Feisty Heroines
Author: D.F. Jones
Date: 2020-06-16 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance; Paranormal; Fantasy; Historical; Anthologies; Paranormal Romance; Fiction; Contemporary
Description: Over 30+ pulse-racing shorts to capture your heart with USA Today, The Wall Street Journal, New York Times, and Award-winning authors in the mix. Paranormal, Contemporary, Fantasy, and Historical Romance that will whet your appetite with titillating, heart-pounding tales you’ll want to read again then beg for more. Fall in love with your next book crush!
Publisher: D. F. Jones, Jones Media

Feisty Heroines Romance Collection of Shorts

D. F. Jones et al.

Published by D.F.Jones, 2020.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

FEISTY HEROINES ROMANCE COLLECTION OF SHORTS

First edition. June 16, 2020.

Copyright © 2020 D. F. Jones et al..

ISBN: 978-1732305465

Written by D. F. Jones et al..

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Feisty Heroines Romance Collection of Shorts

Multi-Authors

Acknowledgments

The Feisty Authors in this collection came together to cross-pollinate romance genres to allow our readers a new experience into fictional worlds they may have never ventured. We worked tirelessly to offer creative, unique, and original works of fiction. We trust you will enjoy our efforts.

The Feisty Heroines Romance Collection of Shorts is over fourteen-hundred pages, so a special thank you to our proofreaders and editors, Tess, Lane, Dana, Amy, Ana, Barb, Allie, and Sandy. Also a huge shout out to our fabulous marketing team, Tia, Angela, Maggie, Amy, Sheri-Lynn, Sabrina, Brenda, plus all of the authors for spreading the word of our collection on social media and newsletters.

Please consider posting a review or share with your family, friends, and coworkers if you enjoy our collection. Word of mouth is one of the best ways to develop readership.

At the end of each short story, you will find information about the author along with their other works of fiction. We trust you will take the opportunity to register for updates, buy books, and follow our social media sites.

Our authors are donating the net profits from FHRCOS to AACN.org and RedCross.org to help fight the COVID-19 efforts.

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts for purchasing the Feisty Heroines Romance Collection of Shorts.

Enjoy!

Contents

PNR/Fantasy Part 1

Angel Watcher by D. F. Jones

Preface

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

About D. F. Jones

Also By D. F. Jones

Dragon Rules by Tia Didmon

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Epilogue

About Tia Didmon

Also by Tia Didmon

Moon Magic by Angela Sanders

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

About Angela Sanders

Also by Angela Sanders

Within the Shadows by Amy Hale

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

About Amy Hale

Also By Amy Hale

Dawn of a New Era by Brenda Trim

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

About Brenda Trim

Also By Brenda Trim

Banshee Kiss by Ellen Mint

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

About Ellen Mint

Also By Ellen Mint

Contemporary Romance Part 2

Lost in a Lie by Teri Riggs

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

About Teri Riggs

Also By Teri Riggs

Combustion by Suzanne Cass

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

About Suzanne Cass

Also by Suzanne Cass

Whiskey Love by Maria Vickers

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

About Maria Vickers

Also By Maria Vickers

Powerful Things by Renee Regent

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Epilogue

About Renee Regent

Also By Renee Regent

Redemption by Savannah Kade

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

About Savannah Kade

Also by Savannah Kade

Good Bones by Maggie Adams

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

About Maggie Adams

Also By Maggie Adams

Historical Romance Part 3

Keep the Light by I. D. Johnson

Keep the Light

About I. D. Johnson

Also by I. D. Johnson

Rescuing Lord Faulkner by Tess St. John

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

About Tess St. John

Also By Tess St. John

To Rescue My Princess by Lane McFarland

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

About Lane McFarland

Also by Lane McFarland

The Right Knight by Barbara Bettis

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

About Barbara Bettis

Also By Barbara Bettis

Destiny's Way by Karen Muir

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

About Karen Muir

Also by Karen Muir

Forever Equals by Ruth A. Casie

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

About Ruth A. Casie

Also By Ruth A. Casie

PNR/ Fantasy Part 4

The Dragon Assassin’s Sunstryker by Sheri-Lynn Marean

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

About Sheri-Lynn Marean

Also by Sheri-Lynn Marean

Fated Match by Miranda Lynn

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

About Miranda Lynn

Also By Miranda Lynn

Alerian’s War by Dariel Raye

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

About Dariel Raye

Also by Dariel Raye

Matchmaker’s Mission by D. B. Sieders

Matchmaker’s Mission

About D. B. Sieders

Also by D.B. Sieders:

With His Life by Theresa Hissong

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

About Theresa Hissong

Also by Theresa Hissong:

Contemporary Part 5

Just One Last Chance by Lauren Wood

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

About Lauren Wood

Also by Lauren Wood

Spencer: Bad Boy Cage Fighter by P.T. Macias

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

About P. T. Macias

Also by P. T. Macias

A Matter of Trust by Dr. Sharon A. Mitchell

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

About Dr. Sharon Mitchell

Also by Dr. Sharon A. Mitchell

Trisha’s Dream by Ana Morgan

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

About Ana Morgan

Also by Ana Morgan:

Déjà Vu on the Seas by Stephany Tullis

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Epilogue

About Stephany Tullis

Also by Stephany Tullis

Falling For Nora by Claire Angel

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Epilogue

About Claire Angel

Also by Claire Angel

Turning Up the Heat by Ashlee Price

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

About Ashlee Price

PNR/ Fantasy Part 6

Beautiful Chaos by Donya Lynne

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

About Donya Lynne

Also by Donya Lynne

Tournament of Reckoning by Allie Marie

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

About Allie Marie

Also By Allie Marie

Resistance by Felicity Brandon

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

About Felicity Brandon

Also by Felicity Brandon:

The Sleeping Viking Beauty by Rachel Tsoumbakos

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

About Rachel Tsoumbakos

Also by Rachel Tsoumbakos

Married Off to the Dragon by Kayla Wolf

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

About Kayla Wolf

Also by Kayla Wolf

Fox Trap by Margo Bond Collins

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Channel 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

About Margo Bond Collins

Afterword

PNR/Fantasy Part 1

Angel Watcher by D. F. Jones

Bestselling Author

Dragon Rules by Tia Didmon

International Bestselling Author

Moon Magic by Angela Sanders

Within the Shadows by Amy Hale

Dawn of a New Era by Brenda Trim

Bestselling Author

Banshee’s Kiss by Ellen Mint

Angel Watcher by D. F. Jones

A Ditch Lane Diaries Short Story

Preface

I wrote Angel Watcher the first of October 2019. I wanted to try my hand at post-apocalyptic writing. It is a Ditch Lane Diaries short story from the angel’s point of view. I never dreamed of a real-life global pandemic. The Ditch Lane Diaries is a series based on a six-thousand-year angelic conflict that uses certain humans in the fight over good and evil. Angel Watcher is a fantasy, and I trust you will enjoy it.

Prologue

Kaduntz, an angel watcher, lived in a time before humanity. A time when all supernatural beings in the Universe dwelled in harmony.

When the Morning Star, her superior in the angel choir, organized a crusade for democracy that threatened the delicate balance of power in the known and unknown planetary systems, rebellion rumors flooded Fifth Heaven.

Rumblings shook her realm. Lightning bolts shot across the darkening sky. Never in the known existence had Kaduntz witnessed such a sight.

A strange feeling made the hair on her neck rise. Fear. She glanced at her brother, Tabris. “Quickly, go to Erinelle. She’ll protect you.”

He stared wide-eyed. “I won’t leave you.”

“You must.” She gripped his arms and searched his eyes. “No matter what happens to me, you must write this down, and pass it on to the others, so it never happens again. Go, Tabris!” She watched him race across the streets of gold and vanish.

The ground shook underneath Kaduntz’s feet again. She watched in helpless horror as The Angel Armed Forces, known as the AAF, led by the Archangel Michael, marched through the Worship Angel quadrant. The streets of gold splintered and cracked under their weight.

She watched from the edge of her lawn. Her hands turned into fists.

Out of nowhere, a soldier grabbed Kaduntz’s hair with such force that it brought tears to her eyes. No one had ever treated her in such a manner, and she couldn’t put the emotion into words. She clawed and kicked. “What have I done? What have we done?” she shouted.

“Your leader incited a rebellion in the throne room.” The warrior angel snarled, “He threatened The Creator. He who no longer has a name in Fifth Heaven is cast out along with every angel under his command.”

“It’s not fair!” Kaduntz struggled to get out of his grasp. “I’ve done nothing. My family has done nothing but praise the Trinity.” She knew Lucifer had followers, but she’d never attended one meeting.

“It has been written, and so shall it be done.” He pushed her into the center of the road and tied her together with other members of the angel worship choir, one-third of the angelic hosts in heaven under Luc’s command.

Stunned. Shocked. Spurned.

That was the last day Kaduntz saw Fifth Heaven.

The AAF cast one hundred and thirty million worship angels to a planet in the formation process, called Earth. The Fallen quickly adapted as The Creator, comprised of three distinct and separate entities, instantaneously molded the inner and outer layers of the core, then lastly, He formed the upper crust.

Kaduntz sensed the heat but did not burn.

The Trinity turned the metal ball inferno into a paradise teeming with life, full of lush greenery with a vast expanse of waters called oceans. With a flick of His finger, mountains sprung from nothing. He called it land.

She watched from a short distance, in awe of The Creator’s work.

Did He know not all the worship angels followed Luc? The Creator looked at her, then nodded.

He knew.

He was here to help them, after all. He’d not forsaken them.

Relief washed over Kaduntz.

There’s a season and a time for every purpose under the sun, my child. I need you here to lead my people. She heard His thoughts.

How?

You will know—when it’s time.

During the Trinity’s interim, Luc continued to stoke his plans of claiming Earth for himself. Luc’s hands rested on his hips as he stood between the tree of life and the tree of knowledge. His jet-black hair fell over his shoulders in waves. He had beautiful features, but she knew him as selfish and self-serving. “I won’t deny I’m proud.” He called out to the crowd, “Father’s blood runs in my veins as it does in yours. He sent us to this place, and I will rule it.” He paused, then outstretched his hands. “Of course, with your help.”

The crowd roared in approval.

“Earth is our new home, and we will grow strong together.”

“No! I did not fall of my own accord,” Kaduntz shouted, without thinking about herself or the consequences of her actions. “You are the reason we are here. You’re the reason we will never see the only home we’ve ever known. We will never walk the streets of gold, and I will never see my brother, Tabris, again.” At least, he escaped. Erinelle would protect him. “This place doesn’t hold a glimmer of the life we left behind. For me, I will never follow you. And you, he who has no name, will not rule me.” She flew away with one-third of the cast-outs following her. She didn’t want to rule, but she would.

The Creator told her she would know when and what to do, and she did. She would lead The Creator’s people, the Angel Watchers, and they would serve the Trinity.

Kaduntz prepared for war, and her strawberry blonde hair turned white when she shorn it off, then she donned the garments of a warrior. She taught His people how to make divine weapons.

Kaduntz turned them into a lethal force of warriors before the calculations of time began. She and the Angel Watchers helped humanity throughout thousands of years.

Chapter 1

Earth 2070, Ice Mountain

What does Uriel want from me?

Kaduntz preferred to work alone except for Shadow, a Semargl, and her constant companion since the eruption of the supervolcano in Yellowstone forty years ago that led to the demise of humanity. The Angel Watchers either joined the ranks of the AAF or migrated back to Fifth Heaven. She chose to stay on Earth. She chose no longer to lead.

The AAF used her and Shadow as trackers. Some beings saw Shadow as a devil dog, but he had a genuine heart, a compassionate soul, superior intelligence, and an undying love for her. His black leathery wings ruffled as they walked across the chromite drawbridge spanning the River of Fire.

“What is it?” she asked, walking toward the castle entrance.

“Something isn’t right,” Shadow growled.

“Not to worry, my trusted friend, some of the Fallen are prisoners here.”

“I would’ve died many suns ago if it weren’t for you. You have my loyalty for life.” He nudged her thigh. “Kaduntz, I am warning you. Demons are close.”

She stopped and knelt, cupping Shadow’s face with her hands. “I love you. I sense the evil, too, but I don’t want to be late to my meeting. The archangel is known for his anger.”

To her knowledge, Uriel, the Archangel of Thunder and Terror, had recently been given charge of Ice Mountain. The location neared the middle of the old Tennessee principalities.

The command station seemed to relax the rules since humanity no longer existed. She and Shadow went through the gates without so much as a search for weapons.

AAF guards stood at various posts within the courtyard. They laughed and talked with barely a glance in her direction. To the right, winged horses and unicorns grazed on exotic flora while griffons perched on the battlements running along the curtain wall. She glanced up. The crystal castle carved into Ice Mountain cast shimmering rays with a prism of colors reflecting the sun and fire.

“Their security is subpar,” Shadow growled.

“Not our problem. I’m not staying here longer than I need to.”

Walking up the marble steps and into the neoclassical rotunda, Kaduntz hesitated. She looked at humanity’s priceless works of art. While humans at times got on her last nerve, she’d grown attached to them. She missed them.

It made no sense why Uriel summoned her. She mentally reviewed her recent day-to-day military operations. She hadn’t breached any protocols.

Shadow nudged the side of her leg again. “Do not be afraid, for I am with you.” Words she’d often quoted to him.

“I suppose I asked for that one.” She chuckled. “I’m not afraid, but I don’t want any of my powers stripped for breaking some lame-ass rule.”

“You’re not. Let’s get it over. Who knows, it may be a promotion.”

They followed the curved crystal walls with Doric columns down a long hallway. Above their heads, thousands of flowering plants weaved a magical tapestry while a slow-moving stream flowed below the glass flooring, to nowhere she could see.

The cocoon effect of quietness within the castle unnerved her. Only the clicking of Shadow’s nails and the slap of leather from her military boots echoed through the hall until they rounded the corner.

They came to an abrupt stop.

Two Illuminators holding Byzantine tridents blocked Uriel’s door. She had not seen the beings since the Great Flood.

She bowed a greeting and motioned for Shadow to do the same.

The Illuminators stepped aside, allowing her entrance but stopped Shadow.

He growled, bearing his vicious teeth, and his leathery wings jutted upward. The hair on his back bristled.

“Stand down, Shadow. I won’t be too long.”

He sat on his massive haunches with his head held high. The Illuminators didn’t recognize his majesty, or they chose to ignore it.

When she entered the room, something niggled at her brain from a long-ago memory. She shook it off as nerves. She hadn’t seen or talked to another angel face-to-face in ten years.

Uriel stared at the dazzling winter tundra from the wall of windows in his office. The stark landscape, while beautiful in her opinion, didn’t compare to the lower lush terrain near the ocean basin.

She cleared her throat to get his attention.

He turned. His facial expression contorted with concern or maybe agitation.

Her insides fluttered, but she remained at attention.

“At ease, soldier.” He pointed to an intricately carved chair made from bristlecone pine. She’d only seen one other in her lifetime, in the Vatican.

“I’ve heard rumors of human survivors.” He took in a deep breath, then released it. “I’m sending you on a covert mission along the Campbell Ridge Rim.” His jaw ticked. “Do you know the area?”

Was he mad?

She understood why they called him the angel of terror, but she would show no signs of fear. She lifted her chin, then squared her shoulders. “I know it well, sir. But how would you know of survivors? Has The Creator received their cries?”

“To my knowledge, no communication has been received from any human since the pandemic wiped them out.” He leaned against a mesquite desk with crystal and gemstone inlay.

“What about their guardians?”

“No, but I’ve heard rumors among the Ellauroa and other nature spirits that some humanoid species may live within the territory. Do you still have the Semargl?”

“Yes, sir. He waits for me at your door.”

“Good. I want intel, but don’t engage if you find any mortal survivors. I need their location but use discretion. If they exist, their evolution may have given them a higher order of intelligence like the angels. It’s happened before. It could happen again. We need to know if they’re hostile, and you’re the best at reconnaissance. Do you need any soldiers to accompany you?”

“I won’t need help. I have Shadow.” She stood. “Sir, are you referring to the Nephilim?”

“Possibly.”

The moment Luc saw Kaduntz, it transported him to another time, to Fifth Heaven’s Rose Garden, a gathering place for angels to catch up and hook up. He’d wanted her since she came of age, and her soprano voice within the worship choir nearly brought him to tears more than once. Luc had pursued her. He loved her spirit and often fantasized about pairing with her. Kaduntz repeatedly thwarted his efforts, then she divorced herself entirely from his Fallen after being cast to Earth.

The Uriel suit melted away after she closed the door to his office.

Luc waved his hand, and a wall surveillance screen replaced the tundra landscape. He traced her image with his forefinger, watching her and the Semargl walk through the crowded courtyard and back over the drawbridge.

Keepers of the Sacred Law came through the door of the adjoining room wearing long black trench coats, black turtlenecks, leather pants, and laced military boots.

“You called a meeting. How may we be of service?” Anoth, the leader of the Keepers, asked.

“Follow Kaduntz. She’s looking for a possible threat to the planet. Humans may have survived. Stay close, but not too close. She has a weakness for the species, and if they’re in the vicinity, she’ll find them.” Luc often consulted with the Keepers, although they didn’t work for him or the AAF. “I suggest using your spirit animals. Go, she’s crossed the bridge. Make sure she stays safe, and alert me to any dangers. Teleport to me at once if she discovers humans. They may be hostile.”

By chance, Luc had found the Keepers of the Sacred Law in nature. They strived to keep balance in the world. They helped him with insight, universal mysteries, and they were fearless shifters. He placed his hand on the back of Anoth’s neck, instantly attaching a tracking nanochip. “Our planet appreciates your service.”

Had he told the Keepers his plan to destroy any human survivors, they would never comply. But as a service to Mother Earth, Anoth eagerly accepted the assignment. “We endeavor to protect and serve Mother in all ways.” The Keepers morphed into three crows.

Luc pushed open the vertical window. They flew, swooping overhead and into the forest waiting on Kaduntz and the Semargl. He didn’t want to kill Kaduntz’s beast, but if Shadow proved dangerous to his operation, he would cut him down.

As his technology evolved through the ages, Luc developed three-dimensional holograms and numerous avatars of himself to multitask low-level threats to his dominion. He communicated directly with his generals and special op units via the telepresence screen, allowing him to simultaneously observe multiple areas around the globe, pinpointing any angelic beings or nature spirits at any given time until the Campbell Ridge incident. There, he hit a brick wall.

Since the demise of humanity, the AAF and the Angel Watchers left Earth in droves returning to Heaven, so Luc loosened his reins. But the description of the new species on the Campbell Ridge Rim indicated possible human-like movement.

He didn’t trust humans. He loathed them.

Kaduntz’s turquoise eyes widened at the mention of humanity. He intended to use her love for mortals to kill them once and for all.

The fact that so many of the AAF had vanished gave him pause.

Maybe they’d returned to Heaven, and maybe they hadn’t. He never underestimated the power of Father or the other superior races within the Universe.

Maybe the prophecy he’d dreaded for thousands of years was coming true. Would the Archangel Michael cast him into the pit? One thousand years chained in the Eternal Darkness was a death sentence for any angel, Fallen or otherwise.

Luc wasn’t going to wait around to find out. Proactive instead of reactive had served him well so far.

Chapter 2

Kaduntz could’ve time walked to Campbell Ridge, but the long flight to Ice Mountain had drained her powers.

She strolled the old highway trails with Shadow at her side.

Alone in her thoughts, she remembered the day signaling the end of the last era.

At first, the tremors had been faint but grew stronger, releasing a swarm of quakes before the cataclysmic supervolcano erupted in North America. The force of the blast spewed rock, ash, and about a million tons of sulfur dioxide gas into the atmosphere. Over one hundred thousand humans died instantly, along with animal and plant life. Layers of molten ash spread over thousands of miles, eventually blocking out the sun.

Summer turned into the long winter lasting more than a decade. Food shortages resulted in widespread famine. Humanity hadn’t fared well. Looting and riots killed more humans than even The Creator predicted.

Then the pandemic claimed the remaining humans on the planet.

As the Angel Watcher commander, she’d been in charge of protecting humanity. Watching and knowing the healers could do nothing to stop humanity’s demise utterly devastated Kaduntz, leaving her heartbroken.

The Angel of Destruction had released the four horsemen.

The age-old prophecies had come to fruition.

Years, then decades passed. Buildings, homes, and many ancient structures crumbled without humans. The seeds of destruction continued to spread. Meetinghouses around the world sat vacantly, consumed by greenery, ravaged by the elements and the passage of time. Whole cities and communities disappeared, consumed by enormous sandstorms similar to previous ancient civilizations and cultures.

The age of humanity ended.

A winged horse appeared in a nearby open meadow.

With a raised brow, Kaduntz asked, “Did you call Moonsilver?”

Shadow nodded. “You know that I read your thoughts. It’s not good to relive the chaos of the last days. There was nothing you could do to prevent it. And, there’s a chance some humans survived, but I don’t trust Uriel’s mission. Something stinks, and it’s not my ass.”

She laughed, then called out, “Hello, Moonsilver, I welcome your strength and speed, old friend.”

The magical winged creature wasn’t a unicorn or a Pegasus but could shift between a horse, oxen, or lion. He had great wisdom with the ability to distinguish right from wrong. He and Shadow always had her back, and she had theirs.

In his winged horse form, Moonsilver knelt, and she mounted him.

The trio traveled in the dead of night with the brilliant light from Moonsilver’s horn guiding the way to their destination. Shadow flew slightly behind.

The sun topped the ridge with warm pinks, reds, and violets spreading across the horizon as they arrived. Each sunrise held a promise of hope for a better day than the one before.

Campbell Ridge burst with new life as they descended to the ground.

The Earth was well on its way to a full recovery on this part of the continent.

The tree nymphs nodded a greeting with the sway of their branches. Kaduntz nodded then strolled through the field bursting with blooms and incredible scents from purple sage, wild daisies, and sweet William making her sensitive sensory receptors work overtime.

The Ellauroa’s iridescent wings shimmered with a kaleidoscope of colors. The local faeries hadn’t descended from the Seelie or the Unseelie, but from The Great Mother, Sophia—a separate species exclusive to North America. They went underground before the supervolcano erupted. They protected nature and meant no harm to humanity, but humanity had proved harmful to them, nearly wiping them out of existence in the early twenty-first century. They had survived and seemed thriving with numbers.

“Hello, Kaduntz.” Queen Ellen waved. She morphed from a tiny faery to a height of an average five-foot mortal. “I’ve not seen you in many, many years.” Her long white hair billowed in the gentle breeze, her skin the palest of peaches with lips the color of dark coral. She never aged once reaching maturity. Her voice had a singsong quality that could weave potent magical spells.

“Your Highness.” Kaduntz bowed. “You’re looking well, and I must say, the ridge is more beautiful than I remember.”

The compliment made the faeries’ wings shimmer with dazzling colors across the meadow. One Ellauroa held a small voice like a faint whisper, but a field of Ellauroa with superior musical minds created a transcendental tune, both spiritual and magical, making Kaduntz lift her own voice for the first time since leaving Heaven.

“Thank you, Angel Watcher. Your song is a first for our ears, and a gift we will treasure forever.” Queen Ellen asked, “You seek the humangel?”

“Do you mean humans?”

Giggles erupted from the fae.

Queen Ellen’s long white lashes lowered, and her cheeks blushed pink. She looked up and said, “Aye, a handsome humangel, fierce yet kind, and respectful to nature. He checks on us and the other species on the ridge often. He is brave and loyal too.” Her wings fluttered as she pointed toward Campbell Ridge. “He disappears in there.”

The Ellauroa vanished from sight.

Shadow lifted his head and sniffed. “I smell human—hybrids.”

“Angel hybrids? Leeel’s descendants, perhaps? Humangel. Ah,—human-angel.”

“My keen sense of smell doesn’t differentiate DNA. However, a small one is close. He’s hiding, but he sees us.”

“Look,” Kaduntz said, “the remnants of an old asphalt road.” She flew toward the flowering tree branches, which formed an elegant archway as if a gardener used the art of pleaching. A sure sign someone else lived in this part of the woods. “The Ellauroa could’ve braided the archways.”

“Don’t think so.” Shadow shook his head. “Let’s follow the stone pathway. The scent is getting stronger.”

Moonsilver flew ahead and stopped at the end of the road.

“Could it be? Oh, Shadow, maybe some of the humans survived.” Kaduntz didn’t want to get too hopeful.

“You’re not supposed to engage, but a boy hides near the stone gateway.” Shadow sat on the lush grass, then stretched out his front legs and yawned.

“We’ll approach slowly, not to scare him away.” She looked at him. “Shadow, you coming with me or staying here? I must try and talk to him. There must be others.”

“We don’t know if it’s friendly or hostile, but Moonsilver isn’t afraid. His horn points to the boy’s location; however, the child is frightened.”

She approached with her hands held high above her head. “Do not be afraid, boy. I am here to help you.”

The boy jumped from one of the lower braided branches. His eyes widened. He wore a straw hat, a loose-fitting shirt with a standing collar buttoned partially to the chest, and a pair of canvas trousers. He whistled loudly.

Shadow ran to the boy, nudging and licking the boy’s fingers to ease his fears. The boy reached out carefully and was about to rub the Semargl’s ears when a man shouted, “Waulie, don’t touch that varmint. Go through the gate this minute.”

“Varmint?” Shadow grunted. “I beg your pardon.”

The young lad ran through the stone gate and disappeared through pulsating blue light.

Was it a portal?

Kaduntz eyes locked with the greenest eyes she’d ever seen on this planet. He was taller than a mortal, dark-haired, and muscular. And, although she could sense his displeasure, she experienced a funny kind of fluttering in her midsection. The feeling, however odd, spread warmth throughout her body. “I mean you no harm.”

He took two long strides to stand before her. “Luc sent you to spy on us. You’re coming with me. I can’t allow him to find my family.” He shot Shadow a look, and to her disbelief, the beast bowed to him.

“My apologies, Semargl. I didn’t recognize your greatness. Get through the gate.”

“What are you doing, Shadow?”

Shadow looked up at her and smiled. “He’s a descendant of Leeel. He’s a hybrid warrior.” He raced through the gate, and Moonsilver followed, disappearing into the glimmering light.

“You’re related to the Glenns of Campbell Ridge?”

“We don’t have time to talk. We have exactly one minute to get through the gate unnoticed.” He grabbed her arm. “Luc has more spies than you. Move it.”

The touch of his hand sent a jolt of electricity through her whole being, releasing an incredible scent through her pores. Confused, she jerked out of his grasp. “How dare you treat me so disrespectfully.”

“Angel Watcher, you ain’t seen disrespect, yet. Now get your fine ass through that portal. We’ll talk on the other side!”

Fuming, and grudgingly flattered, she reluctantly followed him through the humming cobalt light. He walked around her, then extended his hands outward as a divine wall of magic sealed the gate and the archway from view.

“Who the blooming hell are you?” she asked.

The Keepers of the Sacred Law flew low over the meadow of Campbell Ridge. They swooped as Kaduntz and the magical creatures entered the braided archway. Anoth glided to the other side of the covered road and materialized, followed by Oglaren and Arnorag.

“Kaduntz is gone,” Oglaren said in apparent amazement.

Arnorag ran through the archway, searching for an opening.

“They’re not here.” Anoth scratched his cheek. “They used magic. There’s more afoot than Luc mentioned. Let’s get settled on the ridge. We will wait and watch.”

“It’s not magic, my lord. It is The Creator. Look, the sign of the Trinity.” Oglaren pointed to the Triquetra knot carved in the stone gate as it faded from sight.

“The war isn’t over.” Arnorag’s voice quivered.

“We will not report to Luc. The Creator is our master.” Anoth crossed his arms. “We’ll wait until the Trinity sends further instructions.”

Chapter 3

Cord glanced at the stunning Angel Watcher. Every nerve within him bounced.

A fine-looking warrior to be sure, but it was her strength, vitality, and exceptional beauty that kicked him hard in the place under his left rib. He knew with one glimpse of her turquoise eyes and short spiked platinum hair, she was the one from his dreams, his pairing partner, but that was a conversation he’d revisit later.

“You didn’t meet with Uriel at Ice Mountain.” He swallowed hard. “Luc manifested himself to resemble the archangel.”

“How do you know me?”

“My name is Cord Jackson, and Leeel was my great-great-grandmother.” Approaching the fortress wall, Cord pounded on the next gate door. “It’s a long story, and I have instructions to take you to GrandPap.”

“And pray tell, who is GrandPap?”

“Joseph Jackson, my grandfather. Ruby and Reed’s son.”

Cord pushed open the gate, and Kaduntz’s mouth gaped. Her eyes widened.

Transporting from the existing Earth plane and crossing into their parallel world was reminiscent of leaving the black and white version of Kansas and entering Oz, the place in that film GrandPap played for the children during the summer solstice.

Cord placed his hand gently on her forearm. “Are you okay?”

Tears brimmed in Kaduntz’s eyes, and she blinked them away. “I’m sorry, I never thought I would see Fifth Heaven again.”

He grinned. “This isn’t Fifth Heaven. It’s Everglade.”

She didn’t move. Her gaze started at one end of town and followed it through to the other end, resting on their ancestral family home sitting on a hill overlooking a pond. Red, pink, and yellow rose bushes sprinkled throughout the front yard along with Japanese elm trees shaped like large umbrellas with oval-shaped leaves and serrated edges planted by his great-great-grandfather, Harry. Honeysuckle and wild roses climbed over the fencerows next to the red barn.

He took her hand. She looked at him. He wanted to take Kaduntz in his arms and kiss her. In front of the whole town, he didn’t care. The need to feel her lips against his was powerful.

“Do I know you, Cord? I suddenly feel a wave of déjà vu.”

“Yeah, I get that sometimes too.” He’d give Kaduntz time to acclimate after speaking with GrandPap. But then, he had to tell her. Did she feel the same connection, the same link pulling them together like gravity?

And Luc, the devious dragon, had an inkling humanity survived, albeit tweaked with angel DNA. He had come to Cord in his dreams. A reckoning was imminent.

The residents of Everglade, along with the warrior angels, would have to set up a meeting in the barn and devise a plan to protect the outer ridge and their inner sanctum.

What Luc didn’t know—the people in town were hybrids: half-angel, half-mortal, given another chance by the Trinity. All had lethal weapons created to fight against Luc’s tyranny of destruction.

“Angels live in the open here?” she asked.

“Yes, they do. Angels aren’t just guardians any longer. They’re family. We’re creating a new world, a new Jerusalem.”

“Oh, I love the sound of that.”

He and Kaduntz walked down the streets of Everglade, passing homes and small businesses. No motor vehicle pollution, no utility lines, just clean, fresh air. No need for currency, the town used the barter system, and the Trinity’s energy used within the community caused no harm to the environment.

Children ran and played tag without fear because evil did not exist within this parallel world.

“Shadow’s found a new friend,” Kaduntz said with a hint of amusement.

The Semargl chummed with his female foxhound. Oh, that was sort of wrong and a little right on many levels. “That’s my dog, Trixie.”

“Shadow looks happy.” Kaduntz chuckled. “I think he’s laughing. I’ve never seen him interact with canine breeds.”

He tried to read her thoughts, but she blocked him.

“I don’t know you well enough, Cord, to allow you into my thoughts.” She smiled.

“Point taken.”

At the end of the street, GrandPap sat in his rocking chair on the white-painted porch. Scented geraniums mixed with bright yellow chrysanthemums overflowed in big clay pots. He whistled an old tune from a bygone era. They had saved many of the electronic devices during the formation of the parallel town. Listening and dancing to music in the evenings after dinner was a favorite pastime and a builder of community spirit.

“Hello, boy. You brought me a visitor.” GrandPap didn’t stand but stopped rocking.

“GrandPap, this is Kaduntz.”

“Kaduntz, I’ve been waiting a long time for you to arrive.” GrandPap said, “Yeah, I’m blind as a bat, but I still see.” He motioned to the chair. “Take a load off.”

“I remember you, Little Joe. Are any of the others still alive?” she asked.

“Aw, I haven’t been called that in decades,” he paused then said, “From my time, you mean? Nope, I’m the only one left. I visit them often, though, on the other side.” He chuckled. “I guess my time’s a-comin’, but I ain’t in no hurry to get there. Cord, did you ask if our guest would like some refreshment?”

“Um, no. We just got here.”

“I’m fine.” Kaduntz waved her hand. “So, I’m anxious to know how you survived, and how this place exists, and how I didn’t know Luc impersonated Uriel.”

“That ole cunning devil’s been up to some new tricks.” Grandpa slapped his knee. With a thick Southern drawl, he said, “The AAF did a sting operation and found numerous spies within our camp before we worked with The Creator to extend Campbell Ridge into this parallel plane. Luc’s power has increased exponentially with every human he killed, every angel, and angel watcher he took prisoner. He knows we’re still here, but he doesn’t know how to get to us. That’s why he sent you.”

“Kaduntz, would you mind stepping inside the house?” Cord asked. “We need to check you for nanochips. Shadow and Moonsilver are clean.”

She withdrew her sword and pointed it to his chest. “You are not checking me. Is there a female about?”

Erinelle magically appeared and threw her arms around Kaduntz in an embrace. “I’m glad you’re here, sister. I’ll check you for tracking devices, and then I have a surprise for you.” She pushed the red front door open of the two-story brick house. “After you.”

The two angels entered, leaving Cord alone with his grandfather.

“So, she’s the one?” GrandPap asked.

“Yeah, she’s the one. I knew her the moment we looked into each other’s eyes. My pairing scent released and initiated the bond. I’m not sure it was reciprocal, but it nearly knocked me to the dirt. Waulie around?”

“Sit, son. Waulie doesn’t need discipline. He’s a seer too. You’ll need him when I’m gone.”

“GrandPap, I worry about Waulie. He is so quiet and doesn’t interact with others his age. I miss our parents.”

“You don’t need to worry about Waulie. And I miss your parents too. I miss your grandmother something fierce. You know, son, it was their sacrifice that made our new home possible. One day, we’ll see them again. There’s no time limit on grieving. Just try living each day to its fullest, and you’ll have few regrets, dear boy.”

“Do you think I should tell Kaduntz of my dreams?”

GrandPap exhaled. “When you go telling Kaduntz your dreams and professing love, and giving her your heart, be patient. Females need to think everything is their idea. And I’m pretty sure she felt the link.” GrandPap snickered. “She’s an ancient one cast here from the beginning. She’s been fighting so long and hard she’s lost the ability to notice true love even when it smacks her in the face. The Creator is giving you both an opportunity at a new life, without Luc.”

“Are you sure Luc can’t penetrate the portal?”

“Oh, he’ll try—one day. We must protect the ridge perimeters and nature’s spirits. It is our responsibility. But for now, once Erinelle catches Kaduntz up to speed, you may take her to the cave. She deserves to rest for a spell. She’s wandered many seasons alone. You have a big block of ice to chip away from her heart.”

Within a minute or two, GrandPap snored while Cord waited for Kaduntz to come back.

Kaduntz.

The moment Cord locked eyes with her, he was home, in his heart and his soul. The touch of her hand had his heart beating out of his chest. His racing pulse made him dizzy, and his legs weak. And it felt like a stone plummeted to the pit of his stomach. He knew he had to pair with her soon, to touch her satiny skin, to plunge himself deep inside her and complete the pairing link, or he’d surely die.

Kaduntz is mine.

Cord wanted to know everything about her. He wanted her to know everything about him. Share each other’s secrets, sorrows, joys, and yes, even the pain she held in those incredibly beautiful azure eyes.

He glanced at the door, waiting for one glimpse of her face.

Oh, the love’s fool he’d gladly play.

He had joked with his friends when they linked to their pairing partners, but he wasn’t laughing now.

Cord was thankful golden sparkles of angel dust hadn’t released, and the love angels didn’t suddenly appear playing golden harps with the music theme from Love Story, a movie released over a hundred years ago. The love angels loved that ditty.

The touch of her hand released such a desire he had to fight to contain it.

Cord Jackson, the no-nonsense, seasoned warrior, had fallen in love, and there wasn’t a dad-blame thing he could do about it.

Kaduntz was a warrior angel of the ages and not just any warrior, but the leader of the Angel Watchers. Heck, they sang songs about her.

Who knew she’d be the one?

The Spirit knew, and she had come to him in his dreams. He had traveled on the multicolored threads of light to the room with crimson curtains that opened to a thousand flickering candles, and a gossamer screen played movies of the future in his head.

That was where Cord had first seen Kaduntz, but he hadn’t known her angel status in the hierarchy or even entertained the possibility the Angel Watcher would be his pairing partner for eternity.

Would she accept him?

His AAF warrior guardian, Sariel, appeared. He had been with Cord since birth. Each citizen of Everglade had a warrior angel serving as guardian, protector, teacher, and healer.

Cord glanced at GrandPap. He could sleep through an earthquake.

“Kaduntz will expect strength from her pairing partner.” Sariel stepped forward. “You will prove your worth to her.”

“Will she want me? Why didn’t she sense the bond link? Is it because I’m a half-breed?” Cord paced up and down the front porch.

“Get a grip, Cord. You are her match in every way.”

“What’s taking Erinelle so long?”

“You’ve spent your life protecting the ridge. You trained the people of the town, including the children, and helped each one to realize their unique ability and divine gifts to help us fight in the continuing angelic conflict with Luc and the Army of the Fallen. I am proud to stand with you.”

“If Luc comes looking for Kaduntz, the nature spirits will be vulnerable to an attack. Damn it, Sariel. I don’t have the time to fall in love. What am I thinking?”

Kaduntz.

Her lovely scent lingered in the air consuming him with desire, with a binding love for her, and he had just met her.

Cord rubbed his hands over his face in frustration.

Sariel lightly touched his shoulder, easing his anxiety. “After the pandemic, many of the Angel Watchers joined the ranks of the AAF. They had all been accounted for except Kaduntz. She’d disappeared once the wide-spread virus wiped out the mortals’ existence on the planet. She suffered because she felt responsible for humanity's extinction. Riddled with guilt, she disappeared until now. You will help her in many ways, Cord.”

“Kaduntz is a freaking legend, for crying out loud. How will I help her?”

“Your love, of course. If Luc hadn’t impersonated Uriel, the AAF might have never found her, and now it’s your job to protect her from Luc.”

He squared his broad shoulders. “I will protect Kaduntz with my last breath.”

Chapter 4

Inside the house, Kaduntz clasped Erinelle’s hand. “Tabris? Is he—is he?”

“He lives. He is fine. He should arrive by nightfall, and you ruined my surprise. I summoned Michael as soon as you crossed into Everglade. He will want a full report of your meeting with Luc.”

“How didn’t I sense Luc?” Kaduntz walked into the great room with a large stone fireplace, dark red leather couch and chair, and wood-hewn side tables. Large windows overlooked the back of the farm.

“From our intel, he’s created a type of second skin that uses chemicals undetected by even The Creator. He has avatars dispatched across the globe. The time is near to capture him and place him in prison, chained for a millennium. The Creator still doesn’t want to kill him.”

“Why for heaven's sake? The last time I stepped foot in this house was when we organized the search and rescue mission for Sandy Cothran. She and Baldric paired and caused a great stink, as I remember. And now, it’s the norm.”

“Sandy’s descendants live here too. Why did you distance yourself from the angels?”

“I couldn’t stop it, none of it. The helplessness of watching the era come to an end weighed me down. I needed distance. I was angry and sad. The Creator sent me to protect His people. Humanity died out. I wasn’t worthy to serve as the leader. And there is no need for Angel Watchers since humanity is gone. I failed.”

Erinelle touched her shoulder, then pointed at a wall of photographs dating back seven generations. “You’re wrong. Humanity has evolved, and we are still watching.”

Kaduntz stepped to the wall of photos, recalling the fond memories of meeting the feisty girls from the 1970s. “Cord is Ruby’s great-grandson?”

“First, I must check to make sure no tracking device is on you or your gear.”

“Geesh, I assure you, if someone tried to place a device on or in me, they would’ve died. But check away.” Kaduntz extended her arms outward, and Erinelle ran her hands over the front and back before looking inside her weapons bag.

“We can’t be too careful. Luc took several of the Ellauroa prisoners. They didn’t survive his interrogations.”

“I’m going to kill that bastard one day. Shadow warned me, and I sensed the evil within Ice Mountain. I assumed it was the Fallen prisoners.” She stepped into the bright yellow kitchen. The feeling of love in the house nearly brought her to tears again. “Something is wrong with me. I keep crying. When I met Cord, it released a scent from Fifth Heaven, then when we entered Everglade, I cried, and now I’m crying again. I don’t cry. What’s happening to me?” She plopped into one of the walnut kitchen chairs.

“Hm. Um. I don’t know how to tell you.”

“Spit it out, Erinelle.”

“My instincts tell me you and Cord initiated pairing partner links. Your scent nearly took the top of my head off.”

Kaduntz pushed away from the table, knocking the chair against the white kitchen cabinets. “There’s no way.” She threaded her fingers through her hair. “I know it happens, but Erinelle, at my age? How can this be? Does he know?” She leaned against the cabinets, gripping the lip of the counter.

“You’re acting like a schoolgirl,” Erinelle said. “The only time it happened to me was with he who has no name. Do I know how to pick ’em or what? Luc used me, then threw me away, so I’m not the best judge of character on relationships or pairing links.”

“Luc set me up too,” Kaduntz said. “He’ll come looking for me if I don’t go back with a report, which places the Ellauroa and other species on the ridge in danger. We must protect them.”

“Your army joined the AAF. We’re aware of Luc’s design on the Ellauroa and Campbell Ridge. Thane—you remember Joe’s warrior guardian—spotted the Keepers of the Law after you entered the gateway. We’ll send an AAF team out in the morning, but tonight, we celebrate. My sister from Fifth Heaven has returned.”

“We—as in?”

“Everglade and its angels are planning a feast. Tabris is coming along with Michael. Music and dancing. You deserve a little libation after enduring decades of drudgery. Give Cord a chance too. Pairing is a gift from The Creator.”

“Tabris. My little brother? Oh, I can’t believe it. I’m a bit overwhelmed. I’m not used to social interactions, feasts, or celebrations. Those are trifle events that have no meaning to me.”

“You have given so much. Enjoy the evening. We will plan Campbell Ridge’s defense in the morning.” Erinelle said, “Upstairs, I left clothes and a tub of hot water. The luxuries are as plentiful as before the eruption here. We are blessed with good friends and family. Sometimes, you need love and fun. This is your time. Oh, and Cord is waiting for you on the porch.”

She vanished, leaving Kaduntz alone.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

Luc had been the only angel interested in her in Fifth Heaven, but she hadn’t fallen for his charms. She had empathic resonance detecting the good souls from the bad ones. Cord touched her on a level that none other ever had, and it made her nervous. She was a warrior. She fought demons. She didn’t have time for relationships, much less love.

Against her better judgment, she crept into the front room and peered out the window. Cord locked eyes with her again, and she quickly closed the curtains, then pressed her back to the wall. Physical battles were much easier for her than emotional ones.

After bathing, Kaduntz looked at the clothes on the bed. She rolled her eyes. “Saints preserve me.” She hadn’t worn a dress in over ten thousand years. She went back into the bathroom to grab her warrior garments, but they had vanished.

Someone took her clothes.

Well, it would serve them right if she strode outside bare-ass-naked.

The thing that she assumed was the pairing link grew inside of her, and coursed through her veins like warm honey on a summer night. She had an overpowering desire to make Cord hers, and not in a gentle way either. She wanted to take him hard and fast to satisfy a need so deep in her that it was difficult to understand.

She put on the dress.

She glanced down at the matching sandals with diamond embellishments and shook her head. Looking in the mirror at her reflection was like looking at a different person.

She looked like a girl.

Erinelle must be living vicariously through Kaduntz’s linking experience.

Walking down the stairs, Kaduntz’s heart rhythm increased. Her ears throbbed, and the weird feeling was back in her midsection. Her hands trembled. She sensed Cord at the door, and then she stepped onto the porch.

Cord stumbled back, his eyes widening. The vein in his throat pulsed. She wanted to lick it. Great day in the morning, his dark eyes seemed to turn golden.

“Would you care to walk with me?” He pointed toward the west. “I want to show you the Campbell Ridge Cave, where my family met our angels.”

She glanced at GrandPap. He feigned sleep, but she saw the corners of his lips curve up. Was this a conspiracy? Did everyone know about Cord and her?

“I’ve heard of the cave, and I’d love to see it.”

Thankfully, the path to the cave didn’t go through town. The fluttering spring leaves from the tree nymphs encouraged her.

A calmness swept over her.

The magical connection to Cord grew with her every step.

The sadness and guilt that had been her constant companion gave way to lightheartedness.

Happiness engulfed her as he relayed the family history from Leeel passed down through the generations to him. She knew their history, but she loved the deep baritone of his voice.

Did he sing?

“I do sing. I write music and lyrics too. Would you like to hear one?”

“You read my mind?”

He chuckled. “You didn’t block me this time.”

Releasing a sigh, she said, “I’d love to hear you sing.”

“My love is an angel, strong and true.

I see much more than her eyes so blue.

A kind, yet fearsome warrior in need of rest,

Please take the time to savor life’s best.

My love is an angel shining like the sun.

My love is an angel in need of some fun.”

“Cord Jackson, you have a gift. Did you make up the lyrics and tune?”

“You inspire me. We all have jobs left to do on the planet, but it doesn’t mean we can’t savor precious moments to laugh, love, and live.” He jumped on a tree stump and spread his arms. “This place, you and me, the air we breathe, the sun and sky are all gifts.”

She clapped her hands. “I agree. Thank you for reminding me.”

He hopped back to the ground, then swooped his arm around her waist. “Don’t you feel the link? It isn’t just me, is it?”

“I feel it. But you must understand, I’m old.” The palm of her hand caressed his cheek. “I never expected to experience linking to my pairing partner. I gave up on that idea thousands of years ago.”

“For the record, you’re not old.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss on her neck. “Beautiful, most definitely, but not old.”

At the entrance of the cave, Kaduntz’s heart soared. “Is this a portal to Fifth Heaven?”

“It’s a portal to the In-Between. It’s where everyone in my family met their warrior guardian for the first time.” He helped her over the stream.

The Triquetra knot glowed from the center point at the top of the cave entrance.

He sat on a rock ledge, and she joined him.

“In the beginning, Adam and Eve weren’t mortal.” She took his hands into hers. “They were like you and the others in Everglade. Except they lived in paradise. I visited with them for many years.”

“They lived in harmony with the other magical creatures,” she sighed then continued, “The lion lay with the lamb, so to speak. Until the day Luc misled Eve. He twisted the words of The Creator. She fell for his lies.” Kaduntz ran her fingers through her short hair.

“There’s a river that runs from the tree of life. It’s where humans got the idea of rebirth,” she said. “Any mortal who plunges into the river comes out cleansed without any memory of past deeds. The Creator didn’t want to take the chance of Adam and Eve finding it, so he placed them on the opposite side, to a vast barren land. He closed off the entrance to paradise, forever.”

“I led Adam and Eve to the Cave of Treasures. I left supplies for them, and when I returned,” she said, “I found them dead. I cried out to the Prince who breathed life back into them. The caves throughout the world became portals, but both sides of the angelic war access them. Are you sure the gateway to Campbell Ridge Cave is secure?”

He took her hand, his fingers gently rubbing the delicate skin between her forefinger and thumb. “It is secure. The town is safe, but not the outer rim of Campbell Ridge. That’s why we send patrols every day.” His striking eyes seemed to reach inside her soul, tugging her heartstrings. “I brought you here to rest and relax. I didn’t mean for you to draw on painful memories.” He reached up and took her face in his hands. He leaned in and whispered, “I only want to bring you joy and happiness.”

Was he going to kiss her?

She’d never been kissed. She didn’t know how and started to panic. She stood abruptly and brushed off the back of her dress. “I’ve had good memories with mortals too.”

“Do I make you nervous?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Very much. I’m a warrior. I fight. I know nothing about whatever this thing is between us. I—”

She started to speak, but he slid his hand to the base of her neck and kissed her. Soft yet demanding, sweet but tangy. She went all jelly on the inside and fell against his muscled chest. She thought she wanted him hard and fast, but she liked slow kissing and matched his gentle pressure igniting a passion that went dormant long ago.

He pulled back slightly and searched her eyes. “I’ve wanted to do that since I met you this morning.”

“Don’t stop on my account.”

His thumbs caressed the hollows of her cheeks. “I want to make love to you. You’re my—”

She pressed her finger to his lips. “I know. I can’t believe after thousands of years, that you’re mine.”

Golden sparkles of angel dust sprinkled down around them like confetti. She heard the music of the love angels. “Oh my goodness, I remember them.”

“They’re going to play the theme from Love Story.” He gave her a sideways grin.

She burst out laughing when she heard the notes. “No way. Love Story?”

“It’s their favorite lately.” He laughed too.

He took her hand, and they ran down the hill through the woods until they lost the little suckers.

In a small clearing next to a large maple tree, Kaduntz doubled over in laughter. “We outran them. I haven’t had that much fun in a hundred years.”

“Shush, they’re still close.” Cord kissed her again, and she placed her hands on his chest, then they eased down onto the lush spring grass.

He took her hand and pressed featherlight kisses on the inside of her wrist, then kissed her palm. “You are good,” she moaned.

He stopped and stared at her. His breathing labored.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I dreamed of this. You here, with me.”

“Am I as good as your dream?” she teased.

His lethal good looks made her chest tighten. He caressed the curve of her cheek with his hand as if she were the most delicate china doll. Cord leaned in and kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, then brushed his lips across hers.

Minutes ticked away as he trailed his fingertips along her throat, down her arms until linking their fingers together.

He pulled back and locked eyes with her. The emotional push and pull between them conveyed so much without one word exchanged verbally, weaving the pairing link together.

Love, she never thought would be reciprocated, spiraled through her core. She’d heard pairing partners had an instantaneous connection, but she’d never believed it, until now. They knew nothing of each other, but their souls connected on a higher plane, beyond any rational explanation.

“You are so much better than a dream.” His voice deepened, with hoarseness, he said, “I know this isn’t poetic, but, Kaduntz, you and I must become one. You are the other half that makes me whole. Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia. Wherever you go, my love, I will follow. I bind myself to thee.”

“Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia. Wherever you go, Cord, I will follow. I bind myself to thee. Take me; make me yours.”

An angel pairing didn’t last a lifetime—angelic pairings lasted an eternity.

“You are a part of my soul,” Cord whispered, “a part of my heart, forever.”

All the past hurts and disappointments in her life vanished, replaced with an abundance of love that overflowed. She closed her eyes for a few seconds to savor the feel of his lips against every intimate part of her body. The touch of his hands created a humming vibration within her.

She ran her hands over his broad chest, his muscular biceps, and his impressive forearms. Clothes quickly slid off, and he joined with her in a most exquisite rhythm — the pounding of her heart, the racing of her pulse with the magic of her first orgasm.

Cord is mine.

Chapter 5

The celebration of Kaduntz and Cord took place in the center of town with music, dancing, loads of laughter, and lots of food. Strings of lights weaved overhead from one side of the street to the other.

One day miraculously changed her life.

Angels and hybrids together. Who knew?

She recognized Uriel, Thane, Luwenia, Simon, and Raphael with Erinelle, mixing it up with the locals.

“I love hearing you laugh.” Cord swept her into a wedding reel, a custom in the new realm of Everglade.

She and Cord danced along the glinting mosaic floor that created a history honoring each family’s generation of hybrids that came before them. Especially the ones who laid down their lives to save each one in attendance.

“You’re a great dancer, Cord Jackson. I feel as though I’m flying.”

He kissed her again. “So are you, my love.”

So many faces and names she couldn’t remember, due to the potent concoction of brew made by GrandPap. She glanced at the older man. She used to call him Little Joe. He had led his people well and trained Cord to be a leader too. Even Waulie, Cord’s younger brother, had the sight, a seer.

Shadow and Trixie curled next to the warming fire, and Moonsilver grazed in the open pastures with the other winged horses and unicorns.

“My pairing partner. I still can’t believe it.” She pressed her cheek against the crook of his neck.

He twirled her again on the crowded dance floor. He showered her with kisses, and she didn’t care who watched. The warrior angels’ and the hybrids’ camaraderie lightened her spirit.

Someone tapped her shoulder, and she turned and screamed, “Tabris? My brother?” She released Cord’s embrace to hug him. “You’re so big and strong.”

“And you’ve paired. Congratulations.” Tabris laughed. “The glittering angel dust is covering everyone.”

She shouted over the crowd noise. “I know, isn’t it grand?” She reached for Cord’s hand. “Tabris, this is Cord.”

“Brother.” Tabris clasped Cord in an embrace.

“It’s good to see you again, Tabris,” Cord replied.

Kaduntz dipped her chin. “You know my brother?”

Cord’s grin went wide. “Very well. He’s one of Everglade’s teachers.”

“A teacher. Ah, that suits you, Tabris. Have you been well? Are you paired?”

“I have paired, and we live here.” He waved and motioned to a tall, dark-haired beauty standing next to the food wagon. She came over and smiled, her cheeks bright red. “Sister, this is Moriah, a descendant of Sandy and Baldric.”

Kaduntz kissed each of Moriah’s cheeks. “You’re with child?”

“Yes, I’m due in another month or so. I’m glad to meet you—finally. Tabris has told me so much about you.”

The ground under their feet shook, and Kaduntz’s sensory receptors went on high alert. “Get the women and children to shelter, Cord.”

“Excuse me, love.” He turned from Kaduntz and addressed Tabris. “You know the drill.” Cord scaled the stone wall next to the church. He shouted to the crowd, “Calmly move the children and elderly to the basement of the church. Warrior teams, go to your respective units, grab your weapons, and meet me back here in five minutes.”

Michael, the AAF commander, materialized with the Keepers of the Sacred Law. “Anoth has something to tell you.”

Anoth stepped forward and said, “My brothers and I were summoned by Luc and requested to follow you here, Kaduntz. He feared for your safety and the potential threat from a new breed of superhumans. We followed, and upon arriving learned the superhumans were angel hybrids created by the Trinity. We didn’t report back to Luc. With a legion of the Fallen, Luc has pushed the Ellauroa into the forest. He demands entrance through the stone gate. Queen Ellen denied knowledge on how to open the door, and her warriors are near a breaking point.”

“We must protect them.” Cord frowned. “We’ll use the tunnel system.”

“What tunnel system?” Kaduntz asked.

“Under Everglade is a sophisticated tunnel system and home to our state-of-the-art command center with weaponry and intelligence supplied by the Trinity. We work with the AAF. It’s around one thousand feet underground and protected by supernatural shields held in place by The Creator Himself. We have entry points positioned in strategic areas of the forest. We’ll break into units and route the Ellauroa through the portal.”

Tabris held Moriah’s hand when he said to Cord, “You risk the parallel universe we live in.”

Kaduntz stepped forward. “There’s not a choice. We must reroute the Ellauroa to safety. Otherwise, they’re doomed. We’ll attack the Fallen in the forest. Luc won’t sacrifice himself to save his army. But if we capture him, we can finally chain him to the pits of Hell once and for all.”

GrandPap stood. “It’s time to enter the world again and take our rightful place among the magical creatures and the nature spirits.”

Anoth squared his shoulders. “We will call on the Heraldic animals, the Griffons, Centaurs, Harpies, and even Hydra, the seven-headed dragon, if necessary. We will find you in the forest.”

Anoth, Oglaren, and Arnorag shifted into crows and vanished.

Shadow howled. “We go with the crows.”

He and Moonsilver dematerialized too.

“Hurry, to the house for our warrior gear.” Cord held Kaduntz’s hand, and they teleported inside the house. Each went to their respective rooms to dress for battle and met at the front door.

“He’s looking for me, Cord. If something happens to the Ellauroa, I’ll never forgive myself. I let myself get caught up in a beautiful dream, and it may cost lives.”

He gripped her upper arms. “We’re not going to discuss defeat, do you understand? You and I, we’re a team from here to eternity. No matter the cost. Are we clear?”

She nodded and grabbed his right hand. “Guide me to the tunnels.”

Chapter 6

The command center and underground tunnels were impressive at eighty-five feet wide and twelve feet tall with reinforced walls two feet thick made with materials, not from this world. The ramped tunnel roads veered off in three directions. Around two hundred and fifty warrior angels and hybrids waited for instructions from the Archangel Michael from the nerve center, which transmitted directives to and from the In-Between’s AAF headquarters.

Michael walked to the wall surveillance screen and marked several areas on the holographic imaging. “We have several legions with Uriel waiting to descend on Campbell Ridge. Luc has forced the Ellauroa into the forest, but the nature spirits, the Heraldic animals, and tree nymphs are shielding them.”

He turned to the warriors. “Shadow sniffed out a tracking nanochip on Anoth before they moved our forces in and surrounded the area. Without Luc’s knowledge, we infiltrated Ice Mountain. We will sever his communications to his generals once we begin engaging the enemy. The Trinity has requested we capture Luc alive, and only use deadly force if necessary. The Army of the Fallen will crumble without Luc’s vast communication systems.”

Kaduntz could barely contain her excitement at the thought of finally capturing the Morning Star and bringing him to justice. Cord linked fingers with her. His facial expression was grim.

Michael looked at Cord and Kaduntz. “Take the north tunnel into the forest and redirect the Ellauroa back through the portal and into the parallel town of Everglade. Queen Ellen must be protected, or their species will die without her. Go, now, and we’ll only engage in telepathic communications. Once the queen is safe within the portal, then Cord may contact the nerve center.”

Kaduntz and Cord moved out with one hundred warrior angels and hybrids. An eternal blue light from the Trinity lit the tunnel road. Within thirty minutes, they reached the surface door. Cord turned to her. “If we get split up, don’t do anything too heroic. I just found you.”

She pulled the divine shield from her back and unsheathed her sword. “Right back at you.”

He motioned to the unit to move out.

The forest canopy took on a surreal, magical quality. Kaduntz instantly connected with creatures not seen in thousands of years who remained hidden within its lush folds of greenery. No sound from any living creature, nor animal or fowl.

The deathly silence made the hair on her neck rise from an ominous presence.

She tapped her sword on Cord’s shoulder, breaching his mind with her thought. It’s a trap.

The thought had barely escaped her mind when the Army of the Fallen attacked.

She fought with her sword. Blade clashed on blade against the demons.

War never changed. Battles fought on both sides drew heavy losses.

Blood and sweat poured in her eyes.

She forged onto the marked area she memorized on the command center’s map. She had to save the queen. Where was Cord? She couldn’t find him, and that filled her with a sinking dread.

Lightning bolts overhead crackled across the gloomy sky.

Dark entities within the forest spread venomous spells laced with negative energy.

Kaduntz lifted her voice and sang the undecipherable angelic song calling on Michael and other warrior angels for help.

Many of her unit fell to their deaths, their spirits turning into crystalized mist ascending to Heaven for rebirth.

She was outnumbered.

She looked up to pray to The Creator.

Shadow flew in, bringing a Heraldic Animal Army with him. He tore the enemy’s heads off with his ferocious teeth.

Thank the Trinity!

The roar of battle rang in her ears. The carnage was brutal.

She pushed all thoughts of Cord to the recesses of her mind. She had to protect Queen Ellen to save the rare fae species, or they would die without her. Then Kaduntz would find Cord.

Fire and smoke blurred her vision.

A White Hart appeared sending telepathic messages to Kaduntz on the Ellauroa’s location. Queen Ellen and her people had sought safety in the shelter of a grand white oak.

Kaduntz flew toward the tree, severing demons from nose to navel along the way.

The battle ended as fast as it had begun.

Landing on the ground, Kaduntz lost her breath.

Cord lay lifeless near the oak tree, blood pouring from a mortal wound to his chest.

She cried so loudly the tree nymphs shook with fear. She ran over and dropped to her knees. She drew him into her arms, a red stain spreading between them.

The Ellauroa came out of the tree and started chanting: Heal the man, heal the angel, heal the man-angel, Heal the man, heal the angel, heal the man-angel over and over again.

Moonsilver approached with Shadow.

Shadow nudged her shoulder. “Place Cord on the ground.”

“No, he’s mine. You can’t take him.” Her words came out choppy and coarse, her heart ripping into shreds.

Shadow growled, and she released Cord reluctantly, her beautiful pairing partner’s face pale.

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

Moonsilver knelt next to Cord and placed its horn on the mortal wound, and a blue-green light radiated from the beast to her partner.

Time stilled.

No ticking of Earth’s clock.

No sounds in the forest.

Cord gasped for air and bolted upright.

Kaduntz clapped her hands, then drew him to her chest again. “Are you alive?”

Slow rumbling laughter rolled deep out of his chest. “I will be if you stop squeezing me to death.”

She released him.

Nature’s spirits, the Heraldic army, and the Ellauroa cheered.

Cord looked at Moonsilver, reached up, and rubbed his muzzle. “I owe you my life.”

Moonsilver shook his head from side to side, then disappeared along with the magical beings, leaving Shadow, Cord, and Kaduntz.

Shadow said, “Luc and his army disappeared when the AAF Legion descended from the sky.”

Cord swiped his hand over his brow. “So, the battle is over?”

Kaduntz kissed him. “For now.”

“Let’s go home,” he said.

Home.

“I have a home?”

“With me, always.”

About D. F. Jones

D. F. Jones began her career as a broadcast consultant at the ABC Affiliate in Nashville, which led her to open an advertising agency over twenty years ago. Writing is a source of creative expression and takes her to a place where anything is possible, and fiction is a place made of dreams.

Her books have garnered attention from 2017 IRC Book Awards for Best Paranormal Romance, 2019 Best Weekly Cover InD’Tale Magazine, and TaleFlick Discovery 2020.

Whether it’s angels, demons, time travel adventures, witches and wizards, or ghosts, her books are action-packed with supernatural, suspense, and romantic elements with Southern flare.

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Dragon Rules by Tia Didmon

Chapter 1

“I claim you. Come with me now.”

Robin choked on the coffee she was sipping but didn’t look up. Well, that’s a new approach. Clearly, the ‘How Not To Pick Up A Woman Handbook’ needs a new entry. She blew on her cup, ignoring the prying eyes of the Colorado Cafe patrons. “I have many admirers, most are eloquent, flattering and sickly sweet. One even wrote me a song. So, your Neanderthal pick up line, although original, is crude in comparison. Move along.”

He cleared his throat. “Do you not know who you are?”

She had to hold back her laugh. “Everyone knows who I am, but you shouldn’t believe everything you read.”

“I have read nothing about you. I saw you for the first time this morning,” he said.

Robin believed him. Her usual repugnance for the opposite sex was failing her. She could convince any man anywhere that swimming naked in a piranha pool was preferable to being around her. At least that’s what one scorned gentleman told her after she’d compared his appearance to a blowfish. She had even suggested a renowned hairstylist counteract the ridiculous spikes in his coif and an excellent plastic surgeon to alleviate the puffed nature of his cheeks. Try as she might, he was not interested in her suggestions. Reminiscing about her fish-faced admirer made her seem disinterested before facing her newest suitor.

He moved in front of her, resting his hands on the empty chair. “Are you going to look up?”

Noting the sheer size of his lower body, Robin contemplated the easiest way to rid herself of the behemoth before her. Her sarcastic tone was in place before she looked up. “Dear God, your mother must have screwed a Clydesdale…” Her brilliant reply died on her lips as she met his bright copper eyes. Her heart squeezed and missed a beat.

What in contemptuous Hell?

She sucked in a breath, holding it in an attempt to bring her body under control. Releasing it sent fire racing through her bloodstream to pool between her legs. Her nipples hardened and peaked so quickly she thought they would slice through the thin lace of her bra. Her womb clenched so violently she had to cross her legs. Static energy crackled along her skin, leaving her scorched. Hot. When she realized control was beyond her grasp, she looked down and pinched her forefinger and thumb to her brow. To any onlooker, she would appear to have a headache. Only she knew her body had betrayed her.

“Are you all right?”

Robin looked up while clearing her throat to cover the effect he was having on her. He was the largest man she had ever seen. His angular features and crystalline metallic eyes were unearthly in beauty. His eyelashes were long and luscious as was his hair. A masculine man shouldn’t be more beautiful than a woman. He was. His large frame was hidden behind a long black leather jacket. That too was classic in style. While the weather was too warm for such a garment, he seemed unaffected. She searched for a reason to hate this guy. A way to save him and herself. Nothing. “Sorry, I’m prone to migraines and you are giving me a headache.”

She watched his eyebrows arch. Yeah, he doesn’t believe me. So what? Pissing me off only makes this easier. “I appreciate your offer, caveman, but I have a boyfriend.”

He glanced at Eddie. “That thing in the corner?”

She pursed her lips to prevent her laughter. It wasn’t what he’d said. It was the tone of his voice. As if her bodyguard was only a bug. “Yes, that’s my fiancé. He may not look like much but he’s a rock star in the bedroom.” I’m going to hell for that one.

“Since your slack-eyed rock star is drooling over a man dressed as a woman, I feel it necessary to offer you a better solution. I offer me.” His voice held no inflection, as if he were stating a fact.

Robin slapped her hand to her mouth to stifle the laugh. She glanced at Eddie to see if her suitor was telling the truth. Eddie was chatting up a yellow chiffon-wearing beauty with an Adam’s apple, and size thirteen shoes. She released her mouth but felt the tears of hilarity resting on her lashes. This brazen man intrigued her. He was the most arrogant bastard she had ever met but her attraction to him bordered on lunacy. It was raw. Powerful. That meant she should get rid of him. Now.

“Let’s go,” he insisted.

Robin laughed. Her facade slipped. She smiled at him in a rare show of real emotion. “Well that explains why your body is bigger than a buffalo. It’s the only way you could contain an ego that size.” She shook her head before her entertainment gave way to suspicion. “Who are you?”

“My name is Ash Rule, and I am your mate.”

“Well, in that case, my name is Robin Dark, and you may refer to me as the one that got away.” She motioned toward Eddie, grabbing his attention.

The hot ones are always crazy. Bummer.

She sighed. Part of her wondered if living with Ash’s delusion would be worse than her future with Samuel.

Doubt it.

“You should not have done that. It will change nothing,” Ash growled as Eddie approached the table in the middle of the cafe.

“Problem, sweetheart?” Eddie asked as he gave Ash his meanest look.

Robin had always found Eddie to be intimidating. Now, he looked like a Siamese cat staring down a mountain lion. Ash looked murderous.

“No problem, Eddie. Ash was just leaving.” She turned her back to the large man, pretending to look for her phone in her purse.

“Is that what you want?”

She glanced over her shoulder, and scrunched her eyes. “Yes.”

Ash had waited over a thousand years for a lie. He almost felt sorry for her as he watched her trying to overcome the mental turmoil, but his had been worse. He was barely in control. His beast fought to be unleashed, wanting its mate’s admiration, never considering she was likely to run screaming from the creature that shouldn’t exist. He had forgotten how vain his dragon could be as he watched his chosen mate struggle.

She hunched over the table. Ribbons of glossy blond hair rippled like waves to her narrow hips. Her thin white T-shirt did nothing to camouflage her full breasts or the erect peaks adorning them. The combination of her short top and low fitting jeans left her narrow ribcage and flat stomach exposed. He had plans for the silver ring adorned with a single crystal that hung from her bellybutton. While he could see her frustration, he couldn’t read her mind. Yet.

When he had seen her that morning, he’d thought she was an apparition. An angel lost in time. While humans wouldn’t notice the subtle differences in her race, he’d felt his soul cry out, begging for the union he had endured centuries for. He’d been unprepared for the return of his libido.

Want. Lust. Passion.

He’d been so overwhelmed it’d forced him to sit on the ground and watch her run by. When the necessity to possess her became dominant, he had gone after her and had watched her ever since.

“Move along, dickhead,” Eddie snapped.

Ash had forgotten the insect she had guarding her. “And if I don’t?”

Robin looked around the room, concern for the other patrons clear on her face. “You need to go.”

Her soft words ignited a fire in his chest. His animal raged below the surface, eager for a confrontation with the bodyguard. Fighting for the right to mate was a primal instinct. Scales slid beneath his skin. Claws pierced the ends of his fingers. He looked around. There were too many people. If he shifted, he would take out the entire building, putting his own mate at risk.

He saw her frown. Uncertain. Concerned. He wanted to comfort her. Reassure her. He reached out, stopping when he saw her eyes widen in fear. Had she seen the beast within? Did she know what he was? Who she was to him? He retracted his hand, acknowledging the mistake he had almost made. He would lose control if he touched her.

Ash would have to gain her at a later date. His dragon sent vivid images of what it would like to do to the man standing in his way. While Robin’s body recognized him, it was clear that her mind did not. Despite this unalterable fact, he felt thwarted. He did not like the feeling and intended to rectify the situation soon. In his long life, no one had gotten the better of him. Especially not some little girl who did not understand the endowment she would receive.

The bodyguard shifted his stance. Ash was close to a physical altercation. Since that would end with his dragon swallowing Eddie whole, he diffused the situation. “If you tell me to leave, I will.”

She looked away. “Go.”

He waited for her to meet his metallic gaze. “See you soon, little bird.” He strode toward the door.

Robin raised her voice. “Eddie, how many Neanderthals does it take to change a light bulb?”

Eddie laughed. “You are terrible, Robin.”

A pit formed in Ash’s chest as his dragon growled in frustration. He didn’t have much time. He walked to the park across from the shops. Across from her. He shed his clothes, shifting into his dragon form. The magic that infused his beast, shielding him from the outside world, coursed through his blood. He felt the effects of his separation from her, which meant she would too. It would get worse. Much worse. He should have taken her, not talked to her. From now on, action would come before explanation.

Robin was in hell. Unfortunately, her hell looked like heaven. Acres of immaculate landscape surrounded the immense Victorian-style mansion. Large stone statues stood like sentries as they crowded the red brick that formed the elegant entrance. Dozens of crystal ponds, scattered white gazebos and impeccable gardens set the entire estate apart from any other, it reeked with money. Robin knew it for what it was. Sin. She lived with Satan, his real name was Samuel Dark, and he owned the property, several businesses, and her. A fact he continued to remind her of. Why her mother married death incarnate himself, she would never understand. Robin sprawled out on her four-poster bed with white satin sheets and thought about Ash. Again.

She had no idea why he affected her like he did. Her chest still felt like it was in a vise. It was scary and exhilarating. No man had invoked an emotional or physical response from her. Ash had. Sure, he was a little delusional or ridiculously arrogant, maybe both, but he was the sexiest man she’d ever seen. Since fantasy was all Robin had, she planned to dream about him. Her eyes closed before the knock at her door.

She expected him to come to her. He did every night. Robin was his favorite possession. The door opened before she could move. Samuel closed the door behind him and locked it.

Robin appraised him. The expensive dark suit fit him perfectly. With black cropped hair, a tall, athletic frame, and a distinctive cleft chin, he was attractive. Provided you never looked in his eyes. They were the color of fog. Different hues of grey that swirled when his emotions got the better of him. Like now. Samuel was angry. He strode in front of her and looked down. His fingers grabbed her chin, forcing her to look him full in the face. “Did we have a little problem today?” Although he never raised his voice, his tone held the echo of an unsheathed sword.

“No problem.” Her reply wavered. Where her tongue was her greatest asset at diverting others, it had proved useless against Samuel. On the rare occasions she had opposed him, he had touched her. Not inappropriately, he’d caressed her arm, but that was enough. His touch felt like maggots over rotten meat. A man’s touch had always repelled her. Samuel’s repulsed her so violently that bile rose in her throat, begging to be expelled.

“I wish that were true, Robin, but I sensed your arousal the moment you came home.” His tone was like frost.

“My arousal? What are you talking about, Sam? You’re pissed that some guy hit on me, but I got rid of him just like you taught me.” Robin always used the more intimate form of Sam when she was in trouble with him. His body twitched. He never lost control, but he was at the edge now.

“I can smell your lust. You not only found him attractive, but he also made you laugh.” She saw death in his eyes. He wanted her afraid.

Shit. “Sam, I admit the guy made me laugh, but I told him Eddie was my lover and when he pointed out that Eddie was eying up a transvestite, I slipped. I have never touched another man except Eddie.” Yeah, she just threw her bodyguard under a bus but god damn it, Samuel was touching her and she was about to puke. Eddie had worked for him for over ten years and was loyal. Eddie was a lot safer from him than she was. Although Robin had only touched Eddie to pull him off an admirer he was beating up, it was still the truth. Samuel had always detected a lie.

Samuel’s brow furrowed. Eddie must have left a bit of information out of his report. His hand dropped from her neck. “So, Eddie let his attention wander?” His tone was milder, more accepting.

“Just a bit, but he was all over Ash as soon as he noticed him.” She had to smooth things over here. His voice may have soothed but his face was that of an animal, ready to kill. Had she made a mistake? Surely, he wouldn’t hurt one of his own men, they were committed to him.

“Ash?” He walked back to the door, unlocked it, and told the guard to fetch Eddie.

Uh oh. She shouldn’t have mentioned Ash’s name, another mistake. What was wrong with her tonight? She was very careful around Samuel, watching her speech and never getting personal. She would get that arrogant, slightly nuts, but an innocent man killed. “Yeah, I think that’s what he said his name was. I could be wrong. I was just trying to get rid of him.” The reply was flippant with a quick shake of her head, signifying she couldn’t be bothered with the man. Eddie entered with a new henchman.

Eddie looked at Samuel. “Yes, Boss.”

“Ah, Eddie. Robin was just telling me you have quite a way with the ladies. She told an admirer you were her lover.” Samuel’s smile was one of amusement, but his eyes were a swirl of deadly intent.

“Did she now? Robin will say anything to get rid of the men. You know, Samuel, if she and this house weren’t in so many magazines, fewer guys would be after her. Most pursue her for the money or notoriety.” He answered honestly, and his observations were true. Eddie had no concept of the mistake he had made.

“Really, so you have Robin’s best interest at heart?” Samuel’s composure slipped. His face now edged on a sneer. Eddie noticed the change.

“I just do as I’m told,” he replied with a subtle quiver in his voice.

“That’s the problem, you don’t. I told you to monitor Robin and instead, you ogle a drag queen. I told you to make sure all men stay away from her, and today, she has given me another man’s name. I told you to keep an emotional distance from her, yet you still have ridiculous fantasies in your head. Do you think I would overlook such incompetence?” Samuel’s eyebrows raised in question. Scorn played across his face.

“No!” Eddie shouted.

Before Eddie could continue his protest, Samuel growled, long pointed teeth burst from his mouth. He grabbed Eddie, wrapping his arms around the large man, before he bit into his neck. Gurgling sounds escaped from the dying bodyguard’s throat as black eyes fixated on Robin’s mortified, disbelieving face. As Samuel continued to drink, Eddie slid to his knees, the smell of iron rich blood perforated the stale air. Eddie’s glazed eyes turned opaque as he slumped to the floor.

Robin froze in place, her head swirled in disbelief, her mind suffocated with the reality of what she had just witnessed. She had always feared Samuel and considered him a monstrous fiend. She never considered Samuel wasn’t human, and that unbelievable fact stood face-to-face with her. She willed her body to recover from witnessing Eddie’s brutal death, but her fragile psyche fragmented. He moved around her, and his warm breath against the back of her neck created prickles of fear. His sharp teeth pierced her skin with such pain, her knees buckled.

Then he released her.

“You ... you’re a vampire?” She trembled as she spoke, while her body twitched, attempting to rid itself of the violent energy that swamped it. Whereas she used to feel a sense of unease in Samuel’s presence, her mind now suffocated from the malevolence emitting from his dark soul. She continued to fight the queasiness that turned her stomach. Doubt, incredulity, mistrust of one’s own perception all crowded Robin’s emotions making it hard for her to keep her focus.

“No, my dear. Vampires are the undead. I am very much alive.” His voice shivered with a cold eagerness. His stance was casual in its perfection, his face yielded a marauder biding his time, waiting to stake his claim.

“I saw you. You sucked his blood. Killed him. You’re a monster. A demon.” Though she couldn’t get the stutter out of her speech, she still fought with the drowned feeling that smothered her.

“Yes, all of those things. Now, take off your clothes.” He smiled with the warmth of a snake then grabbed her unresponsive body and thrust it against himself.

Robin prayed. Not for life, for a quick and painless death.

Her world had crumbled, even when she lived with countless rules and the unalterable fact she would never love or touch a man, she had found some happiness. Sure, they were stolen moments, a child’s smile at a coffee shop, observing an old couple still in love, a young couple as they sneaked a kiss behind a chaperone’s eye, but they had given her hope that life could be delightful, though she would never see it so.

She knew she couldn’t fight him, and there was only one way out. The attack was thought out in her head before she struck. She was careful to keep her expression a mixture of fear and disbelief, so Samuel wouldn’t see it coming. When she hit him, he had no choice but to react. Her body slammed into the wall as her breath left her lungs, and she succumbed to the night.

Chapter 2

Ash had run as soon as the man hit her. He’d been too far away to hear their conversation, but he’d felt Robin’s anxiety escalating. It had squeezed his stomach into an emotion he had long forgotten.

Fear.

The sound of her body slamming against the wall had his beast roaring in anger, fighting to emerge. It was a battle he would lose if he didn’t get Robin to safety.

He smashed through the glass sliding door as the large man swung around. “Samuel!” he roared.

Samuel’s eyes receded from black to brown. “Ash, what are you doing here?”

“I’m here for Robin,” he growled.

Samuel backed toward the door. “You have no interest in humans,” he spat.

“She isn’t just a human. She’s a druid.”

“The druids are extinct, as is their magic. She is...”

“My mate.”

Samuel’s eyes turned black. “No! She is mine.”

“My dragon has chosen her. Fight or die.”

“You were an army high commander. You’re a member of the Rule clan. It would not be a fair fight.”

“It was unfair for you to throw my future mate into the wall. If her injuries were serious, you would already be dead.”

Samuel’s incisors lengthened. He stepped forward as if he would lunge, then grabbed the confused guard and pushed him toward Ash.

Ash held the man, searching his memories. When he saw only pain and death, he snapped the man’s neck.

Then he went to Robin.

Her nose was bleeding. She must’ve incurred a concussion, judging by the bruise forming on her forehead, but she appeared to have no broken bones.

Ash scooped her up and ran through the manicured grounds at a blur. Magic shrouded them from human eyes. His clothes ripped from his skin as he shifted into a massive dragon.

Pushing off with his clawed feet, they were airborne. Wind whipped over his wings as his copper scales glimmered against the afternoon sun. For the first time in centuries, his magic was a living flame of life.

Warmth.

Robin would never understand the gift she had given him.

Freedom.

She was locked with him for all eternity, and she had no idea what she was.

Robin’s eyes fluttered as she attempted to bring the large room into focus. The faint smell of cedar calmed her as she assessed her surroundings. She lay on a long comfortable plaid couch in front of a glowing fireplace inside an open two-story log cabin. It was peaceful with an eclectic flair that reflected the personality of its owner, one of a utilitarian. Everything in the home, including the weapons on the walls, were practical and serviceable. She closed her eyes when she heard nails clicking on the hardwood floor.

Robin felt the breath on her neck before a cold nose startled her. She looked into the eyes of the most enormous wolf she’d ever seen. Good one, Robin, you’ve managed to go from a wealthy heiress to doggie dinner. As the canine continued to nuzzle her in a nonthreatening fashion, she scratched his ears as she contemplated her situation. How had she gotten here? Had Samuel tossed her to the property hounds? No, he would never let her go, and this house wasn’t on the estate. Samuel would consider a place like this an atrocity. That made it more endearing to Robin, but she needed to find out what had happened to her and where she was.

Robin was so focused on her internal thoughts she never heard Ash enter the room. When she looked at his shirtless body and worn jeans, she felt the same fire race in her bloodstream. This time she had fear combating the arousal. His face was a grey thundercloud of anger. His immense displeasure seemed to be focused on the canine that had its tongue lolling out in a wolfish grin.

Ash folded his muscular, tanned arms. “I recommend you stop slobbering on my mate, or I will make a pelt out of you.”

Robin loved animals but could never have a pet. She believed Ash might hurt the poor affectionate beast. Kill him? No. But a certain level of violence was assured. “Leave him alone, jerk.” Yeah, that’s good. Piss off the crazy guy with the big dog.

Two shirtless muscular men entered the room. They were as beautiful as Ash, but she didn’t feel the electrical storm in her bloodstream. “So, I’ve been captured by the Chippendales from hell?” Oh, that’s much better. Accuse them of being the devil’s pole dancers. Surely, the male strippers will only take a minute to kill you.

The blond smiled but his black-haired counterpart scowled. “I’m Conner, this is Draco, and the mutt at your feet is Thorn, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

His smile was sincere so Robin relaxed. Ash seemed unsure whether to kiss her, or spank her. Both would be good. She appraised her hosts, deciding this was a good time to find out how she got there. She remembered being afraid of Samuel, but that was normal, she lived her life with varying degrees of anxiety. “So, why am I here? And where is here?”

She was still trying to make sense of the fragments in her mind when Ash spoke. “Samuel bit you and threw you into the wall. I brought you here for safekeeping.” He seemed surprised she didn’t remember.

Robin placed her hand over her neck as her memory returned. She felt the gauze bandage, pushing against it to assess the extent of her injury. It throbbed but was of little consequence compared to the realization that not only did vampires exist but she’d been living with one. Now that she thought about it, he’d said he was something else. She wasn’t sure what to call him. He was terrifying, disgusting and just plain gross. “Okay, Samuel is a bloodsucker, disgusting but whatever. Why did he wait till now to attack me? I’ve lived with him for years.”

“He had to wait till your twenty-third birthday,” Ash said, appraising her.

“I’m not twenty-three yet. There must be another reason.” She stretched, then noticed the ugly soft blanket wrapped around her.

“What do you mean you’re not twenty-three?” Ash snapped.

“My birthday is in two days. Where the hell are my clothes?” she demanded with red cheeks.

Ash motioned for the men to leave. “They are in our room.”

She watched the men leave. “What do you mean our room?” She needed to straighten Ash out.

“You are mine. My mate. I know you feel it.”

She assessed her precarious position. “Ash, I realize you saved me from a horrendous situation but it doesn’t give you rights to me. I have lived a lifetime under absurd arrogance, furious dominance and ridiculous conceit, so although I admit I’m attracted to you, I have no intention of living with you.”

Ash leaned down, placing his hands on the couch. His breath warmed her face as he spoke. “You are mine. I will claim you on your twenty-third birthday, not before. In the meantime, you will sleep beside me, eat with me, and acquaint yourself with your new home.”

“Listen, you sanctimonious bastard, I appreciate you saved me, but you don’t own me. I’m leaving.” She pulled the blanket close to her, pushing past the large furry creature at her feet to head for the door. She never heard or saw him move but she walked right into Ash’s large hard body. He caught her hands when she intended to hit him, allowing her cover to slip down. Her breasts pushed up against his tanned chest. The electrical current raced between them, bordering on pain, fusing something deep inside her, branding her soul with fire as it imprinted with the soul of another. Ash. “Make it stop,” she pleaded.

“I cannot stop it. It will pass, but this is only the beginning. Hold on to me, Robin, let me ease your pain.” He turned to Thorn. “Leave us.”

The large wolf jumped down and left the room, leaving Robin to deal with the enormous man holding her. Lightning arced from his body to hers. She sobbed, feeling his stomach tighten in a protective response as unseen threads bound them together. She felt every one like a tiny noose around her heart. Her soul. “What’s happening?”

“Our magic is merging.”

She shook her head. “I don’t have any magic...”

“You are a descendant of the druids. You have magic, but it lays dormant until your twenty-third birthday. I believe yours surfaced early to save you from Samuel.”

“I’m not a druid.”

“You are. You feel the magic flowing between us.”

“So, you’re a druid too?”

“No, Robin. I am a dragon. We mate with human druids, though it has been over a thousand years since a female with magic has surfaced.”

Robin clutched his arms. “I might’ve believed the druid heritage but a dragon? That’s where I draw the line.”

“It’s true.”

She pushed against his chest. “You’re delusional. I need to go.”

Ash had her locked in place. He seemed irritated more than mad. She had survived this long on her wits and wasn’t going to let them fail her now. She let out a deep breath. “Maybe I was a little hasty. Can I ask you some questions?”

Ash relaxed against her. “Yes.”

“What is Samuel?”

“He is a dark dragon.”

She would have laughed but the memory of Samuel’s teeth made her push back, allowing some space between her and Ash. “Dragons drink blood... like vampires?”

Ash shook his head. “No. A dragon that waits for his true mate does not drink druid blood.”

“But he drank from Eddie...”

“He was showing off. He wanted you afraid. The adrenaline in your blood. Your fear gives a dark dragon a more fulfilling—experience.”

“What does druid blood do?”

“After five-hundred-years, a dragon loses his—passion for life. He can stick to his values and wait for his true mate or he can turn dark. Drinking druid blood gives him a temporary high, allowing him to pursue those passions for a short period.”

“Passions. As in sex?”

“Yes.”

“So, druid blood is Dragon Viagra?”

Ash rubbed his forehead. “There’s more to the high than sex. If the druid is over twenty-three, he has access to her magic while her blood courses through him.”

“So, Samuel would not have killed me?”

“No, he would make you a slave, drinking from you and violating you till the day you died.”

Robin tasted bile in her mouth. “Did—my mother have druid blood?”

Ash’s face softened. “Yes. He would have assigned you a human husband before you were too old to bear children to ensure you reproduced.”

“How do you know this?” she snapped.

“There are few women with druid blood. I’ve been looking for a thousand years, and you’re the first one I have come across since they annihilated the druid temples.”

“Druid temples?”

“Yes, there were three. Two were destroyed. The last disappeared.”

“How does a temple disappear?”

“The druids of that time possessed the magic to shroud or move the temple. We thought they would resurface but there were no signs until I saw you.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“In the days of old, when a druid female matured to her twenty-third birthday, she was brought to the Rule Clan to see if she was a mate to any of the dragons. If she wasn’t, she was free to marry a human. The dragons protected her family.”

“There are no male druids?”

“No. The mages have been extinct for two thousand years. They started several wars and tried to enslave their female counterparts. The druids ensured all future children born of magic would be females unless born to a dragon couple. Those children are all male and are dragons.”

Robin blew out a long breath. Her brain was on overload. She couldn’t deny what she saw. Samuel was a monster but a blood-drinking dragon? She was thinking Samuel dosed her, and she was on some kind of PCP high. She looked at the door. “Can you grab me some clothes?”

Ash nodded. “Wait here.”

As soon as Ash left the room, she opened a window that exited onto a large wooden deck. Running naked through the woods wasn’t her ideal getaway, but the crazy around here was off the charts. She wrapped the blanket tighter around her as she darted for the trees.

A forceful wind blew her over, which made her scramble for traction in the grass. She flipped onto her back, pulling her blanket around her as the surrounding air shimmered to reveal the black dragon. Its pupils were as dark as its scales.

She screamed as spiked claws reached for her.

The door to the cabin burst open. Ash ran out, flanked by Conner, Draco and Thorn. He shifted into a huge copper dragon, with spikes adorning his tail. The end had dual curved blades.

Ash raised the scythe of a tail in the air as he roared at the black dragon.

The black dragon hissed fire in a roar of thunder and heat. The blanket covering Robin burst into flames.

She watched in morbid fascination at the flames surrounding her. She felt the electrical current tingle under her skin as the fire burned, avoiding her skin.

The black dragon launched into the air, followed by Ash.

The copper tail swung in an arc, slicing into the scales of the black dragon. Blood streaked across the sky to land on the forest below. A bellow of pain was cut short as the large copper body grappled the black one, sinking its claws into the falling body. The earth shook with their collision. Ash ripped into the neck of the black, severing the head before spitting it on the ground. He shifted, and covered in blood, he walked toward her naked.

Thorn held another blanket in his mouth, and he brought it to her. She covered herself, before crying into his soft fur.

“Robin, are you all right?” Ash asked as he ran a hand over her back.

She shook her head, keeping it buried in the wolf’s fur.

“Will you release my brother and allow me to take you inside?”

Her head snapped up. “Your brother? You call your pet—brother?”

Ash smiled. “Thorn is a dragon cursed by a Mage and locked in this form.”

“You just turned into a copper dragon?” Robin sniffled.

“Yes.”

“I like the wolf better.”

Ash smiled. “A wolf is part of your world. I am sure a dragon form is—”

“Scary as all shit... yeah.”

“Robin, I could never hurt you.”

“I know. It’s weird, but I know you won’t hurt me. I felt your anger at the black dragon.”

“Samuel.”

Her head whipped to meet his gaze. “That was Samuel?”

“Yes. I doubt any other black dragon knows of your existence. When a dragon turns dark—he turns on his clan. He becomes solitary. He becomes consumed with his own ambition. His own self-righteousness.”

“Why don’t you do something about the black dragons?”

“We went to war. We suffered massive losses on both sides. A truce was called. One that’s now broken.”

“Why?”

“The truce was an interim agreement. One that we knew would be short-lived by our standards. Once the druids resurfaced, the truce was over. The war will begin.”

“You will fight because I was born?”

“Robin, your mother was a druid. Samuel kept her, allowed her to die. It is unlikely she was the first. We were not vigilant and have failed not only your mother but those before her.”

“My mother never showed signs of having any power. She worshiped Samuel.”

Ash nodded. “She may not have been a mate, but she had druid blood. We’ve been looking for the lost bloodlines, but until you, we could not find them. It appears Samuel had better luck.”

Conner approached. “It makes me wonder if any of the other black dragons have found a druid bloodline and are breeding them for their purpose.”

Ash nodded. “This changes everything. We need to talk to Legion.”

Conner nodded. “I tried. He’s too far away for telepathy. I think he’s in the caves.”

Robin’s eyebrows went up. “Did you say telepathy?”

“Aye, lass,” Draco said.

Robin turned to the dark-haired man. “You’re Scottish?”

Ash cleared his throat. “Technically, we all are and we share our knowledge with one another. We take on the speech pattern of the area we are canvassing. Draco is new to North America. He only awoke a few weeks ago.”

Robin blew out a breath. “So, he was asleep in these caves for...”

“About a thousand years.”

Robin put her head into her hands. “Yeah. I think I need a time out.”

Ash scooped her up and raced into the house.

She was curled in a ball on the bed when the tears began to fall.

Chapter 3

Robin woke to the sound of a wolf howling. She bolted upright in the bed, until Ash put his fingers on her stomach, pulling her back against him. “Is that Thorn?”

“No. He’s sleeping outside our door. He seems concerned about you.”

Robin looked down at the satin nightie she was wearing. “Is he all right? I mean, does he miss being human or a dragon?”

Ash trailed a finger over her face. “He no longer remembers either. He sees only through the eyes of a wolf although he remains immortal.”

“Why would a Mage do this?”

“Thorn killed him. In his dying breath, he cursed him.”

“Why did Thorn kill him?”

“Because he had abducted our clan leader, Legion, and was siphoning his magic. Thorn sacrificed himself to save Legion.” He tipped her chin up. “I find it endearing that you’re concerned for Thorn. You have a genuine affection for him and want to help him.”

“How are you reading my mind?”

“I feel your emotions. I can read your mind, but I choose not to before our bonding. You have had so many choices taken from you. I will not intrude without your permission.”

“You can read any living being’s thoughts? Thorn’s for example?”

“Thorn no longer thinks like a dragon or a man. I see the images in his mind. He thinks of us as his pack mates.”

“Is there no way to help him?”

“As the Mages have passed, only a druid with greater power could break the spell.”

“But there are no druids with greater power,” she said in a defeated tone.

Ash kissed her cheek. “A druid’s power grows as she learns her craft. Why do you wish to help Thorn?”

“I know what it’s like to be something you’re not. To have others think you are beautiful and have a perfect life when it’s a lie.”

“You are surprising and a welcome gift. I did not realize how much I needed you till this moment.”

“Ash, you can turn into a dragon the size of a house. You can fly. You’ve known nothing but freedom. Why would you need me?”

“While I can fly, I no longer enjoy it and freedom is nothing without someone to share life with. I had forgotten passion. Love. Lust. These gifts are something only you can give me.”

“Do you mean, my magic?”

He pulled her close. “No. You.” He kissed her with a desperation that filled her with sorrow. She shivered when his hands slipped up her arms.

Ash stilled. “You fear what I am.”

Robin looked into his metallic eyes. “I don’t fear you. I fear the connection between us, that I will exchange one prison for another—one monster for another.”

Ash hissed. “You think me a monster?”

“You’re not human. I guess I’m not human either. If we aren’t monsters what are we?”

Ash blew out a slow breath. “You fear what you do not understand. Let me show you. Stand before my dragon. Reach for him. Let his love surround you. Give us a chance.”

The sorrow in his voice tugged on her heart. “Okay, Ash. I can’t make any promises, but I will try.”

Ash rolled off the bed. “That’s all I ask, put on the clothes on the chair and meet me outside.” He left her as she rose from the bed.

She dressed and went downstairs, pausing when she opened the front door.

He was laying down with his wings folded to his side and his tail wrapped around him. The sun glittered off his scales like crystals over copper. They moved as he breathed, creating a cascade of sparkling light. He was magnificent. Beautiful. A creature out of a fairy tale. She approached slowly, stopping before she reached his large body. He shimmered in her mind.

It is safe to approach me, Robin. I will never hurt you. You are my life.

She sucked in a breath. “How did you do that?”

Telepathy is a trait of our species.

“I’m not a dragon.”

A dragon can create a telepathic bond with his intended, but as your powers grow, you may gain the power of transmutation.

“What does that mean?”

You will be able to take on dragon form.

Robin put her hand against the warm scales. “Are you saying I could fly?”

It takes practice, but yes. It will be an honor to teach you when you are ready.

She admired how his scales shimmered at her touch. “You’re beautiful.”

The dragon smiled. His long tongue slid over sharp pointed teeth to lick her arm.

Robin laughed. “You licked me.”

You make me happy.

Robin felt the connection between them tighten. The winding of a spool bringing the threads closer and closer together. She looked down. “You had curved spikes at the end of your tail. Where did they go?”

The scythes are retractable and only for battle.

She walked the length of his tail, trailing her fingers along the scales, careful to avoid the spikes that adorned the top. “It’s amazing that no one knows you exist.”

Our magic is powerful but with that power comes sacrifice. We must wait for a woman with magic that can bind with ours.

She frowned. “What happens if you don’t find her?”

We turn dark. Then all hope is lost. A black dragon cannot mate. Cannot produce young.

“You said they destroyed the druids. Why would the black dragons attack them if they needed their blood to—you know?”

The blacks did not destroy the druids. The mages did. They feared the alliance the druid women had with the dragons. They wanted us all destroyed. They killed the druids hoping to bring around our eventual destruction.

“You said you made a truce with the black dragons.”

Yes. With the druids gone, the blacks had no way to achieve their temporary high. One of the few druid women left cast a spell, sending her power across the lands. She said we had to destroy the Mages or they would seek and destroy the women born of the power. We made the truce with the blacks and destroyed the Mages. There was nothing to fight over, so we went our separate ways. Both clans have been searching for women with druid power ever since.

“I wonder why it took so long for you to find one of us?”

Legion believes there had to be many women with the power before it would surface.

Robin swallowed. “What do you want from me, Ash?” She watched in fascination as the surrounding air shimmered, leaving him naked and standing before her.

“I want only you.” He held out his hand. “Let me show you. Let me take you flying.”

She felt her skin tingle. Excitement a living flame beneath her skin. “I’d like that.”

Ash backed away with his human form shimmering, then the copper dragon raised his tail, wrapping it around her back, pulling her toward his body.

She put her hands on his side. “How do I get up?”

Climb onto my tail. I will lift you.

Robin did as he asked, nestling on the base of his neck with her legs on either side. “I’m ready.”

Ash put his wings out, flapping them up and down before launching into the air.

It took her a moment to move in rhythm with his wing strokes. The ebb and flow of air and his power made her feel like a princess surveying her lands. Forest and beauty lay in every direction. This was freedom. This was life. She felt the tears roll down her face. She lay her head against his powerful neck, needing the warmth of his skin.

You are cold. I did not consider the change in temperature at this altitude. I will take you back.

“Not yet. This is the most beautiful moment of my life. You can warm me up later.”

You turn twenty-three at midnight tonight. I will bond with you, Robin, but until then, we’ll do as you wish.

Robin hadn’t meant her words to sound like an invitation, or had she? “Now might be a good time to tell you I don’t cook, and most people find me—abrasive.”

“I’m an adequate cook and will teach you in the coming eons. I’m aware of your abrasive behavior and why you do it.”

“Because I’m a bitch?”

Ash snorted. Hardly, you pushed everyone away because Samuel would’ve killed them. You were his prize possession. He could have kept you locked up, but he had your face plastered on every magazine. The world thinks you are a wealthy socialite. His ego was his ultimate undoing.

“I thought you hadn’t seen me before?”

I Googled you when you were sleeping.

Robin laughed. “How very modern of you.”

Old dragons can learn new tricks.

She heard the incantation as the air distorted around her. “What did you do?”

I have cast a spell to warm the air surrounding you.

The warmth on her skin paled compared to that in her heart. “Thank you, Ash.”

They flew for hours until Robin finally gave in and allowed Ash to take her back to the cabin very close to midnight. Her stomach refused to stop rumbling. She had finished her stew when she heard a wolf howl. “Is that Thorn?”

“Yes. He is hunting.”

“What about Draco and Conner?” she asked.

“They are flying, monitoring Thorn. They will be back by morning.”

“Oh.”

Ash took the bowl from her. “You are nervous.”

“I am. I want to be with you. I feel the connection between us. Even when you were in dragon form, it felt like tiny threads spinning us together. I have never...”

“You do not fear making love. You fear me seeing you. The real you.”

“How—yes.”

“You think Samuel corrupted you, that the years you spent pushing people away have made you a bitter person.”

Robin pursed her lips. “Yes.”

“I am your mate, Robin. You cannot hide from me. You cannot hide the truth.”

“What is the truth?” She wasn’t sure she wanted the answer, but she needed it.

“Your soul is as beautiful as you are. Yes, you used harsh words as a shell to protect any that approached you, but you were saving them, Robin. You didn’t mean the things you said.”

Robin looked down. “I meant some of them.”

“I agree with your suggestions for your fish-faced admirer.” Ash smiled.

Robin laughed. “I will never get away with anything around you.”

Ash pulled her into his lap. “You won’t have to. I would give you anything you asked for.”

Robin touched his face.

He waited for her to say yes. He wasn’t pushing. His crystalline eyes held everything.

Love. Pride. Commitment. All for her. “Are you sure I will be enough?”

“You already are.” He kissed her.

Robin felt the fire race along her skin. The electrical current, while unseen, arced between them. The fire in the hearth flamed up, casting shadows across the room. Was that her? Him? Them? She wasn’t sure. She only knew that inferno between them was building. An insatiable force that neither could command. When he lifted his head, his eyes held flames inside the pupils. Tiny fires, threatening to consume everything in their path.

She put her hands on his face and touched her lips to his. If she left him, she condemned him to a life of loneliness, but wasn’t she doing the same for herself? She had never felt more free. Excited. Aroused. She felt his need. Belief. Devotion. All for her. Nothing. No one would need her more than him. She kissed him, pouring her acceptance into the intensity of their union.

“Take off your clothes, Robin.”

She wanted this. While fear quickened her heart, her hands were steady as she pulled off her sweater, leaving her breasts exposed. Her soul shivered under his intense gaze, knowing she was offering more than her body.

Ash stood, undoing the buttons on his jeans and dropped them to the floor. He stood like a tanned god. The fire and shadows licked his skin as if they too revered his body.

She tried not to be intimidated by his size. She expected that part of him to be large. “I don’t think that will fit.”

Ash pulled her against his body. “You were made for me, Robin. If a dragon learns one thing, it is patience.” His hands skimmed her skin, heating everywhere he touched. He removed her jeans while kissing her.

She didn’t remember him laying her down on the rug before the fire yet she felt the soft material against her back as he kissed her neck, moving toward her breasts. She clutched his arms as he nudged her legs apart, feeling vulnerable, stretched out like a sacrifice.

He moved down to her stomach, swirling his tongue around her belly button, tugging on the silver ring. “Trust me, Robin.”

“I do.”

He growled his approval as he positioned himself between her legs, and his tongue took its first foray into her moist heat.

She cried out as the erotic sensations scorched her skin. Each lash of his tongue ricocheted through her body in electric heat. She grasped his head as her body crested the apex. She called out his name as she plummeted into orgasm.

He was nudging her entrance before she could recover from the storm of sensation that whipped through her body. “Stay with me, Robin. This will hurt for a moment.”

She felt the burn as he inched inside her, and the steel cords of muscle as they flexed beneath his skin. Every sinew seemed pulled taut. As if he, like his body, were at its breaking point. He moaned when he was engulfed within her, holding himself still, allowing her to adjust to his girth before starting a steady rhythm.

She felt the moment his control snapped. His thrusts became more urgent, harder. Deeper. The surrounding air shimmered. Distorted. She heard electricity crackle in the air. Felt the magic within her reach for his. Saw the fireplace flames rear up in worship.

Robin let go when he did, feeling her soul latch onto his. She didn’t know what it meant; only that it tied them for all eternity. She chose this. Chose him. In a world where she’d had few choices, this was one she would never regret.

Her fingers drew lazy circles on Ash’s chest as she rested her head on his shoulder. His warmth enveloped her like a shield. She could feel her life force binding with his. Tiny filaments that reached out, turned to steel. “I feel different. Stronger. More aware. It’s hard to describe.”

Ash kissed her temple. “That is the binding. It ties your life force to mine for all time. For as long as I live, so shall you.”

“Nothing can kill you?”

“Prior to binding with you, I could only be killed by a dragon, mage or druid.”

“Something that possesses magic.”

“Yes.”

“You said prior to bonding with me. Has that changed?”

“My life force is also bound to you. Though I possess the magic to heal you from most mortal wounds.”

Robin sat up. “Are you saying that if I die, you die?”

“Yes.”

“Why would you do this? Humans die. A runaway hot dog stand could hit me!”

Ash raised an eyebrow. “While painful, that will not kill you.”

“I’m still human.”

“And a druid mated to a dragon.”

“That makes me—sturdier.”

“Yes.”

“But I’m not as indestructible as you?”

“No, any living being can be beheaded, a human is—”

Robin cleared her throat. “Easy to chop up. Got it. I will avoid large sharp knives.”

Ash smiled. “I would appreciate that.”

“I’m sorry that I’m your weakness.”

Ash pulled her to him. “Don’t be. I would rather have a few minutes of extraordinary versus a lifetime of nothing.”

“I guess a human lifespan is like a few minutes to you, but I’m not extraordinary.”

Ash kissed her. His tongue swept into her mouth, sending fire through her bloodstream. His eyes glowed like melted copper. Crystalline in their metallic beauty. “You are to me.”

Robin pursed her lips. “Are there a lot of you? Dragons, I mean?”

“The mated dragons died when their women died. The remaining dragons went to sleep in the caves except for the dozen.”

“The dozen?”

“We are the protectors of the cave. The sentinels left awake to maintain the peace, ensuring that the dark dragons abide by the truce. The ones tasked with finding the druid bloodline.”

“What will happen now?”

“The truce is broken. My brethren will rise. The war will begin again.”

“That’s terrible.”

There was a loud crash. The entire cabin shook, making Robin pull the sheet up to cover her body. “What the hell was that?”

“Legion has arrived. He wishes to meet you.”

“The dragon leader?”

“Aye.”

“You slipped into a Scottish accent. Tell me that isn’t a bad sign.”

“He is angry.”

“Why?”

“He wants to see us downstairs. Let’s go.”

They entered the living room holding hands.

Legion faced the fire with his hands on his hips. He wore jeans and his feet were bare. The thick defined muscles in his back twitched under the tattoo of black dragon wings. “Cool tat,” Robin said.

He turned to look at them with glowing gold eyes. They lit the dark room with light and anger. “You broke the truce over this?”

Robin sucked in a breath. Ash pulled her behind him. “She is my choice, Legion. We have bonded.”

Legion looked her over as if she were nothing. Even Samuel lacked the ability to make her feel so inconsequential. “I feel no magic from her. Your bond is a fraud.”

“Today is her birthday. Her magic is in its infancy. She has no training and does not understand her heritage,” Ash growled.

Legion’s eyes narrowed. “You would fight me—over her?”

“Yes.”

“She is not a druid. If you walk away from the clan to be with her, then you will turn dark and I will be forced to kill you.”

Robin shivered. She felt the sensation inside her heart. It moved outward traveling down her arms. Her fingertips tingled. Unsure what was happening, she turned to the one defense that had never failed her. “You forgot to mention your leader was such a dick.”

Legion looked at her. “A mouthy human? This was the best you could do?”

“I may be mouthy but at least I’m not a total prick to my family.” Robin nodded. “Ash talked about you like you were some great leader. Someone to look up to. I thought living with Samuel was bad, but I would take his dark ass over yours any day. At least, he wasn’t a two-faced little bitch like you.”

Legion’s form rippled. He moved so fast Ash barely had time to erect a shield between them. “You sorry excuse for—”

“That is enough!” Ash roared.

Draco and Conner raced into the room. They looked at the undulating shield between Ash and Legion. Conner turned to Ash. “What are you doing? Legion could snap you in half if he chose to.”

Strain creased Ash’s brow. “I’m aware of my predicament.”

Legion huffed. “If she were your mate, her magic would strengthen you. She is—”

The power exploded out of Robin in a rush. Heat and unnatural electricity discharged from her hands, slamming into Legion’s chest.

Legion launched into the air, crashing through the fireplace, annihilating the stone craftsmanship as he smashed through the wall, skidding across the ground outside. He rose, shifting into a massive gold dragon.

Robin understood death. She had looked into its eyes her entire life. The gold dragon could kill any one of them. All of them. “I’m sorry. Um, don’t take this out on Ash. It’s my fault. Please don’t hurt him.”

Steam blew from the golden dragon’s nostrils before he shifted back to human form. Robin turned to Conner. “Are you going to help us here?”

Conner had a whimsical look. “Can’t. Clan politics, sweetheart.”

Ash pulled her close to him. “You have nothing to fear.”

“Legion is the size of a mini-mall! He’ll turn me into a Scooby snack!”

Legion pulled on a pair of jeans Draco handed him. “I do not eat humans.” He winked. “Anymore.”

Ash squinted. “You provoked her on purpose.”

Legion shrugged. “Reactive magic is the easiest to invoke.”

Robin looked at the grinning men. “What’s reactive magic, and why are you all smiling?”

Ash kissed her. “It’s magic used for protection. It’s invoked without thought or malice.”

“You never intended to hurt me? Everything you said was total bullshit.”

Legion laughed. “Yes, but you didn’t know that, so your magic rose to protect you.”

“What if I turned you into a chipmunk?”

Legion smiled. “Only an experienced druid possesses the power of transmutation. You may never gain that skill, and if you do, it will take decades to learn. My hide was safe.”

“Sorry I threw you through the wall, but why did you want my magic to surface? You don’t strike me as the guy who enjoys getting his ass kicked by a girl.”

Conner laughed. “I like this one.”

Legion nodded. “I want, no, I need you and Ash safe. With your protective magic up and running, I can focus on the upcoming war.”

“I didn’t want to start a war.” Robin’s face fell.

Legion shook his head. “This has been a long time coming. You have simply given us something to fight for. For that, I thank you.”

Robin looked between the men. “What do we do?”

Legion smiled. “We celebrate your union and wait for our brethren to wake.”

Epilogue

Robin kissed her new husband. “The ceremony was beautiful. I thought I wanted a big wedding, but this was better.”

“Our mating ceremony is simple compared to a human wedding.” Ash smiled. “We can have one if you wish.”

“I don’t have friends, Ash. I wasn’t allowed, and if I did, I would have put them in danger. You are my only family. The dragons are my friends—especially Thorn.”

“He’s taken with you.”

“I hope we can help him someday.”

“We will. With you in my arms, I believe anything is possible.”

He kissed her. “Are you ready to go?”

“You haven’t mentioned, but where is our new home?”

Ash shrugged. “We have many properties, but my home is in your arms.”

Robin felt the power. The magic swirled in her heart, mixing with her love for Ash. “I feel the same way. I never dreamed of a real life. Not one where I love someone like I do—you.”

“Was that so hard to say?”

Robin stepped back. “Ash Rule. I love you with all my heart. I promise to stand by your side for all time.” She winked. “And cause you as much mischief as possible.”

Ash pulled her back to him and laughed. “That I believe.”

“You didn’t think I was going soft, did you?”

“Robin, you are the light in an eternity of darkness. You bring meaning to the uncertainty of life. You are, and shall always be, the treasure of my existence.”

She hugged him. “I didn’t know dragons were so poetic.”

“What you call poetry—I call truth.”

Robin circled her arms around his neck. “Where are we off to?”

“I thought we would go to the Sahara. I haven’t flown over the desert in decades and find I am eager to show you its beauty.”

Robin cleared her throat. “Are you concerned that I make you vulnerable? Legion says I have a lot to learn before he will allow us to travel alone.”

Ash kissed her forehead. “To live. Love. Have a family. That is a life I will take. Choose. Whether it’s for a hundred years or a thousand, I want those years with you. I love you, Robin, and no amount of time will change that.”

“Thank you for choosing me—for being mine.”

“I would give you the moon, the ocean, and the stars, but you already have something more valuable.”

“What?”

“You have this dragon’s heart, and his love for you is eternal.”

About Tia Didmon

Tia Didmon is an award-winning and bestselling author. She writes exotic paranormal romance and is happily married with three kids and one fur baby. While she calls Vancouver Island, Canada, home, she loves to travel and can usually find a zipline along the way. She loves to connect with her readers as well as share her favorite meme’s. You can check those out on her Facebook page or Instagram.

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Also by Tia Didmon

New Immortals Series

Book 1 Valentino’s Kiss

Book 2 Dante’s Desire

Book 3 Jordane’s Hunger

Cascade Cougar Series

Book 1 Virgin Mate

Book 2 Enter The Lair

Book 3 Hunter’s Passion

Book 4 Shifter’s Eden

Book 5 Cougars Christmas

Book 6 Wild Seduction

Moon Magic by Angela Sanders

New Orleans Coven

Chapter 1

“Hannah,” her mother called from the bottom landing of the hardwood stairs. She was finally moving out, having found a place to call her own.

“Coming, Mamma.”

She left her bedroom, ran down the steps, and greeted her with a smile. “What is it?” Her smile faltered when she saw tears streaming down her mother’s face.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” She grabbed a ringlet of Hannah’s long red curls. “Joanie called. There’s been an accident—”

“What do you mean? Who?” She cut her off, heart shuddering in her chest—she already knew what she was going to say. Joanie was the mother of Hannah’s fiancé, Jeff. They’d bought a house in the older section of the Garden District to start their new lives together. It was their fixer-upper Antebellum, and they loved it.

“Maybe we should sit in the parlor and talk, sweetie.” Mamma’s red-rimmed green eyes reflected the shock of her own jade stare.

“No, Mamma. Please, just tell me now. I can’t take this. What happened?”

Her mother began pacing the length of the grand foyer, wringing her hands. “Jeff was on his way here when some semi-truck crossed lanes, hitting him head-on.” Mamma choked back a sob. “He’s in Tulane Hospital now, but they don’t expect him to make it. He’s on life support.”

