Miz Spelled Page 2

  “You’re nobody to give orders here, Hunter. You need to…”

  “Missouri Hess wears my mark.”

  Miz had had to resist touching her neck. There wasn’t a mark there. It itched sometimes, that was all.

  Hank had shrugged, indicating he could care less. But the others in the pack had cast speculative looks between the two men, Thomas had flashed fangs for a moment, and no one had bothered her since.

  Pack. More like some kind of frigging club. Miz snorted, remembering. She’d gone to school with half the people in the room and hadn’t suspected a thing about them being werewolves. The problem was, evidently not everyone in a family turned furry.

  The ones who did, pretty much fixed themselves. But their kin, now that was a problem. Regular doctors and hospitals cost money. Miz was considerably cheaper and her cures were a hell of a lot more permanent.

  Suddenly, people who’d never spoken to her before, carted their wretched, wounded, weak, broken members to her. Most of the time, her hands pulsed wicked heat, letting the patient walk away healed, leaving Miz sick and weak.

  After Thomas left Bitter Creek Holler, Miz half expected old enemies to descend. But nobody had messed with her. And, thanks to Thomas, her bank account looked pretty damned healthy these days, too.

  Unfortunately, money couldn’t ease her pain. Even now, the fulcrum of power—the magic that possessed her—fermented and grew until it threatened to devour her. Miz tried to ignore it and focused instead on Jenny.

  “You don’t have to spy, but are you?” Miz repeated, holding Jenny’s gaze. She watched as telltale red crept up Jenny’s neck to her cheeks. Evidently being a werewolf hadn’t stopped her human part from showing shame.

  The entire concept of men and women who could also become beasts astonished Miz. She’d lived in the midst of a werewolf pack her entire life and never known it. Her granny had built wards made of intricate spells and separated the Hess home from the encroaching woods.

  She’d said it was to keep out the animals. Granny hadn’t mentioned that half the people in Bitter Creek Holler spent part of their time in beast form. Now that Miz knew, she wondered how she’d ever not.

  After she’d healed Jenny last summer and watched her shift from beast to woman, Miz had recognized the pungent odor of wolf she’d often smelled. Now she understood that every shifter carried with them their own particular musky scent.

  Odd how she’d spent a lifetime with her senses muted and now couldn’t tune them out. Some might wonder how she’d been obtuse and unaware so long. She’d certainly had the mental discussion with herself often enough.

  I ignored others’ strange behavior and hoped others would ignore mine. Her answer was a parody of the Golden Rule. Being a truth-sayer and hedge witch who could heal with her touch, Miz had had plenty of moments of odd to hide.

  Then Thomas had visited Bitter Creek Holler and everything changed. The ache inside her intensified and she said abruptly, “Explain this whole mate thing to me.”

  Jenny made a wry face and sighed. “I wish I had firsthand information,” she admitted.

  “So why haven’t you mated?” Miz asked.

  “It has to be the right person. My wolf tolerates my human male friends but mating is more than that. It’s finding your other half. When I find my mate, my wolf will be—”

  “But how will you know if someone is your mate?” Miz interrupted Jenny impatiently. “Hank said I was his mate but I did something wrong and it ended.”

  “Hank’s full of shit,” Jenny said, shocking Miz with her criticism of the alpha werewolf. “When you’re mated there is no breaking the bond. I might never have been mated, but I know that.” Jenny’s fierce tone surprised a comment from Miz.

  “You don’t like Hank Wyatt very well, do you?”

  “I don’t have to like him. I have to obey him. He’s alpha.” Jenny’s flat answer left Miz shaking her head.

  “Find another alpha,” Miz suggested.

  “I’m not strong, like you,” Jenny said grimly. “Hank wouldn’t let me go even if I found the nerve to try and lone wolf it. Besides, I need the support of pack members. A pack has an alpha and ours is Hank.” She made a face as if swallowing bitter medicine.

  “Hank’s still getting reports from you about me, isn’t he?” Miz watched as Jenny’s expression changed to sad.

  “He wants to know the moment Thomas comes back.”

