The Men of Otherworld: Collection One
Date: 2015-08-13 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Urban Fantasy; Anthologies; Vampires; dragons; Paranormal Romance; Shapeshifters; Magic; Fantasy; Romance; Paranormal
Description: A collection of short stories from New York Times, USA Today, and PW Bestselling Author Yasmine Galenorn, starring the men of Otherworld. In this collection: The Hunger: What really happened to Rozurial and Fraale when Zeus and Hera showed up at their house? Blood Ties: Roman's brother is coming to town, and it's not a happy family reunion. Ink Bonds: Trillian's love for Camille drives him to seek her out, even a world away. Chasing Sharah: Chase and Sharah have the most unexpected first date ever. The Purr-Fect Weekend: Shade relishes the idea of a weekend alone with Delilah, until cat-astrop
Publisher: Nightqueen Enterprises LLC
Rights: Yasmine Galenorn 2014

The Men of Otherworld

Collection One

Yasmine Galenorn

A Nightqueen Enterprises LLC Publication

Published by Yasmine Galenorn

PO Box 2037, Kirkland WA 98083-2037

THE MEN OF OTHERWORLD

Collection One

Copyright ©2014 by Yasmine Galenorn

First Electronic Printing: 2014 Nightqueen Enterprises LLC

Cover Art by Tony Mauro © Copyright 2012-Yasmine Galenorn

Cover Design by Yasmine Galenorn

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any format, be it print or electronic or audio, without permission. Please prevent piracy by purchasing only authorized versions of this book.

This is a work of fiction and is entirely the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, or places is entirely coincidental and not to be construed as representative or an endorsement of any living/existing group, person, place, or business.

A Nightqueen Enterprises LLC Publication

Published in the United States of America

Introduction

The Hunger

Chasing Sharah

Ink Bonds

Blood Ties

A Purr-Fect Weekend

Biography and Complete Book List

Introduction

For a long time, people have asked me what happens between the novels in my series, or they want to see more of some characters, or hear about a scene referred to but never written into the story line. Until now, there wasn’t much I could do about that—there’s a word limit in my contracts and when you stray too far from the main focus, the book gets muddy. But with the ability to self-publish short collections like this, I can now offer my readers some of what they’ve been asking for. So, I have decided to write and sell short collections on my own. Some of these will be set within the worlds I’ve created—Otherworld, the Indigo Court, etc.—and yet others will be from ideas you haven’t seen yet.

In this collection I am offering you a closer glimpse at the men who share the lives of the D’Artigo sisters. I’ve indicated the time period or setting in which these take place before each story. These scenes are canon because I wrote them to fit into my worlds and timelines.

There will be a second collection for the men—this one would have been too long for me to publish otherwise (I cannot offer full size novellas or books on my own at this point due to existing contractual obligations), but never fear—Smoky, Morio, Vanzir, Carter, and Bruce will have their stories coming in January 2015.

Please visit my Website for information on the books, my forums if you want to interact with other readers, and my blog for my daily ramblings. And see the booklist included for my complete bibliography. These stories do NOT appear in the books, and you will not find the adventures in the books involved here.

These stories are dedicated to you—my readers. I hope you enjoy them.

Bright Blessings,

Yasmine Galenorn

November 2014

The Hunger

I’ve often thought about Rozurial’s marriage to Fraale, and that fateful day when Zeus and Hera forever changed their lives. It’s a story that haunts me, and I finally decided to write it out and see just what happened.

The wild roses were blooming in the garden, which meant that before long it would be time to gather the honey and start harvesting apples. Rozurial loved this time of year when everything was still warm and golden with the afternoon sun, but autumn was clearly beckoning from just over the hill.  As the sun crept over the horizon, streaking the early dawn with golden tongues of fire, Roz sat on a slope near his home, chewing on a piece of grass, as he contemplated what chores he needed to finish before nightfall.

Fraale, his wife—the love of his life and the one constant in his world—was baking bread in the garden oven. It was still too warm to heat up the house, so she had been doing all the summer cooking outdoors. She had shooed him out when he stopped to grab a roll and some meat for breakfast, laughing and cussing out the loose bricks that were making the day’s cooking precarious.

Now, stomach full for the morning, Roz stretched back, hands under his head, and ticked off a mental list of chores that lie ahead of him. Milk the goats, harvest vegetables to dry under the sun for winter. The starberries were ripe and Fraale wanted to get to her jam-making soon, so he needed to pick a basket of those. He also needed to mend the fence in the southern pasture before the goats broke it down and ran amok.

With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet. The sooner he got busy, the sooner he’d get done. As he stood there, the morning light glinting off his waist-length hair that coiled down his back, a shadow cast across him from a nearby tree. A sudden chill raced up his spine and he let out low growl, dropping into a crouch, squatting as he scanned the horizon for any sign of movement. But the only signs of life were the insects and birds that filled the meadow, and the raggle-taggle herd of goats that had followed him up from the lower pastures. Frowning, he eased himself back to his feet.

“It can’t be him,” Roz whispered, trying to reassure himself. “It can’t be Dredge. Not in daylight. Not at sunrise.”

The last time he’d felt this same, sudden fear, he’d still been on the hunt and his instincts had been keen. At times, Rozurial feared that life with Fraale had blunted them—that withdrawing from the relentless pursuit of the vampire who had killed his entire family had been a mistake. But most of the time now, he was happy. And when the memories swept down to fill his nightmares, Fraale was there to wake him up and hold him until he could breathe again.

He scanned the horizon again. Nothing.

Roz exhaled slowly. Fear was dangerous. Fear was more dangerous than the adversary you were afraid of. Fear could kill.

When his pulse had stopped racing, he closed his eyes and listened. There were no silences in the bird song, there was no sudden cessation of insects thrumming. The wind felt the same—no sudden shifts, no scents other than what should be there. Finally, he opened his eyes and glanced down as one of the goats ran over to nuzzle his side. He patted her head. Trika stared up at him, then followed him as he started down off the slope.

“You’d think by now I could let the past go. It was long ago and far away...but I still hear them screaming. I still hear my mother begging Dredge to leave my sisters alone.” He pressed his lips together into a thin line, then forced himself to take another deep breath. “You know, Trika, sometimes the monsters of the world turn our memories into monsters on their own. Sometimes, the worst way to hurt someone is to make their entire life a living nightmare that won’t recede.”

Trika let out a bleat, as if answering him.

“You bugger, you. Go on with you, get to the herd and fill your belly.” He shooed her off, trying to laugh. Dredge couldn’t be here. Vampires slept during the daylight, even the strongest of them. And Dredge wasn’t the hunter, not this time. No, Dredge wouldn’t know him from a rock. Because Dredge was halfway to insane, and the only thing that mattered to him was the current kill, the current prey. Rozurial had hunted him across the world and back again before giving up to settle in and have as normal of a life as he could. Last he heard, Dredge was tracking through Ceredream, feeding off the whores and the homeless—castaways who wouldn’t be missed. No, it wasn’t Dredge who had set him on alert. Just who it was, he didn’t know. But not Dredge.

Stopping in at the house to pick up his lunch bucket and to give Fraale a kiss, Rozurial found her cussing out the summer oven yet again. She had burned two loaves of bread thanks to the uneven heating and now she swung around, hands on hips.

“You promised me you’d repair this. I can’t do up the harvest preserves until you fix it.” She was pretty—plump and round, with brown hair and eyes that flashed when she was angry…and when she wanted to make love.

Roz swept her into his arms, his lips pressing against hers. She was warm and soft, cushioned in all the right places, and as he buried his nose in her hair, all he wanted to do was sweep her into the bedroom and kiss his way down her body. But she pushed her way out of his embrace, laughing.

“Chores first. The fields will not till themselves, and the fruits won’t fall into the baskets on their own accord. Now, when are you going to fix my oven?” But her eyes danced as she slapped her hand against his chest.

He grinned. “Tonight. I promise you, I’ll fix both the summer oven and the fireplace. Now, give me my lunch, woman, and make me some cookies today? Please?” Again, the boyish smile flashed as he gently smacked her on the ass. Even if settling down had dulled his senses, it was worth it—the sun on her hair, the smells of home around him. The sense of family he’d lost thanks to Dredge in childhood, he’d regained when he met Fraale.

She pushed a bucket into his hands. “There’s bread and cheese, meat and cake, and a bottle of milk. Go on with you, then.”

And so, Rozurial headed off to build and mend and harvest and generally take care of business.

He was partway through the afternoon when he got the feeling something was wrong. The same shiver he’d felt in the morning hit him again. He shaded his eyes. From the pasture in which he was standing, the house was barely visible—a faint protrusion on the horizon. He was a twenty minute walk from home, on the highest hill of their property, staring through the fields of corn and root vegetables. Trying to ignore the feeling, he went back to shoring up the last boundary marker that was leaning precariously. But, unable to shake the worry, he decided to head back home early.

On his way, his walk became a jog became an outright run. Roz was in good shape, and by the time he came to the fence that divided their house from the gardens, he slowed, hoping he wasn’t making a fool of himself. Fraale would probably laugh herself silly at his expense—there were no signs of fire, no signs of trouble. He debated whether he should just turn back. He could finish bringing in the wagon filled with berries and fruit, and carrots and corn that he’d picked during the afternoon. But an odd noise—one he didn’t recognize—made him pause.

Slowly, he edged around to the side of the house. There, tied to the gate, stood a white stallion—huge and gleaming in the late afternoon sun. No saddle…so whoever owned it must have either been leading it by the bridle, or riding bareback. The horse was restive, pawing the ground, and he thought he could see a puff of steam come out of its nostrils, but that made no sense. He drew his hand across his eyes to clear them.

At that moment, a sudden scream from inside the house broke through his thoughts and he whirled, racing toward the door. As he burst into the parlor, the first thing he saw was a Fraale, trying to escape from the clutches of a tall, white haired man who was attempting to kiss her. Roz leaped forward, grabbing hold of the man’s arm to pull him off his wife.

With one shrug, the man tossed him aside like he was a limp rag. Roz shook his head, sitting up dazed. What the hell? He was strong—the man looked older, how could he have...? And then he noticed what the man was wearing. A white cloak over a white and gold gown, belted by a golden sash. A faint bluish glow surrounded him, and when he turned to look at Rozurial, his eyes were the glow of early morning sky.

“Zeus…” Roz slowly stood up. “Zeus?” he whispered again.

The god let out a grumbling sigh and, taking his hands off Fraale, turned to Rozurial and crossed his arms. “Doesn’t anyone ever kneel anymore?”

Roz’s eyes narrowed. When he was very young, he had hidden away, watching his family forced to kneel at the feet of a monster. He had never knelt to anyone, no matter who they were. And he didn’t plan to start now

“Leave my wife alone. Leave my house. Go now, and we part in peace.’

Zeus glanced at Fraale, who was adjusting her dress. She backed away, skirting towards Roz, the expression on her face one of mingled terror and disbelief.

“Fine way of showing hospitality to a wandering stranger.” Zeus’s words were mildly slurred and, as he hiccupped, the scent of wine filled the air.

Great. Not only a lecherous god, but a drunken lecherous god. Roz knew better than attack him again—he no longer had the element of surprise, and the truth was, now that he realized it was Zeus standing before him, he was scared shitless. Gods didn’t play by mortal rules and while they could be killed, it would take someone far stronger than Rozurial to manage it. Not to mention the fact that, should he manage to actually hurt the god, the rest of the Olympians would be on his ass and he’d be toast.

Fraale was almost to Roz’s side when a whirl of wind swept through the door and a woman suddenly stood at the entrance, glaring at Zeus. She too, wore white robes and gold adornments, and her hair was coiled on her head in golden ringlets. Her eyes narrowed as she glanced from Zeus to Fraale, then back again to Zeus.

“I knew it. I knew you were gallivanting again. And what do I find? You, slumming with the dregs of the Fae. You can’t even keep yourself to our station—the nymphs would be better than this! Look at her—she’s not even pretty.”

Hera. It had to be Hera. Which meant they could be in one hell of a lot of trouble. Zeus was bad enough but the two had a marriage made in hell, and rumor had it that if you ended up between them when they were arguing, you might as well kiss your ass goodbye.

Roz slowly reached out for Fraale’s hand and, once it was secure in his, began edging his way toward the door. If they could make it outside, they might be able to hide until the divine couple patched things up and left. At worst, Roz thought, they could just leave town and start over somewhere else.