Hannah stood there in shock, looking at her mother like this was some kind of nightmare—she just needed to wake up. “No. It’s not true! I don’t believe it, Mamma. It can’t be. I just talked to him this morning. I would have felt it if he was gone or hurt.” She glanced toward the Heavens for answers, but none came. “We have this connection… You don’t understand. No.” Hannah turned away from her in disbelief, but her heart was shattering into a million pieces. Could Jeff really be—? No!

“Oh, baby.” Mamma clutched Hannah’s shoulders, looking her in the eyes. “I know it’s hard, but you must believe me.” More tears rolled down her beautiful face, and Hannah knew. “He’s in bad shape, and—”

Hannah dropped to her knees on the floor, unable to breathe. Her eyes boiled over in tears as memories assaulted her—five years together. His short jet-black hair, crystal-blue eyes, and playful smile that always accentuated those gorgeous dimples, melting her heart each time he looked her way—would she ever see them again? They had their lives planned out—marriage, a family—gone in an instant. She dropped her face in her hands, and her shoulders heaved as her body racked with uncontrollable sobs. She couldn’t live without Jeff. She wouldn’t. No, she refused to accept it. There had to be another way.

“Mom.” She stood and wiped her tears. “We’re witches. There has to be something we can do. We can’t just let him die.”

“No, Hannah.” Mamma shook her head. “You and I both know it’s forbidden to mess with that kind of magic.” She placed her arm around Hannah’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, honey, but we have to accept his fate, whatever that might be.”

“No, we don’t,” Hannah declared through gritted teeth. “You do.” She jerked away, grabbed her keys from the foyer table, taking off out the front door without looking back. She could hear Mamma calling for her, but she refused to stop for her or anyone else. Jeff was going to live, and she was going to make sure of it.

Slamming the door to her blue Honda Civic, she dialed her friend, Abby. She would know what to do. After all, she’d helped bring their friend, Danielle Knight, back to the world of the living after she’d roamed the earth as a ghost for two years. Abby didn’t give two shits what the coven, or anyone else, thought. Taboo or not, Hannah knew she could count on Abby to help her.

Seeing her mamma running down the front steps, she tossed her phone into the passenger seat and threw the car in reverse, peeling out of the driveway as fast as her little car would go. Her mom could follow if she wanted, but Hannah was saving her man.

The phone was on speaker when Abby answered.

“Hello? Hannah?”

“Yeah, I have some bad news, and I need your help.” She started sobbing again. Dammit. She couldn’t cry and drive.

“You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

“Jeff was in a car accident and the doctors are saying he won’t make it. Mamma won’t do anything to help me.” Her voice broke. “I can’t let him die.”

“All right. First, you need to calm down and take a deep breath,” Abby said. “I take it you’re on the way to the hospital now?”

“Tulane Hospital. I’m sure Joanie’s there with him in ICU.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you there in fifteen. Just be careful.”

“I will. Thanks, Abby.”

Two Days Earlier

“It’s wonderful, Jeff.” Hannah smiled broadly as they walked through the front door of their new home.

They’d just closed on it the day before. The older couple she and Jeff had bought the three-story Antebellum from wanted to get rid of it right away, so they could move to Florida and retire. Jeff and Hannah had been shocked when their offer was accepted.

“It’ll be perfect for babies,” Jeff said with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Hannah slapped him on the arm playfully as they crossed into the foyer. “We’re not even married yet, Mr. Landry, and you’re already talking about children?”

“Well, we have lots of time to practice.” He scooped her up in his arms and kissed her passionately. “I was supposed to carry you across the threshold. I’ll be doing that now.”

With a huge grin showcasing a dimple in each cheek, he walked back through the front door, carrying Hannah in his arms, and stood on the porch of their new home. He gazed into her eyes, and his were sparkling sapphire. “Are you ready, soon-to-be Mrs. Landry?”

“Why, yes, my soon-to-be darling husband.” She threw her arms around his neck, and he stepped across the threshold into what would be their brand-new life together.

Laughing, he set her down in the foyer and took her hands in his own. “I can’t wait to make you my wife. Why do we have to wait two more months? Let’s just have the wedding here?”

“You know my mom and Joanie will flip if they don’t get to plan the whole thing. They’ve been waiting for years.”

“Well, let them. Just call Evelyn and tell her we’re having it here—in our new home, then I’ll call my mom and tell her they have a week to plan—done.”

Hannah stared at Jeff’s expectant face. How could she say no to those baby blues, or to the man she’d loved for five years? “Okay. Let’s do it.” She wrapped herself in his arms. “We have a ton of cleaning to do, though. Look around.”

With a gleaming smile, he picked her up by the waist, her feet dangling above the floor, twirling her in a circle. “One more week and you’ll be all mine, Mrs. Landry.”

Her heart swelled at the thought. She’d been dreaming of their lives together since they’d met at a coven meeting all those years ago. Hannah’s friend, Abigail Blanque, had introduced them. Her boyfriend, Danny DuPont, had been friends with Jeff since they were kids. Hannah wasn’t sure how she’d never met him at one of their coven meetings. She’d most likely had her nose stuck in a book and not paid attention—those meetings always bored her to tears.

She’d known Jeff was “the one” from the moment Abby brought him over to her table. She’d been poring over a spell book, ignoring everyone as usual, when she felt a light tap on her shoulder. Hannah glanced up to see Abby standing there with a smirk on her face.

“What?” she asked, thinking Abby or Danielle were going to pull her into one of their pranks. She wasn’t in the mood that day.

Then Hannah peeked over Abby’s shoulder and saw blue eyes staring down at her beneath black lashes. A six-foot-three gorgeous man stood before her with full kissable lips and tousled jet-black hair. He wore a gray T-shirt that hid what appeared to be a muscular chest and dark jeans that hugged all the right places. Hannah’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water until she heard Abby giggle, snapping her out of her lust-filled gaze.

“Hannah, this is Jeff Landry. Jeff, this is Hannah Guillory,” Abby said, taking a seat next to her with a satisfied smile.

Jeff extended his hand, looking straight into her eyes. She felt like she was gonna die. Her ivory-colored skin must’ve flushed scarlet—she felt the heat as it rushed to her face.

Jeff’s grin went wide, and Hannah knew she was right.

She was so getting Abby back for this. Hannah shook his hand. “Nice to meet you,” she muttered anxiously, then glanced to Abby who was grinning from ear to ear, leaning against the table on her elbows, seeming amused.

Jeff rubbed the back of his neck nervously, glanced down at his feet, and back to Hannah. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out for dinner later. Abby said you were single, and I’ve been meaning to ask you—this isn’t coming out right.” He shook his head. “Do you wanna go out sometime?”

Hannah smiled, feeling the awkwardness fade because he was just as nervous as she was. “I would love to go out with you, Jeff Landry.”

He exhaled a long breath, and before he could say anything else, Abby interrupted. “See, I told you she would say yes.”

Hannah cut her eyes at her.

“What?” Abby threw her arms out innocently. “I was trying to help you two. I already knew he wanted to ask you out, and you, Hannah, really need to let your hair down.”

“Can you be any more embarrassing?” she asked with wide eyes and clenched teeth. Jeff’s face was three shades of red, and she was sure hers matched his.

“Whatever. It worked, didn’t it?” Abby kissed her on the cheek. “You two have fun.” She rose from the table, waved goodbye, and walked away—still laughing.

What had started out as one of the most embarrassing days of Hannah’s life, ended up being the beginning of a whole new life for her, and she had Abby to thank for it.

Chapter 2

“I can’t wait until I’m Mrs. Hannah Landry.” She beamed, glancing around at their beautiful, sparsely furnished home.

“I’ll call Mom now and tell her to get started on planning something simple here,” Jeff said. “Unless you want bigger. We can have it any way you want.” He pulled her close to him again, towering over Hannah’s five-foot-five frame. They fit perfectly.

“Simple is fine. As long as I have you, nothing else matters.” She peered up at his perfect face, and he covered her mouth with a heart-stopping kiss. Even after five years, he still took her breath away.

Coming up for air, she couldn’t believe they were finally going to do it. She no longer had to wait. “I’m calling Mamma now. She’ll be mad, but she’ll get over it.” Hannah stepped into the large parlor situated to the left of the foyer.

Taking a seat on an old antique sofa, she dialed her mom and told her the news. To say she was displeased would’ve been an understatement, but she knew Jeff and Hannah were more than ready, especially now that they’d bought their first home. After some convincing that the wedding would still be beautiful there, her mother finally relented and told her she needed to go so she could call Joanie. Hannah laughed because those two were like sisters—they did everything together. She and Jeff should’ve just linked their calls.

Jeff came to sit next to her. “How did she take it?”

“She had to rush off the phone to call your mom.” Hannah laughed and leaned her head against his shoulder. “It’s a good thing I already have my dress.”

She glanced around the parlor at the aging satin wallpaper, Victorian-style, antique blue-and-white-striped sofa she definitely wanted to keep, and cherry wood side tables. There was a matching China cabinet situated in the far-right corner. An ornately carved, white-painted mantel sat atop a gorgeous fireplace along the back wall. This was Hannah’s favorite room. There were floor-to-ceiling windows behind the sofa opposite them, looking out into the front yard.

“Hey, how about we spend the night here?” Jeff stroked her hair. “They left a king-sized bed in the master bedroom. I’m sure we can clean it and grab some sheets from the store.”

She leaned further into the crook of his arm, snuggling close to his chest. “I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.”

They spent the entire day cleaning and airing out the big ole house.

The kitchen was the perfect size, with black granite countertops, gleaming white cabinets, and stainless-steel appliances—the one part of the house that had already been remodeled. They didn’t have a table for the dining room or kitchen but didn’t care. They’d stopped at the grocery store earlier to grab something simple to have for dinner, along with a bottle of wine for later.

It was nine p.m. when they finally settled in front of the fireplace with their glasses of Merlot. October nights were always so beautiful in New Orleans. Hannah opened the front windows to allow a cool breeze to flow through.

“To us, and our long, happy life together.” Jeff raised his glass, toasting to their forever.

She felt like she was living in a fairytale. “To us.” She smiled and sipped her wine.

Setting his wineglass on the coffee table, Jeff took her hand. She set her glass beside his when she saw the serious expression on his face.

“I love you, Hannah. Today couldn’t have been more perfect.” He clutched her face in his hands and covered her mouth with his own. It was one of those kisses never forgotten—forever ingrained in a memory—the kind from dreams that one believed would never come true, until it happened.

Jeff laid Hannah down on the plush white rug beneath them and began exploring her body with his hands. It felt as though he were touching her for the first time. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest, and she couldn’t get enough. Just when Hannah’s clothes were about to come off, she sat straight up, bringing Jeff with her.

“How about we take this to our bedroom?” She rose a brow, pulling his hand.

He grinned wickedly. “Yes, ma’am. I thought you’d never ask.”

They walked through the house hand-in-hand on bare feet and up the hardwood steps, down the darkened hallway, to their room on the right. It was perfect. Jeff, to Hannah’s surprise, had decorated it with fresh flowers sitting atop the mantel, with white candles spread throughout the room. She went around the space, lighting each of them with her fingertip, smiling back at him. Their king-sized bed was now covered in a red-and-brown duvet with matching throw pillows.

Hannah felt strong arms pull her from behind, and her breath caught. This would be their first night together in their home. Jeff lowered his head, nuzzling her neck and began kissing along the most sensitive part. She felt a shiver of need run throughout her body—he knew exactly what to do. Pulling her top over her head, he tossed it to the side, unclasped her bra, and she turned toward him.

He was even sexier in the candlelit room. She wasted no time reciprocating, removing his T-shirt, and found herself taking her time, watching him watch her with want in his gaze. Giving him a sexy, come-hither stare, Hannah stepped out of her jeans and stood naked before him. It wasn’t long before Jeff scooped her up in his arms, then took her to the bed where his body hovered over her.

“You’re bad, Hannah.” He grinned and then devoured her mouth in a soul-searing kiss.

She was his—mind, body, and soul.

Darkness surrounded Hannah, and all she could feel was the icy fingers of death clawing at her spine. She had no idea where she was or how she’d gotten there. The only sound she could hear was the pounding of her heart as it thudded against her chest. She attempted to look around into the inky blackness of what seemed to be cave-like walls. She knelt to find sand and rock on the ground beneath her feet.

Where was she? Had she fallen into an alternate realm she didn’t know existed? Hannah inched forward, balancing her steps by leaning against the rock wall, searching for some kind of light ahead. Calling out, the only answer she received was the echo of her own voice.

Paralyzing fear gripped her. Where was Jeff? The last thing she remembered was making love to him and falling asleep. This had to be some kind of dream. She just needed to find a way to wake up.

As she crept forward into the abyss of the unknown, a strange howling assaulted her ears. Hannah dropped to her knees and covered her head. Wolves? What else could it have been? She didn’t have time to think—all she could do was focus on her magic and produce a fireball in her hand for light. If Hannah was about to come head-to-head with wolves, she needed to be ready, dream or not.

Steeling her nerve, she traversed through the cave until she saw a stream of light in the distance. She picked up her pace—wolves be damned—and ran as fast as her legs would carry her until she could see a shimmer of light.

Hannah stood on the edge of a small cliff, overlooking a full moon—not just any moon, but a blood moon—a sign of trouble nearby. Her thoughts immediately rushed to Jeff. She had a bad feeling he might be in trouble. She knew she needed to find him—and fast.

She sat on her butt and slid down the small cliff to what appeared to be one of the covens’ sacred Hallows. But Hannah knew right away her ancestors weren’t there—she would’ve felt their presence otherwise. She stood, wiping the excess dirt and leaves from her clothing and glanced around. The howling became louder the further she walked into the clearing, but she couldn’t stop. She knew Jeff was out there somewhere and had to find him. What if he was hurt—or worse?

Hannah took off in a dead run, straight into the middle of the clearing where the moon shone the brightest. She shouted Jeff’s name, but only howling answered her. Suddenly, a bright yellow orb descended from the Heavens, taking on a human-like form. With wavy blonde hair whispering in the breeze and a long white robe, a woman—Hannah’s ancestor—hovered just in front of her, then spoke:

“Hannah, your life is about to change over the course of the next few days. Watch the moon, but I must caution you: choose your actions very carefully, or they will have dire consequences.”

“What does that mean?” Hannah asked nervously.

“You will know when the time comes, my child.” She reached out to touch her hand, then Hannah felt warmth and ancestral magic spread throughout her entire body.

“What about the moon? Is Jeff all right?” She bombarded her ancestor—the only one who’d come to speak with her—with questions.

“For now, but remember; all magic comes with a price, Hannah.” Her cerulean eyes seemed sad when she peered into Hannah’s—and it was then that she knew. The howling of the wolves, the blood moon—all of it—was an omen of death to come that was only revealed in dreams.

“Please, I can’t lose him. You’re wrong. I don’t understand what you want me to do with the moon,” Hannah cried. “A spell? Where can I find it?”

Without another word, her ancestor gave her a weak smile and disappeared into a bright-yellow orb and ascended into the Heavens.

Standing there with her mouth agape, tears streaming down her face, Hannah felt a sense of loss. Not only for her ancestor, but for who she might lose—Jeff. Then she remembered she was only in a dream and needed to wake up. She had to. When she turned to run from the clearing, she was no longer there, but in a busy street somewhere in New Orleans. Hannah felt disoriented, having no idea where she was. Blood began rushing down the sidewalks, but no one seemed to notice except her.

Hannah screamed at the top of her lungs for everyone to move, but they couldn’t hear her. She was wading through the crimson liquid as it rose to her knees. She needed to find Jeff and wake from this awful nightmare. She turned to her right just as a speeding truck splashed through the red gore, covering her entire body with blood. She stood there, shocked, then stared down at her blood-covered hands.

Again, she screamed Jeff’s name much louder this time with tears falling down her face. She was so lost and confused. Hannah’s entire body was trembling with fear of the unknown, and the words of her ancestor continued to play on a loop in her mind.

Blood rushed down her face, into her eyes and mouth, and she gagged. Searing pain shot through her head, and she lost her balance, falling into the sea of blood surrounding her. Hannah knew that she was going to die in her dream. Was it her death that the ancestor had foretold?

“Hannah, wake up! You’re having a nightmare.” Jeff soothed, rubbing Hannah’s hair and holding her in his arms.

When she opened her eyes, seeing that he was alive and well, she latched onto him with a death grip, crying even harder. “Jeff, you’re okay. There was so much blood… you’re all right.” She continued to sob in his arms.

“Shh. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. It was just a dream, sweetheart. Everything’s all right now.” He pulled away to look at her face. “Do you need anything? A glass of water?”

“No, just you,” she said through tears. “Hold me until I fall asleep again.”

He nodded and pulled her close. She didn’t want to scare him with that horrible dream or what the ancestor had predicted. They were getting their happily ever after, and it was just a dream. People had nightmares every day, right? Even witches with the gift of premonition. Hannah finally fell asleep to the calming rhythm of Jeff’s heartbeat.

Chapter 3

Present Day

Pulling into Tulane Hospital, Hannah’s mind was a wreck. She remembered the nightmare she’d had the night she and Jeff had spent in their new home. It had shaken her to the core. Now she knew it was much more than just a dream—her ancestor had been right. She had a decision to make.

Hannah grabbed her things, jumped from the car, and ran toward the front entrance. She knew Abby was likely already there. Hannah hoped she’d talked Joanie into getting food or something because she wasn’t sure she could see her right then. With her heart in her throat, she entered the elevator and pushed the button to ICU located on the third floor. So many questions were running through her mind: How would he look? Would he open his eyes? Was he going to come back to her? Too many to count. Hannah’s heart was breaking with every step she took after the elevator doors opened.

She walked to the nurse’s station, told the nurse on duty who she was, then asked where she was supposed to go. The woman had a solemn expression on her face. Hannah thought nurses were supposed to keep their features neutral, but maybe that was just her broken heart, or anger at the situation.

When Hannah opened the double glass doors, the overpowering smell of antiseptic washed over her, and she wasn’t prepared for the broken man she saw lying on the bed. Her everything crumbled into a million tiny pieces. She rushed to his side and lightly touched his hand. His entire body was wrapped in a cast and there were so many machines. The one helping him breathe, forcing his chest to rise and fall, was what truly broke her.

The beep-beep-beep of them all was like a foghorn blaring in her ears. She grasped his hand in her own, and sat in the chair beside his bed. “Jeff, if you can hear me, please come back.” She choked back a sob. “I need you. If you want to have those babies right away, we can start trying as soon as we’re married in our beautiful new home. Please come back,” she cried and gently kissed his forehead.

Hannah held his hand to her face, crying softly until she heard someone enter the room.

“Hey, Hannah.” Abby walked in with her eyes downcast. “I’m so sorry.”

“No. We have to help him live, Abby.”

“I’m not sure we can.” Danielle came through the door behind her.

“What do you mean?” Hannah almost shrieked.

“Abbs, you should tell her.” Danielle glanced between Hannah and Abby.

Abby took a breath and ran a hand through her long black hair, her green eyes glowing. “Well, as you know, I can see ghosts, lost spirits, or whatever you wanna call them.” She walked toward the window. “Jeff’s spirit has already left his body.”

“What?” Hannah half-shouted. “He’s right here—breathing.”

“On a machine,” Danielle said calmly.

“So, where is he?” Hannah was near hysterical.

She watched as Abby cast a glance toward Danielle and back to her. “He’s here, devastated, because you’re so upset, and his life was cut short.” Abby pointed toward the other side of the bed.

Jeff stood opposite her, and she had no idea.

Hannah stood and walked around the bed. “Jeff?” She couldn’t see him, but something felt off, odd.

“Listen, I can lend you my power if we hold hands, but only for a few minutes,” Abby offered. “This way, you can see and speak to him, okay?”

“Anything, just please let me see him. We have to bring him back, Abby.”

She shook her head, but the two witches came to stand next to Hannah and grasped thin air, then her hand. The air shimmered at first, then Jeff appeared. She wanted to jump in his arms, but she knew she couldn’t break the circle. She also couldn’t stop the tears.

“Hannah, I’m so sorry,” Jeff said. “If I knew how to come back, I would. I’d never leave you or our life together.”

“I’ll take you any way I can have you. We’ll find a way. I promise you that. You’re not leaving me,” Hannah said. “Remember those babies you talked about? We’re gonna have at least four of ’em. Don’t give up on us.”

“Hannah.” The expression on Jeff’s face said he was resigned to his fate, and she wanted to punch him.

“No. Don’t ‘Hannah’ me. I saw one of my ancestors in that nightmare the other night. She warned me of changes to come and told me to watch for the moon. I believe she was talking about Moon Magic. We only need to find the right spell.”

“Moon Magic?” Danielle raised a questioning brow. “I’ve heard of a few spells, but I don’t know about bringing back the dead. We can’t exactly do what Abby’s mom did for me, or the ancestors.” She stared at Abby. “Do you know anything about it?”

“There’s something in Daddy’s book, but I’m not sure. I’d have to read up on it. It’s not like we have angels handy.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? There’s a full moon tonight and I know Joanie—she won’t leave Jeff on life support for long,” Hannah said. “Run home and grab your father’s book, then come back here so we can come up with a plan. Please… It’s our only hope.”

“All right, but, Hannah, no one can know about this,” Abby said. “You know I’m not supposed to share my late father’s magic with anyone. Mom said it was strictly forbidden. It’s not only ancestral but blessed by God’s light as well.”

Danielle shook her head. “I don’t know if I like this, Abbs. What about the consequences? Mrs. B. will have your head.”

Abby appeared a bit nervous. “As long as we don’t break any rules, Mom should be fine. I hope.”

“We’ll check everything out, okay? If the consequences are too great, we won’t go through with it.” Hannah turned to Jeff who was hanging his head. “Hey, look at me. I just want you back, but I won’t do anything stupid, okay? I love you.”

“I love you, too, Hannah. I wish I could kiss you right now.”

“All right. Enough of the mushy shit,” Danielle teased, her long blonde hair swung around her shoulder as she shook her head, and for some reason, her blue eyes were beginning to glow. Maybe it had something to do with the sharing of Abby’s magic.

“Oh, shut it, Danielle.” Abby nudged her shoulder. “All right, kids. It’s time to break the connection. I’m sorry. Please say your goodbyes—for now.” She glanced from Hannah, then to Jeff. Hannah could see the concern marring Abby’s face, although she was trying to hide it.

“Bye, soon-to-be Mrs. Landry.” Jeff blew her a kiss. The expression on his face broke Hannah’s heart all over again.

“Bye, my soon-to-be darling husband,” she said through tears and watched as he disappeared when Abby let go of her hand.

Hannah wanted to fall into a heap on the floor but thought it best to keep herself together until they had their plan in motion. Abby was one of the strongest witches she knew, blessed with the power of God’s light, along with ancestral and ancient magic. She could do just about anything if she set her mind to it. They just needed to stay within the guidelines. She only hoped Moon Magic was one of them.

Chapter 4

Abby, her boyfriend and Jeff’s best friend, Danny, and Danielle arrived at sundown with her father’s spell book. The more the merrier, Hannah thought. It was just after she’d assured Joanie that she’d stay the night with Jeff and insisted she should go home, shower, and rest. Hannah was grateful she’d listened. Having her walk in while they were performing a spell would’ve been disastrous.

She knew with their combined powers they’d be able to accomplish a lot more. Danielle somehow smuggled in four large white candles; Hannah assumed for the spell they were going to perform. She was a bundle of nerves but was ready and willing to do anything to help Jeff walk out of that hospital alive. Thoughts of The Walking Dead crept into her mind, and she shuddered. She was never watching that damn show again. Ever. Jeff would not be a zombie. They were simply putting his spirit back into his body, or at least that was what she thought they were doing. She had no idea.

Abby sat cross-legged in the middle of the room. “Okay, Danielle, seal off the doors and ward the room so we won’t be disturbed.”

“Can do.” She stood and recited an incantation around the entryway that would stop anyone from entering. The room would not only feel empty, but the closer a person came to the door, the more a sense of foreboding would come over them, causing them to want to turn and walk in the other direction.

Once the spell was complete, Hannah glanced over at Jeff and saw Danny sitting in the chair beside him, whispering with his head down. In her own grief, she hadn’t thought about the other people around her who’d also been affected by his condition. Jeff and Danny had always been like brothers. She felt like shit. She’d been barking orders without considering anyone else’s feelings, and that needed to change—starting now.

She walked over to Abby and sat on the floor beside her, laying her head on her shoulder. “Thank you for being such a good friend. I’m sorry for acting the way I did earlier. I’m just so—”

“Stop.” Abby cut Hannah off and grabbed her hand. “If it were Danny lying in that bed, I’d be hysterical. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Hey, Abbs, the spell’s done.” Danielle plopped down next to Abby. “Don’t you two start that crying shit. I can’t take it.”

Danielle, always the jokester, could never deal with any sort of display of emotion. She was the kindest of souls, but no one knew what would come out of that girl’s mouth at any given moment.

“Thanks, Danielle,” Abby said. “I was just going over the spell in Daddy’s book again. I’m still not clear on everything, but I do know we have to use the light of the full moon.”

“This is exactly what I was talking about,” Danielle countered. “We don’t know. Why can’t we just tell him to jump back in his body or somethin’? Hell, what if it backfires?”

“We’re out of options,” Hannah pled. “I don’t know what else to do. I can’t just let him die.”

“Hannah.” Danielle pointed her finger toward the wall behind her. “He’s technically dead already. I’m looking at him, or his spirit, rather.”

“Can we not talk about him like that, please?” Hannah asked. “It’s creepy and I can’t see him.”

“That’s it.” Abby jumped to her feet. “Jeff, go try and jump back in your body before we do a spell that could really screw things up.”

“Abby.” Danny interrupted. “What are you thinking? It doesn’t work like that and you know it.” He folded his arms, seeming as though he was going to scold everyone like children.

“Well, the spell isn’t clear, and Danielle said—”

“Seriously, Abby? Danielle said? And you’re just gonna tell him to hop back in his body? It didn’t work for her, either.” He took a breath, running his hand through his hair. “What’s Jeff saying?”

“That we’re all nuts, and he’s already tried.” Abby and Danielle burst out laughing.

“What’s so damn funny?” Hannah stared between the two laughing hyenas.

“He’s trying it again. He folded his arms and laid down on top of his body, then sat up with a ‘What the hell?’ expression.” Abby couldn’t stop laughing, and Hannah didn’t find it funny. “He said it won’t fit. I’m dying...” She wanted to smack Abby and Danielle, but at least they were finding some humor in the situation. If she weren’t so heartbroken, she guessed it would’ve been kind of funny. “It won’t fit.”

Yeah, that was funny, but whatever.

“Danielle’s rubbing off on you with her crude sex jokes at the most inappropriate of times,” she said, hiding a smile.

“Oh, shut it, Hannah,” Danielle piped in. “You know you love me, and you needed to laugh. Jeff thought so, too. Let’s get this show on the road.” She grabbed the candles sitting on the table against the wall and went back to the centermost part of the room.

“It’s about time.” Danny took his seat amongst the circle. “Abby, do what you always do: have faith. God and the ancestors will see you through.” He grasped her hand and planted a kiss on her knuckles. He was such a sweet guy, just like Jeff…

Chapter 5

After placing the candles in a circular formation within the circle, they each lit a candle counterclockwise using their fingertips to begin the blessing. Abby laid her dad’s book on her lap for reference. Holding hands, they prayed aloud for their ancestors to bless the sacred circle and to enfold them with their protection, lending their power and strength for what was to come.

“Jeff, we need you to step inside the sacred circle,” Abby said, and Hannah’s heart began to race. She wondered if she’d be able to see him once the spell commenced. She wasn’t sure how she’d respond, but she knew she needed to be strong—for both of them.

“All right, everyone. The spell says that we must call upon the light of the full moon, but under no circumstances do we break the circle. Understood?”

Everyone nodded in affirmation, although Hannah’s stomach was tied in knots. This just had to work. With Abby on her left and Danielle to her right, she felt stronger. She could do this.

“Okay, repeat after me.” Abby glanced around to make sure everyone was paying attention. Hannah could see she was worried. This was something so far out of Abby’s realm of expertise, and Hannah knew she was scared—they all were.

Ancients and Ancestors, we call upon thee,

With the blessings of God Almighty.

Lend us your strength and serenity.

We call upon the light of the full moon rising,

Set Jeff’s spirit free.

Reunite his body, flesh and bone revitalizing.

Bring him back amongst the living.

So we have called it.

So shall it be.

They repeated the incantation twice more, and on the third time, Jeff’s body became corporeal within the circle. The wind howled outside the room, and the lights began to flicker, but all that mattered was Jeff—Hannah could see him! Without thinking, she jumped up, breaking the circle and threw herself into his arms, crying like a small child. She grabbed his face and kissed him all over until she reached his lips.

She could hear voices in the background, but as far as she was concerned, the only two people in the room were her and Jeff.

Jeff held Hannah close in his arms, with tears rolling down his cheeks. “I love you, Hannah,” he said, his voice uneven. “I didn’t think I would ever get a chance to hold you in my arms again.” He lifted her from the floor and kissed her passionately until the wind from outside blew through the room, and a swirling gray mist appeared.

She heard, “Oh, shits,” and “What the hell?” then looked around. The candles winked out, and the circle was indeed broken. Dammit. She’d screwed up the last part of the spell. The gray mist became thick, swirling around their feet as the wind died down, then the woman—her ancestor—who’d come to Hannah in her dream, appeared in a bright-yellow light where the sacred circle had once been.

Everyone jumped back, wide-eyed, covering their mouths. Hannah glanced toward Jeff’s bed and his body was no longer there. Well, she guessed that part worked, but what now?

“Hannah.” She startled at her ancestor’s soft voice.

“Yes?” She turned, having no idea what to say or do.

“I warned you about consequences, yet you paid me no mind.” The ancestor shook her head and glided toward her, taking Hannah’s hands in her own. “Listen, my child. In the end, you did bring Jeff back, but he’ll never be the same. Because you used Moon Magic and didn’t allow the spell to complete, he will now be cursed to the light of the full moon.”

“What do you mean, cursed?” she asked, turning to Jeff and back to her.

“What I mean, my dear, is that on the night of every full moon, he will turn into a beast, a werewolf, and this is a curse I cannot break.”

Hannah took a step back in shock. “I did this to him?”

“Shh, it’s not that bad. We’ll make it work,” Jeff said, when the entire room lit up in gasps. “It’s only once a month. At least I’m alive, and we can be together.”

Hannah fell into his arms, attempting to hold back tears. This wasn’t what she’d wanted, but he was right. At least he was alive. It would be an adjustment, that was for sure.

“My name is Serena, and if you ever find that you’re losing your way, just call upon me,” the ancestor offered with a kind smile and added, “We have a sacred Hallow where you can bring him on the nights when the curse is in full effect. He will be safe there as he is still one of ours.”

“So, I won’t lose my magic?” Jeff asked.

“No, my son. You were born a witch, and as long as you do not delve into dark magic, your powers will remain.” She pulled him into a tight embrace and peered deep into his eyes. “Try not to think of this as a curse, but as a second chance of sorts. Although it was not planned, it is what the fates and God have decided.”

“Thank you, Serena,” Jeff said. “Now, what do we tell our mothers?”

Then everyone began laughing, as that was the least of their worries—well, not really. Hannah was certain that as long as Joanie had her son back, she wouldn’t care if he was a werewolf one night a month—she hoped.

Serena giggled. It was so strange seeing and hearing an ancestor giggle. When Hannah thought of them, she always pictured old, wrinkled witches who’d lived a long life. But not her, Serena appeared more like a Greek goddess. Strange. This whole night had been strange.

Serena floated, rather than walked, toward Abby, touching her face. “Ah, the chosen one. You are your father’s daughter. Paul’s so very proud of you, my dear. Remember, God’s light is always within your soul—embrace it.” She smiled and turned to Danielle.

“My sweet, Danielle. You have been given a gift like no other. A second chance at life. Do not hold on to regrets or bitterness. Forgive those who have wronged you—then and only then, will you be truly happy.” Serena embraced Danielle in a motherly hug, and surprisingly, she hugged her back with tears in her eyes.

“Danny.” Serena clutched his hand. “I know you’ve been through a lot these past few years, but you’ve gained so much more. Hang on to the love that surrounds you. It fuels your soul.” She kissed his cheek.

“I must go now, children. Remember, if you need me, you only need to call upon me. I’m always watching over you.” She smiled lovingly and disappeared in a yellow orb, followed by gray mist.

“Holy shit!” Danielle exclaimed. “I so did not expect that. Welcome back to the living, Jeff.” She fell back into the chair near the bed, shock written all over her face.

Danny walked over to Jeff and man-hugged him. “Welcome back, man. You scared us.”

“I know, but I’m here now and, I guess it’s as good a time as any to tell you that Hannah and I are getting married in our new house in a few days.” Jeff grinned and wrapped his arm around Hannah’s shoulder.

“Dude, you just came back to life.” Danny reacted. “Don’t you think your mom will have a conniption?”

“Who cares? She’ll be glad I’m not laying in that bed on life support. So, how about it, guys? Are you up for a wedding?”

“A more important question is—how in the hell are we gonna get you outta this hospital?” Abby asked. “Then we can talk about all the exciting wedding plans.”

“Magic,” Danielle deadpanned from her perch on the chair without glancing up.

Obviously, she was still in shock from the spell, but she was right. Another spell would have to be cast—an illusion spell to get Jeff out of the hospital.

“Right, but we’re forgetting someone,” Hannah chimed in. “We can’t just leave without calling Joanie. What if she comes back and Jeff’s gone?”

“You do it, Hannah,” Abby told her. “I helped with the spell, but I’m not getting in that mess. I’ll be lucky if she and Evelyn don’t call my mom and throw a fit. But, on the upside, we can tell them our ancestor approved, sort of.”

“Shit. You’re right. It’s not like Jeff can call her up.” Hannah observed everyone in the room. “No one goes anywhere until I’m done.”

She strolled to the bathroom for some semblance of privacy to make that dreaded call. After dialing the number, she waited. On the third ring, Joanie answered.

“Hannah? Is Jeff all right?”

“More than all right. He’s awake.”

“What?” Joanie screamed in Hannah’s ear and she had to hold the phone away.

“Yeah, he’s up moving around and ready to come home.”

“Hannah, what did you do?”

She took a deep breath and sighed. “Well, I had a dream—a premonition—a few nights ago and one of our ancestors came to me talking about Moon Magic—”

“Moon Magic?” Joanie cut her off. “That’s dangerous, Hannah.”

“Yes, well, I had a friend look into it, and we performed a spell. Our ancestor, Serena, came to us once it was complete. Well, almost. I sort of broke the circle when I saw Jeff.”

“You did what? The consequences, Hannah.”

“I know, but Serena said she’d help. His body is fully restored and no longer dead. But…he’s cursed by the full moon once a month.”

“As a werewolf.” Joanie’s voice held zero emotion.

Tears slipped down Hannah’s face. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“I can hear you crying. Stop, right this instant. You brought my baby back. So what if he’ll be hairy once a month? I’ll be over in twenty minutes, and then we can sneak him out of the hospital.”

“Hey, before you go, will you call my mom? I know I’m grown, but I ran out on her earlier, and I feel terrible. I just don’t know what to say.”

“Of course, my sweet girl. Thank you. Love you, Hannah,” she said, ending the call.

Hannah opened the door to the bathroom to find all four goofballs standing there listening in. They jumped back like kids acting as if they weren’t just caught eavesdropping. “Well, I guess you heard everything?”

“No, not really.” Danielle shrugged. “I’m too short. I couldn’t find a good spot.”

Hannah cracked up laughing. “It went well, and Joanie will be here soon to help us get Jeff outta here with no one the wiser.”

“Thank God.” Jeff ran a hand through his hair. “What about Evelyn? Are you gonna call her?”

“Not until we get you home—our home. We have enough clothes there for now, and we can get the rest later. I just want us to get back to normal.”

Jeff pulled her close. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Joanie arrived in less than fifteen minutes, crashing through the door at breakneck speed. All Hannah saw was dark-brown hair rushing toward Jeff, nearly knocking him to the floor. “Oh, my baby. You’re all right.”

“Yeah, Mom. I am, but you’re squeezing the life outta me.” He smiled down at her.

“Sorry, it’s not every day your son comes back to life,” she said and glanced around. “Okay, let’s get him out of here.

“There’s only one night nurse at the station and distracting her should be easy. I’ll manipulate Jeff’s medical file to make it look like his injuries weren’t that severe, a miraculous recovery of sorts, and that he was signed out earlier today. They might scratch their heads, but who cares?”

“Sounds great,” Hannah said. “What should I do? Sneak him out to the elevators while you have her distracted?”

“Yes. You, Abby, Danny, Jeff, and Danielle stand in a group and walk casually toward the elevator.” She turned to Jeff. “Do you have all of your things?”

“Mom, I was in a car crash. What things?”

“Oh, right. Never mind.”

“We can all pile into my SUV,” Abby suggested, “and meet back at Hannah and Jeff’s house, Miss Landry. Does that work for you?”

“Sounds good. I’ll take care of the illusion spells from here. Thanks so much to all of you for bringing my boy back.” Joanie swiped the tears from her face. “Okay, I’m heading out. Give me two minutes, then move.”

Everyone waited the two minutes and walked out into the hallway where they saw Joanie talking up the nurse. She didn’t even look their way. They did as they were told, taking the elevator down to the lobby and nearly running out of the front door to the parking lot. Who knew it would be so easy?

When they arrived at Jeff and Hannah’s home, the lights were on. Hannah turned to him and shrugged. She had no idea who was there, but they had magic on their side. Five witches against whoever decided to enter the house—equaled outnumbered. They cautiously walked up the front-porch steps, peering into the windows of the parlor. It was Hannah’s mamma. Shit. She almost had a heart attack. She’d given her a key the day after they’d closed on the house.

Evelyn opened the door, startling everyone. Again. “What? Do I look that bad?” She fluffed her red hair, laughing. “I brought dinner if anyone’s hungry.”

Hannah rushed over and hugged her. “I’m so sorry about this morning, Mamma. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“Now, now. I understand.” Evelyn looked into her eyes and smoothed her hair. “You’re about to be a wife and maybe a mother soon.” She smiled and kissed Hannah’s cheek.

“I love you, Mamma.”

Hannah knew Joanie must have talked to her and explained everything in a way she couldn’t. That woman was like a second Mamma to her. She’d always known how to diffuse any situation. Hannah was so grateful.

They walked in, and the smell of roast beef, green beans, mashed potatoes, freshly baked bread, and heavens knew what else permeated the air. Everyone practically ran toward the kitchen. Mamma had even brought Hannah and Jeff a white kitchen table to match the cabinets. She thought she might cry, but food.

While they were stuffing their faces, Hannah wondered how her mother had stealthily brought that table over. It had to have been before Joanie called. She must have had it planned for the wedding. The wedding! Three days! She almost spat out her food at the thought.

“Mamma, how’s the wedding plans coming along? I know we’ve had a rough day but—where are we? Will we still be able to have it on time?” Hannah rambled off questions as they came to mind. Suddenly, she began to lose her appetite, but Jeff placed his hand on her thigh and grinned.

Evelyn and Joanie broke out into a fit of laughter. “Do you think we’re a bunch of amateurs?” Joanie teased. “We’ve got this. Your dress has already been picked up from the dry cleaner, and all the decorations are in my parlor and living room. You can barely walk in my house.”

“Oh, you should see the archway.” Evelyn’s excitement was almost palpable. “It’s trimmed in the most beautiful flowers, and you’re going to look like a princess.”

Okay, it seemed they had it all planned out and Hannah had nothing to worry about. “Hey, you guys.” She turned toward Danny, Abby, and Danielle. “Will you be here? It’s at two p.m.”

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Abby answered. “You know Liz and Mom are coming, too. If you don’t invite them, Liz will kick your ass.”

“Of course your sister and Jaqueline are invited. That’s a given. Just tell Liz to leave the Sword of Light at home, please.”

Abby snickered. “I’ll try, but you never know when rogue vamps wanna come out and play.”

Hannah hung her head. There was no use trying to talk Liz out of bringing that sword. She never left home without it, and for good reason. It was the only weapon that could send a rogue vampire’s soul to God for redemption. Not to mention, it was badass when fighting anything else supernatural. It had saved her life more than once.

After everyone was done eating, Evelyn said she would wash up and clear the table. Everyone decided to head home, leaving Jeff and Hannah alone with Mamma and Joanie. She’d arrived just after they’d sat down to eat, laughing about the silly tricks she’d pulled on the nurse and how easy it had been to manipulate the hospital records. Hannah was thinking it was definitely a gray area of magic, but hey, who was she to judge?

Jeff and Hannah slugged up the steps to their room, then decided to take a shower and rest. They had no idea if their mothers were spending the night, and they honestly didn’t care.

Chapter 6

It was finally Hannah’s wedding day, and Mamma wanted to do everything the old-fashioned way without magic, which meant Hannah’s hair and makeup were done professionally, along with a manicure and pedicure. After everything was plucked and waxed, she felt like a pincushion.

She sat in front of her old dressing table for the final time as a single woman. Her mother had insisted she stay with her because the groom wasn’t supposed to see the bride until she walked down the aisle. Joanie rushed in carrying Hannah’s dress, gushing over how beautiful she looked. Her fiery red curls were pinned in an up-do, with a few ringlets hanging around her face. She wore her mamma’s pearls that Daddy had given her on their wedding day for something old, Joanie’s diamond-encrusted pearl earrings for something borrowed, and a lace garter Abby had given her for something blue.

Hannah stood as her mamma slipped her silk cream-colored wedding dress over her head. It was strapless with a fitted waistline. She wasn’t much for flashy—it was perfect. She wore a delicate white-gold tiara that held her veil. She truly did feel like a princess. When Abby and Danielle walked in, their mouths dropped. Both were wearing deep-green strapless dresses fit for fall, with black sashes around their waists. She’d asked if they’d be her bridesmaids just after they’d rescued Jeff from the hospital.

“Holy shit!” Danielle said. “Oh, sorry, Evelyn. Hannah, you look gorgeous. I could seriously cry.” Her blue eyes were starting to water.

“Danielle Knight, cry? No way.” Hannah chuckled, then walked over and hugged her.

“Thanks for coming, you guys. I really appreciate it.”

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Abby said. “You about ready? Jeff’s waiting and he’s all smiles.”

“Let’s do this,” she said with a huge grin and glanced to her mamma and Joanie. They were hugging each other. It made her heart swell.

“Girls, the limo’s waiting just outside,” Evelyn said. “We’ll meet you there.”

Hannah hugged her mamma and Joanie one last time before she left, then headed out the door to the waiting limo. Holy shit, it had everything. Evelyn and Joanie spared no expense: champagne, the whole nine yards.

They arrived at Jeff and Hannah’s house several minutes later, and she barely recognized it. The front porch was lit up with white lights, and there were tasteful wedding decorations everywhere. White gauze-like material was wrapped around the columns,
and tables were set with crystal champagne glasses and dishes to match on each side.

Abby walked in first to make sure everything was set to go, then Hannah heard her mother and Joanie pull up behind them. Mamma called out for Hannah to wait because she wanted to walk her inside. With Hannah’s father dead, she was going to be the one to give her away.

Mamma and Joanie met Hannah on the porch and asked what she thought so far. “It’s breathtaking.” That was all she could seem to mutter as she looked around in awe. There were no reservations, just peace.

Evelyn clutched Hannah’s arm in hers and walked through the door of her home. It was just as breathtaking as the front. It had been transformed into an old-style wedding house from the ceiling on down. “Close your mouth, dear,” Mamma said with a light smile. “It’s not proper for the bride to stare.”

She promptly closed her mouth, then walked through the kitchen and out the back door to see the backyard. White chairs were perfectly lined on either side of a red carpet, with a beautiful white wooden archway, covered in flowers. Then Hannah saw him—her forever—dressed in a sharp black tux and crisp white shirt, with his dimples on full display. If she could’ve melted into a puddle right there, she would have.

“I’m ready, Mamma. Get Abby and Danielle.”

Danny was standing next to Jeff. Hannah had Danielle walk down first, then Abby, as her Maid of Honor. After all, if it weren’t for her, she and Jeff wouldn’t be together. The expression on Danny’s face when he saw Abby walk down the aisle was priceless—it was the very same look Jeff had always given Hannah. She wondered if wedding bells would soon be in their future.

Mamma nudged her, breaking her from her thoughts when the “Wedding March” began to play. All Hannah could see was Jeff watching her as she walked slowly down the aisle. She couldn’t help the cheesy smile she was sporting. Once she made it in front of the priest, she handed her bouquet to Abby and slid her hands into Jeff’s much larger ones.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered as he met her gaze.

Hannah could only grin, because she heard, “Dearly beloved. We are gathered here today…”

And her thoughts trailed off to their lives together. She was so happy to have a second chance. Hannah would always fight for their love or die trying. Jeff was her everything—her life, her soulmate—and she would spend every day showing him how much he meant to her.

“Hannah, don’t leave me hangin’,” Jeff whispered. “You’re supposed to say, ‘I do.’”

“Huh? Oh, I do. With all my heart. I do.” And everyone laughed. Great. She’d been so lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t paid attention to her vows. Did he put a ring on her finger? She peered down. Yep. She couldn’t do a face-palm standing in front of all those people.

Abby snorted and handed Hannah Jeff’s ring. She recited her vows, then placed a ring on Jeff’s finger and smiled. He seemed amused, knowing her so well. After a few more words were exchanged—Hannah really wasn’t paying attention after what had happened—the priest finally said, “You may kiss the bride.”

Jeff planted one on Hannah like he was starved for air and she was his oxygen. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she gave it right back while the guests hooted and hollered.

“I love you, Mrs. Landry.”

“I love you, Mr. Landry.”

“How about we skip the party and get started on making those babies you promised?” Jeff gave Hannah a sly grin. “You know, I heard everything you said.”

“If you can get past my mamma, let’s do it!”

Jeff scooped Hannah up and then rushed down the aisle.

They were off to go make some babies.

Hannah couldn’t have been happier.

About Angela Sanders

Angela Sanders is the international bestselling author of epic fantasy, paranormal romance, and urban fantasy. She's a multi-genre author who also writes psychological thrillers and murder mysteries. As a retired Navy Chief, wife, and mother, Angela lives in Kentucky, where she enjoys writing, editing, reading, or all three.

Her son is the key to her heart; he has the writing bug, wanting to be like his mommy when he grows up. She began her writing journey, first in the political world, and then left it all behind to explore the more fantastical world of fiction. With the help and support of several authors pushing her along, she published her first book in June 2017 and has been writing since.

If you enjoyed Moon Magic, read the series where it all began in Delphine Rising. The prequel, Winds of Change is free at most digital bookstores.

To learn more, click Angela Sanders Books.

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Winds of Change Prequel to (Delphine Rising Book 0.5) FREE on all available outlets

Raging Inferno (Delphine Rising Book 1)

Magic Unleashed (Delphine Rising Book 2)

Magic Revealed (Delphine Rising Book 3)

Marked by a Vampire (The Hybrid Coven Book 1)

Mated by Magic (The Hybrid Coven Book 2)

Touched by a Vampire (The Hybrid Coven Book 3)

Within the Shadows by Amy Hale

A Shadows Trilogy Short

Chapter 1

Incessant buzzing echoed through the apartment. No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, whoever it was, wasn’t going away. Worse, she feared it was Jeff. The text message he’d sent earlier made it clear that he wanted to see her. A frustrated breath passed her lips and sore feet reminded her of the previous evening’s dinner rush during her shift at Stan’s Diner as she made her way to the front door. She really didn’t want to deal with him today. She groaned, unlocked the door, and cracked it open, hoping on the slim chance it might be anyone other than Jeff.

He smiled at her, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “Hey, baby. It’s good to see you.”

Dana shook her head. “What do you want?”

He placed both hands above his head on the doorjamb and leaned in. His dark hair was slicked back fifties style, and he wore faded jeans with a red T-shirt that clung to his lean form. He grinned at her, leveling his brown eyes on her lips. “Can’t a guy just stop by and see his two favorite girls?”

She shook her head. “Most guys probably can. You can’t.”

He had the nerve to look hurt.

“Daddy?” said a small voice as their five-year-old walked up behind Dana.

“Hey, Shorty.” He reached down and ruffled her dark curls, moving the cigarette from his mouth to his free hand.

“Don’t call me Shorty. It’s not nice to make fun of people.” She crossed her arms in defiance, wrinkling her little round button nose. It was a stance and expression Dana often made. Their looks were similar enough that Lacey looked like a mini version of her mother.

Jeff looked at Dana with raised eyebrows.

“They’re talking about manners in school.” She smiled down at her daughter.

He nodded. “Then what do I call you?”

“My name. You call me Lacey.”

“Will do then. Can I come in for a while, Lacey? Dana?” He shifted his gaze back to Dana.

Lacey grabbed his hand and began to pull him inside.

“Whoa.” Dana put her hand on his chest. “Not with that thing.” Her eyes darted down to the cigarette in his right hand. “You know my rules. No smoking around Lacey.”

“Yeah. Right. Sorry.” He dropped the butt on the ground and smashed it out with the toe of his tennis shoe.

Dana stepped aside so Jeff could enter.

He shook off Lacey’s grip and flopped down on the sofa, putting his feet up on the coffee table. Lacey climbed up to sit beside him.

Every little girl loves her daddy. She’s no exception. It’s too bad her daddy turned out to be a scumbag.

“So, how have you been, Dana?” He barely acknowledged Lacey.

She shut the door and turned to face him. “You’d know if you stopped by more than once every couple months.” Shut up. It’s bad enough you have to see him this often.

“You know I’m a busy guy. I try to get over when I can.” He stretched and put his hands behind his head. “I really miss you girls. Especially you.” He flashed Dana a look that would have once turned her knees to pudding. Now, nothing. His face was still handsome, but the inner man was horrible and ugly, and it rightfully stained her image of him. His gaze roamed her body.

She knew she looked a mess. She had pulled her long brown hair up into a sloppy bun, and she wore her oldest pair of sweatpants. If he looked closer, he would have likely noticed her hazel eyes were slightly bloodshot. Sleep hadn’t been her friend lately.

“I have laundry to put away.” She picked up a full basket sitting near the TV and walked down the hall.

Jeff hopped off the sofa and followed her. “Need some help?”

Dana stopped in her tracks, and he almost ran into the back of her. She faced him. “Since when did you become Mr. Helpful?”

“I just thought you might need a hand.” He smiled.

Dana’s eyes narrowed. “What are you up to?”

He raised his hands. “Nothing. Like I said, just here to see my girls.” He looked her up and down once more, and she was thankful she hadn’t chosen to wear her leggings today. He’d always commented on how much he liked her curves, especially when she wore form-fitting clothing.

“Daddy,” shouted Lacey from the living room, “want to see my new Lego set?”

Dana tilted her head and gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Then go spend a little time with the one that actually wants to see you.”

He sighed, turned from Dana, and strolled back into the living room. “Sure, kid.”

Lacey quickly ran past Dana to her bedroom and brought back out a plastic bucket full of Legos.

Dana’s heart swelled with love for this amazing little girl. Jeff may not have been a good part of her past, but Lacey was a blessing. She couldn’t be mad at him for that.

“Daddy, look at this!” her voice squealed from the other room. “It comes with wheels so we can make cars and stuff.”

Convinced Lacey would be okay for the few minutes it would take her to put clothing in the closets, she set to work.

Ten minutes passed when she walked back into the living room, empty basket in hand. Lacey was still playing on the floor, two small items constructed from her new Legos sat in front of her. Jeff sat on the sofa staring at Lacey. His eyes were wide, and his mouth had gone slack.

“Jeff? Is everything okay?” She squatted down to her daughter’s level to ensure that Lacey was fine.

He cleared his throat, and Dana turned her eyes back to him. “Jeff. What’s wrong with you?” She bounced to her feet and put her hands on her hips, moving closer to him. In a harsh whisper, she said, “Are you high? You had damn well better not have done drugs in front of my daughter.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m not high. And she’s my daughter too, Dana.”

In hushed tones, she replied, “You wouldn’t know it. You give us zero financial support, and you show her very little attention. She should be your priority.”

He stood then, putting his face close to hers. “You know I’m looking for work.”

Dana shook her head. “For five years, Jeff? No, you’re looking for your next high. That’s all you’ve ever cared about.”

He rolled his eyes. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

“Don’t I? My guess is you are here because you’re broke, and you’re hoping I’ll give you a little cash to help you get by for a bit.” She looked directly into his eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

He stared back at her.

“I knew it.” Anger laced her voice, and she subtly gestured to Lacey. “There are times when I barely have enough for the two of us. You need to grow up.”

He ignored her verbal jab as he stepped around her and moved to the doorway. “Whatever.” When he pulled it open, he turned and glanced at Lacey. “She’s a special little girl.”

Dana’s brows drew together. “Yes, she is. What took you so long to notice?”

Lacey looked up and smiled at them both.

“You didn’t tell me she was gifted.” He looked pointedly at Dana.

Dana felt the world spin. She stiffened her spine and struggled to keep her face and tone neutral. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

His lips turned up at the corners in a way that made her heart sink. “I think you do.”

Again, she schooled her face to appear detached. “What are you talking about?”

He shook his head. “Never mind.” He looked at Lacey again. “See you soon, Lacey. Daddy needs to go.”

Lacey frowned. “You’re leaving?”

“I’ll be back soon. I promise.” He crouched down, and Lacey scrambled over to him for a hug. He gave her a big squeeze and a kiss on the top of her head. When he stood, he looked at Dana. “Do I get a kiss from Mommy, too?”

Dana raised one eyebrow. “Over my dead body.”

He shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He turned and closed the door behind him.

Dana sat on the sofa and looked at her shaking hands. She closed her eyes and inhaled deep, slow breaths.

A small hand touched her shoulder. “Mommy, are you okay?”

Dana opened her eyes, and her lips trembled as she tried to speak. “Baby, did something happen while Mommy was putting the clothes away?”

Lacey cast her eyes at her shoes. “I’m sorry. It was an accident. I was trying to reach a wheel for the car I was making, and it rolled away from me. I didn’t mean to.”

Dana shook her head. “It’s okay, baby. Just tell me what happened.”

Lacey clasped her hands together and twisted her fingers—a nervous habit she’d recently developed. “I didn’t think. I just reached my hand out.”

Lacey demonstrated for her mother as she had many times before. One of Lacey’s Legos raised up from the floor and flew into Lacey’s hand.

Dana pulled Lacey close and held her tight.

“You said not to ever tell anybody. But it’s Daddy. He’s okay, right?” Her little voice wobbled.

Dana wiped a tear from Lacey’s cheek. “It will be fine. We’ll ask Daddy to keep our secret, okay?” She smiled, hoping she instilled confidence in Lacey she didn’t feel herself. Jeff was a lowlife who only cared about himself. She didn’t know what this information would mean to him, but she didn’t trust him to keep it to himself.

“I tell you what; I have the whole day off. How about we watch a movie and make some popcorn?” She gave Lacey another little hug.

Lacey wiped her face with the back of her fingers. “Yes. Can we watch the princess movie?”

“Absolutely. You put away your Legos, and I’ll make the popcorn.”

Lacey started to pick up her toys but stopped and looked at her mother. “Mommy, does Daddy know about you?”

“About me?” she echoed.

“That you can do it too? Move things? And that other thing you do with your fingers…” She spaced her fingertips about an inch apart. “The lightning thing.”

“No, baby. Daddy doesn’t know.” Dana smiled. “I want to keep that secret just between me and you, okay?”

Lacey smiled and nodded as she continued to pick up her blocks.

Dana stepped into their small kitchen and did her best not to hyperventilate. “Jeff knows,” she whispered to herself. “Oh God. He knows.”

Dana called in sick to work the next two days. Her instincts told her to keep Lacey close. Even playing outside in the apartment’s playground was off-limits at the moment, much to Lacey’s disappointment.

Early on day three, there was a knock at her door. She cautiously opened it to find her neighbor Brandon standing on the other side. He lived two doors down, and they ran into each other often. They were friendly to each other, but she didn’t know if they’d qualify as friends.

She found him insanely attractive and tried to avoid him when she could. His sandy blond hair, sharp-angled features, broad shoulders, and impressive muscles were hard to ignore. But his eyes—his vivid blue eyes drew her in like a wayward traveler finally seeing home. She gravitated toward him when he was near, and it scared her. The last thing she needed was another man complicating her life.

“Hi, Dana, I hope I’m not bothering you.” He smiled, and she couldn’t help but notice straight teeth framed by seductive lips.

“Uh, no. Not at all. What can I do for you?” She wished she’d put more effort into her appearance this morning. Idiot, she chided herself.

“This will sound weird, but I was worried about you and Lacey.” He absentmindedly rubbed the back of his neck.

“Worried about us?” That switched her attention.

“You both are almost always at the playground on nice days, but I haven’t seen you despite the warm weather. I haven’t seen you leave for work, either. I just wanted to be sure you were okay or see if you needed anything.”

“I took a few days off. We’re fine, just a little worn down and taking it easy.” She smiled, hoping it would convince him all was well.

“I know it sounds creepy or something …I promise I don’t stand at the window and stalk you.” He chuckled. “It’s just stuff I notice. And you’re hard not to notice if I’m honest.”

Heat crept up her cheeks. “Well, thank you. That’s sweet.” She cleared her throat. “And yeah …a little creepy.” She smirked, surprised to find herself actually at ease with him despite the topic of conversation.

He chuckled again. “Well, if you ever need anything or want to grab a coffee sometime, please call me.” He handed her a business card. She glanced at it, and suddenly, things he said made sense. He was a private investigator. Attention to detail was part of his job.

“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.” She tucked the card into the back pocket of her jeans.

He nodded. “I hope you do. I’ll see you around.” He turned and walked the short distance back to his apartment.

Dana closed the door and leaned against it. “Life is crazy enough,” she admonished herself. “I don’t need a sexy guy making it worse.”

He was flirting with her, though, and that invitation to coffee—was he asking her out? It’d been a long time since a nice guy showed any interest in her. She thought Jeff was a nice guy once, too. She shook off the thoughts of it. She absolutely didn’t need to accept his invitation.

A knock on the door made her jump. She laughed at herself and turned, pulling open the door. “Listen, I like you, but I don’t think we should do this.”

Jeff stood there with his hands on his hips. “At least you like me.” He grinned.

Dana stepped backward. “What are you doing here?”

He studied her a moment. “So, you didn’t know it was me on the other side of this door. A guy’s got balls asking out another man’s woman.”

“What? I’m not your woman and never will be again. When are you going to get that through your thick skull?”

Jeff shrugged. “I’m just determined, I guess.” He pushed his way in, and two large men in dark clothing followed him.

“Who are they?” Dana pushed down panic once again. “Get out of my apartment,” she shouted.

“We will, when we get what we came for.” Jeff nodded, and one man took off down the hall toward the bedrooms. Lacey was still sleeping in hers.

Dana followed him. “Hey, you can’t—”

The other big man blocked her path.

“Hear me out, Dana. Our daughter is gifted in ways I’ve never seen. I know a guy that can develop those gifts. He can help her and make us all rich.” He grinned.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” Dana shouted. “You will not exploit our daughter.”

“Listen, Dr. Morrison knows what he’s doing. It’s like volunteering for one of those drug trials or medical studies. You work with them and get paid.”

Dana’s stomach turned. “Never.” Anger and disgust laced every syllable. “I will not allow you to turn Lacey into a lab rat.”

Jeff sighed. “Well, I tried to reason with you. But I was afraid you’d be this way.”

The man that disappeared down the hall reentered the living room with a sleepy Lacey in his arms. “Mommy? What’s happening?” Fear tinged her words.

“It’s okay, Shorty. Daddy has a fun trip planned for us.” Jeff reached over and ruffled Lacey’s hair.

“Jeff, please. Don’t do this.” She couldn’t contain the panic in her voice. “You don’t know what you’re getting into. You don’t know what you’re getting us into.”

Jeff scoffed at her. “Like you know anything about this.”

She gritted her teeth. “You’d be surprised.”

“We’re going to see a friend of mine, Lacey.” Jeff winked at his daughter as if that would somehow reassure her.

“You’ll have to go through me first,” Dana said.

He shrugged. “You heard her, boys.” He lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her tightly. The two large men took Lacey out the door and out of sight.

Dana could hear her screams as they stole her away. “Mommy! No! Mommy!”

“Let go of me!” Dana kicked at Jeff, trying to connect with him anywhere it might hurt.

He held her fast. “No, you will not stop me on this.”

A tear ran down her face. She hated showing him any weakness. “She’s your own flesh and blood. How could you do this to her? They’ll torture her.” She struggled against him again.

“You’ve always been so paranoid.” He chuckled. “They’re just going to study her. Find out what makes her so special.”

“And how do you think they do that, huh?” she shrieked. “X-rays?” She shook her head furiously. “That’s not how it works.”

“You act like they’ll dissect her or something.” He loosened his grip a tad.

“No, but what they will do is just as bad.” She inhaled a deep breath and then struggled to let it out again. “Jeff, I think I’m hyperventilating. Can I have a little space? I can’t breathe.”

He turned his face toward the door. “Since they’ve made it safely to the car, sure… I’ll back off.” He released her and took a step back.

Dana inhaled deeply again, but instead of working on her breathing she shoved him hard, hitting him in the gut with her shoulder. He staggered back and moved to grab her again. This time she was ready. She put her fingers on his chest and concentrated on her anger. The hair on her arms stood on end as a tingling sensation ran through her entire body. She pushed all that energy out to her fingertips, and electric pulses hit him like stabbing knives.

He screamed and fell backward out the front door. Dana looked up to see Brandon come running up to where Jeff now lay rolling in pain.

“What’s going on? I heard screaming.” He looked down at the pathetic writhing figure on the ground. “Who’s this guy?”

“A dangerous idiot,” she shouted as she jumped over Jeff and ran down the short steps leading to the sidewalk and parking area. She almost screamed as she witnessed a large red SUV pull away with Lacey still screaming from the back seat.

“Oh, God,” she cried as her knees hit the pavement.

Brandon reached her side. “What’s going on?”

She scrambled to her feet, turned to him, and fisted her hands in his T-shirt. Her voice broke as she said, “They took my daughter.”

Chapter 2

Brandon pulled her in for a hug. “Would that idiot back there know where they are taking her?”

Dana pushed away from him. “I think he would.” A sliver of hope lifted her at the thought it might be easier to find them than she’d expected.

“Let’s get him to tell us then.” Brandon marched toward Dana’s apartment. She followed close behind.

Jeff got to his feet when they reached him. Brandon grabbed him by the back of the shirt, hauling him into the air. “All right, little man. We need answers. Now.”

Jeff swung his arms, trying to reach the hand holding him hostage.

Dana put her hands out as if to touch him again. “Talk.”

Jeff flinched. “Don’t touch me!”

“Where did they take Lacey?” she demanded.

“I’m not sure.” He gasped a little as Brandon jerked him backward.

“I don’t like your answer,” Brandon hissed in his ear. “Try again.”

“I don’t have an exact address. I just know a general area where we were supposed to meet Dr. Morrison.” He reached for Brandon’s hand once more but failed to hit his target.

Dana pushed her face close to his and grabbed his arms.

He recoiled.

Brandon kept a firm grip on Jeff’s shirt.

“I swear to God. If they harm a hair on her head, I will kill you myself,” Dana said.

“They won’t hurt her, Dana. Don’t you get that?” he whined.

“They absolutely will. Dr. Morrison is a sadist and a lunatic. And you just handed her over to him.”

“You know Dr. Morrison?” Jeff asked.

Shadows of horrors past crossed Dana’s features. “I know him very well.”

“Let’s take a little trip.” Brandon jerked Jeff to one side and nodded toward his apartment. “Dana, in a drawer on my nightstand, you’ll find handcuffs and my gun. Do me a favor and grab them for me. My car keys are on the table by the sofa.”

She urgently retrieved the items he requested.

She rushed back out the door and handed him the handcuffs first. He wrenched Jeff’s hands behind his back and quickly cuffed them together. Keeping one hand on the cuffs, he holstered his gun in his jeans and held out one hand for his keys. “My car okay?”

She nodded. “That’d be great. Mine isn’t very reliable.”

He shoved Jeff in front of him. “Walk. Do not speak. If I hear so much as a sigh come out of your stupid mouth before we tell you to talk, I’ll shoot you in the kneecap.”

Jeff pursed his lips together and nodded, then almost stumbled as Brandon gave him another shove forward.

They found Brandon’s yellow Ford Expedition and shoved Jeff into the back seat. Brandon dug through a black bag in the passenger seat and pulled out a second pair of cuffs. He connected Jeff’s cuffed hands to a small steel bar that he had bolted to the interior roof of the car.

“Sit down. Shut up until we ask you a question. Don’t cause us any problems.”

Jeff’s head jerked up and down like one of those silly bobblehead dash ornaments.

Dana jumped in the passenger seat, pushing the bag aside. Brandon climbed behind the wheel. He looked at Jeff in the rearview mirror. “What direction?”

“Uh …they should be heading toward … uh…” he stalled.

Dana whirled around in her seat and held one hand inches from his face. “Unless you want me to fry your eyesight, I suggest you answer him, now. No tricks.”

Jeff swallowed hard as he stared at her fingers. “We were to meet them at an old diner on I-35. The one with the big playground next to it just before you get to Wichita. It’s abandoned.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” She snapped her fingers, and sparks flew, almost landing on his forehead.

He didn’t say a word.

She turned and noticed Brandon’s eyes darting between her and the road.

“That’s pretty cool. You’ll have to teach me how to do that.” He grinned.

“This?” She snapped again, and small sparks shot from her fingertips.

“Yes. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone that could do that.” He smiled, not a trace of fear or mockery in his voice.

“It’s not something I can teach.” She looked around. “How long do you think until we reach this diner?”

Brandon looked at Jeff through the rearview mirror. “Wichita is about ninety-five miles south of us, so we’re probably looking at an hour and a half.”

She put her head in her hands.

Brandon reached across the seat and put his hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be okay. We’ll find her. Maybe I can catch up to them before they get there.”

She looked up at him, tears rimming her eyelashes. “I hope so. She’s my everything. And that man … that organization won’t hesitate to hurt her if she doesn’t cooperate.”

He ran his hand down her arm to hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Why don’t you fill me in on these people, so I know what we’re walking into.”

She nodded and swiftly swiped the tears from her cheeks. “It sounds crazy.”

He smirked. “I can handle crazy.”

She gripped his hand, not wanting to lose his comforting touch. “I was born with these unusual gifts. I’ve had telekinesis for as long as I can remember. The electricity thing developed when I was around ten. My parents were worried about my abilities. They were afraid I’d hurt myself or someone else if I didn’t learn to control them. So they sent me to a special school our family physician had told them about.”

“A special school,” Brandon echoed.

“Yeah.” Dana chuckled humorlessly. “Not really a school. We had lessons on math, history, science; that kind of thing. But we spent the majority of our time learning to develop our gifts and use them against each other in battle. Dr. Morrison was one of their scientists.”

“You had to fight each other?” Brandon said in disbelief.

She frowned. “They forced us to fight each other over and over and over. We were training for The Curators’ army.”

“The Curators. That was the group?” he asked.

She nodded. “They were a bunch of sadistic, greedy, power-hungry psychopaths with plans for us that had nothing to do with helping us and everything to do with putting themselves in positions of power. They’d planned to brainwash us, raise us, and train us to infiltrate vital positions in various government agencies.”

“What the hell?” he muttered.

“I know. It sounds crazy, but it’s the truth. They treated us like lab rats. We were starved, drugged, abused, and beaten into submission. And there is no way in hell I’m letting them pull my daughter into that world.” Long buried feelings of hatred and fear erupted to the surface.

“How many were in this … school place?”

“Oh man, I think there were close to forty when I escaped.” She inhaled deeply. “There are thousands of people like me in the United States alone. They’re slowly trying to round us all up.”

“Damn. How did you get away?” He kept his eyes trained on the road.

“I got lucky.” She looked at Jeff, his eyes wide with shock. “One guard felt what The Curators were doing was wrong. His name was Jimmy. He made plans to help a few of us escape. The plan was to slip out after dinner, but something went wrong, and only two of us made it to the storage area where we were to meet. Jimmy got one of the side doors unlocked before the alarms started going off all over the building. Somehow, they’d found out about our intentions. A girl named Sandra and I ran and barely made it out of the compound before they completed lockdown. I don’t know what happened to Jimmy. I’m afraid it wasn’t good.”

“So how did douchebag back there enter the picture?” he asked.

Dana witnessed Jeff shoot a dirty look at Brandon. “He’s Lacey’s biological father. He witnessed Lacey’s abilities a couple of days ago. I’d kept both our gifts from him up to then.”

“Lacey too?” Brandon asked.

She nodded. “She has telekinetic abilities as well.”

“Wow. That’s amazing.” His brow creased, and he glared at Jeff through the mirror. “Wait. You sold out your own daughter to these ass clowns?”

Jeff cast his eyes down. “I didn’t know! I had no idea about Dana or her history with them. I have a friend who’s good at finding specialized information. Procuring items for a specific clientele, that kind of thing. He helped me set this up.”

Brandon yanked the wheel to the right and slammed on the breaks. The car came screeching to a halt on the shoulder. He threw it in park, turned in his seat, and punched Jeff in the nose. “She’s a kid, not a specialized item.”

Jeff attempted to grab his nose but being handcuffed forced him to move his face up to his hands instead. “You broke my nose,” he yelled, a small trickle of blood running down his fingers.

“You’re lucky I don’t break your damn neck,” Brandon growled. He put the car in gear and pulled back onto the interstate. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he put a death grip on the steering wheel.

Dana supposed he imagined the steering wheel was Jeff’s neck. She certainly did. She liked Brandon more and more with each passing minute.

“So how are these people still getting away with this crap?” he asked as he changed lanes to pass an elderly couple in a pickup.

“I heard from an old friend that authorities had shut The Curators down, but there are still those who believe in what they were doing. It sounds like Dr. Morrison escaped punishment for his crimes.”

Brandon nodded but said nothing else. They drove in silence for about an hour. Jeff slept despite his uncomfortable position and sore nose. Now and then, he’d let out a small snore, and Dana resisted the urge to pop him in the nose again.

She stared out the window as fields and the occasional house dotted the passing landscape. Her heart ached. She wanted her baby girl safe in her arms and to know that Dr. Morrison and his people couldn’t touch her. Dana ran from them when she was sixteen and made her own way. The harsh streets were nothing compared to life with The Curators. But it was time to take a stand and put an end to this once and for all. Dr. Morrison would never harm another child again.

“There.” Brandon interrupted her thoughts. “I think that’s the diner.”

Dana jabbed Jeff.

“Ouch … what?” He attempted to adjust his position and winced.

Good. She hoped his face hurt like hell for weeks.

“Is that the meeting spot?” she asked.

Jeff drew his brows together and studied the area for a moment. “Yeah, that should be it. There should be an old storage shed or barn thing in the back.”

Brandon pulled into the empty parking lot. They didn’t see any other vehicles. “Were you supposed to go around back?”

Jeff nodded.

Brandon pulled to the side of the dilapidated building and put the car in park. “I’ll check it out. See what we’re getting into.” He opened his car door.

“Wait!” Dana put her hand on his arm. “Please, be careful. They may have other gifted people helping them. A select few of the gifted were as demented as The Curators.”

He smiled at her. “I will.” Brandon jumped out of the car and quietly shut the door. He unholstered his pistol and carefully approached the large barn that loomed in front of them.

Dana watched with anxious nerves as he rounded the side of the barn and disappeared from sight.

All was quiet for several minutes, and she wasn’t sure if she should get out or stay put. After waiting in the silence for a few moments more, she decided she could sit still no longer. She opened her door and slid out of the seat.

“What are you doing? Are you crazy?” Jeff hissed from the back seat.

“He might need me.” She wondered if Lacey was already there. “They might need me.”

“What about me? Are you just going to leave me here?” He looked panicked.

She glared at him and shut the door. What happened to Jeff was no longer her concern. He killed what little care she might still have for him when he kidnapped their daughter and proved he loved himself far more than he’d ever loved either of them.

She jogged to the old building first and pressed her back against the wall as she looked around at the barn. No one appeared to move inside or out.

Where had Brandon gone?

She needed to find her daughter, and ensure the kidnappers hadn’t also captured Brandon. She had yet to see the vehicle used in Lacey’s abduction. She prayed she hadn’t already missed them. She ran across the opening from the building to the barn, once again pressing herself close to the wall. With quiet steps, she inched her way to a small window and ducked underneath it.

She felt sick. Nerves were getting the better of her, and she was afraid her daughter wouldn’t be in there. She was also uncomfortable with the thought of seeing Dr. Morrison again. Just hearing his name made her skin crawl.

What kind of reaction would she have once she was face-to-face with him?

Dana took a deep breath and steeled her nerves. She had to do this. She had to find Lacey, confront Dr. Morrison, and help Brandon. Failure was not an option.

She poked her head above the window sill, only to see … nothing. The barn was completely empty. Her heart sank.

“What are you doing?” Brandon asked directly behind her.

She jumped and had to stop herself from shocking him. Instead, she smacked his arm. “My God. You scared the hell out of me!”

He grinned. “Sorry. Why are you not in the car?”

“You were taking forever. I worried something happened to you,” she admitted, then turned to walk back to the car.

He fell in step beside her. “I appreciate the thought.”

She glanced at him as they approached the car. “So what do you think? Have they been here?” She needed to get her focus back on the task at hand.

“I couldn’t find evidence indicating anyone has been here.” He frowned.

Dana got in the car's backseat. “They haven’t been here. Did you lie to us?”

Jeff shook his head. “No, I promise. This is where they told us to meet.”

Brandon opened the driver’s side back door and leaned in. “Where else might they be?”

Jeff shrugged, and Dana pressed her fingertips against his temples. “Don’t piss me off, Jeff.”

He closed his eyes. “Uh, there might be one more place we can look.”

“And?” she asked.

“I heard them talking about a hospital. I don’t know where it is, but they mentioned Taylorbrook Hospital.” He slightly stammered the name.

Dana and Brandon slammed the doors before settling in the front seats again.

Brandon started the car and pulled back onto the interstate. He frowned. “You had better be on the level with us. I have no qualms about beating you to death and dumping your body in a ditch along the way.”

Dana held back a grin as she typed Taylorbrook Hospital into her phone’s search engine. It popped up almost immediately. “It’s between Wichita and Andover. Looks like it’s in the middle of nowhere. That’d be about right for Dr. Morrison.”

“Okay then,” said Brandon. “Let’s go get Lacey.”

Chapter 3

Brandon parked in front of the long winding drive leading to the hospital entrance. The little patch of land, buildings, and greenery looked out of place among the wheat fields surrounding the rest of the area. It looked modern and somewhat maintained, which surprised Dana. There were no recent pictures on her search page, and she’d almost expected something like a sanatorium out of a horror movie.

Brandon parked behind a row of hedges to hide the vehicle, then turned to Dana. “Are you ready?”

She nodded.

Jeff twisted in his seat. “Listen, guys, you can just let me out here.”

“Why would we do that?” asked Dana.

“You don’t need me. I’m just going to be in the way.” He jerked lightly on the handcuffs.

“We might.” She turned away from him and addressed Brandon. “Do you think we can get in without being noticed?”

“I don’t know. Let me take a closer look.” Brandon exited the car and cautiously made his way through one of the hedges. He emerged a couple of minutes later, his expression grim.

His head shook slowly as he re-entered the car. “I doubt it. They have one guy at the door. No telling how many are inside.”

“I’m sure there are a few more. Dr. Morrison always surrounded himself with guards the whole time I knew him. I think he was afraid of us, to tell the truth.” She glanced back at Jeff. “Looks like we’ll need you after all.”

He shook his head. “No, I’ll mess everything up.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You are the one that got us in this. You will help get us out.”

He shook his head again.

“We’re going to walk up there, and you will tell them you have something for Dr. Morrison.”

“What do I have?”

“Me,” she stated. “Tell them you have captured Angelica Stratton.

“Who’s that?” Jeff asked.

“My name before I escaped. I changed my identity when I got away.” She looked down the drive and tried not to contemplate the risk involved by revealing her real identity. Lacey was all that mattered.

Brandon put a hand on her arm. “Are you sure about this? What happens once you get inside?”

“They don’t know about you,” she said to Brandon. “Keep the car ready to go. We’ll probably have to make a quick getaway.”

“No, I’m going with you.” His lips pressed into a firm line.

“Those maniacs inside are dangerous. I won’t blame you if you want out. But if you stay then I need you to wait here in case we need backup. If we aren’t out of there in a reasonable amount of time, call the authorities. Then come find us. Do what you need to do.” She glanced at his weapon. “Guns blazing if necessary.”

Brandon shook his head. “No way in hell I’m leaving you two behind. When we leave here, it’ll be with all of us.” He inhaled and exhaled deeply. “I don’t like it, but I’ll wait. Only twenty minutes and then I’m kicking the damn doors down.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you, Brandon.” Dana leaned forward and kissed him.

He threaded his hands in her hair and deepened the kiss. Dana sensed his urgency. Fear crackled between them as well and she didn’t know if he was reflecting her own emotions or if he also felt afraid.

She pulled back and cleared her throat. “We should go. Time is not on our side.”

Brandon nodded. “Like I said, I won’t wait long. I won’t take a chance of either of you getting hurt.”

“Aww, how sweet of you. I didn’t know you cared.” Jeff mocked from his still shackled spot in the back seat.

Brandon scowled at Jeff. “I meant Dana and Lacey, dumbass. I don’t give a shit about you.”

Dana held out her hand. “Keys?”

Brandon fished the handcuff keys from his pocket and placed them in her palm.

She got out of the car and opened the back-passenger door. “Sit back a bit,” she ordered Jeff.

He did as instructed, and she uncuffed him. He rubbed his wrists, then reached up to gingerly inspect his nose. Dried blood caked one nostril. He moved to wipe at it, but Dana stopped him.

“No, leave it. It’ll be more believable when you tell them you caught me.” She slid out of the seat, waving for him to follow her.

Jeff scooted out and stood, stretching each limb. “You think they’re going to believe you got the better of me?”

She raised one eyebrow at him. “I have. More than once.” She raised one hand and electricity crackled between her fingers. “And they know what I’m capable of, so yes, they’ll believe it. It’d be suspicious if we walked in and it looked like I hadn’t put up a fight.”

He nodded but said nothing more.

She turned to Brandon, who’d exited the car and leaned against the front passenger door. “Okay, give us twenty minutes. If we aren’t out by then, it’ll be up to you.”

Brandon sighed. “Okay, but I still don’t like you going in on your own. Are you sure?”

She gave him a tight smile. “No, but it’s the only way to get in without a fight. We need to conserve that energy for getting back out.”

“All right then.” He pushed off of the car and showed her a large zip tie. “I’ll put this on loose enough you can get out when you’re ready.” He quickly secured her wrists behind her. He then stood in front of Jeff. “Do exactly as she tells you. Any deviation from the plan, and I’m kicking your ass.”

Jeff huffed. “Sure.” He grasped Dana’s arm and tugged her to follow as if he were in charge.

She took a deep breath and played along.

The guard at the entrance stood at attention when he saw Dana and Jeff coming up the drive. “You’re lost. You need to turn around and go back. Now.” The low, gruff voice was menacing and likely very intimidating for most people.

Jeff held up one hand. “I’m Jeff Palmer. I helped Dr. Morrison get the little girl they just brought in.”

Dana had to resist once more the urge to kick him in the balls. Instead, she kept her eyes downcast, trying to give the impression she was tired and defeated.

“So? You want a cookie?” the guard asked.

“I have another gift for the doctor,” Jeff continued, ignoring the man’s sarcasm. He pushed Dana in front of him. “Angelica Stratton. She escaped his facility several years ago.”

The man eyed her with suspicion. “Hold on.” He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, tapped the screen, and spoke with someone briefly before putting it back in his pocket. “Go on in.” He stepped aside and opened the door for them.

“It worked,” Jeff said under his breath.

“I told you it would,” she whispered back.

He roughly shoved her in front of him as they entered the building. Dana took in her surroundings. A narrow hall in front of them opened into a large room, and an exit sign illuminated a door to her right. Scattered chairs and a counter confirmed it used to be a waiting room.

“Angelica. What a nice surprise,” Dr. Morrison’s voice echoed down a darkened hall from her left.

She turned toward the familiar voice. He stepped into the light, and her stomach roiled. She focused on thoughts of Lacey and let her anger replace the nausea.

“I wish I could say the same,” she said weakly.

“Did you not miss us?” The older man smiled. His once dark hair had gray streaks at the temples, his full beard mimicking the look. He adjusted his glasses. “No matter, we’ll soon get reacquainted.”

Dana glared at him.

“Mr. Palmer. Thank you so much for your generous gift. I’ll be tripling what I offered for the little girl as a token of my appreciation.”

Jeff choked. “Oh, um. Thank you, doctor.”

“How did you find Miss Stratton?” He gave Jeff an ominous look. Dana feared he was on to them.

“She happens to be—”

Dana interrupted him, afraid he was about to show their hand. “I’m a friend of Dana’s. The mother of the little girl you kidnapped. I was trying to help get her back when Jeff realized I had gifts too.”

“And he bested you?” Disbelief laced his words.

“Not before I got a shot or two in.” She nodded to his face.

Dr. Morrison chuckled. “Same old Angelica. Always fighting the inevitable.” He glanced at Jeff again. “We’ll no longer be needing your services, Mr. Palmer.”

Jeff looked at the doctor, then back to Dana. “So, should I hang around for my payment?”

Dana didn’t know if he was trying to stall or if he truly wanted the payday. She worried it was the latter.

“Absolutely.” Dr. Morrison turned his attention to a guard on his left. “Would you take our dear Mr. Palmer to the accounting department?”

The guard nodded and grabbed Jeff by the arm. “C’mon.” But instead of going deeper into the building, the guard hauled him back out the door they’d entered.

Dana had a bad feeling.

Moments later, a gunshot rang out, and her muscles tensed as she flinched. She didn’t like Jeff, and she’d threatened to kill him herself, but he was still Lacey’s father and he didn’t deserve death.

Dr. Morrison frowned. “He was just going to blow it on drugs. He’s better off.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now, Angelica. What do you say we reunite you with your little friend, Lacey?”

The guard that walked them in pushed her forward. She almost stumbled as she tried to keep up with the doctor’s long strides.

“As you can see, we’ve had to downgrade our facilities, thanks to that little dust up in Kentucky. But we’ll be back to our former glory in no time.”

They entered a cafeteria. Only a few tables remained, most of them pushed against the walls. In the middle of the room were desks, computers, and an all too familiar-looking cage. It resembled a large birdcage, the top scraping the almost 20-foot ceilings. She hated that cage.

Lacey was sitting in a chair, hands duct-taped to the arms. Her head raised up, and Dana could see her red cheeks and watery eyes. She wanted to kill them all.

When Lacey saw Dana, she opened her mouth, but Dana quickly shook her head. Thankfully Lacey understood that it was best to stay quiet for the moment.

“I think you know this young lady,” Dr. Morrison stated as the guard shoved Dana down in a chair across from Lacey.

“Hi, Lacey. I’m your mom’s friend, Angelica. Do you remember me?” She prayed her daughter would catch on to the ruse.

Lacey nodded. “Yes.”

“Are you okay?” Dana smiled at her.

Lacey looked up at Dr. Morrison. “I want my mom.”

He shook his head. “Your mom sent you here to learn just how special you are.”

Dana controlled her breathing as her inner rage boiled over. “Are you okay, Lacey?”

Lacey looked at Dana and nodded.

“She’s just fine.” Dr. Morrison patted Lacey’s curls. “As for you, Angelica. You were a naughty girl. You ran away just as we were figuring out your gifts. That was a lot of wasted time.” He leaned down, placing a hand on both arms of her chair. “I don’t appreciate you wasting my time.”

“Time is a gift never to be wasted on the unworthy,” she repeated the mantra he’d drilled into their heads many years ago.

He smiled, genuine delight filling his features. “You remember. How wonderful!” He stood upright and addressed another man in a lab coat. “She has telekinetic and electrical pulse gifts. Keep her hands apart when they are not behind her.”

Another doctor nodded and scribbled something in a notebook.

A woman in scrubs walked up beside Dana and began prepping a needle.

“What are you doing?” Dana asked.

“Just a little sedative, sweetie. Nothing to worry about.” She kept her eyes on the needle.

“Lacey,” Dana began. “Remember that rule your mommy used to have? Rule number one?”

Lacey nodded again, and Dana knew she was thinking about the carefully constructed rules they’d put together regarding their gifts. Rule number one was never using your gifts when they weren’t in the privacy of their own home.

“Your mommy wants you to ignore that rule.”

Dr. Morrison chuckled. “Speaking in code will not help you, or her, Angelica.”

Dana carefully slipped her hands out of the zip tie and held them in place behind her back. “You know, doctor, I’ve been gone a long time. I’d forgotten how smart you think you are.”

He looked down his glasses at her. “And I haven’t missed that smart mouth of yours. But we’ll break you of that. We did it once, and we can do it again.”

The nurse reached for Dana’s arm, and Dana quickly pulled her hands to the front of her body, shoving them together toward the nurse. A ball of electric energy knocked the nurse off her feet.

“Grab her!” shouted Dr. Morrison.

Two guards swooped in on Dana, doing their best to keep her hands apart.

Suddenly there was a high-pitched scream that sent shock waves through the room. The powerful force from it made movement nearly impossible. Dana lifted her gaze to her daughter. Lacey screamed in her chair as tears ran down her face. She remembered overhearing one of the scientists say that extreme emotions were often the catalyst of emerging gifts. Lacey had developed one more through her terrified state.

Dana pushed through the wave, taking all her strength to reach her daughter. Her hand touched Lacey’s, and the little girl looked into her mother’s eyes. She stopped screaming, but the tears still flowed. The wave of energy dissipated, and everyone else in the room stumbled, trying to get their bearings.

Dana worked on Lacey’s bindings as quickly as possible. Lacey flexed her fingers. “Do it, baby.”

Lacey flexed her fingers again, and this time, the chair Dana vacated slammed into one of the guards trying to subdue Dana. She flexed again, and a table slid across the room, pinning another large man to the wall. “Good girl,” Dana murmured. “Do what you need to do.” Dana pulled off the last of the tape on Lacey’s right hand.

Lacey lifted her hand, and Dr. Morrison floated in the air.

“No. No. Don’t do it. Please.” Dr. Morrison’s voice was pleading.

Dana worked on freeing Lacey’s left hand. “Ignore him.”

At that moment, Brandon burst into the room with his gun in hand. He pointed it at the nurse, and she backed herself out of the room through the kitchen area.

“You can set him down, baby.” She comforted Lacey. “Brandon’s got him.”

Brandon stood close by as Dr. Morrison fell to the floor in a thump. He pointed his barrel at the doctor. “Stay down if you prefer to breathe through your nose and not the extra holes I’d dearly love to put in your skull.”

Dr. Morrison put his hands behind him on his head. “Please, don’t.”

Lacey was finally free, and she rubbed at the sticky residue the tape had left behind. “Mommy, can we go now?”

“Yes, baby. We’re going.” Dana picked her up, then kissed one of her tear-stained cheeks.

“Mommy?” Dr. Morrison repeated. He raised his head to look at them. “I should have seen it! The resemblance is too striking.”

Dana ignored him and walked over to Brandon’s side.

“How many people are in this building?” Brandon demanded.

Dr. Morrison said nothing, so Brandon kneeled and put the barrel against the doctor’s temple. “I repeat. How many people in the building?”

“Only two others. The rest of our crew is out on a supply run,” he stammered.

Dana nodded. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What about him?” Brandon kept his gaze trained on the doctor.

She grinned. “I know exactly what he needs.” She sat Lacey down. “Give me just a moment.”

Dana rummaged through drawers until she found a large key. She strolled over to the cage and unlocked it. “He should be comfortable in here until the authorities arrive.”

Dr. Morrison groaned. “Now, let’s not be hasty, Angelica.”

Brandon pulled the doctor to his feet and shoved him toward the cage, keeping the gun aimed in his direction.

She gave the doctor an extra hard shove and slammed the door once he’d passed the threshold. She turned the key in the lock and deposited the key in the pocket of her jeans. “I’m not Angelica anymore. Like so many others, once in your care, you destroyed who I used to be. I’m not that scared little girl you abused and bullied year after year. I’m stronger and willing to fight back. We all are.”

“All?” He raised his eyebrows.

“I’ve heard the rumors about what happened in Kentucky and Tennessee. The woman they call Jane and the doctor who’s helping rebuild the lives of all those your organization destroyed.” The corners of her lips lifted in a wicked grin. “They’re all fighting back. And Karma is coming down hard on those who’ve wronged us.”

He shook his head. “Listen, there is no reason we can’t come to an understanding.” He scooted forward and put his hands on the bars.

“Screw you.” She spat at him and moved to pick up Lacey again. “Let’s go, Brandon.”

He nodded and led them into the hall and out the side exit door. As the door behind them closed, they could hear Dr. Morrison screaming and cursing at them.

Lacey frowned. “He said a bad word, Mommy.”

Dana grinned and hugged her daughter tight. “He sure did.”

Brandon had the car ready to go just outside the door. Jeff lay in the back seat, groaning. Dana had temporarily forgotten about him. “Is he okay? I thought they shot him?”

Brandon shook his head. “No. I saw what was about to happen and stepped in. The guy beat him up a little first, though. I shot the guard.”

With a grin, she climbed in the front seat, putting Lacey on her lap. She still hated Jeff, but she was glad he wasn’t dead.

“Thank you for coming in when you did.” Dana reached over and brushed her fingers over Brandon’s cheek.

He brought her hand to his lips, and placed a gentle kiss on her palm. “It was taking too long. I couldn’t sit here and go crazy worrying if you two were okay.”

Genuine joy bubbled up from the depths of her soul. It’d been so long since someone truly cared about her. “Let’s stop at the next town. We need to drop Jeff off somewhere and pick up a car seat for Lacey.” She buckled Lacey and herself into the passenger seat. “Think it’s very far? This isn’t safe.”

“Only two miles or so, I’d guess,” Brandon answered. “I’ll be extra careful.” He looked at her. “Where to after that?”

She leaned her head back. “We’re going to find that doctor in Kentucky—the one that’s helping everyone. I heard about him and all that happened through an old friend who used to be imprisoned by The Curators. She gave me a general idea where to find him. And I have contacts I can ask for more specifics. It’s time we joined the fight. His name is Dr. Weston, and he can send someone to deal with Dr. Morrison.”

She patted her pocket. “I still have the key so I don’t think he’ll be getting out of that cage anytime soon.”

Brandon nodded. “Hell yeah. Count me in.”

They pulled away from the hospital and turned onto the interstate. Dana looked at her daughter and then at Brandon and smiled. No matter how long it took, they’d eventually be free to be themselves. Dr. Weston worked for an organization striving for that very goal.

Regardless, as long as she had Lacey and Brandon, she knew she had all she needed.

About Amy Hale

Since childhood, bestselling and award-winning author Amy Hale has been using the written word to inspire, encourage, and entertain. She loves creating characters and worlds from nothing but her imagination and a few glasses of wine. Her popular paranormal series The Shadows Trilogy has earned multiple awards, as have the Havenwood Falls books, of which she is a participating author. For the last couple of decades, she’s also carried the titles of Laundry Goddess, Chef, Butt Wiper, Soother of Temper Tantrums, and in more recent years, Moderator of Sarcastic Eye-rolls and Sass. She resides in Illinois with her husband and two grown children who claim they are never moving out. Regardless, they are the center of her universe, although her cat believes otherwise. If she had any spare time, she’d love music, photography, watching Mystery Science Theater 3000 with her family, and long rides on the back of her husband’s motorcycle.

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Also By Amy Hale

Ulterior Motives

Shadows of Jane, The Shadows Trilogy, Book One

Shadows of Deception, The Shadows Trilogy, Book Two

Shadows of Deliverance, The Shadows Trilogy, Book Three

Catching Whitney

Letters From Jayson

Somewhere Within (Havenwood Falls High)

Blood & Iron (Havenwood Falls High)

Flames Among The Frost (Havenwood Falls)

Betrayal Among The Frost (Havenwood Falls)

Dawn of a New Era by Brenda Trim

Chapter 1

Not another round, Murtagh thought as he paced the throne room. His boots pounded the stone floor and echoed throughout the spacious room. The wall-mounted candelabras flickered, casting shadows against the tapestried-covered walls.

Bloodlust had the Vampire King on edge and ready to throttle his assistant, Glen. Murtagh needed to feed. Blood was as vital to him as food and water. But this was about more than just choosing a female to feed from.

Glen led a group of females into the dimly lit room, and Murtagh took a seat at his throne. There were six in all, each more beautiful than the one before. Yet, the moment he laid eyes on them, Murtagh knew this was a waste of time for everyone involved. Instinct told him not one of them was his Fated Mate.

He took a deep breath, trying his best not to lash out at his assistant. Granted, it wasn’t Glen’s fault Murtagh was forced to sit through another showing of potential mates. Ever since his parents’ untimely death, the pressure was on to find his Fated and produce an heir. At one hundred seventy-eight, Murtagh was a young vampire and should be sowing his royal oats, but a king without a queen was considered intolerable, no matter his age.

“Please introduce yourselves,” Glen instructed the females after he positioned them in front of Murtagh.

They were dressed in their finest clothes, and their hair coifed to perfection. Murtagh’s sensitive nostrils were attacked by various scents wafting from the group. Some were fruity while others floral, but it was enough to give him a headache. Would it be rude for him to send them away so quickly?

As the females stated their names one by one, Murtagh couldn’t help but reach for the pendant hanging around his neck. The sacred Triskele Amulet that belonged to his father. It was his direct connection to the Goddess Morrigan, the supreme being who created all supernaturals of the Tehrex Realm, including vampires, shifters, sorcerers, and many other species.

How many times had he thought about contacting her to ask about his Fated? If she would simply tell him where to find her it would save so much time, and Murtagh wouldn’t have to see the females’ disappointed faces when he rejected them.

He tried his best to act interested as Glen relayed each female’s background and interests, as well as why they’d make a suitable queen, but it didn’t matter. Murtagh knew the type of female he wanted by his side. Strong, loyal, intelligent, and loving to a fault. But, most importantly, he sought the one that carried the other half of his soul. His Fated Mate.

As he perused the line-up, his attention snagged on one of the females. She had long red hair and emerald-green eyes. Her curves appealed to him even if he didn’t feel the undeniable draw that was associated with Fated Mates. He recalled his father telling him about the mating compulsion he felt toward Murtagh’s mother the moment they met. His father said he couldn’t concentrate or think of anything but claiming her as his own. That was what Murtagh desired, and none of these females incited such feelings.

“Liege? Do you wish to speak with Fia alone?” Glen asked and intruded into Murtagh’s ruminations. From the way his assistant cocked his head with a pinched brow, Murtagh guessed his assistant was misreading the situation.

Murtagh met Glen’s brown eyes for a second before returning to the red-haired beauty. The gleam in her green eyes belied her innocent disposition, and Murtagh dipped into her mind. As Vampire King, he could read the thoughts of his subjects, and it didn’t take much effort to know the lovely Fia was calculating precisely how she could get him into mating her. Additionally, it was no surprise that Fia wasn’t concerned if Murtagh was her Fated Mate or not. She saw the opportunity to advance her status within the realm and that was her only goal.

As advanced as the vampires considered themselves to be at the turn of the eleventh century, social status still defined who one was. Peasants were at the bottom of the chain, followed by the upper class, with royals dominating at the top. Miss Fia came from an upper–class family, but she had her lovely eyes set on the biggest prize of all. Vampire Queen.

“No’ at the moment,” Murtagh replied but didn’t send her away. Of the six females, he found her physically appealing, if nothing else. Perhaps he could feed from her, then take her to his bed for a night. That would at least sate his bloodlust.

As Glen nodded his understanding, Murtagh decided he couldn’t listen to another second of the drivel. Right as he was about to excuse himself, his commander entered the throne room and paused behind the line of females. Relieved for the interruption, Murtagh motioned Eilig forward.

“Liege,” Eilig replied with a bow. “We have a problem.” From the male’s stern expression, Murtagh knew it was serious.

The king held up a finger, silencing Eilig, then turned to Glen. The females didn’t need to be privy to such matters, and he had no desire for them to report whatever they heard to their families and friends, causing unnecessary alarm. It was bad enough that Murtagh listened to the elite complain about minor issues like their flowers not being as fresh as they expected.

“Glen, would you please escort the females back to their homes? Fia may stay if she’d like. I’ll send for her after I speak privately with Eilig.”

Fia smiled seductively at Murtagh, and nodded. Hopefully, she would agree to his proposal, even if it wasn’t the matrimonial kind she was seeking.

“Aye, Liege. Come with me,” Glen informed the small group. Several females glared contemptuously at Fia, and one looked relieved to be leaving.

Once the room cleared, Murtagh turned to Eilig. “What happened?”

“Rogues, Liege. On the ootskirts of Fife in an abandoned barn, they’ve taken females hostage.”

“Humans?” he barked as his sapphire-blue eyes blackened with his rage. If the rogue vampires had exposed their existence to the human population, he would have their heads. It was Goddess Morrigan’s edict to remain hidden, and Murtagh ruled with an iron fist.

“Nay, no’ humans. The hostages are vampires,” Eilig replied.

Murtagh was relieved he wouldn’t have to erase the memories of any humans, but taking any female hostage was reprehensible. “Gather your weapons. We leave in five,” he ordered, and the two males rushed from the throne room.

He sent a mental message to Glen to send Fia home, as well. He didn’t have time to deal with her. Feeding would have to wait. His subjects needed him.

A scream rent the air, freezing the blood in Murtagh’s veins. He yanked on the reins, and his horse came to a sudden stop. One of his vampires was being tortured, and it was a failure on his part that ate at his gut. The vampires relied on him to keep them safe from all dangers, including rogue subjects.

Eilig followed suit, and the two males tied their horses to a nearby tree. On silent feet, they approached the dilapidated barn where the scream had come from. Murtagh crouched outside a slightly ajar door and used his preternatural hearing to determine what they faced once inside.

Holding up four fingers, he let Eilig know how many rogues they would encounter. His blood raced through his veins and the mantle of power he carried surged in his chest. As king, he could force his will on his subjects, making them concede. It was imperative he send a message to the rogue vampires that those refusing to fall under his rule would suffer the consequences.

Murtagh shoved the rickety wooden door, causing it to slam against the wall of the barn. The king rushed through the portal, and his sifting ability had him beside the closest male in the next breath. Sifting was an additional skill bestowed on Murtagh by the goddess when he transitioned from a stripling to a mature vampire at the age of twenty-five. He could travel short distances at the speed of sound, which came in handy when fighting an enemy.

Weapon in hand, Murtagh sliced out at a male that was in desperate need of a bath. Dirt and grime coated his hair and face in a thick layer. The king’s sgian dubh missed the male but caught on the loose sleeve of his cotton shirt.

A fist landed in Murtagh’s side while he was distracted. Another male shot into action to save his fellow rogue. Murtagh kicked the second male while at the same time thrust his hand toward the first. When his blade pierced the vampire’s abdomen, Murtagh yanked and tore a hole in the male’s side.

With one down, and bleeding out on the ground, Murtagh turned his attention to the male that landed the lucky punch. He swung his leg and kicked, but missed the rogue that was dancing lithely around Murtagh. As he swiveled, the king got a clear view of the three females being held by the rogues. They wore fresh wounds on their necks and wrists, telling Murtagh they were being fed on by the rogues.

Their clothes were dirty, and two of them looked like they hadn’t eaten in far too long. One of the females caught and held Murtagh’s attention, and he froze in place.

She was mesmerizing, despite her filthy top and long, tattered skirt. His nostrils flared when they were attacked by a pungent odor wafting from the female, but it didn’t deter from her appeal. He stared at her long, black hair, wondering what the silky strands would feel like as he ran his hands through them. His body hardened as his mind conjured an image of her nude body beneath his, screaming his name in pleasure. Murtagh’s fangs descended, urging him to sink into her supple flesh.

But it was her hazel eyes that held him in place. They were haunting, and he wanted to erase the sorrow he saw in their depths.

Suddenly, horror washed across her beautiful face. His ogling cost him as a sharp stick punctured his chest. Thank the Goddess, a wooden stake to the heart wouldn’t kill him. Beheading was the only sure way to end a vampire’s existence. Luckily, the rogue missed his heart altogether, and Murtagh yanked the farm tool from his body. He quickly jumped on the male and took him to the ground.

“That was a verra big mistake,” Murtagh growled.

“What do you know with your fancy clothes? These females belong to us. You need to leave,” the male spat as he struggled against Murtagh’s hold.

Murtagh glanced to the females chained to the wall. “Doesna look like they belong to you. I willna leave withoot them.”

The rogue laughed and punched Murtagh in the face. The pain jolted him and pissed him off. His mantle of power surged, and the rogue grimaced in pain but Murtagh decided not to force his will on the vampire. The power wasn’t there for him to abuse. The male might be a strong and skilled fighter, but Murtagh could defeat him one on one.

Murtagh punched, tagging the male’s shoulder. When an arm wrapped around his waist and fingers dug into his injury, the Vampire King cursed before kicking the rogue’s knee. The male buckled and his hold loosened, allowing Murtagh to maneuver out of his embrace.

The sounds of Eilig battling the other rogues filled the open space, adding to the adrenaline coursing through Murtagh’s veins. In the next heartbeat, he punched the male in the head then sliced across the rogue’s neck with his blade. Blood poured from the gash, and the vampire cried out in pain while at the same time one of the females screamed in horror at the gruesome sight.

Murtagh hated that they had to witness such violence, but he had to remove the threat. Otherwise, the rogues would drain them and lure more unsuspecting females to their demise.

“Underestimating me was a mistake,” Murtagh declared as the adrenaline in his system dissipated. The males were no challenge against the Vampire King, and their deaths would be an example for other rogues. They best think twice before going against his rule.

Murtagh returned to the first rogue and finished him off then turned to see how he could help Eilig. He noticed his commander had dispatched the other two rogues and was celebrating his victory by drinking the blood of the slain. His gums tingled, reminding him he needed to feed, as well, but Murtagh preferred to feed from a willing female, which had him turning toward the dark-haired beauty.

The other two females were sobbing uncontrollably, but not her. He saw a mix of emotion in her hazel eyes, but not one ounce of fear. Murtagh sensed she was a warrior to her core. Without hesitation, he rushed toward her—every fiber of his being needed to be closer to the alluring female.

Chapter 2

Tears of joy filled Annis’s eyes when the two high-born males exploded into the barn. From the moment the rogue vampire captured her, she was certain she was going to die.

Rogues were rare, but she still understood the danger they posed. Females taken by rogues never returned to their families. She had no idea exactly what happened to them, until she was captured.

The males fed incessantly from her and the other two females without giving them food or water. Annis was convinced she wouldn’t survive the repeated feedings. They were slowly draining them dry.

She had no idea why she or the other females were abducted. She didn’t know them, although one of them looked familiar. Annis thought she was the baker’s daughter that went missing weeks ago. Unfortunately, she couldn’t ask because they weren’t allowed to speak to one another. A rogue stood guard at all times, making sure they didn’t talk or try to break free.

Shivering, Annis watched the males fight the rogues. She didn’t know who they were or how they found them, only that the males were above her station. As a tanner’s daughter, she would never warrant a second glance from either of these males, and a part of her wondered why they had come to her rescue. No one cared about the lower-class citizens, especially the wealthy.

It wasn’t just because she was a peasant. She was a tanner’s daughter, and Annis perpetually smelled foul. It was a hazard of the family business. She’d spent her entire life working alongside her father, and fat and other substances from the tanning process were impossible to remove from her hair and skin. Most of the time, she was covered in blood, dung, and dirt as she washed the animal hides for her father. She looked forward to the days when she applied lime to cure the hides. It was pungent but not as vile as the filth from the cleaning process.

She shook off her thoughts and glanced toward the males. It was a sight to behold, watching them fight the rogue vampires. She couldn’t take her eyes off the male with the piercing blue eyes.

His shoulder-length hair was tied at the base of his neck with a cord, and his jacket and trousers were made of the finest leathers. Had he visited her family’s business? Surely not, because she would’ve remembered him. He was the most handsome male she’d ever seen. When he looked her way, she wondered for the first time what it might feel like for a male to kiss her.

There weren’t many prospects in her village for a mate, and the males that lived in the area couldn’t stand Annis’s stench long enough to have a conversation with her. At first, it broke her heart, but after eighty-four years of rejection, she accepted being a spinster. Now, she was shocked if a male paid her any attention.

While the males fought to free them, Annis was determined to help the process. Focusing on her hands, she tried to use her teeth to loosen the knots. Unfortunately, the rope was too tight, and she couldn’t untie it.

When one of the rogues’ fell to the floor and blood gushed from his neck wound, one of the females screamed and the other gagged. Annis was immune to the sight of blood and couldn’t deny she enjoyed watching the male suffer. He deserved it after what he’d put her and the others through.

Her gaze shifted back to the male with dark brown hair as he fought another rogue. When his movements stopped and focused on her, she found herself entranced by his sapphire gaze. His sharp features added to the overall feel of his power and strength. It oozed from his body, making her feel safe for the first time since she was a small stripling.

The way he stared at her was completely foreign, and Annis felt as if she was a member of the elite wearing a fancy dress rather than a peasant sitting in filth. Her body tingled, and an unfamiliar ache blossomed between her thighs.

Before she could analyze the sensation further, a gasp left her mouth when the rogue he was fighting stabbed the handle of a rake in her rescuer’s chest.

A curse left his mouth then he proceeded to taunt the rogue. She watched in fascination as her rescuer quickly eliminated the rogue and finished off another. When he turned his attention back to her, she was speechless. In the next breath, he rushed to her side.

“Are you okay, lass?” he asked as he untied her bonds.

Annis blinked several times, questioning if she was dreaming, then quickly inspected her arms and legs. Her neck still ached from the rough bite one of the rogues gave her moments before the two males stormed the barn. She finally found her voice and sputtered, “Aye. I’m no’ harmed. But you’re injured,” she acknowledged and placed a hand over his chest.

The leather was soaked with his blood, and she worried the cut was deeper than she initially thought. Vampires possessed natural healing abilities, but severe injuries took longer to heal.

The handsome male placed his hand over hers. Electricity zapped upon contact, and warmth spread from where he touched and traveled straight to her core. She’d never experienced such sensations, and blush stained her cheeks as her body reacted to his touch.

“I’m better now,” he replied with a crooked grin.

Desperately needing a distraction, Annis glanced toward the females. “Are the others alright?”

Blue eyes made his way to the closest female, the baker’s daughter if Annis was correct, and untied her restraints.

Struggling to her feet, Annis brushed the dirt from her skirt and blouse. She was covered in filth and could only imagine what her hair must look like. When she tried to tame the matted mess, she realized her leather cuff was missing from her wrist. She glanced to the ground but didn’t see it anywhere. Her father made the piece of jewelry when she was very young, and it was very sentimental to her. It was crucial she find it.

Annis jumped when a large palm landed on her shoulder. “’Tis alright, lass. I willna hurt you. I’m here to help,” he assured with a warm smile, and his musky, masculine scent washed over her. Her head spun as she stared at the male she dubbed Sapphire.

“Th…thank you. I feared we would be killed by the rogues,” Annis admitted, forgetting all about her leather cuff.

When his arms wrapped around her waist, she shuddered. It was the first time a male, besides her father, held her so closely. Her eyes met his and held for several heated seconds. The entire barn disappeared for a moment while she allowed herself to believe in the fantasy playing through her head.

Her knight had finally come to save her from the cruel world she lived in. She envisioned them returning to his enormous castle where they would live happily ever after for all eternity.

Without warning, and to her surprise, he lowered his mouth to hers. His lips were soft and moved across her lips gently. Her mind said she should slap him for his aggressiveness, but the tension in her shoulders immediately evaporated, and Annis was lost to the magical moment.

She slowly opened her eyes and gazed into glowing blue orbs. He continued to kiss her as he stared deeply, and she was sure he saw straight to her soul. The connection she felt to this male was instantaneous and profound, and the ache between her legs intensified with burning need.

Thankfully, his firm hold on her hips kept her grounded because Annis was certain she might float away. She scarcely believed what was happening. One minute she was in the clutches of rogue vampires, and the next, she was experiencing her first kiss with the most handsome high-born she’d ever seen.

A throat clearing intruded on their moment, causing their kiss to end abruptly. She was breathing heavily while her eyes refused to leave Sapphire’s handsome face.

“Liege. We need to return the females to their families.”

Did he just say Liege? Horror washed through Annis as she realized who her handsome rescuer was. The Vampire King. She was fantasizing about her knight and a castle, and here he was the most famous knight of all. And, she kissed him as if she had every right and reason.

She was so far below the male and his station she worried about the ramifications for her actions. Would her family be punished, too? Panic assailed as she feared what would happen next.

The king released his hold on her and turned to the male who she assumed was an assistant or commander. “Aye, Eilig. You are correct. Search for clues that might tell us where the rogues came from.”

Annis saw an opportunity and seized it. She slowly backed away from the Vampire King as he talked with his captain. When Eilig moved to follow orders, the king rushed to console the sobbing females who were perched on a couple of haystacks.

With both males distracted, Annis escaped into the darkness. She could not bear to face the Vampire King and see his expression change to one of disgust once he discovered who she was. The memory of his initial attraction was unforgettable, and she wanted to hold onto that small slice of bliss. It was far better than reality crashing in and destroying it altogether. It was a perfect moment, and she preferred to keep it that way.

Hiding amongst the trees, Annis paused to catch her breath and get her bearings. She was weak from the rogues feeding on her, not to mention she was starving. She glanced around and realized she was in an unfamiliar area. She didn’t know which direction led her back to the lake and her home.

A male shout caught her attention and had her scurrying despite not having a clear direction to travel. “Shite. Where did she go?” the Vampire King demanded.

“I doona know, Liege. I was burning the dead bodies when she slipped through the door,” Eilig replied.

“’Tis no’ safe for a female to travel alone. We must find her,” the king insisted. She could hear the desperation in his voice, and she nearly ran back to him, but her humiliation kept her rooted in place.

No matter how attracted Annis was to the king it would never work between them. She was beneath him, and nothing would ever change that. Still, she couldn’t ignore that he seemed genuinely worried about her which had guilt rushing to the surface. Maybe if she hadn’t acted rashly and kissed him, she could return and allow him to take her home. But she couldn’t face him after what happened. He would discover she was a tanner’s daughter, and his rejection would sting the worst.

Annis put on a rush of speed, escaping the immediate vicinity. She was grateful when she no longer heard Eilig and the Vampire King talking. It was better this way. He’d never know who she was, and she’d never have to see his look of disappointment over her lowly station.

A nearby growl made Annis freeze in place. Her head swiveled, searching for the source of the noise. The yellow glow of two eyes had her heart racing in her chest. The wolf was too small to be a shifter which meant she was stronger than the animal.

When the wolf crouched, she did the same. She needed energy, and the creature had no idea who it was up against. Another growl left its throat right before it lunged. Annis hissed then twisted her torso as it came toward her head. She balled her fist and used every ounce of remaining strength, punching the wolf in the face.

