Witch's Hunger

Chapter 1

Vivienne François stood behind a forty-foot gate that was topped with silver-tipped barbwire, watching blood, fur and some chunks of flesh fly in every direction, and wondered where she’d gone wrong. The air smelled of dirt, blood, urine and musk.

It was mid-October in Algiers, Louisiana, but witnessing this much brutality made her break into a sweat like it was high-noon in August.

Wearing jeans, boots and a light blue pullover work shirt, Viv took a fighting stance. Feet spread apart, fists at her sides. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, then said loudly, “I bind thee now, powerless until released by my word. So shall it be. So it is by my command!”

She opened one eye slowly and groaned. The blood and fur still flew.

“I don’t understand what the hell is going on,” she said to Socrates, who sat beside her right foot. “That’s the fifth damn binding spell I’ve tried and it’s like everyone has gone deaf, including the universe. Either that or I have turned into a frigging toasted marshmallow.” She kicked angrily at the ground with the toe of her boot.

“Do you always have to be so abrasive and surly when you’re upset?” Socrates asked. He was a pompous Bombay with gold eyes and had been Viv’s familiar since her birth. He yawned and gave a swish of his tail. “Truly, Viv, can you not see why your spell isn’t working?”

“No.” She huffed. “The way it works is I do a spell and the recipient responds immediately. This isn’t a show-and-tell game or three-card monte. I’ll be damned if they’re not going to listen.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Socrates said with an exasperated sigh. “Must I point out every detail to you?”

“With that attitude, buddy, you’re lucky if I don’t ship you off to Siberia.” Not that Viv would really ship Socrates anywhere, but she was so frustrated she didn’t know what to do with herself.

She stood out here alone, behind a gate that served as the compound entrance to a fenced-in, five-hundred acre lair. The compound held the North End pack of Loup Garou, whom she watched over herself, since she didn’t live far. Just north of the compound was another three hundred acres that served to feed and grow livestock she and her sisters used to feed the breeds they were responsible for.

Viv was one in a set of triplets, the oldest by ten minutes and responsible for the Loup Garou. The middle triplet, Evette, took care of the Nosferatu, and the youngest, Abigail, dealt with the Chenilles. All breeds were netherworld creatures that she’d had to work hard not to resent over the years. For Viv, it was like babysitting a gigantic pack of prepubescent teens.

To feed their factions, they raised cows, goats, pigs and mules specifically for that purpose. Fortunately, Viv had three humans whom she trusted to handle the cattle in the farm area. One of them was Charlie Zerangue, a fifty-two-year-old cowboy who’d worked with her for the past ten years buying cattle. He made sure his two hands sent that cattle through the feeding shoot that led them directly to an area south of the Loup Garou compound. This was the feeding territory.

Once the cattle were sent through the shoot to the feeding area, the Nosferatu were ferried from New Orleans near the river bank to Algiers. There they were loosed upon the cattle to gorge on as much blood as they wanted. The idea was to have each so satiated that they would be easier to manage around humans during their daily or nightly chores.

Once the Nosferatu were ferried back across the river, the Loup Garou from the North, West and East packs were allowed into the feeding area to rip through as much meat as their stomachs could handle for the exact same reason.

And lastly, the Chenilles, Abigail’s brood, were ferried across the river to the compound and allowed to feast on the marrow of all the bones that remained.

This maniacal ritual occurred every day without fail between 3:00 and 4:00 a.m., when most of New Orleans was either asleep or too drunk to understand or care about what was going on. They used a family-owned ferry for the transports, something not easily obtained in New Orleans. But it was nothing that a little magic and a lot of money greasing the right political palms couldn’t manage.

Aside from tending the feeding shoot, Charlie was also responsible for a thirty-one-year-old, hard working farmhand named Bootstrap from Ville Platte, Louisiana, and Kale Martin, a forty-six-year-old wrangler from East Texas.

The men were paid well and had free housing in a two-story ranch house near the front of the property. The one thing Viv appreciated most about Charlie, Bootstrap and Kale was that they never asked questions. They worked hard and kept their mouths shut. Not once had any of the men asked about the cattle sent through the shoot. Their job was to keep the livestock area full, the cattle healthy and fat, then send whatever was ordered through the shoot each morning.

The North End pack of Loup Garou that lived beyond the gate where Viv stood now clocked over three hundred strong, all of them Originals. Not the watered-down version of werewolves that existed in other areas. Viv was responsible for all of them, but she had worked hard at putting together a strong team of leaders to manage different territories.

Viv let out a heavy sigh. Some job she had. People thought that just because you were a witch, a real witch, not a Wiccan wannabe, all you had to do was snap your fingers and everything became beautiful. You got exactly what you wanted when you wanted it and how you wanted it. Nothing was further from the truth.

