Rafe's Forbidden Human

Chapter 1

The magnificent wolf leapt into the air, his paws gripping the bloodied rug as he slid behind the crimson velvet sofa and studied what remained of the disheveled room.

Rafe had heard the arguing through the walls, the screaming coming from somewhere else within the unfamiliar house.

His pulse raced, the deafening silence teasing him, leaving him confused as to where he was, what he’d heard. Had he been hallucinating? Where am I?

His mind churned with never-ending possibilities, struggling to recall the events of the past that led to his predicament.

The last thing he remembered was killing Kellan in a fight on Mount Aso.

In an instant, he’d been torn from one reality and tossed into another without context or consent.

But as he focused, listening to their voices, he recognized the same cast of characters who apparently were up to their usual mischief. Greyson. Viktor. Ilsbeth.

Viktor, an ancient vampire, and Ilsbeth, a morally grey High Priestess, had once saved his life after he’d been attacked.

In the process, he’d been turned into a hybrid creature.

His only sense of pack had come from Julian, another wolf, someone he’d come to call his friend and Alpha.

Yet as hybrid, both wolf and vampire, Rafe still struggled to adjust to his new existence, the unbearable thirst for blood remaining a reality.

“It’s settled. I’ve given you a chance to care for the hybrid.

Once again, you’ve allowed him to risk his life for others,” Rafe heard the High Priestess chastise Viktor and Greyson.

“The prophecy must be protected. We must keep Rafe safe until he is ready to fulfil his destiny. You asked me to save him. You knew the consequence.”

Prophecy? Rafe released a slow growl recalling how the three ancient paranormals had conspired to remove him from a dangerous conflict once again, keeping him in the dark, never revealing the truth.

The scent of lavender drifted into the room breaking his contemplation. Immediately the familiar magick prickled over his fur. He sniffed, detecting the blood of the most dangerous woman he’d ever known in his life. The former High Priestess of New Orleans: Ilsbeth.

Rafe’s eyes locked on hers as the witch came into view.

Light radiated around Ilsbeth, her powerful magick snapping like a bullwhip in the air.

Her ethereal aura wavered as Ilsbeth morphed into a flickering apparition.

Rafe’s stomach tightened as she shot him a sly smile and laughed.

Don’t trust her, his instincts warned. The display served to remind him of her power, who she really was. A Big Bad Witch.

The room began to transmute, growing blurry.

His stomach turned nauseous. He shifted to his human form, and reached for the sofa, bracing himself for whatever the diabolical witch conjured.

Rafe sucked a breath, attempting to adjust to the powerful energy only an ancient could wield.

The sofa disappeared beneath his grip, and he fought for his balance.

Bright lights flashed as he materialized into a lush summer garden.

Sun kissed his skin, immediately warming him.

Aware of his nudity, he reached to cover his groin, but his fingers brushed over black pajama bottoms.

“Rafe, darling. Are you feeling rested? Quite a display you put on back in Japan. Kellan truly had it coming. But I couldn’t leave you there after all I’ve done.

Too dangerous.” Ilsbeth casually spoke to him as she pruned.

Wearing hot pink pedal pusher pants and a white linen shirt, Ilsbeth tugged on a pair of long white garden gloves.

She reached for a wicker basket and retrieved a pair of gold clippers.

With a swift snip to a thorny stem, she decapitated a withered flower.

“What do you want, witch?”

Focused on her task, Ilsbeth ignored his question. She clipped a fresh rose and placed it in her basket.

“Ilsbeth, what’s with all the games? I’m grateful you saved me, but I don’t know how to put this any other way. I’ve had enough of this shit.”

Exasperated, Rafe sized up the petite powerhouse. In any other world, he’d bet on his lightning speed to escape the witch, but he’d learned to never underestimate Ilsbeth. Patience was a virtue he’d been short on lately, but he’d learned enough not to act without fully analyzing a situation.

He attempted a gentler approach. “Ilsbeth. What are we doing here?”

Ilsbeth smiled but didn’t look at him, continuing to prune her flowers. She closed her eyes and sniffed the air followed by an audible sigh. “Roses are my favorite. Aromatic.”

She reached for a dying rosebud and slid her finger over its petals, watching intently as they fluttered off its stem. “Soft.” Ilsbeth leaned into a newly opened bud and took a deep breath.

“But—” She turned to the next bush. With a swift snip, another bud fell to the earth.

