her. He cringed when her face began to transform with her rage.

Charlotte nudged Daniel and pointed to the gray beast. “Are you going to—"

He swung around and aimed the pistol at Julian's heaving chest. The beast opened its eyes and glared at him, challenging. He lowered the gun.

"Coward! Shoot it!” Bethany yelled, her words slurred by the fangs protruding from her mouth. Charlotte silenced her with a dangerous look.

"The others will be back,” Emilie whispered. “We'd better not stay."

Daniel stepped back, taking Emilie into his arms. Vance remained where he was, staring at the half-human creature Bethany had become. Regardless, he took a step toward her, but Julian rose up, teeth gnashing, claws ready. Without question, Daniel raised his grandfather's pistol and fired.

With an inhuman howl, Julian tumbled down and lay still, his mouth slack, his yellow eyes wide.

Then Daniel turned the gun on Bethany.

"Are you crazy?” Vance grabbed his arm, but Daniel held his aim rock steady.

"Get out of here, and keep the rest of your pack away from us. All of us."

Bethany responded to Daniel's warning with a snarl. Charlotte drew something from her pocket and threw it at her. Bethany screamed when the herb bundle opened, showering her with a green powder. She reared back, yelping in pain.

"Wolfsbane—fresh,” Charlotte said. “I've got a lot more where that came from."

Bethany's half-human form folded in on itself. Her body seemed to melt away, and in her place stood a brown wolf, its fangs bared, red eyes blazing.

Daniel took aim, but the creature bounded away. Vance sank to his knees, deflated.

"I'm sorry, bro. I'm so sorry.” Daniel squeezed his brother's shoulder as he drew Emilie tighter against him with his other arm. He looked into the eyes of his mate and his heart ached with pain for Vance. “I know exactly how you felt about her."

* * * *

"Vance is opening up some gazillion-year-old Scotch and we're going to do shots. Come on!"

Emilie glanced up at Charlotte, standing in the front doorway of the Garrison house and silhouetted by the amber glow of the dining room chandelier. Her cousin looked fresh as a daisy, excited, in fact, and apparently eager to tie one on.

In contrast, Emilie felt like she weighed a thousand pounds. She had no strength left to haul herself up from her seat on the front steps and no desire to disengage herself from Daniel's strong embrace. She waved Charlotte off. “Save us some."

Charlotte laughed ruefully. “Have you seen that boy? There won't be any left. When you've had your heart ripped out, you need to fill the hole with something. Take it from someone who's been there a couple of times."

"We'll pass,” Daniel said. “Just don't let him start singing ‘Danny Boy'—it'll make your ears bleed."

"Check.” Charlotte nodded, then disappeared into the house.

When they were alone, Daniel pulled Emilie closer to him. She sighed and leaned into his warmth. “I hope Vance will forgive me."

"For what? You saved him."

"He still lost the love of his life."

Daniel rested his chin on Emilie's shoulder and stroked her back. “I disagree. I don't think he's found her yet. He loved Beth ... he believed he did ... but she was only using him to get what she wanted. She wasn't the love of his life. He didn't have the same connection to her that I have with ... you."

Emilie smiled. “Are you saying I'm the love of your life?"

He nuzzled her neck and sighed into her ear. “Come upstairs with me and I'll show you."

She felt a familiar tingle pinball through her body, and some of the weight of her exhaustion lifted. Then the logical side of her brain rebelled. “We shouldn't."

"Shouldn't what?"

"Do that. Go crazy again."

In response, he kissed her neck, tangled his fingers in hers and squeezed. “I don't have the strength to go crazy, but I have enough strength to take the woman I love to my bed and show her how much I need her and want her and can't bear to lose her."

Emilie felt warm, as if she were melting into a soft, pliant puddle in Daniel's arms. “So then you've lost the urge to run me out of town?"

"I'm not letting you go anywhere without me.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. He kissed her again, then led her into the house and up the stairs to his bedroom. “I might let you come a few times by yourself, but I'm definitely not letting you go."

"And what about magick? Still dead set against it?” She gave him a curious look as they crossed the bedroom threshold. She may have cured his brother, but was it enough to convince him that the town needed a witch on hand? The tangle of nerves in her belly seemed to unravel as he gently guided her onto the soft blankets.

"'Dead’ is such a permanent word. Why don't we say I'm ‘cautiously optimistic'?"

"That's the petition writer talking,” she mused, snuggling against him. “I'd like to hear from the man who's mated to a witch."

"He's busy right now.” Daniel nuzzled her neck, nipped her ear and growled. “He's about to enchant his woman with a very potent love spell."

"Ooh...” Emilie lost her train of thought as Daniel settled over her. Once again, she surrendered to the wolf, and this time, it was magick.

Jennifer Colgan

As a child, Jennifer Colgan (who also writes as Bernadette Gardner) regularly spent all her allowance on books. She quickly progressed from Carolyn Keene's Nancy Drew Mysteries to Nora Roberts and Gary Jennings. Her search for the perfect mix of adventure and romance finally took her from the bookstore to her computer where she began writing the kinds of stories she loves to read.

"I'd been experimenting with different genres and decided to try a romance novel. Now I can't imagine writing a story without romance in it,” she says.

Jennifer is a native of the NY-NJ Metropolitan area, but her travels have taken her as far from home as Sydney, Australia. Her writing regularly takes her far into the future and deep into distant galaxies.

You can learn visit her websites to learn about her works in progress at www.bernadettegardner.com and www.jennifercolgan.com.

* * * *

Don't miss Conjured In Flames, by Jennifer Colgan, available now from Amber Quill Press, LLC

Swept into another world by the desperate spell of an evil sorceress, real estate agent Gillian Lawrence figures she must be dreaming. Her dream becomes a nightmare when she realizes her resemblance to the sorceress has embroiled her in the ambitious plans of the handsome Lord Rodan to save his people from an army of ruthless barbarians. Rodan demands that Gillian use her magick and join his cause, or spend the rest of her life as his prisoner and even possibly face death. But with no powers of magick at her disposal, what's a transported real estate agent from present-day America to do? A deadly battle hinges on her ability to convince two armies that her magick can stop an invasion and save the Southern Kingdom ... as well as winning the heart of the man she loves...

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