Chapter Seventeen
Pulling her garden snips to her chest, Emberlyn sighed at Lucie. ‘If you don’t want me to accidentally cut off your ear, you need to give me a little space.’
The cat was either bored or in the mood to be a diva, because she’d been a menace for the past hour – batting at the fairy lights, scratching the fence, taking swipes at the gardening basket, climbing the floral arch, sharpening her claws on Emberlyn’s ankle rubber boots and trampling over plants as she chased a lizard through the yard.
Lucie flicked up her tail, its tip twitching, and flounced off to sniff at a herb.
‘Thank you.’ Snicks sounded as Emberlyn went back to gardening. She’d spent the past hour pruning back herbs, removing leaves, flowers and parts of stems.
It was a warm April day, but not hot. It was cooler here beneath the shadow of a hawthorn tree. Still, her hands were sweating inside her thick gardening gloves.
If it wasn’t for Lucie’s antics, it would have been a relaxing way for Emberlyn to spend her Sunday morning.
It was relatively quiet here. Birds chirped.
Slight dings came from the wind chimes. The breeze made the grass shush and the leaves rustle.
The faint buzzing of a bee came from somewhere behind her.
There were so many scents – spicy herbs, warm earth, mint leaves, ripe berries and fragrant flowers – and all were comforting in their familiarity.
Often she’d gardened here as a child. With her help, Millicent had kept the yard well tended – weed free, plants well shaped, flowers color coded.
Emberlyn didn’t plan to stay out here too long. She intended to pay Paisley another visit. On Wednesday, Crew had put her friend through the Change. But as Paisley hadn’t been fit to see anyone until yesterday, Emberlyn had had to keep her distance.
Delighted with her new situation, Paisley had been her usual self. But she tired quickly, which was normal for a newbie werewolf. She’d be fine after a week or so.
Unfortunately for Paisley, the witch side of her family hadn’t yet ‘come round’. They’d stayed away in silent protest. Which was dumb, really, because there was nothing to be done about the situation now. The Change couldn’t be reversed.
Emberlyn hadn’t been entirely surprised on hearing that some coven members – mostly Tyra and Sera – blamed her for Paisley’s decision, saying her friend would not have done it if Emberlyn hadn’t been allied with Ripper. As if Paisley wanting to be a werewolf had come out of nowhere.
Still, no one had said as much to Emberlyn’s face. In fact, almost the entire coven had stayed clear of her. They were focused on Reena’s new plans – she was going to have Carver’s construction company convert two whole streets of houses at Bellcrest into bigger and more luxurious homes.
It was a good solution, really. Now Carver would still have a project to work on and Reena could still provide brand spanking new homes to the people she’d promised.
Ripper hadn’t heard a whisper out of Carver – or the coven, either.
Likewise, he hadn’t had to deal with problems from CeCe.
She was keeping a low profile, not upset by the rumor that he and Emberlyn were sleeping together.
According to gossipers, CeCe didn’t believe it was true.
In her view, Ripper had only scent-marked Emberlyn to make CeCe jealous, giving her a taste of her own medicine.
‘He would never get involved with a witch,’ she allegedly insisted to anyone who dared insinuate that she could be wrong.
Well, she was wrong.
Each evening, either Emberlyn would go to Ripper’s house or he would go to hers. They’d eat, talk, fuck, talk a little more and then part ways.
It was . . . nice. Easy. Uncomplicated. And rather thrilling, since it seemed that he’d been blessed by sex gods or something.
Whenever his scent-mark became too faint for his liking, he would renew it. And she’d return the favor just to keep things even.
As Paisley had predicted, Michael’s parents didn’t seem to like that Emberlyn and Ripper were sharing a metaphorical bed.
They hadn’t said as much to her, but their recent smiles were forced and their tone was flat whenever they greeted her in passing, making their disapproval obvious. She’d so far ignored it.
A soft breeze whispered over her and stirred the plants, making the leaves flutter and the stalks bend slightly. Thirsty, she eyed the glass she’d propped on the nearby bench after Lucie had almost knocked it over.
Emberlyn pushed to her feet, her stiff knees protesting slightly, and tugged off a stiff glove. Crossing to the bench, she wiped her sweaty hand on her tank-green jumpsuit and picked up the glass. Tart and cool, the lemonade went down nicely.
Noticing that Lucie was sitting on the fence with her back to her, Emberlyn asked, ‘What are you looking at, kitty?’ She wafted at a floating ball of dandelion fluff as she strained to spot what had caught the feline’s attention.
