Welcome to Halloween Month at evelynklebert.com. My first paranormal tale to celebrate the season is called “An Unexpected Danger.” This story is about two mystical creatures whose confrontation on a sacred battlefield elicits somewhat baffling consequences. It comes from a new collection of short stories that I will be releasing soon called A Murder in the Village and Other Mystical Tales of the Ouachita Mountains. In a day or two, I will be posting the conclusion of this tale. I hope you enjoy.

An Unexpected Danger

She breathed in the cool forest air that clung deep in her lungs as if it would never let go. Tomorrow was the first time after several days off that she would return to work at the restaurant. She had thoroughly enjoyed her holiday, and not unexpectedly something inside her felt sluggish and resistant to going back. The job, while necessary, was also remarkably unfulfilling. It did, however, help her keep an eye on things surreptitiously. But she was young, and being young, she yearned for more.

Peering outward from her balcony across the landscape, with its varying autumn shades of green, gold, red, and orange, it sloped down to the winding road at the bottom of the well-forested, hilly terrain. And then she could see a car in the distance, actually a Jeep, a white Jeep with a black top. It was not unusual for vehicles to make this trek, but this one gave her pause. Undeniably, something felt different.

Abra pulled her light gray jacket tighter around her as her eyes watched the meandering car. Most sped along the path, but not this one. And there was more. Undeniably, something inside her prickled, her blood rushing to her temples, causing her eyes to narrow and focus more succinctly. She swallowed on a bone-dry throat. How extraordinary, after all these years, a legitimate threat had come to this haven.

*

This was an indulgence. He had impulsively decided to stay a while in the New World after his contentious encounter with his long-lost blood brother in New Orleans. Kian, his enduring and most loyal comrade, had opted to head back to Europe immediately. The former region of Lorraine in France was currently where their coven called home. But Lapetus had curiously felt a pull, a restlessness that compelled him to explore this country further once his business was completed, at least for a little while. In his absence, he had designated Kian to act in his stead.

Renting a car, he had only been casually exploring the state of Arkansas when he felt a distinct and insistent stirring in his blood. In some respects, it felt strangely reminiscent of a long ago call to a hunt, but not exactly the same. It was then, just outside of Hot Springs, that he stumbled upon its source — a gated community, some 26,000 acres, that designated itself as The Village at the foothills of the Ouachita Mountains.

As there was no free access to these lands, and there was undeniably a distinct pull of a more than compelling variety, he stopped at a realtor just outside the gates. Without much fanfare, he rented a vacation house from a well-coiffed middle-aged blonde woman in a startling bright pink dress.

“Do you want a condo or a house?”

“House.”

“By the water?”

“More remote.”

“Remote, hmm, trying to get away from it all?”

“Something like that.”

She clicked her mouse, pursing her well-lip-sticked mouth a bit more intently, and Lapetus wondered if he’d made an error in judgment. What would he do in this remote setting for a week? He didn’t particularly like the water and was certainly not a bird watcher.

“I have a lovely one-bedroom split-level place. Brand new kitchen, lovely scenic view of the surrounding forest.”

He breathed in deeply. Maybe he should move on, drive into the Ozarks, and head north. But then again, there was that delicious frisson along his skin that he hadn’t felt since, well, at least several hundred years.

“Yes, that sounds like the one.”

And then she’d smiled broadly, pleased that she would be taking his money soon. And she added with animation that he did not find sincere, “Where are you from again? I can’t quite place the accent.”

“Andorra,” he replied softly.

*

“Abra, how are the classes going?”

She smiled back at the younger girl, tying her apron on while standing behind the register. She glanced up at the clock on the wall, a vintage Coca-Cola clock. The sad truth was the whole restaurant was strenuously filled with vintage Coke memorabilia, from the polar bears perched on the walls to an old-fashioned cooler next to the register. “Okay, though studying online is tough for me. I’m more of a visual learner.”

Young Lacey, just taking a part-time job here, just worked the weekends. She was a senior in high school and clearly, judging from her expression, had no idea what Abra was talking about. “Cool,” she murmured with little interest. “I hope it’s not busy today. I was up late last night.”

Abra nodded with comprehension — no doubt partying in Hot Springs proper. Her head was pounding a bit this morning, as she was up late as well. But it wasn’t from partying. She’d spent a good part of the evening yesterday with her grandmother, discussing the disturbing vibe she’d picked up from the Jeep traveling that winding road not far from her home.

Her Gran had been stoic, but then again, she was ninety-three. “It might just be someone passing through,” she’d said softly. “This time of year draws a lot of vacationers to The Village. But they leave after a short time.”

Abra was sitting on the stone fireplace mantle next to her rocking chair. Her Gran, Micaela Jensen, who lived in the small cottage near the edge of the Village with Abra’s aunt, looked forward with bright green eyes that reflected little expression. “I suppose that could be true.”

And then the old woman focused on her. “But you feel different?”

“I don’t know. It’s been so long since anything has happened here. But I did feel some sort of elusive threat.”

The silver-haired woman pulled her heavy woolen shawl more tightly around her despite the room being warm. “Yes, well, then, do not ignore your feelings. After all, this is on your shoulders.”

Abra shook her head, trying to focus on the task at hand. It was five to seven. She just had to get through the breakfast and lunch shift and then head home. It was undoubtedly just as her Gran had said, someone passing through, someone with an energy spectrum that sent chills to her heart.

*

He didn’t really have to eat, not like other people. In fact, he remembered once he hadn’t eaten for an entire month. But energy renewal, well, that was another matter. Over the many, many, and yes, he could comfortably add one more many years, he had unraveled numerous methods of energy renewal. In the old days, hunting and consuming near-living flesh had been the optimum choice of renewal. Then, later, other methods were discovered that might be considered as some to be a bit less violent or grisly.

But it did call to him at times, the old lust for flesh, blood, and the challenge of facing off against a prey or perhaps even against a worthy opponent. But today, he just wanted breakfast. It slumbered, the hungry one, and he was taken by the quaint little restaurant called Esme’s, tucked away in this vast scope of land they’d named The Village.

The draw he’d felt initially here had faded into obscurity. Maybe it was an element that had departed from this place, or perhaps an element that sought to disguise itself. Now, that could be interesting.

Lapetus had dressed in casual wear today, wearing khaki pants and a long-sleeved black shirt. Casual seemed the standard in this particular province. The house he’d rented for the week was comfortable enough, fully furnished, and oddly, it had a vast, open den stretching upward to skylights and rustic ceiling beams. Downstairs, there was an equally large bedroom, which oddly felt like a waste of space, but then again, he was used to accommodations in the old country. Admittedly, he was beginning to feel homesick for it. His nature was not to be a wanderer. He had roots and did not desire to be away from them for too long a stretch.

As he entered the doorway of Esme’s, he was questioning his choice in renting that house. He was questioning his idea to explore this New World. And just as he walked into this cozy and bright restaurant, a young waitress approached him.