The creature sailed toward a tree and hit with a loud thud. The wolf yelped and its body crumpled to the ground. When the animal didn’t move, Annis listened carefully for sounds of life. She detected its labored breathing, and when its heartbeat finally ceased, she smiled. Certainly not the dinner of choice, but it would do.

She made her way toward the animal, and her fangs distended in anticipation. Several minutes later, the wolf was drained, and her energy surged with newfound strength. Annis stood, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she looked around, trying to determine her whereabouts.

Her breath came out in puffs of white as the cold night air seeped into her body. Her top was spun cotton and not thick enough to protect her from the elements. The leather slippers on her feet did nothing to protect against the rocks cutting into her feet. Sharp pointy rocks covered the forest floor which threatened to slice through the thin hide with every step.

She started running in one direction then turned around when the trees got taller, telling her she was deeper into the forest. Annis panicked as she changed directions again. She was completely lost and had no idea where she was going. Her heart pounded against her chest as she raced through the woods. Branches sticking from the ground scraped her ankles and legs, causing her flesh to sting, but she didn’t have time to stop and inspect her injuries.

All she wanted was to see her parents. She knew they must be worried sick. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been held captive, but she guessed it was several days. In hindsight, she wondered if they reported her missing, and that was why the king came to her rescue.

Images of the king’s handsome face and piercing blue eyes flashed through her mind. She couldn’t stop thinking about their shared kiss. Annis had never felt such passion and guessed she’d never feel it again. What she wouldn’t give to be in his arms now instead of lost in the forest before daybreak.

She stopped at the thought and glanced to the sky. The color was slowly changing from inky black to charcoal grey. Her chest constricted as realization dawned, and Annis put on a burst of speed. She had an hour tops to get inside before the sun rose and scorched her to ashes. Prolonged sun exposure was a slow painful death for vampires, and part of her wished she’d stayed at the barn. Rejection wouldn’t kill her. Not physically, anyway.

Her eyes scanned the area as she ran, searching for a familiar landmark. She didn’t recognize anything, and she felt doom closing in on her. She was going to die alone in the woods, and her parents wouldn’t know what happened to her.

Suddenly, the faint stench of chemicals and leather tickled her senses. She’d know that smell anywhere. It was her father’s tanning shed. Heart racing in her chest, Annis ran toward the scent until she burst through the trees and into a clearing. Relief swamped her when she recognized her location. She was on the opposite side of the town where she lived.

Unfortunately, the sky was turning pink with the first blush of sunrise, and she had a way to go before reaching their cottage. Hopefully, she would make it before she burned to a crisp.

Chapter 3

“How the fuck did she just disappear?” Murtagh barked at Glen and Eilig.

After returning the other two females to their homes, he and Eilig barely made it back to the castle before sunrise.

The fact that there was no sign of the female pissed him off. And, what was worse, he hadn’t even gotten her name before she fled.

“Calm doon, Liege,” Glen encouraged. “You succeeded in returning two females to their families. Eilig can continue the search this evening. In the meantime, would you like to hear about the females coming tonight?”

Murtagh shook his head and snarled at his assistant. “Nay. I will no’ entertain any females tonight. I refuse to rest while one of my subjects could be oot there suffering. Besides, I doona wish to be bothered with something as meaningless as a parade of high-born females.”

“But, Liege. You need to choose a mate,” Glen reasoned.

“I know precisely what I need. Doona tell me what I must do,” he barked, pouring a bit of his power behind his message.

Glen flinched, but Murtagh ignored him as he prepared to continue his search as soon as the sun set. “Has Alistair replied to our request?” he asked Eilig as they left the throne room.

Alistair was the Omega and ruled over the shifters. Murtagh knew if anyone could find someone in the woods, it would be him. The forest was his domain.

Eilig walked beside him with his hands behind his back. “Aye. He reported that no one discovered her. They followed a trail, which led them to a dead wolf. They believe she fed from the animal which is good news. Most likely she is alive, Liege, but we canna be sure which town she went to or where she sought refuge from the sun.”

A sigh left Murtagh’s lips. She was alive. Why that mattered so much to him, he had no idea. But, the tightness in his chest dissipated, and he breathed easier.

“I need to address a few pressing matters before we leave. Meet me at sunset,” Murtagh ordered, then made his way to his quarters. He wouldn’t rest until he saw her again.

A few hours later, after changing into his formal robe and collecting his weapon, Murtagh stood impatiently in the grand entryway of the castle. Eilig was by his side, and as soon as the sun disappeared, they were walking through the massive double doors.

“Let’s check the closest town and work our way to Fife,” Murtagh instructed as they walked toward their horses.

The crisp evening air carried a chill, and Murtagh was glad he donned his heavy winter coat before leaving. Despite his lack of sleep the past twenty-four hours, he wasn’t tired. They moved quickly through the area, staying in the shadows. Few humans ventured out at night, and it was easy to slip through towns unnoticed. Supernaturals lived in hidden pockets throughout the forest between the castle and Fife.

He wasn’t surprised to find Alistair waiting for him when they entered the small village. The Omega was an imposing figure that few messed with. Like Murtagh, Alistair carried a mantle of power for his position that was undeniable. He quickly dismounted his horse and walked toward his ally.

“Murtagh. ‘Tis good to see you,” Alistair greeted with a nod.

“You, as well, Alistair. Do you have any news for me?”

The Omega fell into line with him as he walked and scanned the area for any hint of the female. “Nay. I had search parties oot all day. I did find this inside the barn,” the Omega stated, and pulled a leather cuff from his pocket.

Murtagh inspected the item. It was possible it belonged to the dark-haired female, but it could’ve been worn by the other females, too. He stuck it in the pocket of his coat, hoping it might be the clue he needed.

“Did anyone come across any signs of a vampire destroyed by the sun?” The tight band around his chest returned, constricting Murtagh’s ability to breathe.

“Nay. We found a drained wolf, but nothing more,” Alistair informed the Vampire King.

“Thank the Goddess,” Murtagh blurted as the band eased a fraction.

“Who is this female to you, Murtagh?”

“Och. She’s a subject is all,” he lied. He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t even understand his obsession with the female. “I fear humans discovering her, or worse. ‘Tis my job to protect all vampires. I failed at keeping the rogues in line.” It ate at him to have failed the female so grossly.

No doubt his kiss sent her running. It must have seemed to her as if he rescued her only to make her his sex slave. How could she not think that way after he fell on her like a lust driven male? He couldn’t blame her for fleeing the barn.

He wanted to kick his own ass from there to Edinburgh. She deserved more respect than that. His focus should’ve been on returning the females safely to their families, nothing more. He’d messed that up in a major way.

“Aye. I understand the weight of responsibility. Search the nearby towns and villages, but if you canna find her I’d suggest visiting old Inghean in Fife. She’s a human seer, and the best bet at getting information.”

“Human? How is that possible?” he asked and looked at his friend pointedly. Alistair knew as well as he did the law regarding human knowledge of supernaturals.

“Aye, she is human, but we canna punish her for her gift of sight. It is oot of her control, and most humans see her as a crazy old crone. Her rambling is easily dismissed as nonsense. Doona worry aboot her exposing us,” Alistair assured and clapped Murtagh on the shoulder.

“I considered visiting the High Priestess, Beatrice,” Murtagh replied as he looked inside a dress shop. He doubted the female he was searching for was there given her simple clothes. The fabric was plain cotton without adornments or embellishments which he would expect to see if she was a dressmaker or the daughter of one.

“You doona want to be indebted to that ugly hag. She’ll demand you mate her as payment,” Alistair commented with a shudder.

Murtagh chuckled and nodded his head. “True. Will you search the villages between here and Fife while I visit Inghean?”

“Aye,” the Omega assured before he and his First in Command headed out.

Eilig was quiet while Murtagh approached the blacksmith’s shop. The smell wasn’t quite pungent enough for the female, but her clothing fit someone in a trade of this nature.

“Liege,” the vampire greeted with a bow. “What brings you here?”

“I am searching for a female. She has black hair and hazel eyes. She wore simple cotton clothing,” Murtagh informed the blacksmith and knew as soon as the words left his mouth, the male wouldn’t be able to assist him. It was too common a description. The blacksmith likely knew a dozen females of her type.

“I doona know who that is, Liege, but I will send word to the castle immediately if I learn anything aboot her,” the blacksmith reassured.

“Thank you. If you see her, please let her know I expect to see her at the castle at once.” Murtagh paused and wondered if he should tell the blacksmith not to say anything. She ran from him before, but surely, she wouldn’t ignore a summons from the Vampire King. She was obviously an ingrained member of their society and wouldn’t risk his wrath.

“Are we heading to Fife now, Liege?” Eilig asked as they walked out of the shop.

“Aye. I must find this female,” Murtagh admitted.

Eilig cocked his head and looked at Murtagh. He knew the male had to be wondering what was running through his head to cause such behavior. Never before had Murtagh been enamored with a female.

In fact, he had never so much as asked to see a female twice after being intimate with her. Eilig knew better than most how much the constant parade of high-born females exhausted and frustrated Murtagh.

“Do you sense she is in danger? Or has no’ made it home?” Eilig asked.

“Nay. I doona have any of my mamai’s ability to sense danger. I have power of sifting, and that does me little good in this situation.”

Eilig rubbed his hands together then blew into them for warmth. “I’ll fetch the horses.”

As soon as they mounted their steeds, Murtagh blurted, “Let’s take them for a run to warm them,” then slapped the reins against the animal.

The horse lunged and kicked into a gallop. They raced through the forest so fast the trees and shrubs were nothing but a blur. Wolves and other wild animals scurried out of their way as they passed, instinctively sensing a more powerful predator in their midst.

After about fifty miles, Murtagh slowed his horse, wondering if he should’ve traveled slower to search for any sign of the female. Unfortunately, the surrounding scents were those typically found in the forest, so he continued to Fife.

The second he and Eilig reached the edge of the city, Murtagh slowed the horse to a trot as he scanned the area for the human seer. Belatedly, he realized he should’ve asked Alistair more questions about how to locate her in a city of many, but then his eyes landed on a small cottage.

He wasn’t sure why, but he instinctively knew Inghean lived in the small stone structure. He tied his horse to a wooden post near the dwelling then approached the door. Murtagh lifted his hand to knock, but the portal opened before his fist made contact.

A small human female with long grey hair hunched over a walking stick and looked up at him with rheumy eyes. “I’ve been expecting you, Your Highness. Please, come in.”

“Expecting me?” he asked.

“A vision came to me. A creature of the night with eyes of blue, seeking guidance,” she replied, then hobbled off.

Murtagh looked over his shoulder, and nodded to Eilig. His commander took position near the entrance as Murtagh ducked and entered the modest home. The door shut of its own accord, and the king shivered. The house was cold but not the reason for the chill running down his spine. He wasn’t particularly fond of humans and didn’t like the idea of seeking help from one, even if she did have the gift of vision.

He glanced around the hut, which consisted of one room. There was a small table with two chairs, and shelves along one wall. They were laden with plates, bowls, and pans for cooking over the open fire in the center of the room. Along the opposite wall was a carpet with a feather-stuffed mattress atop it.

The sight gave Murtagh a new appreciation for how others lived. This human female didn’t live that differently from most of his subjects.

His dark-haired beauty probably lived like this, he acknowledged. She was not of his station, but that didn’t matter to the king. Nothing would stop him from locating the female. Her haunting eyes left him no peace. He had to find her.

“So, tell me. What brings you here, Your Highness?”

Focusing on Inghean, Murtagh took a seat at the small table across from the seer. “I need to find a female. She has dark hair and hazel eyes.”

Inghean leveled her opaque eyes on him, and his body shuddered. It felt as if she knew his every thought. “The one you seek is the key to your salvation. You possess that which will lead you to her.”

His heart stopped for several beats then kicked into high gear. He thought it would pound its way out of his chest. “Is she my Fated Mate?” he inquired, but his tone was more of a demand.

That would make so much sense, he reasoned. His immediate attraction and desire for her, along with the impulsive kiss, fit everything his father had described to him regarding mates. The compulsions were consuming.

“I see a child. Your firstborn will change the face of the Tehrex Realm,” Inghean continued, without actually answering his question directly.

“Can you tell me where to find her? I fear she’s in danger, and I need to ensure her safety.” Murtagh felt Eilig’s presence outside the door and knew the male heard every word spoken between them. He prayed his friend could translate the seer’s riddled words because she was making no sense to him.

“You will find her where death meets new purpose. She hides from what she feels. You cannot wear your armor when you approach. It instills distance that she may not be able to traverse.”

“Precisely, where is she? Do you know her name?”

“Would you like some tea?” Inghean asked as her vacant expression cleared and focused on Murtagh.

The urge to shake the answers from the human was nearly impossible to ignore, but Murtagh was accustomed to maintaining a façade. Rising to his feet, he pulled some gold from his pocket and placed it on the table.

“I am pressed for time, but thank you for your assistance. You have been extremely helpful.”

“One more thing, Your Highness,” she replied and stood from her seated position. She hobbled over, and looked up at Murtagh. Her eerie gaze met his then she muttered, “Beware, for an evil like you’ve never faced is approaching. You must put aside your prejudices, and protect that which seems unworthy.”

“What does that mean?” he asked as confusion wracked his mind. The seer shrugged as if she didn’t understand his question then proceeded to make tea.

Realizing she wasn’t going to answer, Murtagh shook his head and turned to leave. Eilig was smiling the second he emerged from the small home. “At least I now know why you’re so eager to find the female, Liege.”

“Aye,” he replied with a wide grin, forgetting the seer’s last words. “She’s my Fated Mate. I know it in my heart. But,” he continued, and his smile vanished. “I doona know where to find her.”

“Something the seer said was verra odd,” Eilig voiced with a puzzled expression. “Her comment aboot you possessing something that would lead you to her. That sounded like you have an object belonging to her.”

Murtagh suddenly remembered the leather cuff Alistair had found at the barn. He pulled it from his jacket and handed it to Eilig. “Do you think she could’ve meant this? It would make sense given her cryptic remark aboot death finding new purpose.”

Eilig inspected the piece of leather, and his expression changed when he scanned the back of the cuff. Murtagh looked closer and noticed a marking on the worn leather.

“Do you know the symbol?” Murtagh asked.

“Aye. Liege,” he replied and lifted his head. A grin spread across his face and he added, “I know this tanner. “Tis no’ far. We can make it there and get back to the castle well before sunrise.”

Anticipation flowed through Murtagh’s veins like a drug. There was no doubt in his mind this female carried the other half of his soul. Before morning dawned, he would have his Fated Mate in his arms.

Chapter 4

“Ouch,” Annis muttered as she used the knife to scrape the new hide her father had picked up from the butcher. Her body was mostly back to normal after a full day of sleep and a hearty meal in her stomach.

Still, she needed to feed. Drinking the blood of an animal paled in comparison to what human blood did for a vampire. There would come a point when she was forced to feed from her mom or locate another to feed from. Perhaps the butcher’s son would agree to give her blood. After the searing kiss she’d shared with the Vampire King, she constantly fantasized about taking his vein. She imagined royal blood was like the finest wine and was probably served in a golden goblet.

“Is everything alright, An?” her dad called out from across the work barn.

“Aye, Da. The hide is almost ready for washing,” she informed him.

“Perhaps you should take another day to rest. You went through an ordeal, and I think you need more time to recuperate,” her father replied.

Annis was shaking her head before he finished speaking. She had to stay busy. Laying around left her to think about the Vampire King, and the fact they would never be together again. It hurt too much to think about him. Worst part was she knew exactly who he was and exactly where he lived. She considered moving far away, but didn’t want to leave her dad shorthanded.

She was about to respond when a commotion caught their attention. “Hide behind the lime barrels. Doona come oot no matter what you hear,” her father whispered before he stood and grabbed their largest knife from the table.

Annis couldn’t catch her breath as her heart raced in her chest. It made her dizzy to the point of fainting. Eyes wide, she scanned the barn searching for another savior. If rogues were after her again there was no way her father would be able to fight them off by himself.

What if it’s the king coming to punish her for taking liberties with him? Surely, kissing the Vampire King wasn’t on par with treason, right? Her chest was heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The more she thought about the scenarios her father was walking into, the more she realized she could never allow him to deal with her mess.

Heading toward the doors, Annis stopped in her tracks when a familiar deep, masculine voice boomed outside. What would he do to her?

“Erik, is your daughter home? I must see her right away,” the Vampire King demanded.

The sound of feet shuffling told her that her dad was likely bowing to the king. His slightly muffled response confirmed that suspicion. “Annis? She recently went through an ordeal, Liege. Is there a problem?”

“Annis.” The way her name rolled on his tongue sent shivers down her spine. It was no wonder she couldn’t stop thinking about him. The powerful male was irresistible. “I have come to claim what is mine,” Murtagh announced.

Annis’s jaw dropped, and the small knife fell from her fingers as she stared out the cracked door, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sexy male. She had to be dreaming. No way had she just heard his words correctly.

“Annis,” he called out again and her feet were moving toward his voice. Regardless of her doubt, her heart fluttered, and a smile spread over her mouth. It was quickly followed by a sense of elation and rightness.

“What did you say? I doona think I understand,” her father replied. “Do you have a need for her in the castle?”

“Aye. I have a need for my Fated Mate by my side,” Murtagh declared.

Annis had the door flung open in the next instant. It didn’t matter that she was covered in dirt and blood from the hides. She had to go to him. When his gaze locked on hers, she froze. He was more handsome than she remembered, and her heart ached at the sight.

“Och, An. Why didna you tell me you mated the King?”

Her gaze remained fixed on Sapphire as heat flushed her cheeks. “Nay, Da. I didna mate with him. He rescued me last night and, I, um, well, then I came home.”

“But he said you’re his mate.” Annis knew her father was trying to understand what was happening and why the king was making this claim. The only way for most supernaturals to find their Fated Mate, the one that carried half of their soul, was to have intercourse with them, or feed on their blood. In their case, neither had happened.

“She is my mate,” Murtagh declared as he dismounted the black stallion.

All eyes turned his way. Annis’s mother exited the back door of their home and stopped short when she saw who was standing there.

“I must apologize for being presumptuous and kissing you last night, lass. I was overcome with a need to have you close and never stopped to consider how it might frighten you,” Murtagh professed as he walked toward her.

Annis was shocked at his apology. “Nay, Liege. ‘Tis I who needs to make amends. I’m no’ certain why my behavior gave you the impression I am your mate. I am but a tanner’s daughter, not a high-born female of worth.”

From the corner of her eye, Annis saw her father stiffen, and immediately regretted her words. She loved her father, and her life, even if she wished from time to time that she could escape the acrid tannery.

A finger beneath her chin forced her eyes to meet the Vampire King’s. “You did nothing out of turn. You are my other half. I know it in my heart. You carry the other portion of my soul. I want you and your family to return to the castle with me so we can complete our mating ceremony at the next full moon.”

“How can you say such a thing? I’d be an embarrassment to your rule.” Annis knew the elite females would never accept her into their folds. She didn’t have the first clue about his world, or how she would fit into it.

“Nonsense,” her mother interjected. “The Goddess doesna care aboot social classes or roles in society. She selected the perfect match for you with her infinite wisdom. ‘Tis no’ our place to question her choice for us. The high-born will pay the price if they choose to question her will. We would be honored to accompany you to the castle.”

When her mother put it like that, who was Annis to argue? Her mother was right. The Goddess decided who belonged together. She should be grateful for being given the perfect mate.

Suddenly, Murtagh grabbed her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was different this time. Annis felt his devotion, passion, and love poured into his kiss and she returned the sentiment in full.

Her heart exploded with joy as she realized her dream had come true. Her knight had come to her rescue once again. She had finally found her happily ever after.

Murtagh trailed a hand down Annis’s arm, relishing the feel of her soft skin as they sat on the sofa in front of the fire. Finally, he was alone with his mate.

Their arrival at the castle created chaos and was no doubt the talk of every town and village from there to Edinburgh. The elite females were outraged that he’d found his Fated Mate, and they couldn’t believe she was a lowly tanner’s daughter.

Murtagh nearly banished every one of them when they sneered at the dirt and smell covering his Annis. Before he could come to her defense against the petty females, his strong-willed mate held her head high and asked the servants to fill her a bath, then kissed him shamelessly in front of the females. It was all he could do to keep from laughing at their shocked expressions.

Truth be told, Annis was more of a queen than any of the vapid females ever would be.

His heart raced as he gazed at his dark-haired beauty. Admittedly, he should’ve arranged for Annis to be in a private room since they hadn’t completed their mating ceremony, but he refused to part from her. One of the reasons was he couldn’t get enough of her intoxicating scent. Now that she was bathed and dressed in clean clothes, her warm vanilla aroma wafted from her pores and cocooned him in a blanket of desire. He’d never craved a female like he did his Annis.

“Would you prefer to go to another room until our mating is completed?” Murtagh asked when Annis remained silent.

He should put distance between them if she didn’t feel the same. His need was too great to be this close and not act on it. His gaze snagged on the pulse at her neck, and it took every ounce of willpower not to sink his fangs into her supple flesh. He didn’t know how long he could go without tasting her sweet blood.

Finally looking away from the blazing orange flames, Annis graced him with a smile. It was the first time he’d seen her face light up, and it took his breath away. It transformed her from beautiful to captivating.

“Nay. I doona want to be away from you. But I hate that society will look down upon you because the Goddess chose me as your mate.”

“Do you want to know how I knew you were mine, despite the fact we have no’ been intimate?” he asked as he twirled his finger through her long, dark hair. Silky, just the way he imagined.

“Aye. I mean, this could just be crazy attraction. Or, perhaps you hit your head,” she teased playfully.

His eyes slid closed as he held back his desire to feel more of her body. “I have never wanted another female more in my life, but that is no’ all. In my desperate search for you, I met a human seer.”

Annis cocked her head, and her brow furrowed. “What does a seer have to do with me?”

“Everything. She couldna tell me where to find you, but she did tell me that our firstborn would change the face of the Tehrex Realm. I knew immediately you had to be my Fated if we were blessed with a bairn.”

Trailing her hands up the planes of his chest, Annis’s smile widened. “His name will be Zander,” she declared.

“A male? Are you a seer?” he asked as he leaned closer, nuzzling her neck. He placed kisses along the base and trailed up to her ear.

“Nay, I just know our first will be a strong king, like his da,” she replied, her breath coming out in pants.

The seer’s warning about approaching doom flashed through his mind, but Murtagh pushed aside the thoughts. Maybe the crone was mistaken. Regardless, with Annis by his side, he could face anything.

Unable to wait any longer, he pressed his lips to hers. Murtagh thought the room would set on fire from the building passion. He was more than ready for their mating ceremony and claiming her in every way. Perhaps tonight could be a trial run, he thought as his body hardened in anticipation. He itched to explore her curves and hear her moans of pleasure as he made love to her.

Annis pulled away slightly and looked at him curiously. “Why do your eyes glow?”

“It is my desire for you,” he professed. “Surely, you know that.” She was a vampire, after all.

“No male has ever been attracted to me,” Annis murmured, then looked away.

Murtagh forced her to meet his glowing gaze. “How fortunate for me that fools have surrounded you. I canna wait to show you how much you mean to me.”

Her smile returned, and a blush stained her cheeks. “You didna just save me from the rogues. You saved me from myself. My attraction to you was overwhelming, and shame and self-doubt made me flee, but I promise to never leave your side again. I love you.”

Murtagh gazed into beautiful hazel eyes and detected not one ounce of sadness. “You are my everything, Annis. You are the first being to truly see me, and no’ the Vampire King. You saw through flesh and bone to the hidden depths of my soul and embraced the male inside. I will love you ‘til the end of time,” he professed, then scooped his mate into his arms and carried her toward their destiny.

About Brenda Trim

Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed the story, please consider giving Brenda a virtual hug and leaving a review. If this is your first novel of hers, check out Brenda’s website for details on her other works. She’s co-authored over thirty books in the bestselling Dark Warrior Alliance and Hollow Rock Shifters series, and she’s the mastermind behind the Bramble's Edge Academy series, as well as many other titles.

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Banshee Kiss by Ellen Mint

Chapter 1

Death ain’t it’s all cracked up to be.

“Another.” A shock of blood-red hair tumbled out of the crypt-like darkness of her drawn hood, but it couldn’t pull the attention of the bartender. Nothing would.

“Right,” Morgan sighed to herself. Despite the mass crowding the bar, a gap formed around her. The patrons all shifted as if a cold blast claimed that seat in the bar. Almost like a ghost was waiting for another round.

She snorted at the thought and leaned over the counter to blindly reach for a bottle. At least a ghost wouldn’t have to eat. Her fingers snatched a long glass neck, and she yanked back a—“Whiskey,” she said aloud as much to keep herself sane. “From the blessed hills of Ireland herself.” Never had that before.

No one stopped the stranger in the black trench coat from pulling a knife out of her pocket and cutting through the foil. Wadding the wrapper into a ball, she turned and stared down the lane of tipsy young adults wasting rent money to get laid.

This wasn’t the kind of bar one expected to find her in. Neon lights of red and blue pulsed from below the lip of the counter. A kitschy disco ball reflected more above the bartender’s head, and a throbbing, almost painful dirge of EDM pounded through the glass floor. She must have wandered into a popular bar, not that it mattered.

No one cared as the banshee poured a hundred-dollar-a-shot whiskey into a pint glass.

Morgan gave it a sniff, girding herself for the rot about to burn through her body. It smelled like a fog creeping across the moors with only a sliver of the moon to light the wisps. So, about the same as any liquor she ‘borrowed.’

With a shrug, she tipped it back and waited. In the old days, her tongue would scream at her for subjecting it to such terrors. Absently, she twisted around her wrist to check the old windup watch.

Waiting, Morgan pressed her lips together and blew. Still a breath. Cool, yes, but it hadn’t vanished. “Oh God!” she gasped. The full wallop of her whiskey, and rum, and the bottle of gin she could reach bashed her gut at once. The massive alcohol content would have dissolved away the liver of a normal person.

And there she was, stealing liquor just to feel a tenth of mortality’s pain. To have anything gurgle through her system to remind her of what it meant to be human. A flash of red caught her eye, and Morgan swiped three cherries from a bowl before the bartender hid them away.

Food helped. Funny thing about being dead, she still had to eat, drink, and sleep. Maybe not as much when alive, but…

The winds shifted. Sickly damp crawled across every surface of the bar. Voices faded to whispers, the music crackled to a pathetic hiss in the speakers. The hair on the back of her neck rose, followed by a trail of goosebumps straight down her spine.

Specters, their faces shrouded in impenetrable darkness, floated through the wall. Shrouds clung to their spindly arms, which crackled like snapped chicken bones with every movement. Fingers, withered to jerky, dangled off the wrists. They appeared useless until one got too close.

Morgan resumed her drinking as the reapers swept around the room. What poor bastard was going to get his tonight?

The reapers flitted to the ceiling, circling like the vultures of souls that they were. Was it the DJ? One too many unknown pills he accepted without a second’s thought? Maybe one of the dancers would keel over from an undiagnosed medical condition? Or the handful of guys in suits trying to pretend it wasn’t a comb over? They seemed ripe pickings.

It didn’t matter. As long as she stayed still and let the creatures take their pound of flesh, they’d let her be.

If the living could see them, they’d all die in an instant. Not because the reapers had maggots for teeth or one glance into their eyes would wither your soul. No, what would drive the entire species mad were the countless numbers.

Hundreds hovered above an average street, waiting for an opportunity to swoop down and feast. Or whatever they did.

Morgan wasn’t clear on exactly what reapers got from their prey, aside from death. They’d always start by trying to push through the person approaching their death. The harder it was for a reaper to phase through, the heartier a person was.

Movement, and that god awful clacking sound, caused her to look up. One reaper broke from the horde and dove. Its spindly arm stretched out, a single finger raised as it swept into the chest of a lone man. Poor bastard.

That had to be a heart attack or organ failure.

She’d seen it often while walking the street, while sneaking onto the metro, even while snagging a free hotel room. At least it was quick. One pass from the reaper straight into the victim’s heart and they were gone.

Morgan leaned further off her stool, watching the man who just had the full force of death crack through his ribs. Pain struck her which, for once, wasn’t alcohol-based. He sat alone, his voice drowned out by music, his face shadowed by the lights. No one would hear his last cries. No one would run to rescue him. He would die without a single soul noticing.

Her feet fell to the floor, an ache inside pulling her closer to the man. Foolish. She stopped warning them… Morgan flipped her watch around as if it would tell her.

Banshee, a woman who could predict death. That’s what one old man shrieked when she leaned into his ear and told him he was about to die. But it gave her a purpose in her wandering non-existence.

Except, warning people, telling them the inevitable was about to befall them did nothing. They’d turn, see her in their last second, then fade to dust on the wind. And every time she’d stepped close to the dying, the reapers would sense her and the meal they’d missed.

So, rather than risk her own hide for a stranger’s moment of peace, Morgan took to drinking instead. It seemed a good enough pursuit for a decade’s existence. Why then was she walking closer to the man clustered with reapers?

Even with death in the room, dancers blocked her path. Life pulsed through the bar, obscuring her from the reapers and allowing Morgan to take in the man about to fade to nothing. He looked out of place amongst the horde, like he’d been tricked into coming here. A long face with a chin to crack walnuts, his eyes were set deep against a roman nose. The lips, surprisingly supple on such a harsh visage, lay flat in an unfeeling grimace. He practically screamed, “I don’t want to be here.”

But those eyes. Even at a distance, even with shadows cutting lines across his face, she couldn’t escape his eyes. Pale as a morning frost, they glowed from deep inside his sockets as he observed the spectacle before him.

And he had no idea what was about to happen.

The reapers’ lackadaisical floating shifted, their non-existent faces all turned toward the man about to die. It was now or never. Morgan jumped the two steps onto the alcove where his table perched. The man didn’t look at her, nor would he, until she reached out and touched him.

What the…!

A spark ripped between them, locking her fingers around his arm. The pulse of pure energy raced down to her toes, causing her sluggish heart to pound harder than it had since the accident. Slowly, those frost blue eyes drifted to the side. Morgan was frozen, watching in his thrall as the dying man’s pupils shrunk to pinpricks.

He saw her.

“You…”

Are in grave danger.

Will die tonight.

The usual platitudes perched on her tongue for the near-deceased fizzled away. Every step Morgan had taken, every city she’d visited, every long night lost guarding against the reapers one fact held true: she was alone. No one glanced her way, no one shared more than a mumbled word of surprise should she jostle them. She was a breathing, exhausted, hungry ghost haunting a world forever tumbling into the grave.

“Close your eyes,” she ordered, reaching her hand into a pocket tucked deep inside her coat.

“Wha…?” the stranger asked, confused by a random woman grabbing him, but there wasn’t time. The reapers’ interest shifted, the fog around their bodies snapping to a deathly red. They found her.

Slamming her lids shut, Morgan yanked the pin and hurled a flash grenade into the air. Light ripped through the darkness, blinding not only the dancers shrieking in surprise but the reapers.

“Come on!” she shouted, her eyes still shut as she locked her fingers around the man’s hand. Panicked people dashed around the floor. Their throbbing pulses would provide a momentary cover against the reapers regaining their senses. The near-dead could hide amongst so much life.

Morgan bent her shoulder down, bashing through whatever got in her way. Risking only a sliver of light through her eyelids, she tried to guide the stranger tethered to her fingers toward the back of the bar. High pitched screams covered the squealing music and feet stampeding like a herd of wildebeest.

Phones appeared from every available pocket, more voices crying for their AI to call for help. A blue glow radiated off of each one, lines of energy shivering through the air like razor blades. Morgan reared back. Every phone made her skin feel as if it was being peeled off her bones.

She twisted around, prepared to find a new exit, when the air sucked away. The reapers were reviving.

“What in the…?” the stranger began, but there wasn’t time to explain. Not that he’d believe it.

There!

Morgan broke into a run even with every slice from the phone’s energy cutting into her skin. “Can you jump?” she shouted, her voice loud enough people’s heads swiveled in her direction. They didn’t have the time to see her, what few could, but they all felt the force of a woman prepared to run over them.

“I…I think so,” the stranger said.

“Then do it!” Morgan cried as she launched off her heels straight up onto the bar counter. Glass exploded under her heels, bottles of amber and gold shattering against the wall—a drunkard’s fireworks.

She landed behind, got her feet under her, and turned to find the stranger slid right through her wake. Those eyes of blinding brilliance stared directly into hers, and a shiver trembled down her spine.

Get out of here.

The hundreds of dollars of liquid merchandise puddling on the floor drew the attention of the bartender, but Morgan didn’t wait for him to cease seeing her. He raised his fist as if he had any way to stop her, but she blew through the backdoor.

A maze of metal shelving crammed with boxes awaited them. Her instincts told her there was an exit, but if she was wrong… Absently, she reached for the sheath at her side, when incandescent street light seeped through the darkness.

The exit was real. Double timing it, Morgan reached for the handle, praying it wasn’t locked, when she spotted a box crammed with sample-size peanut bags. Even the undead had to eat.

She pilfered as many bags as she could then yanked the door open. The dank smell of mildew, urine, and rotten potatoes flushed through the air as both leaped onto bags of garbage. Her sharp-toed boots split one apart, scattering peels and stained napkins.

Morgan let her momentum carry her through the garbage. She slammed her palm out to stop her. Cold inched through the old stone of the neighboring building but a laugh rumbled in her lungs. She’d walked right up to the reapers, stole their prey, and lived. Metaphorically speaking.

The jangle of a tin can rattling against cement caused her to glance back at the reason she’d risked everything. In the darkness of the bar, she couldn’t tell much about the stranger beyond his striking eyes. Thanks to the humming streetlights, Morgan took in a man dressed as if he was late to a wedding.

A collared shirt so white it nearly blinded her was topped off by a vest of crimson. He wore no jacket, or perhaps left it behind, and had rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. Her gaze lingered from his fingers, long and nimble, up the forearms bearing the taut musculature of a man who chopped trees for a living.

“Who are you?” the stranger asked, his voice such a deep baritone Morgan felt it shiver down to her toes.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” she said without answering him.

He lay his fingers flush to his chest, right above his still-beating heart. “I’m…” The man swallowed, no doubt confused as to why a random woman would rip him away from a bar and out into the alley. A breath softened his lips and, in a surprise, they twisted into a half-smile. “Dane. My name is Dane.”

“Well, Dane,” she said while wrapping her hand around their last line of defense. Instead of drawing it, she dug her palm into the leather grip and met the man’s gaze. “I’m Morgan, and I just saved you from death.”

Chapter 2

The word “Dane” fumbled in his mouth, despite his certainty, it was his name. Why did that realization strike deeper to his core than what the strange woman said? Death?

She certainly looked the sort to battle demons in secret, underground societies. A black leather coat fluttered down to her ankles to frame the deadly boots with sharp metallic points on the toes. More leather strained against her chest, which was cinched tighter by crimson ribbons around her stomach and amplified the assets that quickened his blood. He was vaguely aware of something prodding off her hip, right near the tactical pants covered in straps and pockets. But Dane’s attention struggled to drift from a small birthmark perched upon the top of her right breast.

“Hey.” A finger snapped in his face, causing his head to snap up. Still, the shape of her beauty mark lingered in the back of his skull, trying to tell his sluggish brain something vital.

Her face was sharper than the dagger on her thigh. Eyes of polished iron, a nose thin as a stiletto, and her chin a piton. The only change from the theme were her lips. Sculpted with a strong cupid’s bow, they bore a pink, almost innocent tinge to the pillowed pair. Funny, he’d have expected scarlet for her.

“What were you doing in there?” Morgan asked.

His thoughts sloshed through his brain slower than an ice floe. In there? Where had he even been? Dane glanced over his shoulder at the door slammed permanently shut.

“I’m not…” he sputtered, pain throbbing through his skull. What had he been doing before…?

A warm hand rolled across his shoulder, her fingers massaging into the muscle. The sluggish heartbeat erupted into a timpani solo. Dane’s eyes swung to hers, a tingling beat dancing from the tips of her fingers clear down his spine.

“You can’t remember?” she asked softly, pain crinkling her striking eyes. “What about where you live? Your family?”

“I’m sorry,” he sputtered, regret stirring in his blood.

Morgan’s gaze slipped shut, and she breathed slowly as if in meditation. “It’s not your fault. It’s…damn it!” Her fist folded and she punched the wall.

A low hum, like from a bass tipped onto its face, rose from the ground. Morgan’s eyes blazed and she released him to reach inside her coat. Beyond the sound, a new experience grew. Like the feel of tugging off a sweater in deep winter or chewing on a piece of foil. Dane’s hands raised as if he could chase away a feeling.

What even was it?

“They’ve found us. Get behind me,” Morgan ordered. She tried to shove Dane to the side as she drew from her hip a sword. Five feet long and a palm’s width wide, the blade bore pits and marks all along the dull metal. Signs of red rust stained the flats, but the edges glistened as if they’d been sharpened to slice through light.

He stared in wonder and horror at the sword that looked like it’d been pulled from an ancient bog. Morgan held it without qualms, her hand lifting higher while she whipped her head back and forth. As she scanned around them, she kept walking backward and continually bumped into Dane.

The caress and bounce of her backside, even below the coat, was alarmingly distracting. But he couldn’t escape the low hum increasing to the point his ears shivered. Ice crept along the alley, the frost racing to form patterns shaped like handprints.

In that moment, he knew what seized through his heart and refused to let go—dread.

“Who’s found us?” Dane’s teeth chattered as creatures descended upon them.

Three bodies made of branches broken from a hanging tree and cloaked in the burial shrouds loomed down the alley. Ice crawled up the tattered hems of their cloaks, shifting the impenetrable black to a filthy white. But within the darkness of their raised hoods lurked nothing. No eyes glowed from within, no lips snarled or teeth snapped.

They shrieked, but he knew it from the shake of their cloth and not a sound escaping their skeletal mouths. It passed through him how a dog whistle would entrance a werewolf. Dane’s head snapped back, his legs melting to jelly. The ground raced for him when a hand knotted around his vest and held tight.

“Stay with me,” Morgan ordered. The tip of her finger folded outward and caressed along his sternum. In an instant, the power of those creatures vanished. Dane rose to steady feet behind the woman shifting her sword to a new position.

“Come on, you bastards,” she taunted. A hand with bones nearly picked clean of all flesh rose from below the formless sleeves. It strained across the gap between them and pointed, not at Dane, but Morgan. She lashed out with her sword, the edge slicing through the arm.

As it struck, the floating creature hissed smoke. The accusing arm dissolved into acidic foam dripping onto the ground below. A new shriek erupted, this one louder and legible. Dane moved to cover his ears--his head pounding--when Morgan thrust her blade clean through the creature’s hood.

In an instant, it was silenced.

But there were still two more coming.

Morgan swung for the next, but it dodged and five fingers scraped across her bicep. “Gah!” she cried and whipped her arm around. A line of red welled up beneath her shirt, leaving Dane gulping for fear she could fall.

Hurtling past the pain of whatever venom those things carried, Morgan swung her sword directly through the midsection. The creature sliced in half, both ends bubbling and dissolving away to nothing. Whatever momentum she’d had was used up taking the second down.

Her sword’s tip collapsed to the ground. Morgan sneered at her wound as if that could heal it, but she cursed when trying to lift her weapon.

Wait. Where did the third creature go? Dane whipped his head around trying to find the other demon.

“What are they? Why are they trying to kill us?”

“Reapers,” Morgan snarled. She shifted the blade to her left hand and tried to move forward, but her shoulder bounded against the wall as blood poured from her arm. “And they aren’t trying to kill us.”

Her silver eyes burned through him, the entirety of Dane’s body igniting at the look. “What do you…?” he began, when a shriek roared through a dumpster.

Skeleton hands erupted out of the metal walls. Dane leaped back before they could slice him to ribbons. Without thought, he wrapped a hand around Morgan’s thigh. “What are you—?” she screamed in shock when he unsheathed her small dagger and sliced straight through both of the reaper’s hands.

They didn’t dissolve as before but shifted against the wind like they were nothing more than a projection. Dane tried again, stabbing across the wrists. Still, they inched closer.

“That won’t work,” Morgan shouted. Spinning on her heels, she knocked the flat of the blade against the attacking reaper’s arms. It was enough to wipe away the untouchable monster, its lipless face screaming into the void.

As the final dribbles of its body burbled onto the cement, Morgan’s sword clattered to the ground. Dane scurried to pick up their only form of protection. But with no fight to sustain her, his hero crumpled to the wall. Without a second’s hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her…and his veins lit alive with fire.

Morgan stared up at him, her wound seemingly forgotten as she brushed a finger along his jaw. Her scarlet hair had fallen around her face in the fight. Dane scooped his palm across her cheek, the bright red locks threading through his fingers, and he reached back to her ear. To the nape of her neck. To hold her in his arms, gaze down at her lips, and…

“We need to move,” she said, shattering the delusions flitting through his mind. But even as he slipped away from holding her, the tingle vibrating in his blood wouldn’t leave. At that moment, he’d have traveled to the ends of the earth with her.

“Wait a moment. Move? For what purpose? The creatures, they’re all…” The word ‘dead’ clung to his lips like a sore. Dane gulped at the strange world he found himself stumbling in and the woman that seemed to pull him into it.

“They’re not dead. I don’t think they can die, only be inconvenienced,” she said, glaring at the gooey remains soaked into the blacktop. “There are more. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. And they’re all tracking you. We need some time to recoup and…” Her shoulder lifted, and she glanced at the wound still seeping through her shirt. Dane’s direction rose to the sky, his eyes narrowing as if he could see this supposed army of reapers flying above.

The sound of her sheathing the sword caused him to direct his piercing attention to Morgan. She’d tugged back her coat and was reaching for the empty smaller scabbard he pulled the knife from. While he knew she’d placed her flat palm out, wanting the dagger back, his gaze drifted down her inner thigh straining to fit her armory. To run the back of his hand up it, trace the dip and rise of her muscle, round his fingers right against her…

Right. The knife. Dane laid it in her palm, expecting it to vanish along with the other sharp objects, but Morgan caught his hand. The shiver returned, his toes clenching in his shoes as if they feared he would be electrocuted.

“I need your blood,” Morgan said, causing his stomach to plummet.

“What? No. Why? No.” Disgust swam through him, Dane tried to collapse his hand into a safe fist, but she held firm.

The woman who was—as far as he could remember—a complete stranger moved closer. Her eyes softened to a funeral rain, and he wanted to crumble at her feet. “It’s the only way to throw the reapers off our scent. Trust me?”

She wanted him to bleed, of course, he shouldn’t trust her. But… his sight glanced across her battered arm. She’d already taken first blood for him. Dane nodded and gritted his teeth.

Morgan drew the blade across his hand fast, a sharp spike of pain shooting up his arm. Before he could cry out, she slapped his palm to the wall, smearing it in his blood. Dane stared in shock at the crimson splattered across his wounded palm. Some macabre part of his brain kept him plying at the ripped-apart flesh, watching it tear further apart and well more blood to the surface.

Soft linen landed against his gash, and he looked up into Morgan’s concerned eyes. “This will slow it,” she said, winding the odd bandage twice more before knotting it.

She moved to slip back when Dane caught her elbow. Those soft lips parted in surprise, or perhaps she felt the same strange rush of electricity with every touch. He couldn’t explain why, but he felt it in his marrow to pull her close, to cup her cheek, and touch her lips with the gratefulness rolling through him.

A shriek shattered the air, sharper than any they’d heard before. Morgan winced just as he did, both ducking lower as if the reapers were bombers sweeping through the clouds. “Come on,” she said, locking her fingers around his. “We have to move.”

With his mark of scarlet life left on the wall, the pair ran down the alley and into the streets beyond.

Chapter 3

Damnit!

Morgan slammed open the door of her hotel room and stomped inside. Her movements were methodical, unbuckling each sheath and laying the various daggers and knives upon the dresser. Her mind churned in an endless cycle of anger and regret.

He saw them. She was so certain she pulled him away before the reapers pulled him from the living world. But if he could see them, then…

She paused in her usual dismantling, her gaze drifting to the man she’d accidentally damned while trying to save. The small towel she’d swiped from the bathroom dangled off his palm. He kept trying to cinch it back together as if that could fix everything gone wrong. Put him back into the body of a man who couldn’t see reapers, who wasn’t straddling the line between life and death. Who wasn’t doomed to forever run in order to survive.

“Your sword,” Dane said, shattering the silence that fell when they escaped from the alley.

Numb, Morgan stared as if she’d never seen it before. Unsheathing the mottled blade, she waited for whatever question he had, but it seemed as if the man ran out of words. He needed something to say and pointing at an obvious and tactile object was better than asking, “Am I dead or not?” As if she had an answer to such a question.

“It’s pure iron,” Morgan responded. She drew the flat of her palm down the ancient bumps, her lips pulling into a hard frown at the divots and brown patches. That wasn’t good. “Only thing that can stop the reapers, at least for a time.”

Turning her back on Dane, she fished out a handheld sander and began buffing the sword. “Wasn’t easy to find, most are steel.” The museum wasn’t going to miss one borrowed sword out of their multitude. Morgan gnashed on her lip, her palm feeling the far too thin metal as she scraped away more of the rot.

Dane peered around the average three-star hotel room. She wasn’t stupid enough to break into one of the penthouses at a luxury hotel. But no reason for her to slum it with cockroaches for pillows either. If she was clinging this hard to life, then some parts of it might as well be worth living.

“Do you have any other iron swords?” Dane asked, causing her to look up in surprise. “Given the multitude of reapers outside.”

Not just outside. Hotels were a festering wound for the flies thanks to hundreds of sick and dying passing through the halls every year. But that wasn’t his pressing concern. He’d turned ghostly pale upon spotting the siphon of reapers forever twirling through the skies. Morgan grew so used to the unholy sight, she barely blinked, only shoved him on to the safety of her room.

“They can’t get in here,” she said and pointed to a line of salt and dirt left by the door. Dane stared in confusion as if he’d never fought the dead before. With a sigh, she paused in her rubbing down her only true offense against the reapers.

“Sorry, this is all I’ve got, and I may not have it much longer.”

“Why?”

“Every time I touch one of those things with this, they rust it. Whatever they are chips away at it, drains the iron until…” Morgan raised the sword now free of the brown and red splotches. Its brittle frame wouldn’t hold much longer, and she hadn’t found a source for a new one. Gritting her teeth, she turned the blade to inspect the edge, when pain shot up her arm.

Gasping, she doubled over. The sword clattered from her grip, and she clenched her fist as the fire climbed over her bicep. Reaching into her coat, she grimaced at the sticky feel of lukewarm blood smeared over her palm. That wasn’t good.

“Are you…?” Dane called, dashing closer.

She stared up at him while shrugging off her coat. Five jagged gashes cut clear through her shirt, blood bubbling up from the holes. “Damn it,” she cursed while rolling her sleeve up. It proved fruitless, only pressing her fingers on the wound and reviving the pain. Without a second thought, she undid the buttons and began to tug her shirt off.

“Oh.” The man she pulled back to her room gasped in surprise, and he spun on his heels.

What was he…? She was already half-naked, her shirt dangling across one side of her chest as she inspected her arm, when understanding hit her. A blush churned up her icy cheeks, causing Morgan to clench her toes. She forgot what it was like to have anyone care if she was dressed. Or not.

Morgan’s gaze drifted from her wound toward the stranger’s back. The vest kept any hint of his musculature hidden, but the pants rounded over an ass firm enough to break boards. Every time he touched her it felt as if her blood was about to sing. What would it be like to…? No. Focus.

The blood was a bigger problem than the strangely attractive man she pulled into this world. Morgan yanked open the drawer and pulled out a plastic food container.

“You seem to know a great deal about these reapers,” Dane said.

“Not really,” Morgan answered while popping open her Tupperware. The sound caused Dane to glance over his shoulder at her miracle cure. “I figured most of it out thanks to trial and error. I don’t even know if they’re called reapers, but it seems to fit.”

“Indeed,” he whispered, his voice soft as he watched her dig out a handful of her cure. “What is that?”

Morgan paused before dropping it in place. “Grave dirt.” She watched his jaw drop as she smeared a handful of earth dug from a fresh grave across her wound. “Reapers don’t care about the dead, only the…dying. The in-between part, I guess. This,” she held up a fist crammed full of the old, decaying dirt, “stops ’em cold.”

A slow cough rolled from Dane and pity swarmed through her. He didn’t ask for this world of reapers, and graves, and iron swords, and death all around. She didn’t mean for him to…join her. It was the kid all over again.

For a time, Morgan only ran from the reapers. She’d hide whenever they broke from their mother hive to strip the soul from someone. But one day, there was a girl—maybe five or six—being hunted by them, and Morgan couldn’t look away. She tried chasing away the girl’s reapers, shielding the girl, running with her, hiding. None of it mattered.

They were relentless and always won.

Here she was, doing it again, hoping this time would be different. And why? Two of whatever they were traveling together would only make them easier to find, easier for the reapers to finish what they started.

A wince crawled along her face, and she stared at the grave dirt crumbling from her grip onto the carpet. “If I may,” he said while unraveling the bandage she gave him. Before Morgan could argue, Dane wrapped her wound up tight—dirt and all. His movements were gentle and professional, but every now and again, the edge of his thumb would catch against her skin, and she’d shiver clear down to her toes.

Morgan stood helpless as the stranger tended her. His cheeks and chin looked pristine, as if he’d only shaved an hour earlier. While he worked, his lips both pursed and relaxed in thought. Morgan was unable to escape the soft glisten along them. And a clean, almost oceanic scent wafted from his chest which nearly glanced against hers.

“Why…?” she whispered, her brain unable to understand what was happening.

Ice blue eyes burned in hers, and she felt a foolish smile tug at her mouth.

“You suffered this wound protecting me. It seems the least I could do.” He returned her smile tenfold and, as he finished tying a much better knot in the bandage, his fingers drifted through the air. Would they land on her shoulder? Curl against her cheek? Tug off the last of her shirt as he pulled her to him for a kiss?

Dane slid back a step and rustled an aimless hand through his hair. “I suppose we’re here for the long haul, then?”

“Afraid so,” she answered, darting her gaze away.

“It could certainly be worse,” he chuckled. “Trapped in a hotel room with a beautiful woman. However will I survive?”

Morgan wanted to laugh with him, to push harder on the beautiful thought, but guilt swam through her. She had to tell him the truth. He didn’t survive, neither of them did. “Do you…do you remember anything yet? About your life before…?” You sort-of died.

The laugh faded, his lips flattening as he shook his head. “It’s fuzzy and empty. Static crackling in the back of my head.”

That sounded familiar. “Took me weeks. Even then I had to…” She pieced it together from the purse left by her bedside and googling her own driver’s license info. Gaps remained, but—as the years of her un-life stretched--the concern over them faded to nothing.

She faded to almost nothing. A shadow at the bar, a voice down the hall, a hand closing a door. She wasn’t a person and hadn’t been one in years. “I’m sorry,” Morgan whispered, guilt chewing through her aloof visage. Only the edge of her eyes could flit to Dane as if she feared her mere gaze would doom him.

“For what?”

That stubborn breath clinging to her shell of a body rattled from her nose. “I thought, hoped that…I tried to save you.”

Dane snickered, his hand falling to his chest as if to measure his heartbeat. “But you did.”

Shutting her eyes tight, Morgan whispered, “I tried. I wanted to, but you’re…”

A spark lit between her darkened vision, the energy cascading straight down her arm. She turned in surprise to find Dane’s fingers trailing from her inner forearm down to her palm. Her body hummed with inescapable electricity, causing Morgan’s lips to part and a sigh of satisfaction to escape. How long had it been since anyone touched her? Looked at her beyond a cursory glance, and with eyes burning brighter than the stars of winter?

“You’re trapped between the living and the dead,” she sputtered. “Just…just like me.”

To her shock, Dane didn’t collapse in frustration or stomp away in denial. No, instead his fingernails danced up her arm like figure skaters. Each hop sent a burst through her, Morgan waiting and pleading for another touch.

“This life,” she kept confessing, “it’s not a life. It’s scrabbling to survive. It’s existing for the sake of not dying. It’s…”

A palm, warm as the summer sun, cupped her cheek. She leaned into it, craving him to the depths of her soul. Her eyelashes fluttered, and through a clog in her throat, she confessed, “It’s lonely.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Dane whispered. With his thumb curled under her jaw, he pulled her to him. Lips soft as silk caressed hers, the breath of life warmed across her mouth, and Morgan’s entire body lit white-hot.

She wrapped her arms around Dane, tugging him to her. His lithe, taut body flexed below her palms. Heat entwined with his taste filling her mouth. Masculine and strong, Dane lapped his tongue across her lip and Morgan happily invited him in.

God! She ached for his touch, his lips, his body pressed to all of hers. Dane pinched the fallen collar of her shirt, rolling the fabric in his grip as he kept kissing her. “Please,” he whispered before diving back to her lips. His thumb brushed along her upper arm, sliding it down to the top of her chest.

“Please,” he pleaded again and dragged the tip of his nose up her cheek.

Morgan bowed her head back as she stared up at the glistening lips flushed from her touch. They begged for her, for a touch she hadn’t known since death appeared to her.

Straining on her toes, Morgan licked along the hollow of his neck, nibbled on his lobe, and whispered in his ear, “Yes.”

Her shirt tumbled to the floor in an instant. Dane paused only a moment to stare in wonder before he pressed his lips to her and unhooked her bra. His hot mouth nipped and licked along her jaw and down her neck as he tugged at the straps. All the while, Morgan fumbled with the buttons on his vest.

Every attempt she made was foiled by Dane pressing her back toward the bed. She yelped in surprise as she fell to the rumpled mattress and the duvet left lingering on the floor. Her feet must have caught in it, sending her tumbling, but Dane didn’t laugh. Fire burned in his ice eyes as he stared at her topless and heaving for breath.

Slowly, he twisted his arm and—with his hand hooked at the top—unbuttoned his vest. One by one, Morgan watched in trembling anticipation at the confident movements as he shook off both the vest and his shirt. Lean muscle clung to his thin frame as freshly shaven as his face. The skin gleamed by the cheap hotel light, beckoning her like an angel to the apocalypse.

Morgan reached for him, tracing the tips of her fingers up the rise and fall of his abs. As she did, Dane tipped his head back and panted to the heavens. Her entire arm sparked while she trailed up to his pecs.

“Please,” Morgan whispered, watching her fingers curl across his skin, feel the heat of his body under hers.

Ice blue eyes whipped down to her, catching the tremor in her body. “Please…” she repeated, struggling to find sense in this senseless existence. “Tell me this is real.”

Dane’s fists dropped beside her hips. His forehead brushed against hers as he met her eye to eye. A low growl rumbled in his throat while he pushed her legs astride. “More real than I could ever dream,” he said, his lips on hers, pushing her down onto the bed.

He made quick work tugging off her pants, his hands caressing outside her thighs, then parting up through the inside. Morgan scrambled for his belt as Dane climbed onto the bed. When he swept across her nipple, already aroused and straining for a touch, she lost all sense of self. The bubbling electricity coursing with every touch exploded in a fast strike.

A moan escaped from Morgan more primal than death itself while Dane caressed and stroked her breasts. He bent over, his lips pressing ecstatic kisses to her nipples. She clung to his back, savoring in the muscles flexing to bring her to the brink.

But she wanted more. She needed more.

Forcing herself to focus, Morgan tugged at Dane’s fly, freeing himself at last from the confines of his clothing. His cheek brushed across her sternum, a gentle laugh rolling through her ribs and to her heart. “Do you wish all of me?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, her palms sliding up the back of his thighs to cup his buttocks. Swallowing, Morgan met him eye to eye and demanded, “Yes.”

Dane drew his palms down her thighs and pushed them apart. As he entered her, the tears born from a lifetime of loneliness slipped from Morgan’s eyes. She forgot how it felt to be touched, wanted, loved.

“Don’t stop,” she ordered, clinging to him as Dane gave in to the hedonism. Curling her hands around the back of his head, she pulled him to her forehead. “Don’t stop,” she repeated, her lips a breath from his.

The throbbing electricity spun wildly inside of her, arcing pleasure through every vein in her body. She couldn’t last much longer, her toes clenching as she wrapped her legs around his back. “Give in,” Dane cried out. “Give in to me.”

His eyes flew open, locking onto hers. With lips wet from her kiss, he pleaded, “Please.”

Morgan cried in bliss as la petite mort swept through her. “Yes!” she screamed, her very soul electrified by the orgasm Dane succumbed to as well.

Exhausted, the pair fell back onto the bed, their legs and arms entwined together. For the first time since her death, she felt something worth living for.

Chapter 4

He wished to remain entwined with her slumbering body for an eternity, but the shallow sleep she enjoyed curled against his chest was interrupted. A flinch grew across her forehead as she tumbled away from him and for the floor. Before she vanished completely, he pressed a kiss to her furrowed brow. To his delight, a smile replaced the frown, though it did not stop her reaching for her clothing.

Twisting on his side, content to remain fully nude, Dane watched the silhouette of the woman slide panties up her strong thighs. He ached to nibble down them, to let his tongue guide him to nirvana itself. But he felt the steel eyes burn into him, Morgan no doubt noticing his rising erection no longer content to rest on the bed.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, meaning the words and wishing he’d said so earlier.

Her cheeks pinked, and she stumbled back as if in shock. “Oh, that’s…okay,” she stuttered while slipping on her bra.

While he could luxuriate in the erotic display of the woman gliding fabric across her body all day, Dane’s mind churned with a question he couldn’t escape. “So I’m dead…?”

“No,” Morgan said.

“Alive?”

She clacked her teeth and glared at the ceiling. As the silence fell, Dane rose to his feet and padded closer. He rubbed an assuring palm along her bare shoulders, the tips of his fingers plying with the recently added bra strap.

Twisting her chin, which sent her bright red locks tumbling, Morgan said, “I wouldn’t say that either. We’re… I don’t know.”

He pushed back her hair, letting his touch caress down her back until it found its place nestled right above her panties. A soft sigh rolled from her tongue, one which encouraged his trouser predicament immensely. “We can’t be dead,” Morgan insisted. “We eat, we sleep, we…”

“Fuck?”

Her golden laugh lightened the knot in his chest. “Not many dead can do that, from what I’ve seen. But…we don’t age either. We can slip in and out of places without being seen. We’re neither dead nor alive.”

With her cold answer, she turned from him and resumed dressing. The addition of her clothing felt ritualistic, as if she’d done the exact same movements—adding in weapons, adjusting buckles, checking pockets—for years. “Do you remember anything, yet?”

Dane shrugged, his mind as fuzzy as sea foam. “What about from when…how you died? Didn’t die, but sort of did. I think.”

She sputtered, then plopped to the rumpled bed, her face planted in her hands. “I’m sorry,” Morgan apologized for the hundredth time. Perhaps he should feel slighted she didn’t save him from this undeath fast enough, but she did save him. And more than that, he couldn’t escape this tug inside telling him to have faith in her.

“Do you remember how you became whatever we are?” Dane asked again.

“A little. There was an accident on a ski lift. I can remember the falling but not hitting the ground. It’s as if my mind faded to white before the blow.” Her deep frown at the dark thoughts etched into his heart. Dane crumpled to her side, a reassuring hand wrapping around her.

She was too knotted up for him to pull her to his shoulder, but she continued speaking. “I remember being in the hospital, the emergency room. People all talking tersely. Woman dying on the table and the most they could muster was a slow grumble about being late for dinner.”

A bell jangled in the far corners of his memory, but he couldn’t understand it. “You watched yourself die?”

“I think so. My body felt lighter and untethered. As if I could float away at any moment. The room faded, the doctors, the loud machines. But I wasn’t alone.”

Chills raced up Dane’s spine from her tone, and he pulled himself closer to her embrace. Morgan remained locked away, her hands clasped together in a strangling prayer. Swallowing, she continued, “I couldn’t see who it was, but there was a shadow with me. Lurking, watching. It didn’t speak…maybe couldn’t. But I felt it, knew it, and then…”

“Then?” he gasped, clinging to her as if his very life rested in her palm.

Her sweet face turned to him, and a warm hand cupped his knee. She rubbed it reassuringly and said, “Then I woke up. Alive, but not alive, with my memory nearly gone except for the shadow. Do you remember anything like that?”

A shadow lingering in the dark, watching from outside hospital rooms, waiting over the spilled blood gurgling down the drain. A wave of déjà vu snapped through him, twisting Dane’s stomach into knots. He knew the shadow but couldn’t say why.

“No,” he shook his head. “All I remember was a warm hand taking mine and turning to find your face. Everything before is…”

“Snapped away.” Morgan groaned. “I hoped that maybe you knew who he was. It was.”

“Do you fear this shadow? Think it is hunting you?”

She tugged on the dagger hanging at her side, revealing an inch of it to the world. After sheathing it in and out four times, she finally spoke. “I don’t know. I’ve felt sometimes as if…as if someone’s helping me. Even how I figured out iron—” Morgan pursed her lips and shook her head. “Never mind, it’s stupid.”

Rising to her feet, she moved to pick up his scattered shirt. “We should dress and…”

Frost burst from her lips, the words evaporating to steam as Morgan spun to face the door. A great crack burst from the wood like a giant’s fist slammed into it. Shit! Dane jumped to his feet and yanked the shirt on while Morgan calmly unsheathed the iron sword, their only hope of survival.

“They can’t get in that way,” she said as the door began to rattle on its hinges as if a hurricane blew outside. Every creak and pop sounded like a coffin being ripped apart from the inside. “Get dressed, now!”

Dane leaped into his pants. The shirt dangled unbuttoned off his shoulders when the rattling stopped. He paused in shoving a shoe on without a sock to stare at the silent door. “Perhaps they’ve…” he said when the air sucked inward. Morgan grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him away just as two reapers phased through the window.

She released a war cry, brandishing the iron. These must have been smarter, as they both reared back from the threat. “We stayed here too long.”

“What do we do?” Dane shouted.

“Out the door.” Morgan craned her head back even while herding him toward it. “Go, go, go!”

He reached for the handle, prepared to run, when Morgan grabbed her container of dirt. Ripping it open with her teeth, she dumped the entire contents on the floor before her. In an instant, the reapers recoiled as if a wall appeared before them.

Her warm hand wrapped around his, their fingers cinching into place. “Run!” she cried, dragging him out of the hotel room with only one shoe on. All around them, the air crackled with frost and death.

Chapter 5

Only one option remained for them—where the dead slept. Dark as pitch, a single lantern flickered at the backside of a gravestone. Light shone upon the neighbor behind, who died in the nineteenth century. Reapers didn’t care about the dead, especially ones over a hundred years in the ground. They should be safe.

Dane rustled a hand through his hair, his lips perched in a wry grin as if he felt the need to console her. Absently, Morgan swung the sword free, slicing through the heavy fog lingering above the damp cemetery grass. Why did the reapers find them so quickly? She usually had a day, maybe two, before they’d begin to sense her movements. But this time it was as if someone sent up a beacon and called them right to her room.

“Hey.” His warm hand curled along her shoulder. Morgan watched it trail down her arm until the fingers rolled around to entwine with hers. Her fidgeting paused, and she locked together with him. “Is something wrong?”

I don’t want to lose you.

The thought pounded through her skull, bringing a gasp of shock to her lungs. But there it was. After her decades of existing, of lurking on the edges, of speaking to none and living only for herself, she wanted more. She wanted him beyond a single night.

“I…” Morgan said, about to reveal the truth, when the air snapped to a brittle cold.

Hissing erupted from the sky. She yanked her hand away to secure it around the sword’s grip and turned to face the reapers.

“Oh my God,” Dane gasped, both of them staring across a sea of jet-black robes hovering ten feet above. It wasn’t a small force, not even a small army. This was a multitude, as if the entire siphon turned from its ever twisting rise to the heavens straight upon them.

“Get behind…” Morgan began when the robes surged forward. She lashed the blade out, striking five at once. There was no time to wait for their bodies to bubble away, as more flew down to take their place. Her hand moved before her brain could calculate the odds. A million reapers easily outflanked them, and her only weapon was disintegrating with each attack.

She didn’t stand a chance, they didn’t stand a chance. But Morgan didn’t care. She wasn’t going to lay down and give up now. Not when she finally had something worth fighting for.

Screaming, she leaped into the fray, whipping the sword back and forth to the shrieks of the reapers touched by iron. It cleared a small path and…there! A mausoleum they could fortify and hide in.

“Dane,” she shouted and turned just as a reaper dove for him. Morgan tried to spin to catch it, but she was too far away. He pivoted, staring in shock at the creature about to rip his life away. Out of nowhere, a dirt clod flew through the air, smashing through the reaper’s hood and sending it skittering.

“How did…?” Morgan stuttered, locking her hand around Dane’s shoulders when he opened his palm to reveal a fist of freshly dug grave dirt. “Good. Keep doing that. If we can reach there…”

She only had to point to the plan for him to nod in agreement. The reapers weren’t going to make it easy. They swarmed above, circling in vulture formation and risking one or two to attack. Morgan swiped at them from the left and right, each touch of the sword knocking another to the ground. Behind, she felt Dane’s back knock into hers. He continued his dirt assault, clawing up as much as he could to shield their flank.

“Gah!” Morgan screamed, claws slicing against her arm. The sword lowered, the tip nearly bounding into the ground. But she gritted her teeth and swung up. A reaper, its cloak nearly reaching the ground, reached its bloodied claws for her. It wanted to finish the job it started, but she wouldn’t have it. They were so close, the mausoleum only a stone’s throw.

Thrusting up, her sword sliced through where the heart of the creature would be. Its bloodied hands reared back, but not in time. Quickly, the robes peeled back, the bones melted, and it shrieked in horror. But, as the reaper dissolved, it lashed out one last time at her sword. The first foot of the blade exploded, shooting shards of rusted and aged metal at them like shrapnel.

Morgan tried to rear away, but a slice cut across her cheek. Her blade shattered until only a ragged edge remained sticking out of the hilt. “Dane!” she shouted, turning to ask him for more dirt, when she saw it.

A reaper, its hood glowing a terrifying red, slipped from the horde. Her heart slowed to a standstill, Morgan trying to put all her energy into running for him. She managed a step, watching Dane turn to her, wonder why she yelled for him.

Skeletal fingers pierced clear through his chest.

“No!” she screamed, watching in horror as the entire reaper flew out of his body and up into the sky. “Dane!”

He didn’t fall to his knees or cup his chest as his heart dissolved away. Only his chin tumbled down, and a slow breath rolled off his lips. “I remember,” he said softly.

“You’re not dead. Why aren’t you dead?”

Eyes bluer than cobalt whipped up at her, and she froze. “Morgan.” Dane extended his hand to her, the palm still covered in the dirt of the dead. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. We have to run.”

The hand remained waiting for her to take it. He quirked his head to the side and in a soft voice, asked, “Do you trust me?”

Her frantic waving of the sword at the reapers hovering out of range froze. She stared anew at the man who should be gone, who should have fallen like all the other humans who couldn’t survive the reapers. But he did. He still spoke. He still lived.

Nodding slowly, she placed her fingers along his palm. The broken sword tumbled, and Dane locked his fingers around her palm.

Cold as insurmountable as the arctic ripped through her heart. Morgan’s entire body fell numb as a reaper burst through her chest and flew off into the night.

Betrayal!

Panic and pain tried to stare in shock at the man who stabbed her in the back, but black swarmed her vision.

“I will explain,” Dane’s voice carried her through the darkness of death. She opened her eyes to find herself in the same hospital room where she did and didn’t die.

That was her body in the bed, the doctors seemingly frozen in place as they struggled to revive her. “I was here,” Dane said. “I watched you and waited.”

“Waited for what?”

He turned his head to the monitors announcing her end, the whine piercing the room. Carefully, he stepped around the immobile people. “I wanted to tell you it was okay. That I was here to help, but when I took your hand…”

As he wrapped his fingers over hers, a zap of electricity overtook them both and Morgan watched as the copy of herself rose from the bed. The monitors said she was dead, but the woman turned her head and stared in the corner where the other Morgan waited in the shadows.

“When we touched, I came to realize what you were,” Dane spoke as the emergency room, her copy, and the doctors vanished. The cemetery returned, but it was darker than before. Fading away.

“What am I?” she sputtered, struggling to understand.

“Your touch erased my memories, returned me to the man I had been before. In the room of medical equipment and blood, I thought myself a knight dying upon the field of battle with a lung pierced by his own crushed armor.”

Dane stood before her dressed in the same outfit as before, but his stance widened and his head lifted. He looked like a man surveying a sea of armored knights on horseback. “Death came for me, to collect my soul, but I wouldn’t allow it. I demanded to remain and, perhaps in some cruel twist of kindness, he allowed it. For years, I watched over my family and friends trying to protect them, but none escaped death. Over the centuries my humanity faded until I was nothing but a specter guiding the collectors above you.”

“You control the reapers?” Morgan gasped, watching the robes twirl through the air like a dog called to their master’s side.

Dane snickered. “Yes. In avoiding death, I became him. I am the Grim Reaper, and I did not realize how lonely a life it was until finding you.”

What? No. He couldn’t be…

Pacing, Dane continued, “Your touch, the energy between us, it erases all I knew as a creature of death. You bring me life, and I have been trying to find you ever since that day I failed you.”

“Why? To kill me?”

“At first, to right your soul trapped in this un-living state. But I understand now, I see what we are. What we were always meant to be. You are no human, you were never meant to be, as I wasn’t.”

He extended his hand again. “Morgan, be my humanity. Keep me tethered to this world and I will raise you above it.”

Be with him, the Grim Reaper. Fall in love with death itself. Find an escape from this life that isn’t life at all.

She stared in awe at the blue light piercing from his eyes as if a million souls hid inside. The magnanimous smile folded and below she spotted the human he had been. Touching his cheek, Dane said, “You have a little something…”

Absently, Morgan swiped at her cheek, revealing a blot of cemetery dirt. As she stared at the dark stain a laugh rolled through her at the entirely human move from the specter of death. No one in this world would tell her if she had something on her face, only him.

Her future.

She didn’t want to lose him.

Reaching forward, she took his hand and pulled herself into his embrace. As Dane’s arms wrapped around her, the ground began to fade below them. Reapers encircled their floating forms, but she paid them no mind. Her eyes were full of the man who wanted her as much as she needed him.

“I love you,” Dane whispered, tucking back a lock of her hair.

“You better,” Morgan answered and took his lips in a kiss that invigorated her entire body. As long as she had him, death was worth living for.

About Ellen Mint

Ellen Mint adores the adorkable heroes who charm with their shy smiles and heroines that pack a punch. She has a needy black lab named after Granny Weatherwax from Discworld. Sadly, her dog is more of a Magrat.

When she’s not writing imposing incubi or saucy aliens, she does silly things like make a tiny library full of her books. Her background is in genetics and she married a food scientist so the two of them nerd out over things like gut bacteria. She also loves gaming, particularly some of the bigger RPG titles. If you want to get her talking for hours, just bring up Dragon Age.

Website: https://ellenmint.blog/

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Chapter 1

Tillie stared blankly at the bundled stacks of money she held in both hands, shaking her head. “I don’t understand, Roger. Where did Momma get all this?” Momma hadn’t been a penny-pincher, but she couldn’t have saved this much money. Certainly not while she raised a daughter by herself and helped Tillie with college and grad school tuitions.

Roger Bisbee took the cash from Tillie and placed it back inside the duffle bag. He covered one of her hands with his. “You need to read the letter your mother left you. If you have questions afterward, I’ll answer them as best I can.”

He removed his hand.

A wave of grief rolled through her. Sweet baby Jesus, hadn’t she cried enough over the last two weeks since Momma died? She rubbed the palm of her hand across her chest, hoping to relieve some of the air-sucking pain. “I don’t think I can read it. It’s too much.”

“You can. You’ve always been a strong woman. Dealing with Mary’s illness has made you even stronger.” Roger dug beneath the rubber-banded piles of cash. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to her. “I’ll step out and let you read it in private. I’ll be right outside the door. Take your time, Tillie. We’ll talk afterward.”

She couldn’t speak, only nodded. Her hand shook as she studied the writing on the envelope. She traced the bold letters of her name, clearly written in her mother’s handwriting. She swallowed several times, hoping the lump in her throat would go down. “Oh, Momma. What did you do?”

Tillie slid her finger under the sealed flap and removed the letter. After taking a deep breath, she read Momma’s words.

My Dearest Tillie,

If you’re reading this, I’m gone. I hope I died an old woman. No matter when it happens, I could never have enough time with my beautiful daughter. I want you to know I loved you with all my heart. Being proud of you and loving you was never a lie. You were the one true and good thing in my life.

Roger knows every detail of my story, and he will tell you everything—assuming I didn’t outlive him. Hahaha. You can trust him. I did a terrible thing and hope you will forgive me someday. I’ve lived a lie and sadly, I dragged you into it.

I always told you how horrible your father was. I said he beat me and that was the reason I had to take you and run. It simply wasn’t true. I’ve never known a better man. He treated me like a queen, and you were his princess. He was a loving father. I, alone, ruined our marriage. He tried to help me many times with my “problem,” but I finally pushed him too far. When you meet your father, please tell him how sorry I am.

I always wished I could go back and face the consequences of my lies. I was just never strong enough to risk losing you.

You see, Tillie, drug addicts don’t make good decisions. I’m sorry I was never brave enough to tell you this in person. Please forgive me, or at least try to understand why I did what I did.

I love you, Tillie.

Momma

Tillie reread the letter three times. The words never changed. She folded the paper and carefully placed it back inside the envelope.

What did her mother mean? Was her father a good man? Had her whole life been a lie?

She went to the door and opened it. “Roger, you can come in now.”

“Are you ready to hear your mother’s story?”

Tillie wasn’t sure she was ready, but she doubted she would be in a week, a month, or twenty years from now. “I’m ready.”

They sat down at the conference table again, the duffle in front of them. Roger poured them both a drink from the pitcher of water. “First off, I’ve known your mother since we were kids. I loved her dearly. I never agreed with all of this, but I went along with her out of loyalty.”

“You were a good friend to Momma.” Anyone could see Roger was in love with Momma. Tillie took a sip of her water.

“Mary was truly afraid your father would take you away from her. And honestly, Linc had every right to do so.”

Her father’s name was Linc. She massaged her forehead.

“You okay, Tillie?”

“Just taking it all in.”

“I’m sure this is shocking.”

“Why would my father take me away?”

“Mary became addicted to pain medicine after a car accident and was prescribed Oxycontin. For a while, she was able to hide it from your father.”

There were those words again, “her father.” Her belly did a few thousand flip-flops.

“Once Linc realized she had a problem, he attempted to help. Mary tried numerous rehabs to no avail. She loved you so much, but the pull of the drugs always reigned. One day Linc was called home after a neighbor found you running around the neighborhood alone, and she couldn’t reach Mary. You were only three years old at the time.”

That didn’t sound like the momma Tillie knew.

“The neighbor kept you at her house while Linc looked for Mary. He found her unconscious in the living room, a baggie of street drugs by her side. He rushed her to the hospital. When Mary came to, he told her their marriage was over, and he planned to file for full custody. He admitted he loved her, but your safety came first. She begged him for one more chance. He refused—by the way, I agreed with his decision.”

“How horrible for Momma.” Tillie couldn’t even picture her as a drug addict.

“It was sad for you and Linc, too. If the neighbor hadn’t seen you that day, there’s no telling what might’ve happened. You mustn’t blame your father.”

“I’m trying to look at him in a different light. But for twenty years, I was told he was evil. Now Momma’s letter says he… uh… Linc… was a good husband and father.”

“Addiction is ugly.” Roger gulped down his water and refilled his glass. “I’m glad you never saw that side of Mary. Unfortunately, you must now deal with the consequences of her addiction.”

“Tell me the rest.”

“Mary panicked. The thought of losing you was the one thing that finally helped her kick the drugs. She waited until Linc left the hospital to secure another rehab program for herself before sneaking out of the hospital. Mary went to the neighbor’s house and told her everything was fine, and she was taking you home.”

“And ran?”

“Yes. For a couple of years, Linc, the police, and several private investigators looked day and night for you. Mary contacted me a year later and told me her story. She’d given up the drugs cold turkey and had a decent job. The guilt of her actions became too much, and she wanted to move to Seattle to be near me. I tried to get her to contact Linc and at least let him know you were safe. She was so afraid he’d take you away and possibly send her to prison, that she refused.”

“The money?” Tillie asked.

Roger zipped the duffle. “She took the money from their home safe, packed a bag, and drove away. Later she dumped the car, bought an older model with some of the cash, and managed to get new IDs for both of you.”

“She stole the money?”

“Technically, I could argue it was just as much hers as it was Linc’s. Mary worked hard to replace every penny she’d spent and planned to send it back to Linc. By the time Mary had replenished the full two-hundred thousand, Linc had become a millionaire. She decided your father wouldn’t mind if she put it aside for you. She didn’t think he’d miss it.”

“She stole the money and now wants me to have it?”

“Again, as a married couple, she had a right to it.”

“Fine. Why did no one find us?”

“Mary moved around that first year. Your father had already questioned me long before she showed up here. I honestly had no clue of your whereabouts at that time. It broke my heart to see how wrecked he was. He blamed himself for being too tough on her.”

“I don’t know how to respond to any of this,” Tillie said.

“When Mary came to Seattle, she was clean. She promised she’d never do drugs again if I didn’t out her to Linc or the authorities. It would’ve crushed me to do it, but I would’ve if needed.” He pushed the duffle with the money to her. “I hope you’ll forgive me for my part in this. You really were Mary’s crutch. If I’d taken it away, she would’ve fallen back into her addiction. I’m sure of that.”

“I don’t blame you.” Tillie played with a button on her leather jacket. “Are you going to tell me my father’s last name and where he lives?”

“I can call him and tell him about you if you’d like. Of course, he may come here and beat the ever-lovin’ shit out of me for keeping Mary’s secret.”

“I’ll contact him myself.” Briefly, she envisioned herself walking into a complete stranger’s office and announcing, “Surprise! I’m your long-lost daughter.” She finger-combed her hair. “Let’s not take a chance on him beating on you.”

Roger went to his desk and shuffled a few papers around. He motioned her over and gave her a slip of paper. “This is the current address I have on him.”

“Thanks.” Tillie glanced at it. “Lincoln Augustine. 391 West Paces Ferry Road. Atlanta, Georgia. That’s a long way from Seattle.”

“Like I said, Mary knew how to hide.”

“Momma didn’t change our last name?”

“Not sure why, but no, she didn’t.”

“His name sounds familiar,” Tillie whispered his name again.

“Former business mogul, turned Georgia Governor?” Roger said.

“The billionaire?”

“Yes.”

“Momma was right. He probably didn’t miss the money.”

“But I bet he misses you.”

Chapter 2

Three days in a row, Tillie was turned away from the governor’s office. She’d come back every day until she got in to see him. Quitting was not in her vocabulary. Over the last week, she’d read every article she could find on Lincoln Augustine. It seemed everyone loved the man with a tragic past. As a billionaire, he’d started and contributed to dozens of charities. Donating to help find missing kids was clearly his favorite. He’d also built and supported several drug-rehab centers.

As a politician, he’d won the respect of both parties and had already met three of his campaign promises. The consensus was he’d easily win reelection.

Linc had remarried, and his new wife had come with a built-in family. Twelve years ago, the wife and her daughter were killed in a car accident. Lincoln was devastated. He’d already lost one wife and daughter. He’d stepped up to adopt and raise his stepson after her death. The kid was fifteen at the time. Now the son was twenty-seven and president of the Augustine Conglomerate.

Loud voices and the shuffling of feet caught her attention. A herd of reporters and cameramen hurried past her. She stood at the bottom of the capital’s steps and watched in awe as Lincoln Augustine stepped out of the building. Cameras whirled and voices rang out. She walked up two steps, and for the first time, got a good look at her father. Her head began to pound. She had no clue what to do next.

Like Momma, she decided to run. Tillie spun and went back down the two steps.

“Mary!” Someone had taken her by the elbow. “Mary?”

Tillie turned around and stared into eyes as blue as her own. Her father. “Mary was Momma’s name.” she murmured. “I’m Tillie.”

“Matilda.” Her father pulled her into his arms. “Oh, God. I can’t believe it’s you.”

Tears dripped onto her shoulder. He was crying.

“I didn’t know about you until three weeks ago.” She stepped back. Her eyes filled with tears.

“You look like Mary. You may have her face, but you have my eyes. I should’ve known right away you were Matilda. But in my mind, Mary never ages.”

He drew her in for another hug. They stood like that for a couple minutes before cameras began whirling again and questions were lobbed like grenades.

“I’ll release a statement later. For now, I’m asking for some privacy.”

Men in dark suits surrounded Tillie and her father. He put his arm around her and led her to a black limo parked at the curb. After tucking her inside, Linc scooted in.

Everything was a blur. The pounding in her head grew louder.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” Her father took her hand. “Matilda, we have a lot to discuss. Do you mind going to my house where we can have a little more privacy?”

“The governor’s mansion?”

“My personal home.”

“Ummm, I guess that’s okay.” Tillie turned her gaze away and watched out the window. It seemed like the drive took forever. The limo drove through large iron gates and up a long, winding drive. It stopped in front of a huge white house with large pillars. “This is your home?”

“When I’m not in residence at the governor’s mansion.”

“Oh.” She knew he was rich. But sweet baby Jesus, she never envisioned the extent of his wealth.

Her car door opened, and she stepped out, feeling every bit like Dorothy arriving in the land of Oz. Her father exited behind her and offered his arm. She took it, and they made their way up a dozen or so steps. The front door opened and a small, older woman with familiar blue eyes appeared.

“Tillie?” The woman covered her mouth and sobbed.

“Mother, this is your grand-blessing, Matilda. She’s finally home.”

“Thank you, Lord, for bringing our baby girl back.” Her grandmother threw her arms around her. Tillie inhaled. A distant memory of Gran’s lilac perfume hit.

“Gran?”

“Yes. That’s what you called me.” Gran’s hold tightened.

“Let Tillie catch her breath, Mother. I’m sure this has been an exhausting day for her.” He led her inside. Gran followed closely. “Can we get you something to drink?”

The reflections from the crystal chandelier danced across the marble floors of the foyer. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Augustine. Ice water would be nice.”

“Mr. Augustine doesn’t work for me. Please call me Dad.”

Could she call him Dad so soon? Of course, she could. They had twenty years to make up for.

“Thank you… Dad.” Speaking the word made her smile.

They went into her father’s study, and after a short time, Gran stepped out to give them a chance to talk in private.

“How is Mary? I’ve thought about her often over the years.”

Tillie’s eyes burned with unshed tears. “Momma died three weeks ago. Cancer. That’s when I found out about you.” She brushed away tears that had escaped. “She left a letter.”

“I’m truly sorry to hear that. I loved her. Even after she took you away, I couldn’t stop.”

After a few moments in silence, they sat on the couch side by side talking, laughing, and crying for over two hours. He was a great guy. It would be easy to love him.

How could Momma have kept her from him? Like Momma said, drugs and fear drove people to make poor choices.

“Dad, Momma asked me in her letter to tell you how sorry she was. She wanted you to try and forgive her.”

“It wasn’t easy, but I forgave Mary years ago. I knew how much she loved you, and I threatened to never let her see you again. I was so angry and frustrated that she’d risked your life. Her and her damned drugs.”

“I never saw Momma use drugs. She was the best momma ever. At least I thought she was.” Her throat went dry and her chest tightened. She dug inside her purse for a tissue.

“It broke me when I couldn’t find you, but even when I hated her for taking you away, I still loved her.” He played with a cufflink. “I never stopped looking for you. Not even when one of the investigators I’d hired concluded you were both dead.”

“How sad.”

“It was the not knowing that was the hardest. I hired another guy and kept looking. I still have a private investigator looking for you.” Linc moved to his desk and dug in a drawer. He pulled out three full files and handed them to her. “I kept records on every lead.”

Tillie thumbed through the papers. “You really didn’t give up.”

“I’d never give up on my baby girl.”

Between her momma’s bad deed, and his stepdaughter and second wife’s death, he’d been through so much. “I’m sorry about your second wife and daughter. It must’ve been terrible for you.”

“At least I knew what happened to them. It was easier than not knowing. Plus, Jax needed me to stay strong.” Linc took the files from Tillie’s hand and tossed them on the desk. “I can’t wait for you to meet your stepbrother. You’ll love him.”

“I’m sure I will.” In truth, she was jealous that Jax had been able to grow up with her father when she hadn’t.

“You’ll see him at dinner.” Linc stood.

“Dad, Momma also left me a duffle bag with money that I need to return to you.”

“I don’t understand. Why would Mary give me money?”

“She left it to me, but it’s not mine. It’s the cash she took from your home safe when she ran. She used some to get settled but put back every penny.”

“I don’t want that money. It was Mary’s as much as mine. You keep it. Consider it your inheritance from your momma.”

“It’s not mine.”

“Nonsense. Now, let me show you to your room so you can rest and unpack. Jason, our driver, checked you out of your hotel and has returned with your bag and carry-on. They’re in your bedroom.”

“He checked me out of my hotel? How is that possible?”

“Being governor has perks.”

“Oh.” Tillie wasn’t sure she liked someone handling her stuff. Things were happening so fast. “Where did you say my things are?”

“Upstairs in your room. I’ve always kept a room for you… just in case.”

Tillie’s heart melted. “Really?”

“Mother redecorates it every few years. She said it had to be age-appropriate or you’d never stay once we found you.”

“Gran never gave up, either?”

“Never.”

Tillie followed him up the curved staircase to the last room on the right. It was huge and had a sitting area. The bed was king-sized and covered with a beautiful butterfly comforter.

“It’s lovely, Dad.” It was getting easier to call him that. “Are you sure? It’s a lot of space for me.”

“It’s always been your room. You loved butterflies when you were little. Your grandmother thought you might still like them. We can decorate it however you like.”

“No. It’s perfect.” A vision of herself chasing after butterflies with a pink bug net flashed before her. She squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

A glass cabinet to her left held a handful of toys, stuffed animals, and a few photos. Moving to it, she asked, “Are these mine?”

“You remember them?”

“I do.” She opened the cabinet and took out a stuffed puppy. “Stuffy?” More memories rushed over her. She’d cried for Stuffy for weeks.

“That’s right. We found him under the couch cushions a week after you disappeared. The pictures are of our family. We were so happy until the drugs took over Mary’s life.” Linc ran a hand across her shoulders. “I’ve missed you so much, Matilda.”

She hugged him and let the tears she’d been holding back since she’d walked into the room pour down her cheeks.

She was home.

Chapter 3

Tillie held and examined each toy before replacing it back inside the cabinet. Some sparked a memory, some didn’t. She held Stuffy tightly as she ran fingers over a photo of her and her parents. They looked so young and happy. She studied several of her baby pictures taken from birth to age three. She placed what looked like the last family photo on the bedside table. “There we go, Stuffy. Me and my family.”

After unpacking, Tillie soaked in a hot bath until she began nodding off. Needing a nap, she curled into a ball on her bed, hugged Stuffy, and fell asleep. Her dreams were like a tapestry, weaving a way through her life before and after Momma ran with her.

Tillie woke with a start. Happy memories of her father had flooded her dreams. How had Momma convinced her he was bad? She sat up, glanced at the alarm clock, and cringed.

“Great, Stuffy. I’m going to be late for my first family dinner.” She placed Stuffy against her pillow.

Her mind ran wild as she put on her makeup and brushed her hair. Instead of feeling out of place in her father’s home, she felt wanted and happy. Dad made her comfortable. During their talk in his study, he never once bad-mouthed Momma. He had a big heart and had forgiven her.

Tillie wondered what her stepbrother would be like. She’d seen a couple photos of him in the study. One was a family photo with Jax, his mother and sister, and Dad. The four of them made a handsome family. There were school portraits of Jax and a couple of his sister. Jax was beyond good-looking. The photograph of him and her father at his grad-school graduation made her heart skip a beat. Dad should’ve been at her graduations, too.

They’d missed so many years together. They could never get them back, only move forward. Tillie would start by enjoying her first family dinner. A sudden attack of butterflies in her belly hit. She was part of a family again!

After searching through the few things she’d hung in her new closet, she settled on the plain black dress. She’d brought skinny jeans, black slacks, a couple tees and two nicer shirts. Tossing in the dress was a last-minute decision. One she was glad she’d made.

Tillie slipped on the black heels that seemed a better fit than the sneakers she’d brought. She put on the necklace her mother had given her on her sixteenth birthday. She rarely took it off. She tucked it inside the dress’s neckline, the way it’d been inside her shirt all day.

With a final swipe of lip-gloss, she was ready. Stepping out into the hallway, Tillie paused to get her bearings. She descended the stairs, not quite sure where to go next. She hadn’t had the full-house tour yet.

Muted voices drifted from the study. Tillie held up her hand to knock and paused. Her father was arguing with someone. Etiquette dictated that she should move to one of the foyer chairs and take a seat. Another man mentioned her by name, and she forgot all about propriety and listened, her ear against the door. She held her breath as if that would help her to hear better.

“I’ve already missed twenty years with Matilda. I refuse to miss another day.” She’d just met him, but Dad’s voice was easy to identify.

“Come on, Dad. Give me a couple days to do some research. You need to be sure she’s who she claims to be. God knows the press has given out plenty of information on your missing daughter over the years.”

“Jax, she’s the spitting image of Mary and has my eyes. I love you dearly, but son, sending her back to the hotel until you’re satisfied she’s really Matilda is out of the question.”

“She could be someone who looks enough like Mary to play you for a fool. There’s all kinds of people out there who’d love to get their hands on your money.”

Jax? The other voice was her stepbrother and he didn’t trust her? He hadn’t even met her. That was bullshit.

Tillie didn’t bother to knock. She threw open the door and stepped into the melee. “Don’t bother doing your research, brother dearest. I’m leaving.” She poked his chest with her finger. “I’ve never lied or cheated anyone in my life.”

“Matilda, please. Jax is only trying to protect me, even though he’s wrong. I know in my heart you’re my daughter. I—”

“Mr. Augustine, I appreciate your hospitality, but I’m afraid it’s time for me to go home,” Tillie said.

“Matilda, you belong here.” Linc touched her cheek gently. “I’m your dad.”

Tillie would have loved to stay and be his daughter but wasn’t willing to forfeit her pride to do so. “My home is in Seattle. I won’t stay where I’m not wanted.”

“You’re wanted here, Matilda. I’d like this to be your home.” He turned to Jax. “Fix this, son, and then escort Matilda to the dining room. Gran and I will be waiting.”

“But, Dad—” Jax said and was cut off by her father.

“Fix. This. Now.”

“Yes, sir.” Jax stuck his hands in his pockets.

Linc turned to Tillie. “Please don’t leave. Give us another chance.”

Tillie’s heart said stay. Her brain told her if she did, she’d end up with a broken heart. “I’ll stay for dinner. I won’t promise anything more.”

“Perfect!” Her father kissed her cheek and left.

“So… why are you really here, sister dearest?” Jax sneered once Linc was gone. “You’ve already got my father eating out of your hand.”

“Momma left me a letter after she died explaining why she ran away with me. She wanted me to find my father and get to know him. She’d lied for twenty years about Dad.” Tillie smiled. “It still feels weird to call him that.”

“Don’t get too used to it,” he mumbled. But to Tillie, the words were loud and clear.

“I want to get to know him. Sorry if that’s an inconvenience to you.”

“And I just want to protect him.” Jax’s words were heartfelt. She had no doubt he loved her father. Tillie wanted a chance to love him, too. “You’re not the first woman to show up and claim to be Matilda.”

“Fine. Do your research. I’ve nothing to hide.”

“If you’re who you claim to be, I’m sure you’ve plenty to lie about. Like mother, like daughter, they say.”

“You know nothing about her.” Tillie saw red. She slapped him, the sound reverberating in the quiet room. “Don’t you ever speak about Momma again.”

He rubbed his cheek. “You’re right. I was way out of line and I apologize.”

His gaze held hers. Damn, his deep brown eyes were beautiful. Any woman would love to have his long, dark lashes. She had an urge to run her hands through his dark, unruly hair. The man was probably able to get away with anything. But Tillie wasn’t about to drool, or trip over his good looks. Jax was the enemy… not to mention her brother. Step or not.

“Fine. Apology accepted.” Suddenly embarrassed about her behavior, Tillie backed away. His cheek was already turning red. Sweet baby Jesus, what was she thinking hitting him like that?

“I’m hungry,” Jax said as if she hadn’t just poked him in the chest and slapped the shit out of him. “Shall we go?”

Still stunned, she took the offered arm and went with him to the dining room.

Her father studied them as they greeted him and Gran, then took their seats. His lips turned into a smug grin. “I’m glad to see you worked out your differences. Let’s eat.”

Dad was wrong. They weren’t anywhere close to working out their differences.

Chapter 4

Jax took the seat across from Tillie at the dining room table. The woman was feisty for sure. He rubbed his cheek, still feeling the heat and sting from her slap. He had to admire Tillie for standing up for herself. And if Dad’s first wife, Mary, looked anything like Tillie, it was no wonder he’d worked so hard to save her from the drugs she’d let rule her life. Matilda Augustine was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on.

Even more of a reason not to trust her, he thought as their longtime cook, Claire, served them.

Jax’s ex-fiancée taught him that. Angela had been after Jax’s money. Correction—Angela and her boyfriend had been out for Jax’s money. Fortunately, he’d discovered their plan to murder him after the wedding and claim his money and shares in the company. The police were able to handle things. He’d narrowly dodged the marriage from Hell.

“Sister dearest, tell us what you’ve been up to for… oh, let’s say… for the last twenty years,” Jax said around a mouthful of baked potato.

Linc shot him a cut-the-shit look, and Jax backpedaled. He swallowed. “I mean, Tillie, where have you been living? Do you work?” Or just planning to enjoy Linc’s money. “Are you married or have a significant other? Do you have children? Pets?”

Jax had no idea where the relationship questions had come from. Her marital status was none of his business. Yeah, right. He knew exactly why he’d asked, and he wasn’t about to let a pretty face sway him from what he had to do.

Tillie cut into her steak and paused. She set her knife down but held onto the fork. “I live in Seattle. I just graduated from business school two months ago. Right before I was to start my new job, we found out Momma only had at best, a few weeks left. She needed me, and I chose to stay with her until the end.” Her voice cracked with her last words, tearing away a layer of his need to prove she’s a fake.

“Matilda, you don’t have to answer Jax’s questions,” Linc said.

“I don’t mind. Cancer is painful and dying is scary. I chose to be with Momma over starting a new job.” She pointed her fork at Jax. “I’m not here for your father’s money. I have plenty in my savings account that I earned from summer jobs and Momma’s life insurance. My new employer is holding my job and it pays quite well. I’ll be returning to Seattle soon.”

Tears dribbled down her cheeks. Jax had made her cry. Damn, he was a real asshole. Wait a second. Jax wouldn’t fall for Tillie’s tears. His dad was welcome to, but Jax would stay strong for both of them. If Tillie was a fraud, he’d prove it.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I’m not married, I don’t have a boyfriend, and I don’t have children. Or a pet. It was just Momma and me, and her childhood friend, Roger.”

“Roger?” Linc said. “He knew where you and Mary were?”

“Roger said you’d be mad, but he went along with Momma’s wishes. He loved her and was loyal until the end.”

“That son of a bitch.” Linc shook his head. “He lied right to my face when I went to see him.”

“In his defense, he didn’t know where we were when you went to see him. Momma didn’t go to him until a year later. He was afraid she’d run again or turn to drugs if he called you.”

Gran straightened in her seat. “Can we put aside all this talk for now? Claire made us a nice dinner, and I baked Tillie’s favorite chocolate-chip cookies.” Gran took a sip of wine. “You still like cookies, don’t you?”

“Yes, Gran,” Tillie said. “With a glass of chocolate milk.”

A beautiful smile crossed Tillie’s lips. Jax marveled at the way it made her even more stunning. In spite of his determination to prove she wasn’t Linc’s real daughter, he found himself starting to hope he was off base with his accusations. He could see why men might easily fall for her, but thanks to his ex-fiancé, Jax, one of them. Besides, there was probably a rule somewhere about not getting involved with one’s stepsister. Not to mention, he’d already made sure Tillie hated him.

Strained conversations accompanied the rest of the dinner. When Claire brought out the cookies, chatter picked up. Gran, Dad, and Tillie reminisced about the many times Tillie and Gran had baked cookies together. Apparently as a toddler, Tillie preferred to eat the dough and Gran couldn’t turn her back for a second or there’d be no cookies to bake.

Tillie started to recall enough details to validate her claim. She really could be Matilda. Which meant Jax had screwed up.

Big time.

Chapter 5

“Matilda, would you like to take a walk and see the grounds?” Linc asked after dinner.

“I’d love to, but it’s getting dark,” she answered.

“The gardens are lovely in the moonlight.” He offered her his arm.

“Then, I accept your invitation.”

Linc’s cellphone pinged, and he motioned her to take a seat on the back patio’s wrought-iron glider. “Augustine, here.”

His head bobbed, and he spoke a few words. Disconnecting, he turned to Tillie. “Sorry, dear. I’m going to have to take a raincheck. There’s a few things that need my attention before the day is over.”

“I understand. I imagine my appearance messed up your schedule today. Sorry, Dad.”

“Don’t be. Today has been one of the best days of my life.” He hugged her. “Go ahead and sit awhile. Enjoy the beautiful evening.”

She inhaled the flowery scents from the gardens. “I will.”

“I’ll be back late.” He hugged her again. “In the meantime, the staff can take care of anything you need. Just ask.”

She’d never get enough of his hugs. “See you tomorrow.”

After he left, Tillie leaned back against the cool wrought iron. It was a heavenly evening, and she wished she could’ve shared it with her father. For a moment anger toward Momma seeped to the surface. She shook it off, closed her eyes, and tried to remember the many good times they’d had. Momma loved her, and Tillie would never forget it.

The screen door squeaked open, then slapped shut, pulling her away from her thoughts.

“Tillie, are you out here?” She recognized his voice.

It was tempting to ignore him and hopefully he’d leave. In the end, she couldn’t. “Over here, Jax.”

He sat on the seat next to her. “Are you okay?”

“Careful, Jax. You almost sound as if you care.” She had no reason to hold her tongue. He sure as hell hadn’t. “Are you here to finish interrogating me about my life as a con artist and thief?”

“Nothing so nefarious. I found this stone in the foyer. I know it’s not Gran’s and Dad doesn’t wear jewels. That leaves you.” He handed her the uniquely colored opal. “Yours?”

“Yes, it’s mine.” She pulled out the chain tucked inside her dress. “Looks like one of the prongs on the pendant came loose. Thank you,” she whispered. “By the way, I didn’t steal the necklace. It was Momma’s.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m not the enemy, Tillie. I’m just trying to protect Dad.”

“Right. You’re my new best friend.” She let the sarcasm flow freely.

“The need to find you blinded Dad for so long. He’s fallen for numerous scams, leaving him with a broken heart each time. Once he made his first million, little Matildas came crawling out from the woodwork.”

“I hate that, too. But your trust issues make me feel dirty. I’ve done nothing wrong.” Maybe Jax hadn’t done anything wrong, either. He was protecting Dad. “I’ll try to understand why you’re so hell-bent on discrediting me.”

“How generous of you.” Jax laughed. He was even more handsome when he relaxed and smiled. Her insides were beginning to melt. She could be in big trouble.

“It’s not just the Matilda-wannabes. I was a victim of a money-grabbing-con once.”

“You?” She had trouble imagining anyone could pull the wool over Jax’s overly suspicious mind.

“I was engaged right out of grad school. Turned out my fiancée was only after my money.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Tillie studied him. How could she be attracted to Jax? She wasn’t sure she even liked him.

“It’s true. She made a fool out of me. I fell in and out of love so fast it made me dizzy. Which screams I never loved her to begin with.”

“I’m sorry, Jax.” No wonder he had trust issues. Still, he didn’t have to be an ass. “Maybe after you’ve proven I’m the real Matilda, you’ll be able to trust people again.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugged one shoulder. “How did you feel when you learned about your mother’s lies? It had to sting.”

“I admit I was shocked and hurt. I must’ve read her letter a million times as if the words would change.”

“I can’t even imagine.”

“I’ve tried to understand why Momma kept lying once she’d kicked the drug habit. I’ve only known Dad one day, and I don’t think he would’ve taken me from her if she was off the drugs.”

“He wouldn’t have. Mary should’ve returned home, or at least let Dad know you were alive. Might’ve saved him a lot of grief.”

“I agree. But you see, the thing about lying is, once you start, it gets harder over time to come clean. Eventually, you don’t even think about trying. That’s what I believe happened with Momma.”

He scooted close to her. “I apologize for being such an ass. I could’ve checked you out discretely and saved you a lot of hurt feelings.”

Tillie only nodded. A lump was forming in her throat, and she tried to swallow it.

Jax stretched his arm over the back of the glider. Tillie wished he would touch her, maybe even hold her. She was close to a breakdown, which was so unlike her. Crying was getting old. Surely, she had run out of tears by now.

The waterworks started. “I’m so angry with Momma. But I miss her so much.”

“Aw, Tillie. Please don’t cry. I know what it’s like to lose your mother. If I hadn’t had Dad to lean on, I don’t know what I would’ve done when mine died.”

“You lost your sister, too. I’ve always wished I had a sibling. I can’t imagine losing one.”

“Debby was only seven when she died. It’s been twelve years and I still miss her and Mom.” His arm slid down, resting on her shoulders. His warmth radiated around her neck and down her back.

“I understand.” Tillie laid her head on Jax’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing on earth to do. “I’ll always miss Momma.”

They sat in silence for a while, rocking slowly in the glider. Tillie marveled at the way the stars stood out against the dark sky. Never in her life had she felt so content. Taking a deep breath, she realized she was no longer crying.

“Tillie, I still have to research your background. I owe it to Dad. But I’m praying I’m totally wrong.”

She giggled. “I… umm… I think that’s a compliment.”

“It means I want you to be Dad’s Matilda. I want him to be happy.”

“That’s what I want, too. Jax, there’s just no reason I can think of for Momma to have lied about Linc being my father. She didn’t have to leave me the letter. I could’ve lived my life without knowing.”

“You have a point, but I still have to know it’s a valid one.”

“Do what you need to do.” She stood, her hurt and anger resurfacing. “I’m going inside.”

Leaving Jax on his own, Tillie stomped away.

Chapter 6

After a few days of digging deep into Tillie’s background, Jax hadn’t come up with anything that indicated she was some type of a scam artist. If there was a boyfriend or anyone else helping her run a con game, he wasn’t finding it. Even Mary and her friend, Roger, checked out. He still had a couple things to verify, before he gave up and admitted he was wrong, but it was looking like she truly was Dad’s Matilda.

When Jax wasn’t tied up with work or research, he’d spent time with Tillie. The more he got to know her, the more he liked her. Like was a weak word for what he was beginning to feel toward her. The thoughts and trust issues remaining from Angela’s deceit were fading fast.

After dinner that night, Jax and Tillie went for a swim. He couldn’t resist racing her to the deeper end of the pool and back several times. Or splashing each other the way brothers and sisters often played while growing up. It was as if they’d known each other their whole lives.

But Jax definitely felt more than brotherly love for this woman.

After their swim they sat wrapped in their towels, on the same garden glider where they’d talked the first night they’d met. This time around they were both more relaxed.

“That was fun, Jax. Thank you for inviting me to swim.” Tillie patted her hair with her towel.

“I had a great time. I always enjoy being around you.” Jax turned to face Tillie and brushed wayward strands of wet hair from her face. “I want to get to know you.”

“I’d like that, too,” she admitted.

Jax took her chin and turned her face toward his. He could no longer fight his attraction to her. “I’m going to kiss you. If you don’t want that, now’s the time to tell me.”

Chapter 7

“I’d love for you to kiss me.” Tillie’s insides fluttered, and her heartbeat raced. This was crazy. He was a man determined to prove her a fraud. And sweet baby Jesus, he was her brother.

Jax lowered his head, and his mouth covered hers. The warmth from his lips spread throughout her body like a wildfire. Even if kissing your stepbrother was wrong, it felt right.

“You taste so damned good, Tillie,” Jax murmured around multiple kisses. The man sure knew how to kiss. He could make a woman forget her own name.

“We need to stop, Jax.” She took a deep breath, and he released her. “It can’t be right for me to be this attracted to my brother.”

“Stepbrother, sweetheart.” He ran his palm over her cheek. “We don’t share the same blood.”

“I doubt if the press got wind of this, they’d bother to point that out. I can’t let anything hurt Dad’s political career.” She crossed her arms over her chest to hide her pebbled nipples. No one had ever made her feel so desirable. And he’d only kissed her!

“I’ve tasted you, Tillie. I’m not about to give you up because the media can’t get their facts straight.” He kissed her forehead. “But I’ll stop because you asked. I’m going to talk to Dad about us and see what he thinks.”

“You’re serious about seeing where this goes? You’ve only known me a few days. We’ve only shared a few kisses.”

“I know it’s happening fast. It doesn’t matter if we’ve had one kiss or spent a whole night making love, I’m very serious. I’ve felt the pull since I first laid eyes on you, and I’m tired of fighting it. I’ve never believed in love at first sight… until now.”

“Okay.” Tillie had always believed in love at first sight. She took his hand. “What if you find out I’m not Matilda?”

“The more I’m with you, the more I’m convinced you’re the real deal.”

“I’ll come with you when you talk to Dad.” She had no clue how her father would react to Jax and her being in—make that, exploring—a relationship. She barely knew Jax. How was it possible for her life to change so much in a mere seventy-two hours?

Chapter 8

Two weeks later…

Dad had taken the news well. He didn’t mind at all if Jax and Tillie wanted to pursue a relationship. He said they were stepsiblings who hadn’t grown up together as brother and sister. He’d had a few choice words about the media and naysayers, too. Something along the lines of our private lives were just that, and the paparazzi could rot in Hell if they didn’t like it.

Tillie and Jax had been on a few dates, but mostly preferred to stay home in the evenings and hang out with Dad and Gran. She was falling hard for Jax.

Her cellphone rang, interrupting her thoughts. She checked the caller ID and smiled. “Hello, Roger.”

“Hi, Tillie. How’s it going? I haven’t heard from you for a few days.”

“Sorry. Jax and I went away over the weekend.” She flopped down on her bed. Her body tingled as she recalled their time together. “Oh, Roger, you wouldn’t believe how happy I am here. Dad and I are growing closer every day. Gran and I have baked a ton of cookies. I’ve eaten most of them. I’m pretty sure I’ve put on all the weight I lost after Momma died.”

“I knew you’d get along great with your family.”

“I’ve already fallen in love with them. And Roger, they never speak badly of Momma.”

“I’m glad for that. If you and Jax went away together, I assume the two of you are still exploring your feelings?”

“No more exploring. It happened fast, but I’m in love with him. And Dad approves one hundred percent. I can’t wait for you to meet Jax.”

“I look forward to it. I also called to let you know that the man who’s driving your money to Georgia called. He expects to arrive at Linc’s house by four. I thought I’d make sure you’ll be home.”

“It’s not my money.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.” She kicked off her flip-flops. “I’ll be here all day. Jax is coming home early and we’re gonna hang at the pool and grill out.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“It will be.”

“Just sign for the money. I still wish you would’ve let me do a cashier’s check. I’ve been worried sick about the man traveling with all that cash.”

“I know it’s silly, but I felt like I should return it in the duffle and as is.” Tillie checked her watch. “Your guy will be here in fifteen minutes if he’s on time.”

“I’ll let you go wait for the delivery.”

“Thanks, Roger. I miss you bunches.”

“I’ll come visit when you’re sure Linc won’t use my face for a punching bag.” He laughed.

“I’ll hold you to it. Love you, Roger.”

“Love you, too.”

They disconnected. Tillie put on her mother’s necklace for the first time since the opal had fallen out. She’d picked it up from the jeweler this morning. Her neck had felt naked without it.

She slipped on her flip-flops and ran downstairs.

Her father met her in the foyer. “Hi, baby girl. Going for a swim?”

“As soon as Jax gets here.” Tillie gave her father a hug.

“I’m glad he’s dropped all this nonsense about you not being Matilda.”

Jax decided she was Matilda a few days after she’d arrived. But Tillie had insisted on taking a DNA test. It’d still be a few weeks before the results came in. She didn’t want anyone to ever doubt her paternity again. The press could be ruthless.

“I’m yours, Dad. You’re stuck with me.”

Her father was staring at her necklace. “Where’d you get that?”

“It was Momma’s. She gave it to me when I turned sixteen.”

“I know it was hers. I had it special-made for her on our first anniversary.” His eyes filled with tears. “You are absolutely my daughter. I knew it as soon as I saw you, but this proves it beyond a shadow of doubt.”

“Momma never told me where it came from, but I knew it was special to her.”

Before he could say another word, the doorbell rang.

“I’m expecting a delivery.” Tillie moved to the door, and he followed.

A man in a dark suit was on the porch. “I have a delivery for Matilda Augustine.” He looked at a photo of her on his phone and nodded.

“That’s me.”

“Sign here, please.”

She signed, and he handed her a duffle bag and left. She knew the cash was all there. Roger wouldn’t send someone he didn’t trust.

“This is yours, Dad.”

He unzipped the bag and looked inside at the cash. “Matilda, I told you I wanted you to keep it.”

“It doesn’t feel right, Dad.”

Standing in front of the open door, they both had their hands on a strap, pushing it at each other.

“Take the money,” Dad insisted.

“What the hell is going on?”

Tillie looked up into Jax’s glaring eyes, seeing nothing but contempt. Her blood turned to ice.

“I gotta hand it to you, sister dearest. You’re one hell of a gifted liar. But seriously, did you really have to make me fall in love with you, too?”

“Jax, it’s not what you think,” Tillie pleaded.

“It’s exactly what I think. You conned cash from my dad. You’re everything I hate.”

Tillie’s heart pounded, and she couldn’t breathe. She tried to speak, but couldn’t form words, much less express them. Tears were pouring down her cheeks. The hate in Jax’s eyes turned her blood to ice. She ran up to her room, slamming the door behind her. Throwing herself on the bed, she held Stuffy to her chest.

“I hate him,” Tillie cried into Stuffy’s soft fur.

She wished she’d never come to Georgia, or laid eyes on Jax. She’d given her heart to him, and he wouldn’t even listen to her explanation. So much for love at first sight.

“Damn him and his trust issues.”

Chapter 9

“What the hell, Jax?” Linc said. “Why didn’t you let Tillie talk? Or me?”

“I’m not listening to more lies from her, and you’re too blind to see her for what she really is.” Jax picked up the duffle that had been tossed to the floor. “Look at all the money you were about to give her. There’s only one explanation.”

“Son, you’re wrong.” Linc rubbed a hand over his face. “This was the money Mary took the day she left me. It arrived from Seattle moments ago. I was trying to convince Tillie to keep it.”

“She’s somehow managed to twist this in her favor. You want her to be your daughter so badly that you’ll believe anything.”

“It’s the truth, Jax.”

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Had he been wrong? Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He loosened his tie and unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt. Was it hot inside the house?

“She’s my daughter.”

“We have no proof.” No telling what the lying woman convinced Dad to believe.

“You’re wrong, Jax. Tillie is wearing all the proof I need. I had a necklace special-made for Mary. There’s no other like it. Even the opal stone is unique. Only the real Matilda would have it.”