His plan might have worked—they almost had managed to reach the door—when Hera spun around, breaking off from browbeating Zeus who was listening to her with an Oh, fuck, here we go again look on his face.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hera was suddenly in front of them, moving in a blur of speed. “I did not give you permission to leave.” Her eyes were steely blue, and Roz’s stomach lurched at the wave of anger rolling off the goddess. It raced like a tidal wave, surrounding both him and Fraale, forcing them to their knees. Roz struggled against the pressure, but found himself unable to move or speak.

Fraale let out a whimper as Hera stepped closer and reached out to cup her chin. “So, you are the girl who captured my husband’s attention this time, are you?” Her voice had become very soft, which was more frightening than when she was screaming.

Roz struggled, still holding Fraale’s hand. She squeezed tightly, and he could feel her fear through their contact. He desperately wanted to break free, to drag her outside away from all of this to safety, but his body refused to obey.

Hera leaned down, staring into Fraale’s eyes. “You wish to seduce the husbands of other women so badly? Then I’ll make it easier for you.”

Fraale whimpered again, and managed to eke out a whisper. “No…I did not…I didn’t touch him—I didn’t ask…”

“Oh, none of you touch him. None of you ask for his attentions. I’ve heard it so many times I might as well commission a sad song for you. But still, I find him in your house, and his scent is on you.” Hera’s eyes flashed with a dangerous light. “His hands were on you.”

“Leave the girl alone.” Zeus seemed to break out of his stupor and came striding forward. “We’ve been through this before. You know my eye wanders. You knew this when you agreed to marry me.”

“Your eye may wander, but your hands and body follow and therein lies the problem, my husband.” Hera shook her head, a pained look crossing her face. “How many times have you apologized and then I find this…again and again. I will not stand for it. I will not stand by and watch you cavort with some mortal trollop.” She turned abruptly, slapping him across the face. “I ask for so little. I ask for respect and for honor. If you’re going to take lovers, at least take them from those worthy of the attentions of a god. Not some…some…succubus.”

“Hera, you are my wife and the mother of the gods—compose yourself!” Zeus blustered up, and a roll of thunder split the air outside. Through the window, Rozurial could see one hell of a bank of storm clouds race in as rain began to lash the ground.

But Zeus’s order fell on deaf ears. Hera sputtered, then, glancing back at Fraale, she let out a snort. “I said trollop. You want to seduce husbands away from their wives? Then do it right, at least.” And with that, she reached out and brushed her hand across Fraale’s forehead. In a flash of light, the goddess vanished, a trail of laughter echoing behind in her wake.

Fraale let go of Rozurial’s hand. She dropped to the ground, screaming. Roz tried to go to her, but Zeus reached out, held him back.

“Do not touch her, boy. Not yet.” The god stared at Fraale, his voice a whisper. Roz tried to break free but Zeus held him steady.

Fraale was convulsing, frothing at the mouth as her eyes rolled back in her head. She let out one long, piercing scream as Roz began to weep. He was losing her—he knew it. She was dying and he couldn’t even comfort her.

But instead of collapsing, the fit began to pass. Fraale lie there, her eyes closed, but she was breathing. Zeus let go of him then, and watched as Roz fell to his knees beside his love.

He felt for her pulse, which was rapid but steady, and then brushed her hair back away from her face. There seemed to be something different about her. She was the same and yet…something had changed. As she slowly opened her eyes, the glint in them made him nervous.

“Love, love are you all right?” Roz slid his arm behind her back and helped her sit up. “What happened—” He stopped. The woman in his arms was not his Fraale. Not entirely. Of that much, he was certain.

She let out a long sigh, almost exasperated. And then, without a word, she drew him in for a kiss, her tongue playing against his. She was warm in his arms, pliable, and he found himself wanting to fuck her right there, in front of Zeus. All he could think about was how beautiful this woman of his was, and how she needed him. But then, as the kiss went on, he began to feel dizzy and with a start, realized that he was losing consciousness. Another moment, and the world went black.

“You awaken, then?” Zeus was sitting there at the table, staring at him.

Roz realized he was stretched out on the length of polished wood, his head aching and feeling like he’d been sick for a long, long time. He tried to sit up, but Zeus shook his head and pushed him back down.

“Rest yourself. You are still weak.”

“What…what happened?” And then, he remembered. “Fraale! Fraale? Where’s my wife?” He brushed away Zeus’s hand and forced himself to a seated position. The room began to spin, but he squinted, staring at one spot on the wall to help him focus enough so that he could manage sitting up.

“Your wife. She drained you. She would have killed you if I hadn’t intervened, but truth is: She didn’t realize that she was siphoning off so much energy. She’s hungry, she needs to feed.” The god sounded genuinely sorry.

Rozurial frowned, trying to understand what Zeus was saying. Hunger? Siphoning off energy? Oh no…he couldn’t mean… “Hera, she turned Fraale into a vampire?” His heart was about to rip out of his chest and shatter on the ground.

Zeus quickly held up a hand. “No, no—rest easy on that. Your wife is no vampire.”

“Then, what are you talking about?” Thoroughly confused and exhausted, Rozurial turned helplessly toward Zeus. “What happened? I don’t understand.”

Zeus suddenly looked old. Old as the hills, old as time. His shoulders slumped. “Hera turned your wife into a succubus.”

And that was all he needed to say. Roz knew what succubi were. Sexually charged energy vampires—minor demons, to be precise. The thought of Fraale, wanton and seeking to feed her hunger of any man she came to, churned in his stomach. He wanted to shout, to rail against the heavens, but it would do no good. The heavens were sitting in his living room. The heavens had caused this.

“What am I going to do? I love her—I love her and I can’t stand the thought of losing her.”

At that moment, the door opened and Fraale stood there. Her dress was different—she was wearing a lower cut gown that sparkled in the evening light, and her eyes were glowing. Her lips looked so moist that it made him hard, so rock-hard and ready to fuck her. He hung his head, unable to speak.

She moved slowly through the room to him. “Rozurial. I’m sorry.” Her voice was as broken as his heart. “I didn’t mean to…I couldn’t help myself…” Her words drifted off and she burst into tears.

Rozurial turned to Zeus. “This is your fault. Fix it. Do whatever you need to but fix it.”

Zeus looked from Fraale to Roz, back to Fraale again. “I cannot undo what Hera did—no one but she has the power to undo her magic, and she has a long and harsh memory. But…I will do the only thing I can think of to help.” He stood, then reached out and touched Rozurial.

Roz felt something beginning to shift inside, a warm glow that quickly became a raging fire, rampaging through his body—burning the cells, shifting and changing him. As he fell back on the table, his body beginning to spasm, his last thought was, “I’m dying.” And then, the darkness hit again.

“So here we are.” Fraale gazed at him, her luminous gaze fastened on his own.

“Wherever here is.” Roz pressed his lips into a thin line as he stared out the window. He was hungry—the ache was always there now. The desire to touch, to kiss, to run his fingers along female flesh. To taste the energy that charged him up like a fresh eye catcher, about to explode. No matter how much he and Fraale had come together, fucking their brains out over the past weeks, the ache refused to be satiated, for either of them. Now, they faced each other, honestly, the truth painfully evident.

“I love you.” He swung around, catching her hands in his. “You know how much I love you. I never wanted anything more than to grow old with you, to have children, to make some semblance of a normal life. You know that, don’t you?”

Her breath was ragged, this time from tears. “Don’t say it. Please, don’t say what I know you are going to say. There must be a way we can return to normal. Every man I touch reminds me that he’s not you. But I can’t stop myself. I killed someone last night, Rozurial. I killed someone—drank him dry of energy. I didn’t mean to and I’ll never let it happen again. I swear on my life. If I have to slit my own throat, I’ll never use my kiss to kill again. Can’t we try one more time? We can sustain each other—” But her pleas fell away.

Rozurial’s own eyes were wet. “We’ve tried. My love, every day we make this pledge in the morning. Every night, we roam the astral and hunt down victims. We can’t live with each other anymore. The guilt will eat us alive. If we stay together, we’ll drive each other mad. I can’t stand to think of you with other men but I know you need them. I know your hunger because I feel it myself.”

How many times had he ranted toward Olympus? How many times had he cursed the name of Zeus the destroyer? Rozurial felt like he had when Dredge had killed his family—full of hate and fury and passion.

Fraale was sobbing so hard he thought she might break. She fell to her knees, pressing her head on his lap. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave. What will I do without you?”

“My love, that’s not the question. The question is, what will we do to each other if we stay together? I think we have to accept that there’s no going back. There’s no miracle, no magic that can fix this. The healers and witches told us that. Zeus and Hera ignore our prayers. Face reality, Fraale. We’re stuck like this.”

And that was the kicker—they were stuck in a glamorous world of sex and charm and passion, but they couldn’t share it together without destroying what love they had left.

Fraale pushed herself to a cross legged position and wiped her tears on her sleeve. She gazed up at him, and he saw the resignation in her eyes.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know this is the end.” She let out a shuddering sigh and pushed herself to her feet. “I will always love you. I’ll always miss you. And I’ll always hate the gods. With the last of my breath, I will curse them.”

He rose, pulling her tight against his body. They fit together. That was the hellish part. They had come together and built their love and their life, and now, in love, they were being forced to dissemble everything they had ever known.

Burying his face in her hair, he kissed her gently. “We have to walk away and not look back. There’s no getting past this pain, my love. Every time I look at you, I remember what joy we had.”

She pressed her cheek on his shoulder. “And I look at you and remember the promise of the future. Now, everything is shrouded in fog.” Resolutely, she took a step back. “Promise me this: in a year, we’ll return here. To this house. To meet and…check on each other? Promise me, on your oath. That way we won’t do anything stupid.”

He nodded, understanding the unspoken message. “I promise. One year, right here, we will meet.” He glanced around at the tidy home they had made. “I sold the goats to the farmer across the hill. Your half of the money is on the table.”

Fraale shivered. “I don’t want to leave. I was so happy here.”

“I know.” Rozurial picked up the bag of coins and pressed them into her hand. “You go first. That way, the house won’t seem so empty when you leave. That way you’ll remember me here.”

“Remember you? I’ll never forget you, my love. Never.” Fraale turned and, tears silently streaking down her cheeks, headed for the door. As it swung shut behind her, Rozurial took one more look around the house that had been his home for too short of a time.

He slid into a long duster—the autumn had finally hit—into which he had crammed every weapon he could think of. Placing a hat over his long curls, he inhaled sharply, then let out a long sigh. As he opened the door, he wondered if he would ever see his beloved Fraale again. Probably not. She’d probably forget him, and eventually, he’d probably let her memory go. But he’d come back in a year to see if she remembered their bargain.

Rozurial stepped into the evening air. Reports put Dredge still in Ceredream. That seemed the most likely place to catch the vampire who had destroyed his childhood. Because since he couldn’t kill the monster who had destroyed his marriage, he was damned well going to track down the one who had murdered his parents and siblings. And this time, using the new powers that had come with transforming into an incubus, Rozurial swore he would cross every world necessary to find the vampire and stake him.

Chasing Sharah

The first date is always awkward—and it seemed to me that Chase and Sharah would feel even more uncomfortable, given their circumstances. So I decided to explore what that date was like.

Chase had always been extremely good about keeping his private affairs separated from work, until now. And at this moment, he was unsure just what the hell he was doing. Should he? Shouldn’t he? He’d vacillated so much on this decision that, even standing on Sharah’s doorstep, he wasn’t sure if he could actually force himself to go through with this. But then again, if he didn’t, if he walked away and stood up the elfin medic, work would be a nightmare of embarrassments. No, he had asked her out on a date and now he was obligated to go through with it. Chase drew a sharp breath, reached out, and rang the bell.

A faint tone sounded from inside, and the door opened with a swish. There she was. Slight, with pale blonde hair pulled back in an intricate braid, Sharah was decked out in a pair of blue jeans and a pretty peasant top.

Chase blinked. He was so used to seeing her in her scrubs, that he’d half been expecting her to be wearing them at home. But then she smiled and invited him in, and Chase suddenly found himself inside her apartment. The flowers were in her hands, and she was showing him to the sofa.

“Have a seat. Would you like something to drink? Some wine or coffee or…I don’t know. What do you want?” Sharah paused, blushing but then the words poured out of her mouth like money out of a slot machine. “I just realized, I have no idea what you like to do after work. Other than hang out with Delilah and her family.” She bit her lip, blushing. “I’m sorry—you probably don’t want to talk about her—about them—maybe…” Dropping to the sofa, she let out a sigh. “I blew it, didn’t I? This date was probably a bad idea. I don’t even know what to call you.”

