"Werewolves are much better. You'll understand when I show you. The moon looks so beautiful when you're a wolf."

―Jeremy, Daughters of Darkness

Woman, n. An animal usually living in the vicinity of Man, and having a rudimentary susceptibility to domestication…The species is the most widely distributed of all beasts of prey, infesting all habitable parts of the globe, from Greenland's spicy mountains to India's moral strand. The popular name (wolfman) is incorrect, for the creature is of the cat kind. The woman is lithe and graceful in its movement, especially the American variety (felis pugnans), is omnivorous and can be taught not to talk.

―Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary

Wolfsbane
by happy accident

chapter one

Keller felt distinctly like being cross with someone. Unfortunately for her, the only person within reasonable distance was her soulmate, and as satisfactory as it would feel to unleash her temper, she would sincerely regret making Galen her target later. Keller settled for pressing two fingers against her temple where a ferocious headache was brewing.

This was not going according to plan. Not at all.

Wild Powers were not allowed to stay in one place any length of time, not even the most secure of Circle Daybreak's safe houses. There was no place in this world that was safe enough. She and Galen should have left with the rest of the caravan that morning carrying Iliana, her family, and Nissa and Winnie south to a new location in Baton Rouge. Instead, a misunderstanding with the car rental company had shorted them one vehicle, and Galen had volunteered the two of them to stay behind to wait for the promised replacement.

Maybe they had pushed the car too hard trying to make up the distance and the time. Maybe. But the car had broken down. The Goddess-forsaken car had broken down and left them stranded in Nowheresville, Louisiana.

For everything Keller knew about disarming attackers and pressure points, she knew that much less about cars. She regarded the ominously smoking engine with something that felt alarmingly like distress.

Galen snapped his cell phone closed with an audible click, or at least it was audible to a panther that masqueraded as a human teenager part of the time. The son of the First House of shapeshifters leaned one hip casually against the door of the car. He looked remarkably like a dragon-slaying knight on casual Friday: boyishly skewed golden hair, dark sunglasses, tired old T-shirt, and well-worn jeans.

Funny thing was, he had fought a dragon.

"Well," he said with as much brightness as he could muster―which was quite a bit in comparison to Keller's stormy mood. "There's bad news, and there's bad news."

Keller lifted her eyes in response, but she couldn't find anything to say that wouldn't be considered a snarl.

Galen shrugged his shoulders a bit in response to those unspoken words that only he could sense under her exterior. "Apparently, there's a bit of a tie-up in Baton Rouge. Alex got a little colicky on the drive there, and the whole facility has gone into lockdown."

Keller winced unconsciously. Unfortunately, she knew just what 'lockdown' meant. Nothing involving the Witch Child and her family was ever taken at face value. Any illness among them would be considered an immediate threat from members of the Night World. There would be double the usual amount of guards, no one moving in or out of the house, and a whole coven of witches casting counter-curse spells and burning nasty-smelling herbs throughout the entire day―and the majority of both would be posted around the witch-baby.

Poor kid.

"Even if they could send someone for us," Galen continued, noting the expression on his companion's face, "we wouldn't be able to set foot in the house for the next forty-eight hours, at the very least. Beyond that, the nearest Daybreak base to here is in Nashville. And they wouldn't get clearance to dispatch a car for us anytime before tomorrow afternoon."

Sometimes the bureaucracy which they worked under astounded her. Sometimes things just needed to get done. The world turned on split-second decisions, not official orders signed in triplicate.

Keller wiped a bead of sweat away from her eyes. It was unbelievably humid. "So, what's the bad news?"

Galen rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, glancing upwards at the rapidly descending sun. "There's a small group of witches in the area, about half a dozen, that have offered to take is in for the night. The town's within walking distance…a long walking distance."

"Witches," Keller repeated blankly. "Back-woods witches. Well, it could be worse, couldn't it?"

A faint smile hovered at the corners of his mouth. "That's the spirit."

Keller shook the feeling of stiffness out of her shoulders and moved around the car to pop the trunk. "Grab what you think you can carry," she fell naturally into order-giving mode. "We'll have to get started soon, if we're going to make it before it gets too dark." She slung a bag over her left shoulder and carefully selected another for her right one, conscientiously assessing the distribution of weight to ensure it was even and wouldn't restrict her range of movement too much. Still evaluating her considerable strength against the distance ahead, she slid a glance in her soulmate's direction to see how he was progressing. She laid a hand gently on Galen's arm, preventing him from hefting another bag. "Don't try to take on too much. You can leave that."

