Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

S aturday dawned bright and sunny. Maeve spent a couple of hours in her greenhouse, dead-heading plants, and weeding the beds. This was her sanctuary, her place of refuge when life got too crazy or she needed time for herself. Her father never came in here. He thought her hobby was cute, but not worthy of the Whisper name. She didn’t mind. This had been her mother’s place, and she felt close to her here. Mom had passed on several years ago, and since then her father sank further and further into his alchemical studies and forgot the world around him.

Her Great-Aunt Geillis knocked at the door, reminding her that it was time to leave. Her aunt had been the one to step in when her mother died, leaving behind a heartsick eight-year-old girl and a father who was content to bury himself in his alchemy studies, barely remembering to feed himself, much less his daughter. Maeve had been so lonely before her aunt had showed up, though she had been initially terrified of the dragon lady. Her aunt had been the one to find Maeve her familiar. Hazel had been a great friend to Maeve, and she adored the little honey badger.

Maeve had offered to work the shoppe during the festival, but the Duprees had declined. The shoppe would be closed during the BrewFest and Maeve would be needed as a tester. She hated being around all those people, but there was nothing she could do about that. The Duprees needed her support.

Her great-aunt separated from her as soon as they arrived at the festival grounds, off to gossip with her friends, though who they had left to gossip about was a mystery. They were all older than the hills and had few friends left, except each other. Maeve checked in at the testers’ booth and scrutinized the antidote array, assessing their supply level.

“Do you think they have enough for us this year? Last year, it was four months before I had any kind of taste buds in my mouth.”

The deep voice rumbled near her ear and she shivered, fighting the instinct to curve in on herself. Slowly, she pivoted to face Saul, cocking her head up so she could see him. “They have plenty for normal-sized people. I’m not sure there’s enough for overgrown oafs like you.”

She flipped her ponytail and sashayed away, but not before hearing his chuckle behind her. “The mouse has claws. Let the games begin.”

Her feet stuttered, and she stumbled but quickly regained her balance and kept going until she reached the Dupree sisters, who were huddled around their cauldron. Phoebe looked up, an expression of utter relief on her face. She seized Maeve’s arm.

“Do you have the rose petals?”

Maeve dug the bulging bag filled with fresh petals she’d gathered that morning out of her crossbody bag and handed it over. “Be careful not to crush them until you’re ready to use them or they’ll lose their potency.”

Tempest snatched them and laid them on the table. She slowly, almost reverently, opened the tissue paper that they were wrapped in, Fleur peering over her shoulder. “Maeve, these are beautiful. You truly have one of the best gardens in all of Grimm Mawr. Thank you so much.”

Phoebe hugged her. “Yes, thank you so much. By the way, how are you feeling?”

Maeve drew her aside, and both Fleur and Tempest watched them closely. “I meant to say something to you. I’m not sure what you did with your chamomile, but something was off with it. I’ve been restless, irritable, not able to sleep well since that tea. Maybe you brewed it wrong or used the wrong leaves.”

Phoebe glanced at her sisters and Maeve got the feeling that she was missing something, though everyone knew Phoebe was not good at cooking and making tea was not always her strong suit. “Is there something wrong? I didn’t mean to insult you.”

Phoebe blinked, then smiled and waved her hand as if passing off her concern. “Of course not. You know that I’m not always the best with tea. That’s Fleur’s area more than mine. I must have grabbed the wrong leaves or over steeped them. Are you feeling better?”

Maeve nodded. “I took one of my detoxifying teas and I’m feeling much better, thank you.”

She felt a gaze on her and she turned to see Saul Grimsbane smirking at her from beside the judges’ table. A tall, willowy woman with honey blond hair came up next to him and leaned against him, doing everything but wrap herself around him. Her hand with long, pointed nails stroked his arm, and she eyed him like he was one of the honey buns from his bakery. Felicia Borges. A bear shifter from another family in town. She never came into the shoppe, but everyone knew her. She was on the prowl for her next mate since her first one escaped, or died. Depended on your perspective. An overwhelming desire to rip off the other woman’s sharpened nails and drive them into her overly made-up eyes swept over Maeve, but she resisted it. Barely.

Saul extricated himself from the woman’s grasp and stepped back. He caught Maeve’s eyes and winked. She shivered at the heat in his gaze and glanced away.