“Miss Viv,” called Whiskers, a small female Loup Garou with blond fur. She peeked out from her den, a bramble of bent tree branches that wasn’t far from the fight taking place center court. “Please make it stop. Warden and Milan I mean. They’re going to kill each other!”

“Aw, let them have at it,” said Moose, another Loup Garou hiding fifty feet away. “It’s healthy to see a good fight every now and again. Puts a little spark in you, you know?” Moose was one of the largest Loups in the Northern pack, but not the brightest bulb in the lamp.

Yazdee, a female Loup who denned with Whiskers, gave Moose a little growl. “You’re sick, you know that? Leave it to a guy to watch two other males fight to the death over a little tail. I mean, I don’t get it. It’s not like there aren’t plenty of females to go around.”

“Yeah,” Moose said, “but we’re talking about Stratus here. Everybody wants a piece of that alpha female when she’s in heat. Hot stuff there, baby doll. Hot stuff.”

“Pervert,” Whiskers barked.

“Prude,” Moose shot back.

Yazdee snorted. “Better a prude than pitiful. If you’re so hot for it, why aren’t you in the middle of that tangle?”

Moose grunted and ducked back behind a thicket of trees.

Amid the chaos, Stratus lay with her head resting on her paws at the door of her den, which sat on the opposite side of the compound in direct view of Whiskers and Yazdee. She watched the fight, her expression flickering from curiosity to boredom.

A growl rumbled so close to Viv it made her jump. The mauling, biting and clawing were reaching a fevered pitch. She threw a quick glance around the compound. It seemed most, if not all, of the Loups in camp had gathered in a wide circle to watch the fight. Everyone kept a safe distance away.

The two alphas in combat were Warden, the North End alpha, whom Viv had chosen to mate with Stratus; and Milan, who belonged in the East End pack. Evidently, Milan had found a way to sneak in, hoping to get a piece of Stratus’s action.

Viv thought about having Socrates go fetch Jaco, who oversaw the East pack, but the last thing she needed right now, leader or not, was another alpha thrown into this mix.

Finally, after attempting another binding then a freezing spell, both of which failed, Viv let out her own little growl. She ran her hands down her arms, mumbling words beneath her breath. Immediately, all that was visible of her was the vague silhouette of the tall, slender, black-haired woman who stood there seconds ago. Invisibility was a hard accomplishment for any witch, yet at thirty years old, she nearly had it down pat. Partial invisibility was better than none at all.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Socrates asked, suddenly standing at attention. “Do you think you can simply walk in there and physically stop those two alphas from ripping each other apart?”

Viv grabbed a two-by-four that leaned against the gate and said, “Watch and learn how simply, cat.”

She reached for the huge latch that bound the gate to a silver pole but before she could pull it up and open, Socrates rammed into her shins and began to hiss. He darted in and around her legs, threatening to trip her if she took a step.

He hissed again, loudly. “Don’t be ridiculous, Viv. Some things are stronger than magic. Put your anger aside for a moment and feel what’s coming from that lair. You’ll see and understand why your spells have been ineffective.”

“Get out of my damn way or you’ll get a swift kick that’ll land you right in the middle of that mess.” She put a hand on her hip, knowing full well, as did he, that her threat was empty. For once, she gave in to his suggestion. She reined in her anger and allowed all of her senses to stretch to full alert.

She knew what was going on and for all intents and purposes, there was only one way she could see to stop it. She couldn’t call Charlie, Bootstrap or Kale out to help. They had never even seen the Loup Garou. They had never been allowed on this end of the property. Her sisters would be useless, for their spells only worked for their own broods.

Pondering all of it put Viv in an even crappier mood. It was eight o’clock in the morning, when normal people usually sat down for coffee and eggs, and here she was dealing with this. She just wished for a normal life. Often dreamed about what that might be like, feel like. Just as she often wondered why certain people were born a certain way. Some rich, some poor, some white, some Asian. Others Chenilles, another Nosferatu. Or as Socrates had so aptly put it moments ago—a Triad.

It was hard enough having been born a triplet when life seemed to be about “finding” oneself. How did you find yourself when you were a tether of three? And an odd tether at that; a tomboy prone to wrangling cattle and sharing a beer with one of three cowboys. Her sisters carried themselves with grace and reeked of femininity. She, on the other hand, usually reeked of sweat.

Even as children, Viv and her sisters never dressed alike, each seeking their own identity. Aside from the need for singularity, they had always remained very close. Oftentimes, if one of the sisters wasn’t feeling well or even experienced a startle, the other two felt it just as strongly. In fact, she was surprised with all she was going through right now that Abigail and Evette weren’t here standing beside her. Surely they had to know something was going on with her.

Maybe the universe had gone deaf. Whatever the case, with her senses heightened, the intense sexual charge in the air didn’t help matters one bit. She hadn’t had sex in over a year, all because of some stupid curse that had been handed down too many generations ago.