  Miz swallowed a gulp of hot coffee, feeling the burn all the way to her stomach. “He’s not coming back,” she told Jenny.

  “Did he say you’re his mate?”

  There was a time Miz would have spilled her guts, repeating every conversation she and Thomas had shared. Now she looked at Jenny, clamped her lips shut, and shrugged.

  “If he’s your mate, he won’t be able to stay away.” Jenny set a basket of towels on the counter and began to fold the laundry as they talked. “And if you’re mated, he’ll have to stay here. Hank will be crazy mad if Thomas moves into his territory.”

  “We’re not mated,” Miz assured her, depressed because she knew she was right. “But if we were, I’d leave Bitter Creek Holler and Hank Wyatt behind.”

  “Yeah, right,” Jenny said and smirked.

  “Whether I sell my half of the business or not, I plan to be out of here before the snow falls,” Miz said casually. Once winter hit the mountains, there’d be no moving until spring.

  “So what will you do? Set up your own shop?”

  “Look for work wherever I move,” Miz told her partner.

  “You can’t move—as in leave the house.” Jenny knew more than she should about the Hess gift that included being shackled to the house.

  “Well, as a matter of fact,” Miz drawled, “I can. You can report to Hank that I’ve family who can take over. I’m moving on.” She resisted the urge to say more. Jenny was still Miz’s partner but she’d proven she wasn’t to be trusted and given up the right to be her friend.

  “As soon as I find someone interested in owning half of a massage parlor catering to weird, shapeshifting mountaineers and senior citizens, I’m selling.” Miz retreated to her cubicle to wait for her first client and left Jenny folding towels and wearing a horrified expression.

  Chapter Three

  Miz’s heart lay heavy in her chest as though she’d contracted a disease she couldn’t heal. But she knew the venom she carried inside consisted of disappointment, hurt and betrayal and she had no talent for soul mending.

  She thought her head might explode. The whole damned summer had been out of kilter with Thomas pretending to be a fisherman renting Shep’s cabin. He was actually a Special Forces operative on assignment. He’d wormed his way into her life, offering her comfort and friendship, not to mention claims of mating.

  Dammit, I’m such a dummy. He’d no sooner had her believing he’d stay, than he’d left.

  Thomas Hunter had gotten under her skin. It wasn’t happening again. She reminded herself that Hess women were strong and independent. They didn’t need forever from a man. If the shifty bastard ever came back, her wards would be up and she wouldn’t let him in.

  She repeated that vow so often she almost believed it. It was Friday, the beginning of the weekend and she was determined to forget Thomas.

  “Maybe I’ll stop some place for a beer.” Alcohol lowered her control, heated her insides, and trouble usually followed not far behind.

  Not a good idea, Miz. You’re ready to jump out of your skin right now. Regretfully, she turned for home. It was more than excess power that had her tingling, though. Change was in the air. It might just be the heavy weight of magic this time of year, but she didn’t think so.

  Impatient to discover what spirits might be stirring in her universe, as soon as she entered the house, she filled a black clay bowl with clear water. As if her subconscious had been waiting, immediately she was caught in a divination. Her breathing slowed, her vision altered and the clear liquid she stared into became cloudy, forming shapes
she recognized without knowing how.

  Scrying was dangerous. If she stumbled into a needy soul on the metaphysical plane, her gift of healing could kick in, impelling Miz toward the victim regardless of his or her location.

  Closing her eyes, Miz pictured her toes and mentally began unfolding a shield, drawing it up her frame until it covered all flesh and hair. When she once again gazed into the bowl, she stood in an aura of protective brilliance.

  Show me what is

  What needs to be

  What I am in this trilogy…

  Surrendering control, Miz sent her inner being for a walk in the spirit world. She’d hoped for a glimpse of Thomas. But it was the familiar face of a Bitter Creek resident she saw. He’d dressed his muscular frame in a plaid shirt, old jeans and scuffed boots. His shaggy blond hair made him look country with a capital “C”. But she knew better.

  Shep Buchanan reached toward her and mouthed the words, Help me.

  Help him? Miz had no idea how. Her hands remained quiet and she had no urge to leap to her neighbor’s aid.

