The Witch's Familiar
Chapter 1
Jude gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. He was the wrong witch for this job. He knew it, and the Coven knew it, but he had no other options. No good ones anyway. And while he didn’t want to be an investigator for the Coven, he wanted to fail even less. He could always turn down the job—if he passed.
No matter what he’d done, he didn’t deserve to have his magic stripped and be turned into a magicless human. He didn’t want to be human, but right now he didn’t want to be a witch either. He probably shouldn’t have gone for the jackpot, but there had to be a use for his magic, and it had seemed like a good idea. It didn’t seem worthy of the punishment.
The odds of him succeeding were smaller than someone winning big without using magic. The Coven, Landstrom in particular, wanted him to fail. Jude was going to enjoy it if, when, he succeeded. He could do this. How hard could it be to find the creature? It couldn’t be that difficult…stopping it was another problem that he’d cross when he knew what he was dealing with.
He checked the map on his phone again. He wasn’t that far away from Mercy South, but the ever so helpful voice on his phone had gone silent a few miles ago. He checked the screen. Another fifteen miles to go on this road. Already he’d seen more cows that he’d had steaks. He preferred to see cows on a plate with a nice salad and some fries.
Maybe that was what he’d have for dinner.
He pressed the gas pedal on the two-door hatch he’d hired—it wasn’t electric, so he was actually going to have to pay for gas. He’d send the Coven a bill for his expenses after, if he wasn’t fleeing the country so they couldn’t take his magic—assuming his passport showed up.
What happened to magic that was stripped from witches? Was it stored in a bottle? Did it evaporate? What happened to the ex-witches? He should probably do a little research into that, too, just in case, so he was prepared. He’d already lost two days traveling down here. Twelve to go.
He sped past the sign that read ‘Ten Miles to Mercy South’. “Ten miles and a million cows.”
A crooked sign warned him that the Mercy North turnoff was in a mile. He had no interest in seeing the old mining town, although if anyone asked, that was exactly why he was here. He couldn’t go around talking about magic and monsters to humans, that would just give the Coven another reason to strip his magic.
The creature killing the cows might move on to people next, or worse, the people might realize that things from their horror movies did exist. Then there’d be panic, and that would be bad for all the paranormals. He understood the danger, but he wasn’t the problem…anymore. His magic was under control and carefully controlled. He barely even used magic.
If the Coven was really worried about the creature, they should’ve sent a nature witch, someone who could talk to animals not electrons. Maybe the problem wasn’t that bad. However, he was going to have to talk to people and ask questions, or at least listen to the local gossip.
The sun was setting, casting the sky in shades of pink and red. Any other day and he’d have thought it pretty, but the closer he got to Mercy South, the tighter the knots in his belly drew. He drove over the bridge, the fuel gauge slipping lower.
These could be his last days as a witch. If they were, he didn’t want to be spending them in a place with more cows than people. But he didn’t want to give Landstrom the pleasure of seeing him quit before he’d even tried either. Having his magic stripped was going to hurt worse than when he’d done his knee in as a teen. If he hadn’t been trying so hard to impress the cute catcher on the team, he wouldn’t have risked taking third base.
It had been worth it. His lips curved at the memory of his first boyfriend. Back then, he hadn’t known what the Coven was. They’d learned who he was when he’d fried the MRI—in his defense, he had told the doctor that he didn’t want to go in there. When he’d healed, the Coven had made themselves known. That had been the first time he’d been called before the board of three. It had been a different three witches then. The board of three drawn from the full board of thirteen. He’d made an effort to learn how the Coven operated and who the members were after the second time he’d got called in. That Landstrom had ended up on his last two boards was just unlucky.
Houses appeared, and Jude eased off the accelerator. The last thing he needed was a speeding ticket. He didn’t want to be here, and he didn’t want to fail. Bitterness rose in his throat. He was going to be spending his last few days with magic in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Not for the first time he wished he had some other magic. Something less lethal or easier to hide. If he could talk to animals, the Coven would probably have never realized he existed. His parents, whoever they were, hadn’t told anyone what he was. There’d been no warning note handed to his foster parents. No training guide for when weird things had started happening.