“Saul seems to have warmed up to you. Anything we should know?” Phoebe asked, her own gaze following Maeve’s. Fleur and Tempest crowded around Maeve and stared at Saul, who scowled and turned away.

“I literally have no idea.”

The mayor and the head of the BrewFest, Hilda Digby, ascended the dais and a minotaur bellowed for everyone’s attention. The crowd slowly quieted and everyone focused on Hilda, who explained the rules and asked everyone who was not brewing a potion to vacate the brewing area. Maeve wished her friends well and headed for the spectator area where she found a quiet area under a tree and pulled out her mother’s notebook and lost herself in the memories.

Her mother had been the best potions master she knew. Maeve had spent hours out here in this greenhouse watching her work. Her mother had explained every plant to her and every potion as she made them. Maeve tried to remember them all, but her mother always said, never rely on memory. So she wrote it all down in her grimoire. In many cases, grimoires were for spells, but her mother’s was mostly a recipe book. Maeve was working her way through the book, learning each recipe and perfecting many of them, as some didn’t seem to work as well as her mother had hoped. Or maybe Maeve wasn’t as good a witch as her mother and didn’t have the magic her mother did, so she needed to work harder.

After a couple of hours, and no explosions or screaming later, Maeve was summoned back to the festival to begin the judging. She received her number and realized she was unlucky number thirteen, right next to the ginormous Saul Grimsbane. He was sitting in his chair, and half in hers, a shit-eating grin on his face. She dropped her head and sighed. Who had she pissed off to be saddled with him? First, he acted like he hated her, then she couldn’t get rid of him.

She stood next to her chair. “Please move over so I can sit?”

“There’s plenty of room for a bitty thing like you.” He lifted his big ass arm from the chair and gestured to it.

She sighed again, resigned to a long morning with Saul next to her. She slid into the chair, being careful not to touch him, but she could feel the heat radiating off his body. His delicious masculine scent teased her senses, inciting a slow burn in her belly. She shifted her seat but only came up next to the werewolf next to her, who gave her an appraising look. She shrank back and Saul dropped his arm around her again. She left it there, feeling more secure all of a sudden. The werewolf looked at Saul for a long moment, then nodded and turned away.

She narrowed her gaze at Saul, feeling like she missed something. “What was that about?”

He shrugged. “Just setting boundaries. Always a good thing to do with other predators.”

“I. Am. Not. Prey.”

He leaned in so close that she could see gold flecks in the brown of his eyes. “But you squeak like one, little mouse. I will protect you.”

And he turned his attention back to the proceedings as if the matter was settled. She gave a huff but paid attention to the announcer.

The categories for the entries were human, plant, and animal enhancement potions. This initial round was for the human potions. In front of each of them was a glass jar with a clear liquid of all-purpose antidote and three bezoars, in case the antidote didn’t work quickly enough.

Before a potion was given to any tester, it was assessed for its lethal nature. No potion was supposed to be deadly, but mistakes had been known to happen. So, all potions had a rigorous testing process to ensure no unexpected deaths occurred. Only then was a potion given to a tester. Then a series of questions or actions were given to the tester to see how they reacted, which would then ascertain if the potion worked or not. No tester knew which potion they were given or its purpose.

Maeve hated this part, but because she was an expert in potions and herbology, she was always asked to volunteer as a tester. Besides, someone had to represent the Whisper family, and her father certainly wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t risk his valuable time or any threat to his genius.

The first potion was placed in front of all the testers. It was a deep red, almost like blood. She tentatively sniffed it and caught a metallic hint, like copper. She wrinkled her nose. Saul grunted next to her.

“Blood. They should be careful with vampires on the panel. Hope they fed before they came here.” He downed it in one large gulp, a grimace on his face.

She sighed and took her own sip, then finished it and shuddered. The Rathbone brothers, three handsome men, stood across the way, eyeing the reaction of the judges. Maeve resisted the urge to scowl at them. The potion could have been smoother. The judges began testing them with games of chance with mostly positive results, so clearly this was a luck potion. They took the antidote and started the process all over again with the next potion.

Saul leaned over. “I wish one of them would invent something for stomach upset.”

“I make a mean peppermint and chamomile tea for that,” she replied before she thought about it.

Saul grinned. “Is that an offer, mouse?”

She narrowed her gaze. “No. It’s what I’ll be having after this. You can go find your own.”