“They are not what they appear. People always assume that roses are a weak flower when nothing could be further from the truth. If ignored, they will often survive. They grow razor sharp thorns to protect them from predators. You see, even the most innocent of handlers can be deceived. Ah yes, these beauties with their buttery petals feel so soft to the touch. But if you attempt to break them, rip them from their stems, the thorns often win, causing you to bleed. But if you take the proper precautions, if you treat them with care, handle them correctly—” She pinched a stem, avoiding its spiny thorns, and with a swift snip of the clippers, a white rose dropped into her basket.

“The rose itself is not to blame for any blood. The thorns are there to protect it as it grows. Nature designed it to bring pleasure. And if you tend to the rose, see to its needs, feed it, care for it? The bush will reward you. You’ll collect many gorgeous bouquets over the length of time. ”

Rafe shook his head as a table and chairs materialized before his eyes. He glanced to Ilsbeth who set her basket onto the grass and proceeded to remove her gloves.

“Please sit.” She gestured to the table.

“But I don’t want to—”

“It was not a request, my dear wolf.” Ilsbeth turned to him and pinned him with a stare. “Please sit.”

Rafe looked back to the table and sighed in acceptance. Though he wasn’t convinced she’d truly hurt him, testing fate didn’t seem wise given his circumstances.

Over the years he’d heard the rumors of the all-powerful high priestess of New Orleans.

While he and Viktor had made jest of the situation at times, and Rafe referred to her as his mother, there was never a question in his mind about their actual relationship.

Both he and the vampire treated her like the thorned roses…

with caution. Viktor’s relationship with the witch had been transactional.

And as far as he could tell, she still owed him a few favors.

She was a dangerous creature. Though her wings had once been clipped due to a stint in Hell, it was clear from his brief interactions with her, her magick had grown exponentially in the past year.

Radiating strength, she moved with confidence.

In that moment, Rafe wondered exactly how powerful she’d become.

“I won’t ask how you just did this.” Rafe slid into a seat, his stomach grumbling.

“Have something to eat. My new cook, Becky, is amazing. I don’t know how she does it, but her tea sandwiches are to die for. Truly.”

Rafe glanced at the plethora of food before him, deliberating what was really inside the sandwiches. He eyed her with caution considering there was a decent chance she’d turn him into a cat if he crossed her.

“Seriously? Eat. You need your strength.” Ilsbeth gestured to the table as if she’d read his mind and raised an eyebrow at him. “If I was going to poison you, you’d already be dead.”

“Thank you for that. I’m sure Viktor would appreciate you not killing me. After all, he did go through all that trouble to save me. As did you.” Rafe shot her a sly smile, his eyes locked on hers.

There was no mistaking the high priestess’s power. Like her roses, she appeared beautiful, but he was careful not to get pricked by her thorns.

His stomach growled again and he chose to avoid conflict. He reached for a sandwich, bit into it and moaned, the delicious bite melting in his mouth.

“Very well. So then. I think we have things to discuss.” Ilsbeth set to pouring tea and continued. “Viktor has been far too reckless with your life. Yes, yes, I know he saved you but he’s too busy now with his bonded woman. This thing with Julian? Ugh what a mess.”

“But—” Rafe reached for his tea.

“Do not argue with me on this. I know what happened in Japan. Ripped the fae’s head right off.”

Rafe shrugged. “He had it coming.”

“You’ve been running around the world, putting yourself in danger. I don’t like it one bit. You’ve had your time with the vampire. The Alpha too. Meanwhile, they ignore my talents. Your mother is the High Priestess.”

“It’s not really about you though. Sure. You gave me the extra shot of blood I needed, but it’s Viktor who’s responsible.”

“And how do you feel about that?” Ilsbeth held her teacup in her delicate hands and raised it to her pursed lips.

“Feel about what?” A shiver ran through Rafe as the vampire in him reminded him of the hunger, a craving for blood twisting through his gut. Vampire.

“You can’t hide it from me.”

“There’s nothing to hide. I am what I am.”

“You are wolf, are you not?”

His jaw tightened at the question. I never asked to be vampire. Rafe sighed and looked up from his plate to stare at her.

“Cat got your tongue?” Ilsbeth raised an eyebrow at him.

“What’s with the games?” Rafe shook his head.

“I know quite a bit about wolves.” Ilsbeth sipped her tea, her smile faded. “And before you interrupt me, it’s no secret about what I did to Dimitri. Or where I’ve been.”