to fix this.”
Turning to Mariska, her tone is all business. “Can you get this verbena root?”
“Of course!” Mariska smiles. “It grows wild all over the place.”
“Get as much as you need.”
“Wait.” Mariska’s eyes narrow. “Does that mean—do you know a shifter?”
“Actually, if you can believe it, we just met one.”
“Here in New Orleans?!” She jumps in her seat, immediately excited. Then, just as fast, she seems embarrassed by her enthusiasm.
“Yes,” I say, studying her strange reaction. “It’s a real coincidence.”
She starts, and her voice goes quiet. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Neither do I.” Elaine, unlike me, is calm about all of these things.
Golden eyes blink up to us. “Can I meet him?”
“I guess you have to if you’re going to do the spell. What’s wrong?”
Mariska’s entire body flushes, but she tries to hide it by switching the subject. “It’s the most painful cure. Are you sure you can do it?”
“It looks like I don’t have a choice.”
Elaine’s green eyes hold mine. “Too much has happened to get us here. Too many supposed coincidences. I’m more certain than ever we’re going to get you through this.”
I nod, wishing I had her confidence. Unfortunately, all I feel is dread.
* * *
Derek
Dim light fills my suite. The curtains are drawn and soft music, a capella male voices singing in a foreign language, drifts quietly from the sound system.
I’ve filled the Jacuzzi tub halfway. It’s too small for the three of us. We’ll have to do our best to keep everything in the water. Otherwise, I’m not sure how we’ll hide the mess.
Stuart is stripped to the waist. Light from the candles casts deep shadows across the lines of his arms and torso, and he holds an old, leather-bound book in his hands. Patrick walks around the room clenching and unclenching his fists as if warming up for a race. I’m trying to stay calm, focused. What we’re about to do is excruciatingly painful for me, but it will increase our chances of success.
I walk over and sit on the side of the tub, lowering my feet into the water. Five minutes, I say in my mind. I can bear the pain for five minutes. Then I’ll sleep. When I wake, I won’t feel any pain. I’ll actually feel like I’ve taken the strongest dose of steroids in the world.
Still my pulse ticks faster. I have to work to calm my breathing. Stuart’s focused solemnity doesn’t help.
“Hey,” Patrick laughs, breaking the mood. “What have we here?”
I glance up to see him holding a scrap of what appears to be black lace, but it’s too dark for me to know for sure. “What is it?” I ask.
Stuart walks over and takes it from him. “Nice,” he says, pulling it to his nose for a sniff. “Nope. She’s not mine.”
Suddenly I realize what he’s holding and hop out of the tub. “Give me that.” Snatching Melissa’s thong from his hands, I carry it over to the nightstand and put her panties in my drawer. “Fucking right she’s not yours. She’s mine.”
“Good taste,” Stuart says with a grin. “I’m glad to see you’re getting back out there.”
“Let’s just get this over with.”
“Yes,” he says, returning to serious and following me to the tub.
We step into the warm, swirling water. Patrick carries a tall pillar candle with him as he steps in. We’re all stripped to the waist now, and Stuart reaches for the thing I’ve been dreading.
In the dim light, he raises a thick, steel knife with a twisted blade. Writing is on the sides and scrollwork is along the handle.
“The blood of the shifter is sacred.” Stuart speaks the words I’ve heard before as he hands the ritual knife to Patrick. Patrick holds the blade over the flame. “Sharing it is a gift. It makes you our brother as long as it flows in your veins.”
Using the razor-sharp tip, Patrick cuts a line down the center of his forearm. Dark red blood, almost black, immediately surges to the surface. Patrick only winces as he passes the knife to his alpha, who repeats the procedure before turning to me.
Quickly, Stuart makes an identical slice in my arm.
“Shit,” I growl as blood bubbles up on my forearms. It’s lighter in color than theirs and slightly thinner.
The knife-metal burns like fucking fire, and Stuart quickly flattens his forearm against mine, clasping my elbow in his fist, lining our wounds on top of one another. Patrick does the same on my other side, and my teeth grind as their shifter