“Can I seat you, sir?” she said with a light, soft voice that sort of curled around his senses. He was close enough to her that he smelled the scent of violets on her skin. Though she held a menu in her delicate hand, his eyes were drawn to hers. These eyes were wide and flawlessly green and undeniably filled with the slightest tinge of alarm that she masked well.

And then, Lapetus allowed all his qualms to melt away. Ah, yes, this, she, was unquestionably why he was here.

*

She steeled herself as she led him toward a corner table against the back wall of the small restaurant. “Is this all right for you?” she asked.

“Secluded,” he noted.

“If you’d prefer up front—”

“This will be fine,” and then he tacked on, “Abra.”

An unwelcome chill traveled up her spine at his casual use of her name. But then again, it was plastered boldly on the plastic name tag affixed to her red t-shirt. “So, what can I get you to start, some coffee, tea, or something else?” she said lightly.

“How is the coffee here at Esme’s?” She’d purposefully tried to avoid his gaze, but it was difficult, difficult not to engage with a customer when you are a waitress.

She smiled, staring directly into his eyes. They were such an odd color, light but not blue, instead a pale gray that contrasted with his well-tanned skin. Her Gran would call him Mediterranean in appearance, which his unusual enunciation supported. No, then again, swarthy was the term her Gran might use. And his hair was black, nearly blue-black, thick, with a well-clipped beard and mustache affixed on a chiseled face, strong bone structure — undeniably foreign, unmistakably, but compelling, nonetheless. “It’s good, and Clara has just brewed a fresh pot.” Keep it light and bubbly: Waitress 101. That way, all of this might just blow over, and he’ll never know.

“That sounds good, Abra. And if I might see a menu.” She glanced down. Damn, it was still in her hand, and she hadn’t even noticed.

“Oh, sorry,” she replied smoothly, handing it to him. But then, when he took it from her, everything shifted. It felt like a shock or rather a bolt of some kind reverberating through the plastic-coated menu straight into her hand. “So, if you have any questions—” her voice sort of trailed off because he wasn’t looking at the menu at all. He was looking at her intently, and it felt somehow as if he was pinning her to the wall behind her with his eyes.

Mesmerism? Some creatures were undoubtedly capable of it. Mentally, she strengthened the energy shield she’d placed around her once she’d felt him approaching the restaurant, doubling down on it once he’d parked in the lot, and even more so when he took his first steps inside. It should have been enough. With every other creature of the diabolical variety, it had been. Again, she bared down, completely closing herself off from any interference.

Then, he allowed the menu to slip onto the tablecloth from his fingertips. He leaned back in his chair, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yes, well, Abra. I will let you know if I have any questions.”

And then she nodded and wordlessly turned around, heading back toward the kitchen.

*

Perhaps it was foolish, perhaps it was giving herself away, but she was in a panic. She’d never met a being quite like this before, with this level of—And there was that as well. How did she describe it? Power was the word that rose to her consciousness, but it felt like something well beyond that.

Clara, in the kitchen, and then Joe Monroe at the register, the couple who owned Esme’s, seemed shocked when she simply dumped her customer on Lacey. She’d abruptly declared she was nauseous and would be barfing all over the customers if she didn’t go home. Consciously or not, it had been deliberate, her seating him to the back of Esme’s just in case, just in case she needed to run.

Her heart was hammering as she jumped into her off-white Volkswagen and made a beeline out of the parking lot. It was pointless anyway to continue a charade that she knew in her skin, her very essence, had failed. All she would do by staying would be to give him more information about her, and he, whoever and whatever he was, knew too much already.

*

Lacey, the new waitress, was a redhead and precisely what she appeared to be—a very young woman looking for a good tip. And Lapetus, admittedly, was a bit disappointed when she brought him his coffee instead of the Other One. Disappointed yet intrigued.

“What happened to Abra?” he asked casually, perusing the well-used menu.

“She wasn’t feeling well, so she left. Anything I can help you with?”

He frowned, quickly canvassing the relatively short menu because, in truth, it was the first time he’d really looked at it. “How are your omelets?” he asked with little interest.

*

“Demon?”

She flopped down on the short sofa in the den of her Aunt Jolene and Gran’s house with exasperation. “I don’t know.”

Her Gran wrinkled her already well-wrinkled face. She was bundled up in her heavy shawl over a long-sleeved duster that seemed like her requisite wardrobe these days. “Now calm down, Abra. You’re much too agitated. You’ve encountered mystical and even dark-tempered entities before.”

“Yes, yes, I have. But this, this is different. He felt so —” Good lord, how could she even begin to describe this? “I felt like I was drowning just being near him.”

“Come here,” the old woman commanded with a rough voice, in the way that had told Abra succinctly that she meant business. Abra stood up and walked over to her grandmother’s rocking chair that was always positioned close enough to the plate glass window in the small cottage, so that she always had a view of the lush forest outside their home. “Now, give me your hand.”

With some despondency, Abra put her hand in her grandmother’s which she took in hers, none too lightly. “Now, clear your mind and focus, focus on this powerful man of yours.”

She heard her Gran breathing deeply as she closed her eyes, visualizing the dark-haired man she’d seated at Esme’s just an hour before. Vaguely, she wondered if he’d finished his breakfast and what he’d ended up ordering. “Focus on the energy,” Micaela Jensen said gruffly.

She tried, tried to calm herself and let herself simply open to the vibrations of energy. It was so odd. In her mind, she could see herself in the restaurant again, standing in the center of Esme’s, feeling an absolute cyclone of divergent energy bands circling.

“Shapeshifter,” her Gran murmured.

“I’ve encountered shapeshifters before. They’re easy enough to run off.”

She heard her Gran’s breathing beside her. “No, he’s old, very old, my child. He won’t be run off. But it doesn’t appear he’s on the hunt.”

“The hunt?” Abra said with question, opening her eyes.

And then her Gran opened hers as well, those pure green wizened eyes. “Yes, lucky for you, he’s not on the hunt. This one is a werewolf.”

It shook her, what her Gran had said. “Are you sure? I mean, I thought most of those—”

“Were gone?” The old woman shook her head, almost as though she were thinking aloud to herself. “Yes, it does seem rare these days. Though I have heard there are still covens, very old ones in Europe.”

“Have you—” Why were the words choking in Abra’s throat? “I mean, during your time as the Protector, did you ever run across one?”

Her Gran’s eyes fixed on her with concern. “You’re afraid, child.”

Was she? Perhaps it was the unknown that frightened her. This, without question, was an unknown quantity. “I don’t really understand what I’m dealing with. This isn’t just black magic or opportunists drawn to the area.”

“No, no, this is something altogether different.”

Abra nodded and smiled at her Grandmother Micaela. She was such a strong, wise woman. Surely, they could figure this out. “All right, Gran, I’ll make us both a cup of tea, and then I want you to tell me every scrap of information you know about this sort of beast.”

“Yes, yes, I will.” And then she closed her eyes, and Abra could feel through her skin that the older woman was not sleeping, but communing with other spirits, attempting to draw in help and advice for her granddaughter.

