Call Me Miz

By Gem Sivad

Masseuse, hedgewitch, healer... Although Missouri Hess can take pain and illness away with her touch, and pull truth from a liar every time, she considers her strange talents a curse. Being a healer is a lonely existence when the people you help, shun your truth-telling side. Nevertheless when misery calls, Miz is compelled to answer.
Thomas Hunter is a government agent and a member of an elite Special Forces team—emphasizing the word *special*. In human form, Thomas is a mouth-watering hunk of rippling muscles. Since he’s in Bitter Creek Holler to meet the local werewolves, he’s spending most of his time prowling the woods as a jaguar, ready to greet shifters in parlay or meet the enemy with fang and claw.
But Thomas doesn’t know the area, or realize until too late, that he’s become prey. When Miz rescues his furry form from a conibear trap, the beast in him claims her as his own. It’s up to Thomas to work out the details and convince the bewitching healer she’s his mate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gem Sivad
• Release date: Apr 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781626229112

Gem Sivad

Hi everyone! My characters are a lot more interesting than I am. I grew up on a farm in Ohio, raised horses, read books, and dreamed about stories I'd someday write. I currently live with my husband and family in a rural area of West Virginia (we're talking wild turkey, bear, and deer country) where I catch the muse and write PG13 romance in my Unlikely Gentlemen series and heat-stroke hot erotica for Ellora's Cave in my Eclipse Heat books. My first title, Intimate Strangers, published in 2009, won the 2010 EPIC Award in two categories: Best Western Romance and Best Erotic Western. Although I have hermit tendencies, I love hearing from fans. For updates (or if you're an avid Words With Friends junkie)visit my Face Book Author Page@ facebook.com/GemSivadAuthor; Website: gemsivad.com; and Subscribe to my newsletter: gemsivad.com/dreamcatcher.

Book preview

Chapter One

It was early afternoon, and hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk—a perfect day for Miz to get her tires changed. The late August heat, humid and sticky, dampened the spirit of anyone foolish enough to venture outside. That would be her, of course.

She’d scheduled her last client early, and after he’d left, instead of heading east toward the mountains, she’d gone in the other direction to the bike shop. She’d deliberately chosen a mug-ugly day, having no desire to come in touching distance of crowds.

She got her wish. As she tooled down the boulevard paralleling the water, she could see heat waves bouncing off the Kanawha River. Not even boaters had ventured into the late summer sun. It looked as if everyone but Miz had abandoned the outdoors for air conditioned buildings. She enjoyed the brush of hot air fanning her cheeks as she followed the winding city street to the bike shop on Maccorkle Avenue.

Once there, she and the two mechanics had the place to themselves. She watched them change the oil, check the fluids, and mount new tires. Two hours and eight hundred dollars later, Miz pulled on her helmet, climbed on her Harley, and prepared for the trip back over the mountain.

She hadn’t made it two blocks before a police cruiser drifted in behind her. As soon as the blue light on top started flashing, she pulled to the side of the road and waited. When the cop climbed out of his car, Miz recognized him. Damn, damn, damn... She unsnapped her helmet and offered him her license but he waved it away.

Miss Hess, I’m real glad I caught sight of you. Hank Wyatt called… It was frigging amazing how even when she was in a county other than the one he owned, Wyatt always managed to find and drag her home.

Hank asked me to tell you there’s been an accident. You’re needed. Having delivered his message, the police officer got back in his cruiser and left.

And that ended her perfect day.

Miz swerved in and out of traffic as she climbed the ridge on her Harley. A coal truck traveling fast from the other side had lost its brakes, plummeting down the curving road until it crashed and flipped on its side. It was already five o’clock in the afternoon and any commuters leaving town to head back across the mountain were screwed. No cars were going to get through that way for at least an hour or two.

But she would. She tightened her grip and slowed down as she approached the load of coal blocking the road. Swearing uselessly, one man paced beside the truck. Fifteen or more men, some in suits and ties, were frantically digging with their hands, trying to make a dent in the pile.

