Angel of Syn

Other ImaJinn Titles by Mertianna Georgia

Syn in the City

Angel of Syn

A Synemancer Novel

by

Mertianna Georgia

ImaJinn Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

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Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61026-119-7

Print ISBN: 978-1-61026-118-0

ImaJinn Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2013 by Mertianna Georgia

Printed and bound in the United States of America.

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Cover design: Patricia Lazarus

Interior design: Hank Smith

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:Esaq:01:

Dedication

I want to thank my writing groups who helped make this a better book. Ink Pointers and Witchy Writers, you rock. Mary, who corrected my French, merci beaucoup. Debbie, who beta read the whole darn thing, you have my gratitude. As always, my editor, Linda, without whom the logic wouldn’t be logical and the punctuation would have been the punch-line in an English textbook. As always, thanks to my husband, son, furry family members (especially the pets) and everyone else who supported this strange dream I had of being a writer.

Chapter One

The Call

THE NAPE OF my neck tingled with the familiar sensation of being stalked. I glanced over my shoulder to see my bodyguard, Azrael. He was named after the angel of death, but he was no angel—in any sense of the word. I used to think it was a nickname. It wasn’t. We were both witches, but he came with specialized security training. He watched me from his favorite indoor spot halfway up the stairs to the second story of our Berkeley Hills house. His sky blue eyes stared at me hungrily.

That stare reminded me of a hawk watching a tasty mouse. Irritated, I took a last bite from my nearly finished apple, turned, and threw the core at him with deadly precision. I’d been practicing using non-magical self-defense skills. My magic skills were unreliable, to say the least.

The apple core flew between the wooden posts directly at his beautiful face. He deftly caught it in a blur of motion, put it up to his nose, inhaled deeply, and slowly licked the apple. His eyes never left me.

Azrael, cut it out, I said, irritated that a pleasurable shiver snaked up my spine when his tongue connected with the fruit.

He widened his eyes innocently. What did I do? He took a small bite of the apple with lowered eyelids and smiled wickedly. Today his shoulder-length, silver-blond hair was pulled back and tied with a strip of black leather. As usual, he wore black jeans and a tight, black, long-sleeved T-shirt, what I thought of as his albino-ninja look.

You are seriously creepy, dude, I said, walking towards the kitchen, my mouth suddenly dry. I didn’t need to look back to know he’d left the stairs to follow me in utter silence. How did he do that? Had a group of ancient monks trained him on how to sneak up on people? And why did I call him dude? Tom’s California surfer lingo must be rubbing off on me. Guess it’s bound to happen when you hang around other people long enough.

You should practice throwing those knives I gave you instead of tennis balls, Azrael said directly behind me. Even knowing he was there, the closeness of his voice startled me.

You know I don’t like . . . I began as I reached for the coffeepot on the kitchen counter.

The back door suddenly flew open, crashing noisily against the wall. Azrael threw himself on top of me, his hands already glowing with green battle fire, ready for action.

A pair of enormous black dogs momentarily blocked out the sun as they surged through the door and bounded into the kitchen. Their tongues lolled from open mouths to reveal sharp white teeth that looked like dueling picket fences. Directly behind them ran a tall blond man, young, bare-chested and tan, wearing a pair of Hawaiian-print board shorts.

Tom skidded to a stop as he spied me on the floor wearing Azrael like a blanket. Whoa, dude. What are you doing to my witch?

I pushed at the hard-muscled body flattening me to the tiled floor. Difficult to breathe with six-feet of male pressed on top of me. It’s just the Hounds and Tom. Get off me, I groused.

My bodyguard muttered something under his breath, and the green flames on his hands winked out. I started to wriggle out from under him. He groaned softly as I moved beneath him. The sound made me even more self-consciously aware of his body on top of mine.

A whiff of Hellhound breath from the beasts’ open panting mouths assailed my nose. Their breaths smelled like a pack of freshly struck matches. One Hound trotted over, black nails clicking on the stone tiles. He sat in front of us, head tilted in curiosity, his yellow-flame eyes bright with amusement. With real danger, the flames would burn bright red. As I freed myself, the great beast’s tail thumped happily at the prospect of giving me his usual greeting, a saliva-facial.

The Hounds and the house belonged to my cousin Sonya. Her father, a half-demon, gave her two Hellhound puppies to keep her company. The huge dogs hunted for food in demon dimensions because they preferred to eat fresh meat, and the local pet store didn’t carry blood-filled kibble on legs. Besides, it was less expensive than buying ten rump roasts every day. They used the big mirror in the cozy living room as a portal.

