Awitch? No. This was too bizarre for words. What had her life come to? She longed to be back in London, in front of her screens with Manchu on her lap, locked behind her walls of security, where the worst she would encounter was the likes of JohnnyBeGood and his not so good deeds. Instead, she was sitting here drinking cocktails with two women who professed to be werewolves. One of whom also claimed to be a witch.
Annabelle clasped Melinda’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I know this is all really hard for you right now. It’s a lot to take in. And I know Louis and Pierre wouldn’t have wanted you to find out this way, but they didn’t have any choice. If they hadn’t shifted…”
Annabelle left the words hanging there. Men with guns had surrounded them. Them and… MysticMage!
“My client.” In all of this, she’d forgotten about her client. The scene at the warehouse flashed into her mind. The frail woman she knew as MysticMage struggling against two men as they dragged her from the warehouse. “The poor woman. She must be terrified. I have to…” She made to get up.
Stefanie placed a hand on her shoulder, keeping her in her seat. “I’m sure the boys are already working on an angle to find her. There’s nothing you can do for her right now.”
And the twins…Oh, God.They were hurt, bleeding. “But Louis took a bullet to the shoulder, and Pierre had one in his thigh. They shouldn’t be working on anything. They need to be in a hospital receiving medical care.”
Annabelle squeezed her hand again. “They’ll be fine. Their bodies were already healing before we left the warehouse. It’s a werewolf thing. There’s not much that will kill them. Us.”
Melinda rubbed her forehead and took another long sip of her drink. A werewolf thing? She’d need a few more of these cocktails beforethatwould sound normal.
“You said Louis was shot in the shoulder and Pierre in the thigh. You can tell them apart?” asked Stefanie.
Melinda drained her glass, a slight buzz developing in her brain. “Can’t you?”
Stefanie shared a look with Annabelle. “We can, but no human ever has.”
Melinda shrugged. “I don’t know how anyone could confuse them. They’re completely different—their personalities, their mannerisms, the way they walk.” She found herself smiling, remembering. “Louis likes his pastries. Pierre likes his coffee. Louis is messy. Pierre is obsessively neat. Louis is all charm and teasing. Pierre’s the serious one, the one in charge. Always responsible.” A flush of heat swept through her body. “Louis wears boxer briefs. Pierre likes to go commando.”
“Okay.” Annabelle held up her hands. “That’s more information than I needed to know about my brothers-in-law.”
Stefanie chuckled. “I think the rum in the mai tai might be kicking in.”
Annabelle scanned the QR code on the menu. “I’ll order us another round.” She glanced over her shoulder at a woman heading for their corner of the room. “And while we wait for it, let me introduce you to someone.”
The woman, curvy with a pallor to her bronze skin, slipped onto the stool beside Melinda. Dark shadows lined her eyes, but her smile was warm and friendly.
“Melinda, this is Isobella, my sister,” said Annabelle. “She’s a witch, like me, but she’s not a werewolf. I thought you might likethe perspective of someone who isn’t a shifter, but who knows plenty of them and about them. Now, ask your questions, and we will answer them as best we can.” Her grin was cheeky. “And I’m sure Stef has more than a few interesting tales to tell about Louis and Pierre.”
* * * *
With an encyclopedia’s worth of knowledge about werewolves and witches she never dreamed of knowing when she awoke this morning, Melinda entered the penthouse suite. Annabelle, Stefanie and Isobella had seen her to the suite’s lobby. Ensuring she made it there and didn’t flee out into the San Franciscan spring night, she suspected.
Gabriel rose from the sofa. “This is my cue to leave.” Reaching her in the doorway, he paused. “Don’t be too hard on them, Melinda. They would have died for you today.”
Died for her? According to Annabelle, Stefanie and Isobella, that was no easy feat. Not much killed a werewolf. Beheading, bleeding out from too many wounds before healing could begin, a silver bullet to the brain. All gruesome, violent deaths.
The door closed behind Gabriel, and Melinda was alone with Louis and Pierre. Lights twinkled over the city, framing Pierre. His face was a picture of controlled calm as he sipped at a glass of whiskey. If she knew anything about Pierre, he’d be a cauldron of emotions beneath the surface.
On the wall, a whiskey stain and shattered glass beneath it on the floor. Louis. He sat on the sofa, his knees bouncing in rapid motion. They both stared at her, waiting. She couldn’t do this right now.
“I’m going to check on Manchu, and maybe take a shower.”
“It’s late,” said Pierre. “The main suite is yours. Louis will sleep in the second bedroom, and I’ll take the sofa. You have nothing to fear from us, Melinda.”
All she could manage was a nod before she fled up the floating staircase.
Manchu unfurled himself from his position in the middle of the bed and padded over to greet her. His purr, the rub of his head against her as she cradled him in her arms, gave her some comfort. But not enough. Downstairs, two werewolves…what…waited? Raged? Hurt? Yes. They were hurting. And waiting. And hoping. For her to come to grips with what she’d seen. Annabelle and Stef hadn’t touched too much on Louis and Pierre, in fact they’d steered the conversation away from them a few times, but she’d garnered that much from their conversation.
Melinda stripped off her clothes and immersed herself beneath the shower, the opulence of the room lost on her tonight. While the water washed away any grime from the warehouse, it did nothing to ease her thoughts or soothe the turmoil in her mind.
Melinda didn’t know how long she stood beneath the spray—long enough for the pleasant numbness of two mai tais to wear off—but when she stepped out, she’d made a decision. She couldn’t hide away from this. She had to confront it sooner or later. It might as well be now.
Her mind shied away from what they were, but her heart told her Pierre had spoken true. She had nothing to fear from them. If they’d wanted to hurt her, they could have done so long before now. They’d done nothing but protect her, care for her. She eyed Manchu curled up in the middle of the huge bed. Hell, they’d helped her get her cat here, though Manchu had been a spitting ball of orange fur the whole time.
