Fair Game

Indian spirits and talk to them?”
    “Spirits,” corrected Charles. “Nothing Indian about them other than we believe they exist and most of you white-eyes don’t. Yes.”
    Isaac cackled. “I can’t believe you just called me a white-eye. Better than a pale-face, I suppose, but it just seems so
Bonanza
.” His face softened. “My granddad, he could see ghosts. When he was really old, he would rock in this old, dark wood rocking chair and tell us kids about the murderer who haunted the house he grew up in and tried to make his life hell when he was too young to read and write.”
    “Ghosts are different from spirits,” Charles said.
Yes,
howled the ones who haunted him,
tell him about your ghosts, make us a little more real every time you speak of us, every time you see us or think about us. Tell him that ghosts of people you kill can come back and kill the ones you love if you are dumb enough or too clueless to figure out how to set them free.
    Charles had to wait a moment before he could continue, and disguised it as his motion sickness from the boat ride by swallowing heavily. “The spirits I see are more…a way for nature to talk to those with the eyes to see and the ears to hear. They never were human. I don’t see ghosts”—
Liar!
cackled one in his ear—”not the way your granddad did, but I’ve met a couple of people who do. Not an easy gift.”
    “Mygranddad, he was a tough old bird. I’d guess he was tough even when he was five years old and faced down a haunt no one else could see.” Isaac grinned. The sun was down now and his teeth gleamed in the light of the waxing moon. It was two days until full moon. “Tough like me.”
    Tough and stupid,
thought Charles with a sigh. “You are sleeping with the witch?”
    Isaac smiled whitely. “Yessir. And she makes me breakfast in bed, too.”
    Charles liked this young, tough Alpha, so he wanted to warn him. “Black witches are untrustworthy lovers.”
    “I get that,” Isaac said. He shook his shoulders to loosen them. “I’m a werewolf; I can’t afford to be delicate—but I could never fall for a woman who tortures kittens to make love potions, even if she doesn’t do it around me. She’s just scratching an itch and I’m enjoying it while it lasts—and I’m clear with her that’s all it is.”
    “Women hear what men say,” Anna said without turning around. “That doesn’t mean they believe them. A witch isn’t anyone to screw with, Isaac, and they get as possessive as any other woman. You’re beautiful, strong, and powerful—she’s not going to let that go easily.”
    “Are you trying to steal my man?” Hally didn’t seem to have any of the trouble the rest of them did moving about the bouncing boat. And she was good at sneaking around because Charles hadn’t noticed that she’d gotten up from her seat to round the opposite side of the console. She still had her satchel—and was holding the Baggie next to her face as if it held a rose instead of a piece of dead boy’s skin.
    Anna kept a hand on the railing and rolled to sit with only one hip on the ledge at the bow so she could face the witch. His mate smiled one of her big, generous smiles. “No. Just warning him about sleeping with dangerous things. Tigers are rare treasures—and they will eat you and not give it a second thought.”
    The witch preened, her ire sliding away. His Anna was so good at managing people—him included. It was a good thing that the witch was looking at Anna and not Isaac, because Isaac had clearly heard what Anna had said, too. And when an Omega talked, the wolf listened no matter what the man thought. Isaac looked like he’d been slapped.
    “Tigers need to be wary around wolves,” Charles said, to keep her from looking Isaac’s way.
    Hally narrowed her eyes. She reminded him more of a snake than a tiger—they were beautiful, too, beautiful and cold survivors, killing with poison rather than fang or claw.
    “You are sticking your nose into places they don’t belong, wolf,” she said, as if she thought he ought to be worried about her.
    Hally had overstepped, and so Brother Wolf met her eyes and let her see that they had killed more powerful witches than she was—and that it wouldn’t bother them to do it again.
    She swallowed and stepped back, stumbling when a wave threw her off balance.
    “You scratch whatever itches you choose,” Charles told her, his voice cold and quiet. “Enjoy yourself. But at the end of the day,