The Wizard King (4 page)

Aw, shit. This guy was clueless. “You
are
aware I’m a werewolf?”

“Ah. I’ve been informed of your affliction, yes.” McDorman once more appeared merely stressed instead of horrified.

“We’re wolves because of a curse, cast long ago by a witch who felt she’d been wronged by my ancestor.”

Curiosity replaced some of the stress in McDorman’s expression. “I’ve heard some of the tales, sire, but I would prefer to hear the truth from you.”

“Why is that?”

McDorman sniffed disdainfully. “I’m not a fan of gossip, sire.”

Good man. His estimation of McDorman went up slightly. “Apparently my ancestor couldn’t keep it in his pants.” He ignored the surprised snort of laughter from McDorman, but again, his estimation of the nervous little man went up. “He vowed to love a witch, but in the end he bowed to pressure from his family and chose a more suitable wizard to take to wife. The witch, pissed off beyond sanity, cursed my ancestor.”

“Making him a dog in truth as well as inclination.”

This time it was Gareth who was startled into laughing. Maybe McDorman wasn’t quite as stuffy as he seemed. “Exactly. But the karma police hit her upside the head, returning the curse to her threefold. Theresa Langhorn lives now as an immortal, giant bunny.”

McDorman blinked.

“Her descendants are all vegetarians.”

The man’s lips twitched.

“So great-great-blah-great-grandpa wound up eating great-great-blah-great-grandma, which seriously freaked out his kids. His son, in turn, tried to figure out a way to fix the curse, and wound up turning himself inside out, which seriously freaked out
his
kids.”

“I would imagine so.” McDorman shuddered delicately.

“But Becketts are stubborn. In time one of our ancestors came up with a way to coexist with our wolves.” Now came the important part. “The curse that changed the Becketts so long ago has morphed into something more. The symbiotic relationship we now share with our wolves means we are mostly in control of our other halves, but that control comes at a price. It’s been a long time since a Beckett has eaten anyone.” He smirked, thinking of some former lovers who’d had no trouble with Gareth’s appetites. “In a bad way, that is.”

“What price would that be, sire?” McDorman’s gaze drifted toward Gareth’s study.

“Every Beckett has a mate somewhere in the world. When the loneliness becomes overwhelming, we cast a spell to draw our perfect mate to us, calling to the one person who both the wolf and the man can accept as theirs.”

“Wonderful!”

That was…unexpected.

“It means that we do not have to put forth the effort to find you a consort.”

Gareth’s wolf growled. No way would it accept anyone but their destined mate. “Yeah. Let’s not do that.” The wolf would destroy anyone he tried to mate with who wasn’t theirs. “But there’s always a price to pay.” The familiar words sent a pang through him. He prayed to the Goddess that Gen’s price for helping them hadn’t been too steep. “If the mate never appears or if the Beckett refuses to cast the spell, his wolf half will slowly drive him insane and kill him.”

“Oh.” McDorman paled. “
That
is the ritual you’ve cast.” At Gareth’s nod, he sighed. “Sire, I’m not certain the court will survive without you while we wait for your mate. Due to King Steven’s illness, there have been some power struggles, some decisions made that perhaps should not have been. It will take a king to reverse some of those decisions.”

“Wonderful.” Gareth was stepping into political dog doo his first day on the job.

“Is there any chance we could perform this ritual again after we crown you?” He held up his hand when Gareth opened his mouth to protest. “I would be more than pleased to aid you, sire. I would not like to serve an insane monarch.”

“Thank you, but no. I can’t put it off, and it’s important that it completes before we crown me.” If the court couldn’t handle his mate, he would break with tradition and deny himself the crown, no matter what the court’s magic had told them. Gareth couldn’t be king without his mate by his side. But perhaps…

Yes. Perhaps the court could be useful after all. “There’s a reason I can’t put it off, one beyond my wolf’s desire to have its mate. I have reason to believe my mate may be in danger.”

McDorman’s eyes went wide. “You know who she is?”

Gareth hid a grin. If his brothers heard the bullshit pouring out of his mouth they’d flay his ass. It went against everything they believed in for Gareth to name his mate before she’d arrived, but he knew, deep in his soul, that Gen was the one. “Yes.”

“Then we must find her.” McDorman pulled a tablet PC from his pocket and pressed a button. “What information can you give me on your mate?”

“Her name is Genevieve Godwin.”

The tablet PC fell to the floor. “Um, I’m sorry? Did you say Godwin, sire?”

“Is that a problem?” Gareth was willing to force McDorman to accept his mate or remove him as steward.

“Is she one of
those
Godwins?”

Obviously McDorman had heard about Davis and his asshole sons. “She’s an Own.”

The man relaxed. “Ah. Then she is not one of
those
Godwins. Most excellent.”

Shit. He’d better clarify, or this could go south. If he had to work with the man he needed his trust, and keeping his mate’s magical status a secret wouldn’t work in the long run. It was why he was going to surprise Daniel with his position in the court. He wanted family close by in case Gen’s last name became an issue with the rest of the court. “I’m sorry, but she’s a
warlock
Own.”

McDorman slumped in his seat. “Oh, dear. Vivian Godwin won’t like this at all.”

Gareth scowled. How many Godwins were there? “Who the fuck is Vivian Godwin?”

“The matriarch of the Godwins, sire. She rules the family much as you will rule the court. And she’s not known for her patience or her compassion.”

“Gen is known for both.” Just the thought of his sweet mate had him smiling like a sap. “She saved me from Davis Godwin, at great cost to herself.”

Some of the color came back to McDorman’s cheeks. “Then I swear to you, sire. We will find her as soon as possible, and bring her home.”

Gareth couldn’t agree more.