His phone came to life, directing him to the motel he’d booked. The pictures and reviews had been okay, better than the other option, and it was up the road from what had looked like the decent bar. The bar on the other side of town was the kind of place where he’d have to check for lice and hose off his shoes after stepping foot in there.
After two more turns, he pulled into the parking lot of the traditional U-shaped motel building. He took a moment to take some deep breaths before he got out. He could do this. He had to believe he could.
Find the creature, call the Coven, and he could be home within days. Then he’d pack up his apartment and go. Not even Landstrom would be able to check up on him from the other side of the world. The faster he did this the better.
He uncurled his fingers from the steering wheel and switched off his cell with barely a thought. Luck was on his side as it didn’t blink and die. The motel wasn’t that much different to the photos. It could do with some new paint and a gardener to trim the bushes that were no longer a neat hedge, not that he was a gardener by any stretch of the imagination.
He had a simple plan for tonight. Check in and then check out the bar—to listen to the local gossip about the cow mutilations, not to drink away his problems. Well, maybe a little drowning of his problems. But he knew from experience when he dried out, they’d be waiting for him like long-lost acquaintances he couldn’t get rid of. He wasn’t going to start creature hunting tonight. That was the kind of thing that should be started in daylight after a strong coffee.
He grinned, and while despair was lurking, he wasn’t going to entertain it. Sitting alone in his room would only give it permission to play, and he’d spent far too much time dwelling on what might happen in the car. He was here, and he had tonight, and tomorrow morning sorted.
Ten minutes later, he’d dropped his bag and pillow in the room—he always traveled with his own pillow—searched the crevices of the mattress for signs of life and was walking down the road to the bar. The bar had once been a shop, complete with gingerbread trimming. However, like most of what he’d walked past, it needed a fresh coat of paint and some repairs or burning to the ground and starting over.
A small rainbow flag was stuck in the window with a note about the next social event, which had happened last month. Overhead, the sign flickered, the short in the circuit an annoying hum that buzzed through his body like an itch he couldn’t scratch. In the time it took to draw breath, he harnessed the charge and sent it through the circuit, clearing the blockage so the electrons could flow freely through the light. The light glowed blue and bright above his head. Jude paused for a heartbeat, waiting for something to go catastrophically wrong and for sparks to fly. When nothing happened, he smiled and walked into the Whiskey Riot.
A few people turned to look at him. He knew immediately that he didn’t fit. There were a couple of men in suit pants with rolled-up shirt sleeves, but most of the men here got their hands dirty at work. The women were better dressed for the most part. There was a group of them from the chain store wearing black pants and shirts with the company logo on. They watched him with a little too much interest.
They were out of luck if they were hoping he’d buy them a drink.
He ordered a Dark and Stormy from the bar, knowing that there was probably no point in asking for his favorite spiced ginger beer or vanilla rum. He did request the rum they had on the top shelf, but only because he hadn’t drunk the cheap bottom-shelf rum since he’d been broke, which had been about two months ago. He took his drink to a corner table well away from everyone else, then pulled out his phone and pretended to be super busy—which he was as he needed to make a list of all possible creatures that could kill cows.
Five minutes on the Coven database revealed there were rather a lot of things that could eat cows. Things he didn’t want to believe existed.
***Mack watched the stranger get his drink and take a seat. It was pretty clear he was no local. Given that Mercy wasn’t a tourist destination, he was probably passing through.
Ned nudged him. “Do you think he took a wrong turn?”
Mack smiled and sipped his beer. “I don’t think he’s the replacement vet.”
The vet had seen a mutilated cow, crossed herself, and taken an urgent visit home according to some stories. Others said she’d become a victim herself. Mack chose to believe the former. He didn’t get caught up in gossip and he didn’t listen to superstitious chatter either.
However, since the mutilations, he was heading farther away from town to shift as he really didn’t need another farmer shooting at him. Old Mr. Riley really needed his glasses checked if he thought a brown bear matched the description of the creature given by Jake and Donny—not that Mack put much weight on what they’d described as they’d both been drinking. If house-sized dogs were stalking around Mercy, Mack would’ve noticed.
“I’ll flip you,” Ned said with a nudge that almost spilled Mack’s beer.