“I don’t know, Dad. She could’ve had one made.”

“You’re reaching, son.” Linc squeezed Jax’s shoulder. “I swear it’s her. You screwed up big time.”

Jax’s stomach knotted, and he set the bag down. “Oh, God. What have I done?”

“Nothing to be proud of.” Linc scoffed. “I suggest you go try to make this right with Matilda.”

“Yes, sir. On my way.” Jax took the stairs two at a time.

He stood outside her door, listening to Tillie’s sobs. His heart squeezed painfully, and he rubbed his chest. He could barely catch a breath. He leaned against the doorframe for a few moments, and then knocked.

“It’s me, Tillie. Please let me in.”

“Go away, Jax.”

“I’m sorry. I’m an asshole with trust issues, and it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have reacted so quickly.” He ran his hand over the door’s smooth surface. “I don’t blame you if you never want to see me again, but there is one thing I want you to know, sweetheart. I love you.”

His words were met with silence, and his gut twisted into a knot. But he wasn’t leaving until she let him talk to her face-to-face. “Tillie, I—”

The door opened, cutting him off.

Her eyes were red and swollen, and she held a well-worn stuffed animal. Fresh tears streamed down her face.

“Leave me alone, Jax. My heart can’t take much more.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“I was so wrong. Please give me another chance. Give us another chance.” He brushed away her tears. More followed. “I love you so damned much it hurts.

“We’ve only known each other a few weeks, Jax.”

“Are you saying you don’t feel the same way I do?” He knew she did… or had, until his little stunt downstairs. “You’re my heart and soul.” He caressed her cheek. “I need you in my life. Whatever you can give me, two weeks, two years, or a lifetime. I know what we have is rare.”

She took his hand and pulled him into her room. “You broke my heart, Jax. But I do love you. I can’t imagine my life without you, either. But I—”

He cut her words off with a scorching kiss. She kept a hold of the stuffed dog and didn’t try to stop him.

“You’re right. What we have is special.” Tillie stepped out of his embrace, and he instantly missed the warmth of her. “Your actions require more than sugar-coated words. You must earn my trust, and forgiveness.”

“Anything you say, sweetheart.” He was groveling, but that was okay. His woman had fought hard to forgive her mother. Jax knew she’d fight equally hard to forgive him.

About Teri Riggs

USA Today Bestselling Author and third-place finalist for the Kiss of Death’s Daphne Award in romantic suspense, Teri Riggs, writes contemporary romantic suspense, historical western romantic suspense, and romantic comedy.

She lives in Marietta, Georgia, with her handsome husband and two spoiled puppies who seem to think they rule the world. Okay, maybe they do. She married her high-school sweetheart over forty years ago and believes that qualifies her as an expert in writing happily-ever-afters.

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Combustion by Suzanne Cass

Chapter 1

CAT

Cat skidded to a stop and stared at the flames. They roared almost as high as the fir trees surrounding the small clearing. Mrs. Applegate stood on the front lawn of the tiny cottage screaming, and Mr. Applegate ran between the burning building and his wife like a flustered chicken, his grey hair flopping in his eyes.

“Thank God you both got out,” Cat said, having to bend down and rest her hands on her knees to catch her breath. She’d sprinted all the way up the hill from the machinery shed when she heard Mrs. Applegate’s distant screams. “Are either of you hurt?”

“No, we’re both fine,” Mr. Applegate puffed. His face red and flushed, eyes wide with fear. Cat worried that the elderly man might collapse on the grass at any second.

“Jasper, oh my Jasper. He’s still in there,” screamed Mrs. Applegate as she caught sight of Cat. “You have to go and rescue him. You can’t let him die in there.”

Cat looked between the elderly couple and the small, luxury cabin. The two VIP guests were physically unharmed; their mental state, however, was another thing altogether. Did they really expect Cat to run into that raging bonfire?

“Jasper. Oh, my Jasper,” Mrs. Applegate wailed again. Then she fell to her knees and threw her hands in the air, her face going the color of beetroot.

The main house was nearly ten minutes’ drive from here. Even if she rang Dean, there was no way he’d get here in time. Her boss would be getting changed for dinner. Soon the other guests would start to converge for the traditional Stargazer Ranch Sunday roast. He needed to know that one of his beautiful cabins was on fire. Cat turned on her booted heel and stared down the hill to see if anyone else was coming. Where were all those bloody ranch hands when you needed them? She snorted with disgust. Looked like she was it. A rescue party of one.

“All right, Mrs. Applegate, calm down. I’ll go and get him,” Cat said, having to raise her voice over the roaring flames.

One of the small windows at the front of the cottage exploded outward, releasing a gush of flames and Cat flinched. If she didn’t go in right now, Jasper would die. If he wasn’t already dead, she thought darkly.

“Where did you last see him?” she called to the hysterical woman.

“I was taking a nap. He was asleep on the bed with me. But when Frank came rushing in, yelling at me to get out, he disappeared.” Mrs. Applegate’s normally immaculately quaffed hair was lying in limp strands around her face, her mascara running down her cheeks in black rivers.

“I'll find him.” Cat desperately hoped she could live up to her promise. “Have you called the fire brigade?” she yelled as she made her way toward the front of the building. The heat radiating from the fire increased with every step. She had on blue jeans and hiking boots, but her long-sleeved plaid shirt was still draped over the front end of the snowmobile she’d been servicing when she heard the screams. Her flimsy white T-shirt wouldn’t be much protection from the terrible heat. How in hell was she going to get in there without being burnt to a crisp?

“No, I haven’t,” Mr. Applegate replied. “I’ll do it right now.” Cat could hear him behind her as he shakily relayed the details to the operator on the other end of the phone.

“Phone Dean and let him know, as well,” Cat said, then put the older couple out of her mind, her gaze taking in the small log cabin merrily blazing in front of her. Flames and black smoke billowed out of the left-hand front window. And more flames rose from the back on the same side. It looked like the fire may have started in the small kitchen. But the right-hand side of the cabin seemed to be relatively untouched, which was good because that’s where all the bedrooms were.

The front door stood wide open, grey smoke pouring out in clouds. All these individual cabins on the ranch were built to exactly the same design. Which meant Cat could mentally map out the inside of the cabin with great accuracy.

Pulling the red bandanna from around her neck, she quickly tied it over her mouth and nose. Taking a last deep breath of clean air, she dove into the darkened doorway. The sun was beginning to set, the golden glow of evening light touching everything with its spreading fingers. As soon as she went through the door, however, it was like she’d stumbled into another realm. The smoke was so thick, she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, and everything was just shadows and shapes. If she hadn’t known the layout of the cabin so well, she might have gotten turned around. Immediately, her eyes began to sting, and she coughed in the thick fumes, even with the bandanna tied around her face.

Using her hands to feel along the corridor, she made her way to the first bedroom. Shouting for Jasper, she rounded into the room, but it was even darker in here. How was she ever going to find him? Getting down onto her hands and knees, she began to feel around, still calling his name. The smoke wasn’t as thick near the ground, but she still spent fruitless minutes searching before she finally decided he wasn’t in here.

As she made her way back into the corridor, it seemed like the smoke had become thicker and more toxic. She coughed uncontrollably. There was a loud crash and a burst of sparks spewed out of the kitchen door. Cat stopped.

Should she keep going? Had part of the roof caved in? This was crazy. What was she doing in here? Was finding Jasper worth risking her life for? Then she thought about Mrs. Applegate outside, screaming hysterically, and the look on her boss’ face if he found out she hadn’t tried her hardest for his oldest and most well-loved guests. She had to check the next room, at least.

The second bedroom was halfway down the corridor, toward the kitchen. The sparks had turned into many small fires, catching on the door frame and even on the wooden floorboards near the door. At least they cast flickering light for Cat to see by.

The second bedroom was smaller, the large bed taking up most of the space. She had to squeeze past the dresser drawer to get along one side. The smoke was so thick it felt like she was breathing through cotton wool and she couldn’t stop coughing. Following a hunch, she got down on her belly and shuffled her way under the bed. Something moved in the darkness.

“Jasper, is that you? Come here, boy. It’s okay,” she crooned. Soft fur brushed her fingertips and then she grabbed hold of the dog by the scruff of the neck, hauling him out from under the bed. “Got you. Let’s get out of here.” She tucked the little Pomeranian dog under her arm and got to her feet.

But when she turned, flames licked up the doorway into the bedroom, the sound like that of a small truck approaching. For the first time that day, a trickle of fear ran up her spine. She took a step back. The heat was becoming unbearable.

There was another, louder crash, from the back of the cabin, and the space filled with more black smoke as a blast of hot air hit her. She gasped for breath. Oh shit, she might actually become trapped in here if she didn’t move quickly.

Suddenly, a dark shape loomed in the doorway and a male voice called out, “Hello? Is anyone in here?”

She tried to reply, but her voice came out as a husky gasp. She couldn’t breathe. She wet her lips and tried again. “I’m in here,” she croaked. Then louder, she said, “Here. I’m in here.”

A shadowy figure appeared, but as he stepped into the room, an almighty blast drove the stranger toward her as the corridor collapsed. He protected her from the scorching heat, using his body as a shield, as they landed on the bed. The dog struggled, whining in panic but she clung on tight. Lifting her head, she stared back at the doorway. Chunks of burning logs littered the floor, cutting off their only escape route.

They were trapped.

Chapter 2

LEVI

“Wrap this around your head and shoulders,” Levi demanded, shoving his coat into the woman’s hand and lifting himself off her. Why she’d come in here wearing no protective clothing was beyond him. Who in their right mind dashed into a burning building completely unprepared?

The woman did as he asked. At least the coat would stop her hair from catching on fire.

“The window is our only chance,” he yelled above the roar of the flames. There was no chance they’d make it out alive the way he’d come in. The corridor was a flaming pit of hell. He grabbed her by the arm and towed her toward the side of the bed. He needed something to smash the window. But with nothing in range, he pulled the sleeve of his shirt down over his hand and punched as hard as he could with his fist.

The sound of breaking glass could barely be heard over the jet-engine noise of the fire.

At least the window wasn’t guarded by security mesh, but now he’d made an escape route, and the smoke rushed past him on its way skyward.

“You go first,” he commanded. “Give me the dog.” He couldn’t see her face, hidden by the folds of the coat, but she seemed to hesitate for some reason. What was her problem? He noticed her clutching the whining mutt close to her chest. Was she honestly worried about the stupid dog, even now? “I promise to hand him to you as soon as you’re out.”

He stood waiting, hands outstretched. There was a flash of blue eyes beneath the folds of material as she weighed him up. Didn’t she believe him?

The gleam of blue was gone as suddenly as it appeared as she handed the fluff ball to him. Then she slung a long leg over the edge of the windowsill.

“Watch out for the jagged edges,” he warned. Hesitating for a second, she unwrapped the coat from her head and placed it over the broken glass, then levered herself quickly out of the window.

Not even waiting to see if she landed safely, he hoisted the little dog through the window and followed as quickly as he could, dragging his coat with him as he went.

The window wasn’t too high off the ground and he landed on his feet. Taking the rescued woman by the elbow—by some miracle she’d caught the dog and tucked it back under her arm—he led her to the edge of the clearing, away from the flames. They coughed and spluttered as she dragged a bandana away from her face. He did the same with the rag he’d tied around his nose and mouth before he’d dived into the burning building.

Levi collapsed onto his knees and then lay on the wonderful cool grass and sucked in large gulps of fresh air, thanking the gods he was alive. But it didn’t take long for his anger to rise. The woman stood a few feet away, trying to calm the nervous dog.

He sat up and stared at her. “What the fuck did you think you were doing running in there with no protection just to save a stupid dog?” Fists clenched at his side, he tried to control his seething anger.

“What did you say?” She stood taller, throwing her shoulders back in defiance. The bluest eyes he’d ever seen glared at him. They narrowed slightly as she continued to stare him down. “I was fine. I knew how to get out.” She had short, ultra-blonde hair, left a little longer at the front so it hung over her eyes. And even from this angle, he could see her slim hips and long legs, encased in a pair of worn blue jeans. There were tattoos running up both her bare arms which disappeared into the sleeves of her little white shirt. An eyebrow piercing and so many studs in her ears he couldn’t count them all reflected the light of the flames.

“You weren’t fine. You were about to be barbecued,” he said. But the heat was already gone from his words. He couldn’t seem to stay mad at her, standing there and glaring at him with such cool determination.

“I didn’t need you to come in and rescue me. I’m not some damsel in distress,” she said, arching an eyebrow in disdain. Underneath all the soot and ash smeared across her face, he could see high cheekbones and a dainty nose. The face of an angel. With the temper of a viper, it seemed.

Before he could answer, the older woman came around the side of the cottage, giving the burning building a wide berth. “Oh, Jasper. My Jasper.” She grabbed the dog from the blonde’s arms and began crooning to the mutt like he was a baby, sobbing into his fur.

Levi lay back down on the grass and stared up at the darkening sky. He’d never understand some people. The old woman was more worried about her dog than the two people who’d rushed in to rescue it. Blondie came and sat on the grass nearby, and they watched as the log cabin flamed higher, sparks rising above the treetops to mingle with the emerging stars in the sky.

Finally, he sat up and extended a hand. “Levi Wilson, at your service.”

He watched her take in his park-issue shirt with the ranger logo on the sleeve, and then her eyes slid up to study his face.

“I’m Cat. Cat Lawson. And I guess I should say…thank you.” She took his hand, but he could feel the guarded way she gave her begrudging gratitude.

“No problems,” he replied. It wasn’t much of an apology, but he got the feeling Cat wasn’t going to give him anything more, so he’d accept it. For now.

“So, you’re the new ranger, then? I heard Mimsy was moving on.” Those blue eyes were fixed on him, staring so intently he felt something stir inside his chest. Almost as if she could see inside him. It made him nervous. And uncomfortable.

“Yes, I started last week.” Of course. Gossip spread like wildfire in small country towns. Painted Rock State Park wasn’t one of the big, glamorous parks, not like Glacier or Yellowstone National Parks. But it was a good start for his first posting.

“We all liked Mimsy. You’ve got some big shoes to fill.”

“Yeah, perhaps. One thing was for sure, I didn’t expect to be rescuing someone from a burning building in my first week on the job.”

“I didn’t nee—” The sound of wheels skidding on the gravel had them both turning their heads at the same time, and she never finished her denial. A big silver Ford pickup spewed dust and gravel in the air as it came to a stop. A man leaped out of the driver’s seat.

“Holy mother of…” The man stopped in his tracks and stared at the brightly burning cabin. The elderly man, who’d been comforting the woman with the dog—Levi presumed she was his wife—left her side and strode toward the newcomer.

“Dean, thank God you’re here.”

“Shit, Frank, are you okay? Is Pamela okay?”

“Yes, yes, we’re unharmed, no need to worry about us.”

The newcomer was the quintessential Montana cowboy, freshly pressed plaid shirt, blue jeans and worn cowboy boots. He also had an imposing presence, and Levi guessed he was the owner. Mimsy had filled him in on the billionaire who owned the luxury ranch. He and his wife built it from the ground up. And now it was one of the most sought-after boutique resorts in the whole of Montana. Perhaps even in the whole of the Northwest.

“And thanks to your brave ranch-hand here,” Frank gestured toward where Cat and Levi still sat on the grass, “Jasper is safe, too.”

“I’m not a bloody ranch-hand,” Cat muttered under her breath, surprising Levi with her vehemence. But before he could formulate any sort of reply, she was levering herself off the ground and dusting down her filthy jeans and T-shirt. But no amount of brushing was going to get rid of the black soot covering her from head to toe. He got to his feet as well.

“Things got a bit hairy here for a while,” Frank continued. “We thought Cat wasn’t going to make it out with our Jasper. But then this wonderful young ranger showed up out of the blue and ran in to help her.”

“Levi Wilson,” he said. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

The man seemed to have recovered his composure and he proffered his hand. “I heard we had a new ranger in town. I’m Dean Williams, the owner of Stargazer Ranch. Thanks so much for your help.”

“I didn’t need rescuing. I was fine,” Cat said, a dark frown marring her beautiful face. She was so determined she didn’t need his help that Levi almost laughed.

Dean flashed an exasperated glance in Cat’s direction and Levi got the impression he’d heard it all before. Then Dean’s glance zeroed in on something behind Cat, and Levi turned around. A horse and rider were coming at full gallop up the gravel road, from the same direction Dean had come only minutes before. At the last moment, the speeding horse propped to a stop, gravel flying up from his hooves as the rider jumped off.

“Holy shit.” He took his Stetson off to get a better look at the remains of the burning cabin. “I got here as soon as I saw the smoke.” He sounded winded from his mad dash up the hill on the horse. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yep, everyone’s out safely, Clayton,” Dean said. “Frank and Pamela are fine. As is Jasper.” The owner indicated the dog, who was licking the elderly lady’s face. “I’d better phone Naomi and let her know what’s happening.” Dean was already pulling his cell out of his pocket as he moved away to make the call.

The small group stared at the building, mesmerized by the flames.

“I can’t believe it. This is the third one in two weeks,” Clayton muttered, almost as if he were talking to himself.

Levi’s head snapped around at the cowboy’s words. What did he mean by that? As he was about to open his mouth to ask, they all turned their heads in unison at the approaching siren.

“Fat lot of good they’re going to do,” Clayton muttered loudly. “The cabin is a pile of ashes already.”

Cat gave another snort—Levi was coming to understand it was her trademark snort of derision—and turned on her booted heel to go and direct the two firetrucks bouncing their way up the rutted gravel track.

Levi followed her, and asked, “What did the cowboy mean, that this is the third one?”

She cast a wary glance over her shoulder, and he thought she might not answer. Then with a delicate lift of one shoulder, she said, “I guess you’ll hear it through the town grapevine soon enough. There’s been a spate of fires on the ranch lately. The first one started in the tractor shed. Dean thought a spark from a hot motor might’ve lit up an oil spill, or something like that.”

The red and yellow firetrucks were getting closer, so he didn’t have much time to hear the rest of the story. “And,” he prompted.

“About ten days after that, the barn where we keep the milking cows and a few goats caught fire. But Moonbeam made such a ruckus, mooing and bellowing, one of the ranch hands heard her and was able to put it out before it did any damage.”

“Did Dean report it to the police?” Levi asked, his mind whirling with all kinds of alternatives.

“At first we were all putting it down to coincidence. But now…”

“It seems like way more than just a coincidence,” Levi countered.

Cat didn’t answer. Instead she waved the firetruck over to a flat spot on the grass and watched as four firemen jumped out and began rolling out a long hose.

Chapter 3

CAT

Cat pushed back from the table and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Twelve other staff were gathered in the large, farm-style kitchen. Some of them sitting, the others standing, the sound of everyone talking became almost deafening. The guests had been fed and most of them had returned to their cabins or their rooms at the lodge. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Levi also put his cutlery on his plate and lean back in his chair next to her.

Dean had invited the ranger back to the homestead for a late meal with the rest of the staff after the last of the flames had been extinguished to discuss the recent turn of events. She wasn’t sure she wanted Levi there. This was Stargazer Ranch business; they didn’t need some upstart new ranger poking his nose in where it wasn’t wanted.

As the conversation carried on around the table, Cat took a surreptitious glance in Levi’s direction. Shoulder-length, dark hair was pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck. Equally dark eyebrows lowered in a frown, his high forehead wrinkled in concentration. A hint of stubble hovered around full lips and across a strong square jaw. The khaki ranger-issue shirt—scorched black in places—sat snug across broad shoulders as he sat with one arm slung over the back of his chair. His dark looks hinted at his Native American heritage.

Emily, her roommate and fellow ranch-hand, would’ve called him hot. Drop-dead gorgeous, with a sexy-as-hell smile. She would’ve been swooning all over him. But Emily was away visiting family this week which left Cat contemplating the man sitting beside her with equal doses of wariness and mistrust. Because he was gorgeous. And there was some kind of strange attraction thing going on, even though her head was trying hard to override her treacherous body’s reaction every time he turned those earth-colored eyes her way.

She wasn’t looking for a relationship. She was here to work, to earn enough money so she could move on. That was it. That was how she lived her life. Just the road and her motorcycle, moving from one place to the next. And she definitely didn’t do gorgeous men. They only broke your heart, and he looked like a definite heart-breaker.

“You need to tell the police, Dean. This is getting beyond a coincidence,” his wife, Naomi said loudly, so she could be heard over the staff talking. Naomi sat at the head of the table, next to her husband. Long auburn hair hung to the middle of her back. She was a petite woman, only just hitting five feet, but Cat had learned never to underestimate her. She was strong and determined, and her large personality more than made up for her small stature. The ranch had been built as much because of Naomi’s determination as it had from Dean’s dreams.

Everyone quieted down to hear what Dean had to say.

“I agree with you,” he said into the hushed silence. “Things could’ve ended badly tonight. We can’t take the risk of this happening again.”

He took a deep breath and held up his hand as Clayton said, “Hear, hear, it’s about time.”

Clayton hushed and Dean continued. “Something else has come to light that adds an even more sinister edge to the whole thing.” Dean glanced down at his diminutive wife. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but Naomi says you all have a right to know. Your lives may be in danger.”

Cat sat forward and leaned her elbows on the table. She noticed Levi do the same thing, his arm almost brushing hers as he did so. His proximity set her skin to tingling and even as she fixed her eyes on Dean, she couldn’t shift her awareness away from Levi’s presence.

The room became hushed as everyone waited to hear what he had to say. “I had an anonymous email come through on my phone when I got back to the homestead tonight.” You could hear a pin drop as Cat almost dared not breathe. “I’m not going to go into the details, as most of it was a heap of personal slurs against my name. Someone obviously has a grudge against me, but I’m at a loss as to who or why.” Naomi laid a hand on her husband’s arm, and Cat felt a lump rise in her throat. That small gesture said so much more than words ever could—Dean and Naomi were a caring and compassionate couple. They were so perfect together, it almost made Cat want the same thing. Someday. Not today. She wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment yet.

“The important part of the message is we needed to take care, or people were going to die. Whoever sent the email didn’t give any reason as to why they’re targeting me—us. But I’m definitely taking them seriously.”

Quiet murmurs of shocked surprise started up around Cat. Levi grunted beside her. Why would anyone want to harm Dean? Or his ranch? It was a happy place, where people could come and find time to reconnect with nature. Enjoy the Big Sky country and all the mountains had to offer.

“If any of you feel unsafe, or want to leave for any reason, Naomi and I completely understand,” Dean continued.

“We’re not that easily scared,” a voice from the back of the room said over the quiet. “I, for one, am sticking around.” Cat glanced back and saw it was Big Tom who spoke. He towered over everyone else in the room. But he was such a gentle giant. In the eleven months Cat had worked on the ranch, Big Tom had become one of her favorites. Softly spoken, and always compassionate with the animals, she nonetheless respected his often steely sense of purpose and his enduring work ethic. Cat was glad for Tom’s words, because she’d been about to say the exact same thing.

“Thanks, Tom.” Dean nodded his head in the big man’s direction. “But from now on, I want you working in pairs. No one is to be left on their own. Got that?” There were nods of agreement and murmurs of “yes, boss” from around the table.

“We don’t care if things take longer to get done, we’d much rather know you’re safe,” Naomi said into the growing cacophony of voices.

The staff milled around the table for another ten minutes, all talking amongst themselves. Cat tried to smother her third yawn of the evening, but without success. It was time to hit her bed. She had an early start in the morning, and even all this excitement wasn’t enough to keep her awake much longer. Besides, she needed a shower to wash off the stink of smoke and soot. A few other staff began drifting out the door, all headed back to their own staff quarters for much the same reason.

Slipping out the kitchen door, she walked down the dim corridor and into the cool of the night. The starry sky blossomed above her and she had to stop and tilt her head back to stare up in wonder. This view would never get old. She pitied the people who lived in the city their whole lives and never got to see such an amazing sight.

A deep voice called out to her through the dark, startling her. She turned around and saw Levi silhouetted in the light from the back door. Shit, was he following her?

“You shouldn’t be out here on your own. You heard what Dean said.”

Who the hell did he think he was? Just because he thought he’d rescued her from the burning cabin—which he hadn’t, she was fine—he thought he could order her around, too?

“I’m going to bed,” she said, turning around and striding off into the dark, hoping he’d go back inside. But he didn’t take the hint, and she heard his footsteps gaining on her in the dark.

“I’ll walk with you,” he said, now level with her shoulder. “Make sure you get there safe. Where are the staff quarters, by the way?”

She shrugged. She couldn’t stop him, it was a free country after all. But she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Cat shared a small cabin with Emily, nestled into a copse of fir trees half-way up the hill. Most of the ranch hands stayed in the large staff quarters next to the main house, but it was full to overflowing—Dean had promised to build an addition soon. So some, like her, were stationed in one of the many small cabins and studios dotted around the property.

She also wasn’t going to tell him Emily was away at the moment. Which meant she’d be sleeping on her own tonight.

Chapter 4

LEVI

The light from the main house faded and dark enveloped them, the only sound the crunch of their boots on gravel.

“How can you see where you’re going?” Levi asked.

Cat was striding off into the night, without a care for her own safety. Exactly like she’d done when she raced into that burning building to save a damn dog. She was exasperating. Infuriating.

And she didn’t answer him, so he kept pace with her up the small hill, holding his tongue.

“Here it is,” she said, stopping abruptly after a few more minutes of silent walking.

It took a second for him to make out the tiny cabin nestled into the side of the grassy knoll. A slight breeze whistled through the branches of the pine trees surrounding the isolated little hut.

“Where are all the other staff?” he asked.

She gave a deep sigh. “They’re back at the main staff quarters.”

“You mean you sleep alone up here?” He couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. What had Dean said only fifteen minutes ago? That no one should be alone on the ranch from now on. And what was Cat doing? Exactly that.

“No.” He heard the hesitation in her voice. “Well, not usually.”

He waited. It was like pulling teeth; Cat was so annoying.

After another loud sigh, she said, “Emily normally shares with me. But she’s not here at the moment.”

“So, you are sleeping up here on your own?”

“Yep.” From the light of the stars, he saw her take a step back and put her hands on her hips.

“Does Dean know?” he demanded.

“Yes, he knows.” Again, the slight hesitation gave her away.

Levi guessed that while Dean probably knew one of his staff members was away, it’d probably slipped his mind that Cat was left on her own, what with everything else going on. And of course, Cat wouldn’t remind him. Because she was a stubborn, independent…

“I’m going to tell him. I’m sure he’ll send someone else up here to stay with you,” he said.

Levi had already turned on his heel, when her voice stopped him in his tracks. “Please don’t. He has enough to worry about as it is. I’ll be fine.” She came around to stand in front of him, laying a hand on his upper body in an effort to stop him. The warmth of her palm melted through his shirt, branding his chest with her touch. He wanted to recoil from her hand. And he also wanted her to leave it there, always.

The shock left him paralyzed for many seconds until he eventually found his voice. “Okay. But I’m walking you to your door, and I’m going to check out your cabin before I leave.” He wasn’t taking no for an answer this time, and she seemed to understand that, because she lowered her hand and led him towards the front steps without another word.

She flicked on a light and watched him with those crystal blue eyes as he searched the small cabin—bedroom, bathroom, and then kitchen-dining area. There was no one lurking in the shadows. It was all clear, but he wasn’t finished yet.

“Have you got a flashlight I can borrow?”

Cat narrowed her eyes at him, then stalked over to one of her kitchen drawers, pulling out a tiny flashlight.

“I’ll be right back,” he said. He wasn’t leaving until he’d done a perimeter search as well. To make sure nothing was out of the ordinary out there, either.

Five minutes later, Levi came back to the front steps to find Cat sitting on the bottom one, silhouetted in the porch light, a beer in one hand, glaring out into the darkness.

“Find anything?” she asked with a lift of her eyebrow.

“Nope,” he admitted. But that was a good thing. He still loathed to leave her alone up here, and so he found himself saying, “Have you got another one of those?” He nodded toward the beer.

After a moment, she said, “Sure.” Handing him her own beer, she went back inside. Levi sat on the step and waited. She emerged a few seconds later with a second one. “Cheers,” she said, settling down on the wood next to him. “To the stars,” she added, clinking her bottle against his and then tipping it toward the sky.

The step wasn’t very wide, and they were forced to sit close together. Levi was acutely aware of every movement she made. Every minuscule flex of her long legs as she stretched them out in front of her. Her sleeveless forearms, fit and tanned as she held the bottle, the many tattoos swirling across her skin. Then she tipped her head back to take another swig of beer, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her long, elegant neck exposed to the starlight. He found himself wanting to taste that smooth skin, run his tongue gently down the side, from her ear to the dip of her collarbone. The glint of metal in the porch light reminded him of her eyebrow piercing. Not many girls he knew could carry that kind of thing off, but on Cat it made her all the more captivating.

To distract himself, he took a long swallow of the cold liquid.

“So,” she said, turning her gaze toward him. “I suppose seeing as how we’re sitting here sharing a beer, you better tell me something about yourself. You from around here?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. I was raised in St Ignacius, over in the Flathead Reservation.”

“Oh.” Her mouth formed a bow of surprise. “I’d love to visit there one day,” she replied. “I’ve been lots of places, but never to an Indian Reservation.” She turned curious eyes on him. “Tell me about it.”

And he found himself doing just that. About his life in the small town, about how beautiful the country was there, how his family managed to exist on very little, how he grew up like one of the wild things that lived in the surrounding forests and how he finally won a scholarship to study at Montana State University.

He talked and Cat listened.

At one stage, she brought them out another beer, and she didn’t appear to be in any hurry to be rid of him. In fact, her prickly personality seemed to have disappeared, showing a warmer, more inquisitive side as she asked questions and prompted him to tell her more. He found himself opening up, telling her things he hadn’t told another soul, about his ambitions to help protect this wonderful but fragile environment they lived in.

When he finally ran out of words, he asked about her life. Where she was from, how long she’d been in Montana and did she like working for the Williams family?

Instead of answering, she surprised him by taking his hand. “Let me show you something,” was all she said. Her hand was warm and tempting in his. They left their beers on the step, and she led him around the side of the cabin to a small lean-to. Taking the flashlight he’d used earlier, she shined it on a big, black motorcycle, hunkered inside.

“This is my life,” she said. “Me and my motorcycle. We go wherever calls to us next.”

“Nice,” he breathed, running a hand over the sleek black gas tank. “So, you live a life on the road, huh?” A few more of the puzzle pieces that went together to make up Cat slotted into place in Levi’s mind. It was obviously her way of escaping from things. Escaping from life if it got too hard.

“She’s beautiful, don’t you think?” Cat hadn’t let go of his other hand, and she came and stood next to him, resting her fingers on the handlebars. He could feel the heat of her body, she was so close. Closer than she should be. If he turned his head…

Their faces were mere centimeters apart. He was trapped by her blue eyes, so dark and mysterious in the flashlight. Cat licked her lips, dragging his gaze downwards, to her luscious mouth.

“Yes, she’s beautiful.” But he wasn’t talking about the bike.

He wanted to kiss her. The impulse thrummed through him, and all of a sudden it was all he could think about. Would she kiss him back?

He let his lips meet hers, tantalizing, tasting, seeking approval. And she gave it by pushing her lithe body up against his as her hand snaked around the back of his neck, pulling his mouth down harder onto hers. She was everything he’d imagined. There was a hint of smoke in her kiss as she invited him in with her tongue. There was no hesitation, she knew what she wanted and was taking it. They melded together, closer and closer, as if one, the bike forgotten—everything else forgotten except each other.

Finally, she drew back, panting slightly as she stared into his face.

“I think I should go. I need to get some sleep.” And just like that, she was gone, and he was left on his own, standing in the small shed.

That kiss had blown his mind. It took a few minutes to compose himself and head back down the hill to the homestead.

Levi spent the rest of the night in his car. Watching over Cat’s cabin. She would hate it if she knew he was there. But he needed to know she was safe.

Chapter 5

CAT

The rumble of the motorcycle engine felt good between her knees. Her headlight cut a swath down the dark road, the fir trees crowded in on each side, tall, lurking shadows, almost as if she were riding down a long tunnel.

Freedom, that’s what she needed. A fresh start, someplace no one knew her. It was way past time she left Bitteroot Valley and Stargazer Ranch. It’d already sunk its claws in too deep. Soon it’d be impossible to leave. Especially now that a man with brooding brown eyes the color of the earth kept intruding into her thoughts.

And that kiss… She dare not even go there. That’d been two days ago, and she could still feel his lips on hers.

Darkened houses began to appear on each side of the road as she came to the outskirts of Stevensville, the town still slumbering in the early hours before dawn. She slowed the bike and tried to hold her impatience in check. Once she was through the town, she could open up the throttle and let the bike go, take her wherever the road led next. The note she’d left for Dean sat, white and pristine on her kitchen table. It explained everything, that she had to go, that she was sorry she was leaving him short-handed, but to say goodbye to Big Tom and Emily for her.

Cat avoided Main Street, winding her way through the back roads instead, not wanting to announce her leaving. Nothing moved out here in the outskirts of town; it was dark and quiet. Suddenly, it struck her. Going this way would take her close to Levi’s house. He’d told her where he lived the other night as they’d talked, proud he was able to afford his own rental property, even run down and old as it was. The same night he’d spent in his car, watching over her like some kind of personal bodyguard. That was one more reason she had to leave.

Was it her subconscious driving her towards him, even when all she wanted was to run away? She almost changed direction. But that would be silly, she was nearly through town. No, she would ride right past and keep on going.

Cat kept her eyes fixed on the bright spot in the road in front, ignoring the hulking shapes of the houses as she passed. But she couldn’t help herself. It was as if her hand had a mind of its own, and she loosened her grip on the throttle, letting the bike slow. Levi’s house was somewhere at the end of the street. She pulled over and came to a stop a hundred meters or so from where she thought it might be. What was she doing? She should be running away from this guy, not toward him. He stirred something deep inside her, but it was something she didn’t want to think about.

Not wanting to disturb the neighbors, she flicked off her headlight and sat there, contemplating her next move.

Drive right by. That’s what she needed to do. There was absolutely no way she should stop in and say goodbye.

The sound of an engine starting in the distance had her lifting her head sharply. Then a car came flying out of a driveway up ahead with no headlights on. There was a thunk, like metal on metal. Had the car hit something? It headed away from her, turning the corner at the end of the road, taking it too fast, making the tires squeal on the tarmac. Bloody idiot. What were they thinking, driving like a maniac in the dark? It was lucky she’d stopped when she had, or they might’ve hit her, driving so recklessly. The car was big, the size of a large pickup. But that’s all she could tell in the dark.

A flicker of light caught her eye.

What was that?

Another flicker.

Then an orange glow came through the trees. Was that a fire?

Her heart suddenly lurched in her chest.

Levi’s house.

She kicked the bike back into life and hurtled down the road, stopping at the driveway where she’d seen the glow. It was too dark to see the number on the letterbox, but she had no doubt this was where Levi lived. She remembered him telling her it was an old clapboard house with a high gable roof, made of timber. It would burn easily.

Now she was level with the house, she could see it clearly. The front porch and part of the lean-to garage was alight, hungry flames spreading up the outside of the house, even as she stopped and stared.

Levi.

Was he still inside?

She had to check. Dragging her helmet off, she left her bike on its kickstand and ran towards the burning building.

“Levi,” she shouted. “Are you in there?”

There was no answer.

Shit. She pulled out her phone, dialing 9-1-1 while she looked for a way to get around the back of the house as she hurriedly conveyed her details to the dispatcher. Long weeds and overgrown bushes blocked her path. Squeezing past an old, rickety gate, she found a path down the side and raced to find a back door.

But when she bounded up the steps, the back door was locked. She pounded her fist, banging loudly and calling his name.

Again, there was no answer.

Time was running out. She could see the flames rising above the roof at the front of the house. Greedy, hungry flames, eating the house alive. It was going up like a tinder box. How many times was she going to have to rush into a burning building this week?

There was a window to the left of the porch, and she looked around for something to smash it with. The shape of an old lawn chair caught her eye in the gloom, and she picked it up with a grunt of exertion, carrying it over her head, then launching it at the window. She covered her face as pieces of glass rained down on her. Then smoke poured out, escaping through the hole. Pulling her red bandana up over her nose and mouth, she drew in a deep breath of clean air. At least she had on her leather biker’s jacket and gloves to give her protection.

The window was high, and she had to pull herself up and swing a leg over the windowsill, sweeping the remaining glass shards out of the way as she did so.

It was pitch black when she finally landed inside. This time she was at a major disadvantage as she had no knowledge of the house or where she might start looking for Levi.

“Levi,” she screamed. “Are you in here?”

A sudden glow showed her a doorway to her right and she headed for it. Cat decided it must be his spare room, feeling her way around a mound of boxes still filled with all his unpacked belongings. He’d mentioned he hadn’t had much time since moving in to get things sorted.

Through the doorway she turned down a long corridor, and she could see the flames hungrily licking up through what must be the front door. They were already setting the ceiling alight. Surprisingly, there was less smoke out here, and thanks to the flames she could see clearly.

Was that a pair of feet poking out of a doorway close to the end of the corridor?

Levi.

Why was he lying on the ground?

The flames had caught properly and were eating their way across the ceiling, like an upside-down flowing river of fire. Right above those feet.

Cat ducked down and crawled along the wooden floorboards, skidding a little as she hit the floor runner rug, the heat radiating down on her from above.

She reached the booted feet and rounded the corner, to see Levi stretched out on the floor, unconscious.

Shit. How was she going to get him out of here?

“Levi, wake up.” Cat shook his shoulder violently but got no reaction. He was definitely out cold. Going back to his feet, she began tugging, pulling him out of the doorway and into the corridor. But he was heavy. Really heavy. Now she understood the meaning of dead weight.

She pushed and shoved but it seemed to take ages to get him out of the room. The idea of picking him up and throwing him over her shoulder in a fireman’s lift skittered through her brain, but there was no way she was strong enough to do that.

Think, Cat, think.

The hallway runner. It’d slipped on the wooden floor beneath her as she’d crawled in.

Levi was already half-way onto the rug, so she rolled him over, and he landed with a thud on his back. She winced as his head hit the floor, but at least he was on the rug now. The heat pulsing down from the ceiling was becoming unbearable, and it was hard to breathe, the hot air burned her lungs every time she took a breath. Flames had also begun to slide along the right-hand wall of the hallway, and even down near the floor, the smoke was thick and black. But there was no way she was leaving Levi.

Placing her hands on his shoulders, she braced her feet against the floor and pushed with all her might. He moved. She heaved again, and again he moved down the hall, much farther this time.

The heat was so intense on the back of her head, she had to resist the urge to put a hand up and feel her hair, to make sure it wasn’t on fire. Not much farther. The back door was getting closer with every heave. There was a loud crash and a whoosh of boiling air flashed past her. But Cat didn’t dare look around. If the house was collapsing around her, she didn’t want to know.

Concentrating on pushing with all her might, she sucked in deep, smoky breaths. Her legs were beginning to shake with exertion, and sweat ran freely down her face and back.

Suddenly, she stopped abruptly, not able to push Levi any farther. She looked up, sweat and smoke stinging her eyes. They’d reached the back door; his feet were shoved up against the wooden frame. Not daring to stand up as the flames shot overhead, she crawled to the door and turned the latch and the door swung miraculously outwards.

“Help me,” she croaked, tugging at Levi’s feet, trying to drag him over the threshold and down the back steps. Then someone was there, helping her pull Levi, gentle hands lifting him down the steps and carrying him away from the burning building, toward the edge of the back yard.

Cat sat down in the long grass next to him, laying Levi’s head in her lap and breathed, in and out. In and out.

The sound of sirens rang out around the house, and people milled in the yard, probably neighbors coming to see if they could help. Someone passed her a bottle of water and she took it gratefully, draining it nearly dry.

Using her bandana, she wet one corner and rubbed it over Levi’s face. He groaned at her touch. She’d never been gladder to hear anyone utter a sound in her life.

Chapter 6

LEVI

Levi held the icepack to the side of his head. It throbbed like a thousand hammers were beating inside his brain. And it hurt to breathe, his throat was so dry and raspy.

But he was alive.

Thanks to Cat.

He glanced sideways and caught her staring at his smoking ruin of a house. They both had their backs propped against the fence, sitting in the long grass, watching the mayhem in his back yard. Firefighters hosed down the last of the dying embers. White smoke filled the early dawn sky above them, blocking out the rising sun. The local sheriff, Hank, and his deputy were talking to some of his neighbors from across the road. At least he thought they were his neighbors. Only having lived here for a little over a week, he’d hardly had time to meet anyone. More people were standing around, gawking. But here by the fence, it was like he and Cat were in their own little isolated bubble, while the hustle and bustle went on all around.

A shaft of morning light broke through the smoke and lit up Cat’s face. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone more beautiful. Her short, blonde hair was spiked up at all angles, but it gave her face an even more angelic look. Eyes so blue they were like a piece of fine sea glass, so light they were almost translucent. And that long, slender neck had his lips itching to kiss the soft skin in the hollow beneath her collar bone.

His mind wandered back to two nights ago. When they’d kissed. He wanted to kiss her again. Badly.

She glanced over and caught him staring. The corner of her mouth twitched up in a half-smile. “Now we’re even.”

It took him a second to figure out what she meant.

“I didn’t need rescuing. I was fine,” he retorted, trying to keep a straight face. But he couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his lips as she glared at him.

“You were not bloody fine,” she blustered. “You were unconscious. You would’ve died if it weren’t for me.”

She was right, of course. But he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. Not right now. Later, he’d tell her he owed her his life. But he was enjoying throwing her own words back in her face.

“I was fine,” he repeated. “Just like you were fine in that burning cabin.”

She opened her mouth to snap out a feisty retort, but then something flickered in her eyes and she shut it again. He loved that smart mouth of hers. But he also loved that he’d rendered her speechless.

“All right, I’ll admit it. Perhaps I did need your help the other day.” Her voice was low and quiet, and she sounded like a sulky child, but he’d take any kind of apology from her. “But don’t you dare tell anyone I said that.” She glared at him. God, she was even beautiful when she was mad.

“Then perhaps I should thank you for rescuing me, too.”

He looked into her eyes and found he couldn’t look away. The icepack dropped from his hand, his fingers instead gently brushing her cheek. She stilled beneath his touch. Suddenly his pounding head was the last thing on his mind.

This time he didn’t ask for permission, his lips found hers, soft at first, tasting the smoke still lingering on her skin. His other hand snaked around the waistband of her jeans, pulling her closer. Hell, he wanted to pull her into his lap and lose himself in her for hours. If only his back yard weren’t full of people. At that thought, he drew back slightly, watching as her tongue came out to taste where his lips had been.

Then she seemed to remember all the people as well and moved to lean against the fence once more.

“Did you get a look at the person who did this?” she asked.

He grimaced. “Yes, I did.” Should he tell her? It was going to get out soon enough anyway. “I’m sorry, Cat, but it was Clayton.”

She narrowed her eyes, her lips thinning. “Are you sure?”

Levi nodded. “He was going to hit me from behind, but something made me turn around. I saw him, looked him right in the eye a split second before he hit me with a baseball bat.”

Her eyes flicked to the large lump visible along his hairline and she winced. “I’m sorry. It’s a damn good thing you’ve got a hard head.”

“Yes, it is,” he laughed. But there was more she needed to know. The sheriff had spoken to him a little while ago, and when Levi told him who had hit him, he’d given him some interesting news. “Hank said one of his deputies called in a wrecked truck, left abandoned over on Hillsborough Road.”

“Let me guess,” Cat said slowly. “The truck belongs to Clayton.”

“Got it in one. But he’s nowhere to be found.”

“Well, he’d better not come anywhere near me,” Cat growled. “Because I don’t take kindly to traitorous bastards.”

Levi had to smile at the menacing tone in her voice. But this was serious. Clayton had tried to kill him, and he was out there somewhere, on the loose. He had no idea why he’d been targeted. There must be a connection to the fires over at Stargazer Ranch, and he was going to have a chat with Dean as soon as he could. And he was also going to make damn sure he kept a close eye on Cat, as well. Cat wouldn’t like the extra protection he had in mind.

Which made him suddenly wonder. “What were you doing here so early in the morning?”

“Just out for a ride. I couldn’t sleep.”

He knew she was lying. “You weren’t leaving town? Without saying goodbye? Were you?”

“Nope.” She stared him down, daring him to contradict her.

“So, you’re staying, then? You and your motorcycle?”

“Yes, I like it here. And you need someone to watch your back. I can’t leave you alone for even one second, it seems.”

He’d never met anyone quite like Cat before. She was prickly and obstinate, wore her tattoos and piercings like some form of armor. But she was also pure of heart. And brave. Courageous. There weren’t many women who would rush into a burning building, ignore the danger to themselves to save a life. There was something about her that couldn’t be denied. Something that called to him. A door in his heart he’d thought had been locked up tight long ago, cracked open a little more every time she gave him that smile. The one you might wait days for, but when it came, it lit up the whole room. The whole world. When she smiled like that, his chest ignited, felt like it was on fire, flaming so hot, like his burning house.

He liked her, he couldn’t deny it. He wanted to find out more about her. And she liked him, he could see it in the dark flash of her pupils as he leaned in to kiss her. Feel it in the way she responded to his lips.

“I’m glad you’re staying.” He let his mouth brush the curve of her ear as he whispered the words. She shivered beneath the touch of his breath.

“So am I,” she said, laying a hand on his chest, right above his pounding heart, giving him a slow, seductive smile. “So am I.”

About Suzanne Cass

Suzanne Cass is an Australian author who writes rural romance and romantic suspense abounding with passion and danger.

Her debut novel, Island Redemption, won the Romance Writers of Australia (RWA) Emerald Award for the best unpublished romance manuscript in 2016. Glass Clouds, was also a finalist in the 2019 Romance Writers of Australia RUBY (Romantic Book of the Year) Awards in the romantic suspense category.

When not writing about the characters that inhabit her head, Suzanne can be found roaming the Perth beaches with her border collie, or encouraging from the sidelines as her two sons play sport.

Visit Suzanne’s website or subscribe to her newsletter.

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Also by Suzanne Cass

Island Bound Series

Books can be read as stand-alone

Bound by Truth

Bound by Silence

Bound by the Stars

Colors of the Earth Series

Books can be read as stand-alone

Shadows in the Dust

Shadows in Deep Blue

Shadows of Red Earth

Romantic Suspense

Single Title

Island Redemption

Glass Clouds

Chasing Bullets

Whiskey Love by Maria Vickers

Chapter 1

Mavis

Mavis looked around her room and almost scoffed. Her room? Hardly. Her parents had basically sold her to the highest bidder, and her wedding loomed on the horizon. In less than twenty-four hours, she would be a married woman to the weak-willed, no backbone, rich wannabe mama’s boy, Jack Moore. She shuddered in disgust, sticking her tongue out as if she might throw up.

How had this happened? How had she, the most eligible debutante in all of California, attracted such…filth? It wasn’t his station. She couldn’t care less about how much money his family had or where he lived. What she cared about was his attitude and the way he looked down upon anyone and everyone, as if he was better than them, and he was far from that. His family, he included, had clawed and scratched their way up from the dregs of society, each generation climbing a little higher than the one before, turning their backs on who they were, where they came from, and even their own family. They only cared about themselves, each and every one of them, and it sickened Mavis.

Throwing another blouse into her bag with a whispered growl, she stomped her foot and froze, waiting for any signs of life to awaken and burst through her door. But they didn’t; the house remained blessedly silent, and she remained safe for now. She needed to hurry, though, because knowing her father, the peaceful stillness of the house would be broken within the next couple of hours, and she wanted to be long gone by then.

Was she prepared to jilt her groom, to throw away her money and her family? Yes. A million times, yes.

Her gaze searched the room for anything else that would be essential. She couldn’t take it all, but she could take things that would help her start her new life as Sierra Hooten, orphan and…well, she hadn’t come up with a job yet, but she was working on it. She had skills. From the age of fifteen, she could mix almost any drink, including those it was less than polite to mention, typed more than fifty words a minute, and could run a profitable company. Mavis’ grandparents always wanted her to have skills to survive, and they made sure she got her education, much to the chagrin of her mother.

In fact, they hated Jack as much as Mavis, which further begged the question as to why her parents had chosen him for her. At best, he was a stuck-up prig with a stick shoved up his derriere, and at worst, he was a money-hungry charlatan who desired only one thing from her.

Grabbing her robe, she scanned her dressing table to figure out what else to take when a knock at the door had her squealing. Her feet got tangled in the long silky material, twisting up around her ankles and toppling her to the ground. She groaned as her door swung open. Standing there, catching her in the act of running away, was none other than her beloved grandmother. Well, good news, Grandma Abbie was more likely to help her pack and give her train money than she was to scold her for her actions.

Shutting the door quickly, Abbie shook her head and helped her granddaughter to her feet. “I thought you might try something. You okay, Chickpea?”

Mavis smiled at the nickname her grandmother had given her the day she came screaming into the world, or so her grandfather said. Getting up slowly, she groaned when her right ankle protested, causing her to fall again with a grunt. “Da—”

“Mavis Jolene Garnet!” her grandmother chastised.

“I didn’t say it,” Mavis grumbled.

“You were thinking it and almost did, that’s just as bad.”

Narrowing her eyes, Mavis tilted her head to the side and licked her lips. “Oh, really?”

Suddenly, the older woman laughed so hard, she sank to the floor beside her granddaughter. “Fine. I can’t keep up the pretense, but you need to keep that behind your teeth in this house. You know how your parents are. Although, I’m not sure how your mother ended up like that considering how she grew up.”

Mavis leaned her head against Abbie’s shaking shoulder and sighed heavily. “Why the hell did they do this?”

“Not sure, Chickpea, but they did. Jack isn’t so bad,” her grandmother said, and Mavis saw how she tried to hide her grimace.

“He’s stubborn and just wants my money.”

“Well, that’s where he is going to have some issues. Your father gets a salary from the company, but everything is going to you. You can choose what you want to do with it. As for the wedding…” Abbie’s words trailed off as she wrapped one arm around her favorite granddaughter. “Maybe you are a means to his end. Not everything is as it seems, Chickpea.”

“You’re going to tell me I need to go through with it, aren’t you?” Mavis grumbled, her shoulders slumping.

“I’m…Chickpea, let me tell you a story, and then you can make your own decision.”

“Is this about growing up in the mountains and living in the shack?”

Shaking her head, Abbie kissed the top of Mavis’s blonde head and pushed her away. “Not really.”

“Is this about the time when you had to shoot the trespasser and protect Uncle Samuel?”

Abbie snickered. “No.”

Rolling her eyes, Mavis carefully extracted herself from the robe and used one of the posters on her bed to pull herself off of the floor. She put a little bit of weight on her foot to test it, wincing as she did so. Instead of attempting to escape, she sat on her bed and pulled her hurt foot up to massage it. Maybe if she indulged her grandmother, the older woman would help her out the front door and into a taxi or something, or even drive her to the station.

“I’m going to tell you a story about a woman who defied the odds and survived, and then you can decide for yourself what you will do with your life. If you still want to run away, I’ll help you and even give you enough money to keep you going.” Abbie winked and sat down next to Mavis on the bed.

Mavis stuck her hand out and shook her grandmother’s hand. “Deal.”

“A few years back—”

“Only a few?” Mavis snickered.

Abbie flicked her granddaughter’s arm. “Stop interrupting, and let me say what I need to say.”

Sweeping her arm around in front of her in a grand flourish, Mavis said, “Please, continue.”

“I will, Miss Smarty Pants.” Abbie paused and tapped her finger on her chin.

Mavis had always loved this woman and spent as much time with her as possible when she was growing up. While she loved her parents, her grandparents understood her like no one else. Around them, she could be a free spirit and speak her mind, her manners left at the threshold of her grandmother’s home. Now, she looked at Abbie Chambers, really looked, and for the first time, noticed how old she had gotten through the years. Wrinkles she didn’t have when Mavis was a young girl lined her face, and her long hair that had once been as red as the sunrise was now pulled back into a graying braid. Her grandmother had aged, and Mavis didn’t know when it had happened. “Tell me everything, Grandma,” Mavis whispered, leaning into the older woman once again and lacing their fingers together.

Chapter 2

Abbie

1916

Life had changed. No longer were the saloons open, selling beer or other spirits, no longer were men staggering around town drunk in public, and no longer was Abbie’s family living a comfortable life. Their bar had been sold the year before, and her father had struggled to find work since. Prohibition. They said it was for the good of the territory, but they were wrong. Her family wasn’t better for prohibition, and it was only a matter of time before other territories followed.

Abbie was only sixteen, but she’d been working to help the family since she was eleven and could carry a tray and deliver drinks to customers in her family’s bar. Prohibition changed all of that. Now, instead of delivering alcohol, she helped her mother launder clothes and linens for the residents of Denver.

“Abbie, have you finished ironing the blouses for Mrs. Shavers?” Loretta, Abbie’s mother, called out from another room in their small four-room house. Living room, kitchen, two bedrooms…and sometimes it felt even tinier than that.

Rolling her eyes, Abbie quietly groaned in the kitchen. She wasn’t sure why her mother yelled when merely a wall separated them.

“Abbie?” her mother shouted.

“Yes, Mama. The last blouse was just finished,” Abbie answered, placing the last item on the pile next to her and setting the iron on the hot plate.

Loretta bustled into the room and inspected the pile before collecting the items and floating away as quickly as she had appeared. A moment later, Abbie heard the front door open and close, which meant she had a brief reprieve from laboring.

Sitting in a chair at the dining table, she scanned the room. After her father sold the bar and the only home she had ever known since their apartment was above the establishment, he found them this small house on the outskirts of the city. Abbie had thought moving into a house meant it would be larger than their previous lodging. It wasn’t. It lacked warmth. Yes, she had her family, and they loved each other, but this house was not her home. One day, things would change, and she would have her home back.

The front door slammed open, and Hamish, her father, yelled, “Abbie!”

Here we go again, Abbie complained inwardly as she plastered on a smile. “Yes, Papa? I’m in the kitchen.” She pretended to be busy when her father appeared in the doorway. He’d been struggling, and she wished to do what she could to ease his burdens.

When she looked up and saw him, her heart sank. His hands were strangling his hat, and sweat poured off of him like a waterfall. Had something happened? “Papa?”

“Abbie Girl, I…” He stopped and swallowed hard.

Abbie’s anxiety rose, and she pushed passed him, yelling, “Samuel?” Her brother was half her age and had been in the front yard the last she saw him a couple of hours ago.

“He went with your mother to deliver the laundry,” Hamish Murphy said, a tremor in his voice.

Slowly, Abbie spun around, her body tense and on guard. “What is going on, Papa?”

“Abbie Girl…” He swallowed hard again, opened his mouth, and snapped it shut. Nothing, not even a sound escaped.

“Say what you need to say, old man!” she snapped, her patience running out, and she didn’t feel guilty for her outburst. Her father, who stood over six feet, looked small and terrified with his black hair and beard drenched with sweat. Selling the bar had been a hard blow, and since then, he’d lost himself. Hamish Murphy no longer seemed the large, imposing giant. Now, he appeared as nothing more than an ordinary man.

Jumping, Hamish teetered back one step and then another before righting himself. He cleared his throat, stood up straight, dropped his hands to his sides, and met his daughter’s gaze. “You are to marry Nathan Chambers,” he declared.

Abbie felt as if she’d been punched in her gut. Married? While many of her friends from her school days were married already, she never expected her father to do something like this. Not when she still mourned the one man she would ever love. Elvin Sanderson had died only six months prior in a logging accident. They’d planned on marrying, her father approving the match only the week before. And then her world came crashing down. Somehow, she picked up the pieces and moved on; she had to since she needed to help her family. She fell apart when alone, and showed a brave face around others. Inside, she died the day Elvin went to be with the angels.

And now this? How could her father do this to her? It was too soon. Too much. Too hard.

Nathan Chambers? He and his family lived in the woods, surrounded by trees and no people. She hadn’t realized her father even knew him or his kin.

“Papa,” Abbie croaked. Her throat felt tight, and she couldn’t breathe. Falling into the chair next to her, she wrapped her arms around her middle. In the distance, she heard someone scream, or was that her?

“Forgive me, but one less mouth to feed means one less person to worry about…” His words drifted off.

Abbie could barely hear over the pounding and thundering of her heart. “Why?”

“We had to, and it might be the best for you as well,” Hamish told her, stepping close to her side and laying his hand on her shoulder. “I am truly sorry for this.”

His steps moved away from her, disappearing up the stairs.

Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her head and breathed in deeply, wiping her tears away. For the best? Not likely, but she would do what was expected of her like she always did.

Chapter 3

Abbie

With no courtship, no wooing, no love, Abbie married Nathan Chambers at the age of sixteen and moved out of her family’s house and into another. A one-room cabin located less than a hundred feet from his parents’, deep in the woods toward the top of a mountain. It had taken two horses and a mule to help them to their destination; no wagon would have reached this remote place.

She looked around the homestead and shivered. She was well and truly alone now. A cabin, an outhouse out back, and nothing else except the trees and dirt.

“This way,” Nathan said, untying her bags from the mule.

He led the way inside, and Abbie had to hide her grimace. The three windows were dirty and brown, as was the floor. On the back wall was a wood-burning stove and shelves holding what appeared to be the essentials. To her left was a bed, and to her right, a rocking chair plus a table and two other chairs. It was simple, but they didn’t need much to survive.

“It is…” Before she could force herself to say anything else, he walked out and left her standing in the middle of the room alone.

Peering through the door, she noticed him unloading the remaining packages containing food and other items from the mule. This was now her house. She couldn’t bring herself to say home because hers sat above the saloon her father used to own. Her home would have been with Elvin, not with Nathan. Until three days ago, she’d only seen Nathan or his family in passing, never speaking anything beyond good morning or good day.

A loud thump caused her to jump and spin around, her hand covering her chest. Nathan dropped the last bag on the floor by the door and shut it, throwing the whole cabin into darkness. The flicker of a tiny flame followed the scraping sound of a match rubbing against flint and the smell of sulfur. Nathan lit a lamp, and the glow bathed the room in light.

“I have to help my pa with a few things tonight. Make yourself at home. You can put your things in the cabinet there.” He pointed to his left, and she looked, her gaze landing on a small wardrobe she had missed before. It was by no means the fine furniture she’d had before, but it appeared functional.

“Thank you,” she squeaked, her voice strangled.

Nodding, he turned to leave but stopped before he opened the door. “I realize this all must have been a surprise to you and rushed, and I reckon we don’t know each other much. I won’t touch you for now. You don’t have to worry. I know you were betrothed to Elvin Sanderson.”

“How did you—” She furrowed her brow and studied the man only a couple of inches taller than her with his dark brown hair and even deeper brown eyes. His skin was tanned, his hands calloused. So opposite from Elvin, who’d been blond and towered over her by at least a foot.

“It wasn’t a secret. For what it’s worth, I am happy you’re here, and I think we can get along just fine. Once we get to know each other more, once you get yourself settled, then I’ll have you.”

Nathan rushed out the door, and her jaw hung open.

Chapter 4

Abbie

As much as Abbie wished it wouldn’t—life continued. The sun still rose and set opposite of the moon, and she toiled away, keeping house and collecting firewood. During the day, she tried to entertain herself while her husband disappeared at the break of dawn, not returning until the night was almost falling on their little cabin. Any time she asked him where he went, Nathan grunted in response and gave her no other answer.

Until…

She’d lost count of her days and couldn’t find it in herself to care. In town, living with her parents, she’d been busy and constantly had something to do, whether it be helping her mother cook for the family or launder clothes for the people in town. Sometimes she even volunteered at the hospital. Here, she swept a clean floor, cooked for no one except herself, and laundered the few items her husband wore. Abbie longed for action and adventure, for love. In the end, she got boring, boring, and a loveless union. If she knew it wouldn’t reflect poorly on her parents, and if she knew precisely where she was on this godforsaken mountain, she’d run away to find a better life. More than once, she packed her bag, strode a hundred yards and stopped to attempt to get her bearings. It all looked the same. Left, right, forward, backward, she was surrounded by trees, leaves, and nothing else.

When she could stand it no more and decided to get off the mountain or die trying, she packed her bag yet again and jumped when Nathan rushed in. The door had been thrown open with such force, it crashed into the wall and bounced off, sounding as if a tree fell to the ground hard.

Nathan searched the room, his eyes landing on her, momentarily widening when they locked onto the bag at her feet.

“Nathan, I—”

“No time. Come on,” he snapped, marching over to her. She had to bite back the squeak of pain when he grabbed her arm and began dragging her out of the house.

“What happened?” she demanded. Nathan wouldn’t be treating her like this if there wasn’t a reason, not that it was right either way.

“Come,” he grunted and continued to pull her.

Digging in her heels, she ripped her arm out of his grasp, and almost fell doing so. Nevertheless, she refused to be treated like this any further. “Tell me what happened,” she seethed. Yes, he probably had his reasons, but this secrecy, when they were surrounded by nothing except nature, irked her.

Nathan yanked his worn hat off his head and shoved his fingers through his hair. One minute, he seemed agitated yet calm, and the next, he threw his hat down to the ground and growled, his chest heaving with every breath. Right now, he appeared to be more animal than man, and for a brief second, she found herself afraid.

Turning his back to her, he did not say anything for a few minutes. Slowly, he spun around, meeting her eyes as he did so. “It’s Pa,” he stated simply.

“Pa? What happened?” Abbie knew Nathan worked with his father doing something, even if she didn’t know what they did with their days, and other than a handful of visits over the last three months that could be counted on one hand, she hardly saw her in-laws. Truthfully, not a day went by when her husband didn’t leave her during the day. Some days, it was only for a few hours, and some he was gone from sun up to sunset.

“He…” Nathan breathed in. “There was an accident. Ma is working on him, but she needs help. Bo was hurt too, but not bad,” he explained. Bo? Had his brother been there too? She thought he was dealing with some business in town. That was what she’d been told the night before.

Her head was swimming. Lifting her hand, she pressed her cool fingers to her warm forehead.

“Come on!” Nathan snapped, grabbing her hand to haul her with him. This time, she did not resist. Instead, she ran to keep up with him.

She tried to turn toward his parents’ cabin, but he pulled her in another direction, confusing her. Wasn’t there an accident? Wouldn’t they have taken his father home? What in God’s name had happened, and where?

“This way,” he ordered, not bothering to say anything else.

Together, they continued to rush through the woods, moving upward and to the east. Abbie had to run to keep up with him while preparing herself for the worst, praying it wasn’t as bad as Nathan hinted.

On the verge of demanding he slow his pace, that she couldn’t continue when she wasn’t used to climbing and running at the same time, he slowed and pointed. “Over here.”

Abbie searched the area, unsure of where he indicated. It didn’t take long for her to take in the scene before her. Smoke billowed from a cave, black soot covered the ground and the rock at the entrance, and there were small patches of leaves and pine needles that were still burning. The faint hint of alcohol lingered in the air.

She continued to scan the area until she spotted her father-in-law lying on the ground, his wife hovering over him while she tried to patch him up. “Jesus!” Abbie exclaimed, yanking her hand from Nathan’s and scurrying over to the older couple. The closer she got, the more pungent the smell, and it caused her eyes to burn.

Skidding to a stop, she dropped beside her mother-in-law, Emily, and assessed the damage to the strong, quiet man on the ground. His face was black, burns covered him, peeking out through holes that had been ripped into his clothes. “What happened?”

“Our still exploded,” Bo answered immediately, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked much like Nathan, except he was half a foot taller and had hazel eyes.

“Bo!” Emily hissed.

Dropping his arms, Bo kicked a rock and yelled, his voice echoing off the rocks and cave. When he stopped, he panted, out of breath, and growled, “What? You don’t want her to know what we’re up to? Who is she going to tell? Her father? She hasn’t seen him since the wedding! Her friends? Unless chipmunks can talk, I think our secret is safe. You need her help…we need her help!”

“He’s right, Ma,” Nathan agreed with his brother.

Abbie’s eyes bounced between the three family members, but the argument did nothing to help Norman, her father-in-law. “Enough!” she bellowed. “It doesn’t matter what secrets you carry, we need to help Father!” She’d never felt comfortable with calling him “Pa,” and he would never be her papa, so she settled on calling him Father. “If you can’t be quiet, take your squabble elsewhere!” She met each gaze with a glare, daring them to argue with her.

They nodded silently, probably thinking she’d lost her mind, but Abbie didn’t care one lick about that. She had to help the suffering man, and she would do so with or, if necessary, without them.

Leaning over the man on the ground, she peered into his eyes. He was breathing deeply through his mouth, and any time she brushed against him, he groaned in pain. His body had burns all over, but most weren’t bad. Some had blistered, but the majority had only turned his skin a deep pinkish-red. She’d seen worse from some of the miners whenever they were brought into the hospital. The few areas that were blistering already, though, worried her. They would have to get him back to the cabin to clean his wounds, and that would be painful.

Before she gave the order to move him, she felt his arms and his legs, checking for broken bones. Nothing. “What hurts?” she asked. Abbie realized she should have probably asked that first, especially hearing his groans and growls as she examined him, but it hadn’t occurred to her to do that until after.

“Everything,” Norman snarled through clenched teeth. “It burns.”

If she could knock him out, she would. He was in pain, and things were going to get worse before they got better. “Anything else?” Abbie didn’t really know what she was doing, but she used to volunteer and knew how to bandage wounds and what to look for…some things to look for. None of the bones felt broken, but he had a lump on the back of his head that could be problematic. He needed to be moved, though.

Wiping her hands on her skirt, Abbie got to her feet and looked around, finding the other three standing behind her. A cursory scan of Bo found a little blood on his cheek as well as a sooty face and clothes, but he was standing without assistance and moving around normally.

“How are you?” she questioned her brother-in-law.

“A little bruised and beaten up, but I’m fine. How’s Pa?”

“He’ll be fine. We need to get him back home. I’ll need both of you to help carry him.” Abbie couldn’t trust the others to take charge, so she continued to give orders. “Carefully, Bo, you take one arm, and Nathan, you take the other. Lift him to his feet. We’ll move slowly, but we need to get him away from here.”

Nathan looked over his shoulder and sighed. “What are we going to do? We are supposed to—”

Emily cut him off, “Nathan!”

Abbie noticed the way her husband flinched yet stood his ground. Narrowing her eyes, she fisted her hands and faced her mother-in-law. “I don’t care what you are or are not doing. I also do not care whether it is or is not illegal. Although, if you have a still, I already know what you are doing because my father used to make whiskey when he had the tavern. If you are more concerned with keeping your secret from your own kin than helping your husband, that’s fine. Do what you want, but you will not talk to Nathan like that. Stay out of my way!” She turned her glare on Nathan and Bo, who were standing on either side of Norman. “Grab his arms and lift him slowly. You’ll have to bear the majority of his weight as we get him down to the cabin.”

It was a flurry of activity once they got Norman back to the cabin. Without waiting for Emily, once her father-in-law was on the bed, sitting up with the aid of his sons, Abbie unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off of him. His back was clear of burns and other injuries, except for the knot on the back of his head. His arms and chest had taken the brunt of the burns. Cleaning him had not been easy, but it had been necessary.

After Abbie finished, she requested, “Mother, do you have honey?”

“Are you baking bread?” Emily scoffed.

Spinning around, Abbie folded her arms over her chest and tapped her foot without realizing it. “No, my mother used to apply honey to my burns, and it helped to heal them. If you don’t have any, Na—”

“Don’t bother,” Emily huffed as she moved to the stove and grabbed a jar off of a shelf.

Abbie gently spread the honey in a thin layer over the pinked skin and blisters. “That’s all we can do. He should recover. The wind was knocked out of him. Just keep an eye on him, and if there are any issues, we may need to fetch the doctor.” She didn’t wait to hear anything her mother-in-law had to say and moved to leave.

The moment she was about to step out of the open door, she heard, “Thank you, Abbie.”

Since Emily couldn’t see her, Abbie smiled and said, “You’re welcome.”

Bo and Nathan caught up to her a few feet from their parents’ cabin. “You need to know,” Nathan spoke in hushed tones.

“Know what?” she inquired, not stopping.

Nathan looked at Bo, so Abbie followed his gaze and saw Bo nod.

“We can talk at home,” Nathan said, his hand brushing hers.

Something told Abbie this was going to surpass anything she could imagine.

Chapter 5

Abbie

The story Abbie heard stupefied her. Bootleggers. She knew they had an illegal still, but they supplied liquor to people all over the state, including the notorious Guissepi “John” Roma. Prohibition had only been a law for a few short months, but her new family had been making and supplying spirits for almost a decade, alcohol that was highly sought after, even more so now that the government had banned liquor.

And their still had exploded, their newest batch destroyed. With their father injured, it was up to them to fix everything, but their pa had been the one to build it.

Standing to her feet after listening to their confession, Abbie demanded, “Take me to it.” She knew trying to find it on her own would be impossible.

Bo looked at Nathan, and she wanted to groan in frustration as she watched them communicate silently. Finally, Nathan told his brother, “We’ll take her tomorrow. Bo, can you leave us?”

Abbie lifted her eyebrow in question, and Bo chuckled. “Even if we took you tonight, we couldn’t do much. The sun is setting soon.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “You did good today. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she mumbled. Bo was right, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to get started on surveying the damage.

After his brother left, Nathan ventured, “Were you leaving?” He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets.

Tilting her head to the side, Abbie frowned. “Pardon?”

He nodded toward her bag on the floor. “Where are you going?”

A blush heated her cheeks, and she darted a look to her bag by the bed. In truth, she had planned to leave Nathan, to walk away from this life and him because she was tired of living in solitary confinement. Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her chin and declared, “I planned on visiting my family.”

“On foot?” His lips lifted on one side, and he appeared to be fighting a smile.

“Of course. How else was I supposed to get there? I don’t know what you did with the mule or the horses.” She would stand her ground.

“They are in the barn at my parents’ cabin.” He sighed. “Were you going alone? Without telling me?”

“I didn’t think you would notice my absence,” Abbie snapped, and unable to hold his stare, she dropped her gaze to the floor. It wasn’t true. While he may not have touched her as a husband would his wife, he sat with her, ate with her, and had made an effort to teach her about him as he learned about her. He would have noticed, and if she were honest, he would miss her. Would she miss him, though? He’d become a friend over the last few months, but love? She didn’t love him. Not yet. If things continued the way they were, if she got to know him more, she could find herself falling in love for the second time in her life, and that terrified her. She wouldn’t survive another loss like Elvin.

She didn’t notice him move, didn’t realize that he stood mere inches from her until she lifted her head. Gasping, Abbie stepped backward and would have fallen if not for Nathan catching her.

Cupping her cheek, he whispered, “I would have missed you.”

His face moved closer, his lips a hair’s breadth away from hers. Abbie couldn’t breathe, and her mouth suddenly felt parched. Closing her eyes, she waited only to feel his retreat.

“If you really want to return to your parents’ home, I will take you tomorrow.” His voice sounded tight and husky.

Abbie had a decision to make. Did she stay and accept everything that came with it, or did she leave as she planned? “Nathan, I—”

“I’m tired. I am going to wash up while you get dinner ready. I’ll return shortly.” He was out the door before she could say anything.

Had she decided? What was she going to say? She didn’t know.

That night, they went to bed without another word spoken, and for the first time since her marriage, she understood true loneliness.

Chapter 6

Abbie

Unable to sleep the night before, Abbie was up and cooking breakfast before Nathan cracked one eye open. She’d made her decision. She would stay and help them rebuild, which also meant opening herself to Nathan and giving him a real chance. It was a decision she hadn’t made lightly, and as she gathered eggs from the coop, she silently said her goodbyes to Elvin. The time to let go had passed, and she could no longer cling to promises made to a ghost.

When her husband finally woke, scratching his head and yawning when he sat up, she declared, “We have a lot to do and not a lot of time to finish. Get up, get dressed, and eat. I want to be at the still by the time the sun has fully risen.”

“Wh-what?” Nathan stammered.

“We are going to get that still back up and running, and then I am going to make sure you produce the best whiskey you’ve ever tasted.” She smirked.

“Wh-what are you going on about?”

He apparently was having a hard time keeping up with her, and she couldn’t blame him. Her attitude had changed entirely. Instead of viewing her marriage as a punishment, she would see it as a blessing.

“Up, food, dress, still,” she repeated succinctly.

Shaking his head, Nathan rubbed his eyes and looked at her. She smiled. In turn, he rubbed his eyes again, moved over to the washbasin, and splashed water on his face. When he focused on her again, she still smiled and had to hold back her laughter.

“I’m taking you home,” he said with a frown, confusion lacing his words.

“No, you are not. I am staying here and will help your family with your still. Be prepared. Now, move quickly. The sun will be rising soon, and we have a lot to do.” She moved behind him and pushed him toward the small table where she’d already set his plate.

He ate slowly, staring at her as if she had grown two heads and had completely lost her mind. Maybe she had, but that would not stop her. She had plans, big plans.

True to her word, they did get the still up and running again, and when the first batch was ready to sell to one Guissepi Roma a year later, she took charge. Emily had tried to tell Abbie to sit at home and twiddle her thumbs like a good wife, but Abbie had never been one for taking orders. When her parents told her not to climb the tree in Old Lady McBride’s yard, she did it anyway, falling and breaking her arm, but she befriended the elderly widow with her hijinks. When she’d been told not to sip the whiskey her father sold in his pub…well, she could tell the difference between what was good and bad before her father sold the bar. She had supported her family when she could, including following through with the marriage to help them, but that did not mean she was an angelic daughter. Quite the opposite, which an ornery bar patron learned when he tried to rob them, and she pulled her trigger first.

Guissepi Roma had been a friend of her family for years, and she would not be intimidated. Sashaying into his grocery store, Abbie found the man in the back and smiled. “Uncle Guissepi!” she yelled, her arms flung wide.

“Uncle?” Nathan choked.

“Abigail, I heard you were married.” Guissepi kissed Abbie on her cheek before noticing Nathan behind her. “Nathan, I will be with you momentarily.” He focused on Abbie once again. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“Nathan is my husband, and I came to talk business.” Her grin widened as his eyes grew.

“Abigail, why don’t you let us men talk?” Guissepi gently ordered.

Shaking her head, she snickered. “I don’t think so. You will be dealing with me from now on. May we go to your office?”

“Abigail,” he spoke her name in warning.

She leaned in close so that no one could overhear what she had to say. “You know how much you loved Papa’s whiskey? I can promise you ours is better.” Pulling back, she kissed his cheek. “What is your answer? Do we catch up on old times, or are you too busy for my husband and me?”

He narrowed his eyes, but finally relented. “Come.” Passing by a younger version of himself, he said, “Watch the store.”

When Abbie walked out of the store, her arm linked with Nathan’s, she’d successfully negotiated to get double the amount they were before. No one stood in her way.

Chapter 7

Mavis

“Double? Really, Grandma?” Mavis had grown up hearing stories about her grandparents and their illegal still, but to hear how it all began, to hear how their marriage began, shocked her. They’d always been so in love, and she never realized her grandfather had not been the older woman’s first love.

“Double.” Abbie nodded her head once.

“Wasn’t Guissepi Roma a notorious mob boss who was known as John Roma?”

Abbie grinned. “He was, but he always had a soft spot for me, Chickpea. Not sure why.”

“So, no cement shoes, no being gunned down, nothing like that?” Mavis questioned, intrigued.

“Well, your great-grandmother shot her toe off, but that was an accident. She was an idiot who didn’t need to be handling a gun. She thought she was scaring a trespasser and scared herself.”

“Is that when Uncle Samuel was visiting?”

“It is. We did have a trespasser, but it was the next day. The damn man was trying to steal one of our horses and had pushed Samuel down when my fool of a brother tried to fight him. When I got there, he was hovering over your uncle. I shot the guy to protect ourselves. Never shoot unless you have to, Chickpea.”

Mavis snorted. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Do you get what I’m telling you?”

“You want me to marry Jack anyway,” Mavis grumbled.

Abbie sighed. “I’m not telling you what you should or should not do. Your mother grew up on that mountain. We had money, made a lot of it selling whiskey when it wasn’t supposed to exist, but we started out with very little. She was my second baby. I had to bury my first, a little boy. Maybe we spoiled her and your Uncle Gavin a little too much because we lost Joseph. They seem to care an awful lot about the money and what will happen to it when your grandfather and I die. She smothers you and is constantly trying to marry you off to gain more prestige. You, my dear Chickpea, are better than that. Go out and change the world. Make it a better place, help people who can’t help themselves, and take risks. Live, child, live.” She cupped her granddaughter’s face, sweeping her thumb over Mavis’ cheek. “Live.”

She loved her grandmother, but she had a decision to make, and Abbie was right about a few things. If she remained with her parents as a single woman—and according to her mother, twenty-one was over the hill—she would constantly be under her mother’s thumb. “Live?” Mavis mumbled.

Meeting Abbie’s eyes, Mavis asked, “What if I can’t stand him after I marry him?”

Abbie shrugged. “So you marry him and then divorce him. You will still get all of the money. Only you. Your mother will have a fit, as will your Uncle Gavin, but it would serve them right.”

“And if I don’t go through with it?”

“You can do anything you want. You are your own person. You set the rules for yourself, Chickpea. I’ve always told you that.”

She studied her grandmother for a few moments before she asked, “Grandma, when did you know you were in love with Grandpa? Were you really over Elvin?”

Abbie drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, her eyes drifting to the window and the cloudless night sky, full of twinkling stars. “Do you ever really get over your first love? I think, instead of getting over him, I let him go and made room in my heart to love your grandfather truly.” She looked at her granddaughter and smiled softly. “We’d been married six months and four days. There was nothing explosive, no big epiphany, I just watched him read while I did some sewing, patching a hole in his shirt, and I knew. It’s a wonder I hadn’t been kicked out on my keister since the day before, I’d gotten into a shouting match with his mother. She told me I should be in the kitchen and keeping house, not getting my hands dirty with menfolk’s work.”

Mavis barked with laughter and quickly covered her mouth, dropping the volume of her mirth. “Sorry,” she whispered. “What happened to her?”

“I basically told her that she had no say because I wasn’t married to her, I was married to her son. Then I told her to suck on a rotten egg. She didn’t appreciate me much. She also said that when I got double the old price for our hooch, she could have gotten triple. Guissepi kept a tight grip on his money. I was lucky he liked me.”

“What about Grandpa Norman?”

Abbie smiled fondly. “He was a good man who loved his sons and me. He healed after the accident and helped us. Sometimes he put his wife in her place, but most of the time, he said it was easier just to let her yap. He loved your mama and your uncle, though. Truth be told, she did too. She softened a bit when I birthed Joseph and mourned his death almost as much as your grandfather and me. The moment your mother was born, she hovered. So, she babysat while I worked. It was the perfect solution. Norman died when your mother was ten and your uncle was seven. Emily lived another decade. I swear she did it out of spite, but like I said, once the kids came, her attitude toward me softened.”

“I wish I would have met them.”

“Me too, Chickpea, me too.”

Mavis noticed her grandmother’s eyes were shiny with tears and watched as the older woman seemed to shake the hold the memories of the past had on her. “Grandma?”

“Yes, Chickpea?”

Sticking out her tongue, Mavis grimaced. “I really don’t want to marry him, but I also don’t want to deal with my mother my whole life. If I run away, I wouldn’t be able to see you.”

“If you think you are getting rid of me that easily, you are mistaken, my dear girl. We will find a way if that is your decision.”

“Then help me pack. I refuse to marry a patsy.” Mavis hopped off her bed and hissed in pain.

“I’ll pack, you sit.” Abbie placed both hands on her granddaughter’s cheeks. “I’m proud of you, Chickpea. You set your own course and follow it. No matter where it takes you, no matter what happens. You live and do what you want.”

When they were done, they quietly moved downstairs, where her grandfather sat with the car running. Sticking his head out the window, he said, “We were hoping you’d be smarter than your mama. Get in! We’ve got to make a break for it.”

Dust flew up when he slammed on the gas, and Mavis was finally free to live. Along the way, she made some mistakes, married the wrong guy a year later, but she still lived and made her mark on the world.

About Maria Vickers

Maria Vickers is an international bestselling author of both gay and straight romance. She currently resides in St. Louis, MO, with her pug, Spencer Tracy. She has always had a passion for writing, and after she became disabled in 2010, she decided to use writing as her escape. She firmly believes that life is about what you make of it; you have to live it to the fullest no matter the circumstances. Getting sick may have changed her life forever, but it also opened doors she thought would always be out of reach.

Growing up in the Navy, she used to weave tales for her siblings and her friends about anything and everything. And when she wasn't creating her own stories, she had a book in her hand. They transported her to another world. With her books, she hopes her readers have the same experience, and that they can relate to her characters.

Join her reader group, Maria’s Love Seekers.

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Also By Maria Vickers

Exposed (Love Seekers, Book 1)

Redeemed (Love Seekers, Book 2)

Claimed (Love Seekers, Book 3)

Siren’s Song

Unbreak Me

Powerful Things by Renee Regent

Chapter 1

Tuesday, Mid-April, near Atlanta, Georgia

The ropes weren’t tight enough.

“Bella, this has to be done right. If I can easily escape, it won’t work. Tighter.”

Rachel Diaz had never been tied to a tree before, but there was a first time for everything. Her younger sister, Bella, had reluctantly agreed to help her with this “crazy stunt” as she’d called it, but only if she could broadcast it live on her various social media pages. Still, that was no reason to do a poor job of it. If Rachel was going to do something, she’d do it right or not at all.

“I’m pulling it as tight as I can. This rope is scratchy.”

Rachel winced as the rope cut into her abdomen. Maybe that soft kind of rope would have been a more comfortable choice, but it wouldn’t hold as well against the rough bark of the tree. Plus, discomfort was part of the bargain—she knew her suffering would only garner more sympathy from the crowds. And that could only help her cause.

“That’s better. For now. We may have to adjust it later.”

She shifted, tugging at her bonds to be sure they held. She was sitting under an old oak tree in Ogelvie Park, waging a protest to save the old tree from destruction. Her goal was to spend each day tied to the tree until the City of Kennesaw Planning and Zoning Commission reversed their decision to cut down several trees and raze a portion of green space in order to expand the nearby parking lot.

Bella stepped back and began taking still shots with her phone’s camera. She walked around the tree, snapping photos from every angle. Rachel watched, making a mental note to use them later in a blog post about her experience. People in the park were watching them, with curious glances and plenty of whispering. One brave soul approached, an older man walking his golden retriever.

“Hey, young ladies. Is this some kind of kinky demonstration? Like for one of them BDMM clubs?”

Rachel stared, irritation beginning to surface. “The proper term is ‘BDSM’ and no. It is not.”

He looked from her to Bella, then glanced around as though looking for a camera crew.

“Is this a stunt for some reality show, then?”

Bella stopped taking photos and stood back. She answered in her softer, more gentle tone.

“My sister is protesting the expansion of the parking lot. The city wants to cut these trees down to make room for a bunch of food trucks.”

“Ah.” The man nodded, smirking. “That’s a noble pursuit. How long is she gonna sit there, do you reckon?”

Rachel spoke up, not reining in her passion for this project one bit. “As long as it takes. I’ll be here every day until they see reason.”

The old man tipped his ball cap to her and tugged at his dog’s leash. “Well, good luck to you, Missy. You’re going to need it.”

“Thanks.” She watched him leave, then looked at Bella, who was shaking her head. Rachel snapped, “What? You were on board with this when I brought it up.”

“I didn’t think you were serious. Every day? Really?”

“Really. Now, start filming. Wait, hand me the signs.”

They had crafted several cardboard signs explaining the purpose of the protest. Rachel would change cards every ten seconds, so that anyone watching the video could read what it was all about. She had a speech prepared and would end the video with her call to action. This “stunt” would be worth it if she could get crowds of people to join in the protest, maybe even sign a petition. She hadn’t thought it through entirely in her excitement to begin, but she was certain this was going to work.

As they began filming, a small crowd gathered. Many were also recording her with their phone cameras. This was good. She stifled a smile, wanting to stay serious. She was all for the idea of food trucks near the park—but somewhere else. She didn’t want any trees cut, but if it had to happen, so be it.

Just not this tree. Her tree.

Even her parents thought she was going a bit overboard with this one. Which made her angry, considering how this particular tree held so many memories for them.

No, she couldn’t let their family history be wiped away to make room for more asphalt. She may indeed be crazy for caring so much, or for believing in silly superstitions.

But hope and dreams were powerful things, and she was going to fight to the bitter end for hers.

Cash Bradford couldn’t believe his luck.

After years of struggling, he was on the edge of something big. With two food trucks and plans to buy another before year’s end, he could finally say he’d made it. The recent victory at Ogelvie Park was a feather in his cap. He’d lobbied hard for the planning and zoning commission and the Parks and Recs people to realize what a boon it would be for the community to have a food truck court at the park. It would attract not only more people to the park but festivals and events too.

If he could work out deals with other parks in the county, or heck, even all over Atlanta, he might need a fleet of trucks. Maybe he could even set up a franchise and have other people run the trucks and pay him for the privilege.

He shook his head as he parked his car, dismissing his dreams of grandeur. He swung his legs out of his seat and stood, stretching. He’d come alone, but this park always reminded him of times he’d spent with an old girlfriend. He and Rachel used to meet here for lunch when she’d worked at her parents’ gift shop, just down the road. A food truck would have come in handy back then. He wondered where she was now and if she still held a grudge over their breakup.

A familiar ache surfaced once again at the thought of Rachel. It was only after he’d left Georgia for good that he realized what a mistake he’d made, leaving her. But he’d had a career to pursue, and that had turned out well. He shook off thoughts of the past. He hadn’t seen her in years, and she’d probably forgotten him by now.

Ogelvie Park was busy for a Tuesday, with joggers and parents watching their children in the playground area. He’d come to scope out the lot and get a feel for how it was going to look once the expansion was done. The announcement had been posted the week before on the Kennesaw’s Planning and Zoning Commission, and the Parks and Recreation websites and social media pages. He’d also announced the news to his followers on his social media channels, hoping to garner enthusiasm for the project. He hadn’t heard anyone say a negative word about it. Most seemed excited to have a convenient food source nearby while they enjoyed the park.

He surveyed the parking lot, making mental notes about the layout. On his phone, he studied the diagram of the proposed expansion. It would take out a good bit of green space, but the park was huge. Losing one little corner and some old trees was worth having a proper food court. Plus, it would add parking spaces, allowing more folks to come to the park. It was a win-win in his mind.

As he made his way back to his car, he noticed a small crowd gathered near a tree. Curiosity grew and when an onlooker walked away, he saw the source of the commotion. A woman was tied to the tree, and everyone was simply taking photos or staring at her.

What the heck?

He strolled closer, wondering what kind of stunt was going on. Probably some narcissistic selfie-taker hoping to go viral on the Internet. Though, compared with kids eating soap or snorting cinnamon, this looked pretty tame.

A few yards closer, he stopped. His heart thumped, and now his pulse ramped up. Surprise mixed with amusement as he stared at her face—the expressive dark eyes, the stubborn chin, the full, lush lips. He’d seen that face in his dreams now and again since they’d broken up. Rachel Diaz was still as beautiful as he remembered. And from the looks of it, still a little crazy.

After a moment or two of observing, he approached. She was speaking to the group now, her long black curls moving slightly in the breeze. Whatever cause she was passionately pursuing these days, she was likely to forget as soon as something else caught her attention. He’d loved her enthusiasm, but her inability to finish anything she wasn’t passionate about had been a source of frustration. She’d been the free spirit to his workaholic, and in the end, love hadn’t been enough to sustain them.

Still, he was glad to see her and genuinely curious about what she was doing tied to a tree in the park. He was close enough to hear as she finished her speech.

“I can’t help but wonder, where will it end? There’s so little green space left in our town. Next thing, they’ll turn the park into a mixed-use complex, like they did in Woodstock. Nothing but condominiums, shops, and parking lots. Kennesaw is next, I have no doubt. Call the planning commission today, or tell them on social media. Let them know they can’t take away our park. Not one bit of it!”

Some of the crowd clapped, some shook their heads. Cash began clapping himself. Loudly.

“Bravo, Ms. Diaz, bravo. Well put.”

The fact that she was protesting the very reason he was here only added to his amusement. But the best part was the stunned expression on her face as she noticed him.

Chapter 2

The afterglow of her impassioned speech faded abruptly as the ex-boyfriend from hell stood nearby, a smug smile on his handsome face. Her pulse spiked as the urge to break out of her bonds and run far, far away from him overtook her. She only shifted on her grassy seat, determined to let no one, not even him, dampen her resolve.

“Cash. What are you doing here? Florida rejected you?”

It was a jab, she knew. But he deserved it for abandoning her.

“Nope, I rejected Florida in favor of a better-paying job. I’ve been back in Atlanta for a few years now.”

“Well, good for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a tree to save.”

She rested her head against the tree imperiously, dismissing him. She closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them, he’d be gone. His snarky laugh a moment later made her give up and glare at him.

“That’s my Rachel. Still chasing the cause du jour. So, you’re tied to a tree as a form of protest. That’ll show them, won’t it?”

The steam of anger rose from her skin in waves. Bella’s snicker didn’t help. She gave her sister a sharp glance, and the girl turned away, pretending to look at her phone. Rachel didn’t owe this man any explanation, but she answered so that he might leave her alone.

“It’s already on the Internet and has people talking. A stupid parking lot is not worth losing this section of the park, not to mention these trees. Or this tree. And I’m not your Rachel, by the way.”

Annoyingly, he leaned against the tree and tested her bonds. His spicy-citrus scent carried on the breeze, and she couldn’t help but notice at close range how tight his jeans were. An hour tied to the tree and she was already uncomfortable, and now her ex was nearly breathing down her neck. She looked up at him, and he smiled. It was a smile she used to love. Now she wanted to smack it off his face.

“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you? Why is this tree so special?”

Bella interrupted, moving closer.

“She thinks that tree has special powers. So does our mom.”

He turned to face her, his hand out in greeting. “Oh, hey, Bella. Didn’t see you there. How are you?”

“I’m good. But they really do think it brings good luck or something.”

They both looked at Rachel. Although she truly believed the tree was special, it was hard to explain why to someone else without sounding like a nutjob.

“Our parents met under this tree. They fell in love here. And Mom used to bring me here when I was sad. Like the day the guy I thought was the one told me he was leaving to go to college. In Florida.”

That was a major jab. Cash Bradford deserved that and worse.

“Touché, Rachel. But I have missed you, and if I recall correctly, I called a month after I left and asked you to visit so we could work things out.”

The set of her mouth was tight. It was clear she didn’t want to have this conversation any more than he did. Then her dark eyes flashed, shooting sparks of anger that burned his pride.

“Too little, too late. Besides, we were always complete opposites.”

“That we were.” He paused, waiting for her ire to ease. When she shifted in her bonds and sighed, he softened his voice. “But we had some good times. Right?”

Her grimace faded to a grudging smirk.

“Right, we did.” She paused, then asked, “Why are you here? In the park, I mean.”

Trapped, he debated internally on what to tell her. She wouldn’t like the truth, but he couldn’t hide what he did for a living.

“I heard about the new food truck court, so I wanted to check it out.”

Her eyes narrowed. As flighty as she had been, Rachel always had a keen ability to read people, especially him.

“And?”

“And I think it’s a great idea. Especially since I own two food trucks.”

Her lips clamped tight, and she said nothing. That was worse than her yelling at him. Fortunately, Bella spoke up, breaking the strained silence.

“Oh, cool. I love food trucks. What kind of food do you serve?”

“Well, one is—”

Rachel snapped at Bella, her voice throttled with emotion. “You’re supposed to be helping me, not commiserating with the enemy!”

Bella’s calm demeanor in the face of her sister’s criticism was not only commendable but amusing. Cash leaned against the tree, watching the spectacle.

“I am helping you. That doesn’t mean I hate food trucks in general.”

When Rachel turned away, shaking her head, he answered the question. “One is gourmet southern, and the other has all kinds of tacos, like fifty different kinds.”

Bella’s eyes went wide. “Wow. That sounds awesome. Rach, Dad would love the taco thing, wouldn’t he?”

“I don’t know. All I do know is, Cash can park his trucks somewhere else. I won’t let them cut down this tree.”

Passersby were beginning to gather again, and Rachel turned her attention to them, answering questions. Cash stood back, giving her room. One thing he knew about Rachel Diaz—she changed her mind often, but once she’d committed to something, she went all the way.

He turned to Bella, who was snapping photos again.

“Is she going to stay here all night?”

“No. She’ll go home at dark but will be here at dawn tomorrow. She’s kind of obsessed about this.”

“Good. I would have worried about her being here at night. Tell her I’ll be back to check on her tomorrow.”

She smiled, and he walked away, hating himself for having to break Rachel’s heart a second time.

Chapter 3

Rachel entered her parents’ house and headed to her bedroom. Her back ached something fierce, and she needed a hot shower. Her mother, Trista, called from the kitchen.

“I’ve made tea and zucchini bread.”

As much as she couldn’t wait to douse herself in hot water, drinking some in the form of tea sounded divine. She threw her backpack on the bed and walked to the kitchen.

Trista stood at the counter, pouring tea into two cups. Her light brown curls, streaked with grey, fell to her shoulders. Fine-boned and slim, she wore a long skirt and peasant top, which was practically a uniform for her. Comfort came before style, but she still managed to look perfectly put together.

“Where’s Dad?”

Rachel slumped into a chair, reaching for a slice of zucchini bread. She was hungry, and the stress of the day and seeing Cash had drained her. When Trista placed the cup of herbal tea in front of her, she sipped gratefully.

“He had to close tonight. Danni had to leave early.”

“Oh. Sorry I couldn’t cover the shift.”

Trista stirred her tea, having added a few drops of honey to it. She waved a hand and shook her head.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. We know this is important to you, even though it probably won’t make a difference in what the city does.”

The tea had warmed Rachel, calming the fluttering of her stomach, which had started the minute she saw Cash. Now, the thought of losing her fight to save the tree made it worse.

“Maybe not, but I have to try.”

“I know.”

They ate for a minute in silence. She had wanted to go to bed and forget about today, but now that she had relaxed, it all played back in her mind.

“Mom, guess who showed up at the park today?”

“The police? A news crew?”

“No. Cash Bradford.”

Her furrowed brow spoke volumes. “Wow. So, he’s back in Georgia?”

“Apparently, he’s been back for a few years. Didn’t bother to look me up, though.”

“Well, you did tell him you never wanted to see him again.”

“I did. And I meant it.”

Trista looked at her expectantly. Even Rachel had heard the hesitancy in her own voice.

“Then. You meant it then. And now?”

Sipping tea gave her a moment to stall. How could she feel so many emotions at once? This morning, she had left on a mission—save the tree. Now, her world was all jumbled up, and the future was uncertain. It was just like him to show up looking hotter than he had a right to and advocating the very thing she was protesting.

“I guess it was the shock of seeing him again. And finding out he has two food trucks, so he wants them to cut down the trees and expand the parking lot. Once again, we’re on opposite sides of the fence. So, it doesn’t matter if there’s a trace of feelings for him or how damn good he looks.”

With that, she drained her cup and stood. Trista simply looked at her with understanding eyes. Which irritated her anew, the way her mother always saw past her defenses. But she hugged her and said goodnight.

Later, as she lay in the dark, the past played like a movie in her mind. She and Cash had lived in an apartment across town, their sanctuary in which to hide from the world. They loved, they played, they fought. It was often frustrating, and sometimes exhilarating, but it was never boring.

When he decided to attend culinary school in Florida, she understood, but that didn’t ease the pain of losing him. He would be living with his parents to save money, and her parents needed her help at the gift shop, so she couldn’t simply leave. Her life was here. So he packed up and left, choosing his new life over being with her.

Fast forward to today, and what had she accomplished in all that time? At least he had a business and ambition. She loved helping her parents, and living with them had allowed her to build up a nice savings. But she had yet to find her path in life, and at twenty-eight, she was a bit old to be aimless.

She hadn’t moved on with her life since their breakup. Seeing him again had made that abundantly clear.

As she drifted into an exhausted slumber, her final thought was that she did have a goal—to save the tree, no matter what it cost. Otherwise, the wish she made on it so long ago might die along with the old oak.

Wednesday morning dawned chilly and overcast. Cash wondered if Rachel was serious about continuing her stunt in the park. What if it rained? As stubborn as she was sometimes, he wouldn’t be surprised to see her sitting there in a raincoat, getting soaked.

Even if she did manage to gain some local attention, it was unlikely to sway the Kennesaw’s Planning Commission from their plans. He knew how slowly the wheels turned when it came to local government. He’d had to jump through numerous hoops when he was setting up his trucks and, even now, had to be careful not to violate any rules.

He knew more about this particular situation than anyone—he’d formed a group on social media of local food truck owners, and together they had campaigned for a place to gather their trucks. It had been his brainchild, and through hard work and persistence, they had won.

But Rachel…

Could he stop this train he had put in motion to please one woman? Why should he?

She might be misguided, she might be superstitious, but she was also the only woman to ever light a fire in his soul. Since their breakup, he’d dated, but none of the encounters came close to what he and Rachel had together. Even with all their fighting. He knew the moment he saw her again the spark had definitely not died. In fact, it burst into flames, and he had no idea how to put those flames out.

There had to be a way to make everyone happy. He wouldn’t rest until he figured it out.

Georgia weather in mid-April could change in an instant, and so far, it wasn’t shaping up to be a pretty day. Clouds threatened rain, but only a deluge could keep Rachel from her task.

Since Bella had to work the morning shift at their family business, Blue Tiger Imports, their father, Luke Diaz, volunteered to accompany Rachel at the park. To his credit, he didn’t comment on what she was doing or ask why, and it unnerved her. She had been prepared to defend herself—everyone else seemed to think she was foolish. She still wasn’t fully awake anyway and was glad for the silence as they drove to the park. They’d have plenty of time to talk later.

When they arrived, Luke gathered the rope, a cooler, and his art supplies, and they walked to the old tree. A cool breeze rustled the leaves, still the bright green of new foliage. Rachel zipped up her purple windbreaker jacket and placed an old towel on the ground at the base of the trunk. Downing the last of her cappuccino, she sat with her back against the bark.

Luke looked at her, his dark eyes edged with a hint of amusement. He was a handsome man, graying at the temples with dark, wavy hair that brushed his collar. He had the rope in hand and blinked at her, his uncertainty obvious.

“What, Dad? I know this is weird, but it’s for a good cause. Look—people are gathering already.”

He glanced around, then looked back at her.

“A few joggers are not a gathering. And yes, it’s weird. But I’ll support you no matter what. You know that.”

She did. She also knew he and her mother had attended several protests in their lives. But that was long ago, and they had settled into a comfortable suburban lifestyle. Still, it soothed her to have him here.

“I know. So, let’s do this.”

He wound the rope around the tree, crossing over her body several times. He tied it tighter than Bella had, his large hands easily managing the rope. Rachel grunted, and he popped his head around the tree to look her over.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s good. Nice and tight.”

She sat back and sighed, glancing around at the park. There were a few early joggers, but it would be hours before any crowds gathered. She hoped they would show, responding to the social media posts Bella had prescheduled throughout the day. They already had thousands of views of the two videos they posted, and tons of comments on their photo posts, both positive and negative.

At least they were gaining some attention.

A few minutes later, Luke set up his easel and began a charcoal sketch. She couldn’t see what he was drawing as he was facing her. He kept glancing at her and the tree, and a sinking feeling grew in the pit of her stomach.

He laughed, probably at her alarmed expression.

“Don’t worry, RayRay—I’m not including you in my sketch.”

His use of her childhood nickname had a calming effect, and she laughed too.

“I’m tied to a tree to gain the public’s attention, but somehow that’s different from you drawing a portrait of me.”

He winked. “The public is not personal. And you’re a beautiful subject, by the way. I have drawn you, your sister, and your mother, many times. I keep those for myself.”

He had been a talented and prolific artist at one time, and several of his works still hung in their gift shop. Now and then one would sell, paintings of mostly landscapes or local landmarks and buildings. He’d even attended fairs and festivals, setting up a booth to sell his work.

“It’s a grand old tree,” he observed. “The markings give it character.”

She turned her head to see several hearts with initials in them carved into the bark. Others had used marking pens or paint to write a name or draw a symbol.

“I guess we’re not the only ones who have faith in the Love or Money Tree.”

He chuckled, this time a low, throaty sound. “Well, it certainly brought me love. Money, not so much. Yet.”

“Bella was the one who drew a money symbol on the tree when she made a wish. If anyone’s going to make it come true, she will.”

He nodded, then went to examine the tree, walking around it. When he resumed his sketching, he murmured, “I’d forgotten so much about this tree.”

Rachel waved to a couple power-walking their way along the nearby path, and they waved back. She heard them giggle as they passed and realized how ridiculous it must look to them—a man painting a portrait of a woman tied to a tree. If they told their friends about it, maybe it would help bring attention to her cause.

She looked back at her father, still working on his masterpiece.

“How could you forget? If it wasn’t for this tree, you wouldn’t have met Mom. Heck, I wouldn’t even be sitting here!”

He didn’t answer but wiped his hands on a towel. He retrieved two bottles of water from the cooler, handed one to her, and sat on the grass a few feet away.

“You’re right. If fate hadn’t played a part, who knows where we’d all be?”

Her arms were bound down to the elbow, but she managed to bring the bottle to her lips. After a few sips of water to quench her sudden thirst, she made a request.

“Tell me again. I need to hear it.”

Chapter 4

She saw the glimmer of dusty pink on his bronzed cheeks and knew he still enjoyed telling this tale as much as she loved hearing it. He crossed his legs, leaned back, and began with the same words as always.

“It was back in the eighties, when I was home from college on a break. So was your mother, writing in her journal in the exact spot where you’re sitting. I was over there”—he pointed to an empty, grassy area nearby—“throwing a Frisbee to my dog, Spartan.”

She could picture him as a young man, thinner than he was now as she’d seen in old photos. With his hair fluffed on top and cut short at the sides, wearing those awful parachute pants. She giggled at the mental image and blurted out the next line of the story.

“And you hit Mom in the face with your Frisbee.”

He nodded, almost proudly. “I did. Not intentionally, of course.”

“She still likes to dramatize how she had a mark on her cheek for a week after that.”

“She does. But I rushed to her side, and that was the beginning of a love story like no other.”

The warm feeling his words gave helped ward off the chill of the sudden breeze. And they served to heat up her conviction that no one would harm this tree. It was integral to her very existence, wasn’t it? She’d made a wish so many years ago that the tree would bring her a love like that. So far, it hadn’t happened, and if they took the tree away, would it ever?

Cash hadn’t been successful in scheduling a meeting with anyone on the Kennesaw’s Planning and Zoning Commission. He’d reached out to several people who’d helped him when he had first approached them with the proposal for the food truck court. One was out of town, two had been in meetings all day, and the last one hadn’t responded. He’d hoped they might have an idea of how to expand the parking lot without cutting down Rachel’s tree. As for himself, he was fresh out of ideas.

Once he’d positioned his trucks for the day, with his staff ready to handle the lunch rush, he drove to the park to check on Rachel. She’d made it clear she didn’t want to see him, but something in her eyes had told him otherwise. Maybe it was his imagination working overtime, but the only way to know for sure was to see her again.

He imagined she’d be huddled under the tree and her sister, Bella, would be bored and playing on her phone. He’d brought a half-dozen of Rachel’s favorite donuts—French crullers—as a peace offering. She wouldn’t turn those down, and he’d have a chance to talk her out of her crazy stunt. Then maybe they could find a solution together.

When he parked, his view of the tree was blocked once more by a crowd of people. He passed a van with the logo of a local TV station, and a news crew was hovering over Rachel with cameras and microphones. There was no sign of Bella as he approached, but the guy in the tie-dye T-shirt looked familiar.

It was Luke, Rachel’s father, and he stood to the side as the news crew conducted their interview. Cash made a beeline for him, despite his fear that her protective dad might not be pleased to see him, either.

“Hey, Mr. Diaz? I thought that was you.”

Surprise raised the man’s grey, bushy brows, but otherwise, his face was placid. He’d been watching his daughter carefully, likely ready to break up this party if anyone disrespected Rachel. A twinge of jealousy coursed through Cash—that was his job. Or had been.

“Cash. I’d heard you were back in town.”

It was a non-committal statement, but there was an undercurrent of mistrust. He supposed he’d earned that, although he couldn’t take full responsibility for his and Rachel’s breakup.

“Yes. And I’m so glad I ran into Rachel. Is she okay with all of…this?” He nodded at the news crew and the growing crowd.

Luke folded his arms across his chest and leaned back on his heels. “I’d say she’s doing a great job. Once she sets her mind to something, she can be quite fierce.”

“Oh, I know.”

It was then he heard her voice above the din. He moved to get a better view, noticing the microphone held to her face by a woman, who he assumed was the reporter.

“My main reason for this protest is to save the trees and green space from being destroyed to expand the asphalt. But I also have a very personal reason. I chose this particular tree because it has importance for my family.”

Curious murmurs rose from the group, and the reporter put the microphone back to her own lips and asked, “Would you tell us about it?”

“Of course. My parents met under this tree, many years ago. It’s been lucky for us. That’s why we come here often and make wishes on this tree. We call it the Love or Money Tree. It may look like all the others, just an ordinary oak. Maybe it’s crazy superstition on our part, but when was the last time any of you made a wish on asphalt?”

One woman in the crowd quipped, “Every time I’m hunting for a place to park.”

That evoked laughter, and then all eyes returned to Rachel. Somehow, she had made a silly thing seem important. The reporter had placed the microphone to Rachel’s lips again, and she continued her speech.

“I’m not doing this to gain attention for myself. This park has memories and meaning for everyone who comes here. While I welcome food trucks being here for people to eat, I object to the idea that cutting up a chunk of the park is the only way to make it happen.”

A man on the edge of the crowd spoke up. He was elderly with a rumpled jacket and a ball cap. A sleek golden retriever sat by his side, tongue lolling out of its mouth.

“So, what do you propose? They’ve already set this thing in motion. You can’t fight city hall, as they say.”

The downturn of her mouth showed her growing frustration. But the man had spoken the truth. Even with the publicity she was getting, it was going to be a challenge. She sat a little straighter and addressed the man.

“I wish I had the answers, sir. Maybe find additional parking nearby? Or scrap the idea altogether? It was my hope that by calling attention to what was happening, as a community, we could come up with a better solution.”

More murmurs among the crowd. Good. At least she had them talking. The reporter wrapped up her interview, and people began moving away. When Rachel’s eyes locked with his, he knew he hadn’t imagined her interest. There was a glow in her deep brown eyes that seared him to the core.

When those eyes narrowed a second later, he knew he still had some work to do to get back into her good graces.

Every time she felt she had won, Cash Bradford was there, smirking, bringing her down again. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone?

And why did she tingle in all the right places when he was near? It was highly annoying.

The reporter and news crew left, and so did the people. Several of them had been videotaping with their phones, and the news crew promised her interview would be broadcast that evening and on their website. She was becoming a minor celebrity, having been dubbed, “The Tree Girl.”

Her father handed her a bottle of water, and she raised it to her lips. Her stomach gurgled, and she glanced back at Cash, who was holding a pink box in his hands. He stepped forward, opening the box.

“I brought crullers, your favorite.”

Mentally cursing him for the gesture, she accepted one, nonetheless.

“Thank you. This doesn’t change how I feel about you, by the way.”

“It’s a peace offering. Can’t we agree to disagree and start over?”

She rolled her eyes. When she had a hard time getting the cruller to her lips due to her partially bound arms, he knelt next to her.

“Here.” He held a cruller to her mouth, and she hesitated. Then a smile slowly grew, and she bit the thing.

“Mmmm…you know my weakness.”

He laughed, glancing over at Luke, who watched the proceedings with a wary eye. Then her father grinned and reached into the pink box which lay open on the grass.

“Don’t mind if I do, Cash. These are my favorite too.”

Cash tenderly fed her morsels of the sweet, crumbly treat, causing a shiver when her tongue met his fingers. His pupils dilated, and she knew he felt it too.

She pointed to her water bottle, thirsty and desperate for a distraction from the intimacy. She wanted to stay mad at him, but her resolve was losing traction. Had she been unfair to him? After all, he was the one who left her. She had to admit, a certain amount of resentment lingered over his departure.

But he had asked her to go with him, and it was apparent his time in Florida had helped his career.

He held the water bottle to her lips while she drank. Once she settled back against the tree, she asked, “Guys, would you check social media to see if we’re getting any hits? The usual sites.”

Cash pulled his phone from his pocket. “If I see anything, I’ll share it on the local sites I know, where we advertise the food trucks.”

“Thank you. I can’t believe you’d do that, when I’m standing in the way of your precious food truck court.”

He looked up from the screen, his gaze too intense for the conversation.

“I’d do anything for you, Rachel. I have to make up for lost time.”

Chapter 5

Cash had stayed with Rachel for an hour, then went to check on his trucks. He helped make tacos until the rush died down, ran some errands, and finally made it home when the sun was low on the horizon. He stared at the contents of his refrigerator. After cooking all day, the last thing he wanted was to cook for himself. He grabbed his denim jacket and left his apartment.

He wondered how he had succumbed so quickly. He’d seen Rachel only yesterday after years apart, and now he was falling in love with her all over again. Did they really have a soul-deep connection?

That’s how it felt. Well, he had to admit that while the physical attraction was the strongest of his feelings, Rachel had his heart too. He wouldn’t rest until he knew whether she would give him another chance—or reject him forever.

He made it to the park before twilight. Rachel was walking to their car with her father. Cash pulled up next to them and lowered his car window.

“Hey, I’m going for sushi. Wanna join me?”

They both stopped and stared at him. They exchanged glances, then Luke said, “It’s okay if you want to go. I have to check on the shop, anyway.”

Her facial expression showed a dozen emotions in the space of a few seconds. She’d always been an open book, not one to hide her feelings. When she smiled and walked toward his car, his heart leapt.

Then she was seated next to him, and he promised Luke he’d have her home before long. The restaurant was one of their old haunts, a few blocks down from the park. He hit the gas before she had a chance to change her mind.

As they pulled out of the parking lot onto the road, he asked, “Hungry?”

She didn’t look at him but stared out the window. “Yep. Going viral works up an appetite.”

“Really? That’s great.”

“Yeah. Almost a million views and tons of comments. People have vowed to call the Kennesaw’s Planning and Zoning Commission, and Parks and Rec. It’s taking off like I hoped it would.”

He drove south, past the vacant lots and strip malls. Tucked away at the end of a supermarket parking lot was their favorite sushi bar. A small, dingy place, it still had the best food around. They were seated right away and ordered their usual—she had seaweed salad and a California roll, and he ordered the smoked eel.

While they ate, she seemed to relax. They reminisced about places they’d been, people they knew. They were reconnecting again, and it felt good. He couldn’t help imagining how the rest of the evening might go.

Then she laid a bomb on him.

Rachel knew it was now or never. If Cash truly wanted to make amends and start over, she had to clear the air. She didn’t have the time nor the patience for silly romantic games.

Her heart couldn’t take losing him again.

“You said you want to make up for lost time, yet you never tried to contact me when you came back to Georgia. If you hadn’t happened to see me in the park, we wouldn’t be here now, would we?”

Despite her conviction that she had a right to confront him, her hands were shaking. Nothing had ever been easy with him. But it had been a love worth fighting for, and that’s why she had to get to the truth. Now.

