Entwined Secrets (11 page)

“So how’s Ms. Harridan?” I ask, trying to deflect the subject away from me.

“Still no idea about her true nature, but Trixie is well in hand,” Candice says. “So long as we keep reinforcing the ward against Felix. She’ll come into her own soon. Her two male companions will see to that. That girl can store up sexual energy like nobody’s business.”

“And Kumi?” I ask.

“She’s keeping an eye on Trixie from all the usual vantage points,” Saffron says.

“Ahem,” Candice breaks in. “Don’t think I can’t tell how evasive you’re being, young lady. Who is this energetic boy, exactly? Perhaps Kumi should be sent down there to watch over you instead?”

“I’m fine! Honest!” I chuckle, trying to sound lighthearted. “Your little Jess has everything under control. Promise.”

Mason begins to stir just then. Which is unprecedented. No man recovers that fast. I guess you can’t keep a good wolf down.

“Got to run, ladies. He’s about to wake up.”

“What? Already?” Saffron says, genuinely surprised.

“There’s no way a mortal man can wake up that quickly!” Candice exclaims.

“Gotta go! Talk soon!”

I turn the phone off and slide it across the floor and under the refrigerator before Mason opens his eyes. He looks up at me groggily and smiles. The way he always does when he wakes up.

“Hello, dunderhead. I think the venison might be a little overcooked,” I tell him.

Mason thinks about what I’m saying for a moment. He’s still groggy, and it takes him a moment to process my words. Then he thinks back to everything that happened.

That’s when his eyes bolt open with the memory of recent events. It must come flooding back to him, as he sits up and grabs both of my arms at the same time.

“Jess, did I…” He looks at my body. “Did I hurt you? Are you all right?”

“Never better. No, that’s not accurate. Better than normal.
So much better
.”

I’m being cheeky on purpose. Mason takes a moment to give me a thorough once-over. Checking my arms and legs.

“But I… I could have sworn my cla—I mean, my fingers…”

“I guess I’m made of sterner stuff than you thought,” I say, smiling back. Enjoying his confusion more than I should. He leans me forward and looks at my back.

“There’s not a scratch on you. How is that even possible?” he asks, more to himself than me.

“Why should there be a scratch on me?” I ask, milking the moment.

“Well, because… that is to say… when I… Jess, what just happened between us? What did you see?”

I drape my arms over his shoulders and focus on his adorably bewildered eyes until I have his undivided attention.

“Let’s see. First. You turned into a wolf. Second. You gave me a thorough go-around. And third. I absolutely loved it. In that order.”

I point over my shoulder nonchalantly.

“Also, you owe me a new kitchen table,” I say, grinning from ear to ear and letting it all sink into his mind.

Mason looks at the table. It’s kindling. He looks back at me, a worried expression in his eyes, and opens his mouth to speak. I cut him off.

“Yes, I know. I should have suspected, but I didn’t. Not even after this morning in the shower. But I figured it out eventually. I’m clever like that. Once a guy turns into the feral version of himself, I clue in pretty quickly.”

“And you weren’t scared?”

“Sure, at first. When you changed it was terrifying, but I got over it. You could say I mastered my fear. Also, I remembered that it was you in there. That’s when I started to enjoy myself. Maybe you remember that part too?”

I’m fishing a little, trying to figure out how much Mason can recall. I did cast two spells right under his nose, after all.

“Sort of. I remember the feeling mostly. I definitely remember that you wanted me, and how amazing it felt to be wanted, especially when I’m like that. It’s all kinds of vague. Echoes of memory, flashes of light. You smelled like dewdrops at one point for some reason, like it does after a warm rain.”

Mason gives his head a shake. He doesn’t realize it, but he’s talking about the ambient effects created by the spell.

“Jess, I’ve never cut loose like that before. I still can’t believe you’re all right. I’ve transformed a little during sex before, but those women had bruises to show for it. I never transformed like I did today. Nothing close to what you must have seen, but there’s not a scratch on you.”