“What for?” But Mack already knew. If a stranger came into the bar, they flipped a coin to see who’d get to make an ass of themselves. Sometimes the stars aligned and one of them got lucky. If not, and a drought had settled in, they knew each other well enough to spend the night without expecting more.
Mischief flashed in Ned’s eyes. He wanted to know who the city boy was. Not really a boy. He was a young man with too-trendy blond hair and fancy pointy-toed boots sticking out from the bottom of his tight jeans.
Mack shook his head. “I don’t think you’ll be able to sell him a car.”
“It’s not his car I’m interested in.” Ned already had a coin out.
“You go.” He didn’t want to walk over and make polite talk.
“Don’t break tradition.” Ned tossed the coin up.
Mack watched it flip through the air, then he stuck out a hand and caught it. Keeping it covered, he put it on the back of his hand. In his gut he knew no matter what Ned picked Mack was going to have to go over. The man glanced in their direction as if he knew they’d been talking about him. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing to introduce himself. It was only a conversation, and he’d lost count of the number of times it had never gotten past a hello. Ned had more luck picking up than Mack had ever had.
The new guy wasn’t his type. He was too…too…something. Mack glanced over again and ignored the quickening of his pulse. “Your call.”
“Heads. Always heads.” Ned smirked.
Mack tried not to roll his eyes. The trouble with living in Mercy was he knew most people too well. He’d been friends with Ned for far too long. Mack lifted his hand.
“Jeez, Mack, you have all the luck.”
Yeah, luckiest guy in town. “Maybe you shouldn’t have flipped if you were that keen.”
“I saw you watching. Besides, I won the last two tosses and stayed out all night.” Ned took a long drink and didn’t seem too devastated. “You need this.”
Mack was about to argue, but he had been glancing at City Boy, and it had been more than a while. He checked out the newcomer again. He didn’t need a type to have one night of fun. And it might be fun to get him out of those ridiculous boots or at least have them locked around his hips.
City Boy looked up as if aware he was being watched. His gaze landed on Mack and lingered for a moment too long before his drink consumed all of his attention.
“He gave you a look.” Ned lifted his eyebrow.
“It wasn’t a look.” Had it been a look? “What makes you think he’s one of us?”
Ned grinned. “Because if he was straight, he’d have noticed the women checking him out and he hasn’t smiled at them once. If Alice stares at him any harder, her eyes will fall out.”
Mack didn’t need to glance at Alice to verify that. She was always searching for fresh meat. But Mack didn’t want to get up and stroll over either. He sucked at small talk and conversation. It was much easier to go to the city and to a bar where hooking up was expected and everyone wanted the same thing. That he could do. This was torture for him, and Ned knew it and delighted in Mack’s discomfort. Mack couldn’t remember the last time he’d been successful at this game, but he played anyway, because when Ned failed it was funny.
“Seems you’re all out of beer.” Ned snatched up Mack’s glass and drained it.
Next time he shifted he was going to leave a bear crap on Ned’s front steps. That was the secret lodged between their friendship, and why they were only friends. He couldn’t tell people what he was. There were rules, and some rules had to be obeyed. “Remind me again why we’re friends?”
“Because I’m an awesome guy who is honoring the coin flip for the next three minutes. After that…” Ned shrugged.
Mack considered letting those three minutes slip by, but City Boy lifted his head again.
Don’t look at me.
He stared straight at Mack. This time Mack caught his gaze and gave a small nod. He was almost sure his lips had attempted to smile even though he’d thought those muscles long broken.
“That was definitely a look, and it was all about you. What is it about you? It’s like they know about your long—”
“Legs.” He was over six foot. But unlike his father, he wasn’t hefty like he’d swallowed a dumpster for breakfast. He had his mother’s leanness. Being lean didn’t mean he lacked the strength of a bear, though. If people were watching him fix their cars, he had to remember to make things appear heavy.
“That’s what I was going to say.” Ned gave a low chuckle.
Mack shook his head and stood. “I need another beer.”
“I want details.”
Mack scratched his jaw and gave Ned a not-so-subtle middle finger.
He made his way to the bar, nodding to the people he knew. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he ordered his beer. He didn’t need to turn around to know he was being observed. He hated this bit. The awkward hello and the quiet working out what was going on. It didn’t have to go further. The coin flip was just to see who got first shot. It had been a stupid thing that had continued even after they were both old enough to know better. Now it was tradition.