Tom talked while I dusted off my jeans and my favorite royal blue T-shirt. I glared at Azrael for not getting off right away. He winked at me as he sprang to his feet in one graceful movement.

I checked the small iron cauldron bubbling on the stove. The Devil’s Claw potion was almost ready. It was for a neighbor with a bad back. My college major was Herbal Pharmacology with a minor in preternatural preparations. As I reached for the coffee pot and poured myself a cup, I watched Tom pace in agitation in front of the windows.

What’s wrong? I asked, taking a sip of coffee. I grimaced, reaching for the sugar and creamer. I liked my coffee strong, rich and sweet. I used to joke I liked my coffee like I liked my men. Joke’s on me. I should have said "like I liked my man" because I ended up with three different men, instead of getting all the traits in one package. Tom’s the sweet, Azrael’s the strong, and Roman’s the rich. Actually, Roman had aspects of all characteristics, but unfortunately it’s never at the same time.

Tom stopped pacing and said, I got a call from your aunt. The pack’s freaking because that dude Etienne went whining to his Alpha about how badly we treated him at the picnic. Now the French pack wants an apology and my head on a platter. Tom made a slashing motion across his neck, as if I needed a visual aid to understand the threat to his handsome blond head.

My eyebrows came together in a frown. Since Bart kicked you out, you’re not part of the pack anymore. So it’s not your problem, is it? I’d accidently and illegally made Tom my familiar a few months ago. Don’t ask. The story is so long and convoluted it gives me a headache.

Etienne still wants to challenge me for you, Tom replied, his voice full of frustration, even though Bart told him I wasn’t part of the pack anymore.

"I still can’t believe Bart threw you out of the pack. It wasn’t our fault that French wolf acted like a jerk. And we explained to him about the familiar thing being accidental." Rising frustration made my voice climb half an octave higher. I threw my arms up in the air and brought them down with a thwack against my thighs.

"Cara, be fair. You know weres have issues with being thought of as animals, and until you somehow latched onto my wolf, everyone thought that only animals could be witches’ familiars. You’d probably be mad too if you were the Alpha, like Bart." A pleading-for-understanding tone edged into his voice.

Babe, I can’t ignore what’s happening to my pack, even if they did throw me out. They’re like family, you know? Tom walked to me, put both his warm hands on my shoulders, and gazed at me intently. His eyes were shining with unshed tears, reminding me of rain on new copper pennies. Through our familiar-ties I felt the echo of his worry and sadness.

I shook my head. Tom, I know how you feel, but it’s too dangerous. Bart doesn’t want to see either of us until I’ve unmade you my familiar, and that’s impossible.

From the corner of my eye I noticed Azrael stoop to pick up the apple core he’d dropped when the Hounds and Tom came in. I knew he could hear us, but he pretended not to. Azrael took the stance that anything potentially harmful to me became his business. Unfortunately, he considered everything potentially harmful, so I never got a moment’s privacy.

I needed to call my parents and tell them I didn’t need a bodyguard anymore. They’d assigned Azrael to me after sub-demon attempts on my life.

I sighed. Tom, I don’t want to go back to Santa Lacuna. I don’t want to have to face the Shadow Hunter pack again.

Tom continued to stare at me with puppy-dog eyes. Azrael stood leaning against a kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest, making the muscles on his arms bulge. I often wondered if he worked out so much because he was a bodyguard or because his face was so androgynously beautiful he overcompensated to appear more masculine. I mean he wasn’t grotesque or anything, but way more buff than the average guy.

Tom followed my glance, and one corner of his mouth quirked in a lopsided, disgusted frown, Dude, some privacy?

Azrael nodded, but I noticed the smirk on his face as he took a few steps towards the living room. Close enough to keep tabs on me but far enough for the illusion of privacy.

Cara, I never ask you for anything. Please? Please do this for me? He enfolded me in his arms and buried his face in my hair. I could hear him inhaling my scent. I hugged him back, arms going as far as I could around his warm, lean body. All weres ran hot, and Tom was no exception. His body felt as warm as an electric blanket set on high. The golden aura surrounding him blended into mine at the edges. With a sense of satisfaction, our auras fit together like two halves of a whole.