“Maybe I bring out the best in you,” I say with a kiss, trying to deflect Mason away from the matter. He accepts my affection, but remains stunned by the whole experience.

“This time was so different. I normally change back slowly. I don’t remember changing back at all. The way you just kept taking me, I didn’t think I would be able to change back. Not willingly, anyway. I really lost it. But then the next thing I know, I’m me again, lying on the floor beside you.”

I turn around and rest my head in Mason’s lap, looking up at him.

“Have you ever felt the way you do for me about anybody else?”

“No,” he says immediately.

“Then maybe those feelings protected me. Maybe there’s a part of you, even at your most feral, that always looks out for me.”

It’s a white lie, but it still breaks my heart deceiving him like this. There’s been no precedent for it between us, but I can’t have him knowing about the spellcasting. That’s not my decision to make.

Mason mulls the excuse over, not sure what make of it. I could almost cry watching him trying to reconcile the lie.

“I suppose, but it didn’t seem that way. I can’t recall the specifics, but it felt like I simply took what I wanted. You. All of you. I only cared about what I wanted.”

And you would be right to think that, Mason. That’s exactly what happened, after all. So I apologize now, but the deception I’m spinning is a necessary one. You can’t know that I’m a witch.

“Don’t get me wrong. You were assertive, but also gentle, as if you knew I could only handle so much. My welfare never seemed to stray far from your mind. Perhaps you have more control over yourself than you realize?”

And now I’ve graduated from white lies to bold-faced lies, but there’s no getting around it. I have to protect my secret. Who I am and what my coven can do. The pact that binds the three of together is bound by secrecy. Kumi knows, but she’s the one exception. Not even Trixie has any idea.

I’m sorry, Mason
, I say to myself. I swore to keep this secret from everybody, and that includes you. Not for my sake, but at the instance of my mentors. That was the deal when Candice and Saffron bought me into the coven. I accepted those terms then and now.

Mason exhales, relaxing for the first time since he bolted awake.

“I’m so relieved to hear that.”

Good, it looks like he’s buying it—for now, at least.

“Do you know what this means, Jess?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“It means that I can finally be myself. I don’t have to run anymore. I don’t have to slip away when people start to suspect my true nature, when I can’t hide it anymore. I’d almost given up on meeting somebody like you.”

Mason wraps his arms around my body and holds me close, already brimming with shifter strength again.

I’ve drained men to unconsciousness before, mortal men, but never completely. I always left them with something. Even so, they were rendered comatose for hours. Not Mason. I drained him dry today and he was lucid ten minutes later. It’s uncanny. Werewolves are truly creatures of inexhaustible stamina.

For now, Mason is overwhelmed with emotion. He isn’t thinking about the fact that he’s a shifter anymore, or that I’m okay with it, which was my goal. This is our moment, a time to celebrate finding each other. Mason is ecstatic, and his happiness is infectious.

This must be what it feels like to be in a loving relationship, I tell myself—to share in each other’s highs and lows. I still have questions, but I’ll ask them later, without being easygoing about it. I need to act like this all a big, exciting discovery, as if I knew nothing about werewolves beforehand.

I’ll start by asking about his tattoo. The pendant too. They both seem to hold some kind of sway over him, and I’d like to know how exactly, but later. Not now.

As fate would have it, I don’t have to wait long before my questions are answered.

“I think it’s time I told you my story.”

He was in Norway when it happened, there to see
The Scream
,
Madonna
, and
Woman in Three Stages
with his parents. All works by Edvard Munch. I have to smile inwardly when he mentions that last painting.

At the time, Mason was a teenager who couldn’t care less about paintings. Neither did Sylvia. They were left to their own devices, as usual, but in Oslo. It was summer and they decided to escape the city. There was a mountain nearby, rumored to be the home of trolls in local folklore, so of course that was where they headed.

Lured by the stories, they went for a hike, but what they discovered was no troll. Mason heard the cry of a large beast. It wasn’t far off the trail. He ran off to investigate it, much like I did recently, and left his sister behind.

That was when he came upon the largest wolf he had ever seen, feasting on the carcass of a freshly killed elk. The wolf had eyes the color of blood.