He wiped his palms on his shirt front as casually as he could then thanked the bartender for his drink. He needed to turn around and make eye contact again. Get the man to invite him over to his table. Ned would’ve walked straight over and sat down, but Ned didn’t have secrets to hide like he did. He couldn’t let people too close, even Ned, in case they discovered shapeshifters were real and freaked out. He didn’t want to be run out of town by God-fearing locals with pitchforks.
The beer was cold and sharp, and he hadn’t planned on having a second one, but here he was. He hadn’t planned on picking up either. Yet here he was. Did he really want to do this?
Just be polite. It didn’t have to be more, but he was most definitely being watched by City Boy. If he turned now… Their gazes clashed, and there was no mistaking the interest this time. The blond-haired man smiled.
Mack tested out his rusty smile and hoped it wasn’t terrifying. It seemed to work because the other man wasn’t glancing away this time. His gaze slid down Mack’s body, no doubt taking it the oil-stained jeans and the not-so-white undershirt. He should’ve buttoned up his plaid shirt on his way over to the bar, so he seemed more presentable. The man’s gaze resettled on Mack’s face for a heartbeat before he finally looked away.
That was definitely interest.
Was he interested? Yeah, he might be. The man had a nice smile and eyes, and while his hair was over-styled and probably cemented in place, that wasn’t a grave sin. The man in question finished his drink and stood. Was he leaving? No, he was walking toward the bar.
Toward him.
The dark hairs on Mack’s forearm lifted. As the man got closer, Mack was sure he smelled ozone, sharp like before a storm. Was this man human or other? Then he kind of forgot to breathe because the man watched him with green eyes that could kill.
He was so very interested now.
His skin prickled, and his heartbeat was too fast to be safe. He wasn’t brave enough to pick up his beer just in case he spilled it. Lust had bitten and bitten deep. He needed to say something. The man placed his order, but Mack wasn’t about to pay for it. Not yet. He needed to be sure.
City Boy got his drink and turned to face him. He had to tilt his chin a little to hold Mack’s gaze. “Know anywhere around here that makes a decent coffee?”
He only had instant. That probably didn’t count as decent, and it was definitely too forward. “You could try Billie’s Diner. Or there’ are a couple of places in the mall.”
The man considered him for a moment. His stare was far too intense, as though he knew too much about Mack already. Mack had thought this guy to be all hair gel and brand names, but clearly he had a soul of steel. That only spiked his interest further. Men like him didn’t turn up at his local bar every day of the week. Or even once a month.
“Got business here? Or is this an unfortunate stop over?” Mack hoped he sounded more casual than he felt. One night with this man seemed like a very good idea right now. His jeans were starting to get tight in all the wrong places. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d needed so badly. Lust could be like the overwhelming urge to shift. It was all-consuming.
Turning into a bear right now would be a bad move. If he didn’t manage to take this guy home, he might take off into the hills to terrorize some wildlife and blow off some steam, or he could stay home and watch porn. Neither seemed like a good substitute.
“Got a few days here. I’m Jude.” He put out his hand.
It would be rude not to shake. Jude’s grip was firm, and Mack swore that something sparked between them. His palm tingled. “Mack, I run Mackenzie Auto Repairs.”
It was then he realized Jude hadn’t expanded on why he was here. No one came to Mercy for fun. “I’d offer to show you around town, but that would only take twenty minutes.”
“I’m staying here but checking out the ghost town. Know any tour guides?”
Mack’s eyebrows lifted before he could school his features. “Why would you go out there?”
“It’s a hobby of mine. I like to visit ghost towns.” As if realizing that Mack’s interest had dropped, Jude flashed that smile again. “Everyone has some weird interest.”
For a moment Mack wondered if Jude knew what his was. He shook off the feeling. No one knew he was a shifter or came from a long line of shifters that could trace their lineage back hundreds of years—his mother was big on genealogy while his father didn’t give a rat’s ass as history didn’t pay the bills. Mack agreed with his father.
“Not me. Camping is a pretty ordinary interest.”