"Nah," he reassured her. "I got it."

Keller shook her head slightly, but kept her lips wisely closed. She wasn't one to argue with a teenage boy's pride. The sore muscles he would have tomorrow morning would be entirely his responsibility.

Keller swiveled to gauge the long asphalt road that lay before them, overgrown on either side with ancient trees, and an unexpected sigh welled up in her being. She didn't give voice to that sigh, of course, but Galen's arm curled around her waist nonetheless. A few months ago, she never would have allowed anyone that privilege, wouldn't have allowed anyone to offer her so much comfort, nor would she have allowed herself to accept that support from anyone.

Love was a weakness, a letting go. But things changed. Now, love was her strength as well, steeling her for the onerous journey ahead.

"Think of it this way," his voice was dangerously near her ear. "At least you're wearing sensible shoes."

She looked at her sturdy, customary boots. Looked at his sandals, already gathering a covering of dust and mud. She cracked a small smile. His hand slid naturally into hers as they set themselves in the direction of town.

Perhaps not everything was wrong in her world.

°°°

It is, in most people's experience, a rather uncommon occurrence for black-garbed soldiers to launch themselves through the windows of out-of-the-way family restaurants. It wasn't even a true restaurant, really, more of a mom-and-pop variety of diner that had stayed in business for years because people came from miles around just to get a slice of homemade pie. (The best in the state, the locals said, tastes like, like…magic.) But no one had ever hurled themselves through the windows before, not even for the last piece of peach pie.

However, contrary to outward appearances, this was no ordinary family-run eatery. It was, in fact, the property of a long line of witches who, being settled in such a remote area of the Louisiana, had made it their strict policy to disassociate themselves from Night World politics long before Circle Daybreak came into being.

Nor were the patrons that evening particularly normal. Scattered amongst the expected human customers were otherworldly regulars, the small coven of witches that inhabited the area, a trio of sympathetic vampires, not to mention the witches' surprise―but no doubt greatly honored―guests, Galen Drache and his soulmate Keller, companions to the fabled Witch Child herself.

At that moment, the shapeshifters' heir was nervously broaching an undeniably sensitive subject with the love of his life, leaning slightly on their dinner table for support. Galen, being what he was in the deepest part of his nature, would have gone to great lengths to avoid any sort of conflict, but his new second, feline skin was teaching him that sometimes you had to fight for what you love, to protect it, to preserve it. He had only two great loves, his shapeshifter people and his soulmate, and inevitably they were going to have to meet in the middle.

"I―" Her eyes focused on him levelly, stony gray. He cleared his throat, tried a second approach. "My parents called yesterday."

There really shouldn't have been any threat in that admission. The sovereign rulers of the shapeshifters were exceedingly lenient and mild as parents went; merely a handful of weeks before they had assumed their son would be handfasted to the Witch Child, but they had effortlessly adapted themselves to the unexpected change in arrangements, welcoming his new girlfriend with open arms, regardless of her dubious pedigree and upbringing.

But there was a threat. The muscles in Keller's shoulders tightened, ever so slightly.

"They expect me to visit them at the summer solstice. And you. I―we would love to have you with us, to make it a real family affair."

"And I," Keller took the time to choose her words extremely carefully, but the pause between each gave an impression of harshness far beyond what she intended, "would in return for the invitation be expected to rub shoulders with some influential 'shifters, wouldn't I?"

"I never said it would be a private event," he feebly protected his position on increasingly unstable ground.

"We've already discussed this," she spoke up stiffly.

"Yes, we have." He ducked his head in acknowledgement. "And you have nothing to worry about, Keller. It's not so terrible as you're imagining. You get dressed up, have dinner, meet and greet. You only need to be yourself―if you could only see yourself like other people do…You're beautiful, graceful, brave. You're honest. You have no idea how refreshing that is. You're a…"―he dug for a word and came up with absolutely the wrong one―"a novelty in my world."

"'A novelty?'" she growled, eyes flashing dangerously. "Goddess, Galen, that's―"

A door opened behind the couple, effectively suspending the conversation. Instinctively the girl tensed while the boy, less experienced, looked over in mild interest. The breeze wafted in the door as well, washing them with the new arrival's scent. Female. A witch, though a weak one, barely discernable. Judging from the reaction in the room she was expected by the coven at their hastily called meeting on the subject of their esteemed guests. Keller relaxed. Galen opened his mouth to soothe over the problem he had just created.