*

When Lapetus left Esme’s, he went for a drive, a long drive through the area, hoping, well, hoping he could find her again. Even though his exposure to her had been brief, he was drawn, curious, and eminently aware that this indulgence could be profoundly dangerous for him. But the truth was that he didn’t really care. Unexpectedly, his time in New Orleans had given birth to a recklessness in him, a stirring of embers that had been ignited by Abra, Abra Jensen.

The new waitress, the one who had taken Abra’s place, Lacey was her name, had brought his coffee, smiling brightly. “Cream or sugar?” she’d asked.

“No, just black,” he’d answered softly.

“Well, your omelet won’t be long.”

At that, he reached out, grabbed her hand, and then looked into her startled cornflower-blue eyes. “Why don’t you sit for a moment, Lacey?”

He could tell by the expression of confusion on her face that she had no idea what to do. When his influence was exerted, it hit everyone differently. But oddly, the other one, Abra, seemed to elude it quite easily. “Maybe just a moment.”

And then she sank into the chair across from him. She glanced down at the hand he continued to hold. “I was wondering if you might tell me something about your friend.”

“Friend?” she repeated, now clearly in a state of mesmerization.

“Yes, Abra.”

“Abra?”

“Yes, I’d like you to tell me everything you know about her. But most particularly where she lives.”

*

Deliberately, he didn’t want to go near her house. He didn’t want to tip her off, not yet. So, instead, he canvassed the area casually, driving and feeling, seeing if he could pick up any sense of her that was not cloaked. But so far, there was nothing, as though she were a mirage. He smiled. How fascinating, and why indeed would she feel the need to shield herself so extensively?

*

“The original ones, the old ones, were largely beasts, bitten by wolf creatures and transformed into monsters controlled by the phases of the moon. They would stay in the man/wolf mode for three nights of the month, then appear as normal the rest of the time. Though some were solitary, they largely moved in packs or clans, which have evolved into covens.”

“Like witches?” Abra offered, then took a sip of her black tea, which today tasted strongly of licorice. It was fine, though. She needed something to stimulate her mind.

Her Gran’s eyes were closed, and Abra understood that she was almost in a state of channeling. “Not exactly. Witches often aspire to power and develop their craft, though yes, some are born more inclined to it. But the beasts, the werewolf covens are tied together because they are of a like mind and live a similar existence.”

“Okay,” she murmured, taking another sip of tea, not really knowing how helpful this was.

“Initially, the old ones would consume flesh, often human, to devour the spirit, or rather, the energy force of its prey. Energy is a key component in their survival.”

“You said used to.”

“Yes, some have evolved from this baser nature, have become more attuned to power points on the earth, and can draw and reenergize without the need to kill.”

“What about this one?”

“It’s unknown, Abra. It is clear he is very old and also clear that you’ve been marked.”

“Marked? What does that mean?”

“As far as can be told, he is aware of you.”

*

Lapetus pulled into a small boat launch near a lake. He didn’t know how far he had driven, but it was quite a distance from Esme’s. He closed his eyes for a moment, sinking, sinking deeply into an instinctual place where he could see. Things shifted in his mind as he began to access the wolf. If he wanted to, he could transform here, now, by sheer will, but there was no point in that. But the vision, yes, that was what he was after.

*

“Is there anything else?” Abra asked with a shakiness in her voice. “Anything I can use?”

Her grandmother swallowed, and her chin was lifted, although her eyes were still closed, as though she was determined to find answers for her. “The old ones, some have come to the point where they can transform by will.”

“By will? Like a shapeshifter, you mean.”

“It’s different. It takes tremendous determination and power to harness the wolf within.”

“I see,” she murmured, feeling despondent. “I’m not sure what I can do here.”

Her Gran slowly opened her eyes and peered directly at Abra. “He’s near.”

“What?” Abra stood up abruptly, spilling some of her tea onto the polished wooden floor in her Gran’s den.

“Be easy, child. Don’t let him smell fear.”

She swallowed on a parched and constricted throat. “What does he want?”

Her Gran expelled a breath. “All I can sense is curiosity. It’s not impossible that he might just pass through with no significant trouble.”

“Significant? What does that mean?”

But there was no answer, just her Gran leaning back, settling again comfortably in her rocking chair and sipping her tea as though nothing of particular consequence was happening.

*

When he opened his eyes this time, he could see through the wolf. Now it was easy, across the lake on the other side, a house, a small house just spilling forth with energy.

*

“Have you heard of the Snawfus?”

Abra looked at her blankly. “The what?”

“The Howler?”

She took a deep breath, her eyes passing over her mother, who was quietly sitting in a chair some yards away from this interrogation. “Is that some kind of a mixed drink?” she murmured lightly.

The woman, dressed in black, frowned, which created a disturbing effect, given that her foundation was a light, pasty color and her lipstick a dark burgundy that was difficult to imagine looking good on anyone. “No,” she said with a definitiveness that should have curled the young fifteen-year-old’s toes. But it didn’t. As her Gran had always said, young Abra Jensen had hutzpah.

“The Gollywog?”

Abra felt a slight smile threatening to make its way out. Really, was the old hag making this stuff up?

“The Woozer?”

She shook her head with no sound as she was sure it wouldn’t due to giggle just now.

“The Whistling Wampus?”

“I’ve heard of Ewoks. Any of those about?” She asked with the softest lilt in her voice.

The woman, with jet-black hair, which was way too severe for her advanced age, and the oh-so-badly chosen shade of lipstick turned to her Gran, who was sitting next to her with an expressionless face. “Micaela, did you teach her nothing?”

“No, Elliana, her mother forbade it. She wasn’t sure her child would be capable of taking up the mantle.”

Abra frowned. Not capable? That wasn’t very generous, even though she was largely clueless as to what this was all about. “Yes,” her mother, Sarah Jensen, spoke from her spot across the room. “That is correct. I have not indoctrinated Abra into our ways. But it was not that I felt her incapable; instead, I wanted to give her the option of choosing another kind of life if she wished.”

“And you would leave this Ouachita Valley without a protector?”

Her mother was silent. And Abra found that odd, just about as odd as she had always found the fact that the Jensen women did not marry. Back several generations before her mother, all the women in her family had remained single, yet each had one daughter out of wedlock. She’d asked about the strange coincidence more than once but was always met with noncommittal non-answers.

“The times are changing, Sister. I will not choose my only child’s life for her. That must be her choice to make.”

And then the strange woman who suddenly felt keenly like a pure rush of flame from their well-used fireplace peered at her with eyes almost the color of soot. “So, young one, if I offered you a genuine purpose in life, accompanied by a vast well of power and influence. Would you be willing to make the sacrifices to take on such a mantle?”

She frowned, glancing at her Gran’s unreadable expression and then her mom with the concern marring her expression. And Abra had thought that perhaps, at that moment, her mother wished a different fate for her. But, as it was, it was all too late, and she felt the powerful call already deep within and the stirring of her blood. “Tell me more,” was her reply.