Because of that curse, every mother or Elder responsible for a Triad lived out their days twisting and turning just to keep them chaste. They weren’t supposed to be intimate with humans and marrying one was a huge no-no.

Chances were, the other no-goes for a Triad had gotten twisted around so much that their literal meaning had been tweaked in one manner or another as they made their way to the twenty-first century. She knew they couldn’t marry a human, but having sex with one was something she considered left to interpretation. Not that she or her sisters had tried it...yet. They were too chicken to tempt fate.

All Viv knew for sure was that every damn morning before she came down to the feeding shoot, she had to look through her Grimoire and face the horrid mirror. That mirror showed the most horrific scenes regarding the devastation of the world if they shirked their duties. The book itself listed spell after spell, consequence after consequence. And if that wasn’t enough to shove her tainted ancestry in her face, she and her sisters each bore a birthmark. An absolutus infinitus. Viv’s was about two inches long and sat on her right hip. An ugly reminder of some big bad no-no done a gazillion years ago by a grandmother thirty times removed.

Taking that into consideration, all that remained for Viv and her sisters when sex came to mind—which was often—were Fae, leprechauns, one of their brood or a sorcerer who had taken the dark side to devilry and had paid for it with his humanity. Fae and leprechauns did nothing for Viv. Both were too short, and short turned her off. As for sorcerers, there were only three that she knew of in the area. Trey Cottle, a weasel and whore-monger, Shandor Black, who always had his nose stuck so far up Cottle’s butt, Viv didn’t know how he breathed. And there was Gunner Stern, a sorcerer, but a nice old guy. There being the problem. He was old, like seventy-something old. That certainly didn’t make Viv’s nipples tingle.

When too much time had passed, and it was either have sex or go blind, she’d have a row with one of her Loups. When not matted with fur and fangs, many of the males were quite handsome. Big and muscular, with long, flowing hair, and they knew what to do with genitalia. There was always something missing, though, when having sex with a Loup. The act felt animalistic, which wasn’t all bad at times, but she was a woman, damn it, and a bit of romance would be nice occasionally. Romance, however, was not in a Loup’s vocabulary. All they knew was get it while it’s hot, then sleep it off until it’s time to eat.

Sometimes, though, as Socrates said, some things were stronger than magic, and she gave into her urges and had sex with a Loup. She couldn’t get attached to any one of them in particular because the other males would see that as a weakness in her leadership abilities. She certainly wasn’t going to marry a Loup Garou, much less a sorcerer.

Viv kicked the dirt again, angry she’d allowed herself to jump on that train of thought. Her frustration level now matched Everest’s peak.

Here she was watching two alpha males fight over a female Loup Garou just because she twitched her tail. Viv wanted to beat the two males upside the head with the two-by-four to mellow out her own sexual frustrations. Also so she wouldn’t have to babysit them.

It was far from easy being on twenty-four-seven watch over a bunch of sniveling, whining, horny wolves. And when Viv François had enough, she had had enough.

She picked up the two-by-four, gave Socrates a little nudge with her boot when he hissed at her, then unlatched the gate. She immediately closed and locked it behind her.

Still partially invisible, she didn’t think she had to worry about the warring Loups turning on her. Even if they glanced her way, they’d only see a shimmer in the air, like heat rising from a desert highway. There was the two-by-four that appeared to be floating in midair, however.

Viv walked slowly toward the alphas, realizing she probably could’ve stepped up to them in full view. They were too wrapped up in which one would go down first so the other could hop Stratus, who seemed unable to care less about who won the fight. Really.

Socrates started caterwauling, weaving through the bars of the gate, going inside of the compound then quickly back out, as if not knowing what to do or how to stop Viv.

Milan was a large black Loup with a mane that reached to the middle of his back. His ears were long and pinpoint straight, and his bared fangs were at least six inches long. He stood upright like a man, though his paws were those of a Loup, and he swiped at Warden with long, sharp, black claws. Warden was a blond Loup and nearly twice Milan’s size. Yet he showed the worst of the wear simply because of his color. More blood stained his fur. It was difficult to tell if most of it came from his own wounds or was splatter from his opponent’s. Suddenly, Whiskers and Yazdee started whooping and jumping up and down with excitement. Evidently Socrates’s noise had caught their attention and they had zeroed in on the floating two-by-four.

Viv dared to move faster, fearing the racket stirred up by her cheerleading squad might capture Warden’s or Milan’s attention.

It did rouse Stratus. The alpha female lifted her head from her paws, looked past the two-by-four and directly at Viv as if she were in full view. Viv could’ve sworn she saw Stratus smirk. She hated when that Loup went into heat. It always turned the compound upside down. Throw in a stray male alpha from a different compound, and she had World War Seven.