He went alone and ran around as a bear for a few days. Totally ordinary. And the reason why he didn’t get too involved or too attached. Jude was attractive and passing through, and right now that was all that mattered.
No matter what he’d done, he didn’t deserve to have his magic stripped and be turned into a magicless human. He didn’t want to be human, but right now he didn’t want to be a witch either. He probably shouldn’t have gone for the jackpot, but there had to be a use for his magic, and it had seemed like a good idea. It didn’t seem worthy of the punishment.
The odds of him succeeding were smaller than someone winning big without using magic. The Coven, Landstrom in particular, wanted him to fail. Jude was going to enjoy it if, when, he succeeded. He could do this. How hard could it be to find the creature? It couldn’t be that difficult…stopping it was another problem that he’d cross when he knew what he was dealing with.
He checked the map on his phone again. He wasn’t that far away from Mercy South, but the ever so helpful voice on his phone had gone silent a few miles ago. He checked the screen. Another fifteen miles to go on this road. Already he’d seen more cows that he’d had steaks. He preferred to see cows on a plate with a nice salad and some fries.
Maybe that was what he’d have for dinner.
He pressed the gas pedal on the two-door hatch he’d hired—it wasn’t electric, so he was actually going to have to pay for gas. He’d send the Coven a bill for his expenses after, if he wasn’t fleeing the country so they couldn’t take his magic—assuming his passport showed up.
What happened to magic that was stripped from witches? Was it stored in a bottle? Did it evaporate? What happened to the ex-witches? He should probably do a little research into that, too, just in case, so he was prepared. He’d already lost two days traveling down here. Twelve to go.
He sped past the sign that read ‘Ten Miles to Mercy South’. “Ten miles and a million cows.”
A crooked sign warned him that the Mercy North turnoff was in a mile. He had no interest in seeing the old mining town, although if anyone asked, that was exactly why he was here. He couldn’t go around talking about magic and monsters to humans, that would just give the Coven another reason to strip his magic.
The creature killing the cows might move on to people next, or worse, the people might realize that things from their horror movies did exist. Then there’d be panic, and that would be bad for all the paranormals. He understood the danger, but he wasn’t the problem…anymore. His magic was under control and carefully controlled. He barely even used magic.
If the Coven was really worried about the creature, they should’ve sent a nature witch, someone who could talk to animals not electrons. Maybe the problem wasn’t that bad. However, he was going to have to talk to people and ask questions, or at least listen to the local gossip.
The sun was setting, casting the sky in shades of pink and red. Any other day and he’d have thought it pretty, but the closer he got to Mercy South, the tighter the knots in his belly drew. He drove over the bridge, the fuel gauge slipping lower.
These could be his last days as a witch. If they were, he didn’t want to be spending them in a place with more cows than people. But he didn’t want to give Landstrom the pleasure of seeing him quit before he’d even tried either. Having his magic stripped was going to hurt worse than when he’d done his knee in as a teen. If he hadn’t been trying so hard to impress the cute catcher on the team, he wouldn’t have risked taking third base.
It had been worth it. His lips curved at the memory of his first boyfriend. Back then, he hadn’t known what the Coven was. They’d learned who he was when he’d fried the MRI—in his defense, he had told the doctor that he didn’t want to go in there. When he’d healed, the Coven had made themselves known. That had been the first time he’d been called before the board of three. It had been a different three witches then. The board of three drawn from the full board of thirteen. He’d made an effort to learn how the Coven operated and who the members were after the second time he’d got called in. That Landstrom had ended up on his last two boards was just unlucky.
Houses appeared, and Jude eased off the accelerator. The last thing he needed was a speeding ticket. He didn’t want to be here, and he didn’t want to fail. Bitterness rose in his throat. He was going to be spending his last few days with magic in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Not for the first time he wished he had some other magic. Something less lethal or easier to hide. If he could talk to animals, the Coven would probably have never realized he existed. His parents, whoever they were, hadn’t told anyone what he was. There’d been no warning note handed to his foster parents. No training guide for when weird things had started happening.
His phone came to life, directing him to the motel he’d booked. The pictures and reviews had been okay, better than the other option, and it was up the road from what had looked like the decent bar. The bar on the other side of town was the kind of place where he’d have to check for lice and hose off his shoes after stepping foot in there.