*

“It’s too late,” her Gran said softly in her raspy voice. “He’s marked the house.”

Abra straightened up, feeling an awareness sweeping over her. “I have to lead him away.”

Her grandmother reached out suddenly, grasping her with a strength she didn’t suspect she had in that thin, bony arm. “Child, if you shift, you could make yourself vulnerable. His is a very old power.”

She felt her mouth, throat, and, it seemed, her whole body go dry with fear. But she forced herself to calm and began to draw from the old magic of the forest that fed her being. “Trust me, Gran.”

The old woman still wasn’t looking directly at her, but she saw a slight nod as she released her. Abra moved toward the sliding back door of the cottage, pulling it open and feeling the energy of the forest sweep into her as she stepped onto the patio. She allowed it to flood her and strip away the spell of disguise that she had used in an attempt to shield her presence. It was important now that she be quite visible to those searching for her.

*

“You must not use your mind but allow the spirits around you to choose your form.”

Her mother began to train her after the first meeting with Sister Alliana. And she had met more Sisters from across the State, then further and even some no longer of the flesh. And then, just three years into that training, her mother, Sarah Jensen, succumbed to an unexpected cancer that spread swiftly and aggressively throughout her body. For Abra, it was an ending and yet a beginning as well.

She felt the rush through her blood and the whispers in her ears as her body began to meld, rather fluidly, into a form that she was not unfamiliar with.

*

To him, the energy emanating from the small house suddenly became a painful, blinding flash of white light that caused him to shut his eyes. He took a deep breath as it felt acutely like an ethereal attack, causing his head to throb painfully.

Slowly, opening his eyes, now back to conventional vision, he saw movement through the woods beside the cottage. Without consideration, he stepped out of the Jeep and saw a quick fluttering along the side of the lake. Then it stopped. An animal was there now, staring right toward him. In fact, it was a stag, though a white one, the color of snow. It was motionless, eyes focused directly on him, then suddenly turning its head and beginning to run.

“Abra,” he whispered, almost to himself. Then, he began to move without thought, almost without will, after it. And from without, the wolf within him took over as well.

*

Moving through the forest was always dazzling. In this form, particularly in this one, there was peace and communion with everything about her. She did not exist separately. She existed as part of all: the wood, the trees, the earth, the water, and the sky.

“It is truly being at peace, at one with everything.”

“Yes, my child,” her Gran had told her. “But it will always keep you apart from one world, the human one.”

Her senses expanded as she led him away, away from her grandmother’s cottage. But to where? Thought was so expanded. In her mind, she saw a vision of her own little house, perched atop the hill overlooking the forest, deep within the heart of The Village. But she was moving so quickly, and she could feel him, actually feel him behind her, gaining on her. Then, finally, the thought crystallized. He’d transformed and was now the wolf.

A bolt of fear shot through her as she clearly saw in her mind the great black wolf closely on her trail.

“Never let negative emotions enter your sphere when you are in the sacred form.”

She brushed the terror aside, which was so much easier than when she was in human form. Here she was spirit, controlled, but wildly free. She called on the power around her that she easily tapped into to canvas not around her, but around the great dark wolf who seemed at least three times the size of an ordinary variety. Like a gentle net woven of energy, she envisioned the power rising out of the earth and softly encasing him, binding him softly, quietly, to slow his progress.

*

Lapetus was on her scent as she’d taken the form of a dazzling white stag. It was maddening, the blood lust he felt — the need to conquer this being. His essence had not been stirred this profoundly since he’d first made the transition, too far back to remember. It was as if all control had been stripped from him, and he only yearned, only lived in the need to absorb that power, that pure, untainted power.

And then, as he continued to run, leaping through the woods rampantly, he felt something else, something soft surrounding him like the gentlest rain falling or perhaps a soft snow. But that was impossible, and then he stopped, sensing it even stronger, a fog, mist surrounding him, soaking into him, dulling his senses and burying that wild instinctual drive, that insatiable need.

The witch — she had spun a spell around him was his very last thought as he fell into an unnatural slumber. “Sleep now, Master Wolf.” He heard the softest voice as everything faded to black.

*

“What about my clothes?”

“It is a mystical transition. They will return as you are reforming your physical form. It is not as you think.”

And much of it had not always been as she expected. She sighed deeply as she took out her spare key from its hidden spot under a heavy chunk of quartz outside in the garden and opened the back door to her house. Now that she was back to her usual self, Abra felt the fear coursing through her. Her head was throbbing and her stomach cold with the realization that she hadn’t solved anything. She’d simply kicked the can down the road, and doubtless, when he awoke, this wolfman, he would be royally pissed.

She flopped down on her sofa, wondering distractedly how she would get her car back from her Gran’s house. Maybe her aunt. But she was so tired and desperately needed a shower. She definitely had to think, had to try to think clearly, because the one thought that had crystallized while she was in the Snawfus form was that he knew. He knew exactly where she lived.

*

Once he returned to his car, he took a moment to consider. It would be easy enough to just drive over to Abra’s place, as her waitress friend had so readily supplied the address. But there were realities to weigh. The chief concern was that, although he had learned long ago how to place a glamour around himself after the change to wolf form to avoid awkward encounters concerning his state of undress, the reality was that he did need to put on some new clothes, as his had been decimated during the transformation.

The truth was that he needed to think. What exactly did he want to do here? Just going in and destroying this fascinating creature was an option. There was no doubt he would be able to absorb untold amounts of energy from her. But then that would be it—experience finished. It was the alternatives that intrigued him, dangerous as all of that could be.

*

Sometime after lunch, Abra’s Aunt Jolene showed up at her door unannounced.

“Aunt Jo, this might not be safe,” Abra muttered, having just woken from a heavy nap after a shower.

“I brought your car, Abbie. Let me in and make me a cup of coffee. I have some ideas.”

Her family, all her family, undeniably were amazing. It was all in the bloodline. Her Gran had told her this more often than not.

“How are you feeling, pumpkin?” Aunt Jo asked with concern, sitting at Abra’s small bistro table in her kitchen.

“Like hell.”

She nodded slowly, looking at her intently. Aunt Jo strongly resembled her mother, but she lacked those distinctive green eyes. Hers were more of a brownish-muddied hazel shade. It seemed that only the protectors possessed the purest green. “That makes sense. You’ve had quite the morning. I thought I might share some insights with you that could be useful.”

Aunt Jo, though not a protector, was definitely a profound psychic and had quite a knack for reading Tarot cards. Abra shrugged, “Sure, I could use all the help I could get.”

Jolene smiled, and with distraction, Abra wondered why she’d never left this place. Aunt Jolene wasn’t obliged to stay, and she could have started her own family somewhere else. But then again, she did seem to be a fierce dedication in her family line, and her aunt had stepped in as a strong supporter and confidante once her mother had passed away. “So, I’ve been focusing on this man. And I am sensing conflicting purposes.”

Abra leaned back in her chair and sipped her coffee. “Conflicting? What does that mean?”