  Like Miz, Shep had been born and raised in Bitter Creek Holler. Unlike Miz, he was rich. Owning his own aircraft let him slip in and out without most people keeping track of him. When he did make an appearance, he spent more on his weekend parties than most of the locals made in a year. She didn’t know how old he was. There had been stories making the rounds about him most of her life; Granny Hess hadn’t had much to say, but she’d kept the wards tight between Hess and Buchanan land.

  The hair at her nape stirred when she remembered the blood red weed growing in Shep’s yard and creeping toward the woods.

  She went to bed. Even if she hadn’t been restless, the house creaked and moaned, thumped and rolled, until Miz finally surrendered.

  At four in the morning, she gave up and peered out the window. Though the moon was waxing strong, it was clouded over. Stepping outside, Miz gazed at Shep’s cabin. It was dark, showing no indication of life.

  Clouds parted and the moon’s glow spotlighted her neighbor’s yard. Feeling the same uncanny pull of magic she’d experienced the morning before, Miz studied the earlier scarlet stain.

  Whatever virulent strain of botanical poison infecting the grass, had already sucked the life from Shep’s yard and spread down the slope to the woods.

  Miz frowned at the trees edging Shep’s land. They almost appeared as if they’d been felled; a closer look revealed that they all leaned toward her house, as if begging for help.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake.” The moon traveled along the path leading to her land, showing her all the trees silently beseeching her. “I draw the line at this. I am not a weed whisperer, a tree doctor, or a yard healer.”

  But disease of any kind that spread that fast was worrisome. At least she needed to find out what was causing the creeping red. There were government extension agents in town. She’d let them find out what was wrong. Then maybe they’d quarantine Shep’s yard and he’d send one of his trusty trouble shooters to look in to it.

  Miz indulged her dream for a moment and pictured snubbing Thomas if he ever returned.

  Yeah, right. You wish… “You’re pathetic. He’s not coming back.” Wide awake and with nothing better to do than daydream about the long gone, Miz dressed, prepared for a rescue. She figured if she collected some soil samples and a clump of the scarlet weed infecting Shep’s yard, she might save a tree or two.

  As Miz rode her Harley through the woods and up the slope to Buchanan’s diseased yard, the moon maintained a steady light aiding her investigation. Long before she arrived, Miz knew something was wickedly wrong by the stench of rot coming from Shep’s place. The putrid smell of death permeated the air where she stood at the foot of his yard.

  “Geez, Buchanan. Did you bury a body or two here?” Glad that she’d worn her gloves, she dug and bagged a square of dirt that held a sample of brittle grass smothered by the red weed.

  Before she put it in her saddlebags, she double layered the baggie holding Shep’s polluted mess, wrapped the package in aluminum foil, slid it into a plastic container, and slapped a label on it. Once home, she fill in the label with the time, date, manner of collection, and her reason for concern.

  Having delayed the tree healing as long as she could, she rolled up her sleeves, took off her gloves and got to work. Night had passed dawn and changed to morning by the time she’d healed all the trees. Whatever the scourge turned out to be, it was definitely coming from Buchanan’s property, with the line of trees closest to his yard being the sickest.

  As soon as she finished, she rode home, wrote on the lid of her sample container, wishing she had a lead lined box to store it in. Just touching the wrapped and bagged package made her skin crawl.

  She couldn’t take the bagged soil sample to the Agriculture Service to be analyzed until Monday, and she didn’t want to carry it around either. She compromised and left the package in the corner of the new shed.

  Finished, she showered, scrubbing every inch of skin, before she rinsed, dried, and redressed, not bothering to return to bed. Though it was the weekend, she drove to her shop. Still caught up in the feel of filth and rot, she spent the day cleaning.

  By noon, the clouds from the night before had developed into a storm. In the past, she would have stayed the night with Jenny. Without that option, the truth was, she didn’t have anywhere to go but home.

  Not wanting to hole-up in the shop until the rain ended, she settled in for a wet ride over the mountain.