He stood there, staring down at her. The pale rose of her cheeks made her seem so delicate, yet she always struck him as steady and confident. She sounded so forlorn that Chase wanted to wipe away the worry lines on her forehead. He wanted to put her at ease.

“How about you just call me Chase? And I don’t think this was such a bad idea. It’s terribly awkward, yes, but if we’re honest with ourselves, I think we both knew it was going to be. Let’s face it. This is new territory for us both. I guess we take it one step at a time and see where it goes?”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. Starting over, now. I’m going to put these flowers in water. Do you want something to drink?” She paused by the door leading into the kitchen.

Chase started to offer his help, but then realized she might want a moment to compose herself. “Yeah, a cup of coffee would be nice. Black, with one sugar, please.”

As she disappeared, he looked around. The living room had a Victorian feel to it, with delicate bric-a-brac scattered around: Porcelain figurines of dancing women, of frogs and raccoons and lizards, of all things. Over the fireplace, a heavy wooden frame held a copy of J.W. Waterhouse’s Boreas. The girl in the painting could have passed for one of the Fae, or an elf, caught in a blustery wind as her shawl billowed around her.

He glanced around the rest of the apartment. Plants grew everywhere, from aloe to potted herbs to unusual flowers that must have come from Otherworld.

Try to relax. Sharah’s your friend. She was also a damned good worker—the head medic. Technically, she didn’t work for Chase. The medical division of the Faerie-Human Crime Scenes Investigation unit was mostly autonomous, though they worked in synch with the law enforcement division. Sharah had been assigned Earthside, but she worked for Queen Asteria, her aunt, back in Otherworld. Chase couldn’t send her home unless she did something horrendous.

Another moment and Sharah returned, tray in hand with coffee and cookies on it. She slid it onto the table and handed him one of the coffee mugs. As their fingers touched, a brief spark flared. Chase pulled away so fast he almost spilled the steaming coffee all over him.

“So…” All of a sudden, every thought in his head vanished and he had no clue what he was going to say.

“It was a slow day today—only four injuries.” Sharah stopped herself, biting her lip. She glanced over at him. “Your turn.”

Chase fingered his collar, pulling on it. He felt on trial. “Same here…except…” He was about to say something about Delilah and one of the demons, but decided that wasn’t the wisest move. Delilah was out of the picture now, only in his life as a friend. But that didn’t mean her name didn’t come with a buttload of baggage for both himself and Sharah.

They sat there in silence, sipping their coffee. Worst date ever, Chase thought. But at that moment, his cell phone rang. Relieved, he answered. It was Yugi.

“Boss, we have a problem. Something’s going down in the morgue—a fight of some sort—and we need you back here—Sharah too.” Yugi was the only one at the station who knew what Chase and Sharah were up to that evening.

“We’re on our way.” Chase punched the End Talk button. “Yugi said there’s…” He stopped. “A fight in the morgue? What the hell?” He jumped up. “We’re both needed at the station. Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

Sharah looked as relieved as he felt. She grabbed her purse and coat. “I’m ready. Let me turn off the coffeemaker first.”

As she ducked into the kitchen, Chase stared morosely at the sofa. Well, so much for this idea. There was no way in hell that he and Sharah could make anything work between them. Of that, he was sure.

Yugi was frantic, and Yugi was hardly ever frantic. When Chase and Sharah rushed through the door, he let out a mumbled, “Thank heavens” and motioned for them to follow him to the elevator.

“What happened?” Chase checked his service weapon, making sure it was firm in his holster. He held the elevator door for Sharah, then entered the car. As the doors swished shut, Yugi leaned against the railing, looking exhausted.

“I don’t know what practical joker decided to pull this stunt, but we brought in three bodies tonight—bad car crash. Supes involved, we were told. I was wrapping up the reports for the day when I get a summons from the morgue. Nasty problem, Clyde says—the bodies aren’t dead.”

“What do you mean?” Sharah asked. “Should I get up to the ER?”

Yugi shook his head. “No, they weren’t injured either.”

“Crap. New vamps?” Please, oh please, don’t let it be vamps, Chase thought. The last thing he felt like doing tonight was taking on a pack of newly minted vampires.

Once again, Yugi shook his head. “Nope. We were had the whole way through. A couple of local teens—Earthside Fae—apparently thought it would be funny to stage a car crash and…long story short, the victims are actually zombies. Somehow the teens devised a stasis spell that kept the zombies from moving. They’re fresh enough that it fooled the medic.”

“You have to be kidding.” Chase stared at him. Teenaged humans were bad enough, but he had discovered that teen Supes could be far, far worse.

“I wish I was. Once the bodies were here, Clyde and his assistant were opening the body bags as the spell wore off and the zombies started moving. The two managed to get out of the morgue without being hurt, but by then, the zombies were causing havoc. I was going to put them down but it occurred to me that since we’re not sure who they were, or when they were killed, I’d better call you. We don’t know if they were murdered or if the teens just dug up a few fresh graves or what.”

Sharah let out a disgusted grumble. “If we catch the idiots, I’d like to have ten minutes alone with them.”

Chase glanced at her. “Take ‘em down a peg, huh?”

She snorted. “You have not seen how elfin children are disciplined. Oh, no abuse, but a stupid stunt like this would warrant six months of community service and an ass whipping.”

“You know this for a fact, do you?” Chase let out a grin as the doors opened and they stepped out of the elevator.

“I’ll have you know, I was a hell raiser when I was younger. And yes, that is standard punishment. I still have the memories to prove it.” Sharah laughed. “I wasn’t always the upstanding healer I am now.” She winked at him and Chase’s stomach fluttered at the coy gleam in her eye. Maybe…maybe…

Yugi stopped in front of the doors leading into the morgue. “I’m not sure what to do. How do we subdue them so we can identify the bodies before we…um…”

“Destroy them?” Chase frowned. “Good question. We could drive them into a cell and lock them up.”

“Yeah, but that entails getting them upstairs to the holding tanks.” Yugi shrugged. “I really don’t feel like acting bait or being caught in an elevator with them.”

Sharah let out a sigh. “There are a few drugs that will sedate a zombified body.”

Yugi’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“You’re in luck.” She stopped by one of the hall phones. “Let me call upstairs and have Arralyn bring it down.”

Yugi motioned Chase aside. “I’m so sorry for interrupting your evening. I just wasn’t sure what to do and—”

“No worries, man. I think we both welcomed the interruption.” Chase hadn’t intended on spilling the beans, but he was so disappointed that he couldn’t keep it out of his voice. “I don’t think the date was a good idea.”

Yugi cocked his head. “But you guys are great together. You get along, you have a similar sense of humor, and I know Sharah’s attracted to you.”

“That’s all well and good but we had nothing to talk about—shush. Here she comes.” Chase stopped talking as Sharah returned to their conclave. “Arralyn on the way?”

“Yes, he’s bringing down several doses. Be very careful—if even a drop of this stuff gets in the blood stream of someone who’s still alive, it can paralyze the lungs. Which translates to: deader than a doornail.” She suddenly stopped and turned toward the door of the morgue. “Guys, we have company.”

At that point, the door burst open and three zombies shambled out. They were definitely dead, that much was obvious, and it had happened not all that long ago. Chase started to reach for his gun but then remembered that zombies didn’t respond to being shot. They were already dead, for one thing. At that point, Chase also realized that the hallway wasn’t all that big and there were only two exits—through the other side of the morgue to the stairwell, or back up the elevator. The former would require going through the zombies.

“Unless one of you has an axe, I suggest retreat!” He grabbed Sharah’s arm and turned to race toward the elevator. Yugi was right on their heels. But the zombies were too fast and the elevator seemed to be hung up on one of the upper floors.

Chase swore. Damned zombies seemed to be getting faster every year. He glanced around. There were two doors in the hallway—one to a restroom, the other to the janitor’s closet. Yugi was already hightailing it for the janitor’s closet, but one of the zombies was too close. If Chase and Sharah tried to join him, they’d be within striking range. Sharah grabbed Chase’s hand and made a mad dash for the restroom. As soon as they were inside, she hit the lights on and locked the door, leaning against it as one of the zombies began to beat against it.

“Thank gods this is a one-person bathroom,” she said, looking around. “Otherwise it wouldn’t have a lock on it and we’d be hip-deep in trouble.”

Chase looked around. Usually bathrooms in medical facilities had phones, but this was the morgue level, where the patients usually didn’t need help. He looked around for someplace to sit, but the only choice was the toilet and somehow, that seemed so indecorous.

Sharah seemed to notice his predicament. “Oh go ahead. Sit down. I don’t care.”

Grateful, he lowered the seat and sat on the john. “Thanks. I guess I’d better call upstairs for some help.” He pulled out his cell phone and punched in the front desk’s number. A few minutes later, he glanced back at Sharah, who was studiously ignoring the grunts on the other side of the door. “They’ll be down as soon as they get the manpower back in the building. Right now, nobody upstairs has ever fought a zombie and Arralyn isn’t about to come down here without an escort. So we’re stuck for awhile.”

Sharah let out snicker. “Well, you have to admit, this is turning out to be one of the worst dates on record.”

Chase winced. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened at your place. I choked, I guess. Everything seemed so strange and awkward.”

Sharah laughed. “You felt that way too? I thought it was just me. All I could think about was, oh my gods, I’m dating the man who hired me and how the hell can I compare to his last girlfriend?”

Chase blinked. It never occurred to him that she would compare herself to Delilah. “You’ve got to be kidding. You’re worried about me comparing you to Delilah?”

Sharah glanced down at the floor and her smile vanished, replaced by a nervous twitch of the lip. “Well…she’s…look at her. She’s incredibly athletic, she can turn into a cat and a panther, and...she fights demons. I’m just an elfin medic. I can’t help but wonder why you guys broke up? Why did you ask me out?” And right there, her voice cracked and she covered her face. “I can’t believe I just said that. You must think I’m horrible—but…”

Chase slid down on the floor next to her, his nervousness forgotten. “I had no clue you felt that way.” He reached out and took her hands. Outside the door, the zombies were at it again, thudding against it like a herd of demented elephants. Chase shouted at them. “Will you shut up out there, you freaks?”

Sharah laughed, then. Not much but it was a start. “I don’t think they’re going to pay any attention to you, even if you do have a badge.”

Chase snorted. “No surprise. Not that many people do, anyway.” He sobered. “Seriously, I wish I had known you felt this way. I could have set your mind at ease. Okay, ask me whatever you want. Please.”

She blinked, and the blue of her eyes touched his heart. They were soft, and caring, and he realized just how incredibly sexy she looked with her hair streaming down the sides of her face. She was blonde, like Delilah, but she was also…different. Sharah had a vulnerability that she couldn’t hide.

“Okay. Why did you break up with Delilah?”

Chase licked his lips. “I haven’t told anybody this. The only one who knows is Delilah herself—and probably her sisters. What one knows, the others do. Sharah, I love those girls—all of them. I really do. But Delilah needs someone who isn’t going to constantly wish he could run to her rescue. I always want to be that guy. Don’t get me wrong, I love and respect strong women, but I don’t think I can ever be the guy at the front of the pack with her. I’m human. I’m a cop, not a warrior. Even with the Nectar of Life, I’m still so…weak compared to her.”

Sharah nodded, soberly. “In Elqaneve, we have a saying. Thinkers plan the wars. Warriors fight the battles. Without one, the other cannot function. Both are necessary, and both have their places. But it’s hard for a thinker…a planner…to match pace with a warrior. And vice versa.” She paused, then cocked her head to one side. “Is that the only reason?”

Chase smiled gently, taking her hand. “No, I didn’t break up with her just because I can’t run to her rescue. I’d be a poor excuse for a man if that were the only reason. Ever since I was given the Nectar of Life, I’ve been changing. The future seems so nebulous now. Before, I had it all planned out and now—conceivably, I have a thousand years ahead of me. I have no clue what that might bring. It’s not that I don’t want to commit to a relationship, but Delilah…a thousand years with her? I don’t think it would work.”

“If your heart tells you that it was the right decision, it’s good thing you paid attention.” She paused, then shook her head. “Wait…did you say you broke up with her?”

Chase grinned. “You thought she broke up with me, didn’t you? You were just too nice to say so. You think that I’m nursing unrequited love and regret?”

Sharah blushed and covered her face with her hands, laughing. “I admit it—yes, I did. I thought I was—”

“A rebound fling?”

“Something like that.”

Chase scooted over so that he could slide his arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him and it felt like a perfect fit. “Sharah, I never ask anybody out on the rebound. And I never ask anybody out that I don’t find attractive, or interesting.” He tipped her head up so she was staring him in the eyes. “I asked you out because I like you. You’re lovely and talented and…I asked you out because I wanted to do this.”