My inner metaphysical she-wolf lifted her head in mild interest, smelling pack. Her presence was already a normal part of my psyche, despite that she’d been formed only a short time ago, when Tom became my familiar. I put my head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. Resigned, I knew I’d give in despite the churning in my stomach at the thought of facing the weres, my aunt, and my memories of Santa Lacuna.

I pulled away to check the brew again. It was ready. Taking a potholder, I placed the cauldron inside the protection circle and runes etched into the granite countertop to cool. Sonya had the kitchen remodeled last year, and it was a needed addition. Chalk lines were so old-fashioned.

If Tom and I needed to go to Santa Lacuna, I didn’t want Azrael to come along. He’d get in the way and make things more confusing. I had to think of a way for me and Tom to get out of the house without him knowing about it until it was too late to stop us.

And I didn’t want to miss my herbal theory courses either. I’d just started college again, finally deciding I liked working with healing herbs, like my Aunt Amelia. I seemed to have a knack for it. Now I’d have to drop my classes and start over next semester. Why couldn’t I have attracted a cat or dog for a familiar? Oh no, my power had to grab onto a werewolf with a complicated history. Figures.

WE MADE IT to the airport. My neck hurt from craning it around, constantly looking for Azrael’s bright blond head above the crowds in the terminal. I’d told him my parents demanded to meet with him immediately in a matter of House Augustine security. He took off after making me promise I’d stay home and wouldn’t go anywhere without him.

Hey, I had my fingers crossed, so nodding my head didn’t constitute a promise . . . right? I did feel bad about ditching him. When he arrived at Augustine headquarters in Sonoma, he’d find out he’d been duped and would be in a fine rage.

I had to do it. He wouldn’t have let me go into a potentially dangerous situation. No way he’d agree and say things like, I’ll protect you as you negotiate a peace treaty between two werewolf packs or You can count on me to crisp that French werewolf before he lays a paw on you. He’d probably spell Sonya’s house so I wouldn’t be able to get out until the werewolf mess resolved itself one way or the other. I was worried about the possible carnage of one of the ways.

Ditching Azrael couldn’t be helped. Yeah, I felt guilty. Yeah, I knew it was wrong. Yeah, I knew I’d have Hades to pay when he caught up with me. I just hoped we could get the situation handled before he found us.

I sat in a narrow economy-class airplane seat trying to ignore the sounds of impatience coming from the seat next to mine. I had snagged the window seat, but Tom wanted it so he could enjoy the floating sun-glow clouds below us.

Tom, I’m not going to trade places with you, I told him. The window gave me the illusion of open space which I needed to survive the flight. I’d developed a mild case of claustrophobia from my time spent fighting demons in enclosed spaces.

Okay, babe, no problem. He reached for a magazine and started thumbing through it. My thoughts turned to Paul. I’d met him on a similar flight last time I visited Aunt Amelia. Being here on the same trip caused a cold feeling to grow in the middle of my heart. And my memories of Paul still hurt. Like a shard of ice formed there, and no amount of heat would melt it.

Paul was a wizard. He was my teacher after I gained my powers, my lover for one night, and my savior. I didn’t know how I could bear to see the town he’d lived in, the art gallery he’d owned. They’d remind me of how much I missed him. He’d joined me in battle and died saving my life.

I could still picture Paul’s dark auburn hair, the way his smile would make his blue eyes crinkle at the corners, his kindness and patience in trying to teach me how to use my abilities. Somehow I still sensed a faint connection with him. Could our bonds continue even after death? The question both comforted and frightened me. Was I holding his spirit back from moving on? I had no idea.

A blast of cold air on my face snapped me out of my reverie. I reached over and slapped Tom’s hand away from the air vent above us. Of course, he always ran hot. The plane was full, or I would’ve kicked him out of his seat so he could irritate someone else.

Tom leaned over to nuzzle my neck, sending little shivery goosebumps across my body. My inner she-wolf perked up to breath in Tom’s male scent, lifting her tail a little higher. I smiled despite myself. Oh, no, you behave yourself. I pushed Tom’s face away. He pushed it right back and whispered in my ear.

"Three words, babe . . . mile high club."

I laughed. Yeah, right, in your dreams, wolfy, I said, secretly glad he’d distracted me from my musings. His return smile dazzled the flight attendant who stopped dead in her tracks. Women couldn’t seem to resist Tom’s golden good looks and boyish charm. The attendant leaned over the elderly man in the aisle seat, knocking his reading glasses askew.