His stammer was kind of cute, though.

He drank some water and dabbed at his chin with a napkin, stalling. She’d clearly caught him off guard. Good.

“I…I did try to find you on social media. You had a boyfriend at the time and seemed happy. So, I left you alone.”

That relationship had been short-lived, as the guy had turned out to be a jerk. It was bad timing all around.

“Well, that didn’t last. Even if you had reached out, I probably wouldn’t have responded. I was really hurt when you left.”

She had meant to be tough and strong during this conversation, but her voice broke with emotion on the last sentence. Cash’s deep blue eyes showed sympathy and something else—pain. Maybe he’d been hurt too.

He reached across the table, taking her hand in his. The warmth traveled up her arm, suffusing her skin. His voice had softened to a near whisper.

“I’m so sorry, Rachel. If I could go back in time and make different decisions, I would. Seeing you again made me realize there’s no one else I want to be with. The fact we don’t always agree doesn’t mean we’re wrong for each other.”

His words echoed what her father had told her so many times before—if you truly loved someone, nothing could keep you apart. He and her mother had faced their share of trouble, and making decisions together hadn’t always been easy. But somehow, they worked it out, and they’d been married for over thirty years.

“I know. I couldn’t believe you were real when I saw you yesterday. I thought we’d never see each other again.”

He squeezed her hand, then let it go. He winked at her and stood, holding out his hand.

“Let’s not waste any more time then. Come on.”

He paid for the meal, and they left the restaurant. His arm felt good wrapped around her shoulders, and she leaned into him as they walked. The last of her fear was slipping away. Maybe he did deserve a second chance. Perhaps she did too.

When they reached his car, he went to open the door for her. An impulse hit her like a lightning strike, and she grabbed his shirt with both hands and pulled him close. When his face was an inch from hers, she pressed her lips hungrily to his mouth.

The sharp intake of his breath indicated his surprise, but his arms came around her, crushing her body. All that mattered was this kiss—this long-overdue, wonderful, exciting kiss. His mouth claimed her, tasting, exploring like a brand-new lover would.

But it was achingly familiar, and that added a layer of emotion to her passion. When he slowed and pulled away, she released her hold on his shirt and a nervous laugh bubbled up in her throat.

“Whew. Well, we still know how to kiss.”

He opened the car door and helped her into her seat.

“Yes, ma’am. I had no doubt.”

As he drove, they held hands. They talked softly, anger and resentment fading away like the last of the dusty pink clouds on the horizon. Night had come, and they were back together.

Chapter 6

Cash awoke the next morning, still on a mental high from his date with Rachel. They’d made out like randy teenagers in his car, parked in front of her parents’ house on the darkened street. Images and sensations still lingered in his mind and on his skin. He whistled while he walked to the kitchen, and he knew it was going to be a pleasant day. He planned to take a picnic lunch to Rachel as soon as his other tasks were done.

While he waited for his coffee to brew, he checked his phone. As he scrolled through his emails, his heart thudded—Tarkington Pritchett, a prominent member of the Kennesaw’s Planning and Zoning Commission, had consented to give him fifteen minutes of his time—starting in an hour.

He quickly responded to the email and gulped down his coffee. He had maybe twenty minutes to prepare if he was to make the meeting on time.

His pulse was racing as he pulled into the parking lot of city hall. The words of the old gentleman in the park who had warned Rachel about not fighting city hall echoed in his ears. He hoped that was just a worn-out cliché and that he’d find a way to reach a compromise about the park situation. Or at least get a dialogue started with someone who might have some pull.

Pritchett met him in the hallway outside of an empty conference room. After exchanging pleasantries, he ushered Cash into the room and closed the door. A tall, imposing man, he had a kind face, weathered with lines and crinkling around the eyes when he smiled. In his deep, resonant voice, he got straight to the point as Cash was seated.

“I rarely agree to meetings like this, but your phone message had me intrigued. What’s this about a woman tied to a tree in the park?”

His look of consternation, tempered by amusement, gave Cash some hope.

“It’s true, odd as it sounds. A friend of mine is very passionate about preserving the green space of the park, which is being razed to make room to expand the parking lot. To bring attention to the problem, she is spending each day tied to a tree. She refuses to quit until the trees are saved.”

“Ah, a publicity stunt. Quite clever, but I’m afraid her efforts are in vain.”

“She’s gained the attention of the local news, as well as thousands of views of her video on social media. Can the Commission afford bad publicity?”

Mr. Pritchett scratched his balding head and sat back. The amused look had faded, replaced by a serious expression.

“It wouldn’t be the first time and certainly not the last. No, we don’t encourage bad publicity, but it’s tough to please everyone. And weren’t you quite vocal about gaining the permits to put this food truck court in the park?”

He’d seen Pritchett at the numerous meetings he’d attended while campaigning for the food truck court. He hadn’t counted on Pritchett remembering him so well.

“Yes, I did. And I still want that to happen. Isn’t there some sort of compromise? Can another section of the parking lot be expanded? Or maybe find alternative parking so the trucks taking up spaces won’t matter?”

Pritchett’s dull green eyes rested on him, regret the foremost of the emotions Cash read there. He shook his head.

“Son, I admire your willingness to help a friend. But the contract has gone up for a bid to expand the parking lot. I don’t have the power to stop the process. If we had alternative parking, that might be an option. But it would have to be adjacent to the park. And the negotiations and financing would take several months, anyway. I’m sorry, but there’s not much I can do.”

They discussed the process for filing an objection, which would likely result in another, but a more official apology from the commission. Once the contract was awarded, the construction company would immediately begin cutting up the park in preparation for laying the asphalt. He didn’t have much time to fight this thing and keep the Food Truck Coalition happy too.

He left Pritchett with a handshake and a heavy heart. His picnic with Rachel was bound to be a disappointment when he gave her the news. He’d have to think of something to cheer her up.

Because Rachel Diaz didn’t like to lose.

Her third day in the park was the most pleasant so far. She should be getting tired of sitting under that tree, but it had become an old friend once again. Even the scratchy rope was a comfort, because for the first time in years, she had hope.

Hope that she was doing the right thing.

Hope that she might win this fight and save the park from being desecrated.

And most of all, hope for her and Cash. Last night, he had been so sincere, so attentive. Maybe they had both matured enough to give their love another try.

Bella sat nearby, sipping coffee. Some of Rachel’s new friends, folks who frequented the park, had come to check on her and say hello. Even the grumpy old man who had warned about the folly of her stunt waved a cheery hello as he walked by with Stella, his dog, on their morning walk.

It was going to be a good day. She felt it in her bones.

It was close to noon when she saw Cash, and her heart rate accelerated. The chief cause was how well his blue polo shirt with his food truck company logo fit across his chest, and how his biceps were displayed as he carried a small cooler. Those arms had held her tight last night as they kissed. And kissed and kissed….

Making up for lost time, indeed.

She smiled as he approached, but he didn’t return her enthusiasm. In fact, he looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else. Had she misread him?

He placed the cooler on the ground and knelt on the edge of the beach towel Rachel sat upon. He leaned in for a quick kiss, and she acquiesced, still curious as to his strange demeanor.

“What’s wrong, Cash?”

He sighed. “That obvious, huh?”

“Yes. Having second thoughts?”

His blue eyes widened as he realized the import of her question.

“Huh? No, not at all. I met with a man on the planning commission this morning. I tried every angle, but it looks like they are going ahead with the parking lot expansion. Everything is already in motion. I’m sorry.”

Her hope deflated. She had known it was a long shot. They were going to kill her family’s tree. Would their luck be swept away along with the debris?

“I don’t care. I’m staying.”

Cash’s eyes spoke volumes, but he said nothing. Bella spoke, breaking the strained silence.

“She was on the news last night, and we’re over a million views of her videos. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“Nope. The commission gets flack for most of their decisions. He said an alternative parking lot might help, but there was not enough time to negotiate for and purchase one, if it even existed.”

Rachel leaned back against the tree. She hated to give in when there was still a shred of hope.

“I appreciate that you tried. But I can’t give up yet. There has to be another way.”

She had never felt like more of a fool than she did at that moment. She had lost, but her pride and her sense of duty wouldn’t let her walk away.

Chapter 7

Cash had brought sandwiches and chips for lunch, but none of them had much of an appetite. His news had put a damper on the day, despite the brilliant sunshine and cool, dry weather. Later, he kept busy to stave off the blues—he made the rounds at his trucks, handled some banking, and shopped for supplies.

His heart broke for Rachel. It was true they were at odds in their goals, but somehow, that no longer mattered. He would find a way to soothe her when her beloved tree was destroyed. He wasn’t sure how, but he would make it up to her.

As he approached the park to check on her, he noticed an empty lot on the corner adjacent to the park. A lone figure stood among the overgrowth of bushes, next to a sign that read, “For Sale By Owner.” Cash made a U-turn and headed for the lot.

Either he was a fool or a genius. Only time would tell.

A week had gone by since Bella had first tied the ropes, binding Rachel to the Love or Money Tree. She had come to the park on this Tuesday morning, not to be bound but to say goodbye. A surveyor and some men from the construction company had been to the park the day before, preparing to begin clearing this section of the park to make way for a bigger parking lot.

Paving paradise to make room for business. How cliché.

A crowd had gathered, alerted by Bella’s social media posts that a ceremony would be held for Rachel to give up her campaign to save the tree. Bella, Trista, and Luke stood by while Rachel walked to the tree.

A hush fell on the small group when she literally hugged the trunk, laying her cheek against the bark—bark that was now multicolored with symbols—evidence of wishes for true love, money, and whatever else people had hope of obtaining.

Rachel’s pain was lessened by the knowledge she had touched some hearts, had given people a reason to believe in the power of desire.

Speaking of desire, the only light in her life now was Cash, and he had yet to appear. He had seen her every day, but she sensed he was holding back. She’d asked repeatedly, but he’d assured her everything was fine. Once this ordeal was over, they would have a serious talk about their relationship. It was too precious to mess up, and they were going to make it work this time.

She addressed the crowd as she had rehearsed.

“Thank you all for coming and for your support throughout my vigil. I am saddened to say goodbye to my family’s beloved tree. But I’ve learned one thing since I started this—maybe you can’t fight city hall, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. Don’t give up fighting for what you know is right, because sometimes, you will win.”

A lone tear slipped from her eye, and she brushed it away. The crowd clapped and whistled, gathering around her. At least she had given it her all, and for that she was proud.

“Do not disperse. We have an announcement.”

The loud voice had boomed over the din, and all eyes turned toward the parking lot. There, Rachel saw Cash and two men walking their way. One of them she didn’t recognize, but the elderly man was the dog walker she had seen every day since her campaign began.

The smile on Cash’s face caused a tingle up her spine. Did he have good news?

When he reached her, he hugged her briefly, leaving his arm about her shoulder. The unknown man introduced himself to the crowd.

“My name is Tarkington Pritchett, and I represent the Kennesaw’s Planning and Zoning Commission. With me are Cash Bradford, and Barton Billings, a local resident. I am pleased to announce these two have developed a plan that will make the destruction of green space and trees in the park unnecessary.”

There was a gasp and discussion among the group assembled, but Rachel stood silent, praying. Had Cash really found a solution?

Mr. Pritchett gestured for the older man to speak. Billings addressed the crowd, still wearing his rumpled clothes and old ball cap, which he removed to reveal a shock of white hair.

“Mr. Bradford here approached me last week just as I put my vacant lot up for sale. He suggested it might be worth something to the county as an annex to the park. What he said made sense, but that wasn’t what finalized my decision.” He paused, then pointed at Rachel. “This young lady, she’s the one who convinced me. I lost my wife recently. We’d been married over fifty-two years. We walked in this park often and loved it. Our dog, Stella, loves it, too.”

Several words of appreciation and sympathy were murmured, but the man continued. “I’m selling everything I own and moving to Florida to be near my daughter. That vacant lot will do more for the community by being donated to this park, so folks like all of you can continue to enjoy it. And I have no doubt Rachel will find everything her heart desires.”

The tears flowed, and she didn’t try to stop them. She had already found what her heart desired, and he was smiling down at her with love in his eyes. Cash had gone above and beyond for her, and it meant more than she could ever express.

Epilogue

Six months later

Rachel hurried from the parking lot, across the street, and to the park. Cash’s new food truck, his third, was having a grand opening today, and she had promised to help out. She had spread the word through her blog and on social media, and Cash had reported a record crowd when they opened that morning.

Bella had commented recently that Rachel was now “living her best life.” Before saving the Love or Money Tree, she had been aimless, dissatisfied. Now she had a purpose. Using her influence and her voice not only to bring attention to her causes, but to tell the world that her family ran the finest gift shop in Kennesaw, and her boyfriend’s trucks served the best food anywhere. It was a win-win, and the people had responded with vigor.

As she reached the new truck, which offered up comfort foods with a twist, she was startled to see her parents and Bella there. They must have closed the gift shop in order to attend.

“What’s going on? I thought you guys were busy.”

Bella smiled, looking like a modern-day Mona Lisa. Something was up.

“We didn’t want to miss the big event.”

“That’s great, but it’s his third truck. No big deal.”

Just then, Cash climbed down from the truck, and the crowd milling around stepped back. His grin was positively wicked, and she wondered what he was about to do.

When Cash got down on one knee in front of her, she knew. The air left her lungs, and she swallowed, hard.

“Rachel Maria Diaz, will you marry me?”

She wanted to clock him for embarrassing her in front of her family and strangers, but she was too overjoyed.

“Yes, Cashiel Derek Bradford. I will marry you.”

He slipped a dainty platinum ring on her finger, the diamonds sparkling in the sun. They kissed, and the crowd cheered.

When they stepped back to face everyone, she knew she had been right. Hope and dreams were powerful, and fighting for hers had been so worth it.

About Renee Regent

A true believer in the power of love, Renee writes stories of mismatched people who beat the odds to be together. Whether fighting the supernatural or their own inner demons, her characters will always find their way to a happy ending.

Renee lives in Atlanta with her husband, three cats and four turtles. When not working or writing, she can be found sitting on her deck enjoying nature. Wine may or may not be involved….

Check out Renee’s website.

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Buy Renee’s Books

The Lover Grows Series

(Contemporary Romance):

Not So Broken, Book 1

Not So Wrong, Book 2

Not So Far, Book 3 (Releasing Soon)

The Higher Elevation Series (Paranormal):

Unexplained, Book 1

Untouched, Book 2

Undeniable, Book 3

Running In Snow, A Holiday Novella

Redemption by Savannah Kade

Chapter 1

Chloe Bell sat bolt upright in the motel bed, tossing her covers off even as she gasped for air. She would have screamed if she'd had the breath to do it.

Her brain raced, suddenly wide awake. The adrenaline taking over her system wasn't even her own—it was his. She'd been there, she'd seen him, and she’d felt his pain. She’d caught glimpses of the man though she wanted to scream at the boy, “Look up! Show me his face!”

But she couldn’t. The boy didn’t know she was there, didn’t know she could see through his eyes. Wasn’t that the way it always was?

Most of the time she only got useless information. Small things that meant Chloe got to see but couldn’t help. It didn’t stop the things she saw in her dreams. Tonight was one of the nights she wished she could put a stop to it.

Two nights ago, she’d seen the same boy—five years old at the most. Chloe had followed his abduction, trying not to scream in frustration as there was nothing she could do. She’d learned to observe everything and memorize it.

Now, she cataloged what she could from memory as she peeled off her nightshirt and quickly changed. Stuffing her feet down into boots that were inappropriate for the warming summer nights, she headed out the door, keys in hand. She already knew where the Redemption Police Station was, and she aimed her car that direction.

It was 3 a.m. and this was not the plan. She'd done this kind of thing before, but in a sane, orderly fashion. It was always difficult convincing the police to start looking for a missing kid.

“Can I help you?” The officer at the front desk looked up, unalarmed by the fact that Chloe was storming into the station in the middle of the night. Officer Balero, by her nametag, had soft brown eyes that had seen too much but still found the strength to be kind. Clearly, she’d dealt with 3 a.m. before.

“I need to speak to the detective in charge of missing persons.” The adrenaline still zinged through her system, and Chloe fought to slow her breaths.

“You have a missing person to report? We have a form for that. Let me get it for you.” She turned away, but Chloe stopped her.

“No. I have information about a missing person.”

“What's the person's name?”

Shit. “I don't know.” But she gave what information she did have. “It's a boy. About five years old. Blond hair, blue eyes. I'm not certain he's from around here.”

Now, the officer lost her cool, calm demeanor. Despite the perfectly pressed uniform and the badge, she was starting to eye Chloe sideways. “So you have information about a missing person whose name you don't know… who's not here? Then where is he?”

Chloe tried again. “He is here now. He's not from here. He's been brought here to Redemption. Kidnapped.”

“Oh.” The officer seemed to catch on, but then her words showed that she didn't. “You have information about the kidnapper?”

Not what Chloe really had, but she gave what she knew. “Male, average height, brown hair, brown eyes.”

There was a pause. “Name?”

“Unknown.” Chloe sighed. This wasn’t going well.

“Do you know where he lives?” To her credit, the officer was trying hard to make something normal out of Chloe’s very abnormal requests.

“No. I need to see a detective,” Chloe pushed. The sooner she got to the person she needed to, the sooner she could begin convincing that person that her information was legitimate and accurate. That person was not at the intake desk. She went five more rounds before—finally!—the officer sat back into her swivel chair, picked up the phone and said, “Let me get you Detective Tavares.”

Chloe nodded as though “Detective Tavares” meant something to her. All it meant was a real detective—someone who would actually investigate the boy’s disappearance.

Five minutes later, she was ushered to a desk in the bullpen. She sat in a straight chair, facing a dark-haired, dark-eyed man with a jaw that belonged on a Calvin Klein model. The tight clench of that same jaw told her he did not believe a single word she was saying. He seemed to understand that Chloe had been handed off to him.

“How exactly is it that you came by this information?”

Lord, she thought, and started all over again. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I dreamed it. I see it sometimes when I close my eyes. He's here.”

Detective Orlando Tavares took his own deep breath to steady himself. He had heard about this, but never had it happen to him before. He’d landed a genuine psychic.

Not an actual psychic, he knew. Those didn’t exist. But this woman sure seemed to believe she was one.

She had reddish-blonde curls coming out from under a knit cap that she’d clearly pulled on in a rush. Dark lashes framed wide, pale-green eyes. Her face was bare and her expression sincere. Maybe that was just because it was 3 a.m., and because everything else about her looked like your average college girl.

Lando decided to start with the basics. If he made her mad first, she likely wouldn't give them the information his captain would demand. “Name?”

“I don't know the boy's name or the kidnapper’s name,” she repeated, clearly fighting to stay calm.

“I’m sorry, I meant your name.”

“Chloe Bell.”

“Date of birth?” Good, she was answering everything he needed to shove her out the door.

She rattled it off, proving she was a good ten years older than he would have guessed. Interesting. “Where are you from?”

“Breathless, Georgia.”

“And you're in Nebraska because…?”

Taking a deep breath, she looked him square in the eyes. She might be the worst kind of crazy: the kind that seemed perfectly normal, except for the words coming out of her mouth. “Three nights ago, I dreamed of this boy being put into the back of a red sedan—dark red. I don't know the make, but I've been looking it up. I think it's a foreign made car, a Toyota or a Honda.”

Lando took copious notes and nodded along as she talked. Did she know that description fit a very large number of vehicles? Maybe. He motioned for her to keep going. Turning someone away—someone who was reporting a crime—required documentation. He wondered if he had enough information to 6404 her and get her committed.

“The next night, I saw the car arrive at the house. I didn't know then that it was here in Nebraska. But I saw the corn and the silos. It's a white house with black shutters.”

She said it as though that meant something. Lando felt his eyes narrowing at her. She must have caught it, for her own expression changed and grew wary.

“A white house, black shutters, corn, and a silo? You've just listed all of Nebraska, a good portion of Montana, and a lot of Oklahoma. Why did you come here, to Redemption?”

“Because I saw the sun—”

This time he couldn’t stop it and his eyes rolled, he sighed, and his pencil hit the desk. He’d thought it would be a slow night, but no. Chloe Bell was even more batshit than he’d originally thought.

She was shaking her head. “No, I saw the sun out the back window of the car. The boy was pushed down into the footwell. I looked at how high the sun was in the sky. Given the angle to the back of the car, and the time of year, they were driving northwest. Since he started closer to me in the southeast U.S., and he passed the airport in Kansas City, they had to have been aimed this way.”

Lando took a deep, calming breath. He wanted to like her. She seemed logical for all her zaniness. So he picked up the pencil and asked more questions he didn’t believe her answers to.

They went back and forth, discussing her subsequent drive to Redemption. How she had bolted out of bed tonight and showed up at the tiny, square building that housed the police, the firefighters, and the three ambulance bays that served the area.

She leaned across the desk, elbows down, as though she would make him believe. “About forty-five minutes ago he took the boy out of the crawl space under the house. Led him out into the cornfield—”

“Did they come back?” Lando interrupted.

“I don't know. I woke up, but… I don't think so.” She sucked in air. “And I can tell you, there have been at least five other children from places around the US that have been kept in that crawl space. If we don't stop him now, he'll do it again.”

Chapter 2

Chloe pulled up alongside the house. Gravel and dust left a faint trail as the sun rose behind her. She’d seen the white farmhouse and the silo and stopped. Unfortunately, Tavares had been right, these houses were a dime a dozen. Easily dismissing everything she said, he’d told her he’d “look into it.” He encouraged her to go back to bed and sleep it off—as though she was high. If only.

As she shook his hand, she’d seen a flash of herself through his eyes. Beautiful. Logical. Crazy. The heat that zinged between them would have been a compliment, but she was too angry to take it. She’d driven out here. If the hunky detective wouldn’t help find the boy, she would do it herself.

She was almost in tears, though. Her details weren’t enough. Now, in the waning morning, she saw the houses all looked the same. But one of them held a little boy who might or might not still be alive.

She was hyperventilating with the thought.

For a moment, she leaned her head back, letting her hands rest against the steering wheel. Nothing came to her, nothing but memories: The small red sweatshirt, the tiny jeans, the dark blue sneakers. His dirty hands and face from where he tried to dig his way out from under the house. He was tenacious, and she hoped that would save him.

She knew the boy had been led out the back of the house and walked through the rows of corn. Chloe was hopeful that if she could retrace the steps, she could find him, though she thought her odds were relatively high that she would find a body and not a live boy.

Her phone chimed then, startling her. Shit. It had to be work.

For a moment she scrambled. Could she say her grandmother was ill, or had her grandmother already died twice? It was getting harder and harder to disappear and claim sick days. There was no money in what she did. She needed to keep her job and she liked it. She liked her little cubicle with normal people around her. She tried not to shake hands with her co-workers, didn’t want to see what they might inadvertently share.

The only friend she hugged was Ever. Her best friend. Now raising her brothers on her own, Ever was the only one who had believed Chloe the first time she shared her secret. The two girls had grown up on the wrong side of the tracks together, and it hadn’t helped either of them get ahead.

Sucking in a breath, Chloe formulated her response. No dead grandma. Breathless was too small to get away with that anymore. Putting a scratch into her throat, she lifted the phone and saw it was Detective Tavares.

“Detective?” She tried to keep the hope out of her voice.

He didn't offer any greetings, only said gruffly, “I'm sending you five pictures.” Then he promptly hung up.

She was still frowning at her phone as texts began pinging in. In a moment, she had five school-type pictures of very young boys. Immediately, Chloe called him back. “It's the fourth one.”

There was a pause, so she asked, “Are these all missing children from Georgia?”

“No. Only three are actual missing children—one from Nebraska, two from Georgia. The other two are random pictures I pulled off the web.”

She nodded into the empty space of her car. She’d earned his trust. She was opening her mouth in relief when he said only, “Thank you,” and hung up again.

Left frowning at her phone in bewilderment, Chloe couldn’t decipher what had happened. She was usually asked to prove her abilities. She’d correctly identified the missing child and confirmed her information. Shouldn't he believe her now?

But she’d done this before. Some officers didn't believe her until the child was found or the body recovered. Some of them never did because, despite all her work, the trail had gone cold. Those were the cases that kept her awake on the nights she didn't see anything.

So Chloe hopped out of the car and snuck her way around the white house with black shutters, the one that looked like every other house across the state. Hoping that no one shot at her, she headed into the backyard, to walk through the rows of corn and hopefully find a missing boy.

Chloe gasped herself awake into the dark space of the motel room.

Again? she wanted to ask, but she was too shaken up by what she'd seen to question it. She calmed herself with a slow breath. Even as she let it out, she realized what was wrong and felt her heart accelerate again.

If she could see the creek and the ground through his eyes, that meant the little boy was still alive! She felt him crawling, digging his fingers into the dirt. He was petrified of heading back into the woods and equally afraid of the corn in front of him. She felt stabbing pains all over her body that had turned to numbness. The feelings were his, not hers.

The motel clock read 4:00 in harsh red numbers. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she catalogued every sound she’d heard, every stalk of corn. The color of the dirt. The smell of diesel in the water. Even though the boy didn't know what it was, he associated it with being under the house, of being with the man.

Another clue. But that clue was not important right now. The kidnapper believed the boy was dead, of that Chloe was certain. She was equally certain the boy didn't have very long. Once again, she hopped out of bed and dressed quickly.

However, once she was clothed, she found herself at a loss. She could go out with a flashlight, but she'd spent most of yesterday searching the back cornfields of every white house with black shutters she could find. Eventually, she'd gotten hungry and discouraged and had been forced to admit that Detective Tavares was correct.

Beyond the curtains, the dark night made tears spring to her eyes. She’d come all this way for the boy. Last night, she believed she’d missed her window and he was already gone. But now? He was alive. Right now. And there was nothing she could do.

Then again, maybe there was something. Picking up her phone, Chloe smiled. Tavares had made a crucial mistake: he'd called her, giving her his direct number. Hitting buttons, she hoped that he was on night shift again and she wasn't waking him.

“Detective Tavares.” The tone in his voice told her that he knew exactly who was calling.

“He's still alive,” was all she said, before waiting a beat. When the detective didn’t respond, Chloe let the words tumble out. “I correctly identified him out of your lineup test. He's missing from my area, and you’ve already figured out his name even though I haven’t. He was brought here, and he’s now been stabbed multiple times and left for dead, but he's not dead yet. We have a small window to find him.”

She heard a deep sigh from the other end of the line. She had Tavares’ attention, she just didn't have his faith. Closing her eyes, she steeled herself. She hated this part. The rest wasn’t peachy and this was so much effort, so invasive. But there was a kidnapper out there, stealing young children and torturing them. And honestly, she didn't give the detective’s privacy much credence in light of that.

“You drove through your favorite fast-food restaurant for breakfast after getting off shift. You intended to order your usual, but instead ordered pancakes. You took the Styrofoam pack home and ate it at your dinner table which was handed down from your grandmother. When you woke up this evening, the clock said 6:44, which was earlier than you intended to get up. You ate leftover lasagna at 8 p.m. before coming into work, and you called it breakfast.”

There was no noise from the other end of the line, as though he wasn't even breathing anymore.

He had to believe her. A little boy’s life depended on it.

Chapter 3

Lando felt his face pull back. He liked her, or he wanted to, but then she said things like this. “You could have followed me.”

“Yes.” At least she acknowledged that. All her insistence that he find the boy was now gone. “But how would I know that was your favorite place? How would I know that you changed your mind to the pancakes at the last minute?”

“Maybe you asked around about what I usually order. That I changed my mind at the last minute is just a good guess.”

“And that your alarm clock said 6:44 when you woke up?” She waited patiently for him to explain this one. Unless she was watching through his window, she couldn’t have known that. He was opening his mouth when she added, “There's a mustard stain on your shirt. It's under your tie.”

Shit. He still wore this shirt to work sometimes because the stain was neatly in position to not show. Had she been in his closet? He didn't like the idea of being stalked. All his attraction to her fled. “What do you want?”

“I want you to help me look for the boy.”

Lando wanted to tell her that the boy that she’d chosen from his lineup had indeed come from Georgia. His name was Maddox, and he'd last been seen with a man that fit her—albeit vague—description. People had reported an unknown dark red sedan leaving the area just as the boy had gone missing. But she could have gotten all of that from police records.

“If I'm wrong,” she started in again, “you'll waste your evening looking for someone you can't find. But if I'm right, you might save his life. And if we can find the kidnapper, who knows how many more you will save? Because right now, he thinks this boy is dead. And I think he's planning his next.”

That, Tavares thought, was the right thing to say to make him move. Still, he tried to dissuade her. “It's dark.”

“I don't care. I don't know how long he has. I just know that where he is, the dirt is dark brown. He's near a field of corn but not in it. There's a creek nearby that he can hear, and it smells of diesel. I'm sure that that describes every place you could possibly know in Nebraska, Montana and parts of Oklahoma—” She threw his words back at him, but his brain was churning.

“No,” he cut her off, “it doesn't. Where are you? I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

Lando stood outside the ER looking up at a bright morning. But he was still shaking from the events of the past several hours.

As soon as they found the tiny body, he’d radioed in for police and EMTs. Then he’d placed fingers against the small, pale, dirty neck and found a weak pulse. He’d almost collapsed in relief, but the boy wasn’t safe yet. And possibly neither were they. Lando had been counting on the crazy woman not really being psychic and not finding the boy.

Her clue of the water smelling like diesel had helped limit their search. Even so, Lando wanted to believe her. But it was still possible that Chloe knew what she did because she was involved. Though that didn’t explain his clock or his breakfast—more details that she’d rattled off so easily. Sadly, she’d also been right that the boy had been stabbed multiple times. He’d been dumped in the water and left for dead. Maybe the cold had kept him alive longer.

Now, Lando’s part was mostly done, except for the paperwork. The adrenaline was starting to wear off as he walked to the edge of the ambulance bay. The family had been notified that Maddox was found, and they were already en route. Child Protective Services had sent someone to stay with the boy, but Lando wasn’t shaking the night off so easily.

Even so, he was ready when Chloe walked out the door and tried to pass him. His hand shot out to clamp around her wrist. “No, you don't.”

This was not protocol, but he’d gone off duty half an hour ago. She looked down at his hand and then up at his face until he loosened his grip, but not enough to let her go. “How did you know?” he asked.

Her eyes darted to the ground, then up into the night sky, finally landing on him. “I told you.”

He swallowed hard. This wasn't what he wanted to do, but flies with honey and all that. “I'll buy you breakfast. You’ll talk.”

She shook her head. “I don't like the kind of pancakes that come in Styrofoam.”

At least that made him smile. It was the first thing that had since they’d started searching. She’d driven him crazy with her demands of “Walk over here,” “No, check over there.” Lando wanted to conduct a standard search grid. But as he headed one way, she would invariably say, “No, he's not there” and bolt away, forcing him to catch up.

When she’d yelled out, “We're close!” Chloe had once again been right.

Orlando Tavares was completely stumped. The sun was rising higher in the sky, and he needed a good sit-down meal himself. “I'll take you somewhere decent.”

She looked at his hand still wrapped around her warm wrist. It didn’t feel quite like holding a suspect anymore. He commented, “You don't have a car here. Rideshares and taxis are pretty skimpy in Redemption. I’ll drive.”

She looked at him then a little sideways. “And if I say no?”

“I'll take you back to the motel. But I'd really like to hear about it.”

“Fine. Just breakfast, but somewhere with French toast.”

He smiled again. Though the ride to May’s Diner was quiet and tense, once they were seated, she seemed relatively willing to talk. “I've always been this way. You can call several police departments for references.” She rattled off names of cities all over the US.

“You're from Breathless, Georgia. Why not them?”

She shook her head. “I never do this close to home.”

“Why not? If you're so great…”

Motioning between the two of them, she made her point. “Look at how you treat me. I have to live there. And I like to have friends.”

He had to admit that telling people you were psychic was bound to make them distrust you.

“Write it down.” She almost commanded before rattling off names of children she had helped find. She told him which officers she’d worked with that still didn't believe in her abilities and which ones did. “Jones calls me about once every six months. He gets something really tough or brutal, and he seems to think I'm going to have a lead on it.”

“But you don’t.” Lando could fill in the answer from her expression. “And you can't just find a lead? You sure seemed to tap into my mustard stain pretty easily. Unless you knew that because you broke into my home?”

Chloe offered a great heaving sigh, clearly exasperated that he was still picking on that. “Even if I broke into your home, and even if I saw that you had a shirt that had a mustard stain on it, how would I know you would wear this one today?”

“It's my only blue shirt.”

“It's not. You’re a liar.”

“So now you can detect lies, too?” But he was teasing her, even though he shouldn’t be making friends with the crazy lady. Despite everything, he did like her.

“I saw you were wearing the same color yesterday, and it didn't have a mustard stain on it.”

Okay, she had a point. He had a good handful of the chambray blue work shirts, kind of his uniform.

“Look,” she said over her last bite of French toast. “You have two options: believe me or don't. But I’m the one who found the boy, and if we don't do something, that man is going to strike again.”

Chapter 4

“Thank you for the ride.” With a smile, Chloe climbed out of Lando’s car. But as she walked the five feet to her own car and unlocked the door, she heard his window come down behind her.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm…leaving?” Wasn’t it obvious?

“You should go inside. Get some sleep.”

But she shook her head at his recommendation. She’d gotten dressed when she woke up, and despite their harrowing search, she wasn't tired. “I'm not going to burn daylight.”

Now Lando was frowning, climbing out of the car. Folding his arms across the roof, he frowned at her. “Are you going back to where we found Maddox? Because that’s not smart, we know for a fact that a killer was there.”

“I also know he prefers small children—”

“That doesn't mean,” Lando interrupted her, “that he won't hurt you if you find something, or even just get too close.”

“It’s a chance I have to take.” Chloe clicked the lock on her car, tugging the handle and swinging inside. But even as she reached for her seatbelt, she heard the passenger door open and Lando slide in. She shook her head at him. “You go home. You go to sleep. You're the one who's been up for almost twenty-four hours, not me.”

“I'm not letting you go search a murder site on your own.”

She turned the car off so she could sit and think a moment. “I think I'd prefer if I do go on my own.”

“Why? I'm trained for this. You clearly aren’t.”

That was exactly the issue. “You want to search a perfect grid. You want to tell me where to look. I don’t need your method. I have my own, and it works just fine.”

She wasn’t wrong. She heard him take a deep breath as he turned to stare blankly out the front windshield. He knew she was right. She waited for him to tell her good luck and get out of the car.

Instead, he opened the door and said, “Okay. I'll work with you. I don’t want you out there alone.”

“Send me another officer.”

This time he laughed, a rich, hearty sound that reached deep inside her. He wasn't mocking; he was genuinely amused. The corner of her lip pulled up in response, even as she turned and asked, “Why are you laughing?”

“I want you to think about how long it took you to convince me what you could do.”

Shit, she thought. This time he wasn't wrong.

“If you want someone to listen when you tell them that you just feel the need to completely ignore grid pattern and every tactic that every cop has been trained to do, you need me.”

Chloe tried again. “You've been awake far too long.”

“Baby, if anyone can stay awake for days on end, it’s a cop. Let me get my stuff out of my car though.” He was stepping out, but looked back and admonished, “Do not drive off while I'm getting my kit out of the trunk. If we find anything, we’ll need forensics…”

The conversation had turned light there for a moment, but she knew what they would be looking for. Her smile was now pinched as she started the car again, waiting while he pulled two backpacks from his trunk and tossed them in her back seat. “Let’s see if we can find a body.”

Only this time she knew it wasn't a body. It was bodies.

“There’s nothing here!” Chloe cried out in frustration, amazed that Lando had managed to maintain an emotional even keel all day.

They'd only stopped for lunch, when he bought her a burger and a chocolate milkshake. He’d reasoned that if they were doing such horrible work, they needed comfort food. The food was great. The rest, however, had dragged with little reward. She needed to find something the forensics experts could use to identify the killer.

She turned a tight circle as she scanned the woods. She felt nothing here, no clue or hint, no feelings. Eventually, she’d been exasperated enough to let Lando lead a grid. It hadn't helped.

Now he seemed disappointed by their search. Did he no longer believe in her ability? She’d told him there would be bodies here. She’d produced nothing. Her shoulders sagged, and she blinked to fight back the tears.

“We have to stop.” His voice resonated through her frustration. “We're deep in the woods, and we have to leave now, while there's still enough light to get out.”

He could probably see her protest on her face. She needed to find something today—anything, a feeling, a clue, a scrap of fabric. But the trees didn't hold the echoes of the missing children. They didn't hold anything of the killer, not rage or deep need or fear, the things she had learned that drove most of them. They left traces of it on things as they passed. But here there were only deer, raccoons, squirrels, ants—no killers.

“Come on, Chloe.” Lando began tugging her out of the woods. Following reluctantly, she stared at the pack he carried. Larger than the one he’d given her, his carried flashlights, crime scene tape, tools for digging, and a satellite phone, as well as their water. Hers had a few snacks and evidence bags.

His hand was warm and his urgency to get her out of the woods, and out of a killer’s territory, bled through the touch. The blame she felt was likely her own, not his.

As they stepped from the woods near the creek, a truck in the distance made her look up. She simultaneously hoped no one saw them, and that the killer would simply show up and give them a break in the case. But the truck passed in the distance and nothing happened.

“This isn’t where we came in. We can’t cross here.” She told Lando, now that she was paying attention. The water was too high, the current too fast. They had come in downstream of here, but the thought caught in her brain and she tugged on Lando’s hand.

“We’re at the wrong site. It’s upstream. Here is where Maddox crawled out. But he didn’t get left here, he got washed downriver! Let’s go.”

Lando was nodding along. This was all logic though, not her natural intuition. He stood rock still as she tried in vain to pull him along the bank.

“No. We’re not going. We're getting a pizza and a room and we're getting some sleep.”

She realized he'd now passed far beyond twenty-four hours of being awake. She hadn't.

But Lando wouldn’t let her go on her own either. “If you want to be up, and fed, and searching at dawn tomorrow, we should stay close by. We’ll check upstream in the morning.”

Chloe looked up at him, at the finely chiseled jaw, the dark hair that seemed to almost have a personality, the stubborn set to his mouth. “Look, I'm not poor, but I'm not wealthy either. I spend all my extra money roaming the country and finding missing kids. I already paid for the other room tonight.” She didn’t add, “the one with all my stuff.”

“I’ve got it,” was all he said.

Two hours later, she’d eaten more than her share of amazing pizza, but she was done with junk food. It would mess up her focus, slow her energy. She was standing in front of another motel door, this one alongside the freeway just north of Redemption. As Lando swung the door wide, Chloe spotted the lone king bed and sighed.

“I know you said you wanted to keep an eye on me, but this is extreme.”

“It’s all they had. I promise to stay on my side.”

There wasn’t much she could do, and honestly, she didn’t mind. As they got closer to a killer, having a cop at her side felt safe. Having Orlando Tavares at her side was starting to feel too good.

They didn’t have clothes to change into, but her fatigue was drowning her to the point that she wasn’t even going to notice that Lando was in the bed beside her. Without much fanfare, she shed her boots, peeled off her jacket, and crawled in. Pulling the covers up, Chloe turned away from the middle. Tucking into a ball, she fell asleep before Lando even left the doorway.

At midnight, she gasped herself awake again. She could still feel the seductive touch of hands on her heated skin. She had bold sense memories of his mouth trailing down her neck, his fingers tugging at her clothing. The heat suffused her entire system, putting her on edge. Her breathing came heavy, her pulse thrumming low as her eyes slowly rolled open.

Chloe almost moaned as she turned to look at Lando—still fully asleep. She licked her lips but her mouth stayed open, the sensations continuing to steal her breath. With another caress, she realized she could still feel his dream on her skin.

Chapter 5

Orlando Tavares rolled out of bed unsure if he should grin or cringe. Chloe had woken him up in the middle of an incredibly steamy dream. Then, she continued touching him in reality.

He didn't remember much of what had gotten them started. But now, as he rubbed his hand over his hair and looked down at his naked skin, he recalled her saying, “I heard your dream.”

The grin turned now to a cringe. Was this just a side effect of her skills? He knew the idea was originally his. As much as he hadn't believed in her when she walked in the door at the station, he’d still been attracted to her.

In the sheets beside him, she rolled softly, and he wondered if she could hear these thoughts, too. He was turning to open his mouth, thinking he could start—and therefore steer—a conversation away from what had happened between them. But he realized he had two options.

He could either try to cover up everything she seemed to have ready access to, or he could try being open. Turning to face her, he watched her come awake, and though he couldn't read her mind, her expression was clear.

“Am I at fault for last night?”

The clear bell of her laughter rang through the small room. “No.”

“Are you okay?” he asked next, but he quickly realized what a ridiculously stupid question it was.

Chloe had the grace to not treat it that way. “I'm good… Actually, I'm really good.”

His cringe gave way to a full-fledged smile now. “Well, we have about an hour before the sun is up. We should get dressed and eat before we head out.”

As the sun peeked beyond the trees, he found himself walking hand in hand with Chloe as they traced a route along the creek. “It's rushing up here.”

Lando followed her train of thought. “It’s strong enough to carry a boy Maddox’s size down to where we found him. Do you feel anything?” He didn't know if feel was the right word for what she did.

She didn’t correct him. “No. Not yet.”

Thirty minutes later, after she'd touched every tree they passed, she turned to him. Eyes wide, she said, “It's here.”

Chloe fought the scream that attempted to erupt as she bolted awake in the middle of the night. It wasn't as if she'd never seen horrible things before, but never so many nights in a row.

She was exhausted, and this wasn’t over yet.

Usually, one or two dreams would help her lead the police to a missing child or a body. Then the officials handled it. But this…this was going on far too long. She was sucking in another steadying breath when she felt warm arms around her. She wasn't sure how she would have handled stress of this magnitude on her own.

Lando’s voice asked softly, “What did you see?” rather than Are you okay? The silent tears running down her face had answered that question for him already.

“Something is wrong,” she told him. “He's angry. He's stalking another child, even though he knows it's likely to get him caught. He doesn't seem to be able to stop himself.” She took another breath and continued. “Those bodies we found? When you identify those kids, you'll see they're from all over the US. He's been careful before. But now he’s after someone closer to home.”

Lando changed the subject. “How long do you think it took him to amass those five bodies?”

“Two years.” Chloe was confident of that answer. She could feel each history when she touched the bones, though now she regretted doing it. At the time, she thought it would help her locate the killer. It had, but there was nothing she could do for the children in the ground.

“Two years doesn’t sound like—"

“He's been doing this for well over a decade,” she interrupted him. “He's gotten more confident in the past few years and changed where he left the bodies.”

“You can feel that?”

“Yes,” she whispered. How could she explain to him that in the past, she followed the victims? She saw the killer’s face through their eyes. But last night, for the first time, she connected to the killer himself.

“Usually, something triggers them to ramp up.” His arms were still around her, but she could almost hear him thinking through what he knew of serial killers. “This is small town Nebraska. We’re not big enough to have a missing persons division, or homicide. But I do know that if serial killers ramp up, there was usually an inciting event.”

“Yes,” Chloe whispered again. “It was us. He knows.”

“No,” Orlando cringed at his captain's voice through the phone.

“If you're out with her, then you’re officially on duty. There's no way we can write this up otherwise. You found the bodies of seven children.”

“Seven?”

“We found two more.”

His heart sank. Five was bad enough. Chloe had been right. She’d warned him there were more. He was wondering how to explain things to his captain when she made it clear that she was smarter than him.

“Also, keep your hands off the psychic.” He wanted to ask what she meant, but she continued. “I'm not blind. Honestly, neither is anyone else. This became official this morning.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Crap. How would he pass this news on to Chloe? But as he clicked off the cell and turned, he found her standing right behind him.

“You're on duty, and I've been handed off to other officers.”

At least that last part made him laugh. “No, ma'am. There aren't enough other officers to hand you off to.”

She found that statement funny, too. Thank goodness. His heart kicked as he realized he'd needed to see her smile. She'd been so distraught the past several days. “Let me buy you dinner. Take you on a real date before I clock back in and you become a civilian consultant.”

He watched as her eyebrows climbed. “A date?”

For a moment he wished he could read her the way she read him. Well, he’d decided the other morning that he should probably just let it all out in the open. “I'm still not sure what the other night was for you. But for me, it was amazing and not something casual.”

“How can that be?” she asked him. “We've only known each other for a handful of days.”

Motioning between the two of them, he said, “I don't think there's anything here that's conventional for a first date. We searched for missing children in the woods. Our first time together you read my fantasies. And we’re in a motel stalking a killer.”

“That's a good point.”

But he didn't know if she was saying yes to the date yet. He was about to open his mouth, thinking he’d have to ask again. When she suddenly said, “Yes, take me out on a date.”

Chapter 6

“It's not here,” Chloe told Detective Decker and listened as once again the man huffed out his breath. She had been handed off to another officer, and clearly, he didn’t relish the task of driving the psychic around to look at white houses with black shutters.

Cranking the wheel, he looked again at the list of addresses. “Sure would be nice if you could know just by looking at the picture.”

Decker didn’t believe in her skills and was just following orders. It wasn't the same as riding around with Orlando. Lando asked her questions and treated her like a competent partner. At least he had once he believed.

Of the firefighters who’d come to help with the scene, only one had seemed to genuinely believe her. He’d introduced himself as Sebastian, but the name across his butt was “Kane.” Officer Balero from the front desk had even believed her once Chloe pointed out where the bodies were buried. The rest had still been reticent, or downright rude. Chloe always made note of who she could count on and who she couldn’t. Would Decker ever come around?

They'd left the main area of Redemption and headed north on her recommendation. Both Lando and the captain agreed Chloe was operating on hunches while the police were operating on what little knowledge they could use to profile the killer. The good news was both agreed on the area to begin looking.

So here she was with Decker almost an hour later. She was about to get angry at wasting her day like this, even though she knew they needed to check every possible angle. Just as she was about to ask him to take her back, she felt it. “Here!”

Chloe pointed to a small side road as Decker pulled over and flipped through the printout.

“This isn’t on the list.” He sighed again. “There are no white houses with black shutters here.”

When she insisted, he openly rolled his eyes, but he still took the turn, for which she was grateful. Grabbing at the comm attached to his lapel, he called in. “She wants us to go down a road that's not on our pages.”

Though she couldn't hear the captain's response, she could tell the captain must have deferred to her.

Twenty painfully slow minutes of rolling down the gravel road later, Decker turned to Chloe. “Are we done? There's no house here.”

“It's here,” she insisted. Her heart was pounding. “He's here, and he has another kid already.”

“How would you even know that?” Decker asked, and Chloe let the question hang between them. If he didn't believe that she knew, well, that wasn't her fault.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. “It’s a little girl with dark curly hair, green eyes.”

She felt Decker pushing at her shoulder. “Open your eyes! I'm not driving around here when you're not looking for a house.”

She almost snapped. Giving up on politeness she dialed the captain directly. “It's me. Chloe Bell.” She heard the captain's voice and explained what she’d seen. She heard the noises of the station behind the captain, ringing phones, machines, footsteps. And then a voice in the background said, “We've got a call from Omaha. Missing girl.”

Chloe ran through the patch of trees that bordered one side of the white-painted house.

As soon as they pulled up, she’d felt it. This was the place.

Decker had grasped her wrist, demanding that she wait, but she’d twisted free. Throwing open the car door and running, she’d heard him mutter, “stupid bitch.” But he hadn't chased her. He was following protocol apparently.

Her feet pounded on the dirt, ankles twisting as she stepped on one root or rock after another. But she didn't care. Breathing heavily, she stopped at the edge of the trees, eyeing the wide-open space between herself and the house.

How was she going to do it?

For a moment, Chloe put her fingers on the nearest tree trunk and closed her eyes, hoping to connect with the child this time, rather than the killer. Her breath sucked in as she was suddenly standing in an upstairs room in the house.

The child was petrified, dirty, and bruised from being dragged through the house. Right now, that was the worst of it. The man thought he and the child were alone. Chloe had maybe a few minutes before things got much, much worse for the little girl. Outside the window, she could see a tall tree with white blossoms.

At the edge of the woods, she opened her eyes and searched until she found the tree. Fingers crossed that she was right, it meant the room he was in was on the other side of the house. With a quick prayer, she bolted across the open lawn and up to the back porch.

Screw it, she thought and threw open the back door wide, she couldn’t afford to be quiet. Her job right now was to distract the man.

Even as she touched the door handle, she was flooded with the sensations he left behind. He admired the lawn and his corn. Or he was mad about the harvest that hadn’t come in. He relived the anger and sick gratification that he got when he used the children. She turned and vomited onto the wood planks.

But there was little time for such things.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she decided to storm into the house, only to turn and see him standing in the doorway. It was the first time she'd seen his face. He looked so normal.

Had he not been scowling at her, she would have guessed she maybe didn’t have the right man.

“Why are you here?” he barked.

As of this moment she had achieved her goal. She had distracted him from the little girl upstairs. But what did she do now? Could she stall and pretend she was lost and keep him here at the door? Was Decker even coming to help? Chloe didn't know.

The only other option was to take him on. He was much larger than her and full of rage. If she tried and failed, would the officers get here before he disappeared with the child?

It was a risk.

But when she opened her mouth, she didn’t ask for directions or to use his phone. She enunciated every syllable. “I'm here for the girl.”

His expressions slowly changed, contorting until he lifted his hands. As he came at her, she let out a blood curdling scream she didn't know she was capable of. Chloe leapt the steps off the back porch and bolted for the trees.

He would kill her.

But if he followed her, he would be away from the girl.

The girl!

“Run!” Chloe yelled, suddenly knowing more. “Run, Samantha!”

For a moment, she could see the girl in the upstairs room, eyes widening as she heard her own name. She'd been huddled in a corner, afraid. But at least she seemed to get the instructions, because she got up and began looking for a way out.

Good, Chloe thought just as her foot caught on a root and she went down.

Chapter 7

“Chloe!” Lando yelled her name at the top of his lungs. He'd been scared for his own life before, but he'd never felt a terror quite like this.

The captain's car was parked sideways at the front door to the white house with the black shutters and the silo a short distance behind. Chloe had been right about everything.

“Back here!” he heard her voice and noises that indicated she wasn’t alone. His heart stuttered, knowing that her scream wasn’t the end of her. She could still yell…for now.

As he rounded the corner of the house, his feet pounded the green grass. His gun was already in hand, though he didn't remember grabbing it. He had to remind himself that Chloe was in the mix so he couldn't shoot indiscriminately. If he hit her by mistake, he would never forgive himself.

“Decker?” Lando spat the word out, knowing that he was giving the killer clues as to who was on the scene, but Chloe’s life was in danger.

“North side,” he heard the other officer’s voice crackle through the walkie talkie he'd pinned to his shirt. Then a second voice joined in. “Balero, just got here…”

Good. There were at least three of them with guns. But then, for a moment, the strangest sensation overcame him, and he saw a flash of slim hands reaching in front of him, parting the rows of corn, and running. He felt the slashing of the stalks, and the sharp surprise that corn could hurt.

Chloe’s hands.

He was seeing what Chloe saw! He now looked at the field of corn behind the house. There, toward the middle, some of the stalks were rustling, but there were two spots moving through the corn. The killer was right behind her.

He felt her fear, as well as his own measure of pride in Chloe. Her hand felt heavy, her palms stung and so did her knees, but he didn't have time to worry about small injuries yet. Lando grabbed the walkie talkie and pushed the button, yelling—though he didn't need to—for Decker, or the captain, or anyone else who might have arrived on scene.

Without further thought for himself or his safety, or even for the protocol that had been drilled into him, he pushed his way into the stalks and followed the footprints he found. Deep and heavy, they were the marks left by a large, angry man. Lando pushed to catch up.

Her legs burned, but Chloe fought to go faster and move further out of his reach. She would have collapsed, exhausted, but she knew if she stopped, he would kill her.

She could see herself through his eyes. She saw the stalks snap closed behind her as she stayed just ahead of him. She only had enough lead that he couldn't jump and grab her. Any error on her part, and she would quickly be dead.

Maybe that was the answer, she thought, turning a sharp right, diving farther through the stalks. She cut through a row, barely noticing that she sliced her arms. She couldn't afford to care. Her breath was heavy in the air, and her feet pounded the ground. She was not quiet.

Half a second later, she heard him bellow and take the turn behind her.

Three.

Two.

She leapt, pushing through the row in front of her, and felt her toe catch.

That was it. She was down. She was dead.

She heard the threat from his raging mouth, felt the smile of victory forming on his face. Her hands hit the ground and her knees smacked into hard earth as her ankle wrenched at an odd angle. She was not getting back up.

In her head, she could feel him jumping to tackle her, his victory certain in his mind.

She had one shot.

Chloe twisted and flung her hand upward, the heavy rock still clutched tight from when she'd fallen the first time. She’d picked it up, hopeful. Now, she bashed the sharp point against his temple with the hardest blow she could muster and watched as he fell.

Had she done it? Wouldn't she feel something if he had died by her hand?

Her victory lasted only the briefest moment before he pushed back upright. His teeth were bared in a primal growl, and Chloe was shoved back by the rage he exuded—the same rage he’d shown his child victims.

The rock was still clutched tightly in her hand, red with the blood from his wound. But it was useless now that he knew she had it. In the light of what should have been a beautiful Nebraska day, bright sunbeams glinted off the blade in his hand. He lifted it and aimed downward toward her, and Chloe thought, “Well, it had been worth a shot.”

Samantha was out of the house. She'd run straight to the officer waiting at the front steps, and Chloe was grateful that she had a moment to know this before she died.

As the knife arced downward, she pulled her hands up as though it might ward off the fatal wound. But just then…

He jerked.

She felt his shock at the fire in his chest before she even registered the sound of the gunshot.

Chapter 8

Lando took a deep breath before picking up the phone. He knew Chloe's number by heart, but it had been three weeks and he hadn't called her despite the fact that she’d nearly died at the hands of a maniacal child killer. Despite the fact that his bullet had stopped the man.

When she was upright again, she’d refused to see the police therapist. Said she had to get back to her job—back to Breathless, Georgia, and some semblance of a normal life.

Now he was the one waking up in the middle of the night with nightmares. Lando’s only consolation was that his weren't real. He would put his arms around her to ease the things he’d seen, but he was always in bed alone.

The captain had walked in a few minutes ago and placed the folder on his desk. He'd been expecting it. But he hadn't found the nerve to call Chloe and let her know what had happened, not until everything cleared. He was now out of excuses.

“Hello?” Her voice through the line calmed him. He’d been nervous until he heard her. There was something about her, even with all the danger they'd gotten into, that eased all his nerves.

“Chloe.” He should have said more, but her name came out almost reverently.

“How are you doing, Lando?” she asked as though this were a casual conversation or an expected check-in. But that wasn't going to be good enough for him. She'd been in Redemption for a grand total of seven days. She'd been gone for twenty-one. Twenty-one days too long.

“I'm not doing so hot.” He figured he might as well admit it. She probably already knew anyway. Before she could respond, he added, “I have news.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “Congratulations on your promotion.”

Did that mean she was following him, checking in? “Thank you. But it's not about the promotion.”

It suddenly occurred to him that calling to surprise her with his information was possibly the dumbest thing he'd ever done. She had to already know. But since she hadn't mentioned it, he dove in. “Samantha Reiner, the little girl you saved… Her grandfather is William Reiner, and if you're not familiar, the Reiners own a very large portion of Omaha.”

He waited a beat and when she didn’t speak, he kept going. “He gave money to the police station when he heard about what you had done for his granddaughter.”

“That's very nice,” Chloe replied. “You'll be able to find more missing kids.”

“No,” Lando corrected her. “You will. It's for you.”

There was silence on the end of the line again, and he took a deep breath. This was Chloe and he couldn't afford to hide anything. “Reiner set up an endowment. It will make regular payments to you to cover travel and expenses to help find other missing children.”

“What?”

Had he actually told her something she didn't already know? He blurted out the next part. “I want to go with you. I want to be your assistant. When you go into police stations it will help if you have a cop with you…or I’ll be an ex-cop by then. I’d be useful.” He was rambling but he couldn’t help it.

“Are you offering me a job?”

“No,” he laughed. “I'm asking you for one.”

The line went silent again. Lando waited for the click to indicate that she had hung up. Instead, he stilled his breathing and could almost see her thinking about it. “It's a very nice idea. If I do it, I should probably hire an assistant, a cop is a great idea.”

But not him. Her tone said it all.

Then she asked, “Is it actually the job that you want?”

There. That was the moment of truth. He could lie or he could put it all on the line and give this thing between them a shot. “No. I like the idea of the job. I think it will be a great job. But I was also thinking maybe I would move to Breathless, Georgia. I could be a cop there. You know, see if—”

She interrupted him. “I'd like that.” But after a brief pause, she asked, “How much money is it?”

When he told her, the silence echoed for almost a full minute before she replied. “We could do this, couldn't we, Lando?”

His heart soared. “Yes, Chloe. Let's do this.”

About Savannah Kade

Maggie Winner – Best Romantic Suspense 2019

Savannah created her first romance novella at age eight. Even then it was clear she was looking for a story about a breakthrough. Though that particular book shall never again see the light of day (please, don’t even ask) it set the stage for everything after.

Now even nerdier than she was at eight, Savannah holds several degrees in human biology and neuroscience—not that it makes true love any easier… She’s become an ardent defender of stray dogs, a protector of frogs and random wildlife in her yard, and a hopeful crown-straightener for everyone she can find who needs it.

Check out Savannah’s website

Savannah@SavannahKade.com

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HeartStrings – Wilder #2

Love Notes – Wilder #3

Music & Lyrics – Wilder #4

Dark Secrets – Dark Falls, CO #2

Dark Echoes – Dark Falls, CO #7

Good Bones by Maggie Adams

International Bestselling Author

Chapter 1

Griffin

“Well, she won’t sell.” Ryker Callahan plopped down on Griffin McBride’s plush leather office chair. “She won’t even discuss it. Told me it had been in her family for generations, and she was going to restore it. The place is a dump. There’s no way she can afford to restore the thing, but she’s adamant about not selling.”

Griffin pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. “God, save me from sentimental idiots,” he groused.

“I say we forget the whole thing, Griff, and find another piece of property. I know the draw is because Mark Twain once said something there or had a party there or whatever the hell he did, but they don’t even let kids read Tom Sawyer or Huckleberry Finn anymore, so how is that going to be a draw for a golf resort?”

Griffin closed his eyes. He had to have that land. Ryker didn’t understand the whole picture, and he wasn’t about to clue him in. Talk about sentimental idiots, he thought to himself. He was the king of sentimental idiots.

Hannibal Home had been his grandfather’s final place of rest before his death. The hospice home had once been the shining jewel atop the Bluffs of Hannibal, Missouri, overlooking the mighty Mississippi River. Built by the logging magnate, John J. Cruikshank, friend of Mark Twain who was one of the greatest writers in America, it was a massive mansion.

Griffin’s grandfather, Clayton Thompson, had never been a rich man nor had he ever wanted to be. He’d rather barter than work, but Griffin had loved him dearly. They had gone on many “adventures” together, hunting down whatever took his grandfather’s fancy.

However, it was what Clayton Thompson had uncovered that made it imperative for Griffin to purchase Hannibal Home. On one of their quests, he and Clayton found a letter from Samuel Clemens. A professional historian had authenticated it, and now, it was missing. Griffin was determined to get it back—not for the monetary value, but because that had been the last adventure they shared before Griffin’s father had taken him away.

Opening his eyes, he stared at Ryker. “I’m not looking anywhere else. The mansion has historic significance. I know she’s asked for help from the Historical Society, but I can overcome that issue. The land itself would make a magnificent golf course and resort, and the mansion could be fully restored. Did you know it was once called Rockcliffe Mansion? Rockcliffe Resort would be a perfect name.” Griffin shook his head. “Find a way. Contact the Historical Society. Use your Realtor’s smile. Use anything you need to find a way to get me that property.”

“Look, Griff, I don’t mind doing this for you, but I’ve got my own share of troubles. We have three contracts for subdivisions in Saint Louis County alone, not to mention the one set for Cape Girardeau and the government renovation of the abandoned malls to house the homeless with facilities and beds. And that was your idea, remember?”

“You can’t do it?” Griffin scowled at his friend.

“I’ll do it, Griff. I’m just wondering why you won’t.”

Griffin glared at him, silently hoping Ryker would stop digging.

Ryker conceded. “I get the allure of the place since your grandpa died there. Don’t get me wrong, I do understand it took a while to find him. You did though, and you got to say goodbye. It’s been a year, let it go.”

Griffin blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall. He had almost been too late to say goodbye, thanks to the damn lung cancer eating away at the old man. The memories of the day came back in a rush.

“Griffin, do not fret. I found happiness here. No more wandering, though.” The faint whisper tore at Griffin’s heart, and he fiercely clung to the bony hand that had guided him in his younger years a little tighter. A deep cough racked his grandfather’s emaciated body.

“Papa?” Griffin felt tears fall onto his cheek. “Why didn’t you contact me? I tried to find you, to take you with me back to Scotland, but it was as if you had disappeared.”

“You were a young man ready to take on the world, my boy. You didn’t need to watch over an old man like me.”

“I could have helped you, Papa. The disease—”

“You would have tried to stop it, and there’s no stopping death.” Another coughing fit tormented the older man’s body. For a moment, Griffin feared this was the end, but the fit subsided, and his grandfather opened his eyes once again. “Griff, my boy, as I always said, you can’t find happiness in the past nor can you find it in material things, but if you look in your heart, deep into your soul, that’s where your happiness lies. If you’re at peace, then you’re happy, and I am at peace.”

“Papa, I just found you. I can’t let go. It’s too soon.” The tears poured down Griffin’s face as he realized how many years he wasted building his wealth instead of truly trying to find his grandfather.

Clayton cracked a smile. “You, my boy, have lived an adventurous life without me, but perhaps, one last adventure for the two of us?”

Thinking the old man meant his death, Griffin begged, “No, Papa, not yet.”

“Hush now, lad, and listen. I’ve one last tale to tell,” he wheezed out. “I want you to have the letter. You know the one I mean?”

“Yes, Papa, I do.”

“She’s kept it safe for me, and she’ll keep it safe for you no matter the purposes of others. ‘Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life’—that was Twain, my boy, from the letter. It still holds true today.”

Another fit took hold of the old man. The hospice nurse came in to check on Clayton and make him more comfortable, soon motioning to Griffin that his grandfather’s time was drawing near. He simply nodded and held tightly to his grandfather’s hand as the older man passed away.

Griffin shook off the memories and wiped the tears from his face. Ryker had politely walked away to peer out the window of the high-rise office which housed McBride Development. “Thanks, Ryker. I know you’re right. It’s my decision, and it should be me who gets the job done.”

“I didn’t mean it that way, Griff. I know it’s hard for you.”

“It is, but this will hopefully be the closure I need. The Rockcliffe Resort will be a fitting tribute to the man who spent his life teaching me how to turn nothing into something and to have grand adventures in my everyday life.”

Ryker nodded. “As long as you can get the crazy lady who owns it to sell, my friend.”

Griffin waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. I have a plan.”

Chapter 2

Casey

Cassandra “Casey” Sparks wiped the sweat from her brow with a handkerchief and a weary sigh. She’d never been afraid of hard work, could handle anything from a car engine to a renovated house, but this overgrown garden coupled with the July heatwave was about to get the best of her. Reaching for her water jug, she took a long swig, allowing the cool wetness to run down her shirt and between her breasts. She knew she needed to rest a minute, but the darn weeds seemed to sprout up every time she stopped. Besides, if she sat, she might never get up, and her pale, freckled skin would look like a boiled lobster.

She also didn’t even want to think about how her muscles would seize up in mutiny because of what she’d been putting them through. I’m definitely not twenty anymore, she chuckled to herself. Nope, she had officially turned thirty yesterday. And what had she gotten? A bee sting under her eye, an itchy patch of poison ivy on her arm, and some high-dollar real estate agent trying to charm her into giving away her inheritance.

“At least he smelled nice,” she mumbled to herself, coaxing the errant strands of copper-colored hair back into her lopsided braid. She sniffed under her arm as inconspicuously as possible to make sure she wasn’t giving off an offending odor. It felt like forever since she’d had a shower, although she’d had one at five-thirty this morning.

“Hey, Blue Eyes! Git your fine self over here!”

Casey dusted her hands on the back of her denim cutoffs, tucking her damp handkerchief back into her pocket. “What’s up, Mona?” Casey headed over to the plump woman who had helped her mother run the hospice home for over thirty years. Mona Malone, registered nurse, cook, and general repair woman had been a godsend for the Sparks family when Casey’s grandmother had suffered a stroke. Her boisterous manner, along with her sweet care, had eased the family’s sorrow. It had been Mona who suggested they transform the crumbling mansion into a hospice home. Casey’s mother jumped at it, fearing they would have to sell their homestead as taxes continued to rise. She and Mona ran the place while Casey attended business school. When a drunk driver had killed Casey’s mother, Casey quit her job and returned home to help Mona with the few patients they still had. That had been two years ago.

“Got a call from Jefferson City a few minutes ago. Looks like you were right in predicting the future, girl. They turned down our license renewal. Too many potential hazards in this old house,” Mona announced.

“Did you tell them we were fixing them? Updating?”

“Of course, I did! But you know the government, they only care about the rules.”

Casey sat down on the brown grass, thoroughly defeated. “Well, that’s that. I guess we better start packing.” She brushed at the tears that fell. Dammit! She had tried so hard. Why had that damn inspector come a week early? And why had the upstairs pipe burst in the blue suite during the inspection?

“What are you doing, girl? Get up! We got work to do,” Mona admonished her. “Getting the dead folk smell outta this here place before we turn it into a B & B is going to take some time and some Pine-Sol.”

Casey blinked, gaping at the older woman. “What are you talking about?”

“This place was a B & B before it was a hospice home, right? Your grandma—God rest her sweet soul—had turned it into one. So, let’s change it back. That Realtor guy that was here yesterday was mumbling about historic charm and lots of land. Well, I say we steal his idea and do it ourselves!”

“Do you have any idea how much work is involved in that?” Casey squinted up at her. “Not to mention permits, renovation costs, insurance—”

“Oh, you’re just tired is all. Get on up and let’s have some lemonade while we think about this. Those air B & B’s are all the rage. We’ve got twelve thousand square feet of common areas, five kitchenette suites, and eight regular suites. Some paint and wallpaper, a few repairs—we already got the inspection report, so we know what needs fixing—and we’re in business.”

“We would have to get permits from the planning commission. I mean, I guess I could go to the Historical Society for some help, but that’s an awful lot to take on.”

“Are you saying we can’t do it?” Mona scowled at her. “Where’s your backbone, girl?”

“We can do it all right,” Casey corrected. “I’m just saying it’s going to take months. Where’s the income coming from? We’d have to take out a loan. I don’t have that much left in savings. I was working on the repairs whenever any income was received.”

“Then get up and take a shower, pull out a fancy suit from the back of your closet, and make some appointments. We got no time to lose. That realtor is going to be back, and if he gets to it first, well, I’m just saying...”

Casey smiled at the older woman when she didn’t continue. “You’re just saying what?”

“I’m just saying you better not sass me. So, get on up there, that’s what I’m saying.” The older woman cackled.

Casey dusted off her bottom once more. It might just work, she thought as she hiked the rest of the way up the small hill toward Mona, who was already striding back into the kitchen.

“You know,” Casey said, “we’re going to have to hire staff, and somebody is going to have to supervise them all.”

“Lord knows this place would fall down around me if I wasn’t here to take care of it.” Mona winked at Casey.

“Then, you’re hired!” Casey exclaimed. “Now, let’s get to work.”

One week later, Casey stood before the zoning commission in her hometown. Several members were also on the historical society’s board, which meant it was almost like killing two birds with one stone. After she got permission from the zoning board to have the hospice home turned into a bed and breakfast, she’d have to tackle the bank, and she was dreading that one.

She was a bit nervous as she pulled down her skirt, trying to get the wrinkles out. It was hotter than blazes in there even though the air conditioner was working, making her glad she’d taken her copper tresses and pulled them back into her regular braid. She had foregone the business suit, opting instead for a light summer dress in a nice floral pattern along with heeled sandals. She hoped she looked feminine yet professional, the type of person who would own a quaint bed and breakfast in the historic town.

After the reading of the minutes and other business of the board, the commissioner, Malcolm Hastings, who she’d known her entire life, motioned for her to stand. “We’re accepting new business now, Casey. State your name for the record and present your proposal.”

She stood and walked over to the podium. “Hello, my name is Casey Sparks, and my family has owned the Rockcliffe Mansion for several generations, all the way back to Mr. Cruikshanks, God rest his soul. I’ve come to ask for the zoning commission to allow me to start a bed and breakfast in place of the hospice home. I believe it would be a wonderful addition to our hometown as well as a profitable business from a community standpoint. We would use locally-grown produce and farm-fresh groceries from here. We will cross-promote our business with the other businesses in town to offer specialty items in our gift shop as well as within the suites themselves. We will also have to hire staff, which would increase employment opportunities for the area.”

Taking a deep breath, Casey told herself to slow down. She noticed a man she’d never seen before sitting at the end of the commissioners’ table. Her breath caught, and she was unable to pull her gaze away. The man was attractive, but more than that, his eyes were boring into hers, and she couldn’t help the blush staining her cheeks.

The gentleman stood up. “Ms. Sparks, you’re leaving out a few important facts. A recent inspection from Jefferson City Nursing and Safety Council has stated your home is in desperate need of significant repairs. Now, who or what would be funding this type of repair which could cost well into the millions?”

Casey bristled. Who in the world was this person to tell her what she did or did not have in the way of financial capability? It was the truth, but who was he, and how had he managed to get a copy of that darn inspection? “Who are you?”

“Griffin McBride.”

Something about that name is familiar… It suddenly hit her, and she scowled. “You’re that realty company trying to buy my land.” Turning to the members, she pointed at McBride. “This man is trying to buy my land, and I am not selling.” She glared at Griffin again.

Griffin nodded in agreement. “You’re absolutely right, Ms. Sparks. I want that land, and I have the money to turn it and the house into a moneymaker for the area. I’m here to see that I get it.”

“Thank you, Griffin,” Malcolm stated as he banged his gavel. “Let’s vote. I believe we have all the information we need.”

Casey squeaked, “Wait! I have a business plan.”

Malcolm sighed. “There’s no need to see it, Casey. I think we’re all in agreement.” The other members nodded, refusing to meet Casey’s eyes. Her heart sank. “In regard to the motion petitioning us to allow Casey Sparks to change Hannibal House from a hospice home for the elderly into a B&B, how many ayes?” No one raised their hand. “How many nays?” Every hand went up in the air. “Motion denied. We’re sorry, Casey.”

They rejected her. Casey was nonplussed. How could they reject her? There was no reason.

“This decision is final. Hannibal House is denied the rezoning permit. You may go or you may stay for the rest of the meeting.”

She fixed Griffin with a furious glare. “You!” she exclaimed. “You’re the reason they all voted against me. I will fight this.” She shifted her focus to the members. “My grandma ran a B&B before she became ill. It’s been one before, and it can be one again. I don’t know what this man,” she pointed to McBride, “has promised you, but I’ll figure it out, and when I do you, you can bet there will be hell to pay.”

“Now simmer down, Casey.” Malcolm smirked. “We’re denying the rezoning for the B & B. You can keep the hospice home going if you want. Personally, I’d close the damn thing and sell it to Mr. McBride. You’re too young to be sitting around doing nothing except taking care of old people.”

She gathered her dignity around her like a cloak. “Excuse me? I’m only a few years younger than you, Malcolm; and as far as taking care of older people, I considered it an honor to take care of the elderly. They have far more intelligence and respect than most people.”

Casey collected her things and stomped toward the exit. “You haven’t heard the end of this,” she shouted as she slammed the door, leaving those stupid men and their man club behind.

“I’m going to find something on that damn Griffin McBride if it’s the last thing I do,” she muttered under her breath.

Chapter 3

Casey

Casey came home to find the ambulance and the coroner’s car parked in her circular drive. She hurried inside to find Mona weeping softly into her linen handkerchief. “Mr. Johnson?” Casey asked, and Mona nodded.

“Yes, darling. It was shortly after you left. I went in to check on him, and he was just gone.”

“I thought we’d have a little longer. He’s only been here a month,” Casey said quietly, crossing herself. “May his soul rest in peace.”

When the coroner and the EMT’s finished, Casey locked the doors and motioned for Mona to follow her into the large kitchen. She began to prepare the kettle for some tea, relaying the news of what happened at the zoning commission meeting tonight.

“So, the damn Realtor got to them?”

Casey shrugged. “I’m going to have to contact some of my people back in the city and see what I can find on this Mr. Griffin McBride.”

“I don’t know what to do if the zoning commission isn’t going to let you change this place back into a B&B. I suppose we could continue with the hospice if we could get a loan to complete these repairs, although I sure don’t like you spending all this time with the dead and dying. You’re a young girl. You need to have some fun,” Mona insisted.

Scowling, Casey growled, “That’s exactly what Malcolm said, and I told him I’d much rather be with the dead and dying than with those irresponsible and disrespectful people in town. Mona, you should have seen the way that McBride smirked at me as if he held all the cards.”

“What does he look like so I can get the gun out if he shows up?”

Casey rolled her eyes. “He’s attractive, I guess. I think he and that other man who showed up here were about the same age, maybe this McBride guy is a little older. He had some gray hairs but appeared every inch the businessman.”

Mona stood up, placing the now empty teacups into the sink. “Well, darling, if you’re going to fight, you’re going to need to get some rest. As they say, tomorrow is another day." She patted Casey on her shoulder.

After thanking her, Casey headed up the beautiful staircase to her room at the very top of the stairs. It had once been the schoolroom, but she had renovated it into a nice little area for her with a big, old bed she’d found in the attic of the mansion. She had her own bathroom, too, making it her own space.

Crawling under the covers, she thought about what had happened tonight. Truth be told, she hated coming home to see the dead and dying, but they deserved to go in peace and with dignity.

Only one patient left, and then what am I gonna do? She punched her pillow. “I’ll figure something out. I always do,” she declared in a whisper.

A vision of Griffin McBride flickered in her mind. “You could sell to me. I’ll take all your worries away. I’ll turn it into a mansion of beauty. I’ve got plenty of money, and you have none. All it’ll cost you is your legacy.” He smiled as his face grew harsh and red. Casey looked on in horror as he grew horns and cackled evilly.

Scrambling into a sitting position, she shook her head to banish the image. “Forget it, McBride. You’re not getting my house.” She slid out of bed to get a drink of water from the bathroom and faced herself in the mirror. She appeared tired with dark circles under her eyes, her hands had blunt nails, blisters, calluses. No wonder they hadn’t taken her seriously. She looked like a schoolgirl with her little braid, dressed in her little summer country dress. Well, Griffin was about to see just how stubborn she could be.

Three days later, a more professional Casey Sparks sat in the reception room at McBride Development Company, waiting patiently to speak with Mr. Griffin McBride. She had been allowed up only after informing the man at the security desk she had “personal business” with McBride and furiously waved a pregnancy test strip in his face.

Glancing at her watch, she realized she’d been here over an hour, and her gaze drifted to the receptionist. “I take it Mr. McBride is still in a meeting?” Casey inquired with saccharine sweetness.

The young woman glared at her from across the desk. “He is a very busy man,” she sneered, “and you did not have an appointment.” Her fingers began clacking on her keyboard once again.

Casey silently fumed, flipping through a magazine in frustration. Even though it’s true, I’m not leaving without an explanation. I know exactly who you are, McBride.

Casey noticed a gentleman coming through one of the offices with Griffin McBride. “I’ll talk to you later, Bob. We will get these plans set in motion, and then we’ll be well on our way. There are only a few minor details that need to be ironed out.”

The gentleman nodded and made his way across the reception area, dipping his head respectfully to Casey and entered the elevator. She glared at McBride as he calmly shut the door.

I’m a minor detail, she thought. You’ll see, Mr. McBride. You’re about to get the surprise of your life. Her fingers tapped on her briefcase.

Yet another hour passed with no one entering or exiting Griffin’s office. Casey had been sitting there close to two hours, and she was beyond frustrated. But she wasn’t the only one. The receptionist was beginning to get a little agitated herself if the way she was beating her keyboard was any indication. Finally, the other woman got up, excused herself, and hurried down the hall.

Casey knew this was her chance. Hustling across the reception area, she twisted the knob and barged into Griffin’s office. He peered up from his paperwork, a frown on his face. “Where’s Rebecca? How did you manage to get past her?”

With a smile, Casey flipped the lock and sauntered in to sit down on one of the chairs in front of his desk. She admired the bank of windows behind him, looking out across the St. Louis skyline. “I knew sooner or later she’d have to go to the bathroom.”

“Well, I’m very busy, and I don’t have time for you. So, the answer is no. You can leave now,” he growled.

“I want to know why, and then I’ll leave,” Casey stated, opening her briefcase to pull out a large file. “Griffin McBride,” she popped the file on his desk, “why, after the wonderful care we gave your grandfather for those many years, would you decide we needed to be shut down?” She sat back, crossed her legs, and waited for his reaction.

Griffin heaved a heavy sigh and put down his paperwork, reaching for the file. He interlaced his fingers on top of it. “You know?”

She straightened. “Of course, I know! I’m not an idiot. This is personal for you, but I want to know why!”

“This is a business decision. When I went to see my grandfather that last time—”

Casey interrupted, “The only time.”

“That was not my choice; that was his,” he snapped sternly. A moment later, he shook his head and conceded, “I’m sorry. My grandfather did not inform me of his location. We had been estranged—again, not by my doing—for several years. When I finally tracked him down…well, you know the rest.”

Casey noted the pain in his voice as he stared out the window. “We took very good care of him. He became a close friend to all of us. Mr. Clayton was one of a kind,” she said. “The stories he told us…” She paused and sighed heavily. “If you don’t believe me, it’s all there in his file.”

“I know you did,” he stated, still not sparing her even a brief glance. “However, as I said, it’s a business decision. When I was there, I noticed the mansion. It stood in a state of disrepair, looking out over the Mississippi River. The land could also use a lot of tending. You know, it could be the crown jewel again, just like it was back in the day. You don’t have the money to do it, Casey. I admire your initiative, but it would be best if you sold it to me. I’ll take care of it and bring it back to its former glory.” He swiveled around to meet her gaze.

“This has nothing to do with a business decision on my part,” she snapped. “I know you understand because Mona was in the doorway when your grandfather was dying. I am fully aware that you have the ability to care deeply about family…about legacy. This is my legacy, my family. We are distantly related to the Cruikshanks, and it’s been in my family since its inception. How could I sell it to someone who wasn’t family?”

He sighed again. “I get it. I really do, but you can’t not sell it. You can’t restore it, and you can’t keep going with the way it is. Are you simply going to let it fall down around you?”

She stood, tears beginning to fall, and placed her hands on the desk. “I can’t do anything with it because you have blocked me at every move—the zoning commission, the bank. We’ve done our business there for over one hundred years.” She leaned over the desk, moving her face closer to his. “I want to know WHY!” she cried. Stepping back, she put her hands on her face, attempting to gather some of her control.

Before she knew it, strong arms were wrapping around her, holding her, and awkwardly patting her back. Griffin pushed a handkerchief into her hand, and she accepted it with a small thank you.

Casey wiped her eyes and blew her nose, and then started to hand it back to him, pulling back at the last second when she realized her error. Peeking up at him, she murmured, “I’ll have it cleaned and sent back to you.”

He released her when she stepped away from him and sat in the leather chair next to her after she had dropped into her seat. “There’s something I think you do need to hear,” he told her. “You’re right, it is personal. Just as you have the legacy of the house and the land, I have an heirloom from my grandfather.” He cleared his throat. “My grandfather and I were the best of buddies during my childhood. When I was old enough to go on adventures with him,” he smiled slightly, “he would take me to garage sales or visit friends who had hordes of things in their yards. People would actually come to him and say, ‘Hey, I’d like to find this or that,’ and he would find it. Even movie companies came to him for some of their props. We would go on our little trips, and I loved it. I loved him. I still do.”

“But when I was twelve, my mother ran off with my father’s business partner. They stole the money from the business, leaving it in shambles, abandoning my father and me. My father hated her and her whole family from that point on. He never truly got over it. We moved to Scotland, where he had family. He started a development company, and I followed in his footsteps. I wrote to my grandfather every chance I got but never heard back. It was as if I’d lost both him and my mother at the same time.”

“When my father passed away, I found the letters I had written. They had never been mailed. My governess had taken them and simply given them back to my father. That was when I realized my grandfather hadn’t given up on me. I immediately began trying to find him.”

Casey covered his hand with hers. “I’m so sorry, Mr. McBride.”

“I found him, in the nick of time, but I found him. I don’t know whether it was the pain meds or the impending death, but he wanted to go on another adventure.” He turned to look at her. “Thank you for taking such good care of him.”

“It was my honor to do so. I understand what you mean about adventures. Going down in that rickety old elevator from his room, he always declared we were on an adventure.” She smiled at the memory. “He had a beautiful soul,” she said.

“Casey, did he ever talk to you about Mark Twain or anything like that?”

“Oh, yes.” Her eyes lit up. “He said that you and he had gone on many adventures. He liked to read to you about Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn and that you had even found a letter from Samuel Clemens himself.”

“Yes.” Griffin sat up, removing his hand from hers. “Did he, by chance, mention if he still had the letter?”

Casey looked at him with a perplexed expression, the frown drawing her eyebrows a little closer together. “He said he had given it to you. Did you lose it?”

“He didn’t give it to me. It’s gone. I think it’s somewhere in your home, Casey.”

“You think he hid it in my house? Why?”

“The letter talked about his friend John Cruikshanks and how happy he was to be addressing the community of Hannibal as a famous writer instead of a simple wanderer of the world.”

“Mark Twain did visit my ancestor once, but to have it verified would be phenomenal!” She bounced on the chair. “I mean that would be real proof that my home should be listed on the historical registry.”

Grabbing the folder, she opened it up. “There are tons of papers in here. I didn’t look through all of them, only the ones to prove we took good care of him. Mona saved all the notes he wrote to her, even scribbled special requests.”

She began flipping through the papers frantically, but he dropped his hand onto the folder, closing it. “If you find the letter, what are you going to do with it?” he asked.

Casey stared at him, totally baffled. “I’d give it to you, of course. I mean, I’d hope you would at least help me prove to the Historical Society that the mansion is of historical significance so I can get funding.” Suddenly, she remembered the reason for her visit and clutched the folder to her bosom. “Would you use it to take away my home?” It would be very easy to do. If he had the paper, plus his funding, he could convince the Historical Society to let him restore it the way it used to be and even add the golf course.

The moment stretched on, and Casey dropped her gaze to her lap. “I see. Well, I guess that means I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.”

“Casey, I could restore it to its former glory.”

“For what?” she snapped. “So you could say you found it, that you did it? So that it could stay some cold, old mansion that doesn’t have any life or love within its walls? Everything would go through a team of contractors. You wouldn’t be personally involved like me. It wouldn’t have a soul. If that’s what you think your grandfather wanted you to do with that letter and my home, then you’re wrong. You didn’t know him at all.” She stood and backed away.

Griffin motioned to the folder. “That belonged to my grandfather; therefore, it belongs to me.”

She threw it at him, the paper scattering across the floor. “Take it then, but don’t expect to gain access to my home.” Lifting her head proudly, she marched to the door. “I’d wish you good luck in your search, Mr. McBride, but I wouldn’t mean it. I’d rather you to go to hell.” She closed the door quietly and rushed to the elevator to make her escape into the sunny outdoors.

Chapter 4

Casey

A month passed with Casey scrambling to find a way to save her home. During that time, her last hospice patient passed away quietly in her sleep. Without family or friends around her, it was up to Casey and Mona to make sure her last wishes were fulfilled. After that, the women cleaned the room and deposited her meager belongings into a plastic tub. There, they would remain with the rest of those forgotten souls until Casey could either conjure a miracle or be forced to sell the home to Griffin.

Casey came down the massive staircase to find the object of her thoughts waiting at the bottom. He was standing there pristine in his fancy suit, and she felt like one of the dust bunnies she had dragged out from under the bed. “I really don’t have time, Mr. McBride. We lost our last client this week, and we have a lot of paperwork to go through.” She moved onto the last step with her head held high and attempted to brush past him, but he grasped her arm gently.

“You look exhausted,” he said.

“Thank you. A girl always likes a compliment,” she sneered sarcastically, yanking her arm free.

He ran his hands through his hair. “I didn’t mean…” Griffin sighed heavily. “I saw you attending the services at the cemetery. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Casey glared at him with disdain. “I’m hurting, that’s how I’m doing. It’s always tough to lose one of our clients, but no one cheats death. If you’ve come to make an offer, my home is still not for sale.”

Her eyes scanned the space, studying her house and trying to see it through his eyes. The grand staircase was bigger than most large living rooms. A gigantic landing above that, which was made for dancing, divided two smaller staircases that went up to the next level where the orchestra would play. She could imagine Samuel Clemens standing there, giving a speech to the throngs of high society of the era.

And here I am, trying desperately to save my home and bury those who were forgotten by most of their relatives.

“I have a proposition for you,” he said, bringing her out of her introspection.

“If it involves me selling, the answer is no.” She sauntered toward the kitchen.

He followed. “You can keep your home,” he blurted impatiently.

She spun around quickly, catching the swinging door before it hit him in the face. “What did you say?”

His hand landed on the door and pushed it open, crowding into her space and forcing her against the old wooden prep table. “I said you could keep your home. I’ll front you the cost for the repairs to return it to its former glory. In exchange, you give me the land for the golf course and the resort. I’ll set up a separate area for the clubhouse. We will be partners, but if the letter is ever found, it’s mine. Agreed?”

Casey’s mind was reeling. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought to go into business with Griffin McBride. It would solve all of her problems, but at what risk? “What’s the catch?” she asked suspiciously.

Griffin smiled softly. “No catch, Casey. We both want the same thing—to preserve our legacy. Do we have a deal?” He stuck out his hand.

Casey tried to think of something, anything that might not be in her favor, but the fact remained, his offer was the answer she’d been searching for. Her mind was blocked, too focused on the positive and unable to think about the disadvantages. With a deep breath and feeling as if she was jumping off the very cliff her beautiful home sat upon, Casey shook his hand. “It’s a deal.”

Chapter 5

Casey

Six weeks later, Casey could hardly recognize the outside of her homestead. Gone were the weeds in the gardens, and in place of the old rotten trees, laid a smooth lawn, beautifully manicured bushes, and colorful flower beds. There was even a vegetable garden on the side near the kitchen—just as there had been back in the day. She had to hand it to Griffin, when he said he was going to get to work immediately, he meant it.

“Casey, we don’t have time for you to daydream,” Mona chided, coming to stand next to her. “Staring out the window like a woman mooning after a good man…” Mona chuckled as Casey blushed. “You’ve got a magic touch with Griffin.”

“There was no touching, Mona.” Casey blushed even redder. “He offered me a proposition that would take care of all of our problems, and I graciously accepted.”

“Bet you wished there was a little touching. I’ve seen the way you look at him, about the same way he looks at you.” Mona clapped her hands in glee. “Yes, that man has got it bad for you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s just grateful for the help. I still feel bad that we haven’t found the letter, though. I don’t know what I’m going to do if we don’t find it, Mona. I can hardly expect the man to continue doing all of this if the letter isn’t here.”

And that was the worry she had overlooked when she accepted Griffin’s proposal. What if he was wrong? What if the letter isn’t here?

“Don’t you worry about that. I know Mr. Clayton liked his adventures. It’s got to be here. Remember when he took his wheelchair up and down the hall pretending to be a ghost?”

Casey laughed out loud. Clayton had been a character.

“What’s so funny?” a deep male voice whispered directly behind them. Both Casey and Mona shrieked in fright.

“Good grief, Mr. Griffin, you about made me pee my pants!” Mona slapped his arm.

He chuckled, winking at Casey, who smiled back. She tried not to stare. Griffin McBride in a suit was devastatingly handsome, but in a white T-shirt and ripped jeans, he was a bad boy come to life!

“We were talking about how your grandfather would ‘ghost’ through the house, using the creaky old elevator to try to scare Mona. It seems you inherited his prankster nature,” Casey teased.

“Oh, he was the master at it. Used to sneak up on me all the time, especially when we went camping. Nothing like an old ghost story. After he was done, imagine an old man in a ghillie suit jumping out and making a ten-year-old boy scream like a girl.”

Casey laughed so hard at the image, tears came to her eyes.

“I can laugh now, but back then, I didn’t talk to him for a week. He told me it built character, and I needed to be able to laugh at myself because there were plenty of people in life who were going to laugh at me anyway.”

Mona shuffled toward the kitchen. “I’m hungry. How about a sandwich, Mr. Griffin, sir?”

“I wouldn’t say no to something to eat, but stop calling me Mr. and sir, Mona. I’m just plain Griffin or Griff.”

“You ain’t plain nothing, darlin’,” Mona said as she winked at Casey. “Why don’t you take this man into the morning room and pour him a glass of that sweet lemonade? I’ll bring lunch out as soon as it’s ready.”

Casey ushered Griffin down the hall to the morning breakfast room where they could sit in the comfortable air conditioning. The bank of windows there allowed them to watch the progress of the men working outside. She handed him a large mason jar filled with ice and Mona’s lemonade. “It’s hard to believe how much has been accomplished in a few short weeks.”

“Not to bash your abilities, but it does go faster when you have an entire crew to order about.” Griffin moaned softly as the lemonade slid down his throat.

“Yes, but do they have my flair for the fabulous?” she replied with her saucy attitude. Waving her arms wide, she encompassed the newly renovated room. “After all, I did pick out the pretties in here.”

“You took three weeks to pick out the ‘pretties,’ and I had to rush in a few of the orders,” he replied dryly.

“Did you?” She was immediately contrite. “How much extra? I’ll make up the difference.”

Griffin grinned. “You’re determined to pay your way with this project, no matter what, aren’t you?”

She nodded emphatically.

“Don’t worry about it. It feels good to get my hands dirty again, for the pain in my sore muscles to wash away in the shower. It’s therapeutic.”

“I’m sorry you haven’t had any luck in finding the letter, Griff.”

“It’s okay, Casey. It’ll turn up. We still have a lot of house to renovate.” He strode toward her.

“I know. It’s just frustrating for me, so I’m sure it’s incredibly frustrating for you.”

“Anxious to get rid of me?” he asked as he refilled his glass at the sidebar.

“Not at all,” she stammered, blushing, hoping she didn’t sound breathless. He was standing close to her and smelled of sweat, dirt, and man. It was intoxicating to her.

“Glad to hear that,” he murmured close to her ear. “You smell nice.”

“Th-th-thank you,” she stuttered. Her heart was practically beating out of her chest.

“My pleasure.” He turned her in his arms. “My grandfather said I’d find happiness here. The old man was right. May I?”

“May you what?” she whispered, looking at his lips.

“This.” He lowered his head and kissed her softly. Her mind reeled from the pleasurable sensation.

“Come and get it. Oh!” Mona yelled from the doorway, her arms laden with a tray of food.

Griffin and Casey jumped apart, Casey turning beet red.

“No reason to stop kissing. I’ll just back out…” Mona smirked at them.

Griffin chuckled and took the tray from her. “I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

Casey marveled at Griffin’s calm demeanor. She was still shaking. Maybe he hadn’t been as affected by the kiss as she had.

He held out a chair for Mona before pulling out and offering Casey another chair. When she sat, he kissed the top of her head. Casey smiled to herself. Maybe he hadn’t been unaffected after all.

Mona passed out the lunch goodies as she began talking, “Well, now that we’ve finally gotten around to kissing, should I assume that y’all aren’t going to tiptoe around each other anymore? It was getting a little boring.”

Casey threw her napkin at her. “Hush!”

Griffin’s sexy grin pulled at his lips. “Let’s just say we are coming around to the idea.”

“Good, because Casey’s been living with this old, moldy mattress from the attic, and she needs a new, big bed.”

“MONA!” Casey exclaimed.

“Well, it’s the truth. Maybe a little loving will make you take something for yourself. Can’t have this fine man sleeping in a room filled with old furniture and knickknacks that others have thrown away.”

“Those things were given to me by the residents here. I could no more throw those away than toss you out the window.”

Mona huffed. “Then find a room to put them on display or something.” She looked at Griffin. “Old embroidered pillows, some candle art, macaroni shoe boxes, even a ship in a bottle made with matchsticks—junk!”

“Hey! Mr. Clayton made that, and I’m…” Casey’s eyes lit up, and she jumped to her feet, grabbing Griffin’s hand. “The ship!”

She ran into the main hall and pulled open the ornate scrolled doors to the elevator. “Hurry! It’s got to be there!”

Griffin sped after her. “You think? It would make sense. He said a haven, she kept it safe, and to look deep in the soul.”

The ancient elevator seemed to creep up floor by floor until it came to a shuddering stop at the top of the fourth floor. Griffin hurried to unlatch the doors. “Remind me to put in a faster elevator. We will keep this one too, though.” He grinned with a wink.

Casey practically skipped down the small hall to her bedroom. Opening the door, she ran to the bookshelf where her knickknacks sat and picked up the large ship in a bottle, handing it to Griffin. “I’ll get some tweezers.” She eyed the bottle. “Or something else.”

Running out of the room, she ran down the hall, unsure of what she was looking for. A few feet from the elevator, she saw a toolbox and wondered. On top of the tools in the open box, laid an extra long pair of needle-nose pliers. They seemed like they would be long enough. Checking the hall for anyone, the place was deserted, the contractors still on lunch. “I promise I’ll bring them back.” Casey snatched them and sprinted toward her room, presenting the pliers to Griffin. “This is it.”

He kissed her quickly. She pushed him back. “Kisses later, letter now!” She motioned for him to get on with it.

“We could be wrong,” he began.

“No, I can feel it. You can too, I can tell.” She smiled up at him. “So, go on, Griffin, go get the treasure from Papa Clayton’s last adventure.”

Mona snorted behind them, mumbling about young people having no respect for their elders and leaving her behind to wait on the elevator to come down again.

Casey hugged her in her excitement, giggling while Griffin sat on the bed and carefully opened the matchstick hatch door which lead to the interior of the ship. The pliers were working, but it still took three attempts before Griffin grasped the folded paper inside.

Slowly pulling out the old piece of paper, Griffin grinned. “I feel like a ten-year-old boy again.” Mona and Casey whooped and hugged each other. “I wish my grandfather was here for this.”

“Maybe he is after all. The old coot had a way of sneaking up on all of us,” Mona stated gruffly.

“My dear friend John,

Thank you most graciously for the invitation to speak…”

As tears fell from Casey’s face, she murmured, “You found it.”

“No, we found it together.”

“What happens now?” she asked.

Griffin gathered her in his arms. “I predict many more adventures together.”

Mona discreetly left the room, leaving the lovers to discover each other, the much sought-after letter lying forgotten on the bed.

About Maggie Adams

Maggie Adams is the internationally bestselling romance author. Her first book, Whistlin’ Dixie, debuted in the Top 100 in Women’s Fiction-Humor. Since then, her Tempered Steel series has launched the tiny town of Grafton, Illinois, into international recognition with sales in Canada, Mexico, Ireland, Scotland, Australia, the UK, and spawned two spin off series, Legends (paranormal) and Sweet Tea Sisterhood (YA). She also writes women’s erotica, romantic comedy, romantic suspense, seasoned romance, and women’s fiction.

At home, she enjoys cooking, dancing, (usually at the same time), and spending time with her husband, known in her blog as Attractive Over Forty Man, her children and grandchildren.

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Keep the Light by I. D. Johnson

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Keep the Light by I. D. Johnson

Keep the Light

The rowboat swayed back and forth in the current, tipping from side to side, but never giving Jebediah Miller reason to fear being tossed into the salty sea. In his five years as lighthouse keeper, he’d made the trip from the North Channel to the South Channel Lights in all sorts of weather, and while the wind had picked up considerably since he’d left to check the station on the north side a few hours ago, it was nothing but a gentle breeze compared to the gales he’d endured during spring storms and autumn hurricanes.

In the distance, a great ship sailed back out to sea. He recalled seeing its distinctive masts a few days earlier, watched as it disappeared up the channel to the mainland. He imagined the hasty retreat had more to do with the fever he’d heard mention of the last time he’d gotten supplies than a tight schedule. He watched the sails catch the same wind that rocked him now and wished the crewmen safe passage. Only God knew what they might encounter sailing out to open waters this time of year.

Nearing the curve that would take him to his usual docking place near the small residence that sat behind the South Channel Light, or Cockspur, as the locals called it, something in the water around the edge of the tiny island caught his attention. From this angle, it was impossible to tell exactly what he was looking at, but it resembled a blanket floating on top of the water. He moved his rowboat around a bit, the muscles in his arms beginning to ache from the return trip, and arched his back, stretching his neck to see.

It was a body. At this distance, he couldn’t make out much detail, but he could recognize the form. Arms stretched over the head, hands reaching, boots poking up from the shallow surf, a shock of red hair reflecting the mid-day, August sun. It was a body—and what’s more—it was the body of a woman. Jeb was fairly unfamiliar with those, considering the isolation he’d lived in for the last five years, but he recognized a woman when he saw one, even if she was face down on the shoreline.

Muttering a curse word, he brought the boat back around to tie it up. It had been a year or more since the last time he’d had to bury a soul lost at sea, but he had done it. His prior experience was with storm victims. Men washed up after a storm caught them in the wrong position to make it to safety. Floating among splintered masts and ripped sails, he’d fished men’s bodies out of the Atlantic more than once. But never a woman.

Boat secured, Jeb stretched and grabbed the meager supplies he’d taken with him to Oyster Bed Light, deciding he had a moment to put them inside and clear his head before he went to see about the lady in the water. He couldn’t say for sure where she might’ve come from, but he had a suspicion the passing ship had something to do with it. He couldn’t imagine any reason why a woman would be left to the sea.

Inside his spartan two-room cottage, Jeb tossed his hat on the table and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher he kept by the window. Fresh water was one supply he never let run short, especially this time of year when fever could strike at any time, potentially closing the port in Savannah and delaying anyone from coming out to check on him for weeks or even months at a time. Keeping enough food on hand was also important, as well as the supplies he needed to keep both lights going, but water was an essential, so he was thankful for the glass he had before him now.

A gentle sea breeze billowed the white curtains over the window, the ones his mother had brought the last time she visited. It was the only woman’s touch his little cottage displayed, a lovely hint of femininity. The drapes made him wonder if anyone would miss the woman lying on the shore. Was there a son or a lover across the ocean somewhere who would look longingly at billowing curtains and wish for the hands that had made them?

Having procrastinated long enough, Jeb set his glass aside and picked his brown, wide-brimmed hat up off of the table, shoving it onto his head with resolve. He may as well get this over with.

With a heavy heart, he came around the corner of the house and halted in his tracks, drawing in a shallow breath as he took in a sight that was both shocking and intoxicating all at once.

Sunlight glinted off of auburn hair, loose and blowing in the breeze, a sparkle shining on the wet alabaster skin of the most lovely profile he’d ever seen. Her navy dress was soiled and soaked, the white sleeves of her blouse stained with mud, her untamed mane dripping with salt water. But she was alive. Sitting among the stones along the water’s edge, she looked off in the direction of the disappearing ship, her arms wrapped around her knees.

Grateful, Jeb approached slowly. Why sailors had seen fit to throw a perfectly healthy woman overboard made little sense to him—unless she was a lunatic. His boots crunched over the shale, but she didn’t turn her head to ascertain who approached, only continued to stare out to sea. When he came to within twenty paces of her, she spoke. “Pardon the intrusion.”

Her voice didn’t match her tiny frame exactly; it was weathered, a bit husky, perhaps from ingesting saltwater. It didn’t suit her otherwise pixie-like appearance in its brashness either. She didn’t seem to want a pardon at all. She seemed... put out.

“Are you well?” he asked. “Are you in need of medical assistance?”

“No.” Her answer was gruff, short. He waited for more, but she only stared out at the ocean.

“Can I get you anything? Water?” She glanced down at her dress and then out at the tide as it brushed her footwear. “Drinking water?” he clarified.

“No.”

Jeb swallowed hard. From the looks of her, he’d guess she wasn’t even his age—maybe twenty-two or so. But there was a hardness about her, an untrusting spirit. “Do you plan to sit there indefinitely, then?”

She turned and looked at him, her jade eyes sharp. “I do not know what I might do. For now, I wish to be left alone.”

He shifted his weight, not exactly sure how to respond to her request. His eyes trailed out to sea; the ship was out of sight now. “Very well. I must be tending the light anyhow.” Her eyes were no longer boring through him, fixed back on the rolling waves. “I doubt there will be anyone coming to call for the next week or two. Depending upon the fever and the storms.”

She didn’t even acknowledge his efforts to engage her. He cleared his throat and took a step back the way he’d come. “I will just be... in the lighthouse.”

“You said that.” The woman didn’t turn her head to speak.

“I am Jebediah Miller. You may call me Jeb if you would like. Most folks do.”

Now, she turned, her eyes traveling around the small island, taking in the cottage, the lighthouse, the small outbuilding, a few scraggly trees pushing through the barren rock. Her eyes came back to him, narrowed with inquiry.

“Not here,” he said, crimson creeping up his neck. “I meant... back home. In Savannah. Most folks call me Jeb there. Here... there is no one. Except for me. And now you.” It seemed odd rolling off his tongue, admitting he wasn’t alone at the moment. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, what to make of her.

With a toss of drying red hair, she refocused on the ocean, not acknowledging his statement at all.

Polite conversation dictated he should ask the woman her name, but she seemed to prefer being left to herself, for now, so Jeb did as he’d said he would and turned, heading back toward the lighthouse and the same duties he would normally perform this time of day if he didn’t have an unexpected guest.

As he reached the door of the lighthouse, he turned back in her direction, still marveling that she’d washed ashore alive, and noticed her eyes were on him again. She looked away quickly, as if she didn’t want him to see. Red lit his face again, for a different reason this time, and Jeb hurried inside the lighthouse, away from her wild eyes.

Pebbles bit into her backside, her lungs continued to burn, her throat on fire. Ann Keaton shifted, pulling her feet out of the same water that had threatened to end her not long ago, wishing she’d allowed herself the vulnerability of accepting a drink of fresh water from the keeper.

Her wrists ached, rubbed raw from the heavy iron shackles, and her ankles were bleeding from when she’d kicked so hard the metal had sliced into her skin. She hadn’t had much of a choice. Swim to the lighthouse, chains and all, or sink into oblivion. Whether or not she’d made the right decision remained to be seen.

Watching the boat disappear over the horizon wasn’t quite as freeing as she’d imagined. The only woman on a ship full of raucous men, she’d prayed she’d make it safely to shore without any of them claiming her. If it hadn’t been for the ship’s parson, she wouldn’t have made it here unscathed. Once the captain was told the port was closed, and they’d set back out to sea, she’d seen the looks in their eyes and knew what she’d needed to do.

Satisfied the boat would not be returning soon, Ann looked back at the paltry dwelling and the lighthouse. She’d assumed the island was too small to be inhabited full-time, so when the keeper had appeared, she’d been stunned, though she’d hid it well. The shock that widened his blue eyes was evident; whether he was surprised to see her there at all or only mystified about how she could still be alive, Ann couldn’t say, but she was just as amazed at her circumstances as anyone. She hadn’t been swimming since she was a small girl, before the pestilence struck her family. It may have not been the same disease that kept her from reaching port now, but Ann grew weary of having her life dictated by the ravages of illness.

Deciding it would do her little good to speculate as to how she’d managed to make it to shore, she pondered the possibility of walking across the rocky beach to the lighthouse and finding the keeper—Jeb. Already, she could tell he was unlike any man she’d ever met before, and while she didn’t trust anyone whose anatomy was contrary to her own, he had a gentleness about him that shifted the hardness around her edges. It was both unsettling and liberating to consider what that might mean should she truly find herself confined with him for the next several days or more.

Ann’s limbs ached as she pushed up off of the ground. She steadied herself the best she could on legs that weren’t capable of separating as they should. What would the handsome lighthouse keeper think when he realized her situation? He would certainly riddle her with questions. Ann let her face crack into a smile for a brief second as she pondered all of the questions he’d peppered her with earlier. She wondered if he spoke aloud to himself when he was alone or if he’d been keeping it all in for however long it had been since he’d seen another soul.

It was difficult to make her way across the rocky terrain in the shackles, though she had grown accustomed to walking in them to some extent since they’d been forced on her months ago by the jailer in London. Not that she did much ambling around the ship; most of her time was spent below deck in the dark. The only time she’d seen the sun since boarding The Esteemed Lady, an ironic name for a vessel crewed by heathens, was on the brief afternoon walk she was afforded when the parson was available to take her, as he had been today.

She felt sorry for frightening him when she’d flung herself over the side. The sound of the water muffled the prayer he’d been shouting as she tried to stay afloat and propel herself toward the island in the distance. The only explanation she could give for why she was still alive was that perhaps God had finally seen fit to lend her a hand.

Ann made it to the cottage, her flesh aching from straining against her chains, and blood trickling over the top of her ankle-high boot. Bleeding all over Jeb’s floorboards wasn’t ideal, but she needed to find fresh water. Ann managed to open the door and step in.

The house was clean, the few essential items in their place, save a glass on the table and a pitcher of water near the window. She stepped inside, noticing a door to her right and assumed that was the bedroom. It wasn’t much space for two adult strangers, but that was an unintended problem she’d have to solve later.

Now, she needed to quench her thirst.

Ann dragged herself across the room, hoping the blood from her right leg didn’t stain the weathered floor, and picked up the glass, finishing it off but needing more. With a deep breath, she carried it to the countertop and lifted the pitcher.

Pouring was difficult but she managed, and then Ann downed that glass as well, thankful that the burning in her throat had calmed to some degree. She wiped the wetness from her lips with the back of her hand and contemplated what to do next.

The door swung open, and Jeb stepped in, his forehead wrinkled in concern. “You are bleeding?” His blue eyes bulged as he took in her hands. With a deep breath, Ann raised both arms and lifted her hand in a wave. Still staring at her in shock, Jeb waved back. Then, for once, he was quiet.

Ann pondered how much of an explanation she should give. His eyes were wide with concern, but she did not sense judgment coming from the blue orbs. She cleared her throat, hoping the water had softened her tone, though she still felt a fire raging inside of her that wouldn’t be extinguished by the concern of one man. “I am not dangerous.”

His eyebrows rose, and she assumed he was taking into account the fact that he had to be almost two feet taller than her. His broad shoulders and muscular arms strained against the fabric of his white shirt. Even sopping wet as she was now, Ann didn’t weigh more than eighty pounds. Of course, she was not dangerous to him.

He didn’t mention that, though. “You should sit. I will go fetch the medicinal kit and some tools.”

Ann looked down at her bound wrists. She’d been wearing the iron so long, she’d almost forgotten what it was like to be able to move freely. The idea that he would rid her of them soon was enough to send her heart racing.

Jeb backed out the door, and Ann made her way to one of two chairs at the small table a few steps away. A glance back at the floor let her know she’d have some cleaning to do when she was free of her chains. Her leg was bleeding worse than she’d realized.

The door opened, and Jeb came in with an ax, a saw, and another tool she didn’t recognize. He dropped them on the table and then disappeared through the other door. It was a decent sized bedroom with sparse furniture, the bed larger than she’d imagined considering he was alone.

He came back with a small wooden box. “My mother insists I keep this stocked, though none of the others that have washed up have benefited.” He set it on the table. “May I?”

Though unsure of exactly what he wanted permission to do, Ann nodded, and Jeb gently guided her wrists up to the table, inspecting the iron. “It is worn. It should not be too difficult to work through.” He picked up the saw, but Ann looked away, not wanting to watch in case his hand slipped.

It didn’t, and in a few moments, her hands were free of each other. How he would get the shackles off of her wrists, she didn’t know, but he used the tool she hadn’t recognized to bend and break the binding until her right hand was free and then her left hand. “There,” Jeb said, satisfied with his work.

Ann massaged one wrist and then the other, the raw, red skin smarting from where the iron had dug in time and again. Her arm muscles ached from the strain of her swim and from the restraint she’d endured for months.

Jeb cleared his throat, removing his hat and wiping his brow before he settled it on his head again. “I am assuming you have leg shackles as well?”

“Yes.” Ann realized she hadn’t even said thank you for his first effort. Having missed the obvious opportunity, she’d wait until he was done with her ankles.

He drew in a deep breath, more perspiration dotting his brow beneath the brim of his hat. “Pardon, miss, but I will need to see them.”

Realizing then he was nervous about the fact that she’d have to lift her skirts, Ann tried not to smile. She wondered how long he’d been on this island alone.

The hem of her dress had dried some in the August heat, but it was still damp. She only wore a few layers, nothing like what a proper lady would’ve been wearing, but gathering the fabric and raising it out of his way without being immodest was a challenge, especially with her sore wrists. Ann managed, and Jeb looked relieved to see her chains were placed low so she wouldn’t have to lift her gown any higher. His face was a slight shade of crimson as he dropped to his knees, taking the tool he’d used on her wrists with him. “They are tight,” he noted.

“Yes.” That had been done for her own protection, the jailer had mentioned, in order to make it difficult for anyone who wanted to lift her skirts higher than they were now. Jeb moved the chains slightly as he made his inspection, and the iron cut into her bleeding leg. Ann winced, wishing she could remain silent, but she couldn’t help it.

“I apologize,” Jeb said, looking up at her for only a second. “I did not mean to harm you further.”

“It is to be expected,” she said quietly. “You will not be able to remove them without some pain.”

He held her gaze. “I apologize in advance for that. I do not wish to hurt you.”

Somehow, she managed to find a small smile and nodded. It was evident Jeb wasn’t the sort of man who took pleasure in bringing others pain, especially women, she assumed.

He worked carefully, taking his time, his fingers occasionally making contact just above her ankles, always gentle. As he continued to pry the iron, the sting lessened as the binding gave way. Eventually, her injured right leg was free. Ann sighed in relief, glad to have the metal away from her flesh.

“I should clean that and wrap it before I remove the left one,” Jeb said, his hands on her ankle as he carefully pulled back the remnants of her torn stocking and looked at the wound. “Your boot and stocking will need to come off.”

“I can do that,” Ann assured him.

Jeb nodded, rising to move out of her way. As he did so, she leaned forward, and his warm breath grazed her cheek, sending a tingle down her spine that matched the heat of the August day. She caught his eyes, the sparkling orbs so close to hers she could see flecks of turquoise adrift in an ocean of sapphire blue. Ann drew in a breath, her teeth encapsulating her lower lip as she did her best to ignore the rush of heat that coursed to her abdomen. The scent of open sea mingled with the woodsy fragrance of cologne, and a note of his own masculine scent became an intoxicating aroma, one she had to fight as she reminded herself that he was a man, and therefore, he was not to be trusted, regardless of the kindness he had displayed thus far.

The moment passed, though Ann was certain he’d felt a similar surge radiating through his core. His breath staggered, and when he finally stood, Jeb took two long steps away from her, the muscles in his back tense as he attempted to hide the fact that she’d made his pulse quicken.

Ann made short work of removing her boot and her stocking, once she could concentrate on the task. She wanted the other shackle off, sooner rather than later. She inspected the wound herself. It was deep, but the blood had let up some.