Slowly, he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. As he sunk into the kiss, the scent of orange blossom and honeysuckle coiled around him and he lost himself in the feel of her soft body pressed against his. Eventually, someone would come destroy the zombies, but for now, he thought, the morgue bathroom seemed like the perfect place to get to know one another.

Ink Bonds

There was a point where Trillian realized he needed to find Camille again, and this time, he would never let her go. This story takes place shortly before Witchling.

Trillian strode through the city. Y’Elestrial hadn’t changed a lot since he’d last been here, but he had changed. Last time he left, he swore he’d never return. When Camille had rejected him, he’d pursued her, begged her to reconsider, but she had shut him out and refused to see him. Even though they were connected by an unbreakable bond, she’d pushed him away and sequestered herself in her house. So, he had walked out of the city, angry and seething. That had been twelve years ago, and during all that time, he had thought about her every day. Every time he touched another woman, he saw Camille’s face. Every time he heard a throaty laugh, he would turn around, hoping to see her standing there. But he never thought he would actually step back through the gates of Y’Elestrial. Until he was hired by Queen Asteria for a mission that he couldn’t refuse. One that might give him the chance to find the love of his life. Again.

Trillian stared up at the palace, then back at the orders in his hand. The last name on the paper brought back good memories. The first one? Bad memories.

Darynal clapped his back. Trillian had asked his blood oath brother to come with him because otherwise, he wasn’t sure he’d have the courage to go through with the job.

“You okay? You still want to do this?”

Trillian nodded. “Yeah, but to tell you the truth, I have no clue what I expect.” His gaze rose, following the spires of the ostentatious palace. “I don’t even know if she’s working for the Y’Elestrial Intelligence Agency. I seem to remember her telling me she was being transferred to another department the last time we were…on again. And if she is here, will her father even tell her I want to se her? He sure as hell won’t be happy to see me. The man hates my guts.”

“How long has it been since you and Camille talked?” Darynal crossed his arms over his chest, shivering as a gust of wind blew past. The day was chilly. Autumn was well under way and within another moon, the snows would begin to cover the land.

Trillian let out a soft sigh. “Which time? We got back together and broke up so many times I think we both lost count. The last time—before she shut me out completely—was about three…four years ago. We always met in secret before that, after the initial breakup. Her family would have had a fit and the same with mine. But we couldn’t keep away from each other. Finally, though, she left me for good. Fucking backgrounds worked against us.” His heart ached with the loss. He’d never gotten over her, though he wouldn’t tell anybody. But Darynal could sense it and Trillian knew it was safe to confide in him. Darynal and he walked the same path—both outcasts, though it might not appear so to those who weren’t privy to the inner workings of the Svartan race.

Darynal nodded. “What are you afraid might happen when you go in there?”

That was an easy question. “That I won’t find her. That her father will turn me away.” Trillian paused, then his voice softened. “Maybe…That she’ll be there and I’ll talk to her and…” And…what? What did he really fear? Was he really afraid that Camille would refuse to hear him out? Or was he afraid that she might say yes and might listen. That their passion might come cascading back? Because he wasn’t sure that he could go through another breakup. The last time had been almost too much.

“There’s only one way to find out, man. Come on.” Darynal started walking toward the palace.

After a moment, Trillian joined him. He’d taken on the mission and been paid, half in advance. And Trillian honored his oaths. The message he carried was dire and had to be delivered, so he might as well get it over with. The papers weighed heavily in his hand, and not just because they were addressed to Sephreh ob Tanu—Camille’s father. No, the information in the message spelled a change for both Otherworld and Earthside. Trillian had been over through the portals a few times, and he knew more than he let on about the world they had left so long ago.

Though the message was supposedly sealed, Trillian had managed a peek. He was very good with ferreting out information when he needed to, and from the start, he had felt he needed to know what was was going on. In a way, he was sorry he had found out—now he was privy to information that could shake the foundations of two worlds, if they knew.

“What did your father say when you hired on with Queen Asteria?” Darynal knew the best way to take Trillian’s mind off his impending meeting, and that was to bring up something conceivably worse.

Trillian gave him a scathing look. “What do you think he said? I was already walking on thin ice. It was bad enough before I met Camille and it’s gone downhill ever since. Even after we broke up, my father told me that I had brought too much shame to the family name. When I accepted the commission with Elqaneve last year, he told me to leave and never darken his doorway again. He revoked my standing, erased me from the family tree, and took away my name. That’s why I started using Zanzera—my aunt Leelee said I could take her name. She was cut off by the main branch of the family, too.”

Darynal nodded. “I met Leelee once, didn’t I?”

“Yes, when we stopped at her house for dinner on that hunting trip out in the Southern Veil? Remember I asked you not to mention it to my parents? If they had known that I stepped over the threshold to Leelee’s house, I would have gotten the hiding of my life.” Trillian wiped one hand across his eyes. There were so many politics to worry about at home. It had almost been a relief when his father had turned him away for good and Trillian had left the Subterranean Realms.

They were standing at the foot of the palace. Spacious and ornate to the point of being gaudy, it reflected the queen within. Lethesanar liked her opium, and she liked her bling, and the more addicted she grew to the drug, the more lavish her spending became. The stirrings in the underground were that civil war was in the offing. Rumor had it that Tanaquar—Lethesanar’s sister who had vanished some years back—had banded together with an army and that they were planning a coup. But rumors could be wrong, and best to work with the powers that be, rather than the powers that might never come to the throne. At least until the changeover.

Trillian was a pragmatist. He’d watched friends get mowed under when they gotten caught up in ideals, when they chose the wrong cause, the wrong side, the wrong battle. And now that Svartalfheim was readying itself to relocate to Otherworld from the Subterranean Realms, everything was up in the air. Turmoil was the name of the game, and he watched every move he made. That was the way to survive, and Trillian had made it through some dicey spots before.

As he and Darynal lightly ran up the steps to the central doors, Trillian flashed back to the last time he’d seen Camille—their last parting.

“I can’t believe you are doing this again. How many times do I have to tell you, I am not like the rest of my people?” Trillian couldn’t believe they were here, in this place, again. How many times had they stood at this point, and how many times had either he or Camille stormed out, ending their relationship for good this time?

“I know how your family feels about me—about us. Eventually, you’re going to get tired of running from them. You’re going to want to go home and claim your inheritance. And I can’t go with you. I can’t live in the Subterranean Realms, and I can’t…I can’t live with people who hate me. I get enough of that here from my own relatives.” Camille dropped into a chair, rocking as she hugged herself tightly. Her hair trailed down her back, a cloak of raven curls. She gazed up at him, her eyes pale and flashing. She had been running magic heavily the past month, and the violet of her irises was almost eclipsed with the silver flecks.

Trillian wanted to tell her that his father had thrown him out, once again. He wanted to tell her that he hardly ever saw his family, that they had turned their back on him. But his pride was still stinging, and the truth was, he wanted her to accept him as was, with all his flaws, including his family. After all, he accepted her father and sisters hating him. He had ignored their taunts all the way through the time when he and Camille were openly dating. When she begged him to “Just give it a little longer, they’ll come to love you like I do.”

He let out a long sigh and dropped to the bench opposite her. “You know I would never cast you off. I know what this is about. It’s about Rona, isn’t it?”

Rona…the name weighed heavily on his thoughts. Rona was the woman his family had chosen for him to marry. They had made it clear that he was of age now and if he ever expected to be accepted back into the family and to inherit his share of the family fortune, he would return home and marry the King’s niece. His mother had even gone so far as to tell him, “Your father says you can bring your half-human whore, if you like, but make no mistake: She’ll always be part of your stable. You can never marry her and you’d better accept that now. Just come home, marry Rona, and fences will be mended.”

So, Trillian had run back to Otherworld once again, seeking his fortune, hoping to stave off the argument till later. He hadn’t bothered to mention the incident to Camille, hoping to keep her from worrying. But neither had he counted on how cagey his mother was. And his mother had decided to take matters into her own hands. She had sent a messenger to Camille, telling her about the impending marriage, making it sound like Trillian had agreed. And she had informed Camille that she could never expect to be anything but Trillian’s lower-caste mistress.

And now, here they were.

Camille stared at him, tears trailing down her face. “I never expected to be monogamous—I don’t know if I can be. But I will never settle for playing second fiddle. And I will never live in a house that considers me a common whore.”

Trillian reached out to wipe away the tears but she flinched. “I have no intentions to marry Rona. Or any other woman except you. But I can’t live here either, not with your father’s scorn. Come away with me. We’ll make our home somewhere free from family and duty.” Even as he said it, he knew it was a death knell to their relationship, because he knew Camille.

She straightened her shoulders. As she wiped her eyes, her expression slid into a mute, painful acceptance. “You know I can’t do that. I have my sisters to look after—Menolly is still finding her way. It’s been almost eight years, but she still feels lost. And Father won’t accept her as she is—even though he keeps quiet, its obvious he still feels he lost a daughter. Delilah needs me too. Kitten can’t keep things together like I do—she doesn’t realize how deep our father’s pain goes, and I don’t want to dump all of that on her shoulders. I want her to be free and happy as long as she can be. I am—”

“A guardsman’s daughter,” Trillian interrupted. He knew the routine. He knew that duty had been driven into Camille’s head since she was barely able to speak. And after her mother died, he also knew that Sephreh had made her the workhorse—pinned the success of the household on her. Big shoes for a little girl to fill, and she never quite managed to her father’s liking. “I know, love. I know. I’ve heard it so many times I think I can recite it in my sleep.” Even though he didn’t mean it to come out snarky, it did. Apparently that was exactly the wrong thing to say.

Camille slowly stood. “Trillian, you’ve always lived by your own rules. But you know who I am, and you know I can’t. Why are you still here?”

Trillian desperately wanted to take it back, but it was too late. Some words cannot be unsaid, and he’d crossed the line. Her family was fucked up—there was no denying that—but he knew that the only way Camille managed to deal with the pain—with the loss of her mother and the way her sister had been turned and abused—was to put duty and honor at the forefront. It kept her going, it gave her something to hold onto because, the gods knew, there wasn’t much else for her to lean on.

“I’m so sorry…” He fumbled for words.

“How many times have we done this?” She slowly crossed to the bed where her cloak was lying, neatly folded. “How many times have we had this argument? And if it wasn’t Rona, it was always something else that set it off.”

“Camille—don’t do anything you’d regret. Please, calm down.” Trillian tried to embrace her, but she held out her arm.

Her eyes gleaming and wet, she gave him a soft look. “Don’t you think it’s time we just called it for what it is? A giant mistake.”

“We’re magically bound. You can’t just walk out on me. I love you, and you love me. Can you deny it?” He was desperate now, wishing to hell he could have kept a hold of his tongue. And he wanted to lash his mother. The bitch had totally fucked things up.

But Camille just let out a strangled laugh. “Isn’t that the most painful rub of all? No, I can’t deny my love. I can’t forget you. I can’t just walk away and leave you in the dust. But I can walk toward the future. Trillian, you’ll find someone else. Go marry Rona. I’m sure she won’t be the hassle I am.” And with that, she turned and swept out of the room.

Trillian considered following her, begging her to come back. But a gnawing fear in the pit of his stomach told him that this time, they were done. They would never recover from this one.

“The Captain will see you now.” The secretary led him into the office and Trillian found himself staring at a man who hated his guts. Who probably had hoped to never see him again. Who maybe even wished he was dead.

When the door shut behind them, he remained silent, standing at attention. Captain Sephreh stood and walked out from behind the desk, eyeing him up and down with an unreadable stare. After a moment, he held out his hand.

“You have a missive for me?”

“Yes, sir.” Trillian handed Sephreh the note.

Sephreh took it, opened it, and read it, then placed it carefully in his pocket. His face remained impassive, though Trillian detected a shift in energy—the faint whiff of fear. As Sephreh slowly returned to his desk, he said, “That will be all. You may go.”

Trillian hesitated. It would be rude to ignore the order, even though he was not a member of the Guard Des’Estar. But he couldn’t just walk out. Not without asking.

“Captain…”

Sephreh turned slowly, staring at him with an icy glint. “What do you want, Trillian? Why did you come back? I can’t believe you give a damn about this mission, or anything Queen Asteria asks you to do. Who are you looking for? And it better not be who I think it is.”

Trillian stiffened. After a pause, he decided he might as well just come to the point. “I’m looking for Camille. I have to talk to her. Where is she?”