He mock pouted at her. “And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

She rolled her eyes and focused on the next potion. It was a dark chartreuse. It looked smooth, smelled like fried tomatoes, and seemed to be easily drinkable. That was saying something because sometimes potions were as thick as stiff oatmeal.

She sniffed again, then took a sip. The taste was familiar though she couldn’t quite place where she knew it from. Then she drank the rest. Saul had downed his in one gulp with a small grimace, like it was a shot of tequila. Maeve caught the Duprees watching carefully, and she surmised it must have been their potion. The testers began their questions with Saul and he leaned forward to answer them.

The werewolf next to her laid a hand on her shoulder and began stroking down her back, getting awfully close to her ass. She took his hand and firmly placed it back in his lap. “Excuse me. No touching.”

He gave her what he probably thought was a sexy smile, but only seemed predatory to her, one that seemed a little too dark, too dangerous. “Hey baby, we’re just getting started. How about we take a little break and go over to that set of trees and get to know each other better?”

He laid a hand very high on her thigh and stroked. She recoiled, jumped up and stumbled backwards and into Saul, who had also stood up at her reaction. “I said no.”

Saul took in the scene at a glance. He roared in the werewolf’s face, his canines lengthening. He pulled Maeve to him and kissed her, his lips settling over hers in a deeply possessive kiss she had never dreamed of having or even wanting.

For a long moment she froze in his arms, her legs dangling off the ground, then heat exploded in her and she wound her arms around his neck, pressing her body into him, and kissed him back. His tongue licked at her lips, demanding entry to her mouth, and she opened eagerly for him, her own tongue meeting his. His hands slid down to grip her ass and hoist her further up, closer to him. She wrapped her legs around his waist to settle more firmly against him, lost in the sensations of touch and heat spiraling between them.

Suddenly, a splash of ice cold water cascaded over them and they broke apart, sputtering and coughing.

“What the hell was that?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Saul Grimsbane. This is a family event,” Mayor Elwyn said, disapproval radiating from every word, his wand held high after casting the spell that sent water over both of them.

Saul lowered Maeve to her feet, and she pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. She glanced wildly around at all the shocked faces staring at her and her soaking wet clothing. Then, unable to deal with it, she bolted from the festival, evading Saul’s grasp and ignoring all the calls for her to come back.

Saul didn't know what happened. One minute he had his arms full of the curvy, glorious female body that was Maeve Whisper, kissing her and it felt like heaven. The next minute, she was tearing herself away from him, looking at him with horrified eyes and running as fast as she could. He found himself surrounded by a group of BrewFest officials yelling at him, demanding to know what the hell he had been thinking of. To be honest, he didn’t know what he’d been thinking. All he knew was that when he saw that wolf shifter’s hand touching her, he wanted to rip that hand from the male and beat him with it. But Maeve didn’t like blood, or the associated cleanup. So he did the next best thing. He staked his claim.

He looked around frantically, wondering where Maeve had gone, while the people were buzzing about like annoying gnats. He saw her talking to Phoebe Dupree and cursed under his breath. Of course, it would have to be Phoebe and the fucking Dupree sisters. He should have known that they would have something to do with this. It had to have been their potion that affected them. They must’ve fucked it up somehow. They weren’t satisfied with just obliterating his taste buds or making him nauseated. No, they had to fuck up his life, and now Maeve’s, too. Though he honestly didn’t regret that kiss one bit. He only regretted that he didn’t have more time with her, in a more intimate setting where he could explore her further.

The Duprees had a lot to answer for and he would not stand for it. He pushed through the crowd, shoving the people aside like tiny little mosquitos. Before he could take off, however, his sister stepped in front of him, blocking him better than any lineman. She grabbed his arm and growled at him. He roared at her, on edge from seeing his mate running from him, and she slapped him. He froze, stunned by her action.

She planted her hands on her hips, still between him and Maeve, and glared at him. “Don’t you dare go after her like this. If you do that, you’ll scare her more than you already have.”

His bear whimpered inside, realizing the truth of what Sacha was saying. The anger drained out of him as Maeve disappeared in the distance. He gave his sister a despairing look. “What do I do? I need to know she’s okay.”

A small smile curved her lips. A knowing smile. “Then do it right, brother. Do it right.”