Gen took a deep breath and surveyed her altar. Two candles rested in silver holders, a golden one for the God, a silver one for the Goddess. The rich scent of dragon’s blood incense filled her senses. She’d chosen it for its ability to enhance her powers and protect her from evil spirits, but it was incense more associated with the God than the Goddess, and thus one she used rarely.

To balance out the male power of the incense, Gen had ringed her circle with nine smoky quartz geodes, the dark stones sacred to Hecate. Her wand was willow, her candles rubbed with cypress oil. Hecate’s Wheel was stitched in pale green, the color of Gen’s warlock magic, on the black altar cloth. The one thing she couldn’t change was the timing. The moon was waxing, heading toward full. Hecate’s moon was the new one, not the full, and casting in Her dark light would have been far preferable for Gen’s purposes. She’d just have to hope the Goddess would answer her call despite the bad timing.

She placed the wine and the cakes on the altar and sighed. The candle, water bowl, amethyst geode and incense were all in place around the smoky quartz circle, ready for her to call the quarters. Her athame, the black-handled knife used for spell casting, lay unsheathed on the altar, between the God and Goddess candles. A small bowl of salt, for purification, lay next to the Goddess candle while the brazier burning the dragon’s blood lay next to the God candle. Between the candles was a pair of statues, one representing the Goddess, with the triple moon crown on her brow, and the horned God, his antlers raised high and a smile on his face. She’d placed tiki torches at the four cardinal points, just outside where she’d cast her circle.

Gen had chosen to dress in deep purple, with a silver cord at her waist with silver keys attached, signifying her Goddess’s role of gatekeeper to the underworld. The plain silver circlet on her head, the silver pendant at her throat in the shape of the Wheel, and her bare feet, painted with henna, all declared her Hecate’s child.

She’d used every symbol she could think of to counteract the waxing moon. She was as ready as she would ever be.

Gen took a deep breath and centered herself, reaching for that spark of the divine that had lived within her ever since the Goddess Hecate accepted a frightened young warlock as Her Own.

Peace filled her as she connected with that spark. Lifting the athame, Gen decided to take a page out of Zachary Beckett’s book. Tonight, she would cast a triple circle, and protect herself even further from her brothers.

She pointed the tip of the blade toward the amethyst geode in the north quarter. She visualized the circle she wanted, one that would hold out all evil intent. She began a stately walk clockwise, or deosil, around the circle, and poured her power through her athame.

“I lay down the circle white,

Symbol of purity and might.

May evil be blinded by the sight.”

White light gleamed along the tip of her athame, casting a gentle moon glow around the circle. It was working. Zach’s triple circle spell, unconventional though it was, was working. She could feel the moon’s protections wrapping around her.

When she was done she was once more at the geode. Smiling, Gen began the second circle, the second chant, the tip of her athame glowing with pure blue light.

“I lay down the circle blue,

For protection sound and true.

May evil not pass through.”

When the second circle was cast, she paused. This one was the most difficult, the one that might alert her brothers to her spell casting.

But without that third circle, the protections would not be complete. Gen lifted her blade and began to chant.

“I lay down the circle black.

Justice comes to those who lack.

May evil intentions break and crack.”

The tip of the athame quivered as darkness poured from the tip. She knew from Zach’s circle that the mist was harmless to her. Indeed, its touch was pleasant, akin to the touch of her Goddess. The last time she’d felt the touch of that circle, she’d almost lost herself to it.

But instead of the pure black light of Zach’s circle, Gen’s flickered with tiny sparks, like starlight. She didn’t know if that signified the difference between a witch Own and a warlock Own, or if it had to do with Zach’s sheer strength, but nothing about her circle felt off.

It…felt right, even more so than Zach’s, so Gen let it go.

Gen stopped in front of the geode and bowed. Earth was not the element she felt the most kinship with, but as with all the elements, she respected it greatly. The elements took in those of her people who chose to follow a different path, and she could feel nothing but gratitude for that. Warlocks who bonded with the element of earth were some of the most steadfast warlocks, and the least likely to lose their tempers. But when they did, the results could be devastating as their element literally rose to their call.

She sheathed the athame, knelt and placed her hands on the geode.

“North and Earth I call on thee.

Join me in my circles three.

Grant me your stability.”

She felt the answering rumble beneath her feet, not as strong as when Zach had called the quarters, but strong enough for her purposes. The air around her was filled with the scent of green, growing things, of life.

Next she walked to the incense burner. The element of air could be capricious, and those tied to it equally so. Air was the element most often bonded to by artisans. She lit the incense and began to chant.

“East and Air I call on thee.

Join me in my circles three.

Grant me your creativity.”

She’d chosen lavender incense to honor Hecate, the scent sacred to the goddess, a delicate counterpoint to the dragon’s blood. A gentle breeze swirled into the circles, filling the area with sweetness, a caress against her skin that made her shiver with pleasure.

The element of fire was next. Energetic, passionate, its bondmates were often fierce warriors and equally fierce lovers. Golden eyes—
wolf
eyes—haunted her as she began to chant.

“South and Fire I call on thee.

Join me in my circles three.

Grant me your energy.”

She lit the red candle, and the fire leapt at her call, taller than it should have been but tamed, contained by the wax holding it in place and by Gen’s will.

The last element waited for her. Water beckoned, shining in the light of the nearly full moon, the element Gen felt most at home with. If she had not chosen to bind herself to the Goddess she would have offered herself to water. Fertility and healing were its bailiwicks, but like air it too could be capricious. Its bondmates, if their wills were not strong, were prone to mood swings as the tide of their emotions ebbed and flowed. She held her hand out over the bowl of water and began to chant.

“West and Water I call on thee.