Sephreh let out a snort. “You think I’d lead you to my daughter? I rejoiced the day she came to her senses and finally sent you packing. You’re not welcome in my family, Zanzera. Know that right now.”

“Your family doesn’t concern me, Sephreh. Camille does. She and I were bound by the Eleshinar ritual. We are connected, and if I’m hurting this much without her, she’s going to be hurting without me.” Trillian tossed his messenger bag on a chair and strode forward, leaning across Sephreh’s desk. “I love your daughter and I cannot forget her. You can hate me all you want, but you’re not the one who I give two figs in a nut dish about.”

Sephreh slowly stood, his eyes flashing. He looked so much like Camille that it tore at Trillian’s gut. Like daughter, like father when it came to temper, that was for sure.

“I dismissed you. Leave my presence.”

“And I refuse to be dismissed so easily.” Trillian slammed his hand on the desk. “Where is she? If she still wants nothing to do with me, I’ll walk out of her life again, but I will not leave without talking to her!”

And then, Sephreh began to laugh. He dropped back into his chair. “Good luck, then.” His gaze was still cold as steel, but he looked positively delighted.

“What do you mean?”

“Camille no longer lives in Otherworld. She’s gone Earthside—relocated by the OIA. My daughter is now living with the humans, through the portals. So good luck finding her.” As he chuckled, he pulled the letter out of his pocket. “By the way, I’ll have my response to Queen Asteria by morning. You may drop by to pick it up on your way back to Elqaneve. My secretary will give it to you. I trust you won’t be staying in Y’Elestrial any longer than necessary.” And with that pointed remark, he nodded to the door. “See yourself out, Zanzera. I’m busy.”

As Trillian stumbled back toward the door, grabbing his bag on the way, he couldn’t help but wonder just how the hell he was supposed to find Camille now. She was over Earthside. She might as well be a million miles away.

Darynal stared at him as they crowded into the palace cafeteria that served the agents and soldiers from the various departments of the government. The city-state might be a monarchy, but it had its layers of bureaucracy like all governments.

“You’re serious? She was sent Earthside? What are you going to do?”

Trillian pushed the stew around on his plate. He frowned. “I have one possible chance. I know someone who works in the OIA, in the communications branch. He said he’d help me.”

“What are you going to do? Go through the portals to find her?” Darynal started to laugh, then stopped. “Oh man, you’re serious? You are actually thinking of traveling through the portals?”

“It’s not like I haven’t been Earthside before. I’ve been there several times. I know enough to stay out of trouble while I’m there.” He knew it sounded crazy—to shift worlds in order to chase down a woman who was just as likely to slam the door in his face as welcome him in. But he had to find her. He had to know. “Come on. I’ve got an appointment with Leks. He’s waiting.”

The two men entered the communications hive a few minutes later, and there was Leks, waiting. The room was filled with Whispering Mirrors, all pointing to locations around Y’Elestrial and far beyond. The silver rimmed magical devices were hard to tune, and it required an entire department to keep them up and running.

Leks glanced around, then—with no one paying any attention—led them over to one bank of mirrors. “I’ll lose my job if anybody finds out about this. But here…the D’Artigo Sisters are in a city called Seattle, over Earthside. Their contact’s name is Chase Johnson. He’s a soldier…officer? Someone involved with legal authority, that much I know. He’s the one through whom all communications pass from the OIA. The girls have a Whispering Mirror in their house but I haven’t figured out the combination for their location yet. This will have to do on such short notice.”

As they came up on the mirror, he motioned for the man keeping an eye on the bank of mirrors to take a break. “Fayl, I want to check something out. Go get your tea early.”

The apprentice didn’t have to be asked twice. Fayl saluted and headed off, looking decidedly more happy than he had when they’d approached him.

Leks glanced around to make certain they weren’t being watched, then sat down and fiddled with the controls on the mirror. He whispered something that neither Trillian nor Darynal could hear—a password, no doubt. Within moments, the cloud obscuring the mirror began to fade, and a man staring back at them on the other side.

“Yes? What can I do for you?” The man looked nervous, and kept tugging on his collar.

He was clean cut, with hair shorter than just about anybody Trillian had ever seen. He looked decidedly human, but there was something…a faint glimmer that aroused a suspicion in the Svartan. He ignored it, though, because he only had a few minutes and he didn’t want to waste any time. As Leks began to talk to the man, Trillian thought about what he was going to say. If he pled for Camille to hear him out, it would be via this human, and second hand love letters were no better than the person relaying them. No, he had to make it something that would catch her attention, something she couldn’t ignore.

And then, he knew. What he’d read in the note—it would concern her, too.

“I’ll be back in a moment, Chase. Just wait here, please.” Leks stood and quickly walked around behind the mirror. He nodded to Trillian.

Trillian slid into the seat and leaned forward. “Chase Johnson? You know Camille D’Artigo?”

Chase blinked, looking confused. “Yeah, who are you? What do you want?”

“Never mind that. Camille will know who I am if you tell her what I look like. Meanwhile, I have a message for her, and I’ll twist your balls off if she doesn’t get it.”

The man named Chase stiffened, his eyes narrowing. He cleared his throat. “Are you with the OIA?”

“Never you mind. Get yourself something to write with—just do it.”

Chase held up what Trillian recognized as a writing instrument called a pen and a pad of paper. Trillian was acquainted with pens, so he just nodded. “Good. Now you tell Camille this: Rumor has it something big is going down in the lower depths. There’s a new ruler, and he’s far more ambitious than than the Beasttägger was. Don’t count on help from home.” He paused, asking Chase to repeat the message back to him.

Chase did, then asked, “Is that all?” He sounded disgruntled, but he was paying attention. He seemed to sense Trillian’s urgency.

“No, tell Camille that Shadow Wing’s in charge now. And he’s on the warpath.”

At that moment, there was a sound from behind him, and Trillian turned to see Sephreh standing there, staring at him. Without a word, he stood and followed the Captain back to his office, Darynal behind him.

“You are banished from the city for three moon’s time,” Sephreh pointed to Darynal. “Go, now, and be glad I don’t toss you in jail.” He waited silently until the Svartan clapped Trillian on the shoulder and left the room.

“Don’t let them stop you, man. Look me up when you get back.” Darynal grinned, waving as he exited the door.

Trillian knew where to find him, so he merely raised a hand in farewell. As soon as his blood-oath brother had left the room, he turned back to the Captain. “If you’re going to flog me or flay me or whatever else you’d like to do, get it over with.”

“I cannot believe the effrontery…the gall…” Sephreh sputtered for a moment, then a crafty smile crossed his face. “Oh, I won’t flay you or flog you. No. You want so bad to watch over my daughter? To talk to her? Good luck. I doubt she’ll give you the time of day.”

“What do you mean?” Trillian cocked his head to the side.

“You want to find her? Then go. Through the portals, you demon. Go over Earthside and see how long you last. Go tell my daughter I sent you as a messenger boy, to watch over her if she wants the help.” Sephreh paused, then—with a glance at his office door—added, “You’re right. Shadow Wing is on the rise. We’ve been aware of this for awhile, but there are so many facets we cannot do anything openly about it. There’s already been trouble over Earthside and my girls are involved. So go, Svartan, and keep an eye on what happens to the portals over there. If my daughter will talk to you, fine—her choice. If not, you have your new orders. I give you a chance in hell that Camille will ever speak to you again. She knows her duty. I trust her to remain true. My guess is you’ll be dead in no time. You can’t make it over Earthside. I was there years back, and it’s far harder now. An arrogant turncoat like you? I give you thirty days, tops, before somebody kills you.”

Trillian extended his hand. “I wager you a bet, Sephreh. If I survive that long, you shake my hand and buy me a beer. If not, you win.”

Sephreh stared at Trillian’s fingers. He let out a soft snort. “I’ll never sully my flesh by touching yours. My daughter may have been a fool, but trust me, she’s come to her senses. Now go. And if I don’t hear that you reported to Milligan at the portals by sunset, your head is forfeit and you will die. Go and good riddance.”

As Trillian turned to leave the office, he realized the captain had played right into his hands. With a soft laugh, he whispered, “I take your bet and raise it, Sephreh. Not only will I find Camille, I guarantee you this: I’ll never lose her again.”

His heart skipped a beat as he headed for the portals. His family be damned. Sephreh be damned. He was on his way to see his love. They were bound by a ritual as old as time, and the hidden tattoos that lurked beneath their skin would hold them together forever.  And this time, nothing in the world could keep them apart.

Blood Ties

Roman has managed to live as long as he has due to keeping a tight hold on what humanity he has left. Unfortunately, not all vampires feel that way—and not all of his family agrees with his choices.

Roman stared at the phone as he silently pressed the End Talk button. The news was not good. He really, really didn’t need to start off the day this way. Grumbling, he turned to stare at the woman sitting beside him. She was quiet, polite, and dressed in a dark red skirt and top. The better not to show stains, my dear, he thought. She was new to his stable. Average build, pretty, blue-eyed and a redhead. As he looked her over, it occurred to him that, just once, it would be nice to have a normal breakfast like everybody else, along with a normal cup of coffee. Just once. But those simple joys had been off his table for thousands of years and the only way he could handle everything that seemed so alien—all the activities that made up so many peoples’ lives—was to push the desire aside.

“What’s your name?” Roman made it a point to know every bloodwhore in his stable. He learned their backgrounds, their likes and dislikes, the reason they had petitioned to join his household. He refused to be a use ‘em and lose ‘em type of vampire. It wouldn’t be seemly, not for the son of Blood Wyne, the Queen of the Crimson Veil.

“Dotti Rollins.” She smiled, but behind the smile, her nerves were showing through. She was dressed like Roman preferred his bloodwhores to dress—skirts, sweaters, normal clothes. He never allowed them to appear at his table in anything but a tidy manner. No negligees, no lingerie, no sweats. Sexy clothes were perfectly fine, but he wasn’t running a brothel or a gym. The fact was, he rarely slept with any of the women who lived under his roof, who provided him with their blood.

Roman considered her for a moment. She seemed pleasant, almost college-prep. Which brought up the question: What was she doing here? What had brought her into his house, into his stable? He left the choosing of the bloodwhores up to his personal secretary but this meeting—the first—was the final decision. Here, he either put his stamp of approval on the deal, or he dismissed the candidates and they were never allowed to reapply.

“Tell me about yourself, Dotti.” Roman was gracious. He could afford to be. There were a long line of applicants waiting to offer their veins up to him. It had been thousands of years since he had been human, but he kept a tight rein on himself to keep from becoming a monster. And that included interacting with the living on a gracious, if aloof, level. As far above them as he was on the food chain, Roman never allowed himself forget that he did have vulnerabilities, and death—the final death—was always out there, waiting.

Her eyes went wide and she flushed. “I’m…I’m a grad student.

He nodded. Bingo. She was hiding something there, below the surface. “What’s your major?”

This time the flush ran down her neck, across the top of her chest. “Supe-psychology.”

And there it was. He had sensed something off about her. Usually the ones who really wanted to be here were broken. They might hide it well, but there was always something there, beneath the surface, that drove them to the lifestyle. Dotti didn’t want to be a bloodwhore. She wanted fodder for her thesis. Roman could handle the broken ones. He considered it almost a service, offering them shelter and protection. But he didn’t like being used, nor analyzed.

He slowly stood and crossed to her side, reaching down to cup her chin and slowly tilt her head up so she was looking into his eyes. He thought about just sending her away, but then the hunger grew, and he decided what the hell, he could send her away afterward. Leaning down, he brushed her lips with one finger.

“Well, Dotti, I hope you find everything you’re looking for.” And then, he lifted her hair away from her neck and with one, smooth motion, slid his fangs into the flesh—deep and painfully. She cried out and stiffened as he coaxed the blood up, and then, he decided to give her a taste of the other side.

Within seconds she was murmuring at his touch, moaning gently as he poured on the glamour. A moment later and she squirmed, reaching up to brush her fingers across her breasts. One more lick of the blood running down her neck and she came, harder than she’d ever come before. Roman knew the signs. As he pulled away, he thought with regret that she’d never feel it again—not unless she found herself another vampire. Even if she knelt at his feet and begged, she’d never be allowed in his stable. He didn’t like sycophants and he didn’t like liars or posers.

He slowly withdrew, delicately tapping his face with a napkin. “Dotti?”

She blinked, coming out of haze into which he’d thrust her. “Yes, Lord Roman?”

“Gather your things and leave my house. I don’t ever want to see you again.” And with that, he turned, and strode out of the room, leaving her behind. The day had started rotten and was just getting worse.