He’d left the box on the table open, so she looked through it, Jeb glancing over his shoulder while she was halfway through applying some salve but not offering to help her. She could feel his eyes on her, though, feel him inspecting the bare flesh of her leg, exposed almost to her knee. Once she finished, she wound a bandage around the cut and secured it, dropping her muddied skirts over that leg and turning to look at him.

Whether he was disappointed or relieved that she’d taken care of the gouge herself, she couldn’t tell. Without speaking, he came back over and set about freeing her other leg while Ann stared at the hole in her stocking, wondering if he might have materials that would allow her to patch it.

The second leg shackle came off quicker. When Ann was completely free, she leaned back in the chair, letting her skirts go, and taking a deep breath. It had been far too long, and part of her wanted to leap out of the chair and run about the small island, to stretch and race like a child. She didn’t, though, only looked Jeb in the eye and said, “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, Miss....” He waited, expectantly, for her to state her name, something he hadn’t asked yet.

She swallowed hard, not sure how to answer. A lie sprang to mind, though she had no reason to be dishonest with him. Even if he had a means of communicating with the people who knew her history, Jeb didn’t seem like the sort of person who would hold her past against her. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Ann.”

“Ann?” he repeated, and she assumed he was looking for her surname, but she didn’t say more. “It is a lovely name.” His lips pressed into a tight, thin smile.

Tipping her head in thanks, she said nothing, her eyes flickering to her discarded stocking and boot.

Jeb pulled the chains off of the floor as he stood, placing his tools back on the table. “I could draw you a bath. I have a tub. It is not large, but then, neither are you.”

Ann raised an eyebrow at him and watched his face redden once more. “I can manage.”

He adjusted his hat again. “I do not mind. I have finished my work on the lighthouse. I believe the last keeper’s wife left a trunk behind in the shed. I am not sure what is in it, but last I opened it, years ago, it appeared to be some sort of women’s garments. I can fetch it for you. Perhaps there is something useful inside that might allow your dress to be... cleaned.”

Looking down at the navy blue skirt and white blouse she’d been wearing for as long as she could remember, Ann noticed stains and tears she hadn’t before. Part of that was due to her tumultuous swim, but the rest was because she’d been tossed in prison wearing this outfit months ago. She imagined she smelled far worse than the hint of perspiration she’d caught from him earlier—which, if she was honest, wasn’t unpleasant at all.

She nodded, and Jeb grinned, rocking his head back and forth as well. He looked around, determining what to do first. Finally, he said, “I will get a fire lit so I can warm the water.”

“Where can I fetch it from?” she asked, thinking she’d need to put her boot back on for such a chore.

“I insist, Miss Ann. You sit tight and let me do the labor. I do not have house guests often, so let me practice my hospitality.”

“I did not mean to impose.”

He smirked at her but didn’t comment further, only went across the room to collect a bucket and then headed toward the door. She imagined the expression was his way of asking what she had expected when she washed ashore on his island. How could she have done anything other than impose?

Ann settled back against the chair. The wood creaked and the back cut into her shoulder blade slightly, but it was far more comfortable than anything she’d rested on in the last few months, and she thought she could fall asleep sitting there, listening to the surf outside and the sound of Jeb whistling a happy tune as he gathered water for her bath.

A bath—she couldn’t remember the last one she’d taken. The idea of soaking in a tub, even a small one, was invigorating, and Ann found herself smiling, thinking her newfound freedom was even better than she’d initially realized. It didn’t hurt that the keeper, whose island she happened to invade, was handsome and kind. Perhaps there was a chance her past wouldn’t catch up with her, and this truly would be a new beginning for her, not the start of a new life in bondage but of one filled with the happiness she hadn’t let herself dream about since she was a small girl with aspirations that matched her parents’ stature—not the state she found herself in when the bill collectors came after their demise.

Deciding it was better not to dwell on those thoughts at the moment, Ann concentrated on the peaceful sounds of the waves and Jeb’s tune, glad she could close her eyes now with no fear of waking with unwanted hands on her. This man was a gentleman, one who would never force himself upon her, she was sure. Something told her if Jeb ever did wish to lay his hands upon her, there would be nothing unwanted about the situation at all.

The prospect of having a house guest for any duration of time had been foreign to Jeb up until the moment he saw Ann sitting on the beach alive. Over the past several days, he’d had to make adjustments to his normal routine and his home, but having her company had been worth the imposition. Her demeanor hadn’t changed much; she was still standoffish, short with her answers, perhaps a bit sharp around the edges. But he’d gotten to know her temperament better as she’d insisted upon working alongside him in nearly every aspect of his duties on Cockspur, though she did not want to get into the small rowboat and venture to Oyster Bend. He hadn’t blamed her when she said she’d prefer not to get on another vessel until it was completely necessary.

He had no idea when that might be. Deliveries came from the mainland every two weeks, weather permitting, but Ann had mentioned the port was closed to all entries because of the fever, and Jeb had watched boat after boat sail past only to come back a day or so later, most of them headed up the coast looking for another spot to dock, most likely. He hadn’t seen the port close for more than a day or two in all of his five years as keeper, or as a boy living in Savannah, so ten days after Ann’s arrival, when he continued to see boats turned away, he wondered if anyone would come to bring his supplies. It was possible they may, since he obviously didn’t have the fever, but they may not for fear they couldn’t get back to Savannah.

There were other ways to reach land in a rowboat, other than the port, and it was quite possible his colleagues would come anyway and go back a different way. Or they may wait until the malady had passed. Fall storm season was almost upon them, so he was certain they’d be by as soon as they could make it. He expected them in a day or two at most and hoped no one would accuse him of any sort of impropriety, for Ann’s sake.

She was a strikingly beautiful woman. Sitting in a rocking chair he’d brought in from the shed, wearing a beige gown that was a bit too big for her, which had come from the trunk, she was reading a book from off his shelf, and he couldn’t help but look at her from time to time. His eyes didn’t stray for too long from the piece of wood he was working, but stolen glances in her direction caused his mind to wander to places it shouldn’t go. They’d both be better off if the boat came the next day and took her to Savannah where she could find work and a proper place to live; staying with a bachelor on a small island simply wasn’t suitable for a young woman such as Ann, regardless of her past.

Not that she’d told him anything at all, not even her surname. She hardly spoke except for when she needed directions about the appropriate way to tend the light. That was the first day or two. Now, she seemed to be able to carry out all of the duties with little guidance, and he appreciated her help, even though it wasn’t necessary. Still, she was a hard worker, full of energy, never complained, assisted as much as possible in every aspect of the home and the light, and having her company was much more pleasant than he would’ve ever dreamt.

She caught him staring at her, jade eyes flickering to his and then back at the book before they returned. He looked away, but heat climbed his neck, letting her know his gaze was more than a passing glance. It wasn’t the only time she’d noticed his attention lingering since her arrival, but it was the first time she’d acknowledged it. Ann closed her book and set it on her lap, waiting for him to look at her.

Jeb fought it, wishing he could find a way to go back in time and take the amorous glint out of his eyes. But when he finally turned to address her again, Ann had a small smile on her face. He set the block of wood and his knife aside and wiped wood slivers over the bucket catching the debris. “Why do you not speak, Ann?”

Her eyebrows raised as she considered the inquiry. “I do. When I have something to say.”

“Which is not often. Why do you not have conversations? Or share your thoughts? Marvel at a particularly moving song of the seagulls, or point out a fish leaping from the water? You never say much of anything.”

“You say enough for both of us.”

Jeb’s mouth gaped, and Ann giggled quietly, her face barely cresting into a smile. She was teasing. There was truth to it, but she didn’t mean her comment to be injurious, only a fond poke in the ribs. “I do not normally. Perhaps it is only because you are so easy to talk to that I carry on the way that I do. When I am here alone, I hardly say a word for days.”

He wouldn’t have been surprised if she didn’t respond, but she did. “I suppose it is more difficult for me to open up to people now than it once was.”

“You have been through a lot.” The lantern flickered, but he saw her eyes cast down at her folded hands, and wished it was appropriate for him to stretch his hand over to her and brush her arm, to let her know he was sympathetic to all she’d been through. The fact that the woman had come to the island in chains meant little to him. He’d gotten to know her character and couldn’t imagine she’d committed any crime worthy of being sent away from her homeland, much less in shackles.

“When I was younger, my father would tell me stories. I would sit on his knee, and he would weave a tale. I would be completely enthralled in whatever world he was constructing. I became good at listening, but not so well-versed at speaking. Then, when my parents were gone, I did my best to entertain my sisters with similar tales. But I was not as skilled, and they had no appetite for it anyway. We had too much to concern ourselves within our everyday lives, and they were not the sort of problems that fade away when one is listening to a fairytale.”

It was the most she’d said to him consecutively, perhaps collectively, since she’d arrived, and Jeb found himself hanging on her every word, the lilt of her accent intoxicating. “I am so sorry you lost your parents. That must have been quite difficult for you.”

Ann nodded and a tear formed in the corner of her eye, though he knew she’d never let it fall. “It was.”

“And what of your sisters? Where are they now?”

She slowly shook her head. “I did my best to care for them, but after a while, I could not do it anymore. I am ten years Scarlet’s senior and have thirteen years on Josie. They are still children and in need of a steward. I could not be that. I lost them to a home for parentless children when I was seventeen. I had managed to find a man I thought I could trust to take care of us, but when that turned out to be an abysmal mistake, we fled. With no place to go, nothing to eat, and no money, we had little choice. The home took them, but I was too old. I floated from one bad situation to another until... I was sentenced to seven years of indentured service in Australia. I was loaded aboard the ship, along with thirteen men convicted of crimes far worse than the pick-pocketing I was found guilty of.”

“Australia?” Jeb wondered aloud. As soon as he spoke, he wished he hadn’t interrupted her. The fact that she was actually talking was a miracle in itself, and now that he’d made her stop, he was afraid she wouldn’t begin again.

But she did. Ann nodded, drew in a deep breath, and said, “Our navigation was poor, but honestly, it was a storm that sent us headed the wrong direction. Then, several of the crewmen became ill, and the captain decided to sail to the closest port, which by then happened to be Savannah.”

“That must have been some storm,” Jeb remarked.

Ann’s small shoulders came up sharply and then went back down. “I do not know for certain what went on. All I know is, I was the only woman aboard, and with many delays along our journey, the men were restless. When it reached my ear that we would not be disembarking in Savannah... I took matters into my own hands.”

Jeb ran his hand along his jawline, stubble scratching his palm, as he considered what she must’ve been through. He couldn’t fathom the torment of not knowing what might happen from one day to the next. “You must have been terrified of staying on the ship to face the sea head-on the way that you did.”

Ann dropped her head. “I have faced many demons these past twelve years since my parents were claimed by fever and our estates were parceled up between men all accusing my father of debts. I cannot say what has been worse—fear of strange hands on me or leaving my sisters behind.” Her mouth drew into a thin line, and Jeb knew then she was done speaking for the evening. He wished there was something he could say to take that pain away from her, to restore all that she had lost, but there was nothing in the world that could bring her parents back or return her to her sisters.

She turned her head slightly and gazed into the flickering flame of the lantern, and Jeb watched her intently. The glow from the fire lit her auburn hair and turned it to gold, illuminating her fair skin and producing a soft glow that seemed to radiate from inside of her. This exterior of stone she’d built around herself wasn’t the true Ann; he could see it in the way she spoke of those she loved most. It had been her conditions that had forced her to become hardened this way, to pretend to tower over her predators with broad shoulders that could strike them down and bear the weight of all that the world had brought crashing down upon her. But beyond that, he saw the sweet soul who longed to sit on her father’s knee and listen to tales of fancy where no one ever left and the only thing one must fear in the dark was nothing more ferocious than a mouse.

“Ann?” She turned to look at him, not speaking. “I believe the supply boat will be here in a day or two. What will you do when you reach Savannah? Do you know anyone?”

She shook her head. “I only know of the pastor at the church the parson on the ship mentioned. But I fear he will not help me.”

“Why is that?” His forehead puckered. Having been raised in the church himself, he couldn’t imagine them turning her away.

“I am a criminal.”

“They will have no way of knowing that,” he reminded her. “Assuming your ship does not return. And even if it did, I doubt the captain or anyone else would discover you survived the swim.”

Ann’s eyes shifted as she considered his words. “Perhaps.”

He cleared his throat, leaned closer. “If there is any way that I can help, believe me, I shall do so.”

She reached over and gently placed her fingers on top of his wrist. “You already have.”

Rain pelted the island, sending the smaller pebbles up into the air from the force of pellets discharged from an angry sky. Soaked to the bone, Ann hurried inside the cottage, leaving a pool of water on the floor she’d have to dry later. The brown work dress she wore, which was at least a size too big, clung to her, the skirts dripping as she made her way to the bedroom.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have attempted to check the light on her own, but Jeb had gone to Oyster Bed an hour before the storm arrived, and since she could smell the rain approaching, see the clouds forming out to sea, she decided she should make sure all was well with the light before it hit, thinking to save Jeb some trouble when he came home.

The tempest had flared more quickly than anticipated, catching her off-guard, and she’d ended up drenched in the short distance from the light to the cottage. The fact that Jeb wasn’t back from the North Channel Light yet made her breath catch and her stomach knot.

Ann unfastened her soaked gown and peeled it off and then bent to remove her boots in only her undergarments, which were also wet but not as thoroughly as the dress. Thunder boomed as a flash of lightning illuminated the darkened sky, and Ann’s heart pounded. Tossing the dress away, she rushed a few steps to the window and held the curtain aside to have a better look at the sea.

The waves were higher than she’d ever seen them before. Jeb had assured her the house was sturdier than it appeared, and despite the deceptively slow incline, no waves had ever breached the house in all the years he’d lived there. In the past thirteen days, he’d told many stories about storms he’d weathered, and Ann had been confident she was safe. Until the moment when she looked out at a tumultuous sea and wondered where he might be.

With any luck, he was safe in the lighthouse at Oyster Bed and hadn’t yet struck out for home when the rain started. But if that were the case, it would mean he took much more time on the light than normal. She hadn’t prayed much in the last twelve years, but she said one now, that he would be safe, that he wasn’t out on the angry Atlantic.

Thoughts of Jeb fighting the angry current had her worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Never had she met such a man as Jebediah Miller. Not only was he strikingly handsome, but he had a kind heart; he was a good soul. She saw it in the gentle way he lent aid to a baby bird struggling to make the long flight back to the mainland, the patient way he taught her to care for the lights, the way he spoke of his family in Savannah. At first, his chatter had been wearisome, but soon enough, she began to take comfort in the sound of his tenor, the way he pronounced certain words in his American accent. A brush of his hand against hers, the warmth of his shoulder when they bumped while cleaning the windows in the lighthouse, the feel of his eyes as they caressed her face, every innocent touch served as kindling to ignite a flame inside of her, one that longed to discover what it might be like to have those strong arms wrapped around her, that voice whispering in her ear that all was well, that she needn’t fear ever being alone again. While Ann had the impression he was intrigued by her as well, she hadn’t found a way to break down the walls she’d built around her heart when Jon Answhiler had proven himself to be nothing more than a heinous monster who wanted to torment her sisters more than he wanted to make her his wife.

Ann dropped the curtain and went to the trunk Jeb had brought her to collect dry clothing. She laid a light blue dress on the foot of the bed and inspected the only other chemise and pair of drawers she had found in the chest. They would also be a bit too large, but they would work. She’d patched the hole in her own stocking, so she could put those back on since the ones she was currently wearing were drenched. She worked those off as another flash of lightning illuminated the sky. Ann wasn’t afraid of the storm, but she did fear Jeb was caught in it.

Her chemise was up over her head when she heard the door to the cabin open. Ann pulled it off and brought it to her chest, holding it and her breath. She recognized Jeb’s footsteps and was thankful he was home safe, but before she could answer his call of her name, the bedroom door opened.

She had her back to him, but in the mirror across the room, she watched as he realized he’d walked in on her in a state of undress. His eyes enlarged, and his mouth dropped open. She felt his gaze as it rounded her curves, not much left to the imagination in her damp knickers, and as his eyes climbed her bare back to meet hers in the mirror, Ann’s breath stuttered in her throat.

“I apologize.” His voice was a whisper. “I was not thinking clearly. I should have... knocked.”

But Ann saw more in his expression than his words were disclosing. In the narrowing of blue sapphires, the way his nostrils flared slightly as if his lungs were no longer filling completely, stunted by a blazing heat rising up from deep within him. She recognized the want in his countenance because it matched the craving she’d been repressing deep inside of her all these days—until that moment.

Ann dropped the wet chemise, his gasp of surprise morphing to an aw of wonder as she turned to face him.

He closed the distance, his mouth was on hers, and Ann parted her lips greedily, her hand tangling in his wet hair and pulling him down as she raised herself to meet him. His hands were on her, one arm around her waist, pulling her closer, the other igniting her flesh as he caressed her breast, his fingers dancing over her hardened peak and fanning the flame inside her. A soft moan escaped her, and the fever to feel more of him against her had her grappling to unfasten his shirt, her hands gliding across the wet fabric that hugged the chiseled surface of his chest.

Jeb released her only long enough to rip his shirt off. A flurry of pulling and straining against soaked material ensued as Ann’s hands ravaged the rippling muscles of his abdomen, fighting his belt and trousers to free him of their restriction while he struggled to remove his boots and damp stockings without his hands leaving her for too long, never releasing her swollen lips.

Once he was completely undressed, Jeb slipped one hand into the waist of her knickers, pulling them down as he lifted her bare bottom with the other so that she was free as well, and then he swiftly moved her to the bed.

Her heart racing, Ann closed her eyes and breathed him in; his familiar scent tangled with fresh rain and perspiration was intoxicating, and the feel of his warm lips carving a trail down her neck, his hands bringing her flesh to life as they smoothed the curve of her hip, traced the delicate skin between her thighs, had her breathless and heady.

No longer able to contain her desire, Ann pressed down on Jeb’s muscular back, bringing her hips up to meet him. Fully immersed inside of her, Jeb moaned in pleasure, and Ann joined in, her hands exploring his magnificent physique while she reveled in each measured stroke that kept her at the edge of euphoria.

Ann lost herself completely, tumbling over the cliff of elation, her thoughts jumbled except for the ever-present thought that she was in safe harbor now, that the man who shielded her from the storm would be her protector, her lifeline, no matter how many of the walls she’d built to shield her heart came crumbling down around her. They finished together, but Jeb was not quick to move aside, continuing to kiss her, caress her, for what seemed like hours.

Later, as the lightning flickered out the window, Ann lay wrapped in a quilt, her head on his strong chest as his fingertips smoothed her cheek and pressed back her damp hair. “I want you to stay,” Jeb whispered. “I am not sure what we will tell the others when they bring supplies, but we can sort it out.”

Glancing up into deep oceans of blue, she saw her own emotions reflected in his eyes, but fear settled in around her heart. “You do not even know me, Jeb. What if... what if I am not who you think I am?”

“I do know you, Ann.” His face lit with a smile that told her he spoke the truth. “I see you, who you really are. I do not need to know the details of your past, or even your surname, to know that you and I belong together. I want you to stay, Ann. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” The words escaped her lips without care, their truth overpowering her resolve to keep up the last façade of indifference around her heart.

Jeb kissed her lightly on the forehead, and Ann closed her eyes, nestling against his chest. As she drifted off to sleep, she whispered, “Keaton.”

“What was that?” Jeb asked, his voice also groggy with sleep.

“Keaton. Ann Keaton.”

“Ann Keaton... Miller.” Jeb’s voice drifted off. “I like it.”

“Me, too.” She fell asleep with a smile on her face for the first time in as long as she could remember.

Ann awoke to the sound of Jeb frantically getting dressed. Flashes of lightning illuminated the room, and she could see him tucking his shirt into his trousers, then grabbing his boots and shoving his stockinged feet into them.

Her eyes blurry from sleep, Ann stretched. “What is it? What is happening?”

“There is a ship,” he said, his voice trembling with concern. “It is in trouble. I saw the mast a few moments ago when the thunder shook the island, and now, when the lightning flashes, I see nothing.”

Ann sat straight up, fully awake now. She hadn’t heard the rumble he mentioned, but the idea that he was going out into the storm to attempt to rescue endangered sailors caused her pulse to race. “You cannot go out there, Jeb. It is too dangerous.”

“I have to,” he replied, pulling a coat on over his shirt. “It is my duty.”

Shooting out of bed, Ann scrambled for her own clothing, only slightly noticing how he gaped at her naked form as the lightning exposed her. “Then I am going with you.”

“Ann, no, I cannot let you do that.”

“Of course you can.” She already had her undergarments on, but rather than reach for her dress, she moved to the dresser where he kept his clothing, thinking that would be more practical. “If you insist on going, so do I.”

“Ann....”

She had his shirt on over her head and was pushing into his trousers. “You said you knew me, Jebediah Miller. If that is the case, why are you bothering to argue?” She stared at him, waiting for the lightning to show the conviction in her eyes.

“You have a point,” he said, and Ann finished dressing, putting on her boots and taking a coat he offered her. “I do not like this.”

“Neither do I,” she reminded him, and they set off for the stormy sea.

The wind blew the rain so hard, each drop felt like a piece of glass embedding into her flesh. Ann got into the rowboat with Jeb, praying neither of them died in this endeavor and thinking she’d made a poor decision. He didn’t untie the boat, though, and she noticed the rope was much longer than she would’ve thought. “We can only go this far,” he shouted over the waves and rain. Ann nodded.

Pushing out to sea was a difficult task, but it didn’t take long for Ann to see the broken mast of a ship bobbing on the water, pieces of debris floating around the area marking the spot where the ship had given in to the battering of the waves. The ship itself was farther out to sea than she’d realized from the cottage, but the remnants were lofted closer to them with each swell, and if there were any survivors, she imagined they’d see them soon.

It wasn’t until they were at the end of the rope that Ann realized the mast was a familiar one. A sickening feeling settled in her stomach as she considered who they were attempting to rescue—the very men who’d tortured her night and day for months.

At first, Ann didn’t see any survivors, not until after she heard shouts from one of the larger pieces of floating timber and realized a man was clinging to it. He was out of reach, but as the waves brought him closer, Ann peered through the driving rain, keeping her hands locked on the sides of the boat, and recognized his face.

“Pastor Thomas!” she shouted as Jeb did his best to steer the boat closer while keeping from falling out.

Jeb turned his head. “You will have to steady the boat while I grab hold of him!”

Ann had no idea how she would manage with the waves and wind knocking them around, but she agreed and watched as Jeb secured the paddles to the side of the boat and then strained to reach Pastor Thomas’s outstretched hand.

With each swell, Ann threw her full weight on one side of the vessel or the other to keep it afloat and upright. The two hands finally connected as Ann used every ounce of strength to keep the boat steady. Pastor Thomas fell into the bottom of the rowboat, sucking in air, and Jeb scanned the area for more survivors.

Seeing no one, he unhooked the paddles and started rowing back toward shore, but Ann knew he wouldn’t be able to manage to get them home safely in this sort of turbulence with only the paddles. With a deep breath, she spun herself around and grabbed for the rope. In the driving rain and the rising waves, it was difficult to see. Her hands raked through the water, sliding down the side of the boat until she made contact with the rough texture of hemp. Ann grabbed hold and strained to pull the vessel back toward the safety of the island.

The rope bit into her hands, leaving them bleeding and raw. Salty ocean water stung as the waves sprayed over the side of the ship, contacting the open wounds. Ann didn’t think about the pain, only about getting Jeb and the pastor out of danger. Every muscle in her arms ached with strain, and when she thought she could pull no more, she heard the scraping sound of the boat hitting shale.

Jeb flew out of the boat, helping the pastor while Ann managed to pull herself onto shore. The rain pounded them, waves threatening to rip them back out to sea, but they managed to get the rowboat out of the troubled water, and together, they moved Pastor Thomas to the solace of the cottage, out of the storm.

The pastor was weak, coughing and sputtering, but eternally thankful. They managed to get him warm and dry and tucked into bed before Jeb went back out to check the light and make sure there were no more survivors, though he promised not to go back into the water.

Inside, by the fire, wrapped in a blanket, Ann thought of the men who’d perished that night and couldn’t help but reflect on the idea that vengeance truly was the Lord’s. She had helped to rescue the man who had kept her safe all those months, and in her heart, she felt his presence on the island was a true sign that she was meant to marry Jeb, a task the pastor could easily perform once he was well.

Jeb came back inside, and even though he was dripping wet from the storm, Ann went to him, letting him wrap his arms around her, certain she’d never find herself in troubled water again.

Ann Keaton Miller stood on the shore of Cockspur Island, the toes of her boots protruding into the sea. This was the place where she’d washed ashore all those months ago, where Jeb had found a broken, frightened woman and mended her through patience, love, and the understanding that a tough façade does not mean an interior that isn’t worth saving.

The approaching supply boat was overloaded with goods, which was a relief because they’d soon have another mouth to feed. As it drew closer, she realized Pastor Thomas had come along with Ben Simpson and Charlie Pitts. She smiled and waved. They’d saved him from the ocean, and he’d repaid them by going along with the elaborate story Jeb had invented to explain to Ben and Charlie when they’d arrived with supplies a few days after the storm of how he and Ann had come to be man and wife.

Jeb’s story was almost as fanciful as Ann’s father’s had been. He’d described how they’d met years ago, but only through a few dramatic twists of fate had they been reunited when the storm had washed Ann and Pastor Thomas ashore. It had been a sign to both of them that they were meant to wed, and Pastor Thomas had performed the ceremony. The entire story was unbelievable, but then, so was the true story, and Jeb’s colleagues hadn’t questioned him. He’d never given them any reason to.

“Good afternoon!” Jeb called to the men, coming from behind her. They waved back, and Ben brought the boat in close, Jeb going out into the surf to help secure it. After some pleasantries, the men began to unload the boat, but Ann wouldn’t be assisting this time; her bulging belly would prevent any strenuous activity.

Pastor Thomas smiled as he embraced her, and Ann felt his thankfulness in his hug. She was grateful for him, too. If it hadn’t been for the pastor, she wouldn’t have survived the trip across the Atlantic.

“Go on inside and rest,” Ann said, releasing him. He nodded and headed toward the house as Ben and Charlie took a load of foodstuffs to the shed.

Jeb’s arms were full as well, but as his wife came over, he set down the crate he had been carrying and smiled at her. “Are you well, Ann?”

“Yes, I am well,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “I am better than well. I am wonderful.”

Jeb leaned down and kissed her, the feel of his warm lips stealing her breath away. He looked her in the eyes, his sapphire orbs gleaming. “I love you, Ann.”

“I love you, too, Jeb.” She leaned her head on his chest, certain that as long as they were together, she’d never be lost in the darkness again. Jeb would always be there to keep the light.

About I. D. Johnson

ID Johnson creates characters you'll want to have as your best friends with antagonists you'll love to hate. Her love for all things princess-y compelled her to write her first medieval romance at fifteen, and she hasn't stopped writing since. Now, her plots are a little more complex, her topics a little more mature, and her romances often more intense, but she's never lost the love she felt the first moment she breathed life into a character over twenty years ago. If you love feisty paranormal heroines, damsels who cause distress, or historical ladies who know how to light up a room, then pull up a seat, get out your eReader, and meet ID Johnson's friends. Soon enough, they'll be your friends, too.

Check out her author website at www.authoridjohnson.com.

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Chapter 1

Worthing, England ~ Summer 1821

The gloomy dusk covered Worthing in a grey haze. People hustled here and there on the downtown street, most certainly hoping to reach their destinations before the sky opened up and drenched the city. Scarlet Cason sat against an abandoned storefront surrounded by her paintings. Oh, how she needed to sell one, or two, or three.

As if the gods heard her, a man dressed in upper-class finery stopped and picked up a seascape. She created art from her memories of Murdock Castle and the Seaford coast.

Each time she sold one, a piece of her heart went with it.

The gentleman flipped it over and checked the price. He pulled a few pounds from his pocket and handed them to her.

“Thank you.” She stuffed the notes into her skirts, so grateful she was closer to getting the money for her trip to Paris.

As the man walked away, she stacked the paintings in her wagon, grasped the handle, and started down the street. She turned at the nearest corner and entered an alley, hurrying southward. Halfway through, she realized it was deserted. Hadn’t she learned her lesson about taking abandoned thoroughfares?

She spun around to return to the busy street. Two men in tattered, dirty clothing blocked her way. She could certainly outrun them, but not with the cart.

Hell and blast.

“We jus want yer blunt,” one man said as they stalked her. “We seen the dandy pay ye.”

A streak of terror spiked through her, the same as it had the other times she’d been attacked. She tamped down her fear and took a calming breath while sizing up her assailants. The man slurred his words, and both men’s eyes appeared glassy. They were half-sprung.

They charged toward her.

No time to grab her knives, she kept her back to the brick building. She lashed out with her hands and fingers, gouging the men’s faces as she kicked their shins. The vagrants grunted curse words at her every jab. She kept struggling, in hopes the drunken men would tire of her and go on to their next victim.

They’d have to kill her to get her money.

The taller man yanked a knife out from his coat.

“If you so much as nick her, I will kill you both.”

She jerked her head toward the deep voice and couldn’t believe her eyes.

Tomas.

Lord Tomas Faulkner, Earl of Cochran, marched from the corner with a gun aimed at the men.

Already breathing hard, Scarlet’s breaths became even more erratic, and her throat tightened. He’d lived through the war.

Thank you, God.

But what was he doing here?

Her attackers scrutinized him, undoubtedly assessing if they deemed him a worthy opponent. Little did they know, Tomas trained in military school and served as an intelligence officer in the Royal Army. He could more than likely kill them with his bare hands.

“Drop the knife,” he said in a low, lethal growl.

The men glanced at each other. The one holding the blade threw it on the ground, and they clumsily bumped into each other as they staggered past her in a hurry to get away.

Tomas placed his gun in the holster at his waist and stepped toward her. “Are you all right?”

She hardly knew.

His brown hair and brown eyes would be unremarkable on a lesser man. On Tomas Faulkner, they were captivating. His average height and weight disguised a powerful build that spoke to his vitality and strength. He was easily the most intelligent person she’d ever met. Years ago she accused him of being able to remember things with eerie exactness, to which he responded, Once I see something, I can recall it for accuracy.

“Your fighting skills are still well-honed, Scarlet. You were doing fine until the cad pulled out a knife.”

Did she detect pride in his voice?

He was the one who’d taught her how to defend herself. Leave it to Tomas to comment on her fighting skills. His remark almost distracted her from the fact that he stood right in front of her. “It cannot be a coincidence you just happen to be in Worthing, on this street, today.”

“That’d be a coincidence, would it not?” He righted her wagon, then picked up each canvas with extreme care and studied them before returning them to the cart. “Your exceptional talent has only improved.”

His praise lit her insides, yet the pressing matter of him finding her still weighed on her. “Why are you here?”

He straightened. “Your mother has lung fever and asks for you repeatedly. I am here to inform you of her condition and offer you a ride so you may visit her.”

A prick of pain nipped her insides. Going back might expose her mother’s secret. Plus, she needed to stay and sell more paintings. Yesterday, she received an invitation to study with the artist Madame Le Brun. She had to be in Paris in a fortnight and desperately needed to raise money to fund her travel. “I’m sorry to hear of my mother’s health, but I cannot accept your offer.”

“I do not profess to understand what happened for you to leave Seaford. Nevertheless, you are not cruel, Scarlet.” His solemn eyes never left hers. “You would not deny your mother her last wish.”

She looked away. His words would’ve made her feel no bigger than an ant, except the reason she left ten years ago was to protect her mother. “There are things you do not know.”

“For certain,” he admitted. “But surely these things can be put aside long enough for you to hold your mother’s hand in her final hours.”

With Mum on her deathbed, Scarlet had one last chance to ask her about the lie she’d told Scarlet her entire life. She would go, see Mum one last time, then promptly return to Worthing.

She bobbed her head.

“I am sure you need to pack a few belongings for the trip.” He grabbed the handle of her wagon and started southward.

Blast. She abhorred bringing him to the hovel where she lived. Of course, since he’d located her, he’d probably already been there. As they walked, she asked, “How did you find me?”

“I used to take private commissions to locate people.”

“Is that why you are dressed like you are?” Curiously outfitted in brown trousers, cream shirt, and dark brown coat, he resembled a dock worker.

“It is easier to gather information if people believe I am a commoner.”

“Why such a dangerous undertaking? You do not need to work.”

He shrugged. “It was challenging. Since my original plans following the war were thwarted, what else would I have done with my time?”

She held silent in an attempt to avoid his comment about his plans following the war. She feared they’d included her.

Being close to Scarlet again, the tear in Faulkner’s heart ripped further. She’d inflicted the wound over ten years ago, and he’d never been able to repair it.

Her eyes were still the bluest he’d ever seen. A bonnet covered most of her glorious red hair, and a cape concealed her shapely figure. A figure he remembered in intimate detail.

His body tensed.

He could not let this woman affect him so.

After meeting the man his solicitor hired, across the street from where Scarlet sold her paintings, Faulkner had hurried to catch up to her. When he turned the corner, he found her fighting two men like a hellcat. She didn’t appear to need his help. Yet when the taller man brandished a knife, Faulkner intervened, unwilling to chance her getting hurt.

She’d been right about the commissions he accepted being dangerous. Most people who chose to disappear did not wish to be found. His last case involved Valerian Hest, a man who’d murdered three other men. Faulkner captured the wretch, but Hest escaped before hanging for his crimes.

They stopped in front of the rundown building where he’d learned she rented a room.

“I will only be a moment.” She hustled inside.

Faulkner motioned to Bricker, who waited a block down with Faulkner’s carriage. Anxious to return home, he pondered how much his life had changed in the last six months. Ever since the fateful day when more responsibility than he ever thought imaginable was hefted upon him.

Chapter 2

Scarlet unlocked her door and dragged the wagon inside. The small room she rented barely had enough space for a tiny bed, wardrobe, and chair. She quickly packed her valise and satchel. Before she walked out, she stopped and looked at the unfinished canvas on the wall. She could never portray the details right. She’d been working on it for ten years. It was the one piece of her heart she refused to surrender.

She left her flat to find it’d started raining. Tomas waited beside a sleek, black carriage. A driver sat up top, his hat pulled low and cape closed high and tight on his neck. Tomas gripped her bags, threw them on the backward seat, and held her hand as she moved inside. He entered and sat beside her.

Scarlet took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of expensive leather and Tomas’s subtle, sandalwood cologne. Her first instinct was to scoot closer to him. She ignored it. Her time with him, their love affair, was over.

The drive to Seaford would take a few hours. As she removed her bonnet, she considered topics they might discuss, but everything she thought to ask him seemed too personal. She decided to talk about why he’d found her. “What’s the doctor done for Mum?”

He adjusted his position on the seat so he faced her. “Bloodletting. After twice, I demanded he discontinue.”

“Has anyone prepared Mum’s healing remedies?”

“No. Your mother usually treats the ill. No one else knows how to concoct her cures.”

“She taught me many. I will make something for her fever.”

“The servants are using cold compresses.”

They spoke about different treatments. He explained some things he witnessed the doctors on the battlegrounds try on soldiers. She told him of herbs and concoctions she’d used.

“Does anyone know you came to Worthing to find me?” she inquired.

His eyes narrowed. “Is that your way of asking if I am married?”

She shrugged. “It was more a question about your father, mother, and uncle.”

He grimaced. “My parents died in an accident earlier this year.”

Her heart squeezed at his stricken expression. “Oh, Tomas, I am sorry. Were your sisters with them?”

“No. It has been a difficult time, but they are adjusting. I told them and my uncle of my plans to find you and ask you to visit.” A moment later, he added, “And I never wed.”

An unexpected peace spread through her.

He continued, “My cousin and her husband were vacationing with my parents. Their boat capsized. No survivors.”

“How awful.”

“Yes. My cousin’s daughter was with my sisters when it happened. I rushed to be with them when I got the news. Your mother has helped in easing their way.”

She listened, her heart breaking for all of them.

“I rarely spent time at Murdock Castle before. I loved my sisters, yet did not see them regularly. My cousin’s daughter is only four. I frequently visited her family in London, so she accepted me right away, needing whatever comfort she could find.” He inhaled a breath. “I found myself instantly responsible for a family.”

“I am sure the girls love you.”

“What is not to love?” His quick, confident grin reminded her of the one he often wore during their summer together. Then he frowned. “Running the estate has been uncomplicated enough. However, at times, I am at a loss with what to do for the girls, trying to understand their sensibilities and make up for the loss of their parents.”

“How difficult that must be for all of you.”

He nodded. “The girls are sweet and innocent. I had lost hope in the world, in life. They have restored my faith in mankind, and in the fairer sex.”

His words pierced her like bullets. She’d been the one to destroy his faith in women.

“Your mother helped after my cousin’s nanny returned to London and my sisters’ governess eloped. I am hoping you will be willing to see to her duties with the girls until I find replacements or until your mother is better. You will be well-compensated.”

Working for him a couple of days would bring her closer to having the money she needed for her trip to Paris. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” His sincere expression looked the same as the night he told her he loved her. His exact words still rang in her ears.

I love you, Scarlet, in full measures.

In the weak light from the swaying lamp, she studied him as he peered out the window. Most people found his features and appearance ordinary, while she deemed him fine-looking. He possessed a strength she suspected came from his title and position. His intensity, though, that belonged to Tomas alone.

He turned his head.

She swiftly glanced out her window, hoping he did not detect her studying him.

“Scarlet, why did you leave?”

Spikes of sharp stakes poked her insides. “To pursue painting.”

“You could not pursue it in Seaford?”

“I do not believe so.” The lie was necessary. But, oh, how she wanted to tell him everything. Since she’d just lied, she felt the need to tell him a truth. “I have the best news. Madame Le Brun has invited me to study with her. In less than a fortnight, I will be in Paris learning from a master.”

Faulkner thought Scarlet was lying, except her eyes lit up when she talked about working with Madame Le Brun. Could her art truly have been the reason she left?

The carriage abruptly jerked to a stop, and the horses whinnied. He pushed his foot against the seat in front of them and reached out an arm to halt Scarlet from falling forward.

He opened the door and jumped out. “Team change. It should only take a few moments.” He shut the carriage door, eager to escape. Scarlet’s light scent of humid air, sweet earth, and roses elicited too many vivid recollections of his time with her. The feel of her body against his arm when he stopped her on the seat nearly singed him.

Rain no longer fell. Bricker hopped down from the driver’s seat and removed his wet cape and hat. He and Bricker formed a friendship during the war. While trying to defeat Napoleon and doing everything to stay alive, they’d confided all their hopes and dreams to each other.

“Were you trying to kill us just now?” Faulkner teased while walking toward the stable.

“It was your bloody idea for me to be your driver.”

“I foolishly thought everyone knew how to drive a team. Plus, you’ve been doing it for six months now.”

“I am fine with your horseflesh. These rented teams are unmanageable.” Bricker tilted his head back at the carriage. “Your description of the woman did not do her justice.”

Faulkner let out a long sigh. “I know.” She defies description.

They helped the stable workers exchange the rented horses for Faulkner’s team they’d left here hours ago.

The confines of the carriage brought him much too close to Scarlet. He wanted to throttle and kiss her at the same time. Instead of torturing himself more, Faulkner sat up top with Bricker and took the reins.

At the age of nineteen, he’d returned home after military school and met seventeen-year-old Scarlet. It was not simply her incredible beauty that fascinated him. He’d experienced an instant connection to her. When he expressed his desire to spend time with her, she refused, afraid a liaison between them would be deemed inappropriate. But Faulkner convinced her to meet him at the old, abandoned chapel at night while everyone else slept.

At first, they met in the bell tower to talk, discovering everything about one another. Her wit made him laugh, her sweet disposition made him smile, and her dreams gave him hope. They began kissing and enjoying more intimate interactions, both admitting their love for each other. Exhaustion from staying awake all night and attending to their duties during the day finally descended upon them, so they rested on a bed in the parson’s quarters while they talked. Oftentimes they fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms. A week before he left for the war, she told him she wished to be his.

The memory of those last nights, the way they’d made love—at times with desperate need and at others with playful tenderness—scorched him still today. Never had he been so affected by a woman. Yet, as good as the lovemaking had been, there was more between them. He’d absolutely adored her, felt a soul-deep bond with her.

Away at war, he planned and plotted their life together. However, when he returned, she was gone. No note, no message, nothing.

It was then that he’d lost his soul.

Chapter 3

Murdock Castle loomed ahead. Torches lit the outer gatehouse. Scarlet remembered being fifteen, arriving at the castle for the first time. It had been night, much like now. The enormity of the fortress still awed her. She loved every part of the medieval stronghold—from the pointy turrets to the rounded towers.

The carriage rolled into the outer court. She made out the outline of the chapel as they passed. Her heart pounded so hard at the memories the sanctuary held, she had to inhale quickly to catch her breath.

Soon the horses’ hooves clopped on the wooden bridge leading to where two men manned the lit barbican. The carriage drove around to the kitchen entrance of the keep. Tomas swung the door open, jumped down, and lifted his arms to help her out. He caught her around the waist, and she slid down his body. Being this close to him brought back recollections of those wonderful nights in his arms. His smiles. His kisses. His passionate lovemaking. She shook her head to clear it. Reminiscing was futile, not to mention painful. He set her feet on the ground.

“I saw the guards manning the barbican. Your father never had guards,” she said.

His jaw twitched. “I employ various men I served with in the army, men I trust. I made enemies over the years and want to ensure the castle grounds are safe.”

She would’ve asked more questions, but he changed the subject.

“Your mother is in her same chamber. The servants are taking turns sitting with her. The doctor insists she might be contagious, so you can visit her once every three hours for ten minutes.”

She didn’t argue, having no desire to contract lung fever. “I understand.”

They hurried to the door. He opened it and motioned for her to enter. The kitchen welcomed her with warmth from the wall length cook hearth. Orange embers cast a slight glow, allowing her to see the high ceiling, stone walls, and the long wooden worktable surrounded by stools.

“I will take you to your mother,” he offered.

“No need, my lord. I remember where her room is.” She started to walk away.

“Scarlet?” His voice was almost a whisper.

She froze.

He approached her and stood close. “We will talk about the past. I deserve answers.”

Her stomach tumbled.

She nodded, then scurried to the servants’ quarters. Mum’s door was ajar, so she entered.

Maggie, a maid Scarlet knew from her years at the castle, rushed over and embraced her. “Your mum will be overjoyed you are here.”

“It is good to see you, Maggie.”

“I will send up a fresh bowl of water with ice.” The older woman’s hair was white now, and had she shrunk? Maybe Scarlet had grown. “Someone will relieve you in ten minutes,” Maggie said as she exited.

Heavy breathing, almost growling, filled the air. She neared the small bed fitted with a light pink counterpane. Her mother fitfully squirmed under the covers. Her face looked pale, her hair more grey than red.

She reached out and put her hand on her mother’s forehead. It was burning.

Her heart squeezed. “Mum, it’s Scarlet.”

Mum’s eyes opened. Even bloodshot like they were, she saw hope in their blue depths. “My Scarlet. Is it really you?”

“Indeed.”

“My prayers have been answered.” Tears trickled from the corners of Mum’s eyes into her hair, then her eyelids closed. “Sleep pulls me. Please don’t leave.”

Scarlet wanted to ask her questions, but instead replied, “I will stay.”

A smile tilted the woman’s lips as she drifted off.

A soft knock sounded. She quietly opened the door to find Tomas’s uncle, William Faulkner, holding a bowl. He handed it to her. “You are back.”

She took the cold dish from him. “Only to comfort my mother, sir.”

“How is she?”

“Her fever still rages.”

He frowned and walked away.

She returned to her mother’s bedside, grabbed a cloth off the side table, and doused it in the cold water. She wondered how long she would be at Murdock Castle. While she did not wish her mother dead, the sooner Scarlet was able to leave, the better.

A pretty young servant dressed completely in black relieved Scarlet, and when she left Mum’s room, Tomas waited in the hall. He pointed to the room across from her mother’s. “Your things have been delivered.”

She peeked inside. A yellow blanket covered a small mattress, and the furniture was painted white. Her satchel and valise were on a chest at the foot of the bed.

He held a candle. “I thought we might make a potion for your mother and administer it tonight.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

She followed him to the kitchen. They searched the pantry for her mother’s stashed herbs. Half an hour later, they’d prepared a mixture of garlic, ginger, and basil for Mum’s fever and marshmallow root tea for her cough.

They gave it to the servant watching her mother.

While still in the corridor, Scarlet said, “Thank you for your help.”

An expression she could not read passed over Tomas’s face as he slightly bowed. “I bid you a good night.”

Scarlet watched him walk away and found herself in desperate need of a breath of fresh air. She lit a lantern, bustled through the quiet castle, and across the soaked courtyard. Upon crossing the bridge, she waved to the guards and strolled to the chapel.

The vacant hall looked the same. Tomas had told her it’d been stripped of religious relics long before his family took over ownership of the castle. Only the exquisite stained-glass windows, wooden pews, and a huge chandelier on a pulley hanging from the ceiling remained. She tested the door leading to the parson’s quarters attached to the hall. It was locked.

It was better she did not visit the chamber. It would spark too many memories.

She scaled the stairs to the bell tower and peered out over Seaford. Moonlight shone across the saturated earth, the moat, and the sea, glistening like sparkling dust.

At the sound of footsteps, she snapped her head toward the landing.

Tomas ascended the last few stairs. “I did not realize you would be here.”

Does he come here often?

He walked up and stood beside her at the railing. “Scarlet, I know there is much we must discuss, but right now I wish to thank you.”

What might he possibly thank her for?

“I thought of nothing else than returning to you for five years—through the war, through the heat, through the cold, through the torture—”

“Torture?” A pulse of terror ran through her.

“I was a prisoner of war. Torture is part of … it does not matter. What matters is, what got me through the endless days and nights of that living nightmare were the memories of the time we shared. They saw me through the war.”

Her entire body ached. How could she have left this man?

I had no other choice.

He captured her cheeks in his hands, leaned down, and softly kissed her temple.

Shocked by the action, she gazed up at him.

He pressed his lips to hers. A kiss of gratitude.

For long seconds they chastely kissed. Until Tomas reached around her back, pulled her body to his, and deepened the kiss.

A flush of heat surged inside her. She’d forgotten how perfect he was, how wonderfully they fit together. She lifted onto her toes to get closer to him, to intimately align their bodies. Within seconds, they were enraptured, both giving and receiving in a heated exchange. She never wanted this moment to end.

What am I doing?

She could not let this go on. She broke the kiss, fled to the stairwell, and scampered down the steps.

Chapter 4

Faulkner rose from bed and dressed for the day. Being able to thank Scarlet last night healed a place inside him, and he no longer wanted to throttle the woman.

The kiss, though…

No, he wouldn’t think about it.

He did not believe her explanation that she left the castle to study painting and would demand the real reason.

Of course, what did it matter?

Once her mother either recovered or died and his solicitor found a governess and nanny, Scarlet would again leave Murdock Castle.

After a meeting with his guards, he walked the castle grounds and ended up at the chapel. He entered, pulled a key from his pocket, and unlocked the door to the parson’s quarters. Light streamed in through a window on the ceiling he’d installed a few months ago. He looked around and smiled. He came here when his soul needed solace or inspiration.

Scarlet did not wake until noon. She pinned up her hair, donned a white apron over her grey dress, and checked her reflection in the dresser mirror. After a fitful night of dreams, reliving that passionate kiss with Tomas, she appeared pale. She pinched her cheeks.

She must not let another encounter like last night happen. It was imperative she keep her focus on getting to Paris on time.

Scarlet administered another dose of tea and herbs to her mother, but Mum didn’t appear better. Afterward, she found Tomas on the back lawn with two young ladies. When he saw her, he motioned her over. “Miss Scarlet. You remember my sisters, Lady Rachel and Lady Francesca.”

“Of course. How lovely you both are.”

They rushed forward, and she held out her hands. They each clasped one. Both girls had Tomas’s brown hair and brown eyes, each pretty in an unpretentious way.

Rachel’s eyes sparkled in the sunlight. “Your hair is still the richest red I have ever seen.”

“Lady Rachel, you must be eighteen.”

The girl smiled.

“And, Lady Francesca, are you sixteen?”

She, too, beamed and bobbed her head.

“Have you enjoyed a London Season of yet?”

Rachel, always the more outgoing of the two, answered. “Not yet. Tomas promised next year we will go.”

“Tomas!” A little blonde girl sprinted across the lawn from the house. Tomas scooped the child up in his arms. She hugged him around the neck. “I am so glad you comed back.”

“Darling girl, I will always come back to you.”

Seeing them together, hearing the child’s words and recognizing she feared Tomas might never return like her parents, Scarlet’s heart pinched.

“Helen,” he said. “Meet Miss Scarlet.”

The little girl rested her cheek on his shoulder and shyly waved.

Scarlet smiled.

“Shall we go inside and prepare for tea?” He set Helen on the ground and turned to Scarlet. “I hope you will join us.”

The girls gazed at her expectantly.

She shook her head. “Servants do not enjoy tea with the family.”

“Your mother did until she took to the sickbed,” Francesca said.

“Plus,” Tomas added, “It will allow you time with the girls.”

Games and laughter filled the afternoon. The lasses were entertaining and smart. Helen had been tentative around her at first, but eventually climbed onto Scarlet’s lap. Later, she watched Helen fall asleep in Tomas’s arms, and Scarlet’s already captivated heart swelled more at his gentleness.

Much more time at Murdock Castle and she would never wish to leave.

Chapter 5

The next morning, Scarlet thought Mum’s fever had lessened, or mayhap she merely wished it so. She still slept all the time, making administering of the tea and herbs difficult. Nevertheless, Scarlet got some down her.

Scarlet headed to the family wing. She peeked into Helen’s room to find Francesca busily braiding Helen’s hair while Rachel knelt in front of the child and secured the buttons on Helen’s dress. The room was painted light purple and a huge dollhouse took up an entire wall. Three shelves held dolls, books, and other toys. Tomas’s sisters occupied the rooms on either side of Helen’s.

Francesca tied Helen’s braids together in the back. “Tomas needs a wife. I fear he is lonely. Mother and Father loved each other so much, I wish the same for him.”

Undetected, Scarlet listened.

Rachel straightened. “I agree.”

“Tomas already loves me.” Helen beamed. “He can marry me.”

“He is much too old for you,” Francesca explained.

Helen crossed her arms and pouted.

“Good morn,” Scarlet called from the doorway. “Shall we break our fast?”

The girls greeted her, and Helen grabbed her hand. They made their way to the great hall. She imagined the long-ago festivities once held in the enormous chamber. Although only one massive table with chairs sat centered between the walls, there was space enough for two others. A decorative gold mantel around the fireplace was adorned with the Faulkner crest.

Tomas and his uncle were seated at the table, each reading a newspaper.

“Tomas.” Helen let go of Scarlet’s hand and hurried over to him as he stood. “I cannot marry you.”

He clasped a hand over his heart. “How can you break my heart before I break my fast?”

“Even though we love each other, you are much too old for me to marry.”

A smile tugged at Scarlet’s lips.

Somehow Tomas kept a straight face. “How disappointing.”

After breakfast, Tomas took Helen to the stable to see a new litter of kittens, and Scarlet accompanied Francesca and Rachel to the library—a most delightful chamber filled with books, sofas, and a collection of globes. They each read for a while before Rachel excitedly announced, “Our dance lessons begin at the end of the week.”

“I cannot wait.” Francesca rose and swung her skirts as she spun in a circle. “Mr. Chambers promises to be a most able teacher.”

“You simply want to be held in his arms.” Rachel grinned at Scarlet. “She is aflutter when the man is in the room.”

“Have either of you ever danced?” Scarlet asked.

They shook their heads.

Maggie came to the stables and retrieved Helen for lunch, so Faulkner entered the house and strode toward his study. He heard his sisters and Scarlet chatting in the library.

His uncle strolled down the hall. “This house is overrun with females.”

“If you do not like it, I suggest you leave.” Faulkner chuckled. “This will be the case for quite some time.”

His uncle scowled and continued down the hall.

Faulkner observed the library from the shadows of the hallway.

Francesca clasped her hands against her heart. “Dancing seems like the loveliest activity.”

His sister was in love with the idea of being in love.

“It can be,” Scarlet agreed. “However, some men may try to get you alone and kiss you or put their hands on your person where you do not want them.”

“How disgraceful,” Rachel said.

“It is.” He marched into the library. “That is why I instructed you on ways to protect yourself. I did the same for Scarlet when she was your age.”

She faced him. “I’ve used them all.”

“He even bought us knives to hide in our skirts,” Francesca added.

“I have one in my skirt and one in my cape,” Scarlet began. “If you ever find yourself the recipient of unwanted attention or being attacked, the first thing to do is stay calm. It is most difficult, yet vital. You need your wits to decide on a plan of action. The man will most likely be larger than you. You must find ways to surprise and distract him so you can get away. Let us go over what Tomas taught you. I might have more to add.”

He willingly became his sisters’ victim as Scarlet instructed the girls on defense tactics. She knew well how to defend herself—he’d witnessed it.

His heart thumped knowing she’d honed those tactics, much like he’d perfected his defense maneuvers in the war, in order to survive.

Chapter 6

The days passed quickly. Tomas joined them often, and Scarlet enjoyed every moment with him and the girls. He watched her at times, and she knew he caught her doing the same, while they kept a safe distance between them.

One afternoon, she and Helen strolled around the castle grounds and ended up in the garden. Scarlet sat on the grass next to a bed of white clover and let Helen pick a few flowers.

“Would you like a crown?”

The little girl eagerly nodded. While Scarlet fashioned a crown by making slits in the stems of the flowers and linking them, Tomas marched out of the castle. Helen ran to him, arms wide. He picked her up, and she squealed when he threw her in the air.

The way he treated Helen and his sisters with such sweet tenderness made Scarlet’s heart skip a beat. She finished the crown and placed it in the girl’s hair. Helen held her head stiff and high, as she tried to walk without dislodging it.

“How are your sisters’ dance lessons going?” she asked.

“Rachel is trying to lead, and Francesca gazes at Mr. Chambers like he hung the moon. I fear the man could put his hands anywhere on her person, and she would not object.”

She laughed. “Which promises you will have an entertaining London Season.”

“God help me.”

Later that night, Scarlet went to the chapel bell tower. Tomas was there. He turned when he heard her. They stared at one another, both knowing they could not fight the pull any longer.

Oh, to be in his arms again.

She rushed toward him. He caught her and their lips met in a kiss consumed with passion. Her body erupted in heat. His lips, his tongue, his essence, stoked the flames inside of her. He pinned her body to his, leaving no space between them. How she wanted to rip their clothing off and feel his skin against hers, be one with him again.

He broke the kiss and spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

She dropped her forehead to his shoulder. Tears welled from her very soul. “You never said you were coming back to me.”

“How could I make you promises?”

She lifted her head.

Pain filled his eyes. “I was going off to war not knowing if I would survive.”

The hurt in his words sliced through her sharper than any blade.

“My God, Scarlet. I pledged myself to you, body and soul. And do not try to tell me you did not do the same.”

She’d never deny that, but she also refused to tell him the whole truth. “After you left, I realized you most likely wanted me for your mistress. You took great care to make certain no one saw us together.”

“You insisted on secrecy. I did not care if the whole of England knew how much I loved you. I left with an unspoken agreement between us. If I returned, we would be together.”

His words were true. They’d both pledged their love, their hearts, their souls to one another.

“There is something more. Something you’re not telling me. Please, Scarlet, I deserve the truth.”

She closed her eyes, determined to stay strong and protect her mother.

Seconds ticked by in the lengthening silence. He released her and stepped away. She instantly missed his body, his heat. She wrapped her arms around herself and listened to his footfalls get fainter and fainter.

Chapter 7

Faulkner entered the great hall the next morning. Last night he’d tried to drink himself into a stupor after his interaction with Scarlet in the tower, but one glass of brandy had soured his stomach.

Damn. This reunion with Scarlet was making him ill. Lovesick.

Double damn. He was turning into a ninnyhammer.

He tore open a missive at his place setting. A new governess and nanny would arrive tomorrow. His gut clenched. He would no longer have an excuse to keep Scarlet at Murdock Castle. The girls would be sad when she left. They’d formed an attachment to her.

He enjoyed watching Scarlet interact with the lasses. The way Helen always found her way into Scarlet’s lap, and the way his sisters animatedly discussed fashion and other matters while laughing at Scarlet’s good humor.

They should all laugh more often.

“Good morn,” Rachel called as she entered the room. “Tomas, I’ve been meaning to tell you, you did the kindest thing by retrieving Scarlet for her mother. I have every hope Mrs. Cason will wake soon. Maggie says her fever has lessened greatly.”

“I am glad she is better.”

She smiled. “Scarlet is still incredibly beautiful.”

Beautiful, ravishing, enchanting, infuriating, exasperating. “Quite.”

“Are you still madly in love with her?”

Tomas froze. “Why do you ask such a question?”

She smirked. “The night before you left for the war, I saw you and Scarlet together.”

“Where? How? You were so young.”

“I was eight. When I cannot sleep, I sit on my window seat and read. That night, I saw you ride out on your horse. On the other side of the drawbridge, you darted toward the chapel. A few moments later, a woman left the castle and hurried in the same direction. You were waiting at the chapel door. She ran up to kiss you and her cape fell back. I instantly recognized Scarlet’s red hair from the torch’s glow.”

All these years, he’d thought they’d kept their relationship confidential.

“I told Uncle William, and he—”

“You told Uncle William?” Trepidation crept into Tomas’s gut.

“He said I must be mistaken and to never spread such gossip again.” She glanced at the entrance, and then whispered, “But I know it was her.”

Tomas impatiently paced by the window waiting for his uncle and Scarlet. He took measured breaths, hoping if his suspicions were right, that he could stop himself from taking one of the guns off the wall and shooting his uncle. The study held an abundance of military memorabilia—everything from paintings of battle scenes, to the first rifles used in combat in England. A bronze soldier statue took up one corner of his green leather topped desk.

A soft knock sounded on the doorjamb. Scarlet’s stilted smile looked more like a frown. “You sent for me?”

“I did. Please take a seat.” He gestured to the two chairs in front of the desk.

She sat.

“I wish to express my gratitude for your care of the girls and inform you their nanny and governess will arrive tomorrow.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her. “I think you will find your compensation generous.”

“Thank you.” She slid it into her pocket without opening it.

His uncle walked in. “Tomas, you needed to speak to me?”

“Yes.”

His uncle closed the door and walked across the room. He seemed surprised to see Scarlet and plopped in the chair beside her.

Faulkner settled in the seat behind the desk. “Scarlet, this morning I discovered our affair was not as clandestine as we might’ve hoped.”

Her face flushed red.

“But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

She closed her eyes.

Faulkner turned toward his uncle. “What did you do when you found out?”

Uncle William glanced away.

Crossing his arms, Faulkner waited. “No one leaves this room until I know what happened.”

His uncle rubbed the back of his neck. “I told Scarlet you only wanted her for your mistress.”

Anger raged through Faulkner.

“To which she replied men of your elevated status enjoyed mistresses aplenty. So I threatened to reveal a secret from her mother’s past.”

Everything suddenly made sense. Faulkner tenderly gazed at Scarlet. “You left to protect your mother.”

Her sky-blue eyes gazed at him.

Uncle William cleared his throat. “I learned—”

“Mrs. Cason killed her first husband, fled, and changed her name,” Faulkner interrupted.

Chapter 8

Stunned, Scarlet stared at Tomas.

“Prior to my father hiring Mrs. Cason, he bade me to investigate her past,” he explained.

“You were a boy,” his uncle argued.

“I’d recently turned seventeen. Father often gave me challenging assignments.”

“You knew sooner than I did,” Scarlet confessed. “I did not find out my mother killed my father until your uncle told me. She lied to me all my life and made my father out to be a saint who died before my birth.”

“Actually, she didn’t lie. She killed her first husband. You were conceived with her second. He died of measles when your mother was pregnant with you.”

Relief and disbelief battled inside of Scarlet.

“How did you hear such a tale?” William looked unconvinced.

“I doggedly questioned people from Mrs. Cason’s past and followed the trail she left, although I admit, she was fairly good at covering her tracks. Gathering knowledge about her past fascinated me. It prompted me to become an intelligence officer and take private commissions to find people.”

“You reported this to your father?” she asked.

Tomas nodded. “After I told him the horrors your mother endured, he instructed me to never repeat them. He said she’d been through enough, and we must not reveal her identity. Her first husband treated her brutally. She tried to escape numerous times, only to be found and treated worse. Everyone I spoke to thought your mother’s action was warranted.”

Tears blurred her vision.

He glared at his uncle. “Explain yourself.”

“I considered you might want Scarlet for more than a mistress,” William admitted. “My only thought was to eliminate her from your life so you would not be tempted to ruin the Faulkner name. As future earl, you could not marry a servant.”

“Now that I am the earl, I can do whatever I bloody well choose.” Tomas walked over and tugged the bellpull. “You should’ve come to me instead of threatening a young girl so badly she left her family and was forced to find a way to live on her own. You are no longer welcome here, and you will never again address Scarlet in any fashion.”

Joseph opened the door. “My lord?”

“Uncle William will be leaving within the hour. Make certain his bags are packed.”

The butler bowed. “I will see to it.”

Tomas faced his uncle with a resolute expression. William hung his head as he left the room.

Scarlet rushed to Tomas. “Must you send him away?”

“I cannot abide people who undermine me. I will only allow people in my life who desire the best for me.”

“That is what he wanted.”

“No. He only cared about the Faulkner name. If he had wanted the best for me, he’d have kept you here, where you were safe. I cannot forgive him, so please never ask it of me.” He leaned down, and the instant their lips touched she felt a surge inside her. A surge of emotion, of happiness, of love.

Tomas broke the kiss and held her close. “I understand everything now. I just wish you had come to me and told me the truth.”

“Your uncle did not approach me until after you left.” She buried her face in his chest. “I was angry at Mum and afraid for her. Not to mention terrified something might happen to you in battle. I was completely lost.”

“What’s done is done.” He rubbed her back. “I want to marry you.”

Her heart soared, while her mind remained resolute. “I am still a commoner, and you are still a peer.”

“I have friends who married out of the ton, and they are very happy. I am not saying life will be easy, or we will not encounter people who may spurn us. I am saying no scandal can hurt us if we simply trust each other.”

“Do you trust me?” she asked.

He reached out and tenderly caressed a curl hanging in front of her ear. “I want to. I want to trust your heart is mine. I want to trust you still hold the same feelings for me. I want to trust the woman I gave my heart to all those years ago has kept it with her.”

His words devastated her. “I love you.”

“But how much do you love me, Scarlet?” He gazed into her eyes, and she thought he was going to kiss her again. Instead, he whispered against her lips, “I need your complete love and trust, in full measures. Nothing less.”

After spending the day with Francesca, Rachel, and Helen, Scarlet trudged through the halls in a daze, wondering if she could grant Tomas’s request. A marriage between them would cause gossip and might make it difficult for the girls to find proper matches. Plus, Madame Le Brun’s invitation was what she’d wished for since she began painting. The substantial wage Tomas paid her would easily pay for her trip and lodging while in Paris. To be taught by a master would be the experience of a lifetime.

She visited her mother and found her sitting propped up on pillows. “Oh, my. I am so glad you are awake. How do you feel?”

“Half alive.” Mum grimaced. “Maggie told me you brought me back from the dead.”

“I am certain God did that.” Scarlet looked at her mother, thankful she no longer had the conflicted feelings she’d been plagued with the last ten years. It was a relief to know her mother had not murdered her father. She considered asking about her first marriage, but realized if her mother wished for Scarlet to know about her abusive husband, she’d have spoken of him by now. She vowed to never ask about him, she did not want her mother to relive the horrors she’d suffered.

Instead, she sat on the bed and took her mother’s hand. “Mum, tell me about my father one more time.”

Chapter 9

Faulkner gazed out his window as the day woke. He’d gotten a report on Mrs. Cason late last night and was pleased to learn she’d been sitting up and talking. It appeared she’d suffered through the worst and would recover.

Thanks to Scarlet.

He hadn’t seen or heard from her since their meeting yesterday. He’d been honest with her, told her what he expected and had no idea what she’d decide. The words they’d exchanged ran through his mind over and over until he thought he’d go mad.

She loved him, but would she choose him? Neither of them expected life to be easy for them amidst the ton. Yet, if she trusted their love, nothing could hurt them.

Dressed in a black suit, he went to his study for the morning meeting with his guards. “Anything rousing happen last night?”

“Nothing,” Horace reported. “I saw no one until early this morning when Miss Scarlet left.”

“Scarlet left?” Faulkner asked.

“Yes. She carried her valise and satchel and requested I hail her a hackney.”

Faulkner’s heart missed a beat. Perhaps she went to town. Why’d she take her bags? Dread settled in his stomach. If she brought her belongings, she was likely going to Paris. How could she leave without telling him?

“Tomas,” Rachel called, then appeared in the doorway. “Come, our new governess and nanny just arrived.”

Hurt, dejected, bloody well lovesick, Faulkner forced himself to keep busy the entire day. He oversaw the new employees. While he trusted his solicitor to find the best servants Seaford had to offer, he still remained with the girls to make certain they got along well with the new women.

After Helen fell asleep while he read her a story, he quietly left the castle.

There was only one place he wanted to be.

The rented hackney rolled through the outer gates of Murdock Castle. Scarlet could barely contain her excitement. The time grew late, and whether he was awake or not, she must find Tomas.

The carriage halted at the barbican. She leaned out the window and saw Tomas’s guards and driver, Bricker. She waved.

“Miss Scarlet?” Bricker seemed surprised to see her. “We thought you were gone forever since you took your bags with you.”

She’d taken her valise and satchel to pack more of her things, and left the clothing she’d first brought with her in the chest at the foot of her bed. “No. I went to Worthing to retrieve my belongings. Do you know Lord Faulkner’s whereabouts? I must tell him I have returned.”

Bricker pointed to the chapel. “He walked to the chapel a quarter-hour ago. I believe he will be happy to see you.”

“Thank you.” She smiled and picked up the wrapped painting she’d brought from Worthing. “I have paid the hackney. Can you please see my things are delivered to my room?”

He nodded. “Horace will take care of it.”

She sprinted across the yard. Light flickered through the colorful stained-glass windows as she approached. She threw the doors wide and hurried inside.

Her heart crashed to the ground.

Tomas was suspended upside down, his ankles tied to the lowered chandelier with a rope. His arms dangled three feet from the floor.

“Get out! Run!” Tomas yelled.

The door behind her slammed shut.

Chapter 10

Scarlet spun around, her heart in her throat.

“Sit.” An enormous man in ragged clothing stood in front of the barred doors with a bow and arrow aimed straight at her.

Terror streaked through her.

Had the guards outside heard Tomas yell? Even if they tried to get inside, it would take a while to bust through the blocked double doors.

How could she help Tomas? She had no hope of surprising the intruder or using her fighting skills against a man his size.

Stay calm. Think.

“What is this about?” She spoke carefully, making certain her voice did not tremble.

“Mr. Hest is a bloody murderer I located and brought to trial.” Tomas’s face was red from hanging upside down, his voice strained. “The jury found the bastard guilty, but he escaped the magistrate before his hanging.”

She turned toward the villain and boldly asked, “What do you plan to do with Lord Faulkner?”

“Shoot him.” He tapped the quiver on his back. “Until I have no more arrows.”

She clutched the painting in her hands and all of a sudden knew what to do. She smirked. “May I watch? The earl has made my life a living hell. I want to see him get his comeuppance.”

A nasty snort escaped Hest. “Be my guest.”

“I have one thing to show him first.”

She stormed toward Tomas, tore the paper from the painting, and held up the large canvas, blocking Hest’s view of them. “Here it is, my lord. The painting you forced me to do. The endless days I toiled…”

Terrified when Scarlet entered, Faulkner had watched her, fascinated as she quickly took in the situation and convinced Hest she was on his side. His heart burst with love for this woman, his soul instantly repaired by the simple fact she’d come back to him. At least if he died, he knew she truly loved and trusted him.

Scarlet went on berating him, while her eyes stared into his with steadfast love. Her ruse allowed him to grab the knife from her cape and the one from her skirt without detection. He held the handles in his hands and flicked the blades inside the sleeves of his coat, which hung over his fingertips.

Distracted by his thoughts of Scarlet, Faulkner had entered the chapel with his head down when suddenly everything went black. Then he woke, hanging like a side of beef.

Faulkner’s guards kept diligent watch on everyone entering and exiting the inner castle grounds, but the chapel was situated on the outer grounds, and Hest had obviously found a way to sneak in.

He was unsure why the miscreant hadn’t killed him yet. It seemed the man liked to play with his victims.

“Full measures,” she murmured before she threw the painting on the floor. The stretched canvas broke. She stomped away and sat in the first pew. “Mr. Hest, wouldn’t it be better to remove his lordship’s coat? Surely your arrows will sink into his flesh deeper without its protection.”

Hest snickered. “You really do hate the cur.”

Faulkner ignored the excruciating pain and pressure in his head. He’d been trained and experienced on what to do in dangerous, torturous situations—yet never had so much been riding on his success.

He tightly gripped the handles of the knives and concentrated his attention on the man’s chest as he prowled ever closer.

When Hest was a foot away from him, Scarlet called, “Mr. Hest?”

The man turned his head.

Faulkner swiftly thrust upward with his hands and plunged both blades straight into Hest’s heart—forcing them deep.

Hest’s eyes didn’t even widen, nor did his body stiffen. Instead, he immediately collapsed to the ground.

Too quick a death for the murderous blackguard.

Faulkner closed his eyes, thankful his aim had been so true. Lightheadedness plagued him.

The wooden arm squealed as Scarlet unbolted the lock. The doors squeaked open. “Bricker. Hurry,” she yelled.

“Tomas, my love.” Scarlet’s footfalls scuttled toward him. Her small hands pushed on his back as she tried to lift his upper torso. Her effort afforded him a smidgen of relief.

At the thudding of boots, he opened his eyes.

“Help him. He’s been upside down too long,” Scarlet pleaded.

Three guards lifted Faulkner’s upper body as Bricker cut the rope around his feet. His guards carried him to the first pew and set his legs on the ground before assisting him to sit.

Scarlet knelt in front of him. “I love you, I never stopped. I went to Worthing to retrieve my things. I am never leaving you again.”

He reached out and cupped her face in his hands. “Darling. All that matters is you are back.”

She rose and put her arms around him. He felt her shaking and understood this would haunt her. But any time she woke scared or upset, he’d be there to console her. He coaxed her to sit across his lap, and they held each other.

After Bricker and his guards removed Hest’s body and Scarlet no longer trembled, Faulkner pointed to the ruined painting. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“Terrible, isn’t it?” She laughed. “Portraits are beyond my talent. I’ve labored over it for ten years, and I think it gets worse each time I try to fix it.”

He chuckled.

“I brought it with me in hopes of using you as a model. I wanted it to be a present for you, representing how much I thought about you the last ten years.”

“I have a gift for you too.” Faulkner stood. His body and the knot on the back of his head were sore, but he felt much better. He held her hand and led her to the parson’s quarters, picking up a candle on his way. He let go of her hand, took a key from his coat, and handed it to her.

She quizzically glanced at him and unlocked the door.

Scarlet strode into the dark room. Tomas brought the candle to a table next to the bed they shared those magical nights so long ago and lit a candelabra with ten candles. When the chamber flooded with light, she spun in a slow circle, spellbound. Hanging on the walls were many of her paintings of Murdock Castle and Seaford. She struggled to breathe.

“I located you after I returned from the war. I commissioned a solicitor to hire different people to buy your paintings often.”

“Why?” she asked.

“If I could not have you, at least I had something you’d touched.”

Tears she’d been holding back burned in her eyes.

“I also wanted to be certain you had money.”

She gestured to one of the paintings, her voice soft. “That is the one I sold the day you found me.”

“Yes, the man who bought it delivered it to me moments before I discovered you fighting those vagrants like a hellcat.”

“Oh, Tomas, every time I sold a painting, I lost a piece of my heart.” She sniffed. “You’ve given me back my heart. You are my heart.”

He wrapped his arms about her as he pressed his forehead to hers.

“Every time I sought solace, which has been a lot lately, I came here. Being surrounded by your creations in this spot, our spot, always gave me hope and healing.” The crack in his voice told of his struggle to keep his composure.

They’d both been through so much. She needed this moment to be happy and joyful, less serious. “Healing? Perhaps now that I am here, you can think of other ways I can heal you, my lord?”

A playful grin passed across his lips. “Oh, I can think of so very many ways.” He kissed her and backed her toward the bed.

High-pitched female voices and the shuffling of feet in the chapel interrupted them.

Tomas broke the kiss, whispered a curse, then looked into her eyes with the passion she remembered so well. “We are coming back here tonight.”

“The sooner, the better. For your healing, of course.”

He laughed. “You will be healed, too, my love. Repeatedly.”

A flush of heat raced through her.

He kept Scarlet in his arms as he turned them just in time to see his sisters and Helen scurry into the parson’s quarters.

“Oh, thank God you are alive.” Rachel raised her hands to her heart. “I saw you both come in here, and then the guards brought out a body.”

“Her scream woke us,” Francesca added. “So we came to investigate. I am relieved you are both unharmed.”

Helen ran to them. “Miss Scarlet, you comed back.”

She crouched to give Helen a hug. “I will always come back.”

“Rachel, perhaps you should sleep at night instead of spying out your window,” Tomas suggested.

She bobbed her head. “I have learned my lesson.”

“Good. I am glad you are here, though,” he said. “In the morning, we are all off to London to obtain a special license so Scarlet and I may quickly wed.”

“How wonderfully romantic.” Francesca sighed.

“After the wedding,” he continued, “we set out for Paris.”

Scarlet snapped her head his way.

The girls joyfully squealed.

“After seeing my portrait…” He grinned. “I understand how much you need Madame LeBrun’s instruction.”

Scarlet laughed and playfully lifted her arm to punch him.

He grasped her hand, brought it to his mouth, and kissed the back. “You didn’t believe I would let you give up your dream, did you?”

Heart full to exploding, she threw her arms around him. “You, Tomas, are better than any dream.”

About Tess St. John

Tess isn’t your “normal” writer. She didn’t aspire from a young age to become an author and never dreamed of holding a book she’d written in her hands. She didn’t really even enjoy reading as a child. Her last day of high school, her English teacher said, “You all have a book inside you, go find your book.” Tess thought the woman was crazy. Yet for years she couldn’t get a mysterious murder scene, like a movie reel, out of her mind. In her twenties, she began reading mysteries. In her late thirties, she read her first romance and voraciously read every romance she could get her hands on after that. Finally, years later, she sat down to write the nagging scene in hopes it would go away. Instead, the floodgates on her imagination opened. Her original mystery remained, but she struggled with the manuscript until she added a love story and a happily ever after.

She lives near Houston with her true-life hero husband, has two grown children she adores, and is blessed beyond belief.

Connect with Tess by email tess@tessstjohn.com

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If you enjoyed Rescuing Lord Faulkner, please check out these full-length books in the Regency Redemption Series.

Claiming Lady Brinton ~ Book 1

Saving Lord Cheswick ~ Book 2

Protecting Lady Annise ~ Book 3

Also, look for these other series by Tess St. John

Chances Are Series (Historical Romance Books 1~5)

Undercover Intrigue Series (Romantic Suspense Books 1~5)

Danby Series (Contemporary Short Stories)

To Rescue My Princess by Lane McFarland

Chapter 1

St. Duthas Chapel

Tain, Scotland

September 1306

“Run!” Morgana clasped Marjorie’s small hand and dashed up the grassy knoll with the four other women. Out of breath, they hurried through the cemetery’s iron gate and hid behind cracked and crumbling headstones discolored by green lichen and mold.

The cacophony of clashing steel, the echoing throb of military drums, and the stamping feet of advancing soldiers reverberated through Morgana’s ears. Her heart beat so fast, it near exploded.

The English made no attempt to hide their approach. In broad daylight, they marched forward with purpose to capture and arrest Robert the Bruce’s relatives and supporters who had fled the slaughter at Kildrummy Castle last eve.

Images of soldiers dragging a battered Nigel Bruce into the bailey flashed through her mind. His brother, King Robert, had escaped the country with a small contingent after the Scots’ crushing defeat at the Battle of Methven, leaving his family vulnerable and exposed.

She shuddered.

Blessed Nigel had distracted the troops long enough for his family, along with Isabella, Countess of Buchan, and Morgana, to escape.

She prayed he still lived.

“Where shall we go?” Queen Elizabeth cried. “What will we do?”

“We have to get to the Orkneys. To safety,” Morgana stated. As one of the queen’s ladies, she would do everything she could to protect the queen.

“There they are!” A shout rang out at the base of the hill.

Isabella stared down at the men, a look of horror etched on her face. “Dear heavens. They’re upon us!”

A group of soldiers stormed toward the women.

Morgana held Marjorie’s slender shoulders and steered the eleven-year-old to the queen. “Retreat up the hill and inside the chapel. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”

The queen’s brow furrowed as Marjorie ran into her arms. “Morgana, donnae risk yerself.”

“The chapel is a place of sanctuary, and I’m praying ye will be safe there, my queen.” Morgana looked to the others as she tugged her bow from her back and nocked an arrow. “All of ye, go now. Hurry!”

The women hastened away.

Morgana’s pulse pounded in her head. She peered from behind the stone grave marker and concentrated on holding her aim steady on the gate’s narrow opening.

I can do this. Just like hunting, except the prey will be racing toward me. I have but a moment to wait before I pick them off.

A soldier leading the charge appeared, his stare focused on the chapel.

Her stomach tightened. With a deep breath, she loosed her arrow. It struck him in the neck. The man grabbed the shaft and toppled to the ground.

She nocked another barb as the next soldier ran forward. One after another, she dispatched three more advancing troops as they slipped inside the gate. The soldiers fell back for cover, firing their own arrows her way. More and more troops stormed the hill.

She was outnumbered.

Chapter 2

Morgana hoisted her skirt and sprinted up the hill. Arrows whistled by her head. Others stuck in the ground near her racing feet. An arrow sliced her sleeve and grazed her skin. A burn coursed down her arm.

Lord, help me!

With one last burst of energy, she darted into the chapel. “Bar the door.”

Two monks thrust a wooden beam through iron brackets, blocking the entrance.

Morgana hooked her bow over her shoulder and stepped back from the door. The chapel’s fortifications were never intended to repel advancing soldiers. It was only a matter of time before the defenses no longer provided protection.

Whimpers sounded behind her and she turned to Isabella, huddled with the Bruce’s sisters, Christina and Mary. Marjorie, the king’s daughter, clung to the queen. Their widened eyes and dirt-streaked, ashen faces appeared stark in the dim light.

“Is there no way out through the back of the building?” Morgana asked the monks.

One shook his balding head. “No. ’Tis only this entryway.”

Wham!

Morgana jumped.

The women shrieked.

The door held, but for how long?

Wham!

Splinters broke away with each strike.

Dear God!

Morgana’s stomach twisted. Legs braced apart and arms shaking, she nocked another arrow and pointed it at the door. She’d die defending her queen and her friends.

With another strike, the wooden slats creaked apart, giving way to the onslaught. Chainmail-clad soldiers stormed into the chapel.

One of the monks ran forward, a large cross dangling from a chain around his neck, aged hands up as if to prevent the invasion. “This is a holy place of sanctuary,” he cried. “Ye cannae come in here bearing arms.”

“In the name of the king, get out of the way, old man.” A burly fiend knocked the monk aside and led the troops farther into the sanctuary.

Hands on hips, he glared at Morgana, her arrow aimed at his chest.

“Ye heard the good brother,” she snarled. “There’s no need for drawn swords in a house of worship. This place is holy—a shrine—under the protection of the church.”

“Permit me to introduce myself.” A sneer distorted his pompous expression as he stepped forward.

She raised her bow higher, her eye trained on the man. “Come no closer.”

He stopped and held up his hands. “You had best lower your weapon. You are surrounded.”

A squeal rent the air behind her.

She spared a glance over her shoulder.

A soldier held a struggling Marjorie against his chest.

“Please, donnae hurt her,” Queen Elizabeth wailed. “She’s naught but a child.”

Bile churned in Morgana’s stomach.

“I’ll not tell you again. Lower yer weapon, mistress, or it will not bode well for the girl.”

Hopelessness spread through her like wildfire. Her legs trembled and she dropped her arm. A soldier rushed her, snatched the quiver of arrows from her back and the bow out of her hands.

The searing burn from the arrow that had grazed her skin earlier stung. Blood wet her hand as she rubbed the injury.

“I am the Earl of Ross, devoted to Comyn, the rightful King of Scotland. That is until he was murdered by Robert the Bruce.” He marched over to her and squeezed her cheeks, lifting her to her toes.

She winced, her fingers trying to dislodge his agonizing grip.

“Where is the Bruce?” His hold tightened.

Pain shot through her face. “I donnae know.”

“Tell me now.”

“Threaten all ye want. It willnae change my answer. I donnae know where the Bruce is.”

Ross growled and shoved her to one of his men. She stumbled back against a guard. The man grasped her upper arms with steely pressure.

Ross yanked the queen forward, holding her mere inches from his face. “Where is he?”

She closed her eyes briefly as she shook her head. “He dinnae tell us where he was going. We donnae know.”

Ross pushed her away with a smirk and addressed his men. “Take them to Tweed to meet their fate.”

The soldiers hustled the women and Marjorie out of the chapel and through the yard. The Bruce’s injured and dying men lay scattered across the holy grounds. The smell of death hung thick in the air.

Morgana swallowed hard. A man prodded her back, forcing her downhill toward a covered wagon.

She climbed into the bed, reached down to Marjorie, and tugged her up. Once they were all in the cart, the soldiers shackled their ankles to a ring secured in the floor’s board. The wagon lurched forward and bounced along the bumpy road. Frigid air swirled around her, and she shivered uncontrollably from the temperature and from the fear racking her body.

What will become of us?

Chapter 3

Morgana placed her arms around Christina’s and Marjorie’s shoulders and looked to Mary, then Queen Elizabeth and Isabella. “Come, let’s slide together for warmth.”

The group huddled against each other as the procession transported them south to Berwick on England’s east coast. Mary and Christina cried softly. The queen stroked Marjorie’s head, tears escaping down her cheeks.

“Dinnae fret. Stay strong, my queen.” Morgana cast her gaze over the others and ran a hand down Isabella’s arm. “My friends, ye are all verra important in the Bruce’s household. That alone will stave off harsh treatments.”

Her words sounded believable enough. She just wished she possessed the confidence her voice portrayed.

Once at Berwick, the shackled women were paraded through the muddy castle bailey, their chains clanking between their feet and hands. Men and women filled the area, shouting insults and throwing rotting food at the small procession.

Morgana did her best to square her shoulders and ignore the obscenities, but she heard every horrid wish for her torturous death. A putrid, blackened cabbage slammed into her head and she reeled. Slimy leaves slid from her hair onto her soiled gown.

A beefy soldier yanked the chain. The women fell to the ground.

The crowd cheered.

Horrible, hateful people.

Morgana clenched her jaw as she scrambled to her feet and helped Mary up, while Queen Elizabeth and Christina steadied Marjorie and Isabella. With another jerk of the chain, the guard led them up a raised platform in the lower bailey where they were forced to stand for all to see.

Morgana lifted her chin and glared at the loathsome horde.

Moments later, a guard yelled, “Nigel Bruce, brother to the murderous Robert the Bruce.”

A horse galloped into the yard dragging a naked Nigel, his body blackened and swollen beyond recognition. The crowd roared with malice. Their barbarity had no bounds.

Morgana’s heart lurched. She covered her mouth with her hand. Tears sprang to her eyes.

The commander ordered soldiers to cut him loose. They dragged him to an adjacent platform, threw a rope around his neck, and hoisted him high, legs kicking as the rope spun. The onlookers went wild. Cheers and shouts resounded through the bailey as Nigel twisted against the choking noose. All of a sudden, he dropped to the wooden platform, writhing, his face contorted and eyes bulging.

Queen Elizabeth held Marjorie’s face against her middle, shielding the child from the horrendous brutality. The commander ordered his body quartered and the pieces sent across the countryside as a gift to the Bruce’s supporters.

After Nigel’s gruesome death, the commander turned his attention to the ladies as another stout man climbed the platform and faced the women.

He unrolled a parchment and read aloud. “It is the king’s decree that Robert the Bruce’s daughter, Marjorie, be sent to Gilbertine Convent at Watton. Robert’s sister, Christina Bruce, to a convent in Lincolnshire. Robert’s wife, Elizabeth de Burgh, will be placed under house arrest at a manor in Yorkshire.”

“Nae, I willnae go without ye,” Marjorie wailed, grasping Queen Elizabeth’s waist.

“Shh,” the queen whispered, large tears in her eyes. She stroked the child’s back. “’Twill be a fine place for ye, my sweetling. Ye will be safe there.”

The guard continued reading aloud. “Robert’s sister, Mary Bruce, will be imprisoned in a wooden cage, exposed to public view at Roxburgh Castle.”

A loud gasp filtered through the crowd. Mary bowed her head and clutched Christina’s hand.

“The Countess of Buchan is to be imprisoned in a wooden cage, exposed to public view at Berwick Castle. And the queen’s lady, Morgana McLeod, will be imprisoned in an iron cage, exposed to public view at Conwy Castle for an indefinite period of time.”

Imprisoned in an iron cage at Conwy Castle. Dear Lord.

Morgana’s stomach churned. Her knees wobbled and her legs almost collapsed. It took all her strength to stand before these people and show no reaction to their savagery.

The other women cried as soldiers pulled them apart and shuffled them off to their respective prisons.

A soldier seized Morgana’s upper arm and jerked her forward. Tears blurred her eyes. She swiped a hand across her face and searched the crowd for the other ladies and wee Marjorie. Wails reached her ears, but she could not see the women through the swarm of spectators.

The man whisked her into a small iron-barred wagon. She fell on her side in the hard bed. He grabbed her leg and none too gently, clamped a cold metal shackle around her ankle and secured it to the floor.

He slammed the door and locked the cage with a clank.

She rose onto her knees and grasped the bars, peering out at the jeering crowd. Once again, Marjorie’s cries reached her ears. Tears rolled down Morgana’s cheeks as the cart lurched forward, starting the long journey to England’s west coast.

The days and nights on the road melded into each other. She froze at night with little to no protection in the wagon. Bleakness spread through her upon realizing she’d be exposed to the elements in a cage like this for who knew how long.

An indefinite period of time.

Anguish threatened to engulf her. How would she survive? Winter fast approached.

She rubbed her forehead. Collect yer wits. Donnae let them win. I cannae give them the satisfaction of my death.

Someday, she would escape and seek revenge upon the Earl of Ross.

Focused on vengeance, determination sparked and flickered through her heart. She closed her eyes and grasped hold of the tenuous flame, her lifeline.

Once at Conwy Castle, the soldiers marched Morgana up the steep flight of stairs to the top of the castle. Wind whipped around her, tossing her long dark hair in her face and plastering her gown against her legs.

A guard holding a long spear led her to a square iron cage. Its door on top of the prison stood open, awaiting her.

A lump wedged in Morgana’s throat and she struggled to breathe. The guard rushed her along, up a wooden ramp to the top of the cage.

“Get in.”

She eased down to sit while dangling her legs inside the cage.

He pushed her shoulder, and she fell into the barred prison, landing hard on her knees. Pain shot up her legs, and she rubbed the tender spots.

The guard slammed the door and removed the ramp. “Hoist her up,” he shouted.

Two soldiers shoved a long crank. A loud grating noise screeched and the cage jostled from side to side.

She clutched the bars as the structure swung off the ground.

Another guard rotated a wooden beam to jut out over the side of the castle wall.

Morgana peered through the bars at her feet and gasped. The Conwy River’s dark water smashed against boulders before rushing downstream.

She wrapped her arms about her legs and cried.

Dear Lord, give me strength.

The first few weeks were near unbearable. Autumn winds whistled off the water and swirled around her body clad in a filthy gown with only the protection of the thin blanket a good woman had tossed to her during a feeding. Once a day, the soldiers hoisted her up, and someone would open the lid and pass her food and water, only enough to sustain life. Then she remained on display.

She held up her chin at the taunting crowd, bearing humiliation, determined not to let them see her misery. The frigid nights sapped her strength, yet she prayed for a miracle—someone who’d save her from rotting in this wretched cage.

The cold bars matched the bleakness in her soul. Would Laird McLeod get word of her imprisonment? Would he come for her? What could he do to have her released?

Despair seeped into her veins, spreading dire tentacles of doom throughout her body. Many days and nights she thought she’d die—prayed she’d die and end this torture—but her dream of revenge kept her alive.

Alive for the day when she could witness the Earl of Ross take his last breath.

Chapter 4

Stonecrest Castle

South of Aberdeen

October 1306

Ocean spray peppered Alysander’s face and cold wind cut through his heavy cloak as he sailed the Dhìoghaltas up the coast toward Laird Brandon McLeod’s castle. The vessel sliced through the white-capped water with ease.

His body thrummed with anticipation as he rocked back on his heels. He let out a throaty laugh. After six long years, he was going to see Morgana again. He’d often thought of the dark-haired, blue-eyed lass and the sweet kiss she’d given him when he last saw her. He could not wait to lay eyes upon her angel face again.

His younger brother, Bryce, joined him at the helm. “’Tis been a long time since visiting Lady Elsbeth and Laird Brandon. We were but lads when we left.”

“Aye, young lads with high hopes.”

Memories surfaced of Laird McLeod saving Alysander and Bryce when the English murdered their loved ones and burned their family’s village. Since that time, the brothers had trained to sail under Laird MacAndrew’s direction. Now, Alysander commanded his own merchant ship and had made enough profits to build a fortress tucked away in the forest of Loch Linnhe on the west coast. He always knew someday he would return for Morgana and ask her to join him on his island.

That day had finally arrived.

A stab of doubt sliced into his chest, threatening to shatter his rapturous dream. He’d not had contact with her in a long time. Would he find her married or promised to another? Would she still have amorous feelings toward him?

He took a deep breath. ’Twas only one way to find out.

A mountainous boulder rose from the ocean and transformed into a daunting stone fortress. Gray clouds blocked the waning sun, cloaking the immense structure in eerie shadows. Golden flames from torches lining the battlements flared into the evening sky. Warriors patrolled ramparts between round bastions positioned at the castle’s corners.

Stonecrest was just as he remembered.

Alysander moored his boat in the cove below the castle and headed up the hill on horseback with Bryce and two of his men following. The imposing gray structure soared above the sheer sea-cliff and raging ocean. The waves pummeled its foundation. Glowing torches revealed defensive arrow-slits positioned at strategic locations, and men armed with broadswords, bows, and arrows marched along the fortified battlements.

Snapping in the wind, Stonecrest’s white banner graced with two elk waved over the castle. He studied the pennant. Raised on hind feet, the animals flanked a blue shield and a golden eagle presided above the elk. The symbols representing freedom, strength, independence, and pride characterized the laird’s spirit, beliefs, and convictions.

The brothers owed the man their lives. In many ways, they were returning home.

Alysander was close to Stonecrest Castle—close to seeing Morgana again. He squeezed his legs around Cadarn’s girth, and the horse broke into a full gallop. He laughed into the wind. Bryce and the others would have to keep pace.

Chapter 5

Roussel ushered Alysander, Bryce, and the others into the castle’s great room where the laird’s wife, Elsbeth, and adopted children, Alainne, Lena, and Bodwyn, sat before a blazing hearth. How the lad and lasses had grown.

The four jumped from their chairs and rushed toward them.

“Oh, Alysander and Bryce.” Elsbeth hugged one, then the other. “We’re so happy ye’ve come. Please have a seat.”

Bryce dropped onto the bench beside Bodwyn, the two friends smiling and quickly catching up with each other.

Alysander turned to his men. “This is David and Bram. They sail with me.”

“Welcome to our home.” Elsbeth smiled warmly then clasped Alysander’s hand. “’Tis verra good to have ye here. I so wish Brandon and Tristian knew of yer visit. They have gone to the Bruce’s aid in Ireland and will be sorely disappointed to have missed ye.”

Alysander exhaled loudly. “Mangus told me Brandon signed the Turnberry Bond and has been instrumental in helping the Bruce and the cause.”

“After the Bruce’s defeat at the Battle of Methven, that bond between the nobles and lairds is more important than ever. Our king needs all the support he can garner.”

Roussel entered the room carrying a tray of tankards and sweetmeats. He passed the refreshments around.

“Thank ye.” Alysander nodded at the man, took a swig of ale, then balanced the tankard on his thigh. “Laird MacAndrew recruited me in the fight against the English. King Edward is sending troops into Scotland to rout Bruce supporters. Ye need to be verra careful, Elsbeth. The Dragon Banner has been raised. If Edward were to get wind of what Brandon is doing, he would attack and kill all in his wake. He will grant no quarter.”

She shuddered and briefly closed her eyes. “I understand and appreciate yer warning. I hope ye’ll all take care as well.”

He shrugged. “’Tis safe enough. We deliver food and supplies in ports along the coast for the warriors in hiding still fighting for the Bruce. The rebellion has suffered a devastating setback. We have to rebuild, restore the drive against Edward and his determination to rule Scotland and eradicate our way of life, our freedom.”

“I agree. I only worry about our safety.”

Alysander could barely stand a minute longer without seeing Morgana. He’d thought of this time so often over the years, wondered how she was getting along. She’d been three and ten summers when he’d last seen her—a budding young lass who captured his heart.

“’Tis been quite a while since I was here last.” He glanced around the hall. “Is…is everyone well?”

Satan’s toes! Why can’t I just come out and ask about her?

Elsbeth ran a hand down Lena’s arm. “Aye, we miss the men when they are gone, but we’re managing.”

Alainne bumped Elsbeth’s elbow. “I think he’s asking about Morgana.”

Bright lass.

Elsbeth straightened. “Ye are here because of Morgana?”

“Aye…well, I also wanted to see ye and the laird, too.” He smiled. “Will ye tell her I am here?”

Her eyes misted with tears.

Alysander tilted his head. “What is it? Why do ye cry?”

She held up a hand, then rubbed her forehead. “Of course, ye wouldnae have heard.”

His chest tightened. “Heard what?”

She gazed at him with doleful eyes. “Morgana was with the Bruce’s wife, Queen Elizabeth, when they fled Kildrummy. She was arrested and is being held prisoner in Conwy Castle.” She put a hand over her mouth and shook her head. More tears flowed down her face. “They imprisoned her in a cage over the side of the castle.”

His heart pounded at a dizzying speed.

Arrested? Held prisoner in a cage?

Alainne rubbed Elsbeth’s back as the lady pinched the skin at her throat. “I was uncertain as to whether to let her go with Queen Elizabeth’s party last fall, but Morgana is a grown woman. I could not keep her here under my skirt forever.” She tugged a linen square from inside her sleeve and wiped her eyes. “I should have forbidden her to leave, but she saw this as a grand opportunity, one she’d never have again.”

Alysander stood and marched to the hearth. He paced back to her. “When? When did this happen?”

“Almost a month ago. I sent a missive to Brandon informing him of Morgana’s arrest and the Bruce’s family’s imprisonment the moment I received the message last week, but I havenae heard from him yet.”

“Dinnae fash.” Alysander knelt before her and grasped her wringing hands. “I’m going after her. Let Brandon know. I’ll send word of her safety as soon as I can.”

“Oh, nae, Alysander. ’Tis too dangerous. Ye could be killed…or worse.”

“My life wouldnae be worth a fig without her.” He straightened and looked to Bryce and his men. “Let’s ride.”

“Wait.” Elsbeth stepped before him and placed a hand on his chest. “I know ye must be tired. Will ye nae stay the night and leave in the morning after ye’ve rested?”

“I cannae rest until I know she is safe.”

Elsbeth sighed with a nod. “I understand. And I thank ye.”

She walked the men to the door, then clutched Alysander’s arm and gazed into his eyes. “Morgana is nae a princess who might be leverage for Edward. He uses her as an example to other supporters without raising the Bruce’s ire like he would should he mistreat Queen Elizabeth.”

Alysander’s stomach clenched.

Royal blood might not flow through Morgana’s veins, but she was his princess, and he would do everything in his power to see her released. The lass had nothing to do with the war or the cause. She’d only been part of the court, serving her queen—her friend—Elizabeth, and by God, he would set Morgana free.

Chapter 6

Alysander and his men sailed around the northern tip of Scotland and down the coast to the Menai Strait. They hid the ship south of Conwy River and struck out on horseback.

After what seemed an agonizing eternity, Alysander led the riders into the village. An iron cage hung over the side of the castle.

Morgana sat within, huddled in a ball.

His body tensed and he clenched his fist around Cadarn’s reins. Heat flushed through him at witnessing her suffer, but it appeared the villagers had all but forgotten her, as if it were commonplace to see a lass imprisoned in a cage. They bustled about the bailey, not even glancing up. That heinous attitude would serve him well this evening. Perhaps not being a Bruce family member would prove advantageous. No one expected an attempt to free her. The fortune of surprise was on his side.

After midnight, he and several of his men crept into the lower level of the castle off the river. The water splashed against the stone pillars, and a cold wind whipped around them. How could Morgana endure the perilous weather?

His heart hammered in his ears. He had to reach her straight away, end her torture.

He stealthily slipped up behind a guard and bashed the back of the soldier’s head with his dirk’s handle. The unconscious man fell into Alysander’s arms, then slid to the ground in a slump. David and Bram quickly subdued two other guards.

David swiped an arm over his brow. “The oil bags are hung and the archers are in place.”

“Wait for my signal before the bags are lit.” Alysander looked to Bram. “Come with me.”

The two quietly climbed the outer stone stairs. Another soldier warmed his hands by an open fire. Bram slinked around the wall behind him, whacked the man over the head, and eased his limp body to the floor.

Two others stood ahead, looking out over the water. The guards whirled, hand on their blades’ hilts.

Alysander thrust his dirk into one of the men before the guard had a chance to unsheathe his sword. He dropped beside the guard Bram stabbed.

Alysander nodded to Bram. They eased to the north side of the castle and peered over the edge. The cage, about ten feet down, dangled over the water. He leaned closer to Bram and spoke low. “We cannae risk the noise of rotating the beam.”

“How will we get to her?”

“I’ll climb down and hoist her up to ye.”

Bram waited while Alysander inched along the wooden beam then down the chain holding the cage. It jostled under his weight, but his feet finally landed on the solid iron lid.

This must be how they feed her.

The top wasn’t even locked. He eased the door open and peered down into Morgana’s wide-eyed face.

“Lass, donnae be afraid. ’Tis me, Alysander.” He held out a hand to her. “I’m getting ye out of here.”

She crept closer. The cage rocked again, and she grasped the bars. “Alysander?”

“Aye, take my hand.”

She reached for him. He grasped her small wrist and tugged her upward into his arms, steadying her on the swinging cage.

“Oh, my Lord,” she cried against his chest. “I cannae believe ye are here.”

He wanted to hold her, but now was not the time. “I need ye to climb up my body as high as ye can.”

“What?” Panic laced her voice.

Alysander bent his right leg and clutched her elbow. “Step onto my thigh. My man will help ye up from above.”

She wobbled as he eased her onto his leg.

“Grab the chain, lass.”

She grasped it with both hands.

“Now, pull yerself up as I push ye. Bram will grab ye. He willnae let ye fall.”

Alysander braced his feet apart then leaned against the iron line supporting the cage. Cupping his hands around her foot, he lifted her. The cage rattled, but she scrambled up the rusty chain.

“Gimme yer hand, mistress.” Bram drew her up to straddle the wooden beam. “Donnae look down. Keep yer eyes fixed on me.”

He inched across the beam with her.

She wobbled and gasped.

“Easy, jes a wee bit farther.”

Alysander looked around them. All was quiet. He glanced back up as Bram tugged her onto the castle wall.

Hand over hand, Alysander clambered up the chain,
then hoisted himself up and over the side. He drew her to him and rubbed her slender arms. God, she felt good, but she was verra thin. Dark circles marred the skin beneath her eyes, and her hollowed cheeks pronounced strong cheekbones.

“Halt!”

Chapter 7

Alysander and Bram whirled, unsheathing their swords to face approaching English soldiers.

As the men charged, Alysander pushed Morgana to the side.

One of the soldiers swung his sword at Alysander’s head.

Alysander darted back.

The man lunged, his thrusts wild.

Clashing steel rang loud in the quiet night. A rush of strength born from the abuse meted out to Morgana surged through Alysander. This fiend would pay for what the English had done to her.

He slammed his blade against the soldier’s chest. Vibrations rippled down his arm but he swung his sword with a vengeance and knocked the cur’s weapon from his hands.

The soldier’s sword clattered to the ground. He fell backward and landed hard. Hatred filled Alysander as he sank his blade deep into the man’s gut.

Bram dispatched the other man, but not before he shouted a warning.

Stomping boots hitting the rough pavers resounded against the castle walls.

“Now, David,” Alysander yelled. “Now!”

Blazing arrows flew from the darkness at the advancing soldiers as he grabbed Morgana’s hand. Joined by Bram, the three dashed down the stone steps to the lower level.

The river rushed before them. Running soldiers’ pounding boots echoed in the corridor to the left. More sounded from the right. The escape route was cut off.

Shite!

They’d have to jump. Did Morgana have the strength to make it to shore? Hell! They had no choice.

“Are ye well enough for a swim, lass? I fear ’tis the only way out.”

“I would do anything to escape that cage.” Morgana took a deep breath and jumped into the river. Freezing water engulfed her, roared in her ears.

Dear Lord!

Arms flailing, she broke the surface and gasped for air.

Her body trembled uncontrollably.

A swift current carried her downstream.

Where’s Alysander?

She looked right then left, but couldn’t discern shapes in the darkness.

Flaming arrows flew over her head and rained upon the castle’s soldiers. A loud explosion rent the air behind her.

She jerked, her heart pounding.

Fire lit the dark night.

“Dinnae fash.” Alysander swam up beside her. “’Tis my men providing cover from shore.”

Bram appeared next to them. “That should keep them busy.”

“Aye, but not for long. We must hurry,” Alysander urged.

A wave of dizziness washed over Morgana. She blinked, trying to focus. She attempted to swim across the current toward the riverbank, but her arms and legs moved as if mired in quicksand.

Water splashed her face.

Her breathing sped up, teeth chattering.

“I donnae…I donnae know if I can make it.” She coughed, choking. “I cannae seem to move.”

“’Tis the cold, lass. I’ll help ye.” Alysander turned her back to his chest, grasped her beneath her arms, and kicked, propelling them toward the shore. “Keep moving yer legs.” He gurgled water. “Kick with me if ye can.”

Finally, they reached land. Men rushed into the water. One lifted her from Alysander, carried her ashore, and set her feet on the muddy bank.

“The archers will meet us at the ship,” the man said.

Alysander emerged from the river, water pouring off his clothes as he marched onto the beach. “Verra guid.” Breathing hard, he clasped her hand. “We must go!”

They strode toward his horse. Her legs weakened, and she stumbled. Her other hand shot out to break the fall, but Alysander tugged her up before her knees hit the ground. He lifted her into his arms. She clung to him as he broke into a run.

The horse tossed his head as Alysander hoisted her up and onto the animal’s back behind the saddle. She grabbed hold of the leather and settled her legs on either side of the rounded back.

Alysander leapt up in front of her. “Hold on, princess.”

She hugged his muscular body, molding herself against his wet back. Nothing had ever felt so good.

The horse galloped away, his men thundering behind. Shouts from the castle rang through the night, and a deafening knell clanged from the bell tower.

Morgana briefly closed her eyes.

Please, God, see us safely away.

Chapter 8

Shivers from cold and fear coursed through Morgana. Her teeth rattled. The sennights she’d spent crammed in that dreadful cage had sapped the strength from her muscles, but she held onto Alysander with all her might.

After six long years, he is really here.

Stories of his daring adventures at sea, how he commanded his ship and outwitted the enemy while aiding the Bruce, had reached her at Stonecrest. She’d always listened with keen interest to visitors when his name was mentioned.

As an orphaned lass of three and ten, she’d regarded him as a hero. He’d shown her kindness and comforted her when she relived nightmares about the night of her family’s slaughter. Over the years, she’d begun to think her reverence was no more than adoration for a braw, older lad. She convinced herself he’d not return as he’d promised, for surely his words were simply to mollify a young lass.

Yet here he is.

Her heart swelled and she hugged him tighter.

The horses raced along a worn path bordering the river’s shoreline, their hooves muffled by a thick layer of damp autumn leaves. After some time, Alysander slowed the animal to a trot and entered a clearing beside the water’s edge.

The sliver of moon highlighted a ship hidden in a cove off the bay.

Her shoulders eased. What a wondrous sight.

Men ran across the deck and down the plank toward them. The main sail was hoisted, and wind filled the unfurling canvas. Other crewmen dashed along the railing, pulling ropes and securing lines.

Alysander reined in the horse.

An older man raced forward and gripped the reins. “Bryce has the ship readied.”

Alysander jumped to the ground. “Bring the horses on board and let’s get underway.”

“Aye, sir.”

Morgana eased into Alysander’s arms, and he lowered her beside him.

Her legs buckled and she nearly collapsed. “Heavens, I’m so weak.”

“Given a wee bit of time, ye’ll regain yer strength.” He placed an arm around her back and the other beneath her legs then carried her toward the ship. “Once ye warm, ye’ll feel more like yerself.”

With her arms around his neck, Morgana rested her head on his chest.

She was exhausted.

And cold.

And hungry.

But she couldn’t be happier. Her love had rescued her from a horrific fate. She’d die before she’d return to that cage.

Chapter 9

Alysander strode across the worn plank and dropped to the deck with Morgana cradled in his arms.

Bryce stopped beside them and took her hand. “Morgana, ’tis so verra guid to see ye.”

“And ye, Bryce.” He’d grown into such a tall, strapping man, much like his older brother.

“I must take her below. Get us out to sea quickly.”

“Right away.” Bryce hurried off.

“Ye may put me down. I can manage from here,” Morgana fretted. Alysander needed to be on deck, commanding his men. “I donnae want to be any more of a bother.”

“Ye’ll never be a bother.”

He navigated the creaking steps to below deck. Hammocks filling the area swayed in the gentle waves. His damp shoulder-length hair slid over her arm as he weaved between the men’s quarters, through an open door, and into a small cabin. He placed her on a cot, then grasped the mattress when the ship rocked.

“Guid. We’re underway, headed out to sea.”

Her heart lightened. She rubbed the chill-bumps on her arms. “Everything happened so fast. I cannae believe I’m really free.”

“Aye, well, we arenae out of danger yet, but the farther we travel tonight, the better.” He knelt beside a chest at the foot of his cot and rummaged through the contents. “I know ye’re cold in yer wet gown. We donnae have a bathing tub on board, but I do have a bucket of fresh water on the floor to yer right, a bowl and pitcher on the table, and here’s a chunk of wood-ash that might help ye feel better.”

Her heart melted over his concern for her comfort.

He set the brownish-colored wedge on the table beside the basin. Even with his head bent, his thick dark hair fell in waves to his broad shoulders.

“I also have a clean pair of trews and a tunic ye can wear until we find ye more suitable garments.” He straightened and placed the clothing and a drying cloth on the side table. “Rest. I’ll bring ye something to eat as soon as I can.”

“I cannae thank ye enough.”

A smile reached his ice-blue eyes, and he bowed slightly. “Ye’re welcome. If ye’ll excuse me, I’m needed on deck.”

“Certainly. I understand.”

He tipped his head to her, slipped out of the space, and pulled the door closed.

She gazed around the cozy cabin. More chill-bumps dotted her skin, and she shivered. The pitcher and bowl sat beside a flask and cups on the table, along with maps and strange-looking instruments. A fair-sized chair was positioned to the side.

She rubbed the pounding in her head and inhaled deeply. Her body shook from the cold. She needed to get out of these wet clothes before she froze to death. It would be heavenly to scrub off the dirt and grime she’d suffered then don the clean, dry garments.

She eased off the cot and grasped the edge as she stood, her legs trembling as if she were a newborn bairn. Gracious. The time spent confined left her body spent. She spied the wooden bucket then shuffled over to it, placed it beside the table, and dipped the pitcher into the cold water.

The ship listed to one side then the other, but she was determined to rid herself of the filth caked on her skin—filth from that horrible prison.

She stripped out of her nasty clothes, poured water in the basin, and scrubbed her pinking skin. Her ribs and hip bones protruded. With little to eat, she’d lost weight. She ran a hand over a hollowed cheek and down her neck.

She must look a fright. When she’d dreamed of Alysander’s return, she envisioned greeting him dressed in her favorite gown, her hair styled.

He has certainly seen me at my worst.

After drying off, she slipped into the trews and shirt he left on the table. His woodsy scent filled her nose. She wrapped her arms around herself and thanked God for sending him to her. She prayed they would make it out of here safely.

King Edward’s men were no doubt on their trail.

Chapter 10

A cold wind blew across the Irish Sea, greeting the Dhìoghaltas as she glided through choppy waves. Muscles tight, Alysander stepped from the helm and stretched his neck to the right, then left. It had been a long two days, but he and his men had successfully plucked Morgana from King Edward’s stronghold, and the ship was well into her voyage to Loch Linnhe.

He didn’t fool himself into thinking her rescue was so simple, that it was over. The English monarch would be furious someone extracted his prisoner from beneath his soldiers’ noses and would be relentless in pursuit of her.

Alysander couldn’t run the risk of returning her to Stonecrest. Not that he was unhappy about that conclusion. It provided another reason to escort her to his island, show her his home, and help her realize the merits of staying with him and building a life together.

Carlton strode across the deck and stepped before him. “I’ll take her for ye, Chief. ’Tis time for my watch.”

“Hold her steady to the west of Man.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Bryce will relieve ye before long.” Alysander tugged his cloak tighter about his neck and made his way down the stairs. He weaved between swinging cots filled with snoring men and strode into his cabin, pulling the door closed behind him.

Curled on her side, Morgana was fast asleep on his cot. He shrugged off his wet cloak and hung it on a nail in the post beside the door. A chill swept around him as he shuffled through his trunk, pulling out a shirt and a pair of trews.

Stripping down nude, he watched the lass. She slept soundly. He shoved his legs into the trews and tossed the shirt over his head. The dry clothing felt good against his cold skin. The unexpected swim in the freezing river had chilled him to the bone.

He grabbed the wineskin as he sat in the chair, then gulped a mouthful. Blissful heat spread through his chest to his stomach. Another swig and he stuffed the wax stopper back into the spout.

Dark hair framed Morgana’s soft face, marred with shadows and thinned from her prolonged hunger and insufferable imprisonment. His garments swallowed her small frame. Her delicate hand rested on the mattress, and her long tresses fanned out behind her.

How he’d missed her.

He’d thought of her so often, but never envisioned their reunion to take place while rescuing her from an abominable prison.

Morgana had suffered terribly recovering from the murder of her family, much like what happened to his own clan. Now she faced getting past her imprisonment in that cage. He vowed to lavish her with love, help her heal, and move past the horrific time spent at Conwy Castle, alone and frightened, cold and hungry. He would protect her. Never let her suffer such brutality again.

She whimpered and her brow furrowed.