May I get you anything, sir? Anything at all? she asked in a soft, low voice that didn’t sound totally professional to me. He appraised her speculatively then shook his head. The corners of her pert little mouth turned down in disappointment, and a sudden spark of jealousy flared in me. I’d bet she was a charter member of the mile high club.

Then I immediately pulled back the anger. What could I be thinking? I didn’t have any right to be jealous of Tom. Yes, he was my familiar, but he was also a free human being. He could flirt or do anything he wanted to with other women. It wasn’t like we were actually dating or engaged. I shouldn’t have these feelings.

Shouldn’t but did. Our relationship was so confusing.

My internal she-wolf huffed irritably at me, and since we weren’t going to hurt the nice flight attendant, she curled up and went back to sleep. No one in the family could explain the metaphysical alchemy that occurred when I made Tom my familiar and somehow got a part of his wolf. However, Aunt Amelia, who’s an expert on werewolves, told me she believed I might have immunity to catching lycanthropy, like the werewolf essence I’d absorbed became a vaccine of sorts. But I could still use the essence of the wolf inside me as part of my abilities.

The loudspeaker crackled as the pilot announced our arrival and told us to fasten our seatbelts. Tom didn’t fasten his. The flight attendant appeared happy to assist him and took much longer that was necessary, in my opinion. Tom didn’t wipe the grin off his face until we touched down. The attendant slipped him her card as we exited the aircraft. Tom tossed the card into a trashcan as we walked to the baggage area. I stared straight ahead and pretended not to notice. But I was grinning.

AS WE WAITED to pick up our luggage, I scanned the room for Aunt Amelia, who’d offered to give us a ride to her house from the airport. Suddenly, a woman wearing a colorful caftan waved at us. My heart lifted as I recognized her. She’d grown out her short, spiked white hair. It was now styled in a smooth, short bob and colored a more natural dark caramel. It emphasized her resemblance to my mother. But in contrast to my aunt’s fly-away locks, my mother’s hair would’ve been painstakingly coiffed before she’d allow herself to be seen in public. Plus Amelia wove feathers into one side of her hair, something that would earn a look of disdain from my mother.

Hey, there’s Amelia, Tom said. I waved at her while Tom reached down and hefted our two heavy suitcases, one in each hand. Werewolf strength can come in handy.

Amelia strode towards us, her bright caftan billowing festively behind her. She threw her arms wide for a hug. Tom put down the bags as we both went to hug her. I smelled lavender and rosemary. Pulling back from the hug, I noticed tired pouches under her eyes. They weren’t present the last time I saw her.

Come on kids, I have my car double-parked outside. And by the way, I’ve already warned Bart you were coming back, Amelia said.

Tom kissed Amelia’s cheek, and they started chatting away. Amelia brought him up-to-date on pack happenings. Tom was eager for news. My guilt welled up like a dark spring inside me. A witch and his or her familiar were bonded for life. Accidently making Tom my familiar changed the course of his life forever. I continue to feel guilt-ridden even though Tom swears up and down that the whole thing is fine by him.

When did you start driving? I asked my aunt, trying to shake off the guilt.

Last month, after one of my families gave me a used car as a thank you gift, she replied. Her families, as she called them, are the werewolf families that live in the area. All the weres in town belong to the same pack. Her Shaman role meant she acted as the pack’s spiritual leader and healer.

By the curb sat an old, beat-up yellow Volkswagen Beetle blocking traffic, and I just knew it belonged to her. She ran over to open the trunk, confirming my guess. Tom managed to stuff one of our suitcases in the small space under the front hood of the car, but the other one would have to ride in the backseat with him.

So, how did Bart react when you told him we were coming back to Santa Lacuna? I asked once we were safely on the road. I used the word safely loosely, given Amelia’s driving style, which apparently took the stance that the rules of the road were actually merely suggestions. She swerved to avoid hitting a pedestrian, who flipped us the bird. I grabbed the dashboard.

He wasn’t happy. Even though I’m sure he misses Tom. He’s still angry with you for making Tom your familiar, Amelia said, navigating an on-ramp to the freeway by speeding around a slower tanker truck.

We told him it was an accident! Why can’t he just accept it? I said, still clinging to the dash.

"He thinks it’s a big setback for his werewolf equal-rights initiative. Bigoted people might say it proves weres are more animal than human because one became a witch’s familiar."

"Zul’s horns, people are so ignorant!" I seethed at all the small-minded people out there.

