Fair Game (Alpha & Omega #3)(42)
Author: Patricia Briggs

Charles scowled at him. "Thanks for the visual."

Isaac threw his head back and laughed. "You’re all right, man. Malcolm says he’s headed to a spot that he thinks is pretty much a clear shot to most of the islands. There are also lots of abandoned warehouses along the shoreline, thanks to the crumbling of the fisheries around here. Lots of places to hold and torture people without anyone hearing. You really see Indian spirits and talk to them?"

"Spirits," corrected Charles. "Nothing Indian about them other than we believe they exist and most of you white-eyes don’t. Yes."

Isaac cackled. "I can’t believe you just called me a white-eye. Better than a pale-face, I suppose, but it just seems so Bonanza." His face softened. "My granddad, he could see ghosts. When he was really old, he would rock in this old, dark wood rocking chair and tell us kids about the murderer who haunted the house he grew up in and tried to make his life hell when he was too young to read and write."

"Ghosts are different from spirits," Charles said. Yes, howled the ones who haunted him, tell him about your ghosts, make us a little more real every time you speak of us, every time you see us or think about us. Tell him that ghosts of people you kill can come back and kill the ones you love if you are dumb enough or too clueless to figure out how to set them free.

Charles had to wait a moment before he could continue, and disguised it as his motion sickness from the boat ride by swallowing heavily. "The spirits I see are more…a way for nature to talk to those with the eyes to see and the ears to hear. They never were human. I don’t see ghosts" – Liar! cackled one in his ear – "not the way your granddad did, but I’ve met a couple of people who do. Not an easy gift."

"My granddad, he was a tough old bird. I’d guess he was tough even when he was five years old and faced down a haunt no one else could see." Isaac grinned. The sun was down now and his teeth gleamed in the light of the waxing moon. It was two days until full moon. "Tough like me."

Tough and stupid, thought Charles with a sigh. "You are sleeping with the witch?"

Isaac smiled whitely. "Yessir. And she makes me breakfast in bed, too."

Charles liked this young, tough Alpha, so he wanted to warn him. "Black witches are untrustworthy lovers."

"I get that," Isaac said. He shook his shoulders to loosen them. "I’m a werewolf; I can’t afford to be delicate – but I could never fall for a woman who tortures kittens to make love potions, even if she doesn’t do it around me. She’s just scratching an itch and I’m enjoying it while it lasts – and I’m clear with her that’s all it is."

"Women hear what men say," Anna said without turning around. "That doesn’t mean they believe them. A witch isn’t anyone to screw with, Isaac, and they get as possessive as any other woman. You’re beautiful, strong, and powerful – she’s not going to let that go easily."

"Are you trying to steal my man?" Hally didn’t seem to have any of the trouble the rest of them did moving about the bouncing boat. And she was good at sneaking around because Charles hadn’t noticed that she’d gotten up from her seat to round the opposite side of the console. She still had her satchel – and was holding the Baggie next to her face as if it held a rose instead of a piece of dead boy’s skin.

Anna kept a hand on the railing and rolled to sit with only one hip on the ledge at the bow so she could face the witch. His mate smiled one of her big, generous smiles. "No. Just warning him about sleeping with dangerous things. Tigers are rare treasures – and they will eat you and not give it a second thought."

The witch preened, her ire sliding away. His Anna was so good at managing people – him included. It was a good thing that the witch was looking at Anna and not Isaac, because Isaac had clearly heard what Anna had said, too. And when an Omega talked, the wolf listened no matter what the man thought. Isaac looked like he’d been slapped.

"Tigers need to be wary around wolves," Charles said, to keep her from looking Isaac’s way.

Hally narrowed her eyes. She reminded him more of a snake than a tiger – they were beautiful, too, beautiful and cold survivors, killing with poison rather than fang or claw.

"You are sticking your nose into places they don’t belong, wolf," she said, as if she thought he ought to be worried about her.

Hally had overstepped, and so Brother Wolf met her eyes and let her see that they had killed more powerful witches than she was – and that it wouldn’t bother them to do it again.

She swallowed and stepped back, stumbling when a wave threw her off balance.

"You scratch whatever itches you choose," Charles told her, his voice cold and quiet. "Enjoy yourself. But at the end of the day, you remember that Isaac belongs to my father – and to me. He is necessary to us as you are not. You will leave him unharmed or I will hunt you down and destroy you."

She hissed at him like a cat. When he just stared at her, Hally scrambled ungracefully around the far side of the console, out of his line of sight.

Isaac was watching him, his eyes bright gold. And then he tilted his jaw, exposing his throat. Charles lunged forward and nipped him lightly before releasing him.

From the back of the boat Beauclaire watched them with inhuman eyes, and Brother Wolf wanted to teach the fae man respect the way he’d just put the witch in her place. The moon urged, the ghosts in his head howled…and Charles took a half step away from the gunwale railing.

"You made yourself an enemy," Isaac said, his voice quiet and soft, distracting Brother Wolf. Beauclaire dropped his eyes at last and the moment was gone.

"She is a black witch," Charles said, equally quietly. "We have always been enemies. For right now, we are aimed at the same target; that is all. If your target is pleasure and you’re sure that’s what hers is, too, that’s fine. Just remember – a black witch doesn’t love anything but power."

Isaac swallowed and looked away. "White witches are just food for the rest. Hally had a sister who died when she was sixteen because she refused to take the black route to power. A big, bad wicked witch ate her down."

Charles nodded. "You can admire the survivor – but Hally did survive. She’ll make sure she always survives. You better make sure that the same is true of you."

The little boat slowed; the engines quieted. The sky was inky except for the silver moon and the thin ribbon of cloud that crossed between them and her.

"Here," said Malcolm unnecessarily.

The witch took her satchel and the Baggie Goldstein had given her and climbed up the aluminum ladder to the fishing platform above the console. It was the best place to do it – a flat open surface on a crowded boat – but Charles was sure that the witch knew and enjoyed the fact that the height put her onstage and made the rest of them her audience.