He set his wineskin on the table, laid down behind her, and tugged her to him. “Shh…mo chroí. Ye are safe. I willnae let anyone harm ye.”

She quieted and snuggled against him.

He closed his eyes and relished the feel of her in his arms.

“Once again ye’ve helped me through a nightmare. I’ve not forgotten yer comfort years ago.”

He stroked her arm with a thumb. “Ye’ve had a rough go of it for a long time.”

The ship rocked. The wood creaked and groaned in the swells.

“I began to lose hope I’d ever be free,” she whispered. “I thought I’d die in that cage.”

“I am sorry ye were caught up in Edward’s savagery. I wish I had been able to save ye from experiencing his barbarity.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Ye did save me, Alysander. I will be forever grateful.”

Chapter 11

The afternoon sun sat low on the horizon as Alysander steered the ship northeast toward the Inner Hebrides. Orange and red swaths painted the deep blue sky, the colorful reflection shimmering across the windswept cove. The ship glided through the calm water as if eager to put into port. Soon they would reach his island. After the months he and his men had spent sailing the shores of France, Spain, and Ireland, he looked forward to arriving and, hopefully, settling Morgana in his home.

“Good evening.”

He turned as she stepped up behind him.

“I’m glad to see ye up and about.”

She pulled a blanket around her shoulders. “I slept like I was dead.”

“’Tis guid ye rested. Ye’ll need more sleep along with nourishing food to regain yer strength.”

“Aye, I still feel tired.” She leaned a hip against the railing, her dark hair whipping in the wind. She captured the thick strands in her hand and pulled them before her while staring ahead.

“Ye’ve been through a terrible ordeal. ’Twill take time to heal both body and soul.”

A thoughtful expression passed over her face. “How did ye know I was imprisoned?”

“Elsbeth told me. I had sailed to Stonecrest to…to see ye.”

She looked at him, her eyes widened. “Ye did?”

“I told ye I would come back for ye.” He cupped her cheek. “I’ve thought of ye day and night.”

The smile she gave him brightened her blue eyes. “Oh, Alysander, I have longed to hear ye say those words.”

She stepped into his embrace and wrapped her arms around his waist. He rested his chin on top of her head. They held each other for a while without speaking, swaying in the gentle waves of Loch Linnhe.

He rubbed her back then straightened and clutched her shoulders. “I’m taking ye to my home on an isle in the Inner Hebrides. Ye remember Laird Mangus MacAndrew? His family has owned the island for many generations. The land was uninhabited—a guid spot where I’ve found safe harbor.”

“Safe harbor?”

“I transport food and supplies to the Bruce’s supporters. For the most part, ’tis simply a matter of making a delivery and sailing on, but there’ve been occasions when ’twas prudent to stay hidden for a time. The island is unknown to most and provides refuge for my men, their families, Bryce, and me.”

“I see.” She gazed at him. “I remember Laird MacAndrew with fondness. He visited Stonecrest several times and was always indulgent of my questions about ye and yer sailing adventures. He said ye were quite busy, supporting the Bruce and working hard for the cause.”

She’d asked about me. Alysander’s chest swelled.

“Ahh, well, I’m taking a wee break. We’re just now returning from months of sailing, and I aim to stay put for a while. Ye’ll be safe hidden there. With the Dragon Banner raised, King Edward has his son leading troops into Scotland to uncover supporters who aid the Bruce. They lay siege to any and all who are deemed suspicious. We must be careful.”

“Have ye heard anything about the queen, Marjorie, and the other ladies from Kildrummy Castle?”

“They’re still imprisoned. I’m sure the Bruce will send men to their rescue. Once we have ye safely on the island, I’ll see what I can find out about their plight.”

She glanced down and fidgeted with the string on the trews. “I appreciate yer offer to protect me, but I ask ye take me to Tain.”

“Tain? Why?”

“Revenge.”

He knew that feeling all too well.

Water lapped against the hull. Ropes creaked and chains rattled on the tall mast as the ship glided farther up the loch.

Her eyes glinted. “Knowing someday I’d reap vengeance upon Ross’s head kept me alive.”

“Ye donnae want his death on yer hands, lass.”

“Aye, I do. Ye donnae know how much I want that man dead for what he did to us, for what his kind did to Nigel Bruce.” A tear slid down her cheek, and her hands fisted. “I’ve never before witnessed nor endured such savagery.”

He tugged her to him again and held her. Her slender shoulders shook as she let go of pent-up emotion. Soon she sagged against him, her body spent.

“I know yer pain. I, too, have been intent on avenging my family. Hell, I even named this ship after my determination, but ye are much too weak to undertake such a task.”

She straightened and looked at him with teary eyes. “I am weak, but I will strengthen and when I do, I will have my vengeance.”

“Ye must wait, bide yer time, and form a plan.”

“Ye will help me with such a plan?”

He kissed her forehead. “I will.”

Chapter 12

The Inner Hebrides stretched out before Morgana, the multitude of islands dotting Scotland’s west coast. Two white-tailed sea eagles soared above the rocky mountain range, their high-pitched calls echoing across steep snow-covered hills towering in the distance.

The Dhìoghaltas eased through the placid loch around a stand of dense evergreens. Morgana stood at the ship’s railing and inhaled deeply. She would soon meet all of Alysander’s people. How she wished she could repay them for the risk they’d undertaken in rescuing her. If King Edward learned of their part in her escape, the inhabitants would pay dearly.

’Twas another reason for her to leave as soon as she was able. She would not add to the danger these good people had already incurred. Too many had suffered. Too many had died.

Alysander guided the ship into a cove surrounded by a wide beach. Torches raised on poles positioned around the forest’s border provided wavering light across a long pier jutting into the inlet. Several men holding thick ropes jumped from the ship to the wooden structure and slowed the vessel. The side scraped the bulwark, the wood screeching as the crew brought the Dhìoghaltas to rest.

Women ran onto the beach to greet husbands, sons, and brothers. Laughter and squeals filled the air. Several lasses racing by hugged Alysander as he walked hand-in-hand with Morgana up the trail to the village. A dirt path wide enough for a wagon wound through the forest to a clearing. A stout wooden barn with open doors sat to the left. A wagon wheel and numerous round barrels rested against the walls of the two-story structure.

A short way beyond, thatched-roofed houses lined the dirt road. A mill and pasture of grazing sheep and goats were on the other side of a fast-moving stream. Several men worked in the field, and a lady carrying a basket strolled by and waved.

“Good evening to ye, Chief,” she said. “Welcome home.”

Alysander tipped his head to her. “Thank ye, Glenda. ’Tis guid to be back.”

They continued uphill as he pointed out the different structures, explaining who lived where and the role they played in the group. They made their way to a fine three-story wooden home.

“This is my manor.”

He placed a hand at the small of her back and guided her into a large great room filled with tables and benches and graced by a wide hearth on the back wall. Two young lads stoked a fire while roasting a slab of meat over the flames. The aroma filled her senses and her stomach growled. She would cherish a wee taste of the scrumptious smelling meat.

“We are a small but close community. The women use the cookhouse to prepare meals, and everyone gathers in this common chamber to eat, visit, and air grievances when warranted.”

The ladies cheerfully prepared for a celebration of the return of their men and her successful rescue as Alysander showed her around and introduced her to the others. Their friendly smiles and kind welcomes warmed her heart. Two of the women pampered her with a hot bath, a fresh gown, and clean underthings.

Heat radiated through her chest. She never expected such a heartfelt reception. What wonderful people.

Smoked salmon, roasted boar, and tankards of wine and mead lined the trestle tables. Women and men danced to the lively harmonicas and lutes played by ale-drinking, merry-making lads. Cheers and laughter rang throughout the great hall. As the hour grew late, the music slowed, and couples slowly drifted onto the dance floor.

Morgana strolled toward Alysander, who sat at a table amongst his men. She extended a hand. “Do ye care to dance?”

He placed his tankard on the table and accepted her invitation.

A fluttering started in her stomach at the simple touch of his hand in hers. She smiled as they bowed to each other, stepped close then slid away. They rotated around, placed their hands together, and once again stepped close.

He gazed down at her, and she tipped her head up to him—her heart pounding. He placed his mouth on hers, and she closed her eyes, inhaling his musky scent. He trailed his lips along her cheek to nibble on her ear. Tingles shot through her and her legs grew weak.

Upon seeing Morgana again, now as a grown woman, Alysander realized his feelings grew stronger than he’d imagined possible. Aye, he remembered the young lass he’d fallen in love with. He thought of her so often, praying she awaited his return and that she too would want him as he wanted her.

“Come walk the shore with me,” he whispered in her ear. “I want to speak with ye…alone.”

She straightened and gazed into his eyes. “Verra well.”

He led her down to the water’s edge. The crescent moon sent glimmers along the rippling surface.

“’Tis beautiful,” she said on a breath.

Alysander stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “Aye, ’tis a sight I donnae tire of seeing.”

The water lapped on shore, and a gentle breeze blew around them.

“Ye said ye wanted to talk to me. Is it about helping me with my plan?”

“Aye. There are many forms of revenge, lass, and I want to help ye plan the sweetest vengeance.”

“I’m listening.”

“The best reprisal by far is ye succeeding, being happy, and living a good life, regardless of what the fiend did to ye. I implore ye, take that kind of vengeance.”

She stiffened. “I donnae know if that would be enough to heal my heart, stifle my anger, my pain.”

He hugged her tighter. “There are many here who have been wronged, myself included. For years, I held onto the vow of retaliation, but it seared a black mark on my soul, one that spread through my core.”

A splash sounded in the cove and then another as seals frolicked in the cool night. Morgana remained quiet and still in his arms.

“I like to think I bested the English dogs,” he continued. “Bryce and I survived their brutal attack. Aye, we lost loved ones, but we werenae defeated. Through new friends and family, we have thrived in spite of our enemy. They dinnae win.”

Still she said nothing.

Alysander turned her toward him. He searched her face, her eyes. “Say something.”

She shook her head. “I have to go back. I have to get revenge.”

“You could be killed.”

“It doesnae matter.”

“Aye, it does. It matters to me.”

Morgana stared into his eyes.

“I understand yer anger and pain, but revenge keeps yer anguish alive. It eats away at yer soul. Ye have to release yer desire to kill the man. Embrace the good in yer life. ’Tis nae to say ye willnae think on it a time or two, and maybe someday circumstances will arise when ye can easily deliver a blow to yer enemy without causing harm to yerself, but donnae dwell on it. Donnae let him win by destroying yer happiness and replacing it with darkness and grief.”

“I still see his sneer, hear his order to take us away. Marjorie’s screams and Elizabeth’s cries fill my ears.”

“Ye will for some time but ’twill fade.” He gazed at her, his heart bared. “Choose me, Morgana. Nae the revenge.”

She rubbed her forehead. If she sought Ross’s death, Alysander would feel he had to go with her. Her chest tightened. If he died helping her kill the man, she would never forgive herself. So many had already lost their lives.

He took her hand in his. “Stay with me as my wife. Let us build a life together. I promise to lavish ye with love and give ye all the time ye need to heal, if ye’ll stay.”

Morgana’s heart filled. God more than answered her prayers, her pleas from the torturous steel cage.

He sent her hero.

She’d loved Alysander since she met him so many years ago. He was still her champion.

“I donnae know what I did to deserve ye.” She kissed his bearded cheek. “If ye managed to get past the horrors ye’ve endured, I will do my best to follow suit.”

“Does that mean ye’ll be my wife?”

She eased her arms around his neck and drew him in, placed her lips on his. “Aye, I will be yer wife, my love, forevermore.”

About Lane McFarland

Lane is a southern girl living on top of a mountain in North Georgia, and she's most happy when surrounded by family and friends. If she is not writing, you can find her hiking with her husband, or fiddling around in her flower and vegetable gardens, feeding the birds and watching black bears and deer.

Lane loves to hear from readers! Please drop her a note at mcfarland.lane@gmail.com. Tell her about yourself and let her know what you like to read and would like to see in future books and series.

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The Daughters of Alastair MacDougall Series:

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Heather

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Elsbeth

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To Support A King

A King’s Enemies

Death of a King’s Rival

To Love An Impostor

A Medieval Christmas Novella

The Right Knight by Barbara Bettis

Chapter 1

Nottinghamshire

April 1212

“No.” Annis of Roxley crossed her arms and stood her ground directly in the path of the unwanted visitor armed and armored in front of her. “I will not wed your master. Neither will I agree to become the ward of King John.”

The knight glowered from the back of his monstrous bay gelding. “Lady, by order of the king, you have no choice—it’s either one or the other.”

Annis blew out a breath from between narrowed lips. The knight raised a dark eyebrow, intensifying his scowl.

“We shall see,” she answered. Her stomach hitched at the expression in the man’s deep brown eyes. He looked entirely too determined.

She held out a hand. “Leave the writ with me for study. You may return to your camp while I decide.”

“I think not.” He spurred the gelding forward, tucking away the packet containing the king’s decree. “Step aside, lady, or you’ll come to harm.”

She didn’t flinch. His bravado didn’t frighten her. This so-called ‘command’ must be a fake. Must it not? A hint of unease made her heartbeat skip.

She started at his shrill whistle that brought several other mounted men galloping through the partially open gate to the horseman’s side.

Satan’s teeth! Old Gerald had neglected to close the gate. Why hadn’t she noticed? Now what?

She gestured to her small garrison, bringing them in to surround the unwanted visitors, while Gerald finally recalled his duty. The one gate ajar began to creak closed, only to be forced wider by more soldiers.

Annis’s earlier indignation sparked into anger. How dare this ragged, dirty knight invade her home. She didn’t for one snap of her fingers believe he came from the king, looking as he did. No matter what proof he claimed to carry. Yet she knew her denial came from stubbornness.

He rose in the stirrups, paused to survey the bailey, then swung down and tossed the reins to a nearby lad, one of several gathered to gape at the newcomers.

Dread nibbled the edges of her anger. Annis refused to give in to it, inhaling a long breath as she fought for composure. She ought to have known her calm existence couldn’t continue, but she thought she’d have more time to formulate a plan.

Papa had been gone less than a sennight.

How had the king learned of his death so quickly?

Annis wasn’t foolish enough to think she’d be allowed to retain Roxley herself. She knew of several widows and landed daughters ordered to wed knights chosen by the king. Although she would hate to give up her home, the last thing she wanted was to marry one of John’s fawning lackeys. Especially one who couldn’t be bothered to pull himself away from court festivities to deliver the claim himself.

Instead, he’d sent this ruffian to represent him. Well, she wasn’t interested. Truth be told, she felt insulted to be treated as of no more importance than a pile of stones and a few hides of land. Very well, many hides of land, and forests, and pastures, and lakes. And a village. And a large, strong arrangement of stones. Roxley.

No need stoking her anger further by thinking of all she’d lose if she didn’t wed as the king directed. Still, it was too soon.

When her father died, Annis had anticipated some action from King John—he needed funds for the war with France too badly to neglect making use of a rich demesne newly available. He awarded holdings to his favorites, but she knew he usually expected something in return for the honor.

If Roxley must go to someone else, two likely candidates lived nearby, including her own cousin. If she and Randal combined Roxley and Dunner, they would control a large part of the north shire. But Randal— She’d hate to wed him; he seemed more like a brother.

Still, immediately after her father’s death, she’d sent a message to her mother’s sister, asking to visit. Surely soon, Anne would respond to her plea. Annis had been named for her, after all.

Shaking herself mentally, she caught the knight’s gaze. She clenched her teeth and reluctantly extended the expected hospitality.

“You and your men may partake of refreshment inside. Follow me.” She turned and strode toward the hall. Mama would scold if she could see the way she walked. Of course, Mama had strode herself when duty called.

Annis intended to reach the great hall well ahead of the encroaching strangers and take up her place in Papa’s chair. She’d reached the stairs when a shadow darkened her vision on the right.

The unkembed knight passed her, taking the steps two at a time. She twitched her skirts aside as if he might tromp them.

Detestable man.

Then she smiled, thankful there hadn’t been time to repair the broken leather fastenings. He’d be forced to wait.

At the double doors into the hall, he stood, rattling the latches.

Without speaking, she jiggled the left door latch, then quickly lifted it up and down. It swung open and she swept through.

Chapter 2

God’s toenails. Hugh huffed as he followed the lady into the hall. She had all but run across the bailey after offering refreshment. He’d gestured for Martin to secure the walls, then started after Lady Obstinate. Obstinate but beautiful. He’d watched the sway of her hips appreciatively.

He’d stalked behind, finally passing her. Some childish part of him had been determined to beat her to the doors.

Even that act of command was doomed. The damned latches didn’t work. He jaggled and waggled the handles. Nothing.

Then she caught up, performed some sleight of hand, and a door swung open. Muttering a curse about repairs, he followed. Behind him, Martin coughed an exaggerated hack that let Hugh know his captain found the situation amusing.

He paused to wait for him.

Of all the holdings at the king’s disposal, why had John saddled him with this particular castle and a blasted, contrary female?

Hugh had left London in triumph three days earlier, bound for the rich holding and the wife King John had promised him for service in the battles against France. He’d been so eager to reach his new home and bride, he’d not bothered to prepare himself before galloping up to the gates and demanding entrance in the name of King John.

Not even in the name of the new owner. Himself. Aargh!

And then to face this lady he’d been directed to marry.

She was the daughter of an old and trusted ally, John said.

A sweet young maiden raised to know her duty, John said.

Pah!

Perchance Hugh had taken a wrong turn at the last crossroads and this was not Roxley.

Perchance he’d wake from a nightmare brought on by too much ale and greasy pork at his favorite chop shop to find a golden-haired angel who clung to him in gratitude. Not this chestnut-haired, hazel-eyed, sharp-tongued…vision.

Perchance his fabled luck had deserted him. Come to recall, his luck held only in battle. He’d best unearth his agreeable nature.

Ha! He was eminently agreeable, any of his men would say so.

Meanwhile, the warrior in him glanced around the hall, absently checking for strengths and weaknesses, escape paths, objects to be used as weapons, noting expressions on the faces surging around. Had everyone halted work to gather here?

Finally, Martin joined him. Together they paced to the high table, taking the step up to the dais in unison. The lady stood behind the lone chair, a high-backed, hand-carved item of furniture with a colorfully stitched cushion on the seat.

The master’s chair. His chair now. And if he didn’t exert authority from the beginning, he’d be perceived as weak. Leading a troop of mercenaries these past years taught him that.

She sat.

Blast. Hauling his future bride bodily from the seat would set a bad example for his men, and cast himself as a brute to his new people. They should view him with respect, even fear, but not hatred. The fastest way to hatred was abusing a beloved female.

God knew, growing up with his father had taught him that.

Forcing a pleasant expression on his face—he hoped it was a pleasant one—he nodded to the lady and took his place on the bench at her right. Martin sat at Hugh’s right. She must have given a subtle signal to the maids because several entered bearing trays loaded with pitchers and mugs. The drink was placed on the table for the men.

Suspiciously, he eyed the cup a maid poured for him. He took it and passed it beneath his nose. Wine! He sipped. Watered. He set it on the table and drew in a breath. Might as well settle this with the lady now.

Before he could speak, she turned his way and addressed his shoulder.

“I am expected at the home of my mother’s sister. She kindly invited me to visit, now my father is gone. He died quite recently.” He detected the hint of sarcasm underlying the words.

Hugh gave a nod. “My condolences. The king informed me.”

“Then you may return to your master and tell him any discussion of marriage is not appropriate at this time. I am in mourning. Surely he will understand.”

Master? Did she think him a servant? Hugh stared at her, her eyes still averted to avoid facing him directly. Did she not realize he was the one she would wed? He glanced at Martin over his shoulder. His friend and captain merely shrugged. Then he looked pointedly at Hugh’s surcoat and armor.

Hugh’s gaze lowered. The once-brown garment covering his chainmail appeared gray with dust and spotted with crusted grease from the roasted coney they’d eaten the night before. His mail needed a good scouring in sand to remove the dirt and beginnings of rust on the links. His squire would see to it. But what did his appearance have to do with her opinion of him?

Martin raised his eyebrows and drew his mouth tight.

Right. Hugh’s recent lack of exposure to court life notwithstanding, he should have cleaned himself before appearing at Roxley’s gates. He’d learned his manners. He had no excuse for his appearance except impatience.

Nonetheless, as a knight he was due basic mannerly treatment, and he’d seen little of that thus far. He took another sip of wine and eyed the platters of bread and cheese. Good of the lady to provide food.

He closed his eyes and stifled a groan. If only he could drag his men back outside and start this morning over. Since that was an unlikely solution, he’d have to attempt a different attack.

Poor choice of word. But Satan’s toenails, he was a warrior, and he thought and spoke like a warrior.

Washing down a mouthful of food with another swig of wine—it didn’t taste so bad with the strong cheese—he determined to try anew from this point. He cleared his throat.

“You are Annis of Roxley. I heard many good things about you while I was with the king. Your talent for running an efficient household, your beauty, your gracious—”

The expression in her fine hazel eyes stopped his words. What had he said wrong now?

“Kindly show me the writ from the king,” she said, ignoring his attempt at flattery.

Hugh drew the packet from the leather satchel on his belt. “I prefer it not to leave my hand, my lady. If you will call your scribe, he may read it here.”

The fire in her eyes actually seemed to flare in anger. Then he realized the flame was a reflection of the candlelight. He chuckled.

“I’m gratified you find me amusing.” She lifted her chin. “You must be of immense value to your master as a jester.”

Hugh caught her emphasis on the last word, and his back straightened, his jaw tightened.

“Who has the honor of the king’s favor as new lord of Roxley?” The lady’s manner might be direct, but her voice trembled on ‘new lord.’ When she bit her lip, Hugh lost the urge to snap back.

“Sir Hugert de Ville, as you will see in the writ.” His tone almost sounded gentle.

“From Normandy?”

“South of Rouen.”

“And when will he arrive?”

In deference to what he imagined were her overset nerves, he tried to arrange his reply as gently as possible. Before he could utter a calming word, the outer doors crashed open and another dusty traveler stumbled in.

Chapter 3

At the bang of the doors, Annis turned. Who was this? From her place, she couldn’t make out the man’s identity. Too tall and broad to be Will, whom she’d sent with a message to her relative. And too soon returned. He raised his head and caught her gaze.

Randal, her cousin, must have been sent by his mother. Annis rose, her cheeks tight with a smile of welcome. Randal paced to the dais, stride stiff no doubt from his long ride. He’d arrived at precisely the right moment. Heart racing double-time, she held out her hands in welcome.

“Cousin, I’m very happy to greet you.”

He pulled her close, long arms holding her tightly. A bit too tightly; she pulled back to draw breath.

“My dear Annis,” Randal said, “I grieve for your loss. My uncle was a wise and valiant soldier.”

The sympathy triggered her sorrow anew, and she rested her forehead against his shoulder. His words comforted her, and that comfort cracked the sturdy wall of control she’d erected around herself since her father’s death. Tears trickled down her face. For a few moments, she allowed herself to weep, until a deep voice interrupted.

“Who is this?”

Annis drew away as Randal loosed his grip. Swiping at her cheeks, she sniffed, then turned. “This is my cousin, Sir Randal of Dunner. He is the son of my mother’s sister.”

The knight’s expression froze for a moment, then he frowned. “The one you said invited you to stay?”

Randal nodded to the rough knight at the table, who was in the process of rising. “I have come to escort Lady Annis to Dunner Castle. My mother wishes her to spend a few weeks until the pain of her loss has eased. Why should you care?”

Annis cut Randal a quick glance. He’d never sounded so…so…fierce before. Granted, she hadn’t seen him for a long while. He’d been present the last time his family visited nearly two years earlier after her mother died. In the weeks following that visit, he’d led a group of Dunner’s men to serve with the king. Her aunt’s frequent messages had informed Annis of his successes and praise from King John. He’d returned to England not long since.

Beneath her fingers, Randal’s muscles tensed, and she hurried to diffuse the budding confrontation. “Yes, of course, cousin. I’ve nearly finished packing. I’ll be ready to leave in the morn after we break our fast.”

In fact, Annis had not begun to sort her clothing, but with her maid’s help, the process would go quickly.

“Let me show you to a chamber where you can refresh yourself.” She urged him toward the stairs, while her gaze found a likely observer in the crowd. “Ralph, please see a tray is brought up to Sir Randal.”

She had managed to direct Randal half-way across the floor before he pulled up short. “Who was that damned, base-born churl?”

Annis preferred to overlook the curse, although she wasn’t happy at her cousin’s language. “I fear I haven’t learned his name as yet. He just arrived.”

Randal must have sensed her objection to his words because he patted her hand. “Beg pardon for my language, cousin, but I can’t allow a stranger to behave in such a way.”

She tugged his arm and murmured, “Forgiven, Randal. The man can be mightily irritating. I’ll tell you his errand in a moment. For now, I ask that you don’t confront him. Things will be much easier if he’s not angered.”

He grunted but followed her up the steps. When they arrived at the bedchamber she’d allotted him, Annis motioned him inside and closed the door. She had to think of a way to keep the two men from arguing, keep the lout below stairs from imposing his authority on her and from antagonizing her cousin.

“Did you bring anyone with you?” she asked.

“My squire, Olin.” He turned and tossed his cloak on the bed.

“I’m surprised your mother allowed you to leave without your men for protection.”

He turned and met her eyes, then shifted his gaze to the unlit brazier along the opposite wall. “The countryside has been peaceful for months. Wasn’t necessary to bring a force, and a large party would slow me considerably.”

“Very true.” Annis was glad he came alone. Her departure would be all the faster for that. She took a breath and her words rushed out. “Vow to me, you will remain calm when I tell you who the knight is.”

Randal’s gaze pinned her. “Why?”

“Vow!” She didn’t know if his word would hold when he learned of the problem, but she had to try.

He inclined his head.

“He represents the man King John chose as the next master of Roxley.”

Randal glared at her from beneath his brows, which lowered at an alarming rate. “The king lost no time, did he? I thought to arrive before… No matter. Who has he sent?”

“The knight below carries a writ bearing the king’s seal, advising me I must wed the new lord of Roxley, or be delivered to court as his ward.” She grimaced. “I can’t become his ward. You know as well as I that with no coin, no land to attract a husband, I’m likely to remain a fixture there for who knows how long.”

Annis wasn’t familiar with the word Randal uttered. She could, however, imagine the fury it represented. He started toward the door, but she blocked his way. “You gave your word. No trouble. All he has done is deliver the king’s orders. Nothing he can say or do will change that. Once I’m with your mother, I’ll be safe. Your father was a friend to the king.”

No need to inform him of her intent to have a real say in her future. This new side of Randal didn’t encourage hope he might assist her.

He thrust a hand through his hair. “If John has made a ruling, you can bet he won’t reverse it, especially when it comes to distributing land to the mercenaries who do his bidding. He needs all the support he can gather, what with the barons growing more and more unhappy.”

She frowned. “Father spoke about the concerns some of them had. Do you think the dissent is serious?”

“I do. But whatever those disagreements are, they won’t alter John’s decision about your future. Only quick action will serve.” He took the distance from one side of the chamber to the other in large, impatient strides. He stopped abruptly. “Did the knight say who has been awarded Roxley?”

“He said the name of Hugert de Ville. Have you heard—”

“Merde!” Her cousin hit the door with a fist. “That swiving bastard!”

This abrupt, angry man suddenly looming before her seemed a stranger: the narrowed mouth, clenched jaw, squinted eyes, the curses stringing from his mouth. She reached out a hand, but he winced away.

“You know him?” The question seemed unnecessary.

After stomping across the floor again, Randal blew out a long breath and managed to gain control. “I’ve never seen him. But I’ve heard enough to be sick to death of him. De Ville, de Ville—the name was everywhere at court. John’s current favorite. But to award him such a prize as Roxley? Unfair! He’s only a mercenary who commands a troop of mercenaries drawn from the roughest parts of—merde—everywhere.”

A strange ringing filled Annis’s head. Her breath came in short gasps. She’d imagined she’d dislike anyone sent to replace her father. There had even been that grim foreboding she’d be expected to wed someone cruel, the foreboding which prompted the appeal to her aunt.

If she were gone when the man arrived, she might have a greater chance to refuse. To form another plan. Not that she’d mentioned the hope to anyone; she’d likely become an object of ridicule. How many ladies determined their own futures?

Nevertheless, she would never—never—allow herself to be tied to a brute who might abuse her or anyone here.

The idea stopped her cold. Her people. If the new lord were so brutal, his men must also be. How could she desert them— She forced the wild thoughts to settle. One step at a time. Think!

“You know he is cruel?” She imagined her voice quivered, although she struggled to keep it level. Randal didn’t appear to notice.

“He must be. He’s one of the king’s favored captains, galloping out on prize missions none of the rest of us were given. Returning with bags of mysterious content delivered in secret. Negotiating for surrender with reluctant enemies. Trying to avert battles I know we could have won, given the chance to fight, to prove ourselves, to gain glory. He’s a mercenary. You know what they say of mercenaries.”

“What? Who are ‘they’?”

“Never mind. You couldn’t understand.” He stood, feet apart, arms crossed. “We must do something!”

“I intend to,” she said. “I plan to slip away tonight, while everyone sleeps. Now that you are here, we’ll leave together. It must be tonight. He might try to stop us if we wait until morn.”

Randal swiped a hand over his jaw. “Yes. We’ll go before de Ville arrives. I’ll warn Olin to be ready.”

A scratch at the door made Randal still, as if ready to leap at the person on the other side. Annis swung it open to reveal Ralph, holding a tray loaded with food and a pitcher of drink. He shuffled inside where Randal relieved him of the burden.

“My thanks,” she said to the servant, then glanced at her cousin. “I’ll send up a pitcher of water and some cloths for your…” She gestured to his face. “We’ll speak later.”

She preceded Ralph down the stairs, considering how Randal had described Sir Hugert de Ville. The knight sounded a right brute, certainly. Something in the way he’d delivered the words, however, deserved further examination. They had seemed bitter, resentful. Was it possible that Randal, for all his achievements as a knight, might be envious? Surely not.

One thought did linger as she reached the hall: Her cousin had made a remarkably quick journey from Dunner to Roxley.

Chapter 4

When Hugh finished eating, he rose and motioned Martin to accompany him. Strolling away from curious ears, he asked, “Did you assign everyone their duties?”

Martin gave a curt assent. “The gate’s secured and the remaining men are posted around the bailey. Looks like the place doesn’t have a large force. When the rest of our troop arrives, we’ll be well fixed.”

Hugh folded his arms and gazed around the hall. “I’ll announce the changes once the others appear. They should be here before nightfall. I don’t think we’ll have problems. Everyone must be expecting a new lord.” He glanced at his friend. “Perchance not this soon, however.”

Spotting a man wearing a long, rust-colored tunic with a leather bag hanging from his belt, Hugh said, “That must be the seneschal. He has the look of a man who gives orders. Come, let’s find where we can bathe and change our clothing. Your odor has a right tang to it.”

Martin buffeted him on the shoulder and grunted. “That’s yourself you’ll be smelling.”

The man, indeed the seneschal, told Hugh he could find water, a basin, and cloths in the barracks, where the soldiers slept.

Hugh folded his arms and held the man’s gaze until the man shuffled and cleared his throat. “You can use the chamber off the kitchen to change your garments. There’s water for washing, and if you pull the curtain, some privacy.”

Hugh relaxed his stance and uncrossed his arms. “Your name?”

“Sir Crafton,” the man muttered.

“Call me Sir Hugh. Send my squire, Rupert, to me with my bag.”

With a gesture of his head, Hugh set out, Martin at his side.

“That should set tongues wagging,” Martin said.

A good while later, bathed, refreshed, and wearing a clean tunic and hose, Hugh buckled on his sword and slid his two knives in their sheaths—one on his belt, one inside his right boot. He passed the back of his hand over his cheek. Not totally smooth, but free of three days’ worth of bristles.

“Ready?” He motioned to Martin, and they set out to assess the surroundings. As they toured the very large bailey—room enough to build an inner bailey—he allowed himself to feel a trace of pleasure. Not complete; he’d grown wise in his score and nine years. He knew well that seeds of anticipation, allowed to sprout too quickly into expectation and pleasure, often withered—or lay trampled beneath luckier, more influential, boots.

But it seemed he’d achieved a home. He’d worked long and hard since he won his spurs at ten and eight. His father had praised him, but with four older sons to establish, he could offer Hugh praise only. Thus Hugh learned early that if he wanted land of his own, he must earn it.

At last, he had. Now, exploring his prize, he offered a silent thanks for all those others who had gained their holdings before he had. This, Roxley, was the one meant for him. And with each servant or worker he spoke with, each structure he viewed, each castle trade he toured, another bud of pleasure bloomed.

As they left the stable, Hugh sucked in a deep breath. The familiar smells of clean hay and manure and horseflesh offered a comforting end to their quick circuit. His chest filled with pleasure and cautious thanksgiving. Perchance, at last, he could accept his good fortune.

“The village later?” Martin asked.

“Tomorrow,” Hugh answered. “I should face the hardest chore now.”

“The lady?”

“The lady.” He grimaced. “Best tell her who I am before she hears it from another.”

“Umm,” Martin agreed. “Didn’t take long for people to catch on to your identity. They’ll be buzzing about it for a good while. She may not be happy.”

“Judging from her welcome, I’d say she won’t. But I do enjoy a challenge.” Hugh sent Martin off to make certain all was ready for the rest of his troops, those men who had chosen to give up constant fighting and join him in creating a new life. He only hoped it would prove to be a quieter life.

What he’d seen of his new wife-to-be gave him cause to wonder. He smiled absently at the memory of their earlier meeting. The lady Annis was the subject of several conversations during his review of the castle grounds. Those conversations, that is, he could understand. Most here appeared to speak only English.

“She’ll be a right good lady fer ye, Sir Hugh,” the blacksmith assured him in rough Norman French. “When Lord Aubrey fell sick, she stepped straight in and took up the duties like she’d been trained for ’em. Which I suppose she was, at that, what with her bein’ the old lord’s only get. We all ’spected him to remarry onct his lady died, but he never. They was that attached.”

The cook, a tall, thin woman who didn’t once look up from forming rounds of bread for baking, had a more precise opinion and a better grasp of his language. “Lady Annis is a prize, and don’t forget it. She sees we all have what we need, and usually more.”

Lady Gwen, wife of the seneschal, raised her eyebrows when Hugh stuck his head in a small cottage where several women sat sewing.

“Cooler in the summer out here,” she said when he asked why they’d been banished from the hall. “Lady Annis knows sewing is an exacting task and does her best to ensure we’re comfortable. You pay no heed to my man. He likes to think nothing at Roxley is done properly if he doesn’t see to it. He wants this cottage for storage, but milady insists we have it in the warm days.”

Her blue eyes might be faded, but they were sharp when she turned them on him. “You don’t plan to change her way of doing things, do you?”

Hugh held up one hand and reached for the door behind him with the other. “Lady Annis has full reign over any household matters,” he vowed before whipping outside once again.

“And I’m happy for her to have it,” he murmured to himself.

Annis was not in the hall when he returned, although servants were setting up for the midday meal. Odors of roasting meat and baking bread prompted a growl from Hugh’s stomach. God, he was hungry. And tired to the bone. Of fighting, of riding, of searching, of hoping. At last he could be easy.

He signaled one of the maids. “Where is your mistress?”

The young girl shrugged, then giggled and dashed back to whisper to one of the other maids who watched.

He’d set out to find Annis when Martin ducked inside and called, “The men are here.”

Hugh paused. They’d made good speed. He’d see to them now and deal with the lady later.

Chapter 5

Annis tucked the last chemise into her pack. She’d decided to forego a bundlesome trunk and carry her clothing in soft bags instead. Easier to take on horseback. She had limited herself to two but was pleased with all she’d been able to squeeze in.

As she tightened the cords at the top, a commotion in the bailey caught her attention. She handed the bag to her maid, Jeanne, and ran to her chamber window. It overlooked the front of the castle with its two towers guarding the open gate and raised portcullis.

In front of the tower housing the barracks, a contingent of horses and riders gathered, kicking up dust from the packed earth. Grass hadn’t a chance in that part of the bailey.

Her stomach seemed to leap into her throat. All those mounted soldiers. He must have arrived after all. Why else would so many soldiers be here? She pressed a hand against her stomach. She did not want to meet Sir Hugert. Any conversation between them would only create problems.

Glancing again at the turmoil outside, she realized—she should leave now, while everyone concentrated on the new arrivals. She and Randal could slip out the open gates with no one the wiser.

She raced down the corridor to pound at the door of his chamber. It opened immediately.

“Soldiers have arrived,” she said, “and the bailey is in confusion. If we hurry, we can be gone well before we’re missed.”

His expression changed immediately from questioning to determined and his eyes narrowed. She could tell he was deep in thought, not really seeing her.

“I’m ready,” she said. “So we can travel faster, I’ll bring but one bag, and borrow from your mother when we arrive. Come. We must not miss this opportunity.”

He ducked inside and returned immediately with his cloak. “We have to find my squire.”

“Send someone for him. I’ll join you at the stable. It’s better if we go separately.” She dashed back to her bedchamber and grabbed the bag she’d just packed. Jeanne had gone below, thank Mother Mary for the favor. The less the girl knew, the less she could reveal under questioning.

Annis refused to think of all that could go wrong with her flight from home. She paused at the top of the stairway outside the hall to search the bailey—on the chance she might glimpse the knight she was intended to wed. But no one man stood out from the mass congregated there — quite a disturbance. With luck, even the tower guard would be wrapped up in the excitement and fail to challenge Randal and her as they left.

She descended the stairs as calmly as she could and thought she had indeed escaped notice when she caught sight of a warrior. He looked familiar. His height, his broad shoulders, his confident stride. He angled his chin to call something to another soldier, and she saw his face more clearly. She stumbled on the bottom step.

Her stomach did a little flip. Good heavens, he was handsome. He was…the knight who had arrived earlier today. The one who brought the news of Sir Hugert. How he had changed! How had he changed?

Obviously, he’d bathed and removed his beard, found fresh garments. Had he also donned a new attitude? She didn’t remember this air of command surrounding him. It must come from the arrival of his captain, Sir Hugert.

The very one she wanted to avoid, and here she stood, transfixed at the sight of his rude representative. If she didn’t move, her attempt at escape would end before it began. She started forward again, holding close to the castle wall as she crept toward the back.

At last, the shadows of the stable swallowed her, and she let out a long, silent sigh. Now to saddle her mare. Yet another thing she gave thanks for—learning to care for her horse. Papa had insisted.

She’d nearly finished the task when Randal appeared, trailed by a youth who must be his squire. They worked in silence and soon mounted. Annis rode astride, her lower legs revealing men’s hose she’d donned beneath her gown. The hem of her ample skirt draped past her knees.

“What in all of Satan’s realm are you wearing, cousin?” Randal muttered when he reined his horse beside hers. “Cover yourself!”

“Don’t be a goose,” she answered in an equally low tone. “I have on the same thing as you and no one is shocked by your appearance.”

“That’s different. I’m a man.”

“Exactly. Never mind. Follow me.” She set off, circling around the bailey to avoid passing too near the mass of horsemen. The hood of her cloak fell forward enough to hide her features unless someone looked closely, but not far enough to signal a furtive attempt to avoid recognition. Randal rode beside her, while his squire followed.

Walking their mounts, the three passed through the still-open gate. No one appeared to notice. Once outside, Annis urged her mare into a trot, and when they reached the bottom of the hill on which Roxley perched, she set it to a canter. They entered a wooded area soon after and she drew rein.

“Please take the lead,” she said to Randal. “You can find the way to Dunner faster than I can.”

After a quick change of positions, the three resumed the journey. She gave a last, quick glance behind. No pursuers yet. As they moved farther away, her tension eased, and she settled in the saddle for the lengthy ride.

Annis had visited her aunt’s home a handful of times but not for many years. Thus she had a slight knowledge of the roads to take. But Randal, having just made the journey, must know less traveled, even shorter, routes. No matter how much shorter, the distance still would take hours to cover.

Her original plan called for an early morning start, which would enable her to arrive before nightfall. With the change of schedule, they might have to halt overnight. The thought made her a bit uncomfortable.

No need to worry. Randal is perfectly capable of finding shelter.

Perchance her discomfort came from memories of the wild, often thoughtless, boy he’d been. But no need to worry about nighttime accommodations. She was as able as the others to ride all night if necessary. Or to sleep in the open.

As day wore on her feeling of unease grew. Dunner lay to the west of Roxley, that detail, Annis knew. Yet her cousin led them on a path that put the lowering sun on their left side. Was he going in the correct direction? She waited for some time before asking, “I thought I remembered the road to Dunner took us directly into the setting sun.”

He gave her a quick look. “This trail leads to an old forester’s hut. I thought we could stop there overnight. The moon will not turn full for a sennight; seeing the way after dark will be difficult. Just thinking of your comfort.”

She ought to have been pleased to know he’d considered her and picked a sheltered place to stop. And she was, of course. However, she really hoped they traveled as long as the light allowed.

“Not afraid, are you?” Randal asked, his tone light, teasing.

She gave a small laugh. “Not at all. I simply hoped we would be far along enough so any searchers could not find us.”

His mouth curved in a smug grin. “That’s why we follow this alternate route. Take heart, cousin. I have a plan.”

Chapter 6

Hugh made certain his men had settled in, ready to explore the castle and grounds. Martin would brief them on duties then show them the practice field where they would resume training in the morn.

Meanwhile, Hugh’s duty loomed like a storm at sea, and he had no doubt Lady Annis’s anger would match the fury of it. If he were honest with himself, he rather looked forward to announcing his identity. She may not realize it, but they were well matched. Because of the tales he’d heard, he had expected a lady who was timid and agreeable. He should have realized one as capable as she’d been described would also be strong.

Unlike many of his fellow knights, he enjoyed a woman with spirit. He’d not met a lady who displayed much strength of mind until now, and he looked forward to matching wits with her.

Once inside, he beckoned to Sir Crafton. “Where is Lady Annis?”

“I believe she is in her bedchamber, my lord, or the solar.” The seneschal’s tone sounded deferential, decidedly different from the first time the two spoke.

“Summon her.”

“My lord?” Sir Crafton’s head tilted to one side in question. When Hugh caught his gaze, the man repeated, “Summon her?”

“Yes. Tell her I wish to see her.” Couldn’t the man understand the language? Of course, he did. He’d answered Hugh quite well earlier.

When Sir Crafton beckoned to one of the maids, Hugh was reminded--most of the people here likely didn’t speak Norman French. And he sure as Hades didn’t speak their native English. Merde! That meant he’d be dependent on Lady Annis and the man in front of him to communicate with many of his people.

He didn’t like that one bit. Why hadn’t he considered it before? Nothing to be done but learn the language. Lady Annis could teach him.

But would she?

He paced the length of the hall and back. What was taking the blasted female so long? Finally, the maid returned and trotted across the floor, alarm evident in her frown and clenched mouth. She said something to the seneschal, casting Hugh a frightened look.

After a quick conversation, Sir Crafton approached Hugh. “Jeanne said Lady Annis was nowhere to be found.”

Without a word, Hugh raced up the stairs and into Lady Annis’s chamber. Near the bed, he found a bag packed with belongings. She was preparing to leave?

“Where is she?” he roared. He stormed into the corridor and flung open the other two doors on that level. Empty.

Had her cousin left already?

Hugh retraced his steps. Another search of the hall produced no seneschal, only blank-looking servants. If any knew her whereabouts, none was saying. They simply stood and watched him stride toward the doors.

Outside, Hugh shouted for Martin, then made for the stable. When he asked if any horses were missing, the lad either didn’t understand the words or chose not to. Finally, Martin appeared with one of the newly arrived squires.

“Thomas speaks the language,” he said.

Hugh told the youth what to ask and after a few minutes of insisting he knew nothing, the stable boy admitted Lady Annis and two men rode out earlier, shortly after all the soldiers came.

Damnation, she’d set out with only two escorts. For a female who appeared to have a sharp mind, Lady Annis had undertaken a foolish journey. It was Hugh’s duty to see she remained unharmed, whether she liked it or not.

He’d finished saddling the horse he’d chosen from the stable, a sturdy bay mare, when Martin appeared, leading a mount.

“I’d rather you remain in charge here,” Hugh told him.

Martin shook his head. “Utrech can handle the duties. I’ll have your back. You don’t know what you’re riding into. Besides, I track better than you do.”

It was a measure of Hugh’s concentration that he didn’t reply to the jibe.

Neither of their tracking skills was required to follow the trail the three left. Even the path through the woods was visible, marked with broken twigs, crushed grass, and occasional horse droppings.

They rode in silence until Hugh asked, “Did you recognize the cousin’s name?”

“Sir Randal? No.”

“I thought it sounded familiar when he arrived. I just recalled. He’s one of the others who made bid for Roxley Castle when word came of the king’s intention. I hadn’t known he was a relative of the late owner.”

“Ah. The one whose father once attended John? I did hear that tale. His land borders this?”

“He’s the one.”

“Umh,” Martin grunted. “It’s obvious he doesn’t know much about the king. The lad had no chance.”

Hugh didn’t bother to answer. He and Martin had fought enough battles alongside rulers and hopeful rulers to understand that to a man, no sovereign wanted a vassal with too much power. Joining a pair of large neighboring demesnes into one massive domain made its lord too influential. Perhaps even influential enough to challenge a ruler.

The two men pushed onward until the blue-gray of evening began to descend.

“We may have to stop for the night,” Hugh admitted at last, but he didn’t like the necessity. He shifted in the saddle, gripped with an urge to push on.

“Night’s not far off,” Martin agreed, cutting a glance Hugh’s way. “Be easy, my friend. From what I’ve seen, the lady can handle herself right well.”

Hugh swiped a hand across his face. He didn’t want to worry about the blasted female. But spirit and determination were faint defenses against wild animals. Or armed enemies. “You may have the right of it. But some things even a strong will can’t fight.”

He halted at a dense thicket and tilted his head. “Do you hear that?

Martin stilled then nodded.

Voices—along with the thud and crunch of movement were just beyond the clot of bushes.

Chapter 7

Annis was weary. Randal pushed on through one thicket, then another, toward the spot he insisted concealed a hut. They could shelter there for the night, he assured her. No one would find them.

Finally, she made out a small building tucked among the trees. At last. She dismounted and when Orin offered to take her horse, she gratefully handed over the reins.

Inside, cobwebs and excessive dust marked the floor and rough furnishings. She shuddered and turned when Randal entered. “I would like to leave at first light. We’ll be missed soon, and I fear someone will come after us.”

Randal tossed a handful of kindling into the small, dirty fireplace then pulled flint from his pack. “Don’t worry about being followed. Where we will go, no one will think to search.”

Annis had been pacing the packed earth floor when his words and his tone stopped her. “Randal?”

“Annis?” he said in a mocking voice. He didn’t look up from lighting a fire.

“What do you mean?”

He straightened and brushed his hands. “You don’t wish to marry Sir Hugert, do you?”

“Of course not.” She clasped and unclasped her hands. “I don’t know. I haven’t met him. I simply…it’s so soon after Papa’s death.”

She sucked in a breath, then slowly exhaled. “Why now? Surely a fortnight or so to think isn’t too much to ask.”

Randal came to her side. “I hate to see you forced this way. I’ve always favored you, Annis. We’ve been friends since childhood. Why not marry me? We could be comfortable together.”

Marry Randal? Her heart thudded in her ears. She couldn’t! The thought had entered her mind, but she’d rejected it. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Perhaps she should reconsider.

Suddenly, he grabbed her and kissed her. She shuddered and shoved him away, fighting the urge to retch. “Don’t. That’s disgusting.”

He shot her a look that could only be called wounded. “My kiss was disgusting?”

“Randal, you’re like a brother. It was like kissing my brother. I’m fond of you, but you’re family.”

Stalking the few steps back to the fire, he laughed. Annis couldn’t believe her cousin, whose friendship she’d treasured for years, was behaving like a stranger. Dread tingled through her veins as she searched for a way to turn the conversation.

“Your mother will be worried if we don’t arrive in good time,” she said. “Let’s forget what has passed here and rest so we can get an early start.”

“Mother doesn’t know I’m here.” He turned to smirk at her.

“I don’t understand.”

“I came directly from London. Before the king made his choice for Roxley. I didn’t know who he would name, I only knew it wouldn’t be me. He rejected my request to wed you, to join Roxley and Dunner.”

Guilt, then sympathy flooded Annis at his rueful words. “Oh, Randal, I’m so sorry you were disappointed. But we can’t wed. It would be like—”

“Marrying your brother, yes. You’ve made that perfectly clear.” Bitterness had returned to his voice. “You’ll have to adjust. Once we marry, I’ll have a claim to Roxley, and Sir Hugert can’t deny that.”

“But the king—”

“The king hasn’t accepted facts yet, but he soon will have more troubles to account for than one lone holding. The barons are not pleased with his behavior and they are gathering strength.”

“Why are you so intent? Dunner controls more land than Roxley. With your father gone, it’s all yours. Don’t you remember how his days were always filled with duties? You have responsibilities there. You couldn’t handle both places.”

He swung around to confront her. “Don’t tell me what I am and am not capable of. I had enough of that when I served with King John. No matter how I tried to prove myself, he never gave me the responsibility I deserved. It was always his damned mercenaries he chose to trust.”

At the pain in his voice, Annis longed to comfort him. But this new side of Randal made her reluctant. “I’m sorry for your disappointment, but that can’t excuse making war on Roxley. Consider what it would mean. People will be hurt, even killed. Think of your men from Dunner. Don’t endanger their lives for your revenge. I can’t let you do such a thing.”

This entire conversation seemed unreal. But it wasn’t, and she had to do something. She bolted for the door and dashed outside.

Thank heavens her mare had not been unsaddled. Annis raced to the mount and jerked the reins free from their loosely tied knot. Somehow she managed to grab the pommel and pull herself up until her foot caught the stirrup. Clinging to the animal’s mane and the thin leather straps wrapped around her fist, she managed to right herself.

Randal shouted curses and she judged from their volume that he’d not yet mounted. Holding her breath, she guided her mare through the underbrush in the direction they’d come.

She hoped she chose the correct direction. Mother Mary, show me the way. The prayer echoed in her mind as the horse followed the nearly invisible path, ploughing through undergrowth. Then, without warning, Annis surged free of the twigs and branches and leaves slapping her.

The horse broke onto the trail—and nearly collided with two other mounts.

Chapter 8

“What in Hades?” Hugh pulled his horse to the side to avoid the oncoming rider.

He glared at the figure in the saddle—it was her. Thank God, she appeared unhurt. The startled horse reared, but Lady Annis hung on. The lady could ride.

He snatched the bridle the moment the animal’s front hooves hit the ground. Then he snaked out his arm, grabbed her around the waist, and lifted. Before her bottom hit the saddle in front of him, she landed a blow to his shoulder and one to his chin.

“Umpf. Stop that, woman, I’m trying to rescue you.”

She reared back, arms rigid, both hands flat against his chest. “Let me go.” The words stopped when she looked into his face.

“It’s you.” She relaxed her arms, her shoulders losing their stiffness. Then, as if realizing the import of his being there, she added, “I suppose he sent you to bring me back.”

“I came,” Hugh answered, “because you were riding into danger. You needed help.”

“I managed to rescue myself,” she began, only to stop when Sir Randal charged into the open, riding without a saddle.

He pulled his mount to a halt, then fought to regain control as it pranced and circled.

Finally, he calmed the animal and faced Hugh.

“You are not needed here,” Hugh said. “I recall the name Sir Randal of Dunner now. You were a petitioner for Roxley Castle. I regret you were disappointed. But a fine soldier like yourself should realize King John would not look kindly on merging two great holdings. Look you, if you were a ruler, how would you feel if neighboring estates become one large, powerful domain? Knowing barons in this part of the land held grievances against you?”

Sir Randal answered tightlipped, “The king knows I’m loyal. He should trust me.”

Hugh preferred fighting to talking, but he made a final effort. “Would you trust one man who possessed such power, given what John’s experienced with his family?”

“Cousin, he has the right of it.” Lady Annis reached out a hand. “Can’t we forget this day, be friends again? Dunner Castle is rich, the tenants devoted to your family. Someday you will find the right lady to wed, one who will honor you as you deserve.”

Satan’s toenails. A right and generous speech his lady had made. And she was his lady. Smart and wise in the ways of people. He nodded proudly.

“Come back to Roxley for the night,” she said. “We’ll travel to Dunner tomorrow.”

Hugh cleared his throat. “My lady, I must insist you remain at Roxley. As you have heard, the king doesn’t appreciate being disobeyed.”

He shot a glare at Sir Randal. The other knight straightened, lifted a hand. Even in the dimness, Hugh knew he’d been recognized. He gave a quick shake of his head.

Sir Randal inclined his. “He is right, Annis, you’d be well advised to make peace with Sir Hugert. If you obey him, I’m certain he will treat you with respect. I have never heard that he abuses women.”

Hugh gave a soft snort at the remark, but Lady Annis’s muscles hardened at the words. Best Hugh step in to avoid more contention.

“You’re welcome to rest overnight at the castle.” The words sounded friendly, but his expression discouraged agreement.

“No, no,” Randal rushed out. “Olin and I will remain here, then set out for home early in the morn. I’ll tell Mother you are well, Annis, and that you send regards.”

He shifted his eyes to Hugh. “If you follow this trail back and turn left at the road, you’ll find Roxley much closer than you thought.” With that, he disappeared into the trees.

The three sat quietly for a few moments before Lady Annis said, “If you will return me to my horse, we can start back.”

Reluctantly, Hugh set her in her saddle but kept the reins in his hand. He instantly missed the warm softness of her body. She was quite a lady. Beautiful. But independent. Well, then, he liked spirit in women, didn’t he? She’d managed the castle in her father’s illness. He could learn much from her.

“I know this marriage is not what you wanted, my lady, but I can vow Sir Hugert will do his best to respect you. And value your advice.”

Martin coughed in that irritatingly amused way of his. He was right. Hugh should identify himself before they returned to the castle, and she discovered it on her own.

Chapter 9

The knight’s words gave Annis pause. Sir Hugert would respect her? Invite her advice? The other knight coughed, then turned to lead the way toward the road. In the near darkness, hundreds of stars winked, a glittering blanket across the sky. A slice of moon hovered above the horizon.

This day had been an enormous trial, and she wasn’t sure how it would end. She was returning to face the new lord who would assume control of her home and, it seemed inevitable, become her husband. If the king ordered it, what choice did she really have? Annis only prayed the fearsome mercenary would prove agreeable enough that they could live in some manner of peace. She doubted love fit in her future.

“What can you tell me about him?” she asked the knight behind her.

“Sir Hugert? I may be partial, but I believe him to be a capable warrior, a firm captain, fair to his men. Women find him irresistible.”

Women. Mother Mary, she hadn’t considered that. “Does he employ a leman?”

She meant to sound indifferent, but her voice quivered, blast it.

The knight in the lead actually chuckled.

“No, no,” the one behind her hastened to say. “He’s vowed to remain faithful to his wife.”

Annis considered that statement, a sense of satisfaction settling over her. “What do you know of his background, Sir…” She paused. She didn’t know what to call her escort. How foolish—all their sparring, and he’d managed to avoid introducing himself.

“Do you know,” she said, “I have spoken with you on many occasions today, yet I do not know your name.”

“You may call me…Sir Hugh.”

Sir Hugh? How odd his name sounded so close to that of his captain’s. Annis maneuvered across a dip as they turned onto the wider road. Once they settled in to the final stretch of the journey, Sir Hugh caught up to ride alongside her. She glanced at him.

In the bright silver of starlight, she made out his high, broad brow, strong nose, and firm chin. A day’s growth of beard darkened his cheeks, giving him a rather fierce look. He rode straight and tall, easy in the saddle, moving gracefully with the motion of his horse. His shoulders loomed broad, and she recalled the hardness of his chest when he held her securely after plucking her from the horse. He looked—commanding, confident. A leader.

Realization hit her like an icy blast of winter wind, and her breath froze in her throat.

Dear God, it was him—Sir Hugert—Sir Hugh! The familiar ringing sounded in her ears. He had tricked her, lied to her, made a fool of her!

“Not intentionally,” he said.

Oh, no. She’d spoken aloud. Anger and humiliation warred in her mind. Anger won. She stopped her horse.

“How could you have behaved in such a way? You intentionally withheld your name to mislead me. Had you told me who you were immediately, all of this could have been avoided. I will leave tomorrow. I refuse to consider wedding you.” She signaled the horse to turn, but the contrary animal simply sidestepped. Before she could regain control, Sir Hugh had grabbed the bridle.

“Let go.” Her voice was low, angry…hurt.

“No,” the blasted man replied. “You will listen. Each time I tried to tell you, something diverted your attention. From the first step we took into the bailey, you’ve resisted my being there, refused to listen to explanations, denied the king’s writ.”

“From the first, you hid your identity—”

“Not my fault, you immediately decided I was a vagrant messenger, sent by a negligent knight.”

“You could have…” Annis paused, recalling their first meeting. She’d assumed that very thing. Then Randal arrived. And later. Later, she’d been so intent on leaving, she’d not considered him at all, except in passing.

A blur at her side made her turn. He’d dismounted to stalk toward her. Before she realized his intent, he lifted her to the ground and rested his large, warm hands on her waist. She looked at him warily, but he merely smiled. Then he stepped back and bowed. Bowed! What is he doing?

“Lady Annis, I am Sir Hugert de Ville, sent by the king to take up residence at Roxley Castle now that your father has died and you are alone. The king has sent you a message, asking you to choose—wed me or travel to court as his ward. He instructed me to say you will have a choice of many potential husbands from among his followers.”

Annis observed him in wonder. This polite, well-spoken knight was a far cry from the rough and dirty man of this morn. She nodded graciously. “My thanks, Sir Hugert.”

“Hugh. In England, I’m known as Hugh.”

“Sir Hugh.” She clasped her hands—tightly—and strove for a polite response. “I expected King John to appoint a new lord, but not this quickly. You must understand, I’m in mourning. I…I would like some time to make my decision.”

“You shall have it, my lady. But the night grows cool. We should return to the castle.”

He set her back on her horse and mounted his own. Only then did Annis realize the other knight had stopped to watch. With a grin and a jerk of his head, he turned to lead the way again.

They traveled in silence while Annis considered her position. She could insist on visiting her aunt. But she’d met Sir Hugert—Hugh—and found him reasonable—inclined to find odd things humorous, but reasonable. Perchance leaving now wouldn’t be good, when much depended on how the people accepted him. She really ought to be present to show him the way of things here.

As the new lord, he seemed capable and knowledgeable about handling other men. The confrontation with Randal might have gone terribly wrong if Sir Hugh possessed a different manner. Her father had possessed a similar talent for dealing with others.

He’d apologized for misleading her. Really, it had been as much her fault as his. She’d allowed panic to overcome her better judgement. That behavior wasn’t like her. And—surprisingly—he’d admitted there was much he needed to learn about the running of the castle.

Perchance she might remain at Roxley for a few days, a sennight perhaps. Then she would make her decision.

She threw him a glance to find him looking at her. He smiled. A rather nice smile. A strong, handsome face. He’d shown kindness. And who knew what kind of man she’d find at court? Perhaps she’d stay here for a few days, at least.

Chapter 10

Three months later

Hugh darted from behind the kitchen door and dragged Annis into his arms, his lips finding hers. Warm, willing woman snuggled to his chest. He dotted kisses across her eyes, then along her neck.

She shivered.

He chuckled.

“Tomorrow,” he murmured.

“Ummm. The ceremony can’t come soon enough,” she whispered. “I still find it hard to believe you’re the same gruff, rude man who challenged me that first day. I’m very happy.”

“I’ll do my best to see you remain so. Have I thanked you yet for consenting to marry me?”

“Not since morn,” she teased. “You realize I’m wedding you to avoid the inconvenience of a long journey to court.”

“Hah!” He nipped her earlobe. “So you say.”

Annis traced her fingertips up his smooth jaw. “I love you.”

“I’ll tell you a secret.” He nestled her closer. “I love you as well.”

A loud, amused cough sounded behind them. “Not much secret if you ask anyone here.”

Hugh and Annis smiled at each other.

And so it was, ever after.

About Barbara Bettis

Award-winning author Barbara Bettis has always loved history and English. As a college freshman she considered becoming an archeologist until she realized there likely would be bugs and snakes involved. And math. Through careers as a newspaper reporter and editor, then a college journalism and English professor, she’s retained her fascination with history. Give her a research book and a pot of tea, and she’s happy for hours. But what really makes her smile is working on a new story. Now retired, she lives in Missouri where she edits for others and spins her own tales of heroines to die for—and heroes to live for.

Writing awards include: MPA, MWG, IDA, Emily.

Visit Barbara at: http://www.barbarabettis.com

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Knights of Destiny Series:

Silverhawk

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For This Knight Only

A Winter Knight

Destiny's Way by Karen Muir

Chapter 1

England, 1354

Miles Vastel stepped out of the Muddy Brook Tavern onto the busy cobblestone street. A strong, rank odor, worse than when he entered the tavern, caught him by surprise. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. Fresh air was rare in London. Thankfully, he only had to put up with the stench until the end of the week. After that, he'd be back at Rosemont Castle, enjoying the brisk salty air wafting in on the ocean breeze.

A man hurried by, bumped his arm, and never looked back.

Miles shook his head. Where he lived, people showed knights more respect.

Marcus, a fellow knight and one of Miles's closest friends, joined him in front of the building.

"Do you regret agreeing to come with me to London?" Marcus asked.

"I thought it was a great idea the night you plied me with drink. But now that I'm here, I realize I should never make decisions when I'm not in my right mind."

Marcus chuckled and slapped Miles's shoulder. "I do enjoy your company. Now that you're staying with Richard, the newly dubbed Earl of Rosemont, it's been a while since we journeyed together."

"It's not that I didn't like living at Hammerstead Castle with you, serving under our friend William, but I'd rather be by the water."

"Rosemont is a worthy place to lay your head. Our friends, both Richard and William, have done well for themselves. In turn, they have made our lives more comfortable by welcoming us into their homes and allowing us to settle down at their castles."

"That they have. No more hiring out our swords or fighting in other men's wars. At least not at the moment."

Marcus smoothed the front of his brocade tunic. "This week, my only concerns are family gatherings and attending my niece's wedding. I'm off to visit the Earl of Warwick. Are you sure you don't want to come along? My brother will welcome you with open arms."

Miles scrutinized his friend and grinned. Marcus had pulled back his long, gray-streaked hair and swapped his usual chain mail for formal wear. "I have no desire to get fancied up and go to any of your high-born parties during my stay in town. Tonight, I'll be content to sit by the fire with a brimming cup of ale after I get the hilt on my dagger fixed."

"Why do you keep that little blade? It's too small for your hand."

"I've had the knife since I was a lad. It fits perfectly in my boot."

"So, it does." Marcus nodded. "I'm off. Save some ale for me."

Miles watched as the older knight cut into the crowd and headed down the street.

When Marcus had disappeared, Miles set off in the opposite direction to find the smithy. Shops made of weathered clay and timbered wood lined the main thoroughfare. Street vendors called out their wares as he walked by. The forge was around the corner, and once there, he waited as the blacksmith repaired his dagger.

On his way back to Richard's townhouse, he came upon a fishmonger selling fresh cod. He had a craving for a nice filet. From past experiences, he knew Mistress Tanner, the wife of the caretaker of the property, had a knack for cooking delicious meals and could do justice to such a find.

He selected two fish to share with the Tanner family and retrieved his heavy money pouch to complete the purchase. After years of riding alongside Richard and William on many well-paid quests, his funds were plentiful. He never felt the bite of hunger when a meal could be bought.

Miles paid the man and tucked the wrapped fish under one arm. When he went to place his coin pouch back inside his tunic, he felt a hard tug and the leather slipped through his fingers.

A young robber ran off through the crowd with Miles's money clasped in his hand.

Miles took up the chase. "Stop thief," he bellowed, while he weaved in and out of the maze of people.

A burly man ahead grabbed the back of the boy's shirt, stopping him short.

Miles caught up in a few strides. He snatched the leather pouch from the lad and then latched onto the child's upper arm. The blond-haired boy, around ten winters, stared at him with wide eyes and quivering lips.

"Caught you, you little thief," Miles said gruffly. "Let's see what the sheriff wants to do with you.”

Chapter 2

Grace Bradshaw hurried along the busy walkway in the center of town. Over her forearm hung a newly sewn surcoat for Mistress Pike. Grace needed to deliver the finished gown quickly so she could return home and put the evening meal on the table. Her uncle would be displeased if he had to wait.

As she skirted through the congested thoroughfare, she noticed a tall knight dragging a young boy along while he strode down the street. The man's handsome face was set in steely resolve.

When the child turned, her heart slammed into her chest and panic rose in her throat. She wanted to scream but no sound came out.

The knight had her little brother, Jacob, by his arm. A stream of tears ran down her brother's cheeks as he squirmed to get free, but the knight held him in an unyielding grip.

She jostled folks out of the way as she raced on trembling legs toward the pair. "Please, Sir! Halt. I beg you!"

Her frantic words caught the knight's attention. He glared at her. Her stomach churned. The man had a noble profile, with a square jaw, straight nose, and high cheek bones. He stopped next to a shop and waited.

When Grace reached them, Jacob grabbed for her, his eyes pleading, but the knight yanked her brother back against his side.

All sorts of reasons for the knight's rough treatment of Jacob ran through her mind, but none seemed plausible.

"Please, Sir, this is my little brother. Why do you handle him so?" A shrill edge sounded in her voice.

"I'm taking the little thief to the sheriff."

"Thief? You must be mistaken."

"He stole my money pouch and now he's going to be dealt with accordingly."

Her brother hung his head.

She stiffened. The knight speaks the truth.

"How could you?" Grace said sternly.

When Jacob looked up, his moist eyes were as big as coins. "I saw all that money. I thought we could run away."

The man cocked a brow. "Run away?"

Her fingers throbbed from clutching Mistress Pike's surcoat. She locked eyes with the knight. "Please, don't deliver him to the sheriff. I'll take responsibility for him. I'll see that he's taught a lesson. He won't do anything like this again."

"Who provides for you?"

"Our uncle."

"I'll have words with him."

"Oh, no. I beg you. Release my brother to me. He'll be properly punished."

The knight's gaze narrowed, and his lips pressed tightly together.

Grace couldn't let the man talk to her uncle. She had to convince the knight she'd set things right. "We will come to your home tomorrow at noon. You can put Jacob to work. Maybe some hard labor, so he won't ever steal again."

"What's your name?" the knight questioned.

"Grace Bradshaw. We live in Pepperidge Square. I'm good for my word, Sir."

He just had to agree.

The lines around the knight's intelligent greenish-gold eyes softened ever so slightly. If she wasn't so intimidated by him and the mayhem he could reap on her family, she'd find him ruggedly appealing.

The knight exhaled loudly. "All right. Tomorrow noon. The Tanners on Blight Street. I'll be waiting."

"Your name, Sir?"

"Sir Miles Vastel." He let go of Jacob.

She opened her arms and her brother bolted to her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and sobbed.

Grace heaved a sigh. "Thank you. Your kindness is much appreciated. We'll see you tomorrow."

"Don't make me regret it." The knight adjusted the wrapped package under his arm and walked down the street.

Chapter 3

Grace squeezed Jacob. "You were only supposed to go to the fishmongers and purchase some fish for our meal."

Her brother wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. "I was waiting for my turn. I saw the man's heavy pouch. I thought the coins could get us away from here. I thought, if I ran really fast, he'd never catch me. He's quick for someone that big and would've got me if the other man hadn't."

"Knights are not to be trifled with. You're lucky he didn't beat you. He had every right."

Her brother stared at his shoes.

"You know the penalty for thievery is cutting off a hand or other body part. Had that happened, you would've been marked for life as a no-good thief."

He choked back a sob.

"I can't believe you'd do something so foolish." Grace hated to be so harsh, but she hadn’t raised him to rob others. The consequences could've been dire if the knight had not had a heart.

Jacob plastered his face to her chest and bawled in earnest. A few passersby regarded them as they stood in the shadow of the building.

"I promise you. We'll get out of this predicament one day, but it won't be by thievery." She cupped the top of his head and stroked his golden locks until his sadness quieted.

Slowly, she disengaged from his embrace.

He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips.

"It's too late to make my delivery. I'll have to wait until tomorrow. Uncle will be home soon. He'll be furious if his meal is not ready. We'd best hurry."

Chapter 4

The next day at noon, Miles paced back and forth in Avery Tanner's leather shop on the first floor of the three-story townhouse. He was half convinced Grace and her brother wouldn't show. The thought made his insides knot.

I had hoped to see her again.

Yesterday, Miles was livid when the little robber snatched his coin pouch. He had wanted to frighten the boy into never stealing again, so he hauled the lad through the street and threatened him with the sheriff, but he had no intention of delivering him there. The punishment was too steep for a child. Miles just wanted to scare the boy to make a point, so the lad never tried such a thing again.

He glanced at the door. Since their encounter, he couldn't get Grace Bradshaw off his mind. His insides vibrated with excitement at the possibility of laying eyes on her once more. He admired the way she bravely spoke up for Jacob. And respected how she protected him but also wanted to teach him the costs of his actions, so he'd learn the difference between right and wrong. She didn't cry or ply her female ways to persuade him to release her brother but instead, she had a proposition.

A worthy one at that, if she showed.

The bell on the shop door jingled.

His eyes darted toward the entryway.

Grace and Jacob walked inside.

Miles released his held breath and his tense muscles relaxed. "I see you made it."

"I gave you my word. I hope you have a job that needs doing. Jacob is prepared to make amends."

"And so he shall." Miles examined her profile. Grace was prettier than he remembered. She wore a form-fitting navy surcoat with a scooped neckline. A string of gold embroidered flowers adorned the edges. A light blue linen kirtle lay beneath and hugged her arms to her wrists. Her long, flaxen hair, more white than yellow, was gathered away from her face by braided cords tied behind her head. The rest of her hair, kept in loose waves, cascaded down her back to her waist. Thick, black lashes encircled her sparkling, violet eyes and becomingly accentuated her flushed cheeks. Her stance was confident but her dimpled smile was timid and unsure.

Miles grinned to ease her discomfort. "I've discussed the situation with Mr. Tanner who is the caretaker for my friend's townhouse. He has a woodpile out back that needs splitting and stacking."

Jacob stepped forward, his expression grave. He was a thin lad with wistful eyes. "Before I get to work, I would like to seek your forgiveness. I know stealing is wrong. I'm happy to have a chance to work hard as a punishment."

The boy extended his hand.

Miles shook it. "Swear you won't ever rob anyone again."

"No, Sir. I won't. I swear." Jacob lifted his chin. His sister smiled softly.

Miles led them out back, next to the stable. He gave Jacob a small ax and showed him where to stack the wood.

"Would you like me to help you get started?" Miles asked.

"No, Sir. I have to do this myself."

The boy's answer pleased him. He and Grace stepped away and watched at a distance while Jacob figured out the task and got into a rhythm.

He turned to Grace. "Would you like to sit by the fire while Jacob completes his work?"

"I thank you for the offer, but I have a delivery to make." She held up a cloth bag. "I sew in my free time and have a woman waiting for her new surcoat."

"Your brother can manage this himself. I'll walk with you."

Before she could beg off, he called out to Jacob, "We'll be back in a little while."

Jacob waved and then returned to his work.

Chapter 5

Grace's heart hammered in her chest as Miles escorted her through the leather shop and onto the side street. Once outside, she breathed deeply to calm her racing pulse. She hadn't expected he'd want to escort her.

"May I carry your bag?" He stood too close for her liking. A pleasant scent of sandalwood mixed with smoke filled her nostrils.

"If you wish." She wanted to assure him her bag wasn't heavy, but he seemed eager to help, so she handed it over. "Mistress Pike lives a few blocks from here."

"Lead the way."

Grace strolled down the street, keenly aware of the towering knight by her side. Over the past few years, she hadn't allowed herself to grow fond of any man, even though she was of marrying age and a few men had shown interest. She had no business thinking about a man in that way. There were other things more important to occupy her mind.

She glanced at the knight. His greenish-gold eyes, the ones she noticed yesterday, were soft around the corners. Within his neatly trimmed beard, he had full lips and straight teeth. He wore a white linen shirt beneath a clean hunter green tunic. A long, sheathed dagger hung down from a leather belt at his waist. Dark woolen hose covered long, muscular legs and his black boots rose above his knees.

His shiny, chestnut-brown hair appeared newly washed and almost touched his shoulders. She imagined how soft it would feel to run her fingers through the strands.

She shook her head. What a silly thought!

"You live with your uncle?" His voice, although deep, was amiable and engaging.

"Yes. Along with Jacob, who is ten, and Anna, who is twelve. My parents, a sister, and two other brothers perished when the sickness came to London. I was the oldest, Jacob the youngest. We were spared a horrific death. I didn't know what to do so we went to live with my father's brother and his wife. Regrettably, my aunt died a year later from the same affliction."

"Jacob mentioned something about wanting to run away."

Grace picked up the pace. "Just childish notions."

"I don't believe you."

She tensed.

"Your brother's a good lad. I got the impression he acted out of desperation."

For too long, she had kept the secret. The burden weighed heavily on her soul. She had no one to confide in.

"Is your home not a good one?" he asked.

Tiny hairs lifted on the back of her neck and she inhaled deeply. Should I trust him? Although she barely knew him, something about his demeanor made her feel safe.

"My uncle is not a nice man. Since my aunt died, he's been angry and mean."

"How bad are you treated?" He halted and reached out to stop her. His brows drew together.

Grace studied him. She didn't dare tell him the whole truth. "We have to be very careful about what we say or do around him."

She turned and started walking again. "Our parents raised us differently. Our family was close, full of warmth and laughter. The past few years have been hard."

In a few strides, he caught up and set pace beside her.

Her hands trembled, so she clasped them in front of her. "I tried hiding some coins I earned from my needlework, but my uncle caught me and seized my money. I believe that's why Jacob resorted to stealing. He shouldn't have, but he thought he had found a way out."

"Do you not have any other family who could take you in?"

"Our family was decimated by the plague. There's nobody left." She glanced at him.

His face looked grim.

She smiled to lighten the mood. "I'm eternally indebted to you for your kindness. I thank you for not insisting on going to my uncle or the sheriff and for letting Jacob make amends. Things would've gone badly for us had you not shown compassion."

"It's not my way to cause distress to others."

"Of that, I'm pleased."

"If you want to leave your uncle, why don't you marry?"

"I could never leave the children behind, and my uncle won't let them go." She wasn't ready to share with him the other reason she never married.

I'm too afraid to be bound to an unkind man.

They turned the corner and her steps slowed at the beginning of a white-washed picket fence. She couldn't believe how easy he was to talk to–as if she'd known him forever.

"Here is Mistress Pike's home. I'll only be a moment." She reached for the bag and strode to the door.

Chapter 6

Miles sat on a chair in front of the blazing hearth and sipped his ale as he stared into the dancing, orange-hued flames. He couldn't get Grace out of his head.

Beautiful, Grace.

When they returned from their walk, they talked for hours while they watched Jacob work. She told him about her childhood, her sewing, and the children. He spoke about being a knight and his life at Rosemont. The one topic they stayed away from was her uncle.

Footsteps sounded on the back stairs. He glanced over his shoulder at the second-floor entrance to the common room.

Marcus stood in the doorway as he placed his cloak on a peg. "Waiting for me?"

"I figured you'd show up. Want a drink?"

"Sure." Marcus joined him.

Miles handed his friend a cup. "Cheers."

Marcus tipped his head back and swallowed a big gulp. "Ahh! That tastes good. Much better than the sweet stuff my brother serves."

"Did you have a good day with the Earl of Warwick?"

"It's nice being around family. What about you? Did the woman and her brother show?"

"They did. Jacob asked for forgiveness and then worked extra hard chopping and stacking the wood. He didn't want to leave, but his sister dragged him out of here. Grace seemed worried about the time and said they needed to get home."

"I know that look. What's bothering you?"

"They're being mistreated by their uncle. Jacob let slip that he stole my coin pouch so they could run away." Miles took another sip.

"You've always had a soft spot for those in need."

"As do you. I seem to remember you going out of your way to make Lady Katherine comfortable when our friend, Richard, acted like an idiot after they first married."

"Aye, I'm guilty myself."

"There's something about Grace. I can't stop thinking about her. She has the most beautiful, bright violet eyes. I don't know what it is, but I really enjoy her company. I'm hoping to see her again."

Marcus slapped Miles on his shoulder. "My friend, you have it bad."

Chapter 7

"Sir Miles, wake up," a male voice pleaded.

Miles opened his eyes to Mr. Tanner standing in the doorway with an oil lamp casting a shadowy glow across his bedchamber.

"Miss Grace is downstairs, outside the leather shop. Her little brother's hurt. She's asking to see you."

He rose from the bed and glanced out the window. It was the dead of night. "Wake Marcus."

Mr. Tanner lit the bedside lamp before leaving the room. Miles quickly donned his clothes and then rushed down to the lantern-lit leather shop. The front door stood open. Grace hovered over a small wooden cart.

"What has happened?"

She glanced at him. Her eyes were moist with unshed tears.

Miles stepped forward and opened his arms. She buried her face in his chest. Warm tears seeped through his shirt. He wrapped his arms around her back and squeezed. His chest tightened. He didn't like seeing her so distraught.

Jacob lay curled in a ball in the cart, a cloak covered his body. His face was red and swollen. A young girl stood on the other side; her cheeks were splotchy from recent tears.

"My uncle. He did this. His meal was late. Jacob tried to stop him from hurting me. When my uncle fell asleep, we left. I didn't know where else to go." Grace's voice hitched.

"Come inside." Miles ushered her and her sister into the shop. He returned and scooped up Jacob.

The young boy moaned.

He cradled the boy's limp body. "You're safe now."

Jacob whispered, "I couldn't let him hit her anymore."

"You did the right thing," he said in a low voice.

Marcus met them at the bottom of the stairs. "Give me the boy. I'll take him to your bedchamber."

Miles handed Jacob over. As they followed behind, he placed a possessive arm around Grace's waist. Her body trembled under his touch as he escorted her up the steps.

Marcus laid the lad on the feather mattress.

Mr. Tanner arrived. "My wife will be up directly."

The room grew small as everyone gathered around the bed. Marcus, who had more experience with healing and often treated their fellow knights after altercations, gently examined the boy.

Jacob let out a whimper now and then.

When finished, Marcus addressed Grace. "He'll be sore for a while. No broken bones. I have some medicines I can give him to ease the pain. The boy will mend."

Grace let out her breath and held Jacob's hand. "I've been using cold cloths for the swelling on his face."

Mistress Tanner bustled in with a bowl of water and set it on the nightstand with a stack of cloths. She stroked Grace's arm. "That was the right thing to do. I'm sure the cold gives him relief. I'll sit with him and keep applying them. Don't you worry. He'll be fine in no time. My daughter is setting up the room next door for you and your sister. Feel free to use it when you need to rest."

"I thank you for your kindness," Grace said.

Miles took her by the arm and pulled her away. The newly forming bruise on the side of her face and her fat lip hadn't escaped his notice. Just the sight made him beyond angry, but he tapped down his fury for her sake.

"We need to talk." He wetted a cloth and gestured toward the door.

She motioned for her sister to stay.

Chapter 8

Grace let Miles guide her to the big hearth in the common room.

He rested a cool cloth against her cheek. "Hold it there."

She gazed into his eyes. Her hand touched his during the exchange, and a wave of warmth flooded her body.

He turned, placed a log on the coals, and stoked the embers. The flames rose with a crackle and pop. She stepped closer to the roaring fire. The heat worked its magic, and her aching body relaxed.

Her uncle's beatings were getting more barbaric. Tonight, he used his fists and only stopped when he realized he was punching Jacob and not her.

Her little brother had been her saving grace, but with a price. It only took a few blows to render him motionless. The last couple of hours had been nerve-wracking as the three of them waited for her uncle to finish his drink and fall asleep so they could escape.

She stared at the dancing flames. A weight lifted from her shoulders. So far, they had gotten away unscathed, except for a few bruises. Her brother would recover.

And I'm here with Miles.

She glanced at the knight. There was something about the man that slowed her spinning world. A calm settled around her and her body stopped shaking.

"Sit and tell me what happened." He gestured to the cushioned chair.

A balled-up knot rested in her stomach as she sat on the edge of the seat. She eyed the damp cloth clutched in her lap. "Dinner wasn't prepared when my uncle arrived home. He was in a foul mood and was looking for a fight. When he gets like that, we all know what's coming."

Grace looked up and stared into Miles's beautiful, compassionate eyes. He gazed at her as if he could see into her soul. She steeled herself against any emotional upset she might display and swallowed a lump of bile. "He likes to use a long stick or leather strap. Mostly on the arms, legs, or back, where the marks are less likely to be seen. My uncle doesn't want anyone to know what a monster he is." She shuddered.

Miles placed his hand over hers. The caring gesture melted her heart and helped her find her strength.

"He wasn't always so violent. When my aunt was alive, he kept his anger under control. After her death, he began to target me, setting me up to fail so he could berate and beat me. He resented me for living when his wife hadn't. His rage has escalated. He has become very controlling and is starting to take it out on the children. We can't go back there."

"Of course, you can't." He patted her hand.

"If you agree to let us borrow a horse and some provisions, the children and I could flee London. Eventually, when we're safe, I could trade my needlework for coins and pay you back."

"You're not going anywhere alone. I'm coming with you. We'll leave before daybreak. Jacob has no broken bones. He's sore but should be able to tolerate riding with me. Can you ride?"

"My father taught me," she said dumbfounded.

"I'm sure Mr. Tanner will sell me one of his mounts. You and your sister can ride together. It's a two-day journey to Rosemont Castle, my home. As I mentioned, I live under the protection of my friend Richard Weston, the Earl of Rosemont. I know he would welcome you."

She couldn't believe her ears. He wanted to take her and the children away from London.

Away from my uncle.

Her throat tightened. "Why? Why would you help us? You don't know us."

"I come from a band of knights who believe in championing those in need. I know enough about you to want to get you away from a dire situation and give you a fresh start."

"I never expected to meet anyone like you."

"I'm just a simple knight with the means to help you, that's all."

"I thank you for your offer, but I won't be able to accept it." She placed the cold cloth on her swollen bottom lip. "My uncle won't stop looking for us. He has enough money to hire men. Dangerous men. I don't feel right involving you in such a way."

"I'm a knight. I've dealt with dangerous men before."

Grace shook her head. She knew he was brave but couldn't ask him to risk his life for her and the children. If he lent them a horse and maybe some coins, she could manage alone.

He gave her an unwavering look. "We have a few things in our favor. Your uncle doesn't know you are gone. Once he realizes it, he will have to gather men. That will take time. Then he'll have to figure out what road we took out of London. He has no idea you have help. He'll waste time looking around town before he ventures out."

Grace didn't like it. She asked too much of him. Her mind warred with itself. Part of her wanted to take him up on his proposal, while the other wanted to leave on her own to protect the good knight from her unstable uncle.

Either way would be dangerous.

Chapter 9

Miles didn't give Grace a choice.

A few hours later, before dawn, she was on the back of a horse with Anna. Jacob sat in front of Miles, who supported her brother in his arms.

Marcus had wanted to join them, but Miles had insisted he stay in London to fulfill his obligations to his family. The Tanners packed them a sack of food and water pouches. Grace had thanked all of them for their kindness.

When daylight broke, they were already on the other side of the Thames River, via London Bridge. Miles had padded the toll fee in hopes that the toll taker would not tell her uncle they passed by.

She regretted not taking the pain medicines Marcus had offered before she left. Her body ached from her recent beating, but the discomfort reminded her to stay watchful. Jacob seemed comfortable enough leaning against Miles's chest, groggy from the numbing herb extracts.

Every step away from London caused her unease to build. She should be happy and excited to be leaving her miserable life behind, but an ominous foreboding hung like a cloud over her head. Her uncle would search for them. She had no doubt. What would happen if he found them, she didn't know.

Powerless, all she could do was look over her shoulder every few minutes and pray her uncle chose a different road to follow. Each time they crossed paths with other travelers, she and Anna hid their faces behind the hoods of their cloaks. Her uncle had plenty of coins to pay for information, and desperate travelers would be easy targets for news of their whereabouts.

The pace was fast, but the hours dragged. When Jacob felt better, he cajoled Miles into telling him stories about Rosemont and his life as a knight. Miles was a wonderful storyteller and for a little while, she dropped her guard, ever so slightly.

Each time she glanced at Miles, the sight of him took her breath away. He appeared so noble as he sat tall in the saddle. His tunic, embossed with the Earl of Rosemont's coat of arms insignia, covered his small-linked chain mail. His broadsword hung off one hip and a long dagger off the other, emitting a clear image of his strength and power. He had a strikingly handsome face with prominent cheekbones. Just gazing at him and listening to his deep virile voice caused a stir in her belly. One she had never experienced before.

Close to sunset, they left the well-worn road and stopped by a stream to water and rest the horses. Miles helped them from their mounts.

"Darkness is coming fast, and we still have over a half a day's ride. There's a town up ahead. We could get a room for the night. It would offer you and the children some comfort."

"What's the name of the town?" she asked.

"Rye."

"We can't go there. My uncle knows the sheriff. He'll have sent word. It's not safe there." She wrung her hands. "We don't need a room. The woods will suit us fine."

I have to tell him the truth.

The moment she'd dreaded was upon her. She should have said something sooner. Would he forgive her?

Chapter 10

Miles quirked his brow at Grace's refusal of a comfortable room. And why would a sheriff fifty miles away know her uncle?

While watering the horses, she nervously gathered Anna and Jacob around her as if protecting them from him.

She's expecting me to be angry.

"Is there something you'd like to share with me?"

Her face paled.

He stood his ground.

"I...huh...yes," she stammered.

He placed his hands on his hips. "We'll remain here tonight. Jacob and Anna, go gather dry firewood while I talk to your sister. Stay together and within eyesight of us."

The children glanced over their shoulders at Grace as they walked off to do his bidding. She turned and patted her horse.

"I should have told you sooner. I was afraid of how you'd react. Afraid you'd turn your back on us as so many others have done in the past."

His stomach roiled. From the way she hedged, he imagined all sorts of things she might not want to share with him. The worst being she was already married. "Tell me."

"My uncle is...he's one of the two sheriffs in London. My brother is his only living male relative and his sole heir. And Anna is his daughter, not my sister but my cousin."

Miles exhaled loudly as if punched in the gut. Not married...but still her news was hard to hear.

"How could you not tell me that your uncle is a sheriff?" He clenched his jaw to tap down his anger. When he spoke, his voice sounded gruff. "The position holds power over most of the townspeople in London. As sheriff, he has almost unlimited influence and resources at his disposal."

She whirled around. "I am so sorry."

"I'm risking my life for you, and you didn't have the courtesy to tell me the truth." He shook his head. "You understand, I not only helped the sheriff's niece and nephew to flee from his home, but I've also stolen his heir and kidnapped his only daughter. I'll hang for sure."

Miles paced back and forth behind the horses. He stopped short and glowered at her. "You must really dislike me to put me in this position." It killed him inside to say such, but he had to know the truth. Was she just using him? Did she care if he lived or died?

Grace tied the reins of the horses to a branch and went to him. She placed a hand on his arm. "Not at all, Miles. The complete opposite. I like you a lot. I suppose that's why I couldn't tell you everything. I didn't want you to turn away. You painted such a beautiful picture of Rosemont. When you offered to take us home with you, I couldn't see myself anywhere else. I wanted to be where I could see you every day."

He gazed into her beautiful, violet eyes, moist with remorse. There was no evil intent in their depths. Just desperation to protect those she loved and to leave behind a bad life. He couldn't hate her for loving so deeply that she'd risk all. It was the trait he admired most in her.

Miles wasn't one to harbor a grudge. Especially, toward such a lovely woman. But he was disappointed. "I wish you would've trusted me from the beginning. You've put me in a perilous position. I wouldn't have turned away from you, but I would've planned differently had I known your uncle was a sheriff."

He could've gone to Marcus's brother, the Earl of Warwick, who had great influence or sent for Richard. He could've at least taken Marcus with him to ward off trouble.

"My apologies. You gave me a flicker of hope we could escape. I was too afraid to jeopardize my good fortune by telling you about my uncle while in London. The stakes were too high, and there was a risk you'd abandon us."

He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers and gently caressed the swelling left there from yesterday's beating. She stared at him expectantly as he considered what to do.

The horses are spent. The moon's not bright enough to travel at night. We have to stay out of the towns.

"Anna and Jacob, come here," he called.

The children came running, their arms full of sticks. He waited for them to unburden themselves and then he crouched down. "Grace tells me you've had a hard few years and you are hoping to start a new life at Rosemont. Is that true?"

The children nodded.

"She tells me you weren't treated well."

Anna and Jacob looked at their feet.

"That's going to stop. You have nothing to fear from my friends or me. But if someone else ever tries to hurt you again, I don't want you to be afraid to protect yourself. I want you to fight back."

Grace stood over him. "We're so much smaller and weaker than you. How are we supposed to fight back?"

"Smaller and weaker can be quicker if you know the right moves. I'm going to show you."

As darkness crept in around them, he demonstrated ways to move and defend themselves. Grace and the children practiced pushing against him, striking him, and kicking him. They used their strongest body parts to unbalance him. He even told them where to bite and jab to cause the most pain. By the end of their lesson, Grace and the children had stopped shirking in fear of an arm or a hand coming at them but instead learned to avoid it or swat it away.

Thankfully, his chain mail and the padded doublet underneath saved him from a few extra bruises. When the basics were taught, he gave the children a dry meal and had them sit by the low-burning fire so he could focus on Grace.

"I have something for you." He pulled the small dagger from the top of his boot and handed it to her. "This was my sister's blade. She died when I was a lad, but she wanted me to stick it in my boot for those unexpected moments. It served me well."

Grace stroked the carved handle. It fit perfectly in her hand. "It's beautiful."

"I want you to have it. Where I come from, the ladies wear a belted girdle on their hips with a dagger such as this hanging at their side. The dagger is good for cutting food but when needed, it's also used as a weapon. Danger lurks around every corner, and a woman needs to know how to protect herself with a blade. I once saw Lady Katherine save a fellow knight by jumping on the back of a man and stabbing his chain mail so many times in the same spot she pierced right through to his skin. It was an amazing feat to behold."

"The Earl of Rosemont's wife?" Excitement sounded in her voice. She grasped the hilt and sliced the air in front of her. "How do I use it?"

He chuckled. "Let me show you."

Miles was happy to have a reason to get close to her and feel her soft curves. He came in behind her and pulled her back against his front. Then he wrapped an arm around her waist, so they became like one.

He placed his bare hand over hers and they moved the dagger through the air together. A rush of pleasure from their touch coursed through him. From his position behind and above her, he looked down at the mounds of her breasts, heaving with effort and his muscles tensed. A whiff of primrose teased his nose, and he inhaled deeply, enjoying her scent.

When she'd mastered the movements, he reluctantly let her go and they focused on frontal strikes. He was proud to see that with each stab of the blade, she took her power back.

Grace was quick on her feet and a fast learner, but that didn't stop him from occasionally stroking her arm or landing a lingering hand on her hip. He taught her where to place lethal blows on a man with chain mail and a man without. Before long the darkness swallowed them up, and they, unfortunately, had to stop for the night.

Chapter 11

While lying next to Jacob and Anna, a shiver woke Grace from a fitful sleep. Fear of the future had crept into her slumber. She opened her eyes slowly. Sunrise had not yet arrived, and the forest remained dark. Only embers lined the firepit. Miles sat a foot away with his back against a boulder, his legs stretched out in front of him. In the dull moonlight, she watched him scan the surrounding area, making sure they were safe.

His presence was a welcome sight. Since the intimacy of his lessons, a growing bond had developed. When their bodies had touched, unaccustomed confidence and desire surged through her.

I have never felt this alive.

She hoisted herself up on her arms and scooted over to him.

He opened his mantle wide, and she snuggled against his side. He brought his arm down over her shoulders and wrapped his cloak around them.

A strong aroma of sandalwood and smoke soothed her worries.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you about my uncle." She laid her head on his chest, enjoying his warmth. "I'm sorry you thought I didn't tell you because I didn't value your life. I do."

"It's done. Don't worry. In a few hours, we'll be at Rosemont. Time for a new beginning." He rubbed her arm. "The minute the forest lightens, we'll depart. We want to stay ahead of anyone who may be looking for us."

"I thank you for teaching us how to defend ourselves. I'm afraid our skills were lacking in that area before." Her body relaxed against him, enjoying his touch.

"Do you have the dagger I gave you tucked away?"

"I found a place for it in the sleeve of my kirtle."

"Remember, if your life is in danger, you must fight back with lethal force. Never hesitate. If it comes down to you or them, always choose you. You must live, no matter what you have to do."

"I'll remember." She nestled closer.

Chapter 12

The afternoon sun shone down brightly on Grace as the dirt road brought them into a small meadow. In the distance, a castle was visible high on the cliffs.

"Is that where we are headed?" she asked excitedly.

Miles reined his horse next to hers. "That's Rosemont Castle."

"What a lovely sight. How far away are we?"

"It's about a mile ahead. This road will lead us to the front gates."

"Hang on, Anna." Grace let out a carefree hoot and Anna laughed as Grace kicked her mount into a canter. They reached the woods on the other side first.

Suddenly, a horse bolted out of the tall bushes. The rider grabbed her horse's bridle and brought the mare to a jerky stop. Two more riders surrounded Miles and Jacob, swords drawn, making them halt their horse a few steps behind.

Her uncle stepped out from behind a copse of trees. He aimed a crossbow at her chest.

Grace's body quaked.

"My dear, you've been a naughty girl."

"Uncle." Her voice trembled. She looked at Miles. His face was a blank mask.

"You've been nothing but trouble lately. I should've married you off a while ago, except I didn't want to have to pay someone to take care of the children and the house when you did it for free."

"Please, Uncle. Let us go."

"If you think I would permit you to take away my brother's son, my only male heir, and my daughter, you're sorely mistaken. I see you've enlisted help. A knight no less."

"I'm under the protection of the Earl of Rosemont. Release us, and you will live," Miles said, his voice commanding.

"Right now, you're under no one's protection. You have trifled with the wrong man. Me. I will see you beaten for your deeds. Get him down," her uncle ordered.

"Let him be," Grace swung her leg over her horse's neck, slid to the ground, and took a step.

Her uncle grabbed her by her upper arm and jerked her back. "Stay here."

"Throw your weapons aside," one of the men dismounting instructed Miles.

Miles unbuckled his sword belt and tossed it onto the road.

The man pulled Miles off his horse while pressing a long dagger to his throat.

The other two men alighted and surrounded Miles.

Grace caught Anna's attention. Their two horses stood side-by-side. She motioned for Anna to slide onto the back of Miles's horse, in front of Jacob.

Nobody seemed to notice or care about the switch.

Two men held Miles by the arms, while one stood in front. These men didn't work for her uncle in London. They were hired ruffians. Men paid to work outside the law.

Miles sent her a reassuring look. In the next instant, he shoved off the men holding him and hit anything he could. His arms flew in all directions.

The three men tried to dodge his harmful fists, but they found their mark more often than not.

Miles didn't stop pounding them until one of the men sliced the back of his leg with a dagger. He went down on one knee.

At once, the three men overpowered him. Two men then held him down as the third punched his face and head.

Each blow caused Grace to relive her own painful past. Tears spilled down her cheeks. She pulled against her uncle's hold as she tried to run to Miles.

"Stop it! Stop it!" she screamed hysterically.

"Enough," her uncle said.

The men hovered over Miles who lay motionless at their feet.

"When we leave, kill him and bury the body."

Grace gasped and turned to her uncle. Her head wanted to explode from the horror of his command. She couldn't lose Miles, not after just finding him.

"You're a monster."

Her uncle let go of her arm and landed a backhanded blow across her face.

She staggered sideways, and her hand flew up to cover the sting. A taste of blood lingered in her mouth.

"You'll see what an animal I really am when I get you back to London. I'll teach you and the children lessons none of you will ever forget. You, my dear niece, will be lucky to survive," he growled.

Fear churned in her belly. She knew what the man was capable of.

A surge of strength rose from the pit of her stomach and traveled through her body. She couldn't let her uncle hurt the children or her ever again.

Inside her kirtle's tight sleeve, the hidden dagger scrapped against her skin.

She glanced at Miles. He doesn't deserve to die because of me.

His earlier words echoed in her head. You must live, no matter what you have to do.

She grabbed onto the hilt of her dagger, pulled it out, and plunged the tip of the blade into the soft spot at the base of her uncle's neck. Right where Miles told her to aim.

Her uncle never saw the death strike coming. His eyes bulged in surprise. He reached for her as he crumpled to the ground.

She had no time to think about what she'd done. Instead, she pried the crossbow out of his grip and pointed the tip at the three men standing over Miles.

"Anna and Jacob, ride to Rosemont and bring help."

Miles's horse needed little urging to race home, and hooves hitting the dirt road at a fast clip echoed in the distance.

Grace stood tall and stared with deathly calm at the three men. "The Sheriff is dead. There is no one left to pay your wages. If you want to live, get on your horses and ride. A legion of men will be here in a few minutes. If you are not gone by the time they arrive, you will die."

They gawked at her in stunned silence, never expecting such an outcome. One of the men sheathed his dagger and reached for his horse. The others followed his lead. They all mounted and took off at a gallop.

Grace raced to Miles sprawled out on the road and knelt beside him. She placed the crossbow next to them and positioned his head in her lap. His face was bloody and starting to swell.

"Miles. Talk to me. Please. My uncle is dead. His men are gone. Don't leave me. I'm so sorry I involved you in this mess. Don't die on me. Wake up. Speak to me." A sob stuck in her throat as she tore a piece of cloth from the bottom of her kirtle and gently rubbed splotches of blood from his face.

Miles opened one eye. "Are you hurt?" his voice croaked. He brushed a trickle of blood from her lip with his finger before his arm dropped back to his side.

"I'll survive." She let out a hysterical laugh and held his hand. "Thank God you're alive."

"Would you have missed me?"

"Most definitely. You better not die on me. How bad are you hurt?"

"My leg is bleeding," he uttered huskily.

She placed his head on the ground, ripped a strip of cloth from her hem, and scooted over to his leg. Finding the wound, she tore open his hose to see the damage. He needed stitches. She wrapped the bandage tightly around the injury to stop the bleeding and returned to position his head in her lap.

"Anna and Jacob rode to Rosemont. Your friends should be here soon."

"You saved us all. I knew you could." Miles coughed out the words.

"It was you who saved us. I was shaking with fear. I wouldn't have known what to do without your lessons, your sister's dagger, or without you showing me where to send the tip of the blade. When the moment came, it was your words telling me I must live, no matter what I have to do that gave me strength."

He reached for her hand, brought her knuckles to his lips, and placed a gentle kiss on them.

"You are much stronger than you think," he whispered.

Her heart soared. It is you, my love, who makes me strong. She leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Shh. Rest now. We can talk later."

Time stood still as she stroked his hair with one hand and cupped his face with the other. Her body trembled as she ruminated on what had just happened.

An army of hoofbeats sounded in the distance.

A gigantic man on the biggest black destrier she had ever seen came galloping up, sword drawn. He scanned the scene, launched himself from his horse, and sheathed his sword. Other riders arrived behind him.

The man locked eyes with Grace and then leaned over Miles. "Can you hear me?"

Miles opened his good eye. "Richard, we got into a bit of trouble."

"I can see that. You should've sent word. I haven't had a good fight in months."

"I thought we were ahead of them. There are three men on the run. Are the children all right?"

"They're fine. Just scared. We'll get you home right away."

"This is Grace. You'll see that she and the children are cared for, no matter what happens?"

"On my life. No need to worry, my friend."

"Good." Miles shut his eye.

Richard laid a gentle hand on Grace's shoulder. "Richard, the Earl of Rosemont, at your service. Please, just call me Richard, though. We don't stand on formality around here. We're all family. A cart filled with straw is coming." He looked over his shoulder. "Owen, James, let's give Miles a drink of water to wash the blood out of his mouth and then we'll get his chain mail off. Peter, there are three men on the run. Take care of them."

Grace sat back in awe as the Earl of Rosemont, dressed in a black leather doublet, barked out orders. Men hurried to do his bidding.

Richard helped her stand as his men removed Miles's heavy chain mail and doublet, leaving him in his linen shirt. They examined his leg wound and rewrapped it.

Richard looked at her uncle's dead body on the ground. Miles's dagger stuck out of his neck.

"My uncle didn't give me a choice."

"You did that?"

"Miles taught me how to protect myself, just in case."

Richard nodded.

Men wrapped her uncle's body in a blanket and threw it over a horse.

The cart arrived and four men gently placed Miles on the soft straw. Grace scooted in behind and held his hand. She didn't want to be far from his side. The ride to Rosemont was quick, although a bit bumpy. Miles groaned a few times. Her heart went out to him. She knew what it was like to be in pain.

When they came upon the castle on the cliffs, her mouth dropped. She had never seen anything so wonderous. Everything Miles had said about his home was true.

Anna and Jacob waited on the steps of the keep with the most beautiful blonde-headed woman she'd ever seen. They ran to Grace, their arms outstretched and grabbed her around the waist when she alighted from the cart. They sobbed with joy to find her unhurt.

The men delivered Miles to a bedchamber where a healer was already waiting. Lady Katherine called out orders and big men moved quickly to do her bidding.

Grace heaved a sigh of relief. She knew Miles was in the best of hands.

Chapter 13

"Magnificent, isn't it?" Miles's deep voice startled Grace out of her thoughts.

"It is. I've never seen anything like it." She peered over the stone wall to the ocean and cliffs below. The crashing of the waves sounded in the distance. She turned to him. "Should you be out of bed? It's only been a day."

"I mend fast." He walked with a stick, limping on one side.

"What happens now?" She leaned against the waist-high wall. The sun was bright and warm on her skin.

He stood before her. His handsome face was bruised and swollen, but he was able to open both eyes after she had spent hours laying cold compresses on them.

She stroked his cheek.

"No broken bones. I should be thankful that those outlaws were weaklings."

She chuckled. "At the time, they looked like they were doing a fine job of it."

"How are Anna and Jacob taking your uncle's demise?"

"They lost any love they had for him years ago. They know, as I do, that our situation was going to get worse, and his death was a blessing for us."

"I have your dagger." He handed her the blade.

"It's your dagger."

"I gave it to you. Every woman needs her own dagger."

"If I have a dagger, I'll need a girdle. Maybe one like Lady Katherine's."

"I'll have one made for you. Is everyone treating you well?"

"They've been more than welcoming. I like your friends a lot."

"I've talked with Richard. We all have to return to London. Your uncle was a sheriff. His presence will be missed. Jacob is his heir. Richard feels we should return your uncle's body and explain the circumstances of his death and how he was working outside the law. We need to make a claim for Jacob to inherit your uncle's possessions. Richard will stand with us, be a witness to what went on, and use his position as an earl to make sure it all goes smoothly."

Grace inhaled deeply. We're returning to London.

"You have a chance to live out your days in London without your uncle in your life."

She scrutinized his soft, beautiful eyes, the ones she'd become so fond of. They were studying her reaction carefully.

Does he want to leave me back in London? Is he saying he wants to be free of me?

She drew from her newfound strength and decided to follow her heart.

"Do I have a choice where I live?"

"You do."

"Then, I want to live here at Rosemont. With you, if you'll have me. I know it's a bit presumptuous on my part, but I have strong feelings for you, Miles, and I'd be daft to toss them aside and pretend that I don't. I want to start over with you. I know you've never given me any indication that you feel the same way about me, but..."

Suddenly his warm lips came down upon hers. All of her senses came alive. A flash of lightning launched through her innards, taking her by surprise. Her arms snaked their way around his neck, and she pulled him against her chest. His hands stroked up and down her sides. She breathed in his heady aroma, and her body went weak.

She knew in an instant this was what had been absent in her life. This is what she'd been missing. For years, the children were her only concern and she struggled daily with how to protect them. For so long, she'd felt alone and unloved by anyone except them. But, not anymore.

Her long-suppressed desires caught fire. He kissed her so hungrily her toes curled. Suddenly, she knew what heaven was about.

Miles pulled away and gazed into her eyes. "I've spent most of my years roaming the countryside and fighting. Since settling at Rosemont, I've wanted to make a life with the right woman. I knew you were the one the moment I met you. I admired your strength and capacity for love. I'm hoping you'll agree to be my wife. But before you say yes, I want you to know, I will never raise a hand to you and will never harm you or the children. I may get angry at times, but I will never hurt those I love."

Grace took in a sharp breath. "I trust you, Miles."

She had always hoped for a man who would treat her with kindness but never thought to find him. In her heart, she knew Miles was this man and his word was true. She'd never have to fear being abused again.

"Are you sure you want me for your wife?" She could hardly believe it.

"So sure, I've already spoken to Richard. He has offered us our own home behind the castle walls or rooms in the keep. Whichever, you prefer."

"Oh, Miles. Yes. Being with you is all I want. You are my destiny." She leaned forward until she was only a breath away.

"I give you all my heart," she whispered against his lips.

He rested his forehead against hers. "And you have mine."

About Karen Muir

Karen Muir is the author of Destiny's Way.

Karen writes Historical Romances in two different time periods: Medieval England and American Western. As she journeyed through her early life, she never imagined she would one day be a writer. Writing is hard! But when her dreams became stories, and her characters called out for her to write about their lives, she had no choice. Now she can't imagine a life without writing.

She lives in New England with her husband. When not working as an Occupational Therapist or writing, she enjoys visiting her two sons and their wives, hanging out with friends, going on Girl's Weekends, dinners out, watching Sci-fi and Fantasy, traveling up the coast, and lounging by the lake with family.

Whether writing about knights, damsels in distress, cowboys, or saloon girls you can bet a heart-tugging story is about to unfold. If you enjoyed, “Destiny's Way” please join her on another whimsical journey back in time and check out her other books:

Website: http://karen-muir.com/

Also by Karen Muir

Dagger's Destiny - Medieval Romance

Fated Beginnings - Western Romance

Forever Equals by Ruth A. Casie

A Stelton Legacy Story

Chapter 1

Caernarfon Castle

Wales - 1284

The clang of broadswords echoed in the unfinished hall. Alex Stelton advanced, slashing his sword. He took an angled step back to avoid his opponent, Morgan Stelton’s blade, as it came down in a decisive motion to block Alex’s assault.

Their swords locked. Neither willing to give an inch. Morgan applied pressure, tilting the razor-sharp edge until the blade rotated and was repositioned for attack.

In one fluid motion, Morgan lunged at Alex, scraped the weapon down Alex’s blade, pushed it aside, and with a final thrust, aimed at Alex’s head.

“You surprise me. You use the weight of the blade to your advantage,” Alex said. They both were out of breath, stepped back, their swords pointed at the floor. “You’re stronger than I remember.”

“You should come home more often so we can practice.” Morgan smiled pleased by the compliment and at seeing Alex winded.

“Morgan? Is that you?” called the voice behind them. “Of course, it’s you. Alex, you should be ashamed of encouraging her.”

Alex and his sister turned and faced the door.

Mary-Margaret, Morgan’s twin, marched in. “Where did you get those britches? Hurry, Mother is almost finished unpacking. With any luck, you can change into proper clothes before the evening meal.”

“You sound like Mother.” Morgan sheathed her sword and faced her brother. “I enjoyed the practice. If truth be told, I miss all seven of my brothers when they’re away. But I miss you the most.”

Every gesture, every expression was familiar and precious to her. His easy smile, the tilt of his head, and the soft creases around his eyes. He’d been away for months fighting in Wales. She was glad he was home without any injuries.

Mary-Margaret gave her sister a scathing look from head to toe. “Alex, don’t encourage her. Everyone will think I have eight brothers.”

“No one will mistake her for a boy, I assure you. She appears to have the essential parts of a lady.” He kissed Morgan on the forehead.

“She hopes to discourage suitors--” Mary-Margaret said.

“But—” Morgan interrupted.

“Don’t you dare deny it.” God’s toes, how Mary-Margaret enjoyed scolding her. “You’ve declined every eligible man who has approached you.”

“If Mother isn’t looking for me, why are you here?” Morgan asked. That should keep her quiet. From the tight-lipped expression on her sister’s face, she had succeeded.

“Ah, there you are.” The young Earl of Laurelton, Devon Saville, came through the half-finished doorway.

Morgan leaned toward her sister. “Now I understand your concern. You didn’t want your fiancé to see--”

“Shush or I’ll tell Mother how you continue to race her new mare across the fields as well as what you and Alex are up to.” Mary-Margaret spun around and, with a bright smile, joined Devon.

“Surely you remember how you played the maiden in distress, and I was Alex’s squire,” Morgan called after her sister.

“We were children,” Mary-Margaret said.

For a moment, Morgan was back in the fields with her brothers at their family estate. She and Mary-Margaret were cheering them on from a safe distance. Alex was the lone adversary out of sight on the other side of the rise. Three of her brothers rode hard toward him. Alex couldn’t handle three opponents, so she decided to even the odds.

Morgan had lifted her skirts and raced down the rise against Mary-Margaret’s protest. She picked up a sword and stood by Alex’s side, her feet planted and her arm ready. Her brothers wore bruises for days from the wooden sword she wielded.

“Who taught you how to handle a sword?” Alex asked after the skirmish was over.

“You did,” she answered.

Her brother cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

“Me?” Alex was most confused.

“I watch you fight all the time. Afterward, I practice by myself in the barn.”

The following day he began to teach her everything he knew. He taught her how to wrestle and how to use a sword until one day he was reminded Morgan was his sister. An alarming fact, but one they both understood. While her training changed, it never stopped.

“Humor your sister, please,” Devon said to her and Alex. “Or I will hear nothing else from Mary-Margaret during our stay at court. Not even the new little prince will hold her attention.”

“For you, Devon, I will show restraint.” Morgan gave him a sympathetic smile and glared at her sister. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll put on more appropriate clothes.”

“I’ll go with you. Devon, I’ll meet you later in the Great Hall,” Mary-Margaret called as she whisked Morgan away.

Morgan trudged across the ward and up the circular staircase. “How did you find us? We chose that remote unfinished part of the castle to keep out of everyone’s sight.”

Silence.

At the top of the staircase Morgan glanced over her shoulder. “And how did Devon know where to find you?”

“Hurry before someone sees you.” Mary-Margaret pushed Morgan ahead, her face bright red.

“It seems Alex and I weren’t the only ones who didn’t want to be seen.” Morgan didn’t try to stifle her laugh. It kept bubbling up all the way to her room.

Chapter 2

Dressed in the latest fashion, minus her britches, Morgan entered the Great Hall and made her way past the dais where her parents, Philip and Celeste Stelton, stood with King Edward, his wife, Eleanor of Castille, and their two-week-old son, Edward.

She slipped by Mary-Margaret, who gossiped with a clutch of women, the queen’s ladies-in-waiting. The group envied her sister for her betrothal to Devon. At first glance, the women appeared crestfallen to find the eligible lord already spoken for but recovered quickly. Now, each played at enticing a group of bachelors standing close by.

“Morgan.”

She spun and smiled at Geoffrey despite his grim tone which usually heralded an oncoming lecture. Being the sixth child in the family came with its disadvantages. Geoffrey, the eldest of the brood, often took it upon himself to instruct her. Very often. Of course, Mary-Margaret never did anything wrong to merit such attention.