Weres are hit with a double whammy. They have a communicable disease, since lycanthropy can be transmitted by bite under rare circumstances, and they turn into wolf-like beings during full moons or when highly agitated. Mostly weres are born from two were parents. But the part about the contagious bite doesn’t make good public relations material. A lot of people hate weres, just for being who they are. They don’t want them in their communities, serving food, teaching their children, tending to the sick, or any other profession that puts them in contact with the public.

Also, sports teams don’t want them because their enhanced strength gives them an advantage over regular athletes. While some people might think that’s not a bad thing, it does change the playing field just like athletes taking steroids. Both make the game inherently unfair to the general populace. Werewolf athletes have been talking about forming their own professional teams. I envisioned Tom suited up in a pair of skin-tight uniform pants and smiled. That’d be spectacular to watch.

Amelia swung the car onto the freeway. We drove in thoughtful silence for a while.

So, what’s this about a pack war? I finally said. Tom told me you sounded upset on the phone, but you haven’t told us anything about it yet.

Amelia took a deep breath, not changing her position from leaning forward to peer out the windshield. Do you remember the man named Etienne from the barbecue? she asked.

He tried to take Cara away from me, Tom said from the backseat.

I turned around and frowned at him. I almost said, Hey, I don’t belong to you, but reconsidered since, as my familiar, he did kind of belong to me. It didn’t seem fair to say I didn’t have the same ties. I faced forward again.

What about him? I asked my aunt. Tom said you mentioned him in your phone call.

He’s the son of the Gévaudan pack’s Alpha pair. When Etienne got back to France, he told his parents that the Shadow Hunter pack humiliated him just because he showed some interest in one of their females, Amelia answered as she changed lanes again, for no discernible reason and with no warning to other drivers.

I’m not part of the pack. And he actually said I’m ‘one of their females’? Geez, no wonder it’s been an uphill battle trying to get equal rights when they still say things like that, I grumbled.

Cara, you’re talking about my people, you know, Tom said.

I glanced back at him. Oh, sorry, Tom, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that humans usually don’t say things like ‘interested in one of their females.’ It sounds so, well, animal-like.

Tom opened his mouth to say something, but Amelia frowned at him in her rearview mirror and interrupted with, Tom, let’s get to the problem at hand.

"So what is the problem at hand?" I asked.

The Gévaudan pack Alphas have issued a challenge. Etienne and Tom fight it out to see who gets you, Amelia said, scarily taking one hand off the wheel to raise it in a stop gesture. You don’t have to say it. I know it’s archaic and animalistic. Bart told them you’re not part of the pack, and he couldn’t make you comply with something like that.

Damn right. I’m not a werewolf. And I’m definitely not some prize to be fought over! Why didn’t you make that clear? Why did you bring us into this mess? Wouldn’t it have been better for us to have just stayed in Berkeley?

Cara, I wouldn’t have done it if there’d been any other way. I love you, dear, and I love Tom, too, but the lives of innocent pack members are at stake here. If the challenge isn’t honored, then it’s open season on Shadow Hunter pack members by the Gévaudan pack in revenge for the loss of honor. Amelia slumped in her seat, sadness and worry deepening the lines on her face.

Tom took off his seat belt and pushed his head to the front between me and Amelia. I can take him. Don’t worry, Cara, he said with a young man’s bravado.

I shook my head. Amelia, there has to be a way to settle this without Tom getting hurt or me being turned into some kind of sex slave for a French werewolf.

"I’ll never let that happen, Cara. Never." Tom whispered the last word as he threw his arms around me and the seat. His arms almost reached all the way around. He’d just turned nineteen, two years younger than me, but was still growing taller and more muscular with each passing month. This close, his warm golden aura enveloped me like a soft blanket. He’d always smelled enticing to me, and I inhaled the scent of his delicious male muskiness beneath the clean soap smell of his skin.

It made me turn my head towards him, seeking his lips. I could see the growing desire in his copper-penny-colored eyes as he regarded me. He quickly closed the distance between us and kissed me long and deep. My head pressed hard against the headrest as he angled his body around the seat. I forgot my surroundings for an instant, lost in the sensual slide of his lips and tongue, then the car swerved, and we were thrown apart. The gearshift poked Tom in the ribs.

Ow, he said in an affronted tone.

Sorry kids, uh, could that wait until we get home? Amelia asked. I nodded, afraid of what my voice might sound like if I spoke. Tom sat back with a hummpf and pulled the suitcase next to him awkwardly over his lap.

Amelia smiled as she drove. What did she expect? A witch and her familiar have a very close bond. Add to that, we