“It means rather than just using your usual tools for dealing with opposing forces, you might consider some other tools.”

Now Abra deliberately frowned, “What does that mean? Other tools.”

“I mean, it isn’t out of the realm of possibility that this person, this man, is just on vacation.”

She blinked her eyes, wondering if she needed to clean out her ears. Had she heard correctly? “Aunt Jo, he chased me through the forest. He was a huge, black, unnaturally sized wolf. It really doesn’t seem like he’s here for a few matches of pickleball.”

And then her aunt sighed, “Well, yes, clearly, Abra, he’s capable of causing great harm and is extremely dangerous, but I wonder if his heart is really in it.”

“His heart?” she murmured, dumbfounded.

“Yes, dear, maybe you could just distract him, reason with him, use some of that famous Jensen charm on him.”

“You can’t be serious,” she blurted out. She couldn’t help it. “You want me to flirt with the werewolf!”

“Yes, well, honey, you might need to put aside your pride and your ego and consider my words. The reality is that he is very old, and if he overcomes his conflicts within, he will be formidable. And there is much concern, much doubt, I’m afraid, that you can prevail.”

*

Aunt Jolene didn’t stay long. Abra drove her back to Gran’s cottage and then took some time riding around The Village to clear her mind. One could actually drive forever around here and still be inside the gated community, its parameters spanned over 26,000 acres. In modern times, the region had evolved into a more retirement-oriented settlement, while also serving as a major resort area during holidays and the summer. And of course, there were niches of all sorts of communities within as well, including her very own antiquated esoteric populace.

But Abra had no doubt that the area would evolve over time. It was the hope, however, that the forest would always remain largely untouched, though it was a hope rather than a foregone conclusion. When she finally came home, she fell asleep on the sofa in front of the fireplace. She felt like lighting a roaring fire, sprinkling it with white sage, and smoking the whole house. It would strip its energy, forcing everything to start over — and then she mused, perhaps even going back to when she was fifteen. This time, she might pause before answering Sister Elliana’s question and deeply consider taking another path, another path where she belonged to herself rather than obligations.

With a discordant mind and heart, Abra fell into a deep sleep. She shifted restlessly, dreaming of traveling through a darkened night with the fullest moon brightly beaming overhead. Its illumination filled everything, every part of her, and she reveled in its power. And then she stopped by a glistening lake on the edge of the forest and sat beside it, drinking deep of its luminescent water.

“It’s a gift at times to be mindless.”

She shifted in her sleep restlessly. “Is it?”

“Oh yes, a gift to be stripped free of the constraint of obligations to run wild with one’s own passion.”

She opened her eyes in the darkness of the room, though she felt sure she’d left some of the lights on. Across from the sofa near the fireplace, there was a pine rocking chair that had belonged to her mother. She sat up slowly, still peering through the shadows at the figure clearly sitting in it.

“How did you get in?” She asked of the darkness.

“It’s foolish, Abra Jensen, to leave a key beneath such a prominent stone in your garden. It is so careless that it could be easily regarded as an invitation.” His voice was so smooth and filled with almost a teasing, sarcastic timber.

And then he switched on a standing lamp that stood nearest to the rocker. It softly illuminated a portion of the room largely couched in shadows. She sat up cautiously, her eyes falling to the clock on the wall, seven-thirty in the evening. She’d been asleep for so long. As she came to a sitting position, she stared with restrained emotion at the stranger sitting in her den, the same man she had waited on at Esme’s just that morning. “So, do you intend to murder me, whoever you are?”

“My name is Lapetus,” he said quietly with that odd accent of his. But who was she to talk with her light Arkansas drawl?

“Okay, again, you haven’t answered my question. I don’t like suspense.”

“Pity, suspense is one of life’s pleasures that should be savored.”

She straightened up. “Shouldn’t you have to be invited to enter someone’s home?”

And then he smiled, oh, how wonderful, she amused him. “I’m not a vampire, Abra.”

“No, you’re not. You’re a werewolf, evidently a very old one.”

“Yes, and you, my dear, are clearly a witch.”

“Not exactly,” she murmured.

“No, well, I’m more than sure you wove an incantation around me out in the forest. But you’re not the only one with such skills. Aren’t you curious why you slept so deeply while I entered your home, as you say, uninvited?”

She took in a deep breath. This was bothersome, and she was impatient. “Fine, you have a few tricks up your sleeve, as do I. But you still haven’t said what it is you want.”

He leaned forward a bit. She focused on him clearly now. He was dressed entirely in black, a black shirt, and black jeans. No wonder he melded in so well with the shadows. “Abra, it’s clear you’re a shapeshifter of a kind — the white stag. Why? What is your purpose here?”

“Why should I answer your questions?”

“You’re brittle, tired, and impatient. Do you desire an end to something, dear Abra? Am I feeling that within you?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Of course not. Why would you think?” And then she stopped. He was reading her emotions and thoughts. There was more to this man, if she could really call him that, than met the eye.

“You are not careful. You are brazen, even though you confront someone who might easily destroy you.”

“You seem very confident.”

And then he leaned back. “No, more than that, I am intrigued. So, let’s talk more.”

Then, the image of Aunt Jo crossed her mind. “You might consider some other tools.”

She sighed inwardly. So, maybe time to break out a softer arsenal. “I haven’t eaten. How about some nachos and a margarita?”

And then Lapetus, the werewolf, smiled at her with genuine amusement. “That sounds difficult to resist.”

*

It wasn’t especially cold, but Abra lit the fireplace and threw some dried rosemary on it, not sage. As she’d been told long ago, sage smudging and smoke destroy all energy, while rosemary only destroys the negative variety. She didn’t know if that would make her uninvited guest uncomfortable, but it made her feel more secure. Though the truth was that the vibrations she felt from Lapetus were undeniably mixed. Eclectic, actually, was a better description.

“Do you drink alone?” he asked from across her bistro table.

“Sometimes,” she murmured, taking a bite out of the plate of nachos she prepared for them not long ago. Her guest had seemed content to quietly roam her rustic den and flip through her collection of books as she made them dinner.

“You?” she asked lightly.

“No, not often. Alcohol doesn’t affect me the way it does others.”

She smiled deliberately. “Pity,” she echoed him, then took a deep sip of her margarita. Whether she was going to be killed or something else entirely, she preferred to be drunk.

“You seem very young, Abra.”

“I’m twenty-two.” She dug deep for some sort of name for him, “Pete.”

“Pete?” he repeated with incredulity.

“Maybe, Peter, I can’t seem to wrap my mind around Lapetus. It’s so antiquated, speaking of,” picking up another nacho and shoving it indecorously in her mouth, “how old are you?”

“Peter, if I have a choice, I would prefer Peter, and to you, I would say solemnly, my dear, closing in on a millennium.”

Her throat went perceptively dry, closing in on a thousand years. “Wow, what do you do, living that long? I mean, how do you keep yourself interested in living without being—”

“Being what exactly?” he asked, casually picking up his margarita. “Finish your thought, please.”

