Belong To The Night. Cynthia Eden

the rest of them had even gotten a good look at her. Of course, she was such a cute and sweet little thing, Tully couldn’t blame his brother. He definitely would have tried if it had been anyone but Kyle who’d been sniffing around her. Then there was the “always friendly, dang-near loved everybody, couldn’t get enough of people, wanted everyone to be happy and show it!” Seneca. She’d somehow found her way among the bears, which only proved she was a sweetheart down to her toes because those easily startled, oversized bastards didn’t like anybody but themselves and fresh salmon. The one he had the least interest in was Kendall, also known as Kenny. She was a real Yankee. Not remotely friendly, suspicious, paranoid, and almost defiantly plain. They rarely saw her during the day, and when she did come out after the sun had gone down she would usually head over to the edge of town where some wild dogs had opened up a comic book and gaming store.

      The one Tully found much more interesting was the extremely statuesque Mackenzie. Mac was about his height, a cool six-three, and a former firefighter. It had taken her time to warm up to the locals but she’d found her way merely by not being her cousin. By not being Jamie Meacham.

      As head of the Coven of the Darkest Night, Jamie was nothing but gorgeous trouble rolled in brown sugar and dusted in arsenic.

      Yeah. Jamie was the one he found the most entertaining. Why? Because if he didn’t know better, he’d swear that woman didn’t give a damn about anybody. She strutted through life tempting fates and whatever powers she or anyone else worshipped. She brought out the worst in the predators around her, insisted on calling his baby sister “Snaggle” because of the state of Katie’s fangs while in shifted form, and kept a sidearm on her at all times—last he checked it was a .380 auto—but was known to travel with a rifle at night. Both of which were illegal within Smithville County lines. Remind her of that, though, and she’d only laugh.

      Bear McMahon, grizzly and sheriff of Smithville, had put it best one day when he said, “It’s when that woman is quiet that I get worried.”

      Tully watched as she strode up to the big table they used for their meetings, walked around it to the small stage behind them, turned and lifted herself onto it. Once she settled in, she crossed her long legs and studied everyone. She smiled. And everyone but him leaned back from that smile.

      She glanced over at Jack who’d ordered this meeting. He was second in charge next to Bear’s momma, Gwen, and Jack’s own momma had once been rumored to complain, “he came out of me snarling at the doctor who’d slapped him.” And it was that snarling feline that Jamie turned away from when Jack opened his mouth to speak, focused those beautiful dark eyes Tully’s way, and said, smooth as silk, “Tully Smith. You called?”

      Why do you insist on doing the things you do?

      It was the question her mother used to ask her constantly when they still spoke. But Jamie Meacham, former Nassau County Detective and High Priestess of the Coven of the Darkest Night, never had an answer to that question. All she knew was that she never colored within the lines, she didn’t like boundaries, and she hated rules and regulations except the most basic kind. Anything or anyone that purposely set out to hurt others was wrong. Rapists, murderers, thieves, she’d hunt them all down and see them convicted without a moment’s worry. That’s what made being a cop so easy for her.

      But when it came to more metaphysical matters, when it came to power and the obtaining of it…well, Jamie was a little more flexible on that score. And it seemed everyone in town had figured that out.

      She knew she made them nervous. She knew they didn’t like her. She knew that if a few of them had the chance to hunt her down and rip out her entrails, they’d do it in a heartbeat. For many people, this sort of realization of the danger they were in would worry them, but Jamie knew there were worse things in the universe than predators willing to feed on her. She’d been to hell and thrown back out again because, according to Satan himself, “You just don’t know how to act, do you?” She’d faced off against some of the purest evil and once had a screaming match with Archangel Gabriel in the middle of a Billy Joel concert at Jones Beach until the winged whiny pot fled in tears.

      So facing some hyenas, lions, and tigers who wanted her dead? Not a big deal to her.

      Yet out of all of the residents of Smithville, all the predators, the townies, the whatevers, the one who never seemed to be bothered by her was the Mayor of Smithville, Tully Smith. When she’d first met him, she thought he was awfully young to be mayor of anything but a fraternity, especially with that stupid one gold earring he wore like he was still trapped in 1985. In fact, she’d figured the role of mayor was nothing more than a figure head for locals with ready cash. Because really, what could be involved in running some little nowhere town that most Americans didn’t even know existed? It’s not like the Mayor of Smithville could eventually move into higher political arenas. The last thing any of the locals wanted around here were cameras shooting hometown footage for a CNN special on a governor or senator candidate. These people took their privacy very seriously and she had no doubts they’d made it clear to anyone who took the mayor position that the government fast track stopped right there. So what could some extremely attractive, kind of charming, thirty-something wolf shifter want with being the mayor? Then, after a few months of watching Tully Smith amble his slow-moving—but extremely fine—ass around town, it suddenly hit her…he was happy with what he had.

      Which, to be honest, Jamie found kind of fascinating. How could anyone be okay with what they had? How did he not want more from his life? Not even close to thirty-five and he was happy with living in a small town, wandering around all day on two legs and all night on four? She didn’t get it, but then again, she didn’t have to. His life was his own and Jamie didn’t involve herself with other people’s lives. She had enough trouble managing the one she had. And although she didn’t really understand Tully Smith, she did find him entertaining.

      Like now. Instead of bouncing this meeting over to his stepfather, Jack, Tully relaxed in his chair, one arm thrown over the back of it, smiled up at her and said, “Aww, beautiful. I call for you every night but you never show up.”

      “And I thought you were just serenading me.”

      They smiled at each other, Tully about to say something else, when Jack Treharne’s hand slammed down against the table. Everyone else jumped, except Tully, who was most likely used to the drama after being raised by the man, and Jamie who had a very low startle response. She stayed still a moment, allowing the tension to ratchet up a bit before she moved only her gaze over to Treharne.

      “Something wrong…Jack?”

      His eye twitched, annoyed that Jamie insisted on calling him by his first name rather than “Mr. Treharne.”

      “Y’all are late…again.”

      “True. But we are running a hotel. Had a whole Pride to check out before we could head this way. But that’s not why you demanded to see us.”

      “You were seen out in the woods again. At night.”

      “I didn’t realize there was a curfew.”

      “There ain’t. But you weren’t out there wandering around. You were doing some ritual.”

      “I’m a witch. That’s what I do.”

      “Without your coven?”

      Jamie could feel her cousin’s eyes on her, and knew she’d hear about this later from Mac. When Jamie had agreed to give up the life she had in New York and bring her coven down to Smithville, she hadn’t really thought about the dynamics of small town life compared to suburban life. Since she’d had her first athame, a lovely ritual knife given to her by her first mentor, Jamie had been doing her own rituals and spells. And since she did these in the privacy of her basement or her backyard, and she’d never been friendly with her Long Island neighbors, her coven had never been the wiser. Something she’d appreciated since the work she did with her coven brought her much satisfaction, but there was something about the power she obtained on her own that drove her to find more and more of it.

      In the end, though, it was no one’s business what she did on her