After two more turns, he pulled into the parking lot of the traditional U-shaped motel building. He took a moment to take some deep breaths before he got out. He could do this. He had to believe he could.
Find the creature, call the Coven, and he could be home within days. Then he’d pack up his apartment and go. Not even Landstrom would be able to check up on him from the other side of the world. The faster he did this the better.
He uncurled his fingers from the steering wheel and switched off his cell with barely a thought. Luck was on his side as it didn’t blink and die. The motel wasn’t that much different to the photos. It could do with some new paint and a gardener to trim the bushes that were no longer a neat hedge, not that he was a gardener by any stretch of the imagination.
He had a simple plan for tonight. Check in and then check out the bar—to listen to the local gossip about the cow mutilations, not to drink away his problems. Well, maybe a little drowning of his problems. But he knew from experience when he dried out, they’d be waiting for him like long-lost acquaintances he couldn’t get rid of. He wasn’t going to start creature hunting tonight. That was the kind of thing that should be started in daylight after a strong coffee.
He grinned, and while despair was lurking, he wasn’t going to entertain it. Sitting alone in his room would only give it permission to play, and he’d spent far too much time dwelling on what might happen in the car. He was here, and he had tonight, and tomorrow morning sorted.
Ten minutes later, he’d dropped his bag and pillow in the room—he always traveled with his own pillow—searched the crevices of the mattress for signs of life and was walking down the road to the bar. The bar had once been a shop, complete with gingerbread trimming. However, like most of what he’d walked past, it needed a fresh coat of paint and some repairs or burning to the ground and starting over.
A small rainbow flag was stuck in the window with a note about the next social event, which had happened last month. Overhead, the sign flickered, the short in the circuit an annoying hum that buzzed through his body like an itch he couldn’t scratch. In the time it took to draw breath, he harnessed the charge and sent it through the circuit, clearing the blockage so the electrons could flow freely through the light. The light glowed blue and bright above his head. Jude paused for a heartbeat, waiting for something to go catastrophically wrong and for sparks to fly. When nothing happened, he smiled and walked into the Whiskey Riot.
A few people turned to look at him. He knew immediately that he didn’t fit. There were a couple of men in suit pants with rolled-up shirt sleeves, but most of the men here got their hands dirty at work. The women were better dressed for the most part. There was a group of them from the chain store wearing black pants and shirts with the company logo on. They watched him with a little too much interest.
They were out of luck if they were hoping he’d buy them a drink.
He ordered a Dark and Stormy from the bar, knowing that there was probably no point in asking for his favorite spiced ginger beer or vanilla rum. He did request the rum they had on the top shelf, but only because he hadn’t drunk the cheap bottom-shelf rum since he’d been broke, which had been about two months ago. He took his drink to a corner table well away from everyone else, then pulled out his phone and pretended to be super busy—which he was as he needed to make a list of all possible creatures that could kill cows.
Five minutes on the Coven database revealed there were rather a lot of things that could eat cows. Things he didn’t want to believe existed.
***Mack watched the stranger get his drink and take a seat. It was pretty clear he was no local. Given that Mercy wasn’t a tourist destination, he was probably passing through.
Ned nudged him. “Do you think he took a wrong turn?”
Mack smiled and sipped his beer. “I don’t think he’s the replacement vet.”
The vet had seen a mutilated cow, crossed herself, and taken an urgent visit home according to some stories. Others said she’d become a victim herself. Mack chose to believe the former. He didn’t get caught up in gossip and he didn’t listen to superstitious chatter either.
However, since the mutilations, he was heading farther away from town to shift as he really didn’t need another farmer shooting at him. Old Mr. Riley really needed his glasses checked if he thought a brown bear matched the description of the creature given by Jake and Donny—not that Mack put much weight on what they’d described as they’d both been drinking. If house-sized dogs were stalking around Mercy, Mack would’ve noticed.
“I’ll flip you,” Ned said with a nudge that almost spilled Mack’s beer.
“What for?” But Mack already knew. If a stranger came into the bar, they flipped a coin to see who’d get to make an ass of themselves. Sometimes the stars aligned and one of them got lucky. If not, and a drought had settled in, they knew each other well enough to spend the night without expecting more.