Mason tried to back away, knowing that animals don’t abandon a fresh kill. The smartest thing to do is leave them to it, but this was no ordinary animal. The wolf charged, mouth open, teeth slavering, and hit Mason like a brick wall.

He didn’t remember how he got there, but he was on his back, barely able to breathe. His sister was there too. Yelling something he couldn’t make out. All he could recall was that she sounded fiercely angry. The wolf growled back, hot breath in his face.

Sylvia had a branch in her hands. She was swinging it wildly at the creature that dwarfed her slight teenage body. That was when all sound began to muffle, becoming white noise in his mind. Mason felt himself dying and there was nothing he could do. He was helpless, but he could see everything vividly.

The wolf was sizing up Sylvia. Not with concern, but irritation. Making up its mind about the threat she posed, unhurried. Taking all the time in the world. The wolf was deciding if she was worth the trouble. Sylvia was fearless against the creature.

Finally the wolf let him go. Mason didn’t even realize he was being held down. Massive teeth, dripping saliva, withdrew from his shoulder, and blood spurted from the wound in gushing waves. The creature loped back to the elk and dragged the carcass away.

Then Sylvia was there, pressing her hands against his body, calling out to other hikers for help.

The next few days were a fevered blur. His body was racked with pain. Each day was more agonizing than the last. His insides felt like they were changing. Bones moving around, muscles tightening, knitting into something else. He was in a Norwegian hospital at the time. The doctors had no idea what was happening.

Then it all became clear on a full moon.

Mason slipped out of his bed and ran into the streets before he completely shifted for the first time. He still has no memory of that night, waking up in the forest alone. The same forest where he had been bitten, covered in blood that wasn’t his own.

He’s been living with the wolf ever since.

Mason tells me the whole story without interruption. I listen quietly and give him my undivided attention. I reach out to him during the difficult parts.

What he doesn’t realize is how much I already know about shifters. I’ve never met any, but Candice fought plenty in her day, back when she was still a spear maiden. As I understand it, werewolves are either born into their lineage or created.

The shifters that are created have a tougher go of it, especially if they aren’t guided by their own kind. Somebody who can explain the bloodlust, to help them master the wolf within. It sounds like Mason figured out much of it on his own.

Mason describes his memories of being a half-man, half-wolf as vague. He can barely recall what he does as a wolf, if at all, which means he hasn’t conquered the feral side yet. Mason freely admits that his emotions get the better of him. They bring on the change even when it’s not a full moon.

Shifters who are born into their heritage have a pack to show them the way. Created shifters like Mason must rely on any tricks they learn along the way. Trying to stay calm when riled is the hardest part, Mason tells me.

He tried to stay with his family at first, but ended up running away shortly after they returned to the United States. Mason felt it was too dangerous to be around his parents and sister after that. He was still he a young man at the time, barely out of puberty, but also dealing with his affliction.

My heart goes out to him during this part of his story. He’s been on his own ever since, returning to see his sister on occasion, but when it’s safe to do so. Recently, however, Mason returned to Norway in search of the wolf that turned him.

He wasn’t successful, but he did track down a woman in Romania who was rumored to help werewolves like him, but for a price. She inked the tattoo on his chest and gave him the matching silver pendant to wear. It didn’t come cheaply, but the two combined have a powerful effect.

When the pendant is worn over the tattoo, Mason can almost resist changing on a full moon. It’s difficult, but he’s done it a few times. Any other time and the pendant and tattoo are absolute in their control. They leave him utterly calm and indifferent to his surroundings. The problem is… he can’t even get aroused.

Remove the pendant and he immediately feels like himself again, but the wolf returns as well.

If I understand correctly, the Romanian woman made the silver pendant a focus component for the tattoo, but only when in close proximity to each other. Separated, they do nothing.

This explains so much.

Not only do I now understand why Mason ritualistically takes his pendant off before sex, but also why he’s so sedate while wearing it. Calmer than any man I’ve ever known. The pendant makes him that way.

Remove the pendant, and he’s voracious again.