“Well, without being bored.”

He nodded slowly as though considering. “Yes, well, I continually look for things that intrigue me.”

Ah, and then her stomach sank. Evidently, that was her now, something to intrigue him, something to toy with until, well, until he was finished with her.

*

Sometimes, he felt like an old man. He’d been alive so long, maybe too long. And sometimes, he felt as though he simply lived outside of life, didn’t really participate, just marked its passage. Some in his clan had taken a mate, a partner to walk their peculiar path with. It was a select few. Most beings of modern times lacked the physical stamina and constitution to make the transition. To put it plainly, modern man was of a weaker stock. And ultimately, in his estimation, that would make his kind a dying breed because the gift of immortality was no assurance one would live forever. One might not age, but all sorts of things could kill you, apathy amongst many. Finding a new and hopefully scintillating reason to be alive was always important.

The young brunette in front of him took a large sip from her oversized margarita glass, and he vaguely wondered if she was trying to get drunk. Alcohol, as a rule, didn’t do much for him. But then again, his blood wasn’t exactly what one would consider normal by any stretch of the imagination.

And then she focused on him, and he felt a frisson along his spine. Those eyes, green eyes so wide and penetrating, just like the lightest touch of fingertips brushing along his skin. “Do you want dessert?” she asked cautiously.

He sighed inwardly, deeply because he didn’t want her to know how oddly and comfortingly confounding he found this situation. What was it about this slight little girl, this woman, that made him so captivated? Maybe he was just tired of what he expected. And then she leaned her head to the side ever so slightly as though she was actively trying to understand what he was thinking. Could she glean thoughts? Could this be another gift of hers?

“I’m trying to entertain you,” she murmured.

“And why is that exactly, Abra Jensen? You found me in your house uninvited, a predator no less.”

“Are you?” she asked softly. “A predator?”

He breathed in a bit, “At times, yes, of course.”

She just continued to stare at him speculatively. “What about this time?”

“This time?” he echoed. Was it a spell? Was she weaving a spell, or had he been alone too long? Unloved for too long?

“I was wondering if I had anything to fear from you, My Lord Werewolf.”

And then he smiled. Actually, he couldn’t help it. She, this shapeshifter, was an odd little thing. “Curious title.”

“Curious circumstance,” she said, placing her oversized glass on the table. And yes, she’d pretty much downed it. “Are you going to answer me?”

“As to my intentions?”

“Yes, that was essentially what I asked. You’ll find that I’m not a very complicated individual, Peter. I like to get things out on the table, so I know what I’m dealing with.”

“I’m not sure I like Peter.”

“Well, answer my question, and I’ll give you another name.”

“Impatient one. And if I answer, how will you know I’m sincere?”

“I’ll know,” she said softly, and for some reason, he believed her. Something about her eyes seemed steady and unflinching at the proclamation. Perhaps that was one of her gifts.

“What else do you transform into? Other than the white stag?”

“The Snawfus, that’s what they call it around here.”

He considered for a moment. “Not really?”

“Oh yes, really,” she said, reaching for her margarita glass, then seeming disappointed that it was empty.”

“Do you want mine?”

She wrinkled her pert little nose, and he was overcome with a curious impulse to kiss it. Good lord, was he actually attracted to this creature? This was not like him at all. “Probably shouldn’t, until I know what I’m dealing with. So, Peter,” he noted that she said that name with emphasis. Did she have no clue who exactly she was dealing with? “How about a game?”

“A game? I’m listening.”

“Yes, well, I’ll answer a question of yours, and you’ll answer a question of mine.”

He leaned back in his chair, deliberately taking a sip of his margarita, not because he particularly liked it but because he knew she wanted it. “Intriguing, but how will I know, Abra Jensen, that you are telling me the truth?”

Those beautiful green eyes narrowed just a notch as she focused on him. “All right, I’ll swear on the souls of my ancestors.”

He lifted his eyebrow because, frankly, he couldn’t help it. “The souls of your ancestors?”

“Yes,” she looked back at him with a bit of disdain. Had he ruffled her lovely feathers? And would he like to ruffle a few more? “That is a very solemn and binding promise amongst my kind.”

“And what kind is that exactly, Abra?”

“No, not yet. You haven’t agreed to the game. Once you do, then I’ll answer.” And then she pursed her lips, and Lapetus recognized with some surprise that he did actually very much want to kiss those lips, those lovely little pouty lips. Had he decided not to kill her? Maybe all of this was just too compelling. “All right, I agree.”

*

Abra swallowed on a dry throat. She really wanted another margarita, though she might already be a bit tipsy because she was finding the werewolf fellow kind of hot. On the one hand, he seemed distant, rather cold, with his dark eyes and black hair that was long enough to curl around the top of his collar. And his skin was that swarthy, olive sort of tone. But there was something wild about him, too, just brimming beneath the surface, sizzling—

“What did you say?” She had to ask because, in the midst of this strange muddle, she really had no idea.

“I said I’ll agree to your game.” He answered rather languidly.

“Oh, okay, so who goes first?”

“First, you take your oath.” And then she smiled because he was so handsome, and it was clear he wouldn’t let her get away with anything.

“Of course,” she said lightly. “I swear—”

“No,” he said abruptly, cutting her off. “Don’t you have some sort of holy book around here?”

“Holy book? Oh, you mean like a Bible.”

“Whatever you find sacred.”

“Sacred? That’s a tall order. Well, Peter, I can’t claim to be much of a churchgoer, but my mom was. And it did belong to her.” Quite smoothly, she stood up and strolled as casually as she could manage over to the bookshelf built into the wall near the fireplace. Her head spun a bit, and she understood at that moment that it wasn’t the liquor, not at all. She was in the company of powerful magic. She had a built-in radar for sensing this. Then, the random thought crossed her mind. Maybe it was just who he was. He was the powerful magic. She grasped the old book in her hands. It had belonged to many Protectors before her mother and had been passed into her hands at her mother’s death.

As she settled back into her seat at the small table facing the incomprehensibly old werewolf, she asked herself if she was going to do this. Was she really going to make herself this vulnerable to this very, very dangerous man? Was this in any way wise, or was this incredibly foolish?

And then she plopped the book a little irreverently down on the table in front of her. Yes, in answer to all those questions, it did seem as though she would be doing this. Some might say it was a rash decision. Some might say it was an unwarranted gamble. But a fierce recklessness inside of her was driving her toward the edge of this particular cliff.

She placed her left palm face down on the cover.

“Wait,” Peter again interrupted her.

She glanced up, a little annoyed. “Yes.”

“Which hand do you correspond with?”

“Which hand?” somewhat confused. “Oh, oh, I’m right-handed.”

He nodded, “Then use that hand. It will make the oath more powerful.”

She took a deep breath. Undeniably, he was a man of details. So, she switched hands, then focused, saying aloud. “I, Abra Mera Jensen, do swear on the souls of all my ancestors to tell Peter—”

“Lapetus,” he corrected.