Miz inched forward, studying the far right of the road. The truck had belched its contents, scattering coal all the way to the edge of the mountain and pelting the houses below with black dust and stone. She aimed her bike for the narrow gap between piles, intent on leaving the scene behind.

Get the hell out of here, bitch. Eldon Brown stepped in her path, reaching for her handlebars. Considering that he was at the top of her despise list, it was a stupid move.

Not a problem, Eldon. That’s exactly what I’m doing. Miz kicked her motor into gear and caught his hand, bending it backward until he buckled to his knees and she felt the wrist pop. Her glove burned hot when she released her grip on him and sped past, aiming her bike again for the narrow path.

Got him. A shout went up from the men digging and though she tried to ignore the scene, she could see from the corner of her eye, the body being pulled free.

Dumb-asses. If he wasn’t dead already he would be by the time they finished mauling him. She stopped her bike, set the kickstand and stalked to where the truck driver lay broken and bleeding.

Get the fuck out of my way, she said, elbowing one of the men. Heat pulsed inside her gloves and she gritted her teeth at the pain.

Let her through, Hank Wyatt ordered them all.

Jesus, Wyatt. What the hell you think she’s going to do? Ask him how he feels? Eldon cursed her and her ancestors before he shut up and moved aside.

I said let her through.

Miz didn’t look at him or any of the other men muttering insults. She dropped to her knees next to the driver and wiped dust and debris from features so covered in black she didn’t recognize Donnie Haskell until she’d cleared his nose and cleaned his face.

His breathing was shallow, barely discernible, his spirit already reaching for the beyond. Miz shuddered, fighting death as it pulled on him.

Took you long enough to get here. Take off your damned gloves and lay hands on him, Miz. Hank Wyatt had seen her heal a wolf once. They’d been friends and lovers up until that day. Do it. You know he’ll be dead by the time the ambulance gets here.

As if she had a choice about what came next. She swiped her sleeve across her brow, already dripping with sweat. The muttering in the background receded as she concentrated on Donnie, trying to get him stable without frying his brain.

Then she forgot everything as the heat pulsed from her into Donnie’s chest. Her eyes were closed as she saw a haze of dirt and debris clouding his lungs. Her hands lay flat on him, but in her mind, they fisted around the dark poison.

Burn ash, burn rubble, burn wood, burn stone… She whispered the words in her mind, watching the murky stain decrease in size until Donnie arched up under her touch, spasming for a moment before he began to choke and cough.

Miz slumped back on her heels, exhausted and sick with the noxious poison she’d sucked out of her patient. Her voice was thick, hardly recognizable when she muttered, He’s in shock. Keep him warm, Hank. He’ll hold now until the EMT gets here.

Weakly she staggered up from where she crouched and stumbled to her bike. The men opened a path for her but none offered to help her clear the scatter of coal until Hank yelled, Get that shit out of her way. He was boss hereabouts and the men jumped to it. Because of him, not for her.

As she pushed her bike through the narrow opening they cleared, she heard one man say, Donnie’ll be a gibbering idiot even if he pulls through.

Not content with just insults, Eldon Brown lobbed a chunk of coal, missing her shoulder by an inch as he hissed, Witch.

On the other side of the black mountain, Miz remounted and drove toward home. Intoxicated on filth and left over power, her speed was slower around the curves than usual.

She had to navigate through another line of cars filled with people heading to the city for the night. Cell phones were deader than Job’s ass up here. Stalled travelers tried to flag her down to find out if they should turn back and go home or if help had arrived on the other side.

Miz ignored the questions all the way to Bitter Creek Holler, veering on to the narrow unpaved road. It was little more than a beaten path wide enough for a small car. When she was alone and out of sight, she stopped, dismounted and vomited until her throat was raw.

Chapter Two

Above the coal spill and the frantic chaos unfolding, Thomas Hunter crouched on a tree limb and gazed from beast eyes, watching the scene below with lazy interest. Neither he nor the jaguar he resided in for the moment, held out much hope for the guy covered in coal.

But both of them came to attention when the woman roared up on her motorcycle. Thomas focused on the long, leather clad legs, and let his gaze rove higher,