Glass shattered.

The world stopped for a breathless moment before a swarm of lithe Night World soldiers flooded through what had formerly been the restaurant's large windows facing the tiny Main Street. It was a well-calculated tactic―better for them to enter all at once through an improvised opening than one or two at a time through the door.

The screaming started. Tables toppled. Somewhere, witch fire flared.

Crouched behind a fallen table, Galen sighed and glanced at the dark-haired teenager beside him. "So much for a quiet evening," he mumbled.

Keller's mouth had narrowed to a grim line. She was thinking of absurdly dainty dresses and courtly manners, all trying to hem her in, change who she was. She was just a grunt; she didn't want to be anyone's princess. Dashing prince or no, she didn't intend on living a fairytale life, becoming soft, pampered, complacent…Domesticated. Resentment rose, bitter, in her throat, and she was slipping into her second form before a coherent thought entered her mind.

Galen placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her, too late. Failing that, he followed her into the change.

A soot-black panther cleared the table in one effortless leap, hitting the ground running, charging the pack of attackers. But the Night Worlders showed a limited amount of interest in the large cat in their midst, streaming around her like a river around a stone. Frustrated, Keller growled deep in her throat and lashed out at the nearest opponent, one swipe of her paw severing vital muscles and tendons in his calf.

One foe felled, Keller wheeled around to analyze the situation, and she allowed herself one brief moment of intense longing for Winnie and Nissa at her back. Witch fire was fountaining from several pairs of hands around the room. The vampires had engaged themselves in hand-to-hand combat. The golden leopard was impossible to pass over, in front of her and to the left. She felt an unforeseen twinge in her chest. Galen the pacifist had his claws buried in a blonde vampire. She couldn't help feeling responsible.

Later, she assured herself, there is always time later. And if there isn't…

The Night Worlders were still pushing forward, overwhelming the opposition, and their goal was becoming increasingly obvious: the isolated figure of the newcomer, the last person to enter the diner. A slim witch, middling height, no older than Keller, with hair of an indeterminable shade between blonde and brown cropped to her chin and striking eyes, one beryl blue and the other coffee-colored, like looking at two different people at the same time. Her face was frozen into an expression of utter terror.

Keller moved faster than thought, impelled by instinct. With everyone else otherwise occupied, she moved to place herself between the unsuspecting girl and the oncoming wave. It was, Keller rationalized, in Circle Daybreak's best interest to protect anything that the Council deemed worth having. She was not in the happen of risking her life for just any witch.

Regrettably, in the chaos that had suddenly erupted in the room, it had become difficult to tell enemy from ally, especially if one had only just arrived and was unfamiliar with Raksha Keller. The witch saw only the supple, lethal form of a very large cat weaving towards her at an alarming rate, trailing a sticky line of fresh blood. The girl cupped her hands and mouthed an incantation, but her mind was blank, her concentration destroyed. When the pale ember of light between her fingers flickered and died, she looked, panicked, into the face of the hurtling wall of feline muscle, locking her gaze with those eyes, steely gray and deadly, for an instant before turning with a cry to escape through the door she had only just come through.

Cursing, Keller shifted back to her half-way form, regaining her two legs and, more importantly, her opposable thumbs. She flung the door open and stumbled a few steps into the street after the rapidly fleeing figure. "Wait!" she coughed, once again reclaiming the power of speech.

The witch glanced over her shoulder, caught a glimpse of the pursuing almost-woman, and only compelled herself to move faster.

Keller prepared herself for another chase, ready to leap after the girl in full panther form, but a noise behind her lamentably led to her delay. The Night World soldiers had reached the door, and they were just as eager to track the girl as Keller was. More luckily, Keller's current position gave her a great deal of leverage over those trying to reach the outside. They had to cross through the door one-by-one, making it absurdly easy to pick them off and guard her post.

In a pause between attackers Keller cast a glance in the direction the girl had gone just in time to see her recede into the reaching arms of the forest that dominated the nearly all of the spaces between buildings in the small town. Better, Keller thought, that she was lost to Circle Daybreak than caught by the Night World here and now. Who knows, she might even come back when the danger's past.

Another assailant advanced on the door, and Keller pivoted smoothly to meet him, her mind gliding easily from the mysterious witch into the rhythmic motion of attack and counterattack.

°°°

Aurora ran…