“Lapetus, the truth during our game of question and answer.” And then she glanced up at him, smiling prettily. “Will that do?”

He stared at her oddly, intently, as though trying to see something that probably wasn’t there at all. “Yes, I suppose it will have to do. And would you have me swear as well, Abra Mera Jensen?”

“No,” she said flatly, removing her hand from the good book. “I will know if you are lying.”

And then he smiled, but not in a warm way, in a calculated way that sent an undeniable shiver right up her spine. “All right, then let’s begin.”

*

But before they began this wonderful game that had been her brainchild, Abra went into the refrigerator and brought out a half-eaten key lime pie. It had been her mother’s favorite, and she had many fond memories of them curled up on this sofa in this house, watching the flames jumping around the fireplace as they ate key lime pie. She didn’t ask. She simply put out a piece in front of her remarkably quiet guest. After her first rather tart bite, she looked at him and commented abruptly, “You go first.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Do you want that to count as your first question?” She said, taking an overly large bite, but then again, she loved this stuff.

He frowned a bit, and it made her smile. He didn’t like being ruffled. “Quite the stickler, no.”

She licked the fork with relish, then realized that maybe she shouldn’t be doing this in front of such unpredictable company. “Because you’re the guest, and I’m trying to be polite.”

He nodded begrudgingly, she thought. Then again, maybe not, though she did feel as though she was getting the vibe of this fellow. He eyed the pie suspiciously, then used his fork to take a tiny bite. Maybe he thought she was trying to poison him, an idea that oddly hadn’t even crossed her mind until this very moment. “Why this pie?” he asked smoothly.

“This pie?” she repeated, looking at him quizzically. Of all the things he could ask.

“Yes,” he said, scooping up an even bigger bite. “It seems to have some significance for you.”

Her eyes widened. He’d picked that up, more intuitive than she’d expected from a centuries-old lycanthrope. “Yes, it was my mother’s favorite. We used to—” Then her voice tapered off. She wondered if perhaps she should keep these true confessions short and sweet.

“Used to—” he prodded in a low voice that felt oddly like it was skimming along her skin.

“That very well could qualify as a compound question.”

And then he focused on her with his dark eyes. Did she mention that they were sexy, dark eyes? Maybe she was just starved for male companionship, and he wasn’t nearly as sexy as she believed him to be. “And here I was hoping for just a friendly conversation with a new acquaintance.”

“Oh, are we pretending, Peter? Are we pretending that we are just acquaintances, and you did not just chase me through the woods as a vicious beast ready to tear me apart.”

“Vicious? Determined, yes. And to be succinct, I was chasing a stag, a snowy white stag that seemed somehow unearthly.”

“Snawfus,” she said softly.

He looked at her oddly, but then again, he had been looking at her oddly ever since she’d laid eyes on him. But this time, he did not speak. He just took another bite of the slice of key lime pie, in fact, a rather large bite. From where she was sitting, it did seem her mother’s favorite pie was half gone from his plate. “So, you’ve said,” finally, he spoke. “And that is your only alternate form, this Snawfus?”

She hesitated, damn that oath, “No,” she answered.

“Ah, then what—”

“And now I think, Peter or Lapetus, if you prefer, it must be my turn by now.” Then she smiled back at him, almost teasingly, “Don’t you think?”

And he smiled back in response, but slowly, as though with genuine thoughtfulness. “Of course, proceed.”

She nodded, gathering her thoughts. Best to make it count, as this whole situation was feeling remarkably unstable. “I would very much like to know what brings you to this area. You must be very far from your home.”

“Yes, that is true,” he said slowly. “Traveling, I suppose. I had business in the south of your country in the city of New Orleans, and I decided to take a little time to explore the New World before I returned home.”

“The New World? Is this your first time in the United States?”

“To the United States? Yes, but not to this land. The last time I was here was well before the birth of this country, and things, well, I have to say, were markedly different, more primitive, more natural.”

“I see,” she said, clearly now seeing it, concrete images as the memories passed through his mind. “And so, you weren’t looking for anything—”

“For anything in particular? No, not initially. But there does seem to be powerful energy here in this community, in this land. I sensed it immediately. That was why I stopped.”

“Yes, the area is very old, filled with mystical energy.”

“And you are part of all of that, Abra,” he said her name in a way that felt almost like a caress.

“Not Abra Jensen?”

“Who are you, Abra?” he asked slowly, but his dark eyes were foraging, almost foraging in her mind, or so it felt.

“I—” she hesitated, not at all sure why. “I am the protector here, as was my mother and as were her ancestors.”

“Protector? From what exactly, my dear?”

“From any who would cause harm in this sacred region.”

There was a hesitation, and then he nodded slowly, his eyes settling on her in a most profound way. “And you are wondering if I am such a threat.”

“Of course,” she murmured, feeling it might be impossible to look away from his gaze. Hypnotic? Was he indeed casting a spell?

And then he reached across her small bistro table and took her hand in his. And she felt the power surging through the contact with his skin, a cataclysm of ancient power coursing through this being, connected to so much. “And I can tell you now, Abra, I’ve decided perhaps in just this moment that I am not a threat to this protected place of yours.”

“You’re not?” she murmured distractedly because he’d risen to his feet and was now standing beside her, grasping both her hands and drawing her to a standing position.

“No,” he murmured. “But most especially, I am not a threat to you.”

She nodded slowly, mesmerized, and completely and unexpectedly falling into those eyes that seemed to go on forever. “I’m not sure about that,” she whispered huskily because in the next moment he’d bent in and had begun kissing her.

*

“Why did you do that?”

There was something odd in his dark eyes, sparkling with amusement. Was this all just a game to this centuries-old lycanthrope? And she, a distraction to toy with? “No,” he murmured softly, continuing to hold her arms with his hands, continuing to peruse her face, her lips with his gaze, telling her in no uncertain terms that he’d like nothing better than to kiss her again.

“No?” she questioned, stepping back and forcing him to drop his embrace.

“No, you are not something to toy with, Abra.”

She drew in a sharp breath because she was definitely feeling it, drawn, mesmerized, as if in some sort of hazy web. “Are you hypnotizing me with that werewolf thing?”

An eyebrow rose, “Are you always this suspicious when someone kisses you?”

She frowned, not really wanting to admit how seldom that happened. “No,” she murmured. “But when someone kisses me, someone who was quite a formidable threat not very many minutes ago, I have to wonder.”

“Good point,” he whispered in a low, throaty voice.

“So, this isn’t like an I’ll do this for you, you do this for me thing.”

“Quid pro quo. And no,” suddenly pulling her against him. “You really have to stop all of this, Abra.”

His arms were around her now, and she was in a close, dizzying embrace. Undeniably, she didn’t feel like herself anymore but someone else, something else, unencumbered. “Stop what?”

“Thinking so much,” he murmured just before he kissed her again, and this time, she kissed him back.

