The Witch's Quest. Michele Hauf

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      At the pool table, Borse commandeered a game to himself. He was drunk. And it generally took a lot of alcohol to get a werewolf drunk. The trio decided to wait and follow Borse out to his car before approaching him.

      It felt wrong going after a drunkard. Even knowing what an asshole Borse was, Kelyn had problems using violence to get what he wanted. Completely the opposite of Trouble, who nursed a whiskey and eyed the dartboard. Kelyn had always won at darts against Trouble. He hadn’t attempted a game since losing his wings. He didn’t want to try now. He just didn’t.

      Beside him sat Valor, who’d passed on the lowbrow beer and instead had asked for a lemonade, as well. She wore a thigh strap with a blade in the holster. She’d said it was a ritual blade she used for her spells and would be best to remove the claw. She and Trouble hadn’t spoken since they’d arranged to work together, and while Kelyn knew his brother had a stick up his butt about the witch after all that had happened, he was surprised he’d not picked up on any sort of weird sexual tension between the two.

      Had Trouble lied about them getting it on? Valor had seemed defensive about just that, but Kelyn had cut her off, not wanting to listen to any excuses. The woman was an adult. She could have sex with whomever she wanted to.

      The creaky bar door slammed and Trouble gave a short whistle to Kelyn. Borse had left, muttering something about vampires. The werewolf had parked down the street behind a chain-link fence and next to a rotting supply shed that sat at the edge of the city park. So they had the advantage of darkness and privacy.

      “What the fuck?” Borse spun around at the approaching threesome. His stance wobbled, but he maintained an upright position. “Saint-Pierres, eh? That land isn’t all yours, Trouble, and you know it.”

      Trouble punched a fist into his opposite palm and lunged for the man. The first smack of fist to jaw resounded through the park and scattered a flock of pigeons.

      “Stay out of the way,” Kelyn said, stepping before Valor, who had pulled out her athame in defense.

      She didn’t need to be told to avoid danger. But she didn’t need to be protected, either. Especially not by the man who had once already—ah, yes. What was she thinking? Valor stepped back, giving Kelyn every bit of respect the man deserved. She had to be careful not to offend more than she already had done. A man’s sense of pride was always a delicate thing.

      It didn’t take long for Borse and Trouble’s scuffle to escalate, and as their antics moved them beneath a shadowed copse of willow, the men shifted. Shirts tore away, though they both had the sense to shift halfway. Keeping their lower halves in human shape ensured that they remained partially clothed. A necessity should an innocent wander onto the scene and a quick shift back to were form was required.

      The two shifted wolves went at each other while Kelyn stalked close but did not step in to interrupt. Valor assumed they both knew what they were doing, so, holding her blade at the ready, she waited.

      But would a little magic provide Trouble the advantage? Her air magic could make Trouble’s punches move faster, his leaps more aggressive. If she could focus it to land only on him and not the other wolf...

      “No,” she admonished herself quietly. “Let the boys handle this one.”

      Grunts and growls accompanied the battle that seemed as if it would continue indefinitely. Valor cast Kelyn a questioning look. He returned a shrug and a nod. He got the hint.

      Kelyn lunged for Borse and delivered a fist to his bloody jaw. Valor had heard the rumors about Kelyn. That one punch from him would put any man—or beast—down for the count.

      Borse shook his head and smirked at Kelyn when he realized the faery was not as strong as rumor told. He grabbed Kelyn’s arm even as Trouble swung a leg and took out Borse’s stance. Both Borse and Kelyn went down.

      And Valor clenched her fingers into her palms. She thrust out her arm, bending her fingers in preparation to release some air magic. Sucking in her lower lip, she bit, almost drawing blood. Cursing at the pain, she inhaled sharply when she saw the fighters roll to a stop. Kelyn landed on top of Borse, and Borse lay still. The thug wolf was out. But for how long?

      Kelyn thrust out his hand, gesturing for her to hand the knife to him.

      “Oh. Right.” She rushed to him and slapped the hilt into his hand.

      Trouble, in half his hulking furry glory, leaned over them. He smelled musky and hot. An animal riled. Valor didn’t fear the man whose upper half resembled an übermuscled wolf, including a full wolf’s head. The one she was concerned with now was Kelyn, and he—he had pressed the side of the blade to his forehead, as if in thought, and closed his eyes as he crouched over Borse.

      “Kelyn,” she said, “hurry! He could come to any second.”

      “I can’t.” He pushed himself up and stepped away from the fallen werewolf, walking a wide circle.

      Trouble swiped a big, clawed paw for the knife, but Kelyn jerked it away from him. “Get out of here,” he said to his brother. “I’m not going to do it. I can’t.”

      “What? Do you need me to do it?” Valor asked. Her whole body shook. She was nervous and exhilarated and scared all at once.

      “No, I mean I won’t do this.” He handed her the blade. “Who am I to harm another man for something I want? It’s not a need, Valor. I want my wings back, but I’ll survive without them. As deserving as he may be, I won’t maim Borse just to make it so.”

      The werewolf on the ground stirred.

      “Let’s get out of here.” Kelyn grabbed her by the upper arm and pushed her in the direction of the bar where they had parked his Firebird. “Trouble! Go!”

      Trouble growled and snorted, but the werewolf took off in the opposite direction and loped through the park.

      And while Valor was disappointed they’d not gotten what had been but a stroke of the blade away, she was even more impressed at Kelyn’s sacrifice. Once again. And his honor.

      He truly was a good man. And she was fortunate to know such a person.

      They climbed into his car and watched through the chain-link fence for a while. To see if Borse would wander out in werewolf form, or perhaps man shape. And to make sure Trouble didn’t return looking for the trouble he famously indulged in.

      “I’m sorry,” Valor said quietly.

      Kelyn turned on her with a surprising rage in his eyes. “I am tired of your apologies. You did nothing wrong, witch!”

      “Would you bring it down a notch? I was apologizing because I know you want your wings, and now getting them seems an impossibility. Would you let someone care about you? Seriously!” She gripped the door handle tightly. “You’ve more of a chip on your shoulder about letting someone in than about getting back your lost wings. What’s your hang-up?”

      “I don’t have a hang-up, other than wondering why in Beneath I decided working with you would be a good idea.”

      “Because you trusted me.”

      “Trust had nothing to do with it. I’m here because you were my only hope.”

      “Sorr—” СКАЧАТЬ