Chapter Four
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
Darcy ran. She ran like her life depended on it. Well, it did actually, ’cause she just fucked up royally and if that werewolf caught her, she was as good as dead.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She slammed her finger and then her fist into the elevator button, glancing fearfully over her shoulder for the gigantic wolf that had transformed right before her eyes.
Her heart was pounding, her body trembling, her eyes tearing. Oh god, how could I be so fucking stupid? A werewolf? A fucking werewolf?
The elevator dinged open and she stumbled in, jabbing the buttons, desperate to close the doors again while she wedged herself as far into the corner as possible.
She held her breath as the doors slid shut, envisioning a paw sliding in between to keep her from escaping.
When they finally sealed, she collapsed in a whoosh of breath, slumping to the floor as the elevator started its descent.
Her mind whirred. A werewolf. Oh god, it made so much sense. She knew there was something different about the band. Something different about Raven. He was wild, not only as a lover but in general. She’d been studying him for weeks. Watching videos of him on stage, giving the rare interview in place of Mayhem. He was a take-no-shit wild man. A beast. She should have known.
But it wasn’t like the supernaturals wore badges. There wasn’t a tattoo that marked you as one.
Marked.
Oh fuck!
She’d marked him. She’d completed the spell. A whimper of fear bubbled out of her mouth.
When the doors binged open, she realized she was still on the elevator floor, a crumbled heap on the verge of crying. She needed to get it together and get the hell out of the building before the pack came for her. Give herself time to figure out how to undo what she’d done. She needed to talk to Annie, the old crone. Annie would know what to do.
Okay, suck it up. She’d forgotten the most important thing. She’d completed the spell—a spell that would make Raven Glock lust for her in unimaginable ways but never, ever be able to find her. That would buy her some time at least, but she needed to find a way to reverse the spell. She sure as shit didn’t want to live her life fearful of running into a werewolf marked by her own hand. No fucking way. She’d broken some kind of supernatural code with this one. Fucking with a pack wolf? Nah uh, bad news. She needed to find a way to undo it and disappear for a while. She hoped like hell that Annie would know how to fix it.
Darcy grasped at her flimsy hope and with a deep sigh that bordered on relief, she pulled herself up and did her best to walk through the lobby without attracting attention.
“You did what?”
Darcy winced as she sputtered her tea, the sorry attempt to calm her nerves evaporating with Annie’s shrill tone.
“You marked a werewolf? Are you fucking nuts, girl?” Annie, a witch older than dirt, was the only one Darcy could trust with such a confession.
“I didn’t know.” Darcy winced.
Annie stood with both hands braced on the harvest table, leaning forward so she could actually look down her nose at Darcy, her long grey braid dangling over her shoulder and threatening to slip right into her abandoned tea. “You didn’t know? Girl! You should always know who you’re casting on.” She clicked her tongue. “Have you no sense? Do you have any idea what that pack is gonna do to you if they get their claws into you?”
“They won’t be able to find me,” Darcy offered weakly, suddenly unsure of her reasoning from earlier. “I finished the spell. He can’t find me.”
Annie scoffed as she pushed herself back and folded her arms over her chest. “You’re an idiot, Darcy.” She shook her head. “You marked a werewolf! They’re natural trackers. He’s gonna find you. Sure as shit he is, and when he does…” She made a motion across her throat.
Darcy gulped. “There’s got to be a way to reverse it. Please, Annie, I need your help.”
Annie shook her head again and Darcy practically saw the battle waging in the old crone’s head. She’d mentored Darcy, trained her in the craft since she was a child. Darcy had never been a very powerful witch, had no special innate abilities other than to cast. She was no healer, no tracker, no extra-special breed of witch. A distant relative, Annie had taken her in when her parents had died and had trained her to use the spells within her means. She’d never intended for Darcy to become a Vengeance Dealer.
Annie sighed. “Which spell did you use?”
“I marked him with a Double Vengeance Spell,” Darcy said, feeling a beat of hope that Annie could help.
“Double Vengeance?” Annie pulled out a chair and sat down, her old face looking so weary Darcy almost regretted troubling her with this problem. “That’s not so bad. What did you use to bind it?”
Darcy took a sip of her tea, delaying the response she knew would complicate things. A spell could be cast in multiple ways, some thrown at a target, some chanted, some thought…but nothing was as powerful as a spell bound to a target, and for that, you needed some kind of bodily sample.
Darcy lowered her cup and cleared her throat. “Um, I sorta used his own semen.”
Annie snapped her eyes to meet Darcy’s. “You did what?”
“That’s what I do, Annie! I’m a Vengeance Dealer…I get revenge and the best way to do that is by binding them with their own lust.”
Annie slammed her hand down on the table. “You fool of a girl! So this is what you’ve been doing? You’ve been binding these men to you? To lust for you endlessly? Is that what your clients want?”
“They want satisfaction. They want to know that I’m striking a blow and fixing a wrong. I don’t go after innocent men, Annie! These men are scum. They use women and then toss them away. They cripple women and make them hurt.”
And Raven Glock had been the worst. Notorious for one night stands, using women and shoving them aside with no regret or remorse, never even acknowledging them after the fact. At first, Darcy had balked at the small group of women who wanted her services. What did you expect when you slept with a rock-star, after all? But then she’d listened to them and seen the tears and heard the pain and she knew she needed to pull this Raven fellow out of the game for good. One spell, a whopper of a curse, which would have him lusting for the rest of his life for a woman he could never have, let alone find. And after what he’d done to her clients? It was the least he deserved. Normally there was no risk, but had she known Raven was a werewolf, well, she never would have said yes in the first place. Annie was right—if there was any man who could battle the spell and find her, it would be a werewolf.
“And how do you get their semen, girl? I’m sure they don’t just offer it up for you to take.” Annie narrowed her eyes as she scanned Darcy from head to waist. “Or maybe they do.”
“I have sex with them.” Darcy shrugged. “I collect the sample and slip into the bathroom while they’re sleeping.”
“You collect their sample?” Annie scoffed. “Disgusting.”
“It’s called a condom, Annie. Collects my samples quite efficiently, no mess.”
She’d didn’t think Annie needed to know that she’d enjoyed Raven, her target, all night before casting a sleep spell on the man so she could perform the vengeance curse in peace. Let the old woman think it was a one-time thing.
Annie wrinkled her nose. “So you use his semen and you’re sure you completed the spell this time?”