*

Lapetus wandered through the small mountain home of Abra Jensen. It was still dark outside, but the time eluded him. Last night had an unmistakably unreal quality, and more than that, it felt like a spell. But a spell he had no desire to resist.

He’d been in love once, long ago, before he became who and what he was.

The girl was a childhood friend in his village, and her parents and he expected a marriage. But once he’d taken a midnight walk along a lake on a restless night, everything changed.

His family, everyone he knew, believed he’d died from his wounds after the savage attack from a beast— a beast no one really saw. But he hadn’t died, and he returned to her late one night, telling her what happened, how he was now transformed. But she, Aelynn, the girl of his childhood dreams, saw only a demon. He recalled how part of him was tempted to crush her for her scathing words and rejection. But he didn’t. He showed restraint, a restraint that, oddly enough, he’d found none of the night before. It wasn’t like him being so out of control, making him very suspicious.

Lapetus had cultivated governing his impulses and his emotions through many lifetimes. Nothing he did was spontaneous, without thought, without calculation. But last night, a desire, a riotous, overwhelming force swept over him. And he didn’t really understand why.

He stared out Abra’s back sliding glass door into the darkness of the forest. It felt like something beyond passion to him. It felt like manipulation.

He heard a rustling noise behind him. If he was not mistaken, it was the sound of her bare feet on the cool wooden floor. Slowly, he turned around. Abra looked thoroughly disheveled. She wore a short, silky robe over her T-shirt. Her dark hair was strewn rather wildly around her shoulders, and her face was beautifully flushed.

“I thought you might have left,” she whispered softly. She was looking at him a bit wide-eyed and as confused as he felt on a level, though admittedly, he didn’t seem as vulnerable as she did to him at the moment. Was this slip of a girl indeed the so-called protector of this realm?

She frowned. “Now, that’s just insulting.”

He walked over to her, lightly touching her face with his fingertips. He was drawn, still drawn, and not sated in his need for her. “Now you’re reading my mind.”

She took a quick breath. “Did I? I didn’t realize—” A lovely blush cascaded across her pale skin at his words, acknowledging her innocence, at least her innocence, until last night. “Um, yeah, things got a little crazy.”

He nodded slowly at her understatement. “Yes, I would agree.”

She glanced around as if in a sort of confusion. “Yeah, I was going to get some water. Want some?” She asked awkwardly.

“No,” Lapetus said softly. “But I would like to ask you something.” Her eyes widened, but she said nothing. “I know you are a shapeshifter, but are you also a witch, my dear?

“A witch?” she repeated, seeming genuinely confused.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Because without doubt, I sense an incantation in the air.”

*

“What?” She whispered with a measure of disbelief.

Madness, all of this felt like madness. Talk about sleeping with the enemy, and she had done that, not once, but several times. And it felt clearly as though she couldn’t help herself. There was a need for him, this werewolf, a crazy, unstoppable need, and now he was staring her down, accusing her of using witchcraft to bewitch him while she should be the one accusing him.

“You heard me.”

His hands were on her, but now he was holding her arms just as he did at the beginning of this craziness. “You’re accusing me of putting some sort of spell on you. Well, I think you put some sort of strange werewolf fugue on me because this, what happened, is not at all like me.”

He frowned, pulling her closer and looking her over with those dark, sexy eyes as though he were truly peering into her soul. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes, I am telling the truth, Lapetus, Peter, whatever we decided to call you. I can’t remember.”

“Lapetus will do. So, you do not claim to be a witch, though I remember a spell when I was in the wolf form. Someone lulled me into sleep.”

Her eyes widened. “I called on the powers of the earth to aid me. That wasn’t a spell. That was bubble wrap.” The quizzical eyebrow went up, an expression she was getting oddly fond of. “I am the protector of these sacred lands, the Ouachita Valley. I can assume the form of the snawfus, the woozer, and a wampus cat, but I am not a witch.”

He frowned explicitly. “What’s a woozer and a wampus cat?” he said a little dryly.

“A woozer is a panther and a wampus cat a bobcat,” she mumbled, feeling more than a bit deflated.

“And you do battle as these creatures, Abra?”

“Usually, I just scare away anything that is potentially a threat.”

“Unless it won’t scare.”

She sighed deeply, “Yes, unless it won’t scare, like you.” And then she pulled away abruptly. “Look, I’m a modern girl. If you want, you can go on your way, and we can chalk this whole confusing night up to too many margaritas.”

He was still staring at her in a way that felt as though he was boring right into her skin. “There was a spell.”

She pulled her silky robe more tightly around her. “Yes, yes, of course it must be a spell. Why else would you want to sleep with me?”

“No, it’s just not my nature to jump into something unthinkingly.”

She shook out her hair, suddenly deciding she’d had enough of this odd inquisition. “So, I’m going back to bed. You do what you want, Lapetus.”

He took a deep breath. “It’s three in the morning.”

She glanced at the clock, frowning. Three o’clock? What had her aunt said about three o’clock, a strong time for the spiritual world? “Yeah, or you could just stay over, I guess.”

He nodded slowly, now gazing at her in a way that made her feel tingly all over. “Yes, that is an option.” And then he reached out, taking her hand and quite expertly pulling her toward him. He put his arm around her, and at that moment, she decided she quite liked the snuggly feel of being next to him. “Would that be acceptable to you?”

She smiled, that strange magnetic pull again, not sure if it was wise, not sure if she cared. “Maybe,” she said lightly as he softly kissed her again, knowing it was more than acceptable.

*

The old woman drew in a sharp breath that seemed to rattle throughout her frail body. Jolene felt her mother squeeze her hands more tightly, painfully. But then Michaela Jensen exhaled softly and leaned back in the rocking chair, loosening her grip on her daughter. “Enough,” her voice rasped with exhaustion.

“Do you think the spell was strong enough?” Jolene asked in confusion. All of this felt strangely chaotic to her.

Slowly, her mother opened her eyes. There was a foggy quality to them that made her daughter uncomfortable. She was too old for such incantations any longer. They took too much out of her. “They’re together. I can see them. The spell we wove was largely unnecessary. There was already an attraction, a draw. We just needed to give them a push.”

Jolene nodded silently, trying to rub her hands together discreetly. She didn’t want her mother to know how much she’d hurt her. She bent to blow out the white candle positioned between them on the small table. “No,” Michaela said with a voice filled with fatigue. “Let it burn down.”

Jolene nodded. “I hope Abra won’t regret, well, anything.”

Micaela sighed deeply, closing her eyes again. “It is the way it has always been. With me, with her mother, and all those before.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Jolene murmured. “She’s just different, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

(To be continued)

Copyright © 2025 by Evelyn Klebert

Coming Soon!!

A Murder in the Village and Other Mystical Tales of the Ouachita Mountains

At the foothills of the Ouachita Mountains, into their ancient heart, and even perhaps into nearby unexplored dimensions, slip into a series of supernatural short stories. Take a mystical diversion that could very well land you into a realm at the least unexpected and at the most horrifying. But what is clear is that no one, ever, will emerge as they were before.