He glared at everybody around him, who were staring in a mixture of fear and awe. He growled in frustration, still feeling the effects of that damned potion. Or maybe it was just anger and his bear demanding that he go after his mate, because he now knew his sister had been right the previous day. The kiss only confirmed it. Maeve was his mate. And she had run from him, afraid of him. That was unacceptable. He had to make sure she was okay, then he had to win her over. But first, he had to deal with whatever the hell the Duprees had done.

“Give me the fucking antidote. Now.”

Everybody jumped. Nobody wanted an out-of-control, pissed-off grizzly shifter in their midst. They handed him three glasses of antidote because nobody knew exactly what the potion was made of or how much a grizzly shifter should take to counteract it, even though the judge, Hilda Digby, swore Saul was given the placebo potion and not the real one. Saul wasn’t taking any chances. He wanted no doubts in anyone’s mind, especially Maeve’s, that he was under the influence of anything. So, he found himself choking down three doses of bitter, oatmeal-like antidote and chewing the chalky bezoar just to be sure. He didn’t care about any of that. He needed to see Maeve and know she was okay. The rest, he’d figure out.

He slammed the glass on the table, and it shattered. He glared at Sacha. “Satisfied, now?”

She gave a half a little bow and a little flourish towards the parking lot. “Have at it, brother. Go get your mate.”

He snarled, and stomped off, growling at the Duprees, who scurried out of the way. He wanted to roar and chase them, but he had more important things to deal with, including calming down before seeing Maeve.

A short while later, he pulled his black pickup to the Whisper mansion and sat in the driveway for several minutes. Would she even let him in? The place looked quiet, and no one came out to see why a loud truck was parked in the driveway. He got out and headed for the front door, but Maeve’s scent wasn’t strong there. In fact, it was so slight that it was clear she hadn’t come that way in a while. He went back to the drive and began sniffing for her. He considered shifting to his bear, who had a much better nose, when he finally caught her trail, going around the side of the house to the back.

Following the trail, he saw a small greenhouse in the distance, tucked between a set of trees. It looked like the perfect spot for Maeve. A small, isolated spot all to herself, where she would feel safe, secure, and private. And now he was going to invade her space. A big ass grizzly shifter, stomping about the place. He scared her on good days. This wasn’t one of those days. Maybe he needed to consider another strategy.

As he stood there, considering his next steps, staring at the greenhouse several yards away, an older woman approached. She had to be at least in her eighties, if not older. She wore a multi-colored caftan and was heavily made up with bright red lipstick and rouge. Her blue eyeshadow was surrounded by thick, red-framed glasses, and she had fire engine red hair. She was leaning on a carved wooden ash cane that looked old and reeked of power.

She stared at him with a narrowed gaze, then she poked him with her cane. He flinched, half-expecting to be changed into a toad or something. “What do you be doing here?”

He looked at her for a moment, feeling the power she wore around her like a cape. She was one of Maeve’s relatives, with an echo of power surrounding her like a cloak. The Whisper family was an ancient and magically gifted family in Grimm Mawr, but he’d never sensed the same level of talent around Maeve. He took a deep breath, sensing that this moment could mean everything in his pursuit of Maeve.

“I’m here for Maeve.”

The old woman cackled as she leaned into the old stereotypes about witches. But he kind of liked her. “Do she want to see you?”

“Doubtful,” he admitted, sensing he’d better be honest with this woman, Maeve’s aunt or grandmother.

The older woman’s pencil-thin eyebrow arched. “Maeve is a good girl. She may not like you.”

Saul smiled in a way that was confident in his appeal, hoping it would work on the older woman too. “She likes me just fine. She just needs to get over her fear.”

She wasn’t affected at all by his charm. “We’ll see about that.” She narrowed her gaze. “You be a bear. You playing with my Maeve or she be your mate?”

He drew himself up taller. “She’s my mate,” he said indignantly.

The older woman studied him intently for a long moment, nodding to herself. “That be changing things.” She pointed her cane at a bench under a willow tree. “Sit. I’ll see if she’s receiving and willing to see you.”

He sensed that was an order and not an option. He didn’t want to piss off the older woman, because he really needed her as an ally. And since he didn’t want to be turned into a toad for eternity, Saul headed for the bench and sat.

The woman smiled approvingly. “Good boy. You can be trained. Maeve will be happy to hear that.”

She headed for the greenhouse while he sat and twiddled his thumbs.