It was only then that Emberlyn realized an eerie hush had fallen. No birds tweeting, no bees buzzing. Even the breeze seemed to have retreated.
Unease crawling up her spine, she set the glass back down on the bench.
A low droning growl of warning came from Lucie.
Emberlyn yanked off her other glove just in case she’d need to call on her magick. It could be that one of Ripper’s wolves had accidentally strayed too far, or that someone was knowingly poking around and spying on her. If it was the latter, they were going to get a magickal bitch slap.
‘Not sure who’s out there,’ Emberlyn called out, her voice hard, ‘but I have no problem burying you in my little pet cemetery if you don’t get the hell off my land.’
Growling again, Lucie stood on all fours, her hackles rising.
Emberlyn tossed her gloves on the ground and approached the cat, scanning the shadowy wooded terrain beyond.
And then she saw them.
A pair of yellow wolf eyes.
Emberlyn felt her lips part. It was very rare for one of the Rabid to be seen during the day. They usually didn’t surface until around dusk but, yeah, that was a Rabid.
Another growl rang out, and this one didn’t come from Lucie.
Fuck. Before the cat could do anything ballsy but dumb like rush at the Rabid, Emberlyn scooped her up. Her pulse thudding, she slowly backed away. Very slowly, not wanting to trigger its prey drive.
If she ran, it would charge. And, much faster than she could ever be, it might well reach her before she could get within the manor’s protective barrier.
Emberlyn kept on inching back, not once moving her attention from the figure creeping through the labyrinth of trees. It moved forward each time she moved back, stalking her.
Lucie let out yet another droning growl.
The Rabid snarled, its eyes seeming aglow with bloodlust, and then it rushed out of the trees.
‘Shit.’ Emberlyn slammed up her palm and threw out a mound of glittering magick that rapidly shifted into moths. They surrounded the Rabid – flapping at its face, obscuring its vision, distracting it. As it skidded to a stop, she whirled and ran for the house.
A roar split the air. Then heavy footsteps were tromping, branches were snapping and grass was rustling.
Even as she ran, Emberlyn twisted enough to sling a rush of magick at the Rabid just as it cleared her fence. Her blow dealt it an uppercut that made it stumble, its head snapping back.
She kept running, finally arriving at the porch. She jogged up the steps and spun, panting.
The Rabid sprinted toward her, teeth bared. It rammed into the manor’s defensive barrier and flew backward. It crashed into a tree so hard a hanging lantern tumbled off a branch and fell on its head.
Emberlyn dashed into the house, closed the door and lowered Lucie to the floor. She hurried to the kitchen, lifted the phone receiver and dialed the Watchers’ office.
‘Hello?’ a male answered almost immediately.
She thought the voice belonged to one of Ripper’s wolves but wasn’t sure. ‘This is Emberlyn Vautier calling from Black Willow Manor. One of the Rabid is in my backyard.’
A curse drifted down the line just before she hung up.
She darted back onto the porch, closing the door behind her to stop Lucie from getting outside.
Emberlyn needed to put the Rabid asleep before it chose to run off.
Although . . . it didn’t look as though it had any intention of going anywhere.
It was bashing at the barrier it couldn’t see, jerking backward at each ‘blow’ the magick dealt it.
She frowned, thrown. The Rabid were animalistic and savage, but they weren’t stupid. Their survival instincts were sharp. Like any predator, if their prey proved to be too much trouble they generally moved on. Only on a full moon would they behave senselessly.
This wasn’t a full moon. It wasn’t even nighttime. It was late morning, the sun was shining . . . and, where usually there’d be an animal cunning in a Rabid’s gaze, there was a strange sort of glaze. Her nape prickled in suspicion.
Chanting, Emberlyn lifted both hands and sent out ribbons of magick. The Rabid made no attempt to dodge them, which was equally strange. The glittering motes rushed up its nostrils. The Rabid snorted and jerked back. It shook its head fast, blinking hard.
She kept chanting, the creature firmly in her magickal ‘hold’ now.
Its eyelids grew droopy, its body began to sway and it staggered like a drunk. With a weak snarl, it lost the fight and succumbed to the sleeping spell – falling flat on its back, out cold.
Emberlyn released a long, relieved breath. She descended the steps and cautiously approached the Rabid. Its muscular chest steadily rose and fell, every rough exhale seeming to chafe its throat.
She examined it for scars but only spotted two – neither of which made her think of any werewolf who’d turned Rabid. Eager to confirm her earlier suspicion, she waved a hand over its body – dripping seeking magick over it, making what was hidden come to the light.