Keeping Secret (Secret McQueen) - By Sierra Dean Page 0,61
things up?”
Eugenia wrapped up several sprigs of lavender. “You know most werewolf teens are Awakened when they’re thirteen, obviously. Do you know what age hereditary witches come into their power?”
“I’ll hazard a guess and say thirteen?”
“Bingo.”
“So you were turned into a werewolf and had magic powers spark to life at the same time?”
She nodded. “I wanted to be a good werewolf. Ben was a natural—he took to the change right away, he showed alpha tendencies early on, he was so good at it. I wanted to be half as good as he was. The problem is, moonlight heightens a witch’s powers. So when I shifted, my magic would react, but I couldn’t control it and manage the shift at the same time. The magic lashed out, violently.”
“And stuff blew up.”
“Yep. There were about twice as many cabins on the property before I started knocking them down by accident. The first time it happened I thought it was a coincidence. After the third full moon and the third flattened cabin, I knew it was my fault.”
“So you left.”
“So I left.”
“How did you know to come looking for her?” I asked, pointing to the witch who had done an excellent job of ignoring us up until now.
“I didn’t. She found me. She showed me how to control my magic even when I’m not in control of my human form. I can’t cast spells in wolf form, but at least I don’t blow things up anymore.”
“Does Callum know you’re a witch?”
“If he didn’t at the time, I think he figured it out when I started living with her.”
For the first time during our sisterly one-on-one, La Sorcière reacted. She snorted then muttered something. It sounded French, but it wasn’t Canadian French or Cajun French, so I was screwed when it came to understanding anything.
Eugenia—on the other hand—chuckled. “She says ‘Even the most obvious answers sometimes do not bite a foolish man in the ass.’”
Oh yeah. We were related.
“I won’t force you to come back,” I told Eugenia.
“You are strong, Secret, but I have the witch on my side. You couldn’t force me.”
La Sorcière clucked her tongue and waved her cane menacingly. I couldn’t tell if she was adding a visual element to Eugenia’s threat, or if she was scolding the girl for wielding grandmotherly power like a weapon.
Either way, Eugenia ignored her and plowed ahead. “If I come with you, it will be up to you to explain to Callum that me coming back doesn’t mean I’m staying. I’ve been out of the pack a long time, and I don’t know if being a lone wolf has screwed me up more than the magic did.”
“I’ll try to make him understand.”
Then she changed the topic. Drastically. “What’s she like? Our mom.”
“How much did Callum tell you about Mercy before you left?”
“That she was complicated. Wild. I always figured I was a lot like her.” Her faint smile made my stomach hurt.
“No. You’re nothing like Mercy. You have a soul.”
That knocked Eugenia on her proverbial ass. Her expression was that of a child learning Santa Claus wasn’t real. I felt like shit for being the one to kill her fantasy of who Mercy was. But if she ever met our mother, I didn’t want her thinking it was going to be a touching family reunion. Mostly because the next time I saw Mercy I would rip out her intestines and wear them as a sarong.
What can I say? Bitch not only tried to kill me, but my mate too.
I wanted to explain Mercy without tainting the story too much with my experiences. “Eugenia, Mercy isn’t complicated. She’s very simple. She loved my father and he died. When I was born, she got it into her head his death was somehow my fault and abandoned me. Her sadness never went away, and it made her go bat-shit crazy. Since then, she continues to blame me for everything she’s lost. She tried to kill me.”
“She…you mean metaphorically?”
“No, I mean she shifted her hand into a claw and made pretty solid effort of shredding the meat off my face. That was after she held a bullet between my ribs for six hours so I couldn’t heal.”
Eugenia’s mouth formed an O shape, her eyes wide and a little wet.
Now I had not only told her Santa wasn’t real, I’d told her the Easter Bunny went on killing sprees to eat the children who didn’t find his eggs.
“But…”
“I’m sorry.”
“Maybe—”
“I don’t want to be cruel.” I stood up and rubbed my