As Roman leaned toward his computer, glancing over the monthly summaries his secretary had provided, he paused, his thoughts drifting. Every tap at the door put him on alert. Damn it, why didn’t Caleb give him time to bug out of the country? He thought about doing just that, leaving now and pretending he’d missed the phone call this morning, but Blood Wyne would know, and when his mother got a bug up her butt, there was no stopping her.

Finally, he sat back, buzzed his secretary and pushed aside all the business matters that were on his calendar. He had already made one call he hadn’t wanted to and promptly at seven-thirty, the door opened and Menolly and Nerissa walked in. Neither one looked thrilled to be there, and he couldn’t blame them.

“I’m sorry I ruined your evening. I know you had plans.” Roman stood, bowing gracefully. A little courtesy went a long way. “I wouldn’t have called you if I had any choice in the matter but family…”

Menolly snorted. “Dude, my family’s dysfunctional. Yours? Downright scary. They call, you jump.” She turned to Nerissa. “You understand, right? Be polite, regardless of the circumstances.”

Nerissa nodded, staring at Roman. Her eyes were fixated on his, and he felt himself pull back. He would never tell anyone, but the person in this world that frightened him most, among the living, was this woman—Menolly’s wife. She, alone, saw him as a rival. And in his experience, rivals often ended up dead. But he’d made a promise to Menolly that he’d never hurt the werepuma, and he would keep that promise. Above all, Roman was a man of his word. Honor meant everything to him.

Those lovely pink lips had been around his cock once, in an ill-fated threesome that he tried hard to forget. As smitten as he was with Menolly, he knew it was hopeless to try to win her away. Her heart belonged to Nerissa and he had finally accepted that. But one day the werepuma would age and die, and he and Menolly would still be alive. Then…then he would make his move. Until that day, they would play the game by the rules that the girls had set forth.

“My brother will be here shortly. Caleb is the regent over in western Europe—France, Spain, Italy, and a few smaller countries. He insisted on meeting you. He said my mother told him about you.” Even the words ‘my brother’ left a bad taste in Roman’s mouth. He didn’t like any of his siblings—they were whiny and annoying, they pranced around like royalty instead of assuming an air of dignity. But Blood Wyne kept reminding him they were always that way, even before she’d turned them. But that wasn’t a good enough excuse.

“As long as he doesn’t touch Nerissa.” Menolly brushed back Nerissa’s hair. She’d affixed a pink bow around the werepuma’s neck, tied in the front, which meant “hands off, I own her.”

“Even those of the nobility, with the exception of my mother, are sworn to follow the rules.” Roman smoothly slid from behind his desk. He lifted Nerissa’s hand to his lips and gently kissed it. She smiled softly and inclined her head. And that made him more nervous than he had thought possible.

A knock sounded on the door, eclipsing any other thoughts for Roman. His stomach tightened. Just because he was dead, didn’t mean he couldn’t feel queasy, and right now, he might as well be on a boat swaying on the high seas. He motioned for the women to sit near the desk, then took his place behind the behemoth of an oak antique. After straightening his smoking jacket and smoothing back his pony tail, he pressed the button announcing the servants were free to enter the room.

The maid entered, her eyes wide. The scent of fear was clinging to her. Roman tended to hire mortal servants for maids, cooks, and other household staff. Behind her walked a hooded figure, at least six feet tall, wearing a blood red cloak, with gold trim. The cloak was rich velvet, fastened by a brooch that Roman recognized. He had one like it, as well as a cloak that was similar in fashion. The cloaks were handmade, only for their family. The tailor had been with the family since Roman could first remember. Blood Wyne had turned him, along with a handful of servants, when she had turned her children.

Roman inclined his head, but he retained his stiff, formal pose. He refused to concede anything further to his brother. “Caleb, you grace my home with your presence.” What he wanted to say was get the fuck out, but that wasn’t the most diplomatic move. Caleb would run to his mother, and then Blood Wyne would yell at Roman, and it would be one big mess.

Caleb pushed back his hood. He was striking, with long golden hair the color of summer sun, and sparkling eyes the color of frost. But though their coloring was different, the long, regal nose, and angular cheekbones belied their common parentage.

Caleb glanced over at Menolly and Nerissa, his eyes flashing briefly. “Brother, it’s been a long time.” He wandered over to the girls, circling them. “It’s easy enough to tell who your consort is.”

Menolly stood and curtseyed. Yes, it was expected of her and Roman knew that it grated against her nature, but she was brought up in courtly life and understood protocol. That was main reason he had decided to appoint her as his official consort—that along with his mother’s decree. Blood Wyne had insisted, and while he still didn’t know why, things had snowballed after that. Now, he was in love with Menolly and more than grateful for the way things had turned out.

“Lord Caleb.” Menolly’s voice was smooth, but beneath the surface, Roman could hear a rumbling of discontent.

Caleb gave her a long once-over, then turned to Nerissa. He held her gaze, but said nothing. Then, turning back to Roman, he said, “You are remiss. You offer me no one to drink?”

Roman narrowed his eyes. Caleb was up to something. He could feel it. “I am a poor host, yes. I will have a bottle of blood warmed and brought to you.”

“I prefer my blood straight from the throat. You wouldn’t refuse me, would you?” Caleb cleared his throat. “In fact, I’d rather you choose the woman personally. Someone you think would suit all my tastes.”

Roman paused. Caleb’s meaning was clear. For some reason, he wanted to be alone with Menolly and Nerissa. That didn’t sit well. He doubted that his brother—as rough as he was—would go so far as to attack either woman, but the son of a bitch was up to something. If he capitulated, he’d leave them at risk. If he refused, he’d be branded in the court as churlish and his mother would intervene, and that could get dicey. Relative or not, she was the vampire queen, and she made her wishes known in her own time. But the one thing she was clear on: Her children would follow decorum with one another, and they would break that decorum at risk to themselves and their standing in her court.

He vacillated for another moment, glancing at Menolly who shot him a confused look. Finally, Roman strode toward the door. “I’ll be back with your…beverage. I’m leaving the door open. It’s to stay open during my absence. This is my house, and you will honor my wishes.”

Caleb shrugged. “As you will.

Roman motioned to the one bloodwhore he knew had proclivities for masochism—actually she was a switch. In all the time he’d known his brother, which was far too long, he had also known that Caleb preferred his prey able to handle a little rough treatment.

“Listen,” he told Renee, “I will not require you to service him if you don’t want to. But you are the one among the stable who can handle his proclivities. If Caleb gets out of hand, Wendy has permission to step in and remove you. If he gets too rough, give her the signal and she’ll put a stop to it.” Wendy was a vampire, tough as they come, and she guarded his stable for him.

Renee gave him a steely eyed nod. “Yes, Lord Roman. And…thank you, for watching out for me.”

“I’ll do the best I can but remember, this is my brother. He’s one of the court. I cannot guarantee your safety but I’ll do my best.” Roman frowned. While he had lost a great deal of his humanity over the thousands of years, he cultivated what remained, and tried to keep enough humility to avoid sliding fully into predator-mode. Once a vampire began to view humans—mortals—as expendable, they lost their ability to think clearly and usually found themselves very dead, very quickly. Power without restraint led to carelessness, and power without reason triggered panic. And a group of panicked mortals were far more dangerous than the worst predator on the planet.

“I understand.” Renee went to freshen up. Roman instructed Wendy to bring her to the office when she was ready and hurried back. He thought about calling his mother first, to find out if she knew what Caleb was up to, but if she didn’t, she’d just get irritated at him and tell him to deal with matters on his own.

As he approached the door to his office—which was still open as per his instructions—Roman slowed. Vampires had excellent hearing. And sure enough, he heard Caleb talking.

“My brother is softer-hearted than I am. I prefer the Old World, where they still fear vampires enough to give us the respect we deserve. This harebrained idea he and my mother have is a fool’s errand. And now you tell me you would prefer to remain here, at his side, as a consort than come with me and become a queen in your own right?”

Menolly’s voice filtered out, the sultry tones vanishing from her cool, harsh reply. “Lord Caleb, your invitation is no doubt one most vampires would swoon over, but I passed swoon a long time ago. You’ve insulted my wife, you’ve insulted your brother—my consort. And you’ve insulted me, and then you invite me to switch sides and follow you to Europe? I have no clue how you can possibly think I’d be interested.” She snorted. “Truth is? I’m from Otherworld. You will find me far less tractable than women who are full-blooded human—even if they have been turned. I’m not good at being a puppet with a hand up my ass.”

Caleb sputtered. “You fool. My brother has far too many enemies and far too little gumption to wipe them out. This Vampire Nexus he seeks to create—it will be strangled and not by me. No, I leave that to the humans who will never accept our kind—or your kind.” He must have been talking to Nerissa at that moment because she let out a harsh laugh.

“You truly think you can go back to when vampires ruled the night and people believed they were invincible? There are a thousand wannabe Buffy the Vampire Slayers out there among the hate groups, and some of them are pretty damned smart. And just because my kind—Weres—are targeted too, doesn’t mean we’ll join you in the blood bath you crave.” Nerissa’s voice rang indignant. Roman had heard that edge before and while he admired her willingness to stand up for what she believed, he also knew that standing up to someone like his brother could be very, very dangerous.

Roman snarled and swung into the room. “What the hell is going on?”

Caleb jumped, his eyes turning bloodred. He was standing over Nerissa with Menolly between the two, her fangs down, looking ready to strike. Nerissa jumped to her feet, hands on hips, glaring from behind Menolly.

Fuck, why the hell did I have to let him in the door? Roman had had enough.

“Caleb, are you threatening my consort and her wife? You wouldn’t be trying to steal her away, would you?” Roman cautiously circled around them, but he couldn’t give away his power here. Vampires were like big cats—in a fight, the dominant one would win. Trouble was, Caleb had a penchant for grudges and his memory was long.

Caleb let out a faint snarl but pulled back. Roman glanced at Menolly and Nerissa, a warning look in his eyes, and gently shook his head, hoping they’d keep their mouths shut. Menolly started to say something but Nerissa suddenly stood and interrupted her.

“Our family is expecting us—we’re needed tonight and we gave our word we’d be home by nine. If we leave now, we can keep our promise.” Her voice was steady and she avoided looking at Caleb, who was smoldering.

Roman gave them a brief nod. “Go then. I will not have you breaking your word.”

As they gave both vampires a brief bow, Menolly paused, looking back directly at Roman. “You know I’ll never break my word.” They disappeared out the door.

Roman waited for a moment, then turned to his brother. “What the hell was that all about? You were trying to convince my consort to leave me and go with you? And what was Nerissa talking about?”

Caleb let out a snort. “You are so good, so obedient. You follow whatever Mother says without question. And now she has been swayed—she wants us to become part of the world, convince them to accept us. It will never happen. The world sees us as a plague. We’re the monsters in the dark, waiting to drink their blood and turn them into monsters just like us. You and Mother think all of these trappings will do the trick.” He gestured around him. “You think the businesses and the organizations will convince mortals to leave us in peace. You’re living a fool’s dream.”

“And what are we to do otherwise? Mortals know we exist. We either do our best to work with them or…” Roman paused. A horrible thought crept in. “That’s what Nerissa was talking about—you intend to start a war, don’t you?”

Caleb laughed. “A war? Oh, brother, the war started the day that Kesana, the Mother of Blood, invited the demons to transform her into the first vampire. The war started back then and it will never end. I need a queen worthy to take up the battle.”

Roman forced himself to hold steady, but what he wanted to do was stumble back, to grab the nearest sharp object and stake his brother. “You are mad. You would go against Blood Wyne—”

“Our mother has lost her edge. And you…what are you but a minor bureaucrat? What do you think will happen when the humans realize just how many of us there are? Do you really think they’re going to let us all live? Right now, they don’t realize our numbers, but you and your Nexus are intent on making us visible, and Mother has played into your hands. Menolly—I know what she’s capable of. Our mother made the mistake of telling me. She’d be the perfect queen for a new realm.” Caleb’s eyes narrowed. They were glowing crimson now, streaked with blood, streaked with anger.

Roman knew what he should do—knew what he was obligated to do—but when it came down to it, he found himself vacillating. He’d killed countless men in battle before he’d been turned into a vampire. He’d killed countless people since then. He could be ruthless, but fratricide felt so final. He’d never attacked one of his own family before. As he considered his next move, a spark of fear crept into his thoughts. Caleb was strong. If Roman attacked him here, and didn’t win, Caleb would be free, set into Seattle without anyone to stop him.

“Go. Get out of my sight. Get out of my city.” Roman whirled as a sound at the door startled both of them. There stood Wendy with Renee. “Wendy, get her out of here. Now.”

