The Witch's Quest. Michele Hauf
forest that day four months earlier. And he was no man to put the blame on anyone else.
“Fine. I can do that. I mean, I want to do that,” she said. “But please have patience with me because it’s much easier to say than to do.”
“I get that.”
“I like you, Kelyn. You’re a good guy. Faery. How are you without your wings? I need to know.”
“I’m the same as ever. Except I can’t fly, can’t shift to small shape and I’ve the strength of a regular human man now. Otherwise? Peachy.”
She began to frown, but he put up an admonishing finger. “Forward. For both of us. Okay?” He offered a hand for her to shake.
Valor shook it. “Deal. You call your brother. Let’s go kick some werewolf ass.”
“I’m cool with that—what?”
The rhythmic hum of the vacuum alerted Kelyn to the robotic disk that glided toward the kitchen. And on the back of the thing sat a plush gray cat. It cast a golden gaze up at Kelyn as it rode by, calm and regal upon its modern-day carriage.
Kelyn tugged up his leg in a protective move. “Seriously?”
“That’s Mooshi,” Valor said. “I told you the cat does the cleaning. He can ride that thing through the whole place. What’s wrong? You don’t like cats?”
“They’re not my favorite critters.” Kelyn again caught the cat’s eye, but he read its expression as more of an I’m-bored-what-else-is-there-to-do? look than anything else. “Mooshi, master and commander of the hardwood seas. Who’da thought?”
* * *
Valor had suggested Kelyn first ask his brothers Trouble and Stryke if either wanted to donate a claw, but realized the error of her ways when the faery cast her a horrified gape. Right. That would be like cutting off a man’s fingernail. But really? It was for a good cause. What was one fingernail when compared to a man’s reason for existence?
So, instead, they decided to track down the werewolf Borse Magnuson, who was known as an all-around asshole and resident idiot. A few years ago he’d been involved in blood games, pitting starving vampires against one another in death matches. Creed Saint-Pierre, Kelyn’s grandfather, had put an end to most of those illegal gaming dens. Now, lately, Borse had been trying to establish territory on Trouble’s property to the north of Tangle Lake.
So their path led them to the oldest Saint-Pierre brother. And everything Valor read in Kelyn’s body language as he neared his brother told her they were not right. She and Trouble, that was. Trouble told them to stop by the local gym and he met them as he was exiting the building. He wandered over to his monster Ford truck, painted in olive camo and sporting silver wolves on the mud flaps.
Valor went to bump fists with Trouble, but the man didn’t oblige her. Right. Not speaking to her since Kelyn’s wings had been taken. She caught Kelyn’s tightened expression. What? Did the guy think she’d gotten it on with his brother? And why did that matter to him? Oh.
Assuming a casual stance, Valor grabbed her thick hair and, corralling it into a ponytail, swished it over her shoulder as a distraction from what she felt was a blush riding up her neck. Did Kelyn have some kind of thing for her? He’d mentioned as much in the Darkwood that dreadful night. He couldn’t possibly. She was the witch who had changed his life for the worse.
And yet. There was something she had missed. And why hadn’t she realized that until right now?
Bad attraction vibes, girl. So terrible at picking up on that one.
“You two are after Borse?” Trouble smacked a fist into his palm. “I want in.”
“Trouble, this isn’t a matter with which we need help. I just need some info on the guy. Weaknesses. Flaws. Favorite drinking holes.”
“Wait, Kelyn.” Much as she didn’t want to pit brother against brother, Valor felt having a werewolf in the mix could help. And with Kelyn’s strength waning? “Did you tell him why we’re working together?”
Kelyn crossed his arms, lifting his chin defiantly. When he went all serious, two frown lines appeared between his eyebrows.
No, he hadn’t told his brother anything. And what kind of tension was she picking up on now? Yes, there was definitely something she had missed between herself and Kelyn.
“Can I tell him?” she asked carefully.
“Why the hell are you two even standing alongside each other?” Trouble asked. “I thought you never wanted to see her again.”
“Those are words you put into my mouth, Trouble. I hold nothing against Valor.”
“She was responsible for you losing your wings, man.”
“It was my choice.”
“I’m helping him to get his wings back.” Valor rushed in before Trouble’s bouncy stance turned into a one-two punch to the mean witch who had hurt his brother. The man had a tendency to react quickly and only ask the important questions after the pain had been delivered. “I have a spell that will open a portal into Faery. We need a few items for that spell. The first being a werewolf claw.”
Kelyn’s admonishing tilt of head was expected, but she couldn’t worry about pissing off the faery any more than she already had done.
Trouble slammed his fists to his hips. “You trust her?”
“I do. And I suspect Borse will be perfectly fine with one less claw.”
“You got that right. But you’ll have to take it when he’s shifted. He’ll tear you apart, brother.”
“Thanks for that vote of confidence.”
“No, seriously, Kelyn. I know you are the toughest and strongest of the Saint-Pierre boys. Or at least you were until...her.”
Valor caught the werewolf’s accusatory look, but she set back her shoulders and held her head high.
“You need help,” Trouble said. “And if the witch can get back your wings, I’m all in for ripping Borse’s claws out.”
“We only need one,” Valor reminded the guy, who, she had no doubt, would take off all ten of the werewolf’s claws if given the opportunity. “Kelyn and I learned he’s going out on the hunt tonight.”
“Then we are, too,” Trouble said. “But no witches allowed. This is a man’s job.”
“She’s got magic,” Kelyn said. “She’s coming along.”
* * *
They tracked Borse to the dive bar at the edge of Tangle Lake. It was a favorite watering hole for the Saint-Pierre brothers. The bartender knew Kelyn was always the designated driver and served him iced lemonade with a nod and a wink. Half a dozen humans lingered at the bar, a pair of them discussing the latest Twins game.
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