Page 36 of Predator

And though he never expected me to be able to shift—since Jolie hadn’t—he’s pleased that I can. It’s a weird shifter thing, but me marking him as hard as I did when I, um, chomped on his throat actually impressed him. Kind of like, the harder the bite, the more devoted I am to him. He survived it, and once I got over some of the guilt I felt for losing control, he’s proud to show off his scars.

Because I’m pack. Because I’m his mate.

Because I am a wolf of Winter Creek.

But that’s the thing… I like being a wolf, for the most part. Trying to work magic—admitting that I’m tied to our enemies—seems like a betrayal to me. Logically, I know that it’s not. Even Lucas would agree. My mate would probably be happier if I had another trick up my sleeve to keep myself safe. Offensive magic—like being able to freeze someone like Marie can, or zapping them like Remy did to me—is just another weapon I can use, the same as my claws and fangs when I’m a wolf.

Too bad I have no idea how to do any spells.

Asking my grandmother for any tips or lessons is out of the question. Same with anyone else who is in the coven. I’ll either figure it out on my own or I won’t.

Besides, Jolie couldn’t do magic. In the memories of hers that I’ve seen, the biggest conflict between her and Marie was that she was supposed to be a witch, using magic, and not getting involved with the wolves.

But she couldn’t, and she did, and I’m pretty sure that one of those issues—if not both—led to her death. If she hadn’t slipped into the woods that full moon, intending to perform the mating ceremony with Lucas beneath the Luna before she got lost in the rain, would she have survived?

If she could use magic to protect herself against the wolf that savaged her, what then?

I can shift. Not that quickly, and I have to convince myself that it’s possible instead of the action being instinctive like it is for the rest of the pack, but I can do it. My bond with Lucas—and his bite—made it possible.

Is magic the same? Or is it something I’ve had inside of me all along and I just never needed to use it?

“I don’t think I can,” I finally answer.

Eleanor gives me an impish grin. “Why not? Have you ever tried?”

Well, no. Can’t say I had much use for trying to make my hands glow or conjure a knife out of thin air when I was sitting in my apartment in New York.

“Jolie couldn’t do it, either,” I remind Eleanor. “Not when she was in Lafayette.” Like me, she spent most of her life outside of Winter Creek. She actually only lived with Marie for a few months before she met Lucas, discovered she was his fated mate, and died before they could be bonded. “And when she was here, she didn’t bother because she knew she was leaving the coven to join the pack.”

“Just because you’re pack, doesn’t mean you can’t use magic.”

Maybe. I don’t know.

“How hard can it be?” Eleanor adds, a wheedling lilt to her voice. “Come on. Give it a try.”

“How?”

She gestures at my hands vaguely. “I don’t know. Hold up your hands. Dig deep. Find the magic inside of you.”

Seriously?

I lift my hands around navel-height. “I feel stupid,” I mutter.

“Hey, aren’t you the one who told me that shifting feels like hitting a light switch inside of you? That, now that you know there’s another shape in there, you flick it and you go wolfy?”

True. Because I wasn’t shifting since birth like the other wolves, I don’t take the supernatural ability to change shapes for granted. Eleanor was curious what it was like, and once I could discuss it without feeling terrible about losing control, I tried to explain it as best I could.

“Yes.”

“Maybe magic’s the same thing.”

I wish. The only thing I remember Marie telling me was that novice witches needed herbs and flowers and spells to do magic. Once they were more practiced, it really did take a simple gesture, but I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.

But with Eleanor leaning forward from her seat on the porch, chin in her hands, elbows perched on her thigh, the November breeze causing her bouncy curls to be even bouncier than usual… damn it. I’ll try.

Closing my eyes, I search for something that might be ‘magic’. Shit. What does ‘magic’ feel like? If being a shifter is like a switch to me, is magic like a flame?

That makes sense. Okay. A flame in my gut that’s not freaking heartburn or something like that.

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