Viv kept her focus on the alpha males, inching closer, dodging left, back, forward in rhythm with their fight. It felt like an odd war dance as she juggled around the fight, trying to avoid getting clawed, yet get close enough to make impact.

She took aim. Whichever Loup cleared first was the one she planned to whack.

They tumbled, clawed, she dodged left. Blood from one of the Loups sprayed across her shirt and jeans, then again before she felt it splatter across her face and slide down her neck. These guys were really getting out of control, and if she didn’t do something soon, one of them was going to die. And that was not an option.

The closer she moved in, the harder they fought. She ducked left, more blood sprayed across her face. She felt it splat onto her head and through her hair, which she kept in a braid that reached the small of her back.

Finally, seeming to gather what strength he had left, Warden leaped out and took a huge swatch of flesh from Milan’s chest, turning him in place. Blood sprayed everywhere, especially over Viv, who now looked like she’d bathed in it. Milan’s eyes appeared dazed as he whirled about from the blow.

Before he could refocus for the fight, Viv grabbed the two-by-four in both hands and swung at him, whacking him across the head as hard as her tall, slender body would allow. That pitched him off balance and dropped him to the ground.

As Milan scrambled to get upright, Warden had enough time to race over to Stratus and attempt to mount her even before she stood.

Milan mewled when he saw Stratus begin to take all Warden had to offer.

Viv allowed herself to return to full view, tossed the two-by-four aside and snarled at Milan’s mewling. “Oh, grow the hell up,” she said, then whirled about and headed back for the gate.

En route, Viv pointed at Stratus, making sure she had her attention. “You want to play games with these guys, sistah? Then get ready to play hard because I quit.”

Viv stormed off for the gate, her head buzzing with an ache so painful she could barely see.

No sooner did she unlock the gate, let herself through and relock it than Socrates started yelling at her. She ignored him, catching only a word or two from his rampage because of the buzzing in her head.

“You can’t just leave, Viv,” Socrates yelled after her.

She stormed past him, turning her back on the fortress bound with silver-tipped barbed wire. In the distance, she caught the sound of Whiskers fretting.

“Wait, wait! What do we do? Stop! Yazdee, what do we do now? What? Our leader has absconded!”

* * *

Socrates scrambled to the other side of the gate and watched Viv storm off. He knew he couldn’t stop her, not when she was this mad, this disgusted. It worried him that her spells hadn’t worked. Even under the circumstances, with all that just happened, leaving hadn’t been the answer.

If Viv thought things were bad now, she was about to discover a new definition for worse.

Chapter 2

Nikoli Hyland and his cousins, Lucien, Gavril and Ronan, sat in brown leather captain’s chairs across from one another in pairs. A small dining table separated them.

They were flying from New Zealand to New Orleans on the family’s Gulfstream G200 jet as instructed. They’d received the alert yesterday evening with orders to leave immediately. The orders came from their fathers, who were brothers and retired Benders.

Although involved in the family business for the past ten years, the onset of a mission always settled hard in Nikoli’s gut.

He was thirty-five years old, and his cousins only a year or two younger than he. It was still hard for him to intellectualize that they were the new generation of Benders. The tenth generation, to be exact. And, as usual with the onset of a mission, Nikoli pondered what that something was. Sometimes it felt like pride—heavy responsibility—purpose.

Tuning out his cousins’ banter about the witches they were about to meet, he glanced out of the plane window, soaking in the sight of dawn beginning to light a blue-black sky. A finger snap brought his attention back to his cousins.

“Where’d you go, bro?” Lucien asked, grinning. “Neverland?”

“No, I heard everything you guys said. But it doesn’t matter what these women look like,” Nikoli said, knowing full well the appearance of each woman. His father had given him pictures to verify their identification. Each one was drop-dead gorgeous. He’d kept that information to himself, knowing how crude a couple of his cousins could be. “We’re going over there for one reason and one reason only. Remember our mission creed. Keep your dick in your pants and your eyes and ears sure and mindful.”

“Right,” Ronan said.

Now it was Gavril’s turn to roll his eyes.

“This is our biggest job ever,” Nikoli continued. “And from all indications, it’ll get even bigger before we land. We’ve been nickel and diming Cartesians for the past three years. One here, three there.”

“Hey, don’t forget about the fifteen we knocked off in Brazil last year,” Lucien said. “That was no small bite of potato.”

“It is when compared to what we’re about to face,” Nikoli said.

“How many we talking, cuz?” Gavril asked.

“From what I hear, we might be talking a hundred or more.”

Ronan turned his attention back to his cousins and let out a low whistle.

Lucian grimaced. “How in the hell are just the four of us going to handle a hundred or more of those monstrosities? Especially if they pile up into one big-ass troop.”