Mischief flashed in Ned’s eyes. He wanted to know who the city boy was. Not really a boy. He was a young man with too-trendy blond hair and fancy pointy-toed boots sticking out from the bottom of his tight jeans.
Mack shook his head. “I don’t think you’ll be able to sell him a car.”
“It’s not his car I’m interested in.” Ned already had a coin out.
“You go.” He didn’t want to walk over and make polite talk.
“Don’t break tradition.” Ned tossed the coin up.
Mack watched it flip through the air, then he stuck out a hand and caught it. Keeping it covered, he put it on the back of his hand. In his gut he knew no matter what Ned picked Mack was going to have to go over. The man glanced in their direction as if he knew they’d been talking about him. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing to introduce himself. It was only a conversation, and he’d lost count of the number of times it had never gotten past a hello. Ned had more luck picking up than Mack had ever had.
The new guy wasn’t his type. He was too…too…something. Mack glanced over again and ignored the quickening of his pulse. “Your call.”
“Heads. Always heads.” Ned smirked.
Mack tried not to roll his eyes. The trouble with living in Mercy was he knew most people too well. He’d been friends with Ned for far too long. Mack lifted his hand.
“Jeez, Mack, you have all the luck.”
Yeah, luckiest guy in town. “Maybe you shouldn’t have flipped if you were that keen.”
“I saw you watching. Besides, I won the last two tosses and stayed out all night.” Ned took a long drink and didn’t seem too devastated. “You need this.”
Mack was about to argue, but he had been glancing at City Boy, and it had been more than a while. He checked out the newcomer again. He didn’t need a type to have one night of fun. And it might be fun to get him out of those ridiculous boots or at least have them locked around his hips.
City Boy looked up as if aware he was being watched. His gaze landed on Mack and lingered for a moment too long before his drink consumed all of his attention.
“He gave you a look.” Ned lifted his eyebrow.
“It wasn’t a look.” Had it been a look? “What makes you think he’s one of us?”
Ned grinned. “Because if he was straight, he’d have noticed the women checking him out and he hasn’t smiled at them once. If Alice stares at him any harder, her eyes will fall out.”
Mack didn’t need to glance at Alice to verify that. She was always searching for fresh meat. But Mack didn’t want to get up and stroll over either. He sucked at small talk and conversation. It was much easier to go to the city and to a bar where hooking up was expected and everyone wanted the same thing. That he could do. This was torture for him, and Ned knew it and delighted in Mack’s discomfort. Mack couldn’t remember the last time he’d been successful at this game, but he played anyway, because when Ned failed it was funny.
“Seems you’re all out of beer.” Ned snatched up Mack’s glass and drained it.
Next time he shifted he was going to leave a bear crap on Ned’s front steps. That was the secret lodged between their friendship, and why they were only friends. He couldn’t tell people what he was. There were rules, and some rules had to be obeyed. “Remind me again why we’re friends?”
“Because I’m an awesome guy who is honoring the coin flip for the next three minutes. After that…” Ned shrugged.
Mack considered letting those three minutes slip by, but City Boy lifted his head again.
Don’t look at me.
He stared straight at Mack. This time Mack caught his gaze and gave a small nod. He was almost sure his lips had attempted to smile even though he’d thought those muscles long broken.
“That was definitely a look, and it was all about you. What is it about you? It’s like they know about your long—”
“Legs.” He was over six foot. But unlike his father, he wasn’t hefty like he’d swallowed a dumpster for breakfast. He had his mother’s leanness. Being lean didn’t mean he lacked the strength of a bear, though. If people were watching him fix their cars, he had to remember to make things appear heavy.
“That’s what I was going to say.” Ned gave a low chuckle.
Mack shook his head and stood. “I need another beer.”
“I want details.”
Mack scratched his jaw and gave Ned a not-so-subtle middle finger.
He made his way to the bar, nodding to the people he knew. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he ordered his beer. He didn’t need to turn around to know he was being observed. He hated this bit. The awkward hello and the quiet working out what was going on. It didn’t have to go further. The coin flip was just to see who got first shot. It had been a stupid thing that had continued even after they were both old enough to know better. Now it was tradition.