Wendy obeyed immediately—she knew better than question her master. She grabbed Renee by the arm and dragged her away.

Caleb laughed, waving them off. He headed toward the French doors leading out to the garden. “I’ll find my refreshment elsewhere. Don’t you have any worries about that. And brother,” he paused, clutching the knob, “tell Mother I resign my commission in her court, and I wish her good luck. One way or another, there will be a new queen rising, and I’m going to be right there at her side, controlling every action. The vampire nation will live again, in fury and vengeance, just like it was always meant to.”

And then, Caleb vanished into the night. As Roman watched him go, he knew that a war was coming. If he had tried to stop Caleb now, alone, he doubted that he could have done it. But sometime, probably sooner than later, they would meet. And Roman would have an army behind him, because Caleb wouldn’t be coming alone. As he slowly moved to call his mother and tell her the news, he wearily thought that maybe he should just walk into the sun—be done with it and over. But that would leave Caleb free to storm against the mortals, and against Blood Wyne, and that was something Roman couldn’t let happen. As he picked up the phone, he thought, some nights seemed to last forever.

A Purr-Fect Weekend

All Shade wants is a weekend alone with Kitten…He should have thought about the old adage: Be careful of what you ask for. Sometimes you just may get it.

Shade was looking forward to the weekend far more than he’d looked forward to anything for a long time. The family—including Maggie and Hanna—were packing up for a two-day vacation out at Smoky’s barrow, and he and Delilah would have the whole house to themselves.. Granted, they already had the entire third floor to themselves, but there was always somebody needing something—always some interruption. This weekend would be a wonderful cure to all of that.

He hurried down to the kitchen to say goodbye. Even though he was looking forward to the privacy, no one could ever call him churlish. And he did love the rest of the family. He felt protective of them, just like Smoky did. All dragons, half-blood or not, had that streak. It bordered on possessiveness at times.

Camille and Menolly were in the kitchen, finishing up last minute preparations. It was dark outside, and they had a long drive ahead of them. They were leaving in the evening so Menolly could get her lair prepared once they reached the barrow. Sunrise might not come all that early, but when it peeked over the top of Mount Rainier she’d have to be safely hidden away.

Delilah was sitting on the counter, swinging her legs back and forth. “I wish we could go with you, but I promised Shade—” She stopped, suddenly aware he had entered the room. Blushing, she added, “But I wanted to stay…”

Shade snorted. He knew how tight the girls were. “That’s all right, love. I know you wish you could be in both places. But we planned this a few weeks ago. Please?” He turned on the puppy-dog look. Once they were alone, she’d have a blast and be glad they stayed. He just had to convince her not to shift gears at the last minute.

Delilah let out a long sigh. “I know…We’ll have a wonderful weekend. Just us.” She wrinkled her nose and hopped off the counter to give him a kiss. “But you’re right. I do wish I could be in both places at once.”

Camille grinned. “I could try a bilocation spell—that way you could stay here and go with us. Want to bet that I could make it work?”

Both Menolly and Shade stared at her.

Menolly snickered. “I’d pay to see that one.”

Shade, however, let out a groan. He glanced at Delilah—she got it in her head to try out some of the damndest things at times—and shook his head. “So not a good idea. It’s not that I don’t trust you but…”

“I wish you could.” Delilah jumped off the counter. “I’d love to go tramping around in the woods this weekend. Nerissa and I haven’t been able to go running in a long time. We need the exercise.” She shrugged. “I guess I can go running around Birchwater Pond in my panther form, right?” After a pause, she worried her lip and turned to Shade. “Can you run and grab my backpack for me? I need to give Camille something. It’s in the parlor.”

Menolly shouldered her bags and headed out the door, waving behind her.

Shade frowned, but headed into the living room. Delilah was up to something, and it didn’t make him any easier that she obviously didn’t want him to know what. If it had just been girl talk, they would have ignored the fact that he was there and gone on to talk about clothes, makeup, daggers—all their favorite subjects. He was used to being a token girlfriend by default.

The backpack was in the parlor like she’d said. Shade carried it to the kitchen, stopping short as he entered the room. There, on the counter, Delilah was licking her paw, in her tabby form. Camille, on the other hand, was frowning and tapping her foot as she stared at the cat. She darted a guilty look his way as he strode into the room.

“Shade! Um…I see you found her backpack.” Camille blushed.

Right then, he knew that something was wrong. Slowly, he set the pack on the counter. “Why is Delilah in her tabby form?”

Camille cleared her throat. “Well…Delilah, come on, shift back? Please?” She lifted the cat and snuggled her in her arms, petting the golden puffball.

Delilah’s cat form was a golden tabby—furry and long haired, with a big bushy tail. She almost looked like a Maine Coon, though she wasn’t quite as large as members of the breed ran. Delilah let out a purr, leaning against Camille as she rubbed Delilah’s head with her chin.

“Delilah?...Delilah?” Shade frowned. Usually Delilah shifted when she was tired or wanted to play. Or, often, when she was stressed. “Did something scare her?”

Camille shook her head, staring at the cat. “No. Nothing scared her. Come on, Delilah—shift back. Stop joking now.”

But Delilah just wriggled in her arms and then, with a sudden leap, landed on the floor and raced into the living room. Shade swung around, staring at his sister-in-law-to-be. “What did you do, Camille?”

She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Just then, Menolly popped her head back in the door. “Camille? Are you coming?”

“I…Oh, hell. All right, you’re going to find out anyway. It was Delilah’s idea. We both thought it would probably work since she was willing.” Camille glanced from Menolly to Shade.

“And just what did you think would work?” Shade rubbed his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on. This was not the way he wanted to start a romantic weekend. “Just tell me.”

Menolly leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a fangy grin on her face. “I have the feeling this is going to be a good one, whatever it is.”

“While you were getting Delilah’s pack, she asked me to try the bilocation spell on her. It seems to have backfired and turned her into her cat form.” Camille frowned. “And now, she won’t shift back. Or she can’t. I don’t know which.”

Shade groaned as he turned toward the living room. “Stay here. Don’t go anywhere till I catch her.”

Swearing under his breath, he headed into the living room, where he saw Delilah poised on the edge of one of the coffee tables. She was eyeing the mantel over the fireplace, even though it was covered with harvest decorations. “Delilah, stop right now. Don’t you dare! Delilah!”

But she ignored him, leaping to the thin ledge. There wasn’t room for both her and the basket of pumpkin-shaped gourds, and she managed to catch a garland as she slipped off, which brought down the basket and everything else with it. The mantel was bare, there were decorations everywhere, and Delilah sat on the ground, looking a little dazed, with the garland hanging around her neck.

Shade pounced, scooping her up. He carried her to the kitchen, where he plunked her down on the counter. Holding her firmly, though she was squirming to get free, he glared at Camille. “Change her back. Now.”

Camille nodded, closing her eyes. She held out her hands.

“Two from one, to one from two,

This spell I now remove from you,

Shift now from the form we see,

As I will, so mote it be.”

Amid a sputter of sparks, a faint blue light emerged, engulfing Delilah. She let out a brief yowl, but stopped squirming. Shade let go, jumping aside to avoid being in the way when she transformed back. A moment later, she still sat there in cat form, her fur a bit ruffled. Giving what sounded suspiciously like a sigh, she started to groom one paw.

“Why isn’t she back to normal?” Shade glanced at Camille.

“I don’t know. That should have turned her back…Maybe.”

“What do you mean maybe?”

She shrugged. “The spell I used originally was the bilocation spell. It backfired. This was a basic spell to break another spell. Apparently it’s not working. Another backfire, I guess. Or it just won’t work on a spell that backfired.” Camille picked up Delilah and held her up in the air by the belly. “You’re so cute! You’re so pretty—what a pretty girl!”

“Camille!” Shade stopped as she turned around, her eyes narrowed. Oops, not a good idea to yell at one of the women who allowed him to live in her house. Especially since she was married to a full-blooded dragon. “I’m sorry. I’m just…What are we going to do?”

“My guess is that she’ll change back when she’s ready. Or the spell wears off. And it will wear off. That much I know. I just don’t happen to know when.”

Shade stared at her, his mouth open. “How long could it take?”

Camille shrugged, giving Delilah another kiss on the head. “The longest time one of my backfires took to wear off—the time I made my clothes invisible—was a week.” Before Shade could say another word, she shoved Delilah in his arms. “We’d better get going. Don’t worry! I’m sure it will wear off before the weekend’s over. Just watch her closely and keep her out of trouble.”

And with that, Camille darted out the door, followed by Menolly, leaving Shade alone holding his fiancée by the collar.

Shade stared at the door as it slammed shut behind them. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He glanced down at Delilah, who was squirming in his arms, trying to get free. The next moment, she playfully sank her claws into him. Startled, he let go. As she hit the floor, four paws running, she darted off toward the laundry room.

“Delilah! Delilah, you come back here.” Shade started to chase after her, then forced himself to stop. It wasn’t like she hadn’t run around in cat form plenty of other times. Chances were good that if he chased her, she’d stress out. And stressing out would be counterproductive to the end goal, which was: Delilah on two feet, again.

He decided to fix himself a sandwich while he waited. As he filled his arms with turkey breast and bread and mayo and tomatoes, a crash made him jump. Tossing the food on the counter, he raced toward the noise, which sounded like it was coming from Hanna’s room.

“Hell, what now? They didn’t forget to take Maggie with them, did they?” At first, he thought maybe he was right, but then he saw the playpen, tipped over. Delilah was struggling to drag one of the toys out from it. She loved the soft cloth balls the gargoyle played with, and apparently, she was determined to steal one. Apparently, she’d miscalculated her jump and caught the edge of the playpen, turning it on its side.

Shade righted the playpen and, with a sigh, tossed one of the balls into the hallway for Delilah to chase. As his girlfriend streaked out of the room, he muttered, “Damned cat,” under his breath and finished tidying up the mess she’d made. But as he was replacing the last toy in the playpen, another crash sounded, this time from the living room.

“Delilah! What the hell are you getting into now?”

As Shade made a beeline for the noise, Camille’s image raced through his mind. I hope she falls in a patch of poison ivy, he thought uncharitably. But the wish slipped away as yet another loud thud caught his attention.

Two hours later, Shade had cleaned up the harvest decorations twice, swept up a broken vase, spot-cleaned a hairball off the sofa, and had wrestled his turkey sandwich—which he’d finally managed to slap together—away from a very determined feline. Finally, he gave up and opened the back door as Delilah howled to go outside.

“Fine, go. Play. Don’t get yourself in any trouble.”

She bounded out to the back porch and down the steps.

“So much for a romantic evening in front of the fire. Damn it, this is all Camille’s fault.” But inside, Shade knew he couldn’t blame the witch. Delilah was the one who asked her to try it. And when you got down to the core of the matter, if Delilah hadn’t been torn about wanting to go to the barrow with the rest of the family, if Shade had given in and gone with them, this wouldn’t have happened. They could easily be taking an evening stroll through the woods right now.

Turning back to the kitchen, Shade opened a can of cat food and set it down, then dashed up stairs to sift the litter box. They were in this situation together, so he’d do what he could. Maybe they could salvage part of the weekend. It was still only Friday night.

Friday night! Why hadn’t he thought of it before? Shade stepped into the back yard and, standing in the rain, called for Delilah. After a few minutes, she came racing up, wild eyed but happy. He scooped her up and carried her inside. Her heart was thudding from the run, but when she reached up and excitedly licked his nose, purring, Shade couldn’t help but laugh.

“Come on, Minx. Time for Jerry Springer and Cheetos.”

He knew the way to her heart. As he grabbed the bag of snacks off the counter and carried her into the living room where the TV was tuned into the Talk Show Channel, he hoped this would be enough to coax her back to her regular form. He settled down, trying not to grimace as the crowd began to shout, “Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!”

Delilah curled up beside him. He held out a Cheeto and she sniffed it, then bit into it, smearing her cheek fur with the bright orange powder.

“You love this show, don’t you, Kitten? I don’t see what’s so hot about Springer, but hey, whatever floats your boat. Or squeaks your mouse, as the case may be.”

She sprawled out, draping over his lap, and he softly stroked her fur, smiling as she purred loud enough to rival a motorboat. But, by the end of the show, she was still in cat form. Shade let out a sigh and glanced at the clock. It was only eleven, but who knew? Maybe a good night’s sleep would do the trick, and he could use sleep, as well.

“To bed, pumpkin?”

