Page 1 of Blue Moon Mistress

- Part One - SAMHIAIN

One

It had takenme months of scrying, two spells, and a whole lot of luck to figure out who the local wolf pack was in time.

Now, I just had to convince them to do two things.

Firstly, I had to convince them they could trust me with their secret.

It doesn’t matter that I already know what they are. Werewolves have always been notoriously tight lipped about their full moon habits.

Secondly… assuming I can get them to admit what they are… I have to convince them they can trust me to be part of my spell.

Witches and werewolves have never had the best of relationships, but maybe this group—there are four of them—haven’t had the same experience with witches as the other two packs I’d met.

Those wolves’ issues had been with my past coven.

There are two dozen reasons I’m a solitary witch now.

Tapping my thumb on my steering wheel in a rhythm that doesn’t match the song, I look up at the house.

It’s sturdy. I imagine it was built in the era where people worried about fallout shelters and hiding in basements.

The sloping lawn is deep green after the first weeks of fall rain. Bisected by a set of cracked and uneven stairs, the grass is held up by a hip height retaining wall dark with damp.

Around the corner, on the southbound street, there’s a deceptively rickety pair of doors, signaling the slope hides a basement.

I have to wonder if this pack has cages and lock themselves away when the moon is full… save for those random nights one or two slipped away to wreak havoc on the outlying farms’ herds of cattle and sheep.

With a deep breath, I grab my bag from the passenger seat, and open first my car door, then my umbrella against the faint drizzle that has started.

The possibility of both success and failure has my anxiety hitched to eleven.

I’m the one who pushes the button to lock the car, and it still makes me jump.

The stairs are my first obstacle. I take them one at a time and begin to wish that I had chosen a pair of work boots over the ones I prefer. But for an encounter like this one, comfort was more prized than utility, and I always feel more comfortable when I have the opportunity to stun a man with my clothes. It helps knock them off kilter when they realize there’s a brain somewhere above the boobs they’ve locked eyes on.

And today—despite everything else—I feel perfectly put together.

That’s why I’m able to straighten my shoulders when I ring the bell, and have to dim the smug smile. I don’t need to ruin my chances before I’ve actually begun.

The bell echoes through the house, and I listen as someone yells for another to turn the TV down. Then, heavy, but purposeful steps make their way toward me.

When the door opens, I have to take a moment to look him up and down, unable to speak.

I’ve never been this close to him before.

Joshua Dean is all brawn and menace.

And damn if that doesn’t turn me on.

There’s a second part to my spell… one I’m beginning to want to try, but that will require a whole other level of trust. On both sides.

Finding my voice again, I say, “Hello, my name is Scarlette. Can I have a minute of your time?”

He looks me up and down, his gaze stuttering on my breasts, pushed up by the casual corset beneath my deep blue blouse.

“Whatever you’re selling. We’re not buying.”

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