He wiped his palms on his shirt front as casually as he could then thanked the bartender for his drink. He needed to turn around and make eye contact again. Get the man to invite him over to his table. Ned would’ve walked straight over and sat down, but Ned didn’t have secrets to hide like he did. He couldn’t let people too close, even Ned, in case they discovered shapeshifters were real and freaked out. He didn’t want to be run out of town by God-fearing locals with pitchforks.
The beer was cold and sharp, and he hadn’t planned on having a second one, but here he was. He hadn’t planned on picking up either. Yet here he was. Did he really want to do this?
Just be polite. It didn’t have to be more, but he was most definitely being watched by City Boy. If he turned now… Their gazes clashed, and there was no mistaking the interest this time. The blond-haired man smiled.
Mack tested out his rusty smile and hoped it wasn’t terrifying. It seemed to work because the other man wasn’t glancing away this time. His gaze slid down Mack’s body, no doubt taking it the oil-stained jeans and the not-so-white undershirt. He should’ve buttoned up his plaid shirt on his way over to the bar, so he seemed more presentable. The man’s gaze resettled on Mack’s face for a heartbeat before he finally looked away.
That was definitely interest.
Was he interested? Yeah, he might be. The man had a nice smile and eyes, and while his hair was over-styled and probably cemented in place, that wasn’t a grave sin. The man in question finished his drink and stood. Was he leaving? No, he was walking toward the bar.
Toward him.
The dark hairs on Mack’s forearm lifted. As the man got closer, Mack was sure he smelled ozone, sharp like before a storm. Was this man human or other? Then he kind of forgot to breathe because the man watched him with green eyes that could kill.
He was so very interested now.
His skin prickled, and his heartbeat was too fast to be safe. He wasn’t brave enough to pick up his beer just in case he spilled it. Lust had bitten and bitten deep. He needed to say something. The man placed his order, but Mack wasn’t about to pay for it. Not yet. He needed to be sure.
City Boy got his drink and turned to face him. He had to tilt his chin a little to hold Mack’s gaze. “Know anywhere around here that makes a decent coffee?”
He only had instant. That probably didn’t count as decent, and it was definitely too forward. “You could try Billie’s Diner. Or there’ are a couple of places in the mall.”
The man considered him for a moment. His stare was far too intense, as though he knew too much about Mack already. Mack had thought this guy to be all hair gel and brand names, but clearly he had a soul of steel. That only spiked his interest further. Men like him didn’t turn up at his local bar every day of the week. Or even once a month.
“Got business here? Or is this an unfortunate stop over?” Mack hoped he sounded more casual than he felt. One night with this man seemed like a very good idea right now. His jeans were starting to get tight in all the wrong places. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d needed so badly. Lust could be like the overwhelming urge to shift. It was all-consuming.
Turning into a bear right now would be a bad move. If he didn’t manage to take this guy home, he might take off into the hills to terrorize some wildlife and blow off some steam, or he could stay home and watch porn. Neither seemed like a good substitute.
“Got a few days here. I’m Jude.” He put out his hand.
It would be rude not to shake. Jude’s grip was firm, and Mack swore that something sparked between them. His palm tingled. “Mack, I run Mackenzie Auto Repairs.”
It was then he realized Jude hadn’t expanded on why he was here. No one came to Mercy for fun. “I’d offer to show you around town, but that would only take twenty minutes.”
“I’m staying here but checking out the ghost town. Know any tour guides?”
Mack’s eyebrows lifted before he could school his features. “Why would you go out there?”
“It’s a hobby of mine. I like to visit ghost towns.” As if realizing that Mack’s interest had dropped, Jude flashed that smile again. “Everyone has some weird interest.”
For a moment Mack wondered if Jude knew what his was. He shook off the feeling. No one knew he was a shifter or came from a long line of shifters that could trace their lineage back hundreds of years—his mother was big on genealogy while his father didn’t give a rat’s ass as history didn’t pay the bills. Mack agreed with his father.
“Not me. Camping is a pretty ordinary interest.”
He went alone and ran around as a bear for a few days. Totally ordinary. And the reason why he didn’t get too involved or too attached. Jude was attractive and passing through, and right now that was all that mattered.