She purped, gazing up at him with wide emerald eyes. Making certain the house was locked, he draped her over his shoulder and headed upstairs. As he settled down in bed, missing her soft skin beneath his fingers, Delilah slowly padded across the covers. She crawled on his side, curled up, and promptly fell asleep.

Around 4:00 AM, Shade woke up. Something was wrong. Delilah wasn’t in bed—in either form—and he had the sense that something was amiss. Slipping out from beneath the covers, he put on his slippers, then slid on his robe and tied it shut. As he reached for the light, wary and trying to listen for whatever might be setting off his internal alarm, a yowl split the silence, followed by another.

Delilah! And she sounded in pain.

Shade turned on the light, whirling to see where the cries were coming from. But then, he realized, they were echoing from downstairs. He headed toward the door on the run, trying to pinpoint where her hisses and screams were coming from.

“Delilah! Where are you? Delilah!”

Thudding down the steps, he realized that she was in the kitchen. Fuck, what had happened? Had she hurt herself? He raced into the room, slamming his hand against the light switch. As the lights flared, he saw Delilah facing what looked like a mottled gray gremlin. It had wings, very bat-like, and looked a little like Maggie, except for the tiny horns on its head, and the jutting horn on its snout.

“Delilah! Get away from there—those creatures can—” Before he could catch her, she gave one final swipe at the gremlin and it swiped back at her, its claws raking her side. She let out another ear piercing shriek as faint lines of red began to dapple her fur.

“Oh no you don’t!” Shade leapt forward, grappling the creature. The gremlin tried to bite him but he squeezed its throat—hard—and cleanly snapped its neck. As he dropped it, Delilah huddled down, hissing and yowling. The cuts were bleeding—not swiftly, but they looked painful. Shade knew that gremlins didn’t carry any venom or toxin, but he also knew that the claws were extremely sharp and he had to get Delilah to a doctor right away.

Not sure what to do first, he finally settled for grabbing her cell phone out of her pack where she’d left it, and he punched in the number for the FH-CSI. Within moments, Yugi—the second in command—came on line.

“Give me the medic unit, quick. This is Shade.”

Yugi transferred him and and Mallen came on line.

“I need your help. Delilah’s been hurt.”

“What happened?”

“A gremlin injured her.” Shade was frantic now, trying to keep his attention on Delilah while he talked to the healer.

The elf cleared his throat. “That shouldn’t be too bad—bring her in.”

“She’s in cat form and it looks very painful.”

“Cat form?” Another beat, and then Mallen let out a sigh. “Can you catch her? I’m dealing with several emergencies tonight, and can’t get away. Or you can take her to a vet. There has to be an all night clinic nearby.”

“A vet. You want me to take Delilah to the vet?” Shade frowned.

Delilah perked up at the word. Her eyes narrowed and she glanced around, as if ready to bolt.

“Yes, I just looked one up on line. There’s an all night emergency clinic just half a mile from you—you can make it there faster than you can get here. The wait probably won’t be as long. We’re fending with the aftermath of a car wreck tonight and we have four wounded Fae, two critically injured Weres and one very pissed off vampire.” Mallen sounded overwhelmed. “If she’s not in life-threatening danger, it would be very helpful if you could just…take her to the vet. He’s Fae, it says on the web site.”

Shade mumbled an “Okay,” and punched the End Talk button. There was a cat carrier in the laundry room. Iris had used it often enough to corral Delilah when she was causing havoc, but Shade had his doubts whether Delilah had ever been to a veterinarian’s office. Be that as it may, it was obvious she knew what the word meant.

“Delilah, honey, you’re hurt. I need to get you to a doctor.” He slowly moved toward her. She hissed and pulled away, baring her teeth. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Come on, baby. Just hold still.”

As he lunged forward, she sprang off the counter, still meowing, and raced out of the room, though not nearly as quickly as she’d been running before, leaving a trail of blood drops behind her. Swearing, Shade softly followed. He didn’t want to wind her up—she could hurt herself far worse that way. But he had to catch her.

Another go round and she headed upstairs. He shifted through the Ionyc Sea to the top of the steps, but she managed to dart past him into the bedroom. Cursing, he followed, just in time to see her crawl under the bed.

“Delilah, come out of there.” Shade closed the door. At least she couldn’t get out of the room. He closed the closet door, too, but left the door to the bathroom open. If she ran in there, she’d be easier to corner.

Dropping to his hands and knees, he leaned down and peeked under the bed. She was hunched in the center. And with a king-sized bed, that meant he couldn’t reach her. He might be tall but his arms weren’t gorilla length. Nor could he scoot beneath the bed.

They eyed each other for awhile. Delilah let out a faint mew and it tore his heart that she was too hurt and frightened to let him help. In her state, she was probably thinking with her cat-self, than her human-Fae side. But, still, he ached to think that she didn’t trust him.

“Delilah, honey—we need to take you to the doctor. Please, come out. Please trust me. I wouldn’t do this except you’re hurt. Mallen said you need to be seen by a doctor. We don’t want those wounds infected.” He spoke softy, trying to coax her out.

After a few minutes it was apparent she wasn’t going to budge.

Shade pushed himself to a sitting position. What could he use to get her out? He glanced around the room, and then saw the plant mister. He’d used it on occasion when she got too rambunctious and he wanted her to quit bugging him. Now, he picked it up and leaned over so she could see him.

“I don’t want to have to use this. Delilah, come out of there.” He shook the bottle.

The water sloshed. Delilah let out another mew and began to back toward the other side of the bed. As he shook it again, she popped out the other side and headed for the door. Without pausing, Shade dropped the mister and once again, shifted through the Ionyc Seas, emerging behind her. If she tried to race back under the bed, she’d have to go around him.

She darted to the left, but he was faster this time and caught her up, trying to avoid hurting her further. Delilah let out a soft cry, then snuggled against him. Shade carried her downstairs where she reluctantly allowed him put her in the carrier. As they headed out into the night, he was grateful he’d gotten his license and could drive her Jeep. Otherwise it would be a cold, blustery walk in the rain.

The vet stared at Delilah. “Last time I saw her, she was six feet tall.” He let out a laugh. “She brought in a couple of mice for treatment.”

Not only was the vet aware of who Delilah was, but Mallen had been correct: He was Earthside Fae.

“She’s under a spell that backfired. Either she can’t—or won’t—turn back. A gremlin snagged her a good one.” Shade frowned. “She’ll be okay, won’t she, doc?”

Dr. Burberry listened to her heart and then gently examined the scratches. “I’ll get you some salve for these so they’ll heal up without infection. She’s lucky. The gremlin didn’t scratch terribly deep. That and the fact that she’s a Were made all the difference. If she were just a regular cat? She’d probably need to be hospitalized.” He paused, then a sly grin stole across his face. “You say she can’t turn back just yet? What a pity. Oh, but I forgot—I really need to take her temperature.” He winked at Shade and held up the thermometer. “Hold her while I grab her tail, won’t you?”

Delilah yowled, loudly, and seconds later, her golden fur shimmered as she shifted back into human form. The next moment, she had practically fallen off the exam table, which was made for regular size cats, not six-foot tall women.

“Welcome back.” Dr. Burberry laughed. “I thought that might make a difference.”

Shade stared at Delilah. He didn’t know whether to hug her or scold her. “You weren’t stuck?”

She blushed. “Um…no. I was…oh never mind.”

The veterinarian motioned for her to raise her shirt. “This salve will work on you regardless if you’re in cat form or Fae.” As he slathered on the medication, the bright red slashes on her side began to fade. “There. Next time, run away. Tangling with gremlins isn’t a good idea for a kitty-cat. Next time, it could be worse.”

As Shade led a very penitent Delilah out of the room, he contemplated just how much good it would do to tell her just how pissed he was. But he brushed it away. Might as well just chalk it up to a bad Friday night. And the fact was, she’d alerted him to the gremlin who had somehow managed to get through the wards.

As they headed back to the car, she reached out and took his hand.

“Forgive me? I guess…when I shifted form, I realized that I was angry. You never really asked me if I wanted to stay home. You told me we needed to. I wanted to go with the rest of our family and you didn’t listen to me at all.”

Shade bit his lip. He had known how devoted to her family she was when he met her. He just had to accept it as one of her traits.

“Yeah, I did ride over your wishes. I guess I wanted to feel like I was special in your life. Like you wanted to be with me—without needing anybody else around.”

Delilah whirled around, her eyes blazing. “I love you, Shade. Always know that. Along with my sisters, you’re the most important thing in the world to me. But face it, we’re a package deal—all of us.”

She paused, then, glancing up at the sky. The clouds were socked in, and a chill wind gusted by. “But…you know what? A weekend at home without the others might be nice. Maybe we can go out to breakfast tomorrow, and then drive out to Snoqualmie and hike around the Falls?”

Shade smiled softly. She was offering an olive branch, and so could he. “All right. Then, why don’t we plan out a big dinner for Sunday night, for when the others come back? Sunday, we can see an early movie, go shopping for groceries, and then spend the afternoon cooking. When your sisters get back, we’ll have a party.”

Delilah squeezed his hand and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “I’d like that. A lot. It’s going to be the purr-fect weekend,” she added, as she snuggled into his embrace.

Biography:

New York Times, Publishers Weekly, and USA Today bestselling author Yasmine Galenorn writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance for Berkley: the Otherworld Series, and the upcoming Fly By Night Series and Whisper Hollow Series. In the past, she wrote the Indigo Court Series, the Chintz ‘n China Series, the Bath and Body Series (under the name India Ink). She also wrote eight nonfiction metaphysical books. She is the 2011 Career Achievement Award Winner in Urban Fantasy, given by RT Magazine.

Yasmine has been in the Craft since 1980, is a shamanic witch, and describes her life as a blend of teacups and tattoos. She lives in Kirkland WA with her husband Samwise and their cats. Yasmine can be reached via her website at www.galenorn.com.

Books by Yasmine Galenorn:

Whisper Hollow Series (in order):

Autumn Thorns (Oct 2015)

Dreaming Death (Oct 2016)

Fly By Night Series (in order):

Flight from Death (June 2015)

Flight from Mayhem (June 2016)

Otherworld Series (in order):

From Berkley and Berkley Jove

Witchling

Changeling

Darkling

Dragon Wytch

Night Huntress

Demon Mistress

Bone Magic

Harvest Hunting

Blood Wyne

Courting Darkness

Shaded Vision

Shadow Rising

Haunted Moon

Autumn Whispers

Crimson Veil

Priestess Dreaming

Panther Prowling (Jan 27, 2015)

Darkness Raging (Jan 2016)

Indigo Court Series (in order):

From Berkley and Berkley Jove

Night Myst

Night Veil

Night Seeker

Night Vision

Night’s End

Chintz ‘n China Series (in order):

From Berkley Prime Crime

Ghost of a Chance

Legend of the Jade Dragon

Murder Under a Mystic Moon

A Harvest of Bones

One Hex of a Wedding

Bath and Body Series (under the name India Ink) (in order):

From Berkley Prime Crime

Scent to Her Grave

A Blush With Death

Glossed and Found

Anthologies:

From Berkley/Berkley Jove:

Never After (Otherworld novella: The Shadow of Mist)

Inked (Otherworld novella: Etched in Silver)

Hexed (Otherworld novella: Ice Shards)

E-Novellas:

From Berkley/Berkley Jove/Berkley InterMix

The Shadow of Mist: Otherworld novella

Etched in Silver: Otherworld novella

Ice Shards: Otherworld novella

Flight From Hell: Otherworld-Fly By Night crossover novella

E-Publications

From Nightqueen Enterprises LLC

Tales From Otherworld: Collection One

Mists and Shadows: Short Tales From Dark Haunts

Men of Otherworld: Collection One

Other Anthologies:

From Simon & Schuster, Pocket Star, Smart Pop Books, Poisoned Pen Press, Nightqueen Enterprise LLC:

Songs of Love & Death (short story: Man in the Mirror)

Songs of Love and Darkness (short story: Man in the Mirror)

Nyx in the House of Night (article: She is Goddess)

A Second Helping of Murder (recipe: Clam Chowder)

Magickal Nonfiction:

From Llewellyn Publications and Ten Speed Press:

Trancing the Witch’s Wheel

Embracing the Moon

Dancing with the Sun

Tarot Journeys

Crafting the Body Divine

Sexual Ecstasy and the Divine

Totem Magic

Magical Meditations

Table of Contents

- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Table Of Contents
- Introduction
- The Hunger
- Chasing Sharah
- Ink Bonds
- Blood Ties
- A Purr-Fect Weekend
- Biography and Complete Book List