  Chapter Four

  Because Thomas Hunter didn’t know who in DC he could trust, he trusted no one and delayed leaving Shep Buchanan’s room until the early hours of morning. Other than the two guards outside the door, nothing stirred.

  “I’m going to get some sleep. Send for me if he wakes.” Deliberately, he yawned, pretending that he was going back to the hotel to crash. He didn’t have to fake exhaustion. He’d been with Shep around the clock for over a week.

  As soon as he collected his vehicle from the parking area, instead of returning to the hotel, Thomas drove straight out of town. Traveling faster than the speed limit allowed, he hurried on his way back to Miz.

  His beast, always a restless predator, had become enraged at the separation from the woman he’d marked. Thomas gave up trying to quell his cat when it became obvious that Miz was necessary to both sides of his nature.

  The jaguar’s plan was simple. Return to DC with the mate. As they neared the mountains, the beast calmed, loosening his grip on Thomas’s will.

  And just like that, Thomas was back in control and his own anxiety spiked. The animal hadn’t wanted to leave Miz in the first place; neither had Thomas. But Shep Buchanan had called him back to the Special Forces unit and he’d obeyed.

  The proposed short trip had turned into a nightmare, making it impossible to return to Miz without pulling her into danger. But the cat’s restless prowling had increased until Thomas was convinced he might shift in the city and go wild.

  Thomas couldn’t stay in Bitter Creek Holler to protect Miz, so she’d have to return to DC with him. He had no illusions about the difficulty of parting his lover from her mountain stronghold. It wasn’t going to be an easy sell.

  He rehearsed his words during the seven-hour trip. As the miles between them steadily decreased, Thomas felt his desperation increase. His mind filled with doubts and what-ifs. What if Miz refused to return with him?

  She has to. We need her, the beast roared. Any control he might have exercised over his cat, rapidly unraveled, swamping Thomas with all the emotions he’d struggled to suppress in order to do his job.

  What if she refused to be his mate? The jaguar snorted. She is the mate.

  “It’s not me you have to convince, Sunny,” Thomas answered in a Miz drawl, mocking his beast with his feline nickname.

  Miz made no secret about her aversion to animals, both big and small. Considering that fact, Sunny’s state of being besotted with her, seemed even more ridiculous.<
br />
  On the other hand, in spite of her so called dislike, when Thomas was in beast form, she spent a lot of time brushing and grooming the big cat.

  Thomas groaned, remembering how it felt when she stroked and caressed his body. She was a masseuse by training but her hands were infused with healing power as they soothed tense muscles.

  Miz claimed the mountains were blanketed in magic and Thomas believed her. Mist eerily shrouded the landscape. The air, itself, seemed strangely exotic as he followed the interstate from the Appalachians in Virginia and into West Virginia.

  He passed huge tracts of timber as the road wound its way through the silent foothills toward the higher elevations. His beast loved the surrounding wilderness but Thomas would have liked it better without the bugs.

  It was a fact that gnats, midges, mosquitoes, and horse flies thrived on the heavy, sweet blood of a shifter. Thomas shuddered, hoping it was late enough in the year for frost to have killed all the flying blood suckers.

  He rubbed gritty eyes, peering from a face more jaguar than man. The narrow road made it difficult enough to drive, but after Thomas fishtailed twice and subsequently rode the brake, slowing down to accommodate a series of curves, Sunny suddenly grabbed control of his mind.

  From that point on, they ignored the speed limit and careened wildly toward Bitter Creek Holler. Thomas just hoped he wouldn’t get pulled over. He couldn’t count on his cat not having a country cop for breakfast.

  He heaved a sigh of relief when they finally arrived at Shep Buchanan’s cabin. He’d debated driving straight to Miz’s house, but in case someone had followed him, he changed his mind.

  There were two connections between the Hess and Buchanan land—the road winding around the isolated community and the wooded valley in between. By road, the properties were miles apart. By tree, not so far.

  Fighting the shift until he could get naked, Thomas climbed from the car and frowned. During the summer, the country air had been invigorating, a heady mix of nature’s perfumes, spiced with the musky aroma of fertility. Now, the stench of rot and decay surrounded him.