“I want a word with you,” Geoffrey said. To make this worse, her other brothers stood behind him.

“Yes.” She gave him her perkiest smile but groaned inside.

“Gossip is you wear britches and brandish a sword in remote areas of the castle.”

“I swear I will use that sword on Mary-Margaret, but not until I tell Mother she’s been wearing her jewels,” Morgan murmured staring across the room at her sister. Morgan should have known her sister wouldn’t keep her secret.

“In truth, it isn’t our sister who gave you away, but rather our Queen.”

Morgan blanched at the prospect the Queen had seen her.

“Her Majesty thought your attire refreshing and asked the king’s man to find her something similar. But that isn’t the point. What you do at the family estate is your business, but you’re at court. Don’t look at me as if you have no idea what I mean. Father is here on important business and doesn’t need distractions.”

Her head whipped around. “I wouldn’t do anything to get in Father’s way.”

“I know you wouldn’t do anything purposefully.” Geoffrey let out a long sigh. “Father’s concerned. Edward is colonizing Wales. There are fears Scotland will be next.”

The family estate was close to the border, and the reivers were bad enough raiding the farms and taking cattle, but war? Everyone would be devastated. War would tear families and neighbors apart. Best to not dwell on it or better yet ignore the consequences.

“As much as there are many against war, others try to convince the king otherwise. There is strong support for Father, but a growing number of people are beginning to waiver. Many are betting on Edward winning a war with the Scots, relieving them of their land, and giving the estates to his favorites, much like what’s been done in Wales.”

“Who is talking war with Scotland?” she asked.

“Lord Westervelt. The gentleman standing with the king.” Geoffrey nodded toward the dais. “His son, Captain Rowland Westervelt, is headed this way.”

“Geoffrey, you’ve returned.” Rowland’s presence and stride marked him as an elite, wearing the King’s colors with an officer’s rank. His expression was hard, unkind. Could the man smile? If he did, it wouldn’t change his dour appearance.

“Rowland, let me introduce you to my brothers, Bennett, Damian, Edwin, Fayne, Cameron and Alex.”

“And who is this?” Rowland leered. “Don’t keep her all to yourselves. Leave some for your betters.”

The air turned icy. Morgan preferred a casual interaction, and maybe that was his intent. But it fell short. The man was rude.

“I’m Morgan,” she said in a light tone, determined to reduce the tension before her brothers took it upon themselves to defend her.

His startled expression made him look like a frightened hart. “I thought Morgan was another of Philip’s sons.”

He was unaware she was a Stelton, which put a different meaning to his words. This man was more insulting than rude. Over the last two years her brothers paraded eligible men past her. She quickly learned how to separate the wheat from the chaff. Rowland was sorted with the others in the dust bin.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m sure you have things to discuss with my brothers.” Morgan couldn’t get away from him fast enough. Let her brothers deal with the man.

“May I take the more beautiful of the Steltons for a turn around the hall?” He offered her his arm before she could step away.

“Ah, that would be Alex or Damian. Those two are the best looking of the lot,” she teased.

Rowland regarded her quizzically for a moment. Morgan glanced at Geoffrey, who dipped his head with a ‘get-him-away-from-us’ gleam in his eye.

“Thank you, Captain, that would be lovely.” She placed her hand on Rowland’s arm. The two made their way around the hall. All the while, she was thinking how she could make Geoffrey pay for her coming to his rescue.

“Morgan. A strange name for a woman,” Rowland said as the people they passed nodded and smiled at them.

“My name is Morgana, although my family has always called me Morgan. My parents expected a son.”

He chuckled. The sound had no joy to it, but rather labored. He must be out of practice.

They passed her parents. Her father gave her a quick smile, and her heart swelled at his warmth before he brought his attention back to the senior Westervelt. They walked by Mary-Margaret, who still stood in the midst of a gaggle of women. The surprised expression on her sister’s face made the stroll worthwhile.

“Geoffrey told me Morgan was an excellent card player. I never thought Morgan would be a beautiful woman. I hope you will forgive my error.”

The words flowed easily off his lips but were in contrast with the strain in his voice. A glance proved her right. His insincerity was chiseled on his face.

As they continued about the room, they spoke of the weather, the coming summer, and agreed that while the king’s builders were good at their work, there were more unfinished than finished rooms in Caernarfon Castle. Finally, he brought her to the garden doors; her brothers were not far away.

“Would you like to take a breath of fresh air? Or a tour of the garden?” Rowland leaned in close. “There is a quiet spot in the far corner where we can, talk.” He tilted his head, his mouth close to her ear.

The deep purr in his voice startled her and sent an uncomfortable chill across her shoulders. She faced him to respond and saw something in his eyes that made her stop.

“I think not.” She let go of his arm and started toward her brothers.

With a quick move, he stepped in front of her. “I didn’t intend to offend you.”

“That you would think it appropriate for me to be alone with you outside the garden door or in an isolated area of the garden leaves me thinking you’re less than a gentleman.”

The muscle tightening along his jaw was the only indication her words stung. She had chosen them carefully, attacking what he held dear, his chivalry. Before she could step around him, he guided her along and returned her to Geoffrey.

“Thank you, Captain.” Her tone dismissed him.

“My pleasure.” The king’s officer smiled and bowed. “Gentlemen.” He nodded to her brothers then walked away.

“What was that about?” Cameron, her younger brother, asked, staring at Rowland’s retreating back. “What did you say to him? He can’t get away from you fast enough.”

“Nothing really.” The man didn’t merit another thought.

“You don’t need to pretend to be disinterested to make yourself more attractive,” Cameron said.

“What makes you think I was pretending?” She gaped at her brother. Attract that man? She had no intention of telling Cameron what had happened, especially with her father involved with the king. She did, however, decide she did not like Captain Rowland Westervelt.

“You and Mary-Margaret are the talk of the court.”

Morgan stared at Cameron with a startled gaze, Rowland’s insult quickly forgotten.

“Don’t give me that smirk. You shouldn’t be surprised. You both are beautiful, congenial, and smart. The gentlemen at court are fascinated that you are identical twins. People place wagers on who is whom. All good-natured, of course.”

In the buzz of the many conversations, the sound of a rich baritone voice amid the crowd made her heart flutter. It was a familiar voice unheard for years that reached her ears. A handsome face came to mind followed by a flash of memories and anger.

She heard his voice again and steeled herself. Curious, she glanced around the room; her gaze found him at once. He stood with her brothers. His appearance was wildly rugged, more commanding, and more handsome then she remembered.

Memories locked away for years assaulted her--walks in the garden, hikes by the cliffs, sunsets at the ruins on the hill, her first kiss. Her heart pounded until she remembered standing on the battlements as he rode out of her life.

Morgan pulled her gaze away and concentrated on arranging her kirtle, then glanced back. He was gone and her heart sank.

“Morgan,” her brother, Bennett, called from behind her. “It’s Gray, Grayson MacDonald. King Alexander’s champion.”

She spun about. He stood next to Bennett, with a warm smile. Morgan swallowed her thoughts then returned his smile. Gone was the easy comfort between them. Now, it was like meeting a stranger.

“He’s here with his father as an emissary from Scotland to celebrate little Prince Edward’s birth.” Morgan knew Bennett had spoken but didn’t take her gaze from Gray. She couldn’t.

An emissary from his king? For a moment she thought maybe he returned to see her. Foolish girl.

“Gray, how good to see you. I didn’t see your father. Where is Alasdair.” She looked toward the dais. His father stood with her father deep in discussion.

Gray reached out, took her hand, raised it to his lips, and tenderly kissed her knuckles.

She stifled a gasp at the intimate gesture. Her hand had been kissed and slobbered over by many men in the past year. None had ever left her breathless and wanting more.

How did he do that?

Chapter 3

Reluctantly, Gray released Morgan’s hand. He had watched her enter the room sometime after her sister and hoped to speak to her. It had been three years since they last saw each other and that ended badly.

“Why can’t you take me with you?”

“The outpost is more a barracks than a castle. I’ll be on patrol for days, possibly weeks at a time. Skye is deep in the Highlands. The people there are skeptical at best. It’s too dangerous to leave you by yourself. Your brothers agree it’s not a healthy situation.” He reached for the green gem in his sporran. It was a token of his devotion to her.

“This is not for them to decide.” Morgan stopped pacing the small area in the ruins and stared out at the valley. “I must have misunderstood your intentions.”

A cold shiver went up Gray’s spine as the woman he loved closed herself off from him. He dropped the token back into the sack.

“How can you doubt my desire for you? My duty will be over in two years.” He put his hands on her shoulders to soothe her, but she shrugged them off. Without another word, Morgan started back to the manor and left him standing at their spot, by himself.

He searched for her the following morning, but she did not break her fast with the family. His father and her brothers helped him pack the horses. Morgan was still nowhere in sight. Even her brothers thought it strange.

Gray stalled as long as possible. Finally, he mounted and rode out of the courtyard toward the town wall. The troop crossed the field and headed for the trees. Before he entered the forest, he glanced behind and spotted her standing on the wall. He turned, with his eyes forward and kept on riding.

Now, three years later, he was in King Edward’s court, standing with old friends.

The talk of Morgan’s and Mary-Margaret’s beauty was not an exaggeration. He’d studied Morgan as Westervelt paraded her around the room. Morgan was strong, confident, opinionated, and capable and would make a highlander a good wife.

Now he held her hand and kissed her knuckles. Morgan gazed up at him. The noise and gaiety of the room faded. Morgan was the center of his world.

Gray offered her his arm. “Walk with me.”

She bit the inside of her cheek at his demand.

Cameron coughed.

“Shall we take a turn about the room?” he asked more gently.

“Father would like that,” Cameron assured her and faced Gray. “You’ll excuse us.”

Cameron let out a chuckle, grabbed Bennett’s arm and pulled his brother away.

Her brother dared to wink at her before he was lost in the crowd. Morgan wanted to throttle him. She avoided Gray’s gaze and placed her hand on his arm.

“How is your father and the rest of your family?” She nodded at the same people who acknowledged her earlier on Westervelt’s arm.

“They are well.”

“King Alexander’s champion. I’m not surprised. You always accomplished what you set out to...” She hesitated, blinking in bafflement.

“What’s wrong?” Gray’s tone was even and controlled. He moved close to her and scoured the room searching out the threat.

“Several people are turning their backs to us.”

“Perhaps I should return you to your brothers. I wouldn’t--”

“Absolutely not.” She raised her head and moved a bit closer to him. “Perhaps we should circle the room twice and let them see us enjoying each other’s company.”

“You are my champion.” His voice was filled with a gentle softness.

She dipped her head at his comment as they came to the garden doors.

“Would you mind if we went into the garden?” Morgan asked. “I find the air a bit oppressive.”

He opened the door and she stepped out onto the porch.

“You’ve served your king well. Emissary. An important position.” She made light conversation, pretending to be disinterested as they strolled to the railing.

Rowland, his man Fulko, and three others walked out of the room and stood by the doors. Each holding tankards, beer sloshing over the side.

“What is a barbarian doing at Edward’s court? Standing with the king as if he were due an audience.” Rowland swayed and drained his tankard.

“Keep your voice down, Rowland.” Fulko glanced at her and Gray. He shoved Rowland to make his point, sending more beer onto the flagstones.

“Ignore him.” Even she could hear the irritation in her voice.

“I regret that you are witness to Westervelt’s behavior. Eventually, he will get tired of hearing his own voice.” Gray placed his hand on hers and stared at her intently.

There was a time when the soft smile on Gray’s lips made her heart soar. She spent two years hoping and wishing for him to return. She spent the next year trying to forget.

“The lawless savage doesn’t know he’s not welcome here,” Rowland continued. He put his tankard to his mouth then pulled it away. He tipped the vessel upside down. Empty. He grabbed a tankard from his friend and drained it dry.

“Come inside before you do something you’ll regret.” One of the men in Rowland’s group took the empty tankard from him. Rumblings erupted from the small group. Two of the men retreated to the Great Hall.

“Let them go. They have no backbone like the Scot.” Rowland pushed away from the wall. “Leave MacDonald to her. The woman begged me to take her into the garden. He’s more than willing to accommodate her, any way he can.”

Gray’s hand tightened on hers. “Come.”

At times it was hard to tell whether it was his words or his tone that froze people in their tracks. Right now, she had no doubt it was both.

“Quiet, you fool,” Rowland’s man insisted. “That isn’t some churl. She’s a Stelton. Her family has far greater influence than most of us here. Certainly more than a Westervelt.”

Morgan took Gray’s arm. They walked past Rowland and the remaining men without a word.

“We’ll see about that,” Rowland mumbled.

Chapter 4

Gray sat with his father and Lord Philip. The MacDonald and Stelton families were close and until three years ago visited each other often.

“Did you enjoy your evening? I noticed you spent most of your time with my sons,” Lord Philip said.

“Yes. Most enjoyable. They gave me a year-by-year account of what I missed.”

It was good to be among them once again. Gray expected a strained reunion, awkward at best. But to his delight, the Stelton boys treated him as if they had been together yesterday. Even Mary-Margaret was glad to see him.

Morgan remained his challenge.

“Gray and I are treated well, but the undercurrents cannot be denied. What did you hear?” Alasdair asked Philip.

Philip let out a deep breath. “Some people in Edward’s court are concerned about the Scots.”

“Some people? You mean Westervelt.” Gray’s voice was hoarse but eerily calm. “Rowland and his father are the ones causing trouble.”

“Yes, calling our people heathens, bloodthirsty, untrustworthy, and pointing to recent border incidents as proof.” The deep lines on his father’s face and sallow color made him appear tired and worn. He was facing more opposition than they thought.

Gray slammed his hand on the arm of the chair. “I wouldn’t put it past Rowland if he and his men disguised themselves as Scots to create the problem.”

“We can change people’s perception, but the rumors that privileged English information is in the hands of your Scottish king concerns me.” Philip jabbed his finger on the table to make his point.

“Gray and I leave after sunrise. Once we’re gone, the gossip and rumors will stop.” Alasdair leaned forward and patted his friend’s hand.

Gray shook his head. “They will not. Nor will the border raids by people pretending to be Scots, or rumors of a spy, or words against those who sympathize with the Scots. No, Father. This is the beginning, not the end.”

“I’m sure you know Rowland is speaking to Edward about a match with Morgan.” Alasdair leaned back in his chair and stared at his friend.

“Yes, Edward mentioned it. He thinks the match would strengthen the border for England.”

Gray’s head rose a bit, his gaze set on both men. “And you believe Rowland would play that role?”

“No. With my estate close to the border, it would be easy for him to launch raids into Scotland.” Philip let out a long breath. “I do not trust the Westervelts. Neither does Edward. Westervelt only wants to use Morgan as his pawn.”

“I will protect her and the estate.” Gray left no room for doubt. He fingered the green gem that hung around his neck. “Have you given my proposition more thought?”

“Philip, if you don’t decide soon, your king will.” His father was right.

“And you’re the sacrificial lamb?” Philip asked Gray with a smile.

“I wouldn’t call it that. I petitioned you three years ago for Morgan’s hand. Then you convinced me not to take her from you. Not to leave her alone on Skye while I performed my duty to my king.”

“I have no regrets.” Philip’s voice was firm and final. “Nor should you. We did what was right for her. She didn’t belong in a harsh, remote area of Scotland living in a military compound to fend for herself while you served your king. What would she have done with you so badly wounded? It took you a year to recover.”

“You never told her why I didn’t return.” Gray stared at Philip. The haunted expression in the man’s eyes told him he hit his mark. “You let her think I abandoned her.”

Philip didn’t bear all the burden. He was at fault as well. As soon as he rode out of the manor courtyard, he regretted his decision to leave her behind. But the principled, protective, proud warrior left anyway. He’d learned a great deal since then. It took him coming close to death to realize what he lost.

For years, amidst the pain of recovering, it was thinking of Morgan, planning on being together that helped him survive.

“What’s done is done. Nothing would please me more than to call you son-in-law. I fear my action puts you at a disadvantage. For that I am sorry. I hope you can convince her. If she agrees, I will give you both my blessing.”

The issue won, Gray relaxed, but only a little. He doubted he could win Morgan over as easily.

“Come, the king will soon want to break the morning fast. I want to be there before Westervelt takes the seat next to Edward and bends his ear.” Philip stood. “Find Morgan. You must act before Rowland gets the king’s agreement. I will not go against my king.”

Gray entered the Great Hall. Edward was in a heated discussion with Lord Westervelt. He scanned the room. Rowland was nowhere in sight. Neither was Morgan.

Devon, along with Cameron and Bennett, stood by the hearth. “Gray, we searched for you earlier, hoping you’d join us for a ride along the cliffs. It was a magnificent view,” Devon said.

Where on earth was Morgan?

“Gray, why are you so preoccupied?”

“Forgive me, Devon. I’m looking for Morgan.”

“She is still in the stable. We left her there to brush down her mount before Mother found out she took her prize mare for a ride,” Cameron said.

Gray glanced past the building materials scattered on the other side of the ward, past the barracks, and beyond to the stables.

“You have my thanks.” He spun about to leave but stopped. “Enjoy your ride.” He hurried away toward the stables.

Cameron shook his head.

Chapter 5

Morgan finished tending the mare and tossed the brush into the grooming pack. The morning ride with her brothers was wonderful. No one wanted to come back, and now she paid the price.

There was little time until the morning meal with the king and queen. Rushing to her room, she stripped off her shirt and washed. She slipped on a chemise, her green kirtle over her britches, and fastened a dark brown silk belt at her hip. Without time to wash the road dust out of her hair, she pinned it up. Satisfied, she searched the small room for her cape and hood. She glanced from the bench to her wardrobe to the end of her bed.

Nothing.

She must have left it in the solar.

She hurried down the hall, opened the chamber door and was startled to see Mary-Margaret.

“You’re nothing but a traitor. You and your entire family.” Rowland stood close to Mary-Margaret. His accomplices tugged on his arm.

Her sister’s hands gripped the side of her blue kirtle. Her eyes a mix of anger and fear.

“You go too far. Leave the girl alone,” Fulko said.

Rowland pulled Fulko’s arm away. “I’m not afraid of her, her father, or her brothers. She flaunts her closeness to the enemy and spits on--”

“My sister is too much of a lady to spit. You, on the other hand, are vulgar and crass, not a gentleman at all. You accuse others of what you are guilty of.” Morgan marched the length of the room and stood next to her sister.

Morgan would have enjoyed the puzzled expression on Rowland’s face if Mary-Margaret hadn’t been his target.

He blinked and looked from her to her sister.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” Fulko stared at the women aghast. “I’ve seen each of you separately, but never together...” He confronted Rowland. “Do you know which is Morgan and which is Mary-Margaret?”

“A crown says the lady in green is Morgan.” One of his men slammed the coin on the table.

“No, no, no. Two crowns that one is Mary-Margaret.” Another man stared at them closely. “Turn around, give us another look.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you’re right.” A third man joined in.

“What’s happening here” One of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting asked as they entered the room.

“Which Stelton is Morgan? The lady in blue or the one in green?” Fulko asked.

“Quick, Joanna. Give me a coin. I’m sure the one in blue is Morgan.” The Queen’s lady stretched out her hand for the coin.

The more people that entered the salon, the more joined the frenzy and placed a bet.

“Don’t say or do a thing,” Mary-Margaret said to Morgan. “Although I’d be happy if you had your sword.”

Gray took the stairs two at a time. Frustrated, he couldn’t find Morgan, he entered the solar.

“I tell you, the one in blue is Morgan,” a man in the crowd shouted.

His hands fisted at his side at the frenzy of the situation. He would fight them all and bring the two women to safety. But something changed when he stared at Morgan.

He walked over to the sister in the green kirtle, lifted her hand, and kissed her knuckles. “Lady Morgan.”

“My lord.” Morgan gave a deep curtsy.

Some cheered while others moaned.

“Ladies, I have never seen such identical twins. Your twin brothers Geoffrey and Bennett have a family resemblance, but nothing like their sisters,” one of the others pointed out.

“Of course, it was easy for the Scot to pick out Morgan.” Rowland stood behind her, his voice not quite a whisper. “She trades information from her father with the Scot in return for his service. He is a big brute of a man.”

The room hushed.

Morgan touched Gray’s arm. He glanced at her as she quickly moved back, stomping hard on Rowland’s instep. With her elbow tucked at her side, she jabbed it back into his stomach, causing him to double over. Feigning clumsiness she faced him.

“I’m so sorry, Rowland. Oh, dear, are you unwell? You’re almost as green as my dress.”

She reached out to help him, but he moved away.

“Rowland, you must be careful with Stelton women. They are beautiful, but with a deadly sting. Both of them are more than capable of taking care of themselves. Besides, you don’t want to anger their brothers. Each one is as large as a tree.

“I, on the other hand, am a lawless savage without any backbone, a barbarian who doesn’t know my place.” Gray moved closer to Rowland. “And I warn you, the next time you say anything ungentlemanly to Lady Morgan or her sister, their brothers will need to wait for me to finish with you.” The playful smile on Gray’s face hardened into a fierce expression. “Do I make myself clear?”

Rowland’s glare carried a touch of fear.

Gray’s stare didn’t waiver.

Rowland was the one who lacked a backbone. The coward motioned to his followers. The rest of the crowd dispersed.

Devon entered the room as Rowland and the others filed out. “I came as soon as I realized something was wrong. You’re never late.”

Devon put his arm around Mary-Margaret.

“I was never so humiliated. I felt as though I was being sold to the highest bidder.” Mary-Margaret stared up at Devon.

“I wondered if they were going to inspect our teeth as Father did the mare he bought Mother.” Morgan mumbled under her breath.

The softened expression on Mary-Margaret’s face as she gazed at her fiancé, her protector, made Gray realize that once Morgan stared at him that way. How he longed to see that expression again.

Chapter 6

“This isn’t the first time Rowland has mistaken you for me, is it?” Morgan already knew the answer.

“He said horrid things.” Mary-Margaret stiffened, her voice dead of any emotion.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Morgan pushed her way to her sister’s side. “I would have done more than stomped on his foot and jab him in his stomach.”

The burst of anger heated her blood. The fact that her sister withheld the information didn’t surprise her. A healthy competition existed between all the Stelton children, except Mary-Margaret. She was the negotiator--the one who preferred to avoid confrontation.

“Please don’t give me that look, Morgan. I refused to tell anyone for fear of the consequences. Where would that leave Father? I walked away from Rowland with a smile and an air of indifference. It deeply bothered him. Confrontation isn’t always the solution.”

“No, it isn’t, but in this case, I think he saw it as a weakness that encouraged him to continue.” Did Mary-Margaret understand what Rowland was doing? “He isn’t the type of man you let get away with anything. It simply emboldens him. I don’t see an easy solution. I’ll be glad when our visit here is over, and we can return home.”

“Your father needs to be told of Rowland’s activities,” Gray said. “Not only to protect you. You’re being used as a tool to provoke others against your family.”

Morgan didn’t need him to fight her battles. If anyone was to speak to her father, it would be her.

“He’s in with the king. I’ll go with you,” Devon said and faced Mary-Margaret and Morgan. “We’ll escort you to the garden where the queen is with her ladies.”

“We do not need an escort from here to the garden.” How dare they come along and treat them like children, unable to care for themselves.

“Trust me—”

“I trusted you three years ago,” she interrupted Gray. “It proved to be a bad decision.”

He froze at her words.

Morgan took her sister’s hand and nearly dragged her away already regretting what she said.

Somehow Gray reached the door before her and barred them from leaving.

“That’s a discussion for another time. You are Rowland’s target. You must understand that because you and Mary-Margaret are identical twins neither of you are safe.” Gray’s words were simple, the menacing quality of his voice was deadly.

“Are you speaking about Rowland?” She waved her hand dismissing his words.

He took a threatening step closer.

“You’re serious? We’re surrounded by our father and brothers to say nothing of the king and his guards.” She tried to step around him toward the door.

“Hear me.”

His staid calmness was more frightening than if he had bellowed.

She dropped her sister’s hand. Mary-Margaret rushed to Devon’s side.

He was right. She could argue, insist, and march off on her own, but she would never jeopardize Mary-Margaret.

“You have my thanks for your concern. Mary-Margaret and I would be grateful for your company.”

They left the solar, Gray matching her stride to the garden doors without saying a word.

“I would not let anything happen to you, ever,” he said at last.

She tilted her head toward him. A spark of some indefinable emotion was in his eyes.

“You were always a champion.” A deep sigh escaped her lips.

They stopped before the doors. He brought her hand to his mouth, kissed her knuckles, then lifted his gaze. His smile melted her resistance.

“Always your champion, my lady.” For a moment her heart softened. For a moment she saw a spark of the man from three years ago. For a moment she wanted him more than life itself.

Devon opened the garden door, made way for the two sisters, and without another word, the men left them in the company of the queen.

The queen’s ladies-in-waiting sat in a half-circle as they worked their needlepoint and enjoyed the sun.

“Mary-Margaret, I’m glad you joined us,” the queen said. “You’ve brought your sister. Welcome, Morgana. It’s not often you sit with us.”

“Your Majesty.” They both curtsied.

The queen’s women were deep in conversation, gossiping about a young courtier and his rejected proposal. Laughing about a king’s officer who thought himself better than anyone else.

Morgan chose a seat across from the women, uninterested with their conversation. In the quiet surroundings, she folded and rolled the edges of her belt. Her mind raced between challenging Gray about his absence and recounting her revelation.

“Lady Morgan.”

She turned toward the queen.

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“You’re unnaturally quiet, sitting like a caged animal. I can feel your unease across the room. I’ve always found a walk in the garden soothing. There’s a quiet spot in the far corner, by the gardener’s shed. No one ventures back there. A few minutes of peace and quiet and you will be like new.”

Morgan rose and glanced at her sister. Mary-Margaret gave her a gentle smile before she continued with the others.

“With your permission, Ma’am.”

The queen dipped her head and then returned to her sewing.

She hurried down the steps, eager to distance herself from the others.

This part of the castle was complete. The king wanted his queen to have a comfortable place after the baby was born. Stone walls surrounded the large garden. Thick hedging incorporated with trellises and arbors softened and warmed the area.

Morgan fled down the path between square planted beds and raised banks covered in turf for sitting. She hurried past beds filled with flowers, herbs, shrubs, and fruit trees. Her pace slowed as she walked the final path toward the far corner then sat on the turf and leaned against the gardener’s shed. Her head back and eyes closed, she enjoyed the warm sun on her face.

“Where is he now?”

Morgan’s eyelids sprang open.

Rowland.

She stood.

“He and Saville are in the king’s chamber,” Fulko reported.

“Wait for him and bring him to me. He may intimidate the others, but not me. When I get through with him, he’ll wish he’d never set foot here,” Rowland said. “I’ll wait in the usual place. I’m looking forward to seeing the king’s face when we present him with the head of the traitor.”

The door to the shed began to open. Morgan searched the area, desperate for a hiding spot. The thick hedging provided the best cover. She hid in the shrubs, her green gown blending in.

Rowland and Fulko took off back to the castle.

There was no time to go for help. She made her way at a safe distance and watched the men split up. Fulko moved toward the castle, Rowland headed for the unfinished tower.

What was he planning? She made a quick decision and followed Rowland.

Rather than cross the ward, Morgan ran along the perimeter in the shadow of the wall. She waited while he entered the unfinished area, the same one where she and Alex practiced. She could navigate the passages blindfolded.

Chapter 7

Gray and Devon stood by the window in the Great Hall, looking out at the upper ward.

“I nearly choked when I listened to Westervelt’s suggestion. He laid the groundwork with a politician’s expertise,” Devon said.

“Philip wasn’t fooled. Neither was the king.” Gray’s gaze was fixed on the grounds outside.

“I agree,” Devon said. “It’s a clever strategy. Philip’s sons are as good as any small army. For Rowland to control the border, he must be rid of them. He can’t kill all seven, so he elevates them, extols their prowess as warriors, and suggests they be the king’s official guards at Rhuddlan Castle, far from home and the Scottish border. With Mary-Margaret and me in Knaresborough, the only one left at the border is Morgan.”

He didn’t need Devon to tell him what he already knew. Morgan was in Rowland’s way. He either controlled her or...

“Or convince Edward the family are traitors,” he said. “Edward would confiscate their land. I’m sure Westervelt has plans to acquire the estate.”

Gray caught sight of two figures walking in the upper ward near the construction. He pushed away from the wall and moved to the window for a closer look.

“I wonder what Rowland has been up to. Fulko comes this way, while Rowland crosses to the tower.”

“At least Morgan isn’t following him. You know she won’t stay put,” Devon warned Gray as he peered over his shoulder. “Morgan will go after Rowland by herself for what he’s done to her sister.”

“Aye. You are right about that. She’s like her brothers.” Gray turned from the window, one hand on his hip, the other rubbing his neck. He let out a deep breath. “Find out what Rowland’s man is doing. I’ll go to the tower.”

Devon slipped out the side door of the Great Hall, Gray close behind.

Once out of the castle, Gray crossed the lower ward and entered the tower. Construction had stopped for the celebration. He navigated around stone blocks and tools that laid idle, waiting for work to resume. The slap of leather against stone echoed and faded in the distance. He was close. Careful not to make any noise, he moved closer.

Rowland stood in the center of the chamber.

Gray circled the outside of the room among the great pillars, taking care not to be seen.

Rowland spun toward him.

“Fulko, is that you?”

“I didn’t find him.” Fulko entered through a doorway not far from Gray. “Saville was speaking to Mary-Margaret. What now?”

In the quiet, the faint whisper of cloth at Gray’s right caught his attention. Someone else was here. He inched toward the sound.

Rowland put his hand out, indicating for his man to be quiet. “Who goes there?” Rowland asked.

Gray stopped in his tracks.

Silence.

He breathed easy when suddenly, the sound of rubble echoed through the area. Someone else was in the chamber.

“I said, who goes there?” Rowland asked, more emphatically.

Gray carefully slid around the corner of the pillar. His foot caught on a piece of material. He knelt and picked up a green kirtle. Morgan’s? He peered around the edge.

“Take off your hood and show yourself or I’ll skewer you where you stand.”

“As you wish.” The person let her cape and hood slide to the floor. Morgan stood in front of Rowland and Fulko in britches and her loose-fitting shirt.

“You look more like a boy than a woman.”

Gray, on high alert, flattened his back against the wall. Devon was right. Morgan, her sword drawn, faced Rowland and Fulko.

“I thought to spare you, make you my wife.”

“Wife?” She laughed. “I’d rather go to a nunnery.”

Even in the dim light he saw Rowland’s eyes light in anger. Did she have any idea what she was doing?

Morgan remained relaxed and glared at Rowland which made him angrier.

“You’ll marry me unless you prefer I tell the king you and your family are the traitors, stealing secrets and giving them to your Scots lover. You’ll be lucky if the king doesn’t execute all of you. Don’t be a fool. We’ll marry and I’ll take my rightful place at the king’s side.”

“I have no desire to be associated with you. Surely you have heard the gossip in court. Well laughter would be a more accurate description.”

Morgan played a dangerous game. He wasn’t certain how Rowland would respond to the insult. Gray drew his sword and readied himself for action.

“I’ll make you suffer. Little-by-little, cut-by-cut until no one will recognize you.” Rowland took a menacing stride toward Morgan.

Gray stepped out into the open and with a sweep of his arm, moved her behind him.

“Take a last look at her.” Rowland mocked. “While you lie here dying, you’ll watch as I carve her into pieces. A pity. Will you still want her? She won’t be so beautiful.”

Morgan moved to the side and stood next to Gray.

He didn’t argue. It wouldn’t matter if he did. From her stance and the way she held her sword, he was certain she knew how to use it.

Fulko made the first mistake. He thought Morgan an easy target. She spun at his clumsy attack, took the offensive and drew first blood. Morgan took full advantage of his hesitation and came at him ready to kill.

Gray distanced Rowland from Morgan but kept her in sight. He recognized much of his own style in her footwork and control of the blade. Each placement of her foot, thrust of her blade, flowed from one to the other in a graceful, deadly dance.

Shadows filled the room. Morgan nimbly maneuvered the area, anticipating obstacles, using them to her advantage. She’d obviously been here before.

He and Morgan kept up the attack, and drove Rowland and Fulko out of the room, into the open. The sound of metal clashing against metal echoed in the ward.

Royal guests and castle staff took to the windows and porch gaping at the fight.

Fulko attacked Morgan with all his strength. She spun against his body, the force sending the pins flying from her hair.

The gasp from the onlookers made him smile. Dressed like a boy, they hadn’t expected a woman.

Galloping hooves echoed on the stone bridge at the castle gate.

“Surrender. The king’s men are here. Surrender and it will go easier on you,” Rowland said.

Gray’s sword was locked at the hilt with Rowland’s. Twisting the edge, he pushed hard against Rowland, then stepped to the side.

The resistance gone Rowland stumbled forward.

Gray’s left fist burst forward and caught Rowland in the jaw.

Rowland appeared shaken but he rallied. He came after Gray, his sword raised.

Gray positioned himself and stood back-to-back with Morgan, each parrying and striking.

“Enough,” the king commanded from the castle porch.

The four stopped mid-strike and lowered their swords, pointing the tips at the ground.

“Stay alert,” Gray whispered.

“I know, never turn your back or let your guard down. Not even during a truce.”

Gray smiled. Those were the words he’d said over and over to Alex when they trained. The ones he neglected to follow.

The riders advanced and circled the small group.

Rowland pointed to Gray and Morgan. “Arrest them.”

Gray gripped his sword. Had Philip and his father been able to sway the king? Here he stood, surrounded by six warriors, in the center of the king’s castle. He glanced at Morgan. He couldn’t fight his way out, but he would do anything to protect her.

Anything.

The king’s men didn’t move or speak.

The silence lengthened. The tension in the air almost suffocating.

Gray sensed more than saw something move. He spun.

Fulko lunged at him, aiming at his chest.

The onlookers gasped.

Before he raised his weapon to block the attack, Morgan crossed swords with Fulko. She brought her weapon up and over, the momentum forcing his sword into a high arc. In a swift movement, she pulled her sword away and, holding it with two hands, swung hard, striking Fulko in the side.

The man crumpled to the ground.

Morgan stood over Fulko, the point of her sword at his heart, her eyes on the king.

“Bring them to me,” the king commanded and went inside.

A swell of cheers went up throughout the castle.

Gray stood at her side. “Stand down. It’s over,” he said.

She loosened the grip on her weapon.

He gently took it out of her hand.

The guards led them to the king.

“You fought well,” Gray said. “Like your brother, an equal. I couldn’t ask for a better person at my back.”

Morgan’s eyelids lowered as she let his words sink in.

“I appreciate the compliment, especially coming from a king’s champion.” Her voice was a whisper, her heart pounding.

“I speak the truth. You learned your lessons well. Your family should be proud of you. I am.” He continued walking.

There were many reasons to love Gray, and almost as many reasons not to. He had been honest with her all those years ago, and she, well she had been a peevish child. Wanting what she wanted. Him.

They reached the Great Hall and stood before the king and his court.

“Lord Westervelt gave us information that the evidence against the MacDonalds is false. We thank the Westervelts for their untiring devotion to the crown. In trying to arrive at how to show our gratitude, I came upon a plan the Westervelts described as a triumphant opportunity. What better way to show our appreciation than to honor the Westervelts as the official guards at Rhuddlan Castle.

“They and their man will leave for their new post within the hour. Lord Stelton’s sons will be their escort.” The king waved them away.

Rowland and his father bowed and backed out of the hall, taking Fulko with them.

“Philip, I thought it was a touching tribute to Rowland’s plan for your sons to escort them to Rhuddlan.” The king rubbed his hands together and gave his attention to Gray and Morgan.

“Lady Morgan, that must be the new fashion my queen mentioned.” The king looked at her britches, loose fitting blouse, and wild hair. “You two fight well together. Lord Grayson I suggest you not get her angry. Lord Philip has discussed your petition. It is agreeable to the crown. Do you have anything to say to Lady Morgan?”

Gray faced Morgan. “Marry me.”

She tilted her head at the command.

“My love,” he bent down on one knee, a devastating smile on his lips, “in front of your king, and this assembly, I declare my love for you as I should have three years ago. I would have you for my wife. What say you?”

“Your words are... They are beautiful.” She gave him her hand to raise him to his feet, “but you needn’t bend a knee to me. Today we are equals?”

“Nay.”

“Nay?” She tried to pull back her hand, but he wouldn’t let it go.

“Not only today, forever. Forever equals.” He slipped his arm around the small of her back and drew her close. “Marry me, Morgana Stelton. Today, I didn’t fear for my life. I feared losing you. You are my life. Marry me.”

She put her fingertips on his lips, moved away, and then got on bended knee.

“Grayson MacDonald, marry me,” she said in a calm clear voice.

He swept her up into his arms.

Cheers rose to a crescendo within the hall then trailed off, fading into the usual chatter.

Gray stood transfixed to the spot, holding Morgan, determined never to let her go.

The torch in the bracket lit the unfinished room with soft shadows. The smell of rock and dust filled the air.

“What are you doing here?” Gray entered the unfinished tower room.

“I came to retrieve my kirtle. It’s my favorite.” Morgan showed it to him. “And my cape, and to think.”

“Think?” He remained close to her. So close she glimpsed the flecks of silver in his eyes.

“I waited for two years. I waited another year concerned you were detained, doubted you loved me. Finally, I realized perhaps you never did love me.”

He wiped the moisture from her eyes and spoke to her, his lips against her forehead.

“Aye, I fought like a demon for two years for my king to make my father and you proud. In my last battle, I fought a good fight. I was done, ready to come to you. I let my guard down.”

“No.” She clutched at him.

“I didn’t follow my own advice. My chest was sliced open, but not before I killed the man. My men needed to move on, but I couldn’t travel. They left me in the care of a woman.”

“Oh, there is someone else.” She backed away from him, but he wouldn’t let her leave.

“Yes, a very old grandmother who brought me back to health, but it took a year. The only thing that kept me going was thinking of you. Of holding you. Of making you my wife.”

“Can I tell you a secret? One I’ve told no one.” She looked down to avoid his gaze.

He moved closer, his mouth at her ear. “Tell me anything you like. Your secret is safe.”

She wet her lips, her mind reeled, and her heart, it pounded so loud she was certain he could hear it.

“I knew your reason for not taking me with you was right. I was disappointed and angry. I struck back with the only weapon I had, my silence.” She raised her head and looked into his eyes. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I never wished you well. I never told you I would be here when you returned, and I hated myself for it.”

He wiped her tears away with his thumb and cupped her head, pulling it close to his chest.

“Do you forgive me for taking so long to come to you?” He gave her a tender kiss on her forehead.

“Only if you forgive me for being a petulant child?” She snuggled closer.

Gray lowered his head. His mouth covered hers, capturing her lips in a gentle, hot possession. He coaxed them open and deepened his kiss.

He broke their kiss, but she would have none of that. She felt the heady sensation of his lips on her neck. He pressed her lips to his, caressing her mouth more than kissing it. A shiver of excitement rushed through her veins and burst into a rush of heat.

“Morgana,” he whispered in her ear.

“I love you. I have always loved you and I always will.” The words tumbled out of her mouth.

“My feisty warrior,” he said.

He took the green gem from his neck and put it into her hand.

“I planned to give this to you three years ago. It has gone with me everywhere. When I thought I was dying I held it close. In my heart it represented my love for you.” He closed her hand around the gem. “It brought me closer to the one person I love. You.”

They stood content in each other’s arms.

“We’ve made a formidable enemy.”

He kissed her nose. “As long as we have each other’s back we can handle anything.”

About Ruth A. Casie

RUTH A. CASIE is a USA Today bestselling author of historical swashbuckling action-adventures and contemporary romance with enough action to keep you turning pages. Her stories feature strong women and the men who deserve them, endearing flaws and all. She lives in New Jersey with her hero, three empty bedrooms and a growing number of incomplete counted cross-stitch projects. Before she found her voice, she was a speech therapist (pun intended), client liaison for a corrugated manufacturer, and vice president at an international bank where she was a product/ marketing manager, but her favorite job is the one she’s doing now—writing romance. She hopes her stories become your favorite adventures.

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Stelton Legacy

Historical Romance

The Guardian’s Witch

The Highlander’s English Woman

The Maxwell Ghost

The Pirate’s Jewel – Pirates of Britannia - crossover

The Pirate’s Redemption – Pirates of Britannia - crossover

Hugh – The Sons of Sagamore – Pirates of Britannia – crossover

Donald – The Sons of Sagamore – Pirates of Britannia – crossover July 2020

Graham – The Sons of Sagamore – Pirates of Britannia – crossover October 2020

PNR/ Fantasy Part 4

The Dragon Assassin’s Sunstryker by Sheri-Lynn Marean

Fated Match by Miranda Lynn

USA Bestselling Author

Alerian’s War by Dariel Raye

USA Bestselling Author

Matchmaker’s Mission by D.B. Sieders

Award-winning Author

With His Life by Theresa Hissong

International Bestselling Author

The Dragon Assassin’s Sunstryker by Sheri-Lynn Marean

Prologue

Dark clouds gathered, while thunder boomed—great drums pounding the night in an off-beat rhythm. Whips of lightning zipped and flashed, fast and deadly—illuminating the valleys and spiked peaks all around him. The never-ending scent of rain and ozone permeated the air as the male stood overlooking his empty, barren world.

Hands clenched at his sides, nails dug into his palms.

Rage, a black seething mass that constantly festered, grew ever stronger. It pounded furiously, striking at him, just as it had for the last hundred years.

One of these days he’d be free.

Then my Betah, I will come for you. I will pay you back for what you’ve taken from me.

The vow—a yearly ritual spoken on the eve of his brother’s betrayal—echoed in his mind even as it drifted away on the gusting wind. It was all he had. All he’d ever have.

He inhaled the damp, energy-infused air into his lungs, then exhaled, letting it all go. Or, as much as he could. Then he shifted into his dragon. It was the only freedom he had anymore.

Yet as he flew through the never-ending storm to his lair, a deep, aching loneliness settled once more within his soul.

Chapter 1

Demon’s Cellar

Treya steeled herself against the cacophony vibrating through the walls of the Demon’s Cellar, and slipped inside the thundering nightclub. Shards of pain lanced her skull at the overloud noise as the door closed behind her. Her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting enough to see that the place was packed with a multitude of human and supernatural beings. How any of them could stand the racket was beyond her. To her enhanced senses the onslaught was brutal.

The urge to leave beat at her, but Treya pushed onward. She’d been told there was a job to be had, and desperately needed the money.

Money. She hadn’t given much thought to that when she took her little brother and escaped the compound on Icarus where she’d been born and raised. Engineered was more like it.

What kind of work she was interviewing for tonight was anyone’s guess, but she had a pretty good idea it wasn’t as a dancer, waitress, or dishwasher. Not with her skill set. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” she mumbled, and began to weave through the crowd.

Though she was slight of build and only of average height, a path cleared around Treya to give her space. The reaction resulted not from the multitude of weapons strapped to her body, but rather the power she wielded, which most around her would be able to sense. She could have cloaked her energy, and usually did so while on missions. But here, surrounded by dangerous supes, she didn’t bother—keeping everyone away suited her just fine.

Yet despite that, she still received open glares of jealousy from the women, while the men blatantly inspected her with leers of hunger that Treya didn’t even want to think about.

As a genetically engineered dragon shifter raised among others like her, she’d never felt out of place before. But since leaving Icarus, she’d quickly learned that not everyone was born with the same exceptional looks. She honestly could have done without them, preferring to blend rather than stand out.

The compound hadn’t been all bad until the director and his consort decided to give her a brother. She had a bed, food, clothes, and a roof over her head. Trained from birth to be one of the most elite assassins in all the fifty-two realms, she had pushed herself hard to be the best.

Because the best never had to fear for their life.

Never had to fear they’d be retired and put down.

Treya became one of the deadliest killing machines around.

A fact she wasn’t exactly proud of. Still, she’d been assured her targets were bad people that needed to go away for the greater good, and for a long time had believed what she’d been told.

Somehow the director figured out that she’d begun to question her missions. In retaliation he gave her a brother, and then used him to ensure Treya completed her missions and returned.

Now though he was ten years old, Jacey was very small for his size. He had the same genetically altered DNA as Treya but had ended up flawed for some reason—unable to shift into the dragon that lived inside him. That, combined with his lack of strength, left him at the bottom of the soldier ranks.

Those at the bottom didn’t last long, and Treya knew it was only a matter of time before the director decided Jacey was more trouble than he was worth—even as a hostage.

For if there was one thing she knew about the director, he was extremely vain, and failed experiments looked bad on him. His consort’s constant whispering in his ear didn’t help matters.

No, if she hadn’t left, he’d have retired Jacey, like he’d done to so many others.

“Hey, come dance with me, sexy,” a smiling human called out to her, a nod of his head indicated the mindless gyrating bodies.

Treya kept going. She didn’t have time for dancing, or anything but learning what this job was, how much it paid, and getting it done.

Another man with short brown hair and a sharp aura of darkness, cut her off. “Think you’re better than all of us here, don’t you?” A hyena shifter, and judging by the group waiting behind him, the alpha of his pack.

Senses prickling with warning, Treya started to move past him.

Anger flashed in his obsidian eyes, and he grabbed her long black hair. “Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you.”

Treya stopped, catching a whiff of nectar-infused alcohol on his breath. Though not a bad looking guy, the sneer on his face and hard eyes revealed his true colors. “I think you better let me go.”

“And if I don’t?” He leaned close, sniffing at her.

Treya’s blade pressed against his jugular. She let her dragon rise to shine through her blue eyes. “Do I need to tell you again?”

The hyena started to release her, then pulled her close against him. “Dragon shifters, all think they’re so superior.”

A deadly fury rose within Treya.

“Leave her alone.” Another male, a large nightwalker who was obviously a bouncer, placed himself between her and the hyena. He flashed his pearly white fangs.

The hyena growled.

Annoyance set in, then Treya mentally shook herself. She couldn’t just go around gutting everyone who bothered her, no matter how much she might wish too.

“This isn’t over,” the hyena said on a snarl.

Treya could feel his beady eyes on her back as she shot the bouncer a glare. “I could have handled him.”

He chuckled, the tips of his fangs showing. “Oh, I know, but I really didn’t feel like cleaning up hyena guts tonight. They smell bad.”

Treya raised an eyebrow. “Says the vampire?”

The bouncer grinned. “It’s true, hyena is an acquired taste. Dom is waiting for you in his office.” The bouncer led her to the back of the club and pushed open a red door. “Go down the hall and up the stairway at the end.”

The door closed, blocking out most of the noise.

Grateful for the reprieve, Treya gathered a sense of calm around herself, knowing the male she faced next was not to be taken lightly.

At the top of the stairs was a door, but when Treya raised her hand to knock, it opened inward on a pulse of energy. “Come.”

The room before her was large and masculine. Against the walls on each side of her, gleaming glass shelves held crystals, ancient weapons, and various artifacts. Across the room was a large glass window overlooking the club below. Two armed guards stood silent just inside the door.

Treya noted their weapons, then focused on the large, dark-haired male seated behind a heavy black wooden desk polished to a high gleam. Dom—Domorio.

With a hard face, dark hair, and green eyes, he wore a well-tailored two-piece black suit over a green silk shirt. He appeared to be a businessman, but his deadly aura said he was much more.

Stories of Domorio abounded, though no one seemed to know exactly what kind of supe he might be. The predominant theory was demon-born.

As intense eyes studied her, Treya knew that theory was wrong, or at least not complete. The man wielded a boatload of power, so much so it was making her react.

Treya kept her energy on lockdown. “You have a job for me?”

“Right to the point. I like that. I’ve been told good things about you,” Dom replied.

Treya didn’t respond.

“I hear you have the ability to cloak yourself, and teleport.”

“I do.” Among other things.

“Good.” He held out a piece of paper.

Treya took it and scanned the information. “You want me to go to Corsica Di’osa and steal a piece of tech from the most notorious, feared, true-born dragon who hates everyone?”

“I do,” Dom said. “You have a problem with that?”

It would be dangerous, and this particular dragon was a powerful, well-known ancient. A former dragonkind sentinel turned hermit. “No problem. What’s my pay?”

“That’s the best part. You get what I need, and then you steal his gold. That you keep.”

Treya froze. “Only someone insane would steal a true-born dragon’s gold—”

“Are you calling me insane?” Ice coated Dom’s voice.

Without a doubt, Treya itched to say, but refrained from voicing her opinion. She needed the work more than a fight at the moment. “I’m saying I’m not.”

“So, you don’t want this job?”

“I didn’t say that either.” The idea of her and Jacey having their own home and never having to worry about where the next meal was coming from was a huge draw. She could kill swiftly and easily, but her skills weren’t practical, and bringing home a steady paycheck had proven difficult. Often, she barely brought enough home to feed one of them, let alone two.

“What’ll it be? I was told you have a little brother to take care of. I’m sure there’s much you could do with a pile of gold.” Dom stared into her. “What’s his name? Jay? No, Jacey.”

Treya’s back stiffened, and the dragon inside her rose. “You or anyone touches him, and it’ll be the last thing you do.”

“You get me what I want, and you won’t have to worry.”

Treya hated that she was reduced to little more than a thief, but Jacey depended on her. Her little brother meant the world to her, and she didn’t trust Dom not to hurt him if he didn’t get what he wanted. Blasted men, they were all users. “How much gold?”

“A cave large enough to comfortably hold twenty large dragons.”

That was a lot of gold, but doable, providing she could find somewhere to keep it all. “And you just want this tiny piece of tech? None of the gold?”

“Correct.”

“That is …” She refrained from saying insane, though it was. Utterly. “Why?”

Dom shrugged. “I am … very comfortable and have no need in that area.”

Treya resisted the temptation to snort aloud. Still, she couldn’t help thinking of how this would help her and her brother. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“That’s the answer I wanted.”

Dom’s slow smile sent a shiver through Treya. Somehow, her life had just changed. For the better or worse was yet to be determined.

Chapter 2

Hope

Treya went from one realm to the next, scoping out places to stash the gold. Hope and excitement filled her as she exited the Bicily portal.

Not a very advanced realm, most of the villages were set along the various lakes, so as to give them a supply of fresh water. A thick jungle lay beyond the settlements and rugged, moss-covered mountains. Which kept most of the people away from the mountains—and suited her need for secrecy just right.

Treya teleported to a far mountain and studied the mossy peak.

She drew on her dragon senses and scanned for interior caves.

Within moments she had located a bunch, only to dismiss them as too small. Then she found the perfect one—shielded behind a wall of thick foliage.

There were no tracks on the ground indicating anyone had been around. Treya peered through the tangle of vines to the space beyond. From what she could see, it was at least large enough for her to stand upright. She teleported in, not wanting to disturb the natural barrier. The cavern was narrow at first, but gradually opened into a much larger area. Treya grinned. It was perfect for her needs.

Back outside, she gazed out over the lush carpeted green valley, listening to the birds chirp and the insects flying about. Emerald lakes down below sparkled under the light of Bicily’s two suns.

Not yet overly populated, the few humans and supes that inhabited Bicily tended to keep to themselves. Treya wondered if Jacey would like it here.

With a lightness she hadn’t felt in a while, she zapped back home to Lavellas. As a rule, teleports could zap from one spot to another within the realm they were in, but it was almost unheard of to be able to zap between realms. Treya had discovered she was an exception to that rule, but she could only do it once she’d been to the realm she was teleporting too.

As she neared the tiny house she rented on Lavellas, Treya looked next door and spotted her brother huddled out on the front step. The lightness in her dimmed. An extremely shy boy, with a mop of black hair, Jacey hid his longing as he watched the kids playing in the street.

Since they’d moved here a few months ago, she’d tried to urge him to go join them, but he didn’t know how to socialize or play. He’d never been allowed.

He spotted her and his blue eyes—very much like her own—lit up. He ran over to her. “Trey-a!”

“I’m sorry I was gone so long.” Treya hugged him, then walked to the tiny house they called home with her arm around his thin shoulders.

Me-annie, the elderly neighbor, came to the door and waved.

“Thank you,” Treya said, grateful the older woman didn’t mind watching Jacey for her.

“For you two, anything my dear,” Me-annie said with a smile.

Inside their house, Treya made her and Jacey something to eat. But as they sat at the little table, he just picked at his food.

“Did Me-annie feed you so much you aren’t hungry?” Treya asked teasingly.

Jacey shook his head.

“What then? Did something happen?”

“I did what you suggested and asked the kids if I could play,” he said quietly.

“You did?” She was proud of him for that, but could sense there was more. “Something happened?”

Jacey glanced quickly up at her before looking down at his food.

Treya gently lifted his chin. “Tell me.”

His hand went to his right arm. “They saw my tattoo. They wanted to know why I had it and what it meant.” He pulled his sleeve back, revealing JC656 in black letters. “I didn’t know what to tell them.”

Treya silently swore, more determined than ever to do this job. She wrapped her arms around her brother. “I have a big job coming up, and once it’s done we’ll have the money to remove both our tattoos.”

“Really?” Big blue eyes stared up at her in hope.

Treya nodded. “Really. In fact, I wanted to talk to you about something else as well.”

“What?”

“I went to Bicily today. What do you think about maybe moving there?”

“Bicily. A hot tropical planet with silty black lava beaches, deep green lakes, and moss-covered mountains.” He recited what he’d been taught living in the compound.

“You remember.”

“Of course,” he said.

Treya smiled. “It’s pretty there and we’ll never be cold.”

“I don’t know how to swim,” he said doubtfully.

“I’ll teach you.”

Chapter 3

Wild Storm

The next morning Treya left Jacey with Me-annie once again, and then set out to do some surveillance on her target. Anxiety twisted her gut. She couldn’t afford to mess up. Her brother deserved a better life, and she planned to give it to him.

She exited the portal to Corsica Di’osa, and glanced around. A shiver raced up her spine at the rugged beauty of a place that had once teemed with life.

She had heard it used to be a stunning world. Now a dying planet, spears of lightning split the cloudy grayish-green sky in a continuous light show, followed by the booming and cracking of thunder so strong the ground shook.

A constant rain fell, the only thing that kept the planet alive, though it was a losing battle with the dying sun.

The portal snapped closed behind her, leaving a smooth expanse of red rock. Treya studied the thousand-foot wall, then began to climb, using skills honed during her twenty-eight years at the compound.

At the top, she dusted her hands off and turned her gaze outward. A breathtakingly wild, rugged landscape spread out before her, so vastly different from Sicily’s serene softness. A feeling of haunted danger swept Treya as she took in the massive volcanic red mountains that rose impossibly high above her—jagged peaks hidden among the angry billowing clouds.

As far as she could see, the floor of the canyons and gullies were covered in a carpet of soft lavender, light blue, green, and pink foliage.

At one time Corsica Di’osa had been thriving, but now only one being called the place home.

Swamped with sadness for the realm, Treya drew upon her energy.

As power swirled over and through her, flames ignited, and the depressing emotion disappeared. An exhilarating rush consumed her. She began to transform. Her body grew bigger, longer, thicker. Sharp talons sprouted from her hands, large wings rose from her back, a long, spiked tail curved around her, and rows of wicked pointed teeth filled her mouth. Her eyesight sharpened, and shiny black scales completed the shift into her dragon.

Elation, a euphoric freedom empowered Treya as she spread her wings. She gathered her energy once more, cloaked herself, and with a beat of her mighty wings rose into the sky.

She dove down, then leveled out and began to fly, reveling in the freedom of stretching her wings as she soared between mountain peaks. Wind slid smoothly over her scales, the rain soothing against her body. She didn’t fly as often as she’d like, and now, as she glided over the wild majestic beauty of this barren realm, that same wildness entered her soul and made her forget the reason for even being here.

What had the realm been like before when the sun was whole and enveloped it in heat, light, and warmth?

She imagined that it had been a sight to behold. What she wouldn’t give to live in a place where she could just be herself. Where she didn’t have to hide her gifts, could fly if she wished and not worry about anyone or anything. A place where her brother was safe, and she didn’t fear the director and his consort finding them.

At the thought of the evil man and his female partner, Treya’s head cleared. More determined than ever, she set off to find Corsica Di’osa’s single black mountain.

Home to Ash, her target and one of the most feared, reclusive dragons in all the realms.

All the stories she’d ever heard claimed the mountain once gleamed a sparkling white, but when the sun started to die, it turned black.

After an hour, Treya spotted it. The black behemoth rose into the sky and disappeared from sight.

A sense of dread urged her to turn away. Treya shoved past the glamour and began to circle the dark, craggy rock. It took a while to find the entrance; another glamour shrouded it. But once she did, she searched out a spot to land.

She shifted back into human form and utilized her senses. Wards were set, protecting whatever or whoever was within.

Treya made her way close to the entrance and settled down behind a large boulder to wait, studying the wards while she did.

Her hair was soaked, as were her clothing, and after four hours, though her butt ached from the rocky ground, she smiled.

She’d figured out how to bypass the wards and get inside. Now, if only she had some indication of whether the dragon was home or not.

Treya stood and began to pace. Was Ash even still living here? She was just about to get closer, when movement at the entrance froze her. Treya drew on her energy and quickly cloaked herself.

A man emerged, but before she could get a good look at him, he shifted into a very large—at least twice her size—black dragon. Thin, jagged gold striations covered his body, and ivory and gold horns protruded from his skull, while deadly black spikes lined his neck and tail.

Pure, dark power that felt to Treya’s dragon senses like thundering fury emanated from him in snapping waves.

Treya’s own dragon began to pulse with awareness. Stunned, Treya fought to calm the beast struggling to break free from her skin. I’ll let you out again soon, but not now, it’s too dangerous. She chanted silently over and over, until her beast finally settled.

Treya watched, heart in her throat, as the black and gold dragon—Ash, for it had to be him—turned his large head. He seemed to stare right at her.

Treya shivered. There was no way he could see her, could he?

He roared, a sound that shook the realm, then shot off the cliff, tail flicking sharply with a crack behind him. He arrowed his body straight down, going way too fast.

Treya held her breath, certain he was going to crash into the rocks. She exhaled as he leveled off at the last minute, and was shocked to realize she was shaking, that her knees had gone weak. She continued to watch, heart in her throat, as the dragon rocketed straight up into the sky. He entered a bolt of lightning, and swiftly followed it ever higher.

His whole body was illuminated energy, a brilliant glow that stung her eyes and made them water.

He roared again, a tremendous vibration that rocked the world.

Treya stood rooted to the spot, mesmerized, as the legend called Ash became one with the storm.

Never in all her years had Treya ever seen anything like the mighty creature. He owned the sky, the storm, the lightning, and as he gathered speed, it traveled with him. Bolts of light—energy—stayed with him, while others followed in his wake, whipping and sizzling lashes of fury.

He drew the storm, pulled it, used it and shaped it, roars echoing the furious booms sweeping the land. The rain came down harder, faster, plastering Treya’s hair to her face.

Something stung her cheeks, and it was a moment before she realized it was tears. Treya couldn’t remember ever crying in her life. She blinked, unsure why she was reacting this way. Yet her heart continued to pound in her chest as emotion choked her.

As the dragon finally disappeared from sight, her heart calmed.

Whatever fear or reservations she’d originally had about coming here and doing this job settled into a sense of rightness, as if she belonged here in this moment at this exact time.

She teleported back home.

Chapter 4

Questions

Treya had Ash under surveillance for three days, and soon learned that he flew at the same time each evening. He was daring, strong, and powerful, and the longer she observed him, the harder it was to push forward with the job. There was just something about him that drew her, almost like a beacon. As he disappeared once again from view, Treya turned away. She’d been enjoying this way too much, it was time to get to work. Now was her chance to scout out his lair.

She approached the entrance, mumbled the spell she needed, and then drew on just enough of her dragon energy to pass through the ward without setting it off.

But once inside, she pulled up short.

She didn’t know what she expected, but this was definitely not it.

The place was clean and tidy, and held a simple elegance. She’d have thought that with his gold, Ash would be living like a king.

The spacious living, kitchen, and dining area appeared spotless, the appliances sparkling. A deep, rectangular hole had been cut from the rock and inset with glass, allowing an amazing view of the valley beyond. Off to the side of the window was an easel with a blank canvas. Beside it was a table with various paints and brushes.

Treya gazed back out the window, wondering where Ash had gone. The sheer loneliness of the place settled like a weight upon her shoulders.

Treya shook off the feeling and with no time to waste, hurried down a massively wide hallway past a large bathing room, and then three bedrooms that looked like they’d never been slept in. She found the office, also neat and tidy. Another ward prevented her entrance. There was an open door in the far corner just past the desk, and through it, she spotted a shelf loaded with tech.

She studied the ward, memorizing it so she could work on it later at home.

Treya moved on, stunned to discover a massive library. Shelves upon shelves of hardcover tomes covered every wall and table, and stacks of paperback and hardcover books took up much of the floor space. Who would’ve thought such a big bad dragon would be interested in books and art?

A large painting hanging on the far wall caught her attention. Treya moved closer, riveted on the piece. The light in the giant beast’s emerald eyes as it flew toward her, felt like they could see straight into her soul. From behind the shadow of the golden dragon, brilliant yellow rays shot out from a brightly burning sun. Warmth suffused Treya just looking at the scene.

Treya recognized the mountains, peaks, and canyons of Corsica Di’osa, though the colors were bright and brilliant. This had been painted before the planet began to die. She shivered at the eerie familiarity of the dragon, though she’d never seen a pure gold one.

Another large painting hung beside it, but was turned inward facing the wall, as if Ash couldn’t bear to look at it, yet couldn’t throw it away.

Treya pulled it back from the wall enough to see another dragon, this one silver. A large white moon illuminated the world, bathing it in a beautiful glow.

Troubled, Treya continued deeper into the mountain and passed a gymnasium. Workout equipment was set up off to one side.

The hallway sloped downward and ended at a T of two smaller tunnels. Treya turned right and found herself in the master bedroom. A massive, wooden four-poster bed dominated the space. Yet it was the paintings covering the walls that caught her eye.

Bright sunny scenes hung on three of them, each depicting what Corsica Di’osa must’ve once looked like. On the fourth wall was a single large painting. The storm. Dark skies of furious clouds slashed by jagged streaks of lightning. It felt alive, and very much like a punishment.

Treya noted the sky light above the bed. Did Ash lay at night looking up at the ever-present storm? What did he think of, dream of?

Even more disturbed, she went back to the T and took the left tunnel. It went down even further into the mountain, then veered sharply to the left again. She smacked into an invisible wall. Another ward, one she hadn’t seen nor felt.

“Come on!” Treya reprimanded herself. She backed off and concentrated on the magic shield. This one wasn’t as easy as the entrance, and after a few minutes, she knew it was taking too long. Ash would be back any time now.

Treya worked—molding her energy, until sweat began to trickle down her forehead and between her shoulder blades. Her hands grew damp as she felt a power not her own growing near.

Ash was on his way back.

Her heart began to thump, and she was about to teleport out when her dragon rose. Focus.

Treya drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. It came to her, clear as day. She muttered a couple of words drawn from somewhere deep inside, let it merge with her energy, and then was through to the other room.

The ward behind her still stood, undamaged.

Lights tucked in little recesses along each wall flared to life, illuminating the massive cave. Holy crap!

Domorio wasn’t kidding.

Treya walked down the center of the wide cavern, speechless at the gleaming treasure, until sharp stinging power made her heart leap into her throat.

She turned, expecting to find Ash right behind her. There was no one.

Yet heat suffused her, and adrenaline sizzled through her veins as she felt him grow closer.

She zapped away from Corsica Di’osa and back home.

That night she couldn’t stop thinking of Ash, wondering who he really was, why he lived alone.

“Are you doing that job today?” Jacey asked as she strapped on her weapons and applied her mask to her face.

“I am.”

“I don’t think you should go.” Jacey sat down on her bed. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Treya ruffled his hair. “It’ll be fine, and when I’m done, I’m going to see if there are any homes we can buy on Bicily. Maybe a small farm so we can have a dog. What do you think?”

“I guess.”

Treya sat beside her brother. “I know you want a pet, so what’s wrong?”

He shrugged. “Something doesn’t feel right, and I’m afraid. I don’t want to lose you.”

Treya’s heart twisted. “You won’t, I promise. I love you, you do know that, right?”

He nodded.

Treya hugged him tight. “You need to go to Me-annie’s now, okay? I’ll see you when I’m all done.”

Treya teleported back to Ash’s mountain and settled in to wait. A minute later he emerged, shifted, and took to the sky.

Treya resisted the urge to once again watch him, and instead zapped into his lair outside his office. She drew on her energy, spoke the words needed, and walked through the ward. With a grim smile, she hurried over to the other room and quickly realized that it was actually a lab. She scanned the shelves and located the cylinder with the Nanotech she’d been sent to steal. Then she studied everything else. What most of the stuff was, she had no clue. Yet she’d seen some of it before. A deep anger filled her as she zapped to the treasure room.

Treya went to the largest pile and reaching out, laid her hand over part of it. She drew on her energy and concentrated on the cave in Bicily.

Nothing happened.

She tried again.

Still nothing.

Then the lights went out.

Chapter 5

Unsettled

Ash felt it the moment the portal opened three days ago. He waited a bit, but when no one arrived at his door, he exited his lair and immediately sensed her presence. Dragon. Female, and though cloaked, he easily caught her scent. It was incredibly sweet, delectable, and heated his blood.

A long-forgotten need awoke. A hunger, and it was enhanced a hundred-fold when he shifted into his own dragon. Though he had a monthly delivery of supplies, only men ever dared come to his home.

How many years since he’d even set eyes on a female?

Right, since the night his brother betrayed him.

Yet now, this one dared venture into his world, and worse, she called to him. Called to his dragon.

That realization angered him.

He’d learned the hard way not to trust, and really didn’t need or want anyone.

Ash expected her to make herself known. She didn’t, and the longer she remained hidden upon his mountain—the more days that passed, the more his anger grew.

Along with unwanted curiosity.

He thought to confront her, then decided to play her game, see what she was up to. It had to be some nefarious purpose, but what else did he have to occupy himself with these days?

Still, hatred and fury lived inside of him—emotions he couldn’t easily dispel, and they grew stronger at the knowledge that she’d come to his home for reasons not honorable.

His dragon roared, a deep bellow of rage and bitterness.

Power sizzled in his veins.

He dove into the storm and let it carry him away.

Ash knew what he’d find as soon as he arrived home on the third day.

He wasn’t disappointed.

His ward had been breached. It was a very subtle distortion in the magic weave, but she’d made it inside.

Surprised at her tenacity, Ash shifted into his human body and followed her scent through his home. His pulse raced as each room drew him closer to her. He started off angry, but for some reason couldn’t hold the emotion, and instead, found himself eagerly anticipating finally setting eyes upon her.

Then she was gone, leaving only a lingering whiff of sweetness behind.

Disappointment swept Ash. He pushed it away with a snarl.

She came back the next day.

Ash was aware the moment she set foot in his realm, only this time the portal didn’t open.

He shifted into his dragon, and aware of her watching, took to the sky. But he didn’t go far, and a few moments later he landed back outside his lair. His coy dragon-teleporter was a surprise, and today he had one for her. Ash concealed his power and scent, and then entered his home, eager to confront the thief who’d been tormenting him for days now.

He felt the lingering essence of her in his office, and his body tightened in reaction, but the strongest pull was coming from the direction of his vault.

Her sweet yet wild fragrance made his senses dizzy with longing. Ash passed through his ward and into the large cavern, realizing his mistake too late.

He’d been so confident in his strength and abilities, that her attack took him by surprise.

She was fast, a blur as she came at him.

A blade slid into his side, and blood began to soak his shirt.

“Enough,” he roared, lighting all the torches with his mind.

Chapter 6

Attraction

Treya froze, not because he’d commanded it, but rather the sight of him up close left her breathless. With a head of midnight hair, and a hard, yet handsome face, he dominated the room. But that wasn’t it. No, it was the fact that other than his clothing choice, Ash was the spitting image of Domorio.

Muscles bulged from beneath his black T-shirt, and his jeans hugged his hips.

Her mouth watered, and a strange need swept over Treya. She met his gaze, heart in her throat.

Power lit the air and washed over her. As it faded, Treya caught a flash of recognition in his emerald eyes, followed by rage. Her hand went to her face and despite not having a mirror in front of her, she knew he’d magically removed her makeup mask.

“Who are you, Avalonia’s daughter or sister?”

He knew her monster of a mother? The thought left her sick. “I’m Treya,” she said, anger spiking at the mention of the director’s immortal consort.

Ash stared at her a moment longer, then turned and walked out of the cavern.

Treya blinked, suddenly feeling bereft. Then outrage took over.

She fingered the tiny cylinder in her pocket, then tested the spell used to keep her here. It was gone. Ash had left her here with his treasure and a way out.

Why would he do that?

Confused and strangely shaken, Treya gazed all around at the glittering dreams waiting to happen as soon as she deigned to grasp them.

She let out a low growl.

It was all kinds of stupid, but she couldn’t do it, she couldn’t leave.

Treya found Ash in the living area, staring out at the turbulent world beyond. “You know my mother, and you’re the maker of the Nanotech she uses. I assume you’re partly responsible for me and the rest of us then.”

He turned and raked her from head to toe. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Treya moved forward, emotions spiking with fury. She yanked her sleeve up. “Really? You don’t know?”

Ash lifted her arm and looked at her tattoo. TRA237A.

Treya froze at his touch. His fingers were cold, but he was extremely gentle. A slow fire swept through her to sizzle in her veins.

On its heels came a flood of barely contained rage. His. It hit her hard, pounded at her, then as if realizing what he was doing, he tamped it down.

Shocked, Treya didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she met his eyes.

Ash dropped her arm and moved away.

Treya drew in a deep breath, wondering at the brief flare of fire—hunger she’d glimpsed in his emerald depths before they blanked once again.

Her stomach rumbled loudly, breaking the silence.

Treya covered her embarrassment with anger. “You haven’t answered my question.”

Ash went over to the kitchen and pulled some food out of the cooler unit.

Treya followed, growing annoyed at his silence. “What are you doing?”

Ash quickly piled meat and cheese on a slice of bread, then added another slice of bread on the top.

“Making you a sandwich.” He slid the plate across the counter to her.

Treya stared. “What, why would you do such a thing?” Sure, she’d missed a meal, but she’d broken into his home. Her stomach rumbled again, and she wanted to curse at the timing. “I saw your lab, all the tech. I recognize the dragon and sun emblem from the compound where I was created.” She couldn’t keep the resentment from her voice.

Ash’s brows pinched together as he turned and put the food away.

Treya picked up the sandwich and bit into it, then stifled a groan. She was almost finished when Ash turned back around.

She tried to read him, but it was impossible. Then she noticed the blood on his shirt. Crap! “Sorry, I—” What could she say, sorry she attacked him in his own home? It wasn’t like they were friends or anything, and she was trying to steal from him. Still … she couldn’t help but feel bad.

“It’s fine. I heal fast.”

Treya set the last bit of sandwich down, no longer hungry. She pulled the tiny cylinder from her pocket. “What does this do, and why would your brother want me to steal it?”

“What?” Ash froze.

Treya went over to him and held the vial up. “Well?”

Ash took it, and though his face was a granite mask, his hand shook.

Treya could feel the emotions churning through him. Anger, followed by confusion, and finally a deep sadness.

She had the crazy urge to touch him, to hold him, and assure him that everything was going to be all right. She gave herself a mental slap down. What was wrong with her?

First, he was a stranger, a big, extremely powerful dragon shifter. Second, he was her target, her payday. Except she’d blown that possibility far outside the fifty-two realms. Third, again, what in all the skanky demon’s breath was happening to her? “That’s Nano tech, correct?”

“It is.”

“What does it do?” She tried to hide her reaction to him, but as Ash’s emerald gaze locked on hers, Treya’s blood heated once more and her knees went weak.

“It does whatever is needed. Help a child to walk, shift forms, breathe.”

“And it works?” She shook her head. “I mean, it’s proven?”

“Yes,” he said, and handed it back.

Treya swore. “Did the director and Ava have access to this the whole time?”

“The only tech of mine they have access too is what Ava stole from me when she …” Ash’s jaw clenched.

Treya blinked and slid the cylinder into her pocket. “Wait, what?”

Ash went to move past her, but Treya grabbed his arm. “What did she do to you?”

Ash froze.

“Please. I need to know.” Treya didn’t let go, though it was growing hard to not touch more of him.

Chapter 7

Understanding

Her touch sent wildfire whipping through Ash’s veins. “It was a hundred years ago, and you ask too many questions.”

“I know, you’re not the first one to say that.”

Since the first moment he’d felt Treya’s presence, hunger had thrummed an all-consuming fire through Ash. Now, with her holding his arm, her warmth seeping into him, it rose up, demanding he taste her, claim her.

As if aware of his reaction, Treya let go. “Sorry, I …” She frowned. “Why are you so cold? Can’t you regulate your body temp?”

Before Ash could answer, she placed both hands flat on his chest. Her large blue eyes widened, then she looked up at him. “You’re freezing!”

No. He was on fire. Already his temperature had risen a few degrees. His dragon waited as Ash drew in her scent. He bit back his moan. Then unable to help himself, pulled her close and lowered his lips to hers.

Treya moaned and clutched him tighter, then one hand wrapped around the back of his neck as she rose on tiptoes.

She tasted better than he could have ever imagined. A pure white energy entered his soul, leaving him with a hunger, a deep craving for more.

Treya drew back, fingers on her lips and a stunned look in her brilliant blue eyes. Then she looked up and gasped. “Your hair, it’s streaked with gold. What’s happening to you? And what’s happening to me? I’m drawn to you, I feel as if I know you, as if I’ve always known you. How’s that possible?”

His heart skipped a beat as understanding slowly dawned.

She was his soul mate.

Fear flooded his system, stealing away the first slice of happiness he’d experienced in ages.

“I can see in your eyes that you know the answer, why won’t you tell me?” she asked when he remained silent.

Outside the storm had gone quiet.

“You should go before you get hurt,” he said, and moved to put some distance between them.

Treya started to say something, then closed her mouth.

Ash left her there and went to his room, leaving her the hardest thing he’d ever done. He’d already lost—destroyed so much, he couldn’t bear to destroy her as well.

Chapter 8

Trouble

Treya started to ask why Ash thought that when a voice filled her mind, calling for her.

Jacey.

It was very faint, but the fear she sensed spurred her to action. As much as she wanted to go confront Ash, she had to find out what was going on with her brother. Where are you?

Treya I’m scared.

Where are you, Jacey?

There was no answer. Dread churned in her gut as she zapped home, hoping to see her brother waiting at Me-annie’s place.

Instead, she found her neighbor standing at the door looking shaken and frantic. A smear of blood covered her cheek from a split lip, and her arm was bruised. Tears filled her eyes at the sight of Treya.

“Are you all right? What happened? Where’s my brother?” Treya helped her back inside her home.

“I’m fine. Just shaken, and I don’t know. Some men showed up and took him.” She shuddered as Treya lowered her into a chair. “I’m so sorry dear, I … tried to stop them.”

Fear combined with rage swept Treya. “I have to go find him. Will you be okay here alone?”

“Yes, of course. My brother is on his way over. Go. Bring that sweet boy home.”

“I will,” Treya vowed. If it was the last thing she did.

Jacey? Again, there was no answer. She zapped to Domorio’s office. It was empty, though she could sense that Ash’s brother had just been there, his essence was still very strong. She gazed through the window at the club down below. It was slowly filling up for the night, but there was no sign of Domorio anywhere.

Treya took a chance and zapped to the alley behind the club. A large, oval hover-car was just pulling away.

It stopped as she appeared in front of it, the driver staring at her wide-eyed.

Treya waited.

The back door opened, and Ash’s brother emerged. “I see you made it back.”

Treya snorted at his surprise, as if he knew she’d be captured by Ash. “Yeah, your brother let me go, now tell me where Jacey is.” She gripped the handle of one of her blades.

“No idea,” Domorio said, only a slight flicker in his eyes at mention of Ash.

Treya frowned, he wasn’t acting like someone who’d kidnapped a child to assure he got what he wanted. “You haven’t even asked about the tech you wanted. Why?”

Domorio shrugged. “Do you have it?”

“I do.” She held it up.

“Good. Keep it.”

Treya gaped at him, stunned. “What? I don’t understand, you had me steal it, now you don’t want it?” She shook her head. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter, just tell me where my brother is.”

“I do not know.”

“You say that, but the last time I was here you threatened him.”

Domorio sighed. “I don’t have your brother, though I wouldn’t be surprised if my missing guard is involved with his disappearance.”

His guard? “You’ve been playing games with me, why should I believe you?”

Domorio didn’t answer, though Treya could have sworn she saw a flicker of guilt in his eyes. But it was gone so quick, she wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the street lamps or not.

“You said one guard, but you had two in your office,” she said.

“A body, one of my guards, was pulled from the Toongeeh river tonight.” Anger flashed in his eyes as he handed her a metal tab with a local crotchrider club’s insignia. “I have a feeling you might find what you’re looking for here.”

Treya turned it over in her hands. It looked to have been pulled off one of the motorized crotch machines they rode. “This place is hyena-pack run.”

“It is.” With that, Domorio got in his hover-car and drove away.

Treya thought of the nasty male who’d accosted her the other night. Jacey? She called again, surprised when he responded.

Treya?

I’m coming for you. What can you tell me of the ones holding you? she asked.

Not much, they knocked me out, and I feel fuzzy now.

Keep talking to me, she said, hating how his voice wavered. But it still enabled her to track his mental signature across town.

Right to the hyena’s crotchrider club.

She studied the single-story building, the exits, and the thirteen pack members outside. Some were working on their single rider hover machines, while others just milled about, drinking and chatting.

As Treya walked through the gate and up to the front door, a male hyena called to someone inside the building. A moment later, six pack members emerged, their alpha in the lead.

He grinned at the sight of her. “I knew you’d come.”

“Where’s my brother?”

“He’s … well-guarded. You bring me what I want, and you can have him back,” the alpha said.

“What exactly is it you want?” Treya asked, though she had a pretty good idea.

“Ash’s gold. All of it.”

“You hurt a hair on my brother’s head and you get nothing.”

The hyena grinned. “Like I said, you bring me what I want, you have nothing to worry about.”

Treya turned and walked away, only teleporting when she was out of sight.

With a mix of disturbing emotions over the idea of confronting Ash again, Treya zapped to the living area of his home. He wasn’t there. A quick glance outside made her frown. The weather was almost calm. She sifted through all the tales she’d ever heard of Corsica Di’osa and its people. Then she thought about the paintings in the library, and suddenly another puzzle piece slid into place. “Ash?”

She started down the hall, and sensing him in the master bedroom, entered, taken in once again by the stunning art adorning the walls. “Ash? I know I have no right to ask this of you, but I really need your help.” She turned and found him lying pale and shivering on his bed. “Ash?”

“You shouldn’t be here.” Blood darkened his clothed chest.

“No!” Treya hurried over and gently peeled back his shirt, her heart frantic. He was a powerful dragon, yet his wound hadn’t healed at all. “You lied to me. Tell me how to help.”

“I leave everything I have to you.”

“What?” Treya shook her head. “No! I don’t accept.”

“Treya …” Ash stared at her as if imprinting her on his mind. “There’s a lot of gold in the vault. Do something good with it.”

“Stop it.” Treya bit her lower lip. This couldn’t be happening. “I don’t want your treasure, though I might need to borrow it, but I promise I’ll bring it back.”

“You can have it.”

“I told you no.” She studied the handsome, sexy male before her, sensing he’d been hurt deeply. “Ash isn’t your real name is it?”

“It’s who I am now.”

“Why aren’t you healing?” She hated that she’d been the one to hurt him. Treya moved a strand of hair out of his face. “You’re the Sunstryker, aren’t you?”

He closed his eyes on a sigh. “Used to be, no longer. Now I’m Ashes, all that’s left.”

“I asked earlier, but you didn’t answer. What am I to you? Why do I feel like I know you, have always known you?”

“Soul mate.”

Treya was afraid of that, but there was no denying what she felt toward this male. And the idea of him dying twisted her insides and made her want to weep, which was not like her at all. “If what you’re saying is true, how can I help you?”

He opened his eyes, and the sadness in their depths staggered her. “I destroy everything, you’re not safe with me.”

“I can protect myself, but I need you to fight now.” Treya knew little of soul mates and dragonkind. But she did remember that all dragonkind males lose their souls after so long without a soul mate—their other half.

“I’m old, tired, and don’t want to hurt you. You’re so pure, so beautiful inside and out.”

Treya snorted. “I’m neither of those. You have no idea the things I’ve done.”

“I feel what’s inside you, it warmed me. Never thought I’d be warm again. Thank you for that,” he responded.

“You can’t say this to me, you can’t tell me I’m your soul mate then just die,” she snapped.

“Sweet Treya. I have too much hatred and nothing left in me to give you.”

Treya knew there was something between him and his brother, and had a sinking feeling her mother, the hateful witch, had broken his heart as well. “I’m sorry Ava hurt you, and I know I’m not her, so I don’t expect your love or anything, but you can’t die on me.”

“I mistakenly believed I was in love with her, but after meeting you, I know now that it was a lie,” he said. “My brother tried to tell me, but I didn’t believe him.”

“We can deal with all that later, just tell me how to fix this now. I didn’t mean to injure you. Please, Ash, please fight for us. I want you to claim me.” She dropped all shields and opened her mind, so he could see her desire, her need for him.

“Are you sure? If I do this, there’s no turning back.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she said.

With a ragged groan, Ash tangled his hand in her hair and pulled her mouth to his in a sweet, gentle kiss that was filled with so much passion it stunned her.

A burst of power ignited inside Treya and quickly consumed her.

Then a small glow illuminated Ash from the inside. “Do you accept me as your soul mate?”

Treya met his lips again, soaking in the glow. She ran her fingers through his hair. More of it had turned gold. The light inside him grew brighter, suffusing them both. It felt good, right, pure.

When Treya let him go, he had a dazed, yet hungry look in his emerald eyes. She smiled, feeling like she’d finally found her home. “I accept you as my soul mate, Sunstryker.”

Chapter 9

Life

As they stood outside, Treya explained about her brother and the hyenas. The clouds were gone, and the rain had stopped along with the lightning and thunder. Treya gazed around and it hit her. “You’ve been locked to this world, haven’t you?”

“Yes. Once the light in me disappeared, the sun began to die. The world turned dark, angry. I’ve been unable to leave.”

“And now that the light inside of you is back?” she asked.

He grinned. “Now everything changes. Thanks to you, my sweet, wild mate of fire.” The grin disappeared, and he cupped her face, his fingers gentle as he caressed her cheek. “I never thought I’d ever find my soul mate. I’d resigned myself to it and would have willingly given up life.”

“Except as dragonkind you can’t die.”

“Not unless someone deals me a killing blow.”

Like she had. “I’m so sorry. When I attacked you, I knew you were dragonkind. I only wanted to buy enough time to get away. I never thought I could end your life.”

“Had it been anyone else, I would’ve healed, but you being the other half of my soul changed that,” he answered.

“Good thing I saved you then.” Treya shuddered at the close call.

“Yes, good thing.” He kissed her, then moved away, and shifted into a giant golden dragon.

The most beautiful creature she’d ever seen.

I’ll be right back, he said telepathically, then took off with a powerful thrust of his wings and rose into the air. As he flew higher and higher, he grew smaller in her sight, then became a brightly glowing spec of white light.

Tears lit Treya’s eyes as he left the atmosphere and kept going with a speed she couldn’t imagine. He entered the dying sun, and she held her breath as a blast of power exploded, rocking the very ground she stood upon. All around, the universe lit up in a bright rainbow of color.

It shattered in every direction and rained down over the planet in a cascade of glittering, sparkling energy, bringing light and heat back—a massive blinding glow that swept around and encompassed Corsica Di’osa, healing and suffusing it once again with life.

Then he was back.

“Sunstryker,” she said breathless. This glorious being was her mate.

“Just call me Stryker.”

Treya smiled.

“Let’s go get your brother,” he said.

Together, they returned to the hyena’s crotchrider club, but only Treya walked up to the door.

“I don’t see the gold,” the alpha said.

“Did you really think I’d bring it here? I want to see my brother first.” Though no other could see or feel him, Treya was aware of her Stryker inching closer to the evil male.

The alpha nodded at one of his men. “Get the kid.” A moment later, the guy came out with Jacey in front of him, a knife to her brother’s throat.

Jacey’s eyes lit up at the sight of her. You came.

Told you I would, Treya said.

“Now, where’s my treasure?” the alpha asked.

“In a cave on Bicily.”

The alpha scowled. “You tried to hide it, but I know you’re a teleport. Bring it here to me, now.”

Treya raised an eyebrow. “Where, out here? Where everyone can see it? Or maybe you want me to dump it in the street, since there really isn’t enough space here.”

Before he could reply, Stryker took out the man holding Jacey.

Treya leaped at the alpha, knives drawn.

The battle was over in seconds.

The alpha was dead, and the bodies of his pack were scattered on the ground, some silent, some moaning. When the ones still alive attempted to gain their feet, Stryker held them immobile with his power.

Treya slid her arm around Jacey, then addressed the remaining hyena pack. “Those of you still breathing, I will leave that way, but if any of you ever come after me or mine again, you won’t find yourself so lucky. Do I make myself clear? Will I regret this decision to let you live?”

Stryker released his hold.

The men climbed to their feet, shaking their heads in answer while keeping their distance.

“Good. See that you don’t forget.” Treya smiled as Stryker joined her and Jacey.

She pulled him close as well and then, with the two people she loved more than anything in all the realms, zapped them to Stryker’s home.

“Where are we?” Jacey asked, gazing around.

“We’re at Stryker’s home,” Treya answered.

“No,” Stryker corrected. “We are at our home.”

“Our home?” Jacey asked, eyes wide with awe as he gazed at them.

Treya smiled and fingered the tech in her pocket, and knew that Stryker’s brother had set her up. Somehow Dom had known she was meant for his brother, and now Jacey would have the chance to finally shift into his dragon. “Yes, our home.”

About Sheri-Lynn Marean

When Sheri-Lynn wasn't bringing home stray animals, she’d pretend to race horses. As a teenager, that dream became reality. At the same time her love for reading kicked in. Sheri-Lynn discovered her niche in the vivid and exciting paranormal romance and fantasy worlds eventually creating her own stories. She writes about immortals who change into dragons, and the Dracones were born.

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Fated Match by Miranda Lynn

Chapter 1

“Six months, Scarlett. That’s how long I have been working to clear my name,” Sandy Harrington said.

“I know, Sandy, but this is the final interview. After this, you’ll be free, free of the council and all its babysitters. Then you can move forward with joining the coven.”

Sandy paced the floor of her father’s office. After his murder and the subsequent destruction of his local warlock circle then a horde of interrogations, the warlock council had voted Sandy would inherit it all—except for her father’s files, spell books, and anything else tied to his practice.

Selena was the granddaughter of Neevie, who had passed on the leadership of the coven in order to watch over all those she felt needed her guidance in Freedom. Being one of the few villages where paranormals and humans lived together in peace put them high on the list for those of both races who wanted nothing but to exterminate the other.

Not the friendliest of witches, Selena had a haughty attitude and seemed to revere herself better than others in the coven. Sandy was placed on probation and reported to Selena, the closest coven priestess to the small town of Freedom.

Sandy had never been taught about her powers or even told she had any—Selena sent Scarlett, one of the lower-level trainees, to babysit her until the investigation was finished. Her plan backfired.

Sandy and Scarlett became fast friends. She’d helped Sandy remove any sign indicating her horrible father had graced the floors of the house. The office had gone from dark, drab, and imposing, to light and airy with a hint of female dominance. Plush multi-hued gray rugs covered the wall-to-wall hardwood floors. The built-in bookcases had been sanded down and repainted with a muted silver and then glazed with a dark amber, making them have an aged but homey feel. The dark-brown leather furniture that used to dot the office had been replaced with more modern seating, accented with pillows and throws with pops of yellow and red.

Sandy replaced the old oak desk with one made of metal and glass. A new computer graced the desktop, and sheers replaced the old velvet drapes framing the window behind it, letting in every moment of sun and moonlight any witch could want. She renovated all the rooms her father decorated. What used to be a formidable and scary dwelling, transformed into an open and welcoming home.

“You’re right, Scarlett, but I am tired of having to prove myself. I am nothing like my father. Hell, I didn’t even mourn his death. Didn’t shed a tear. Yet the warlock council keeps sending people every month to ask me the same damn questions over and over. Can’t they just leave me alone and let me live my life already?” Sandy gracefully sank into the loveseat across from Scarlett.

“Hopefully, that’s what this last interview will do.” Scarlett kept her voice melodic, to soothe Sandy as she spoke. “The council said if you pass this interview, you will be released to follow your studies and join Selena’s coven. You’ll finally be able to discover what your true purpose is as a witch.”

“I don’t know which is worse, dealing with all these stuffy warlocks as they interview me or the thought of having to take orders from Selena. She has made it blatantly obvious she feels I am beneath her and not worthy of her coven’s help.”

Scarlett paused before replying, choosing her words carefully. She had learned a lot about Sandy over the past six months. The main one was Sandy had a lot of power hidden within her, possibly more than their feared coven leader. Selena wouldn’t be happy about that development, but there was nothing Scarlett could do about it. “She fears you in a way,” Scarlett said and then quickly hastened to explain. “You have a reputation that precedes you, one of a spoiled rich bitch who has had everything handed to her.” Scarlett raised her hands to stop Sandy’s reply. “I know you have changed, but many others don’t. It’s something you are going to have to prove, through practice and devotion to both the coven and coven leader.”

Scarlett decided to keep the fact of Sandy’s heritage and potential power out of the equation for now. Even though she knew Sandy well, power could change people drastically. Sandy’s father was a prime example. How Sandy dealt with the power of a pureblood witch would determine her place in or out of the coven.

Sandy hissed and rubbed the back of her right shoulder. “Dammit, that hurts. Did your birthmark change as you got older?”

“Change how?” Scarlett leaned forward, and looked at Sandy’s shoulder.

“Well, it began to itch and burn a few days ago, and this morning it glowed bright red for a minute before settling down. Now it just has a constant tingle to it. It’s hard to describe, and there seems to be something else around it—a circle—but it’s like my skin’s branded, raised and bumpy.” Sandy angled sideways and moved the shoulder of her silk blouse so Scarlett could see.

Scarlett’s breath hitched. She reached out to touch the symbol just as a knock sounded at the door. Sandy quickly covered the birthmark and stood, smoothing the cream skirt half of her Dior suit of the day.

“Enter.” Sandy’s voice had taken on the tone of the mistress of the house, her friendly tone gone, her face a mask of a cool and confident woman.

“Excuse me, Ms. Harrington, your ten o’clock is waiting for you in the study downstairs.”

“Thank you, Jeremy.” She smiled, a bit of the ice queen melting as she addressed him. “And again, thank you for staying with me.”

Jeremy bowed his head. “You are welcome, Ms. Harrington, but there is no need to thank me. Everyone deserves to be surrounded by people who believe in them.” A quick smile graced his full lips before he walked out.

Sandy hissed again and grabbed at her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Scarlett asked. She stood and reached out to move the silk again so she could look at the mark that flared bright red.

“I have no choice but to be all right. It will be fine.” Her words were an obvious lie to the other witch.

“I’ll wait here for you.” Scarlett sat again, smoothing her hands down her jeans and picking up the newest romance novel Sandy had ordered for her.

Sandy nodded while slipping on her classic black suit jacket, making the red soles of her four-inch heels more striking. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“No rush. Be honest and try to curb your annoyance as much as you can.” Scarlett’s smoky laugh followed.

“I’ll try.” Sandy smiled and closed the office door.

Scarlett waited a few heartbeats before pulling her cell phone out. She pressed speed dial three and waited for the connection.

“Hello, Scarlett, what a wonderful surprise,” an old, wizened voice greeted with joy.

“Ms. Neevie, we have a problem,” Scarlett replied, forgoing all pleasantries.

“Oh, dear. I feared this would happen. I had so hoped my vision was wrong.” Neevie’s concern flowed through the earpiece. “Is she aware?”

“That her fated match is in the same house? No. Neevie, she doesn’t even know about fated matches yet. We haven’t gotten past controlling her anger, so she didn’t set the house ablaze.”

“Who did the council send?” The sound of a swish of skirts indicated Neevie was moving, probably toward her cards.

“They didn’t announce his name when they came up.”

“You must find out, child. My vision wasn’t clear enough to see his face. Let’s just hope it’s not a Blackwood.”

Scarlett’s interest was piqued. “Why not?”

“Because, dear, the Harringtons and Blackwoods have been sworn enemies since the first Blackwood warlock was passed over for head council. The seat was given to the much younger Harrington. The Blackwoods swore then they would destroy the Harringtons no matter how long it took.”

Neevie took a breath. The rasp of cards being shuffled and dealt echoed in the silence on the line. “What happens if it is a Blackwood?” Scarlett whispered. She didn’t want to disturb Neevie’s concentration.

“Either the resurrection of peace between the covens and the council or pure destruction of all magic,” Neevie replied. “The cards are inconclusive, but Scarlett, you need to do all you can to make it a smooth courting if it is the Blackwood boy. Sandy’s temper needs to be kept reined in.” She sighed. “Our only hope is the fact Sandy is oblivious to the feud. Her father had never believed a woman would inherit the power that flowed through his body. His ignorance may be our saving grace.”

A large bang reverberated through the house, shaking books on the shelves and rattling the glass in the windows.

“Or not. Ms. Neevie, I need to go.” Scarlett sighed as she hung up the phone. “Please don’t let anything be aflame.”

Chapter 2

Sandy paused outside the heavy wooden double doors to her father’s downstairs study. The room had always been off-limits to her. Even with the new décor and open windows, she rarely entered it. It felt cold and unwelcoming as if her father’s spirit still hung in the air. She had plans to replace the heavy doors with paneled French doors, hoping they would help lessen the feeling. Sandy straightened her shoulders, shook her hands, and grasped the doorknob with purpose.

As soon as she took a step across the threshold, the pain in her shoulder flared, buckling her knees. She would have been a puddle on the floor if she hadn’t kept her grip on the door. The pain quickly ebbed into a zing of molten desire that traveled down her body and pooled in her core. She took deep breaths through her nose to help keep her composure.

Before her, looking out the front windows, stood a man who made the enormous room shrink before her eyes. Wide shoulders filled out the suit jacket covering them, his figure narrowing to trim hips covered by slacks that hinted at muscular thighs. His dark hair curled at the collar of his sapphire-blue dress shirt.

A need to move closer pulsed within her soul, but she held off. This man was not a friend. He was from the council, and she reminded her overheated body of it. He turned just as she composed herself once again.

His emerald eyes met hers. His gaze glided down her body and back to her eyes again.

She swallowed hard.

He quirked his brow. With a half-smirk, he said, “You must be Miss. Harrington. It’s good to finally meet you.”

His voice was deep and touched a part of her soul so deep, she thought it would lodge there and take root. She shook with the need to touch him, and tantalizing visions filled her brain. Damn, girl, get a grip.

With a slight upturned chin, she walked to the desk on the opposite side of the room, needing to put something of substance between them. She gestured to the chair in front of it. “Yes, and you must be from the council. Please have a seat and tell me why they deem it necessary to send a sixth person to interview me.” She unbuttoned her suit jacket and sat, crossing her legs and clasping her shaking hands in her lap, doing her best to hide her unseemly reaction to this warlock.

He slowly walked across the floor to take the seat she offered. The closer he got, the harder it became to control the magic she felt in her veins. It was rushing to find a way to meet his power, a power she could feel traveling throughout the room and then focusing on her. The windows behind her rattled, and his eyes shot to the glass and then narrowed back on her. “Your powers are still a bit volatile, aren’t they?”

“They are in control. Now please, can we get on with this interview?” Her knuckles were white from the force she used to keep her hands calm. Her body hummed, and she feared she’d lose control over her magic for the first time in three months.

“Yes, of course. Let me formally introduce myself. My name is Keith Blackwood, and I’m the head warlock in charge of the council’s investigative division.”

Her heartbeat strummed, her fingernails bit into the palms of her hands. She tamped down the urge to flee from the room. “Head warlock? Why did they send you? I have followed the rules, complied with all requests, and had expected this to be a wrap-up meeting. Why would they send the warlock in charge to do that?”

“They didn’t. I volunteered to come. There are a few things my teams reported I would like cleared up face-to-face.” He leaned forward. “I will warn you, I can detect a lie a mile away.” His eyes bored into hers. “It’s one of my specialties, Miss Harrington.”

His words pissed her off. He alluded she was a liar, and he was there to prove it. Her magic flared again in her anger, causing static to charge the air, and the sheers behind her moved in an invisible breeze. The window panes rattled consistently.

“Miss Harrington, please calm yourself,” Keith stated, trying to placate her. “If you have truly told the truth, this won’t take long and I’ll be gone.”

Her heart sped at the thought of this man leaving her, the feeling confusing her even more. She had never responded to any man this way. She was curious what made him different? The mark on her shoulder throbbed with pain and ecstasy distracting her focus. Why did she want to hop over the desk and jump his bones?

Keith Blackwood was in a pickle to say the least. He had taken a hiatus from the search for his fated match to do the council a favor, only to discover the one soul he searched for was the same woman he was sent to investigate. He should recuse himself to the council, due to the conflict of interest.

Miss Sandra Harrington didn’t have a clue about fated matches, and he would find great joy in showing her exactly what the term “fated match” meant. But first, he had to prove her innocence.

He hoped his instincts were right, and it wasn’t just his soul’s need to merge with hers that clouded his judgment. He leaned back and let his magic flow, teasing hers while he adjusted himself into a more comfortable position. His body’s reaction to hers made it very uncomfortable to sit there, but standing was out of the question.

He watched her reaction as she sat behind the desk with the aura of a queen. The elegant rich mahogany desk seemed fitting of the woman behind it. Her shelves appeared to be full of an eclectic array of books, from the history of Celtic deities to Greek mythology and Egyptian lore, to the latest and most scandalous romance novels—a testament to the layers of Miss Sandra Harrington.

For the first time in his life, he wished he wasn’t at the council’s beck and call. He gathered his magic and gave Sandra a few moments to collect herself, but not too long. Having her on edge and confused with the new feeling raging through brought a new twist to his tactics. He only hoped she would forgive him afterward.

“Miss Harrington, you have been clear in the fact you knew nothing about your father’s dealings. Seems hard for the council to accept, considering the amount of magic you have within you,” Keith said. “Can you explain to me how your father hid his nefarious plans from you for so long?”

His question pissed Sandy off, again. Every single warlock the council had sent asked the same damned question. “As I have explained five times, I just discovered the magic residing within me. As you may have discovered in my files, I am a half breed. My father was a warlock, but my mother was human. I was told my entire life, after every test my father administered, that I had no magic. It’s why my father basically tossed me aside for the nannies to raise. He threw money at me to keep me out of his hair. I took it and ran.” She paused. “I am not proud of how I acted growing up, and if an apology would fix things, I would gladly give one, but it is a meager, hollow cop-out, my friend Natalie would say.” A smile played at her lips at the mention of her friend.

“Natalie, the one that mated to Wyatt? The dragon shifter that murdered your father?”

“Yes, but I don’t hold it against her. What they did set me free. I should miss the old bastard, but I don’t. With him gone, I am finally free, and with the knowledge of what he was and who he worked with, I am glad they killed him and his circle.”

“So one question still remains unanswered. You have learned what dragon fire can do to a warlock circle, correct?”

“Of course, Scarlett explained that to me during the first week,” Sandy released an exasperated breath.

Keeping her off balance must remain his goal.

“Then…” he paused, leaning forward, “why are you still here?”

All members in a warlock circle pledged themselves to the leader, tying their magic and lives together. Similar to a spider web. Dragon fire reaching the circle marks would annihilate them all.

Sandy hid her mark from everyone, including her best friend Natalie, scared of the implications to the paranormal world. Her mother’s mark, similar to Sandy’s, only meant the possibility of producing magical children. If only she’d paid more attention to the long and confusing explanation, she wouldn’t allow Keith’s accusatory tone to doubt what she’d relayed to the other investigators.

“I assumed it was because I hadn’t pledged myself to his circle.” Sandy hoped that would satisfy him.

“Yes, but, Miss Harrington, since you are of his blood, the dragon fire should have destroyed you too. Did anyone explain that to you? Blood magic is the only way that you could’ve saved yourself, and that, my dear, is against council laws punishable by death.”

His heart twisted as the words spilled from his mouth. It went against all the rules of fated matches to threaten your soul mate. The pain was physical, and nausea rolled in his stomach as he awaited her response. It didn’t take long.

Fire flamed in her eyes seconds before it rocked the study and then the whole house. He watched awestruck by the glimpse of her power. Her butler rushed in to douse the flames engulfing the drapes behind her.

The blaze threatened the bookcases on either side of the window. Fueled by anger, Sandra’s hair flowed around her in a sea of magic, licking and whipping his own. He tasted it along with her hurt and fear.

“Are you saying I somehow planned all of what happened just so I could take over where he left off?” She stood as her voice rose in power with each sentence she spoke. “I manipulated my best friend, devised her destiny as a dragon’s mate so her mate would then come in and kill my father and then release his dragon to kill his council? You think I protected myself with a spell brought to life with blood magic? I did all this while still convincing everyone, including my father, that I had no magic whatsoever?” Her breaths came in big gasps and her magic swirled around the room, preventing Keith from doing anything but blink and mutter a response.

“Do I believe that? No, Sandra, I don’t, but I had to ask.”

She bristled and opened her mouth as if to reply and promptly closed it. A confused look crossed her face, and her eyes became pools of curiosity tinged with lust. Keith wanted to lose himself in her eyes, to tumble into them and swim in all that was Sandra. He had to place his need aside and continue with the matter at hand.

“Did you really think my reports were false?” Jeremy’s statement filtered through the magic haze around Sandra.

“Your reports?” Her menacing and magical gaze swiveled toward Jeremy, in effect releasing the hold she had on Keith.

Jeremy dropped his gaze. “Let me explain, Sandy, please.”

“Explain what? I find out in front of a warlock council member that the one employee I thought I could trust, the one person from my father’s household I felt supported me, sent reports to the very council I am trying to convince to lift my restrictions. The one person I trusted with my best friend is not someone I can trust again.” Sandra’s magic receded as she spoke. He watched her face that had been twisted with anger change. Her pursed lips unclenched, her pinched eyebrows relaxed, and the fire in her eyes faded.

“Miss Harrington, you may want to listen to what Jeremy has to say. I can verify his reports were not against you but more about protecting you.” Keith relaxed his face, his eyes filled with compassion. He knew then the warlock council had nothing to fear from the woman in front of him, except she was, in fact, his fated match.

To convince her in the short time he had with her was his next challenge. She finally sank back into her chair, exhaustion creeping into her face. Keith knew the look and feeling well. Having immense magic flow through her body, she would need a nap soon and a good meal to replenish herself. He would make sure of it, right after Jeremy explained himself and his position within her home.

“Fine, Jeremy, explain.” She waved her hand, like a queen giving her subject permission to speak but speak quickly.

Chapter 3

Keith watched as Sandra’s butler, Jeremy, made sure the drapes and walls were flame-free before pulling up one of the wing-back chairs from the window next to her desk. Jeremy took a deep breath and dove into his story. “Sandra, I was assigned by the warlock council to this household before you were born.” Her eyes darted toward him, taking in his appearance. Warlocks age much slower than humans. Sandy probably thought him too young to have worked in her father’s house before she was born. He could pass as a thirty-year-old, and she didn’t appear much older than her early twenties.

“I was a boy at the time, sent to train with your father by the council. He wasn’t always the evil man you remember. He took me in and taught me, then when I became old enough to drive, he made me his chauffeur.” Jeremy paused. “That’s the same time the council brought me in and assigned me to report back to them on his dealings. They had suspicions he was being wooed by the darker side of magic. At the same time, your mother became pregnant with you. Your father had hoped for a boy, a boy with full magic like himself, and when you were born, something changed in him.” Jeremy sat forward and reached out for her but quickly pulled his hand back. “Sandy, the council recalled me and decided to reassign me, but I convinced them I was still needed here. You and your mother needed me more than any assignment the council could give. I knew if I left, both of your lives would be in danger. That’s the day I became the spy and your protector.”

“So what reports have you sent?” Sandra asked, suspicion filling her voice. “If you say you were our protector, how so?”

“I gave the council just enough information on your father to warrant keeping me here.” He scooted to the edge of his seat. “Sandy, please, you have to believe me. I took care of your mother and you as well.”

She scoffed. “How?”

Keith cleared his throat and stood. “I think I can answer that for you, Sandra.”

“You have said your mother was human. You are a half breed, as they say.” Keith paused and captured her gaze with his, making sure she was listening to him and not the need of her soul to connect with his.

“Yes.” Her sharp reply brought a smirk to his lips.

“Your father lied to you.” He let the statement float in the air around them as the wheels in her head began to spin.

“No, he didn’t. My mother told me herself. She had no magic.” Sandra’s head tilted to the side, her eyebrows scrunching in confusion.

She pushed away from the desk and kicked off her heels. Her lithe body floated more than paced back and forth across the room.

He watched her strategically place steps, each one finding the softest part of the carpet she was on. Her toes scrunched with each step, disappearing into the plush carpet. He wondered if she even knew she did. It was a small tell, but it told him she likely grew up with the finer things in life but never really enjoyed them. He would change that.

“That’s what she told you and everyone else. In the council records though, we found documentation of when her parents bound her powers. Your mother was a pureblood too, and being one of very few females left, her parents decided to protect her the only way they knew how.” Keith moved to intercept Sandra. He needed her full attention for this. He placed his body to block her path back to their side of the room. Sandra seemed so distracted, she didn’t see him or even feel his magic until she ran straight into him.

Keith grasped her upper arms to keep her from falling. Skin-to-skin contact made them both sharply inhale, their magics touching intimately for the first time. He gave into his need and raised a palm to her cheek, though resisted leaning down and taking her lips as he so desperately wanted. “Sandra, you are pureblood. Your mother did the same thing to you when you were born. Your magic, your powers, were bound.”

“But why, why would she?” Tears filled her eyes.

“To save you from your father and any other warlock who felt they deserved to be matched to a pureblood female.” His voice had taken on a soft, soothing cadence. “There are things in our world—unspeakable things she didn’t want you exposed to. It’s why the council was created in the first place. One of those things is to protect the females within our ranks.”

Sandra’s eyes narrowed, the hurt and confusion gone, replaced with angry indignation. “So, we are something to protect, as if we couldn’t do it on our own.” She pulled out of his hands and crossed her arms, waiting for his answer.

“Tread lightly,” Jeremy cautioned as he sat back with a slight smile on his face.

“Witches are always seen as precious, and we strive to protect you at all cost,” Keith stated.

“Wrong answer,” Sandra and Jeremy said in unison. She cut her eyes to his and smiled. “Jeremy knows the right answer. Why don’t you enlighten our warlock friend here?” She waved her arm in Keith’s direction as she stomped back toward her desk. She stopped and put her heels back on, straightened her jacket, and faced Keith again. Gone was the soft, sensual woman he had held in his hand and facing him was a formidable, pissed witch.

“Miss Sandra has been taking care of herself since she was twelve years old, and I taught her tactical self-defense. I knew she couldn’t wield the magic within her, so I taught her how to defend herself with what she had.”

Keith quickly realized the mistake he made and calmly took the seat across the desk, giving her the upper hand as she towered over him in three-inch Louboutin’s. It wasn’t typical behavior of the warlock, but for his fated match, he would show her rather than tell her she will always be most important. “You don’t understand my meaning, Sandra.” He took in the glorious image she portrayed standing before him. Her suit, strong and professional yet sexy and inviting, hugged her curves, brightened the fire in her eyes, and enhanced the shine of her golden locks.

“Then pray tell, please explain your meaning.” She cocked an eyebrow and a hip, saying his explanation had better be a good one.

He adored the fire within her and knew, with the right guidance, she’d unlock her full power. When their souls finally fulfilled their need to join together, her power most likely would be greater than his own, making her the most powerful witch and painting a target on her back. Sure, she could protect herself, but melding their magic together would make them invincible. Oh, the amazing things they’ll do.

“I have every faith you can protect yourself, but once your powers completely unfurl, you will be seen as a dangerous witch to many, whether you do good with it or not. Unfortunately, the magical community hasn’t progressed like the human species. Many still see witches as the lesser gender, and with your powers, you would be a threat to many. But if you find your fated match, the one person who completes you—body and soul—and you accept him, the threat lessens.” Keith took a deep breath, debating on whether to share what he knew: her match sat right in front of her.

“So I need a man to be safe? A fated match as you say, like finding a mate? I don’t need someone to complete me. I can take care of myself. Scarlett has been helping me train, and as soon as this damn council releases me, I can join the coven. I am sure whatever Scarlett can’t teach me, Selena can.” Her lip curled as Selena’s name rolled off her tongue.

Scarlett came running into the room. She stopped short at the scene in front of her. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, then her eyes widened. “Oh. Shit.”

Jeremy stood, looking instantly alert and wary at the same time. “What is it, Scarlett?”

“Oh… umm… The high warlock is coming up the road. Selena called and said he had felt the fated match flare through the council, and he’s on his way here to ‘deal” with it.’ She air-quoted.

“What match?” Sandra asked, still a bit oblivious to the obvious.

“Ours,” Keith replied.

Chapter 4

Sandy pinned Keith with her gaze, placing her hands on her hips and tapping one foot impatiently.

“I’ll delay him as much as I can.” Jeremy turned to Scarlett and said, “I may need your help.” He placed his hand on Scarlett’s lower back and guided her out the door.

“Me? What can I do to help?” Her voice squeaked as she and Jeremy exited the study.

“Mr. Blackwood, explain what you mean by ‘ours.’” Sandy tapped her fingers in rhythm with her foot.

“We don’t have time for the full explanation of fated matches, but suffice it to say they are only gifted to those of pure blood.” He raised his hands, curbing her reply. “It’s how the goddess decreed it when we were gifted with magic in the beginning. Anyway, those of pure blood are born with a witch’s or warlock’s mark. Legend states when you find your fated match, your mark will flare and begin to change. Your soul will reach for its other half, and your magic will yearn to combine with your match’s. Once the binding ceremony is complete and you share everything body and soul, the mark will change permanently to match the one of your soulmate.”

Sandy rubbed the back of her right shoulder. “And this match is a threat to the council?”

“It shouldn’t be. Fated matches are revered and celebrated in most cases.” He stood and slowly walked around the desk. “In our case, the daughter of this century’s vilest warlock and the son of the former high warlock could make quite the formidable pair. You are an unknown, untrained, and with no real loyalties to anyone. I am a smart warlock who rebelled and bucked the council his whole life, working to change things for the better. Those of age and who want to cling to the old ways are scared. Their time is short if our binding completes.” He placed his hand over hers, stilling it as it rested above her mark.

“How do I know we’re a match?” Her stubborn head was still riding shotgun over her body. Her pulse skittered beneath her skin, and her veins throbbed with magic vying to reach out to him. Not trusting what she felt and unable to wrap her head around this new development in her heritage, Sandy needed more concrete proof. Her name uttered from his mouth both calmed and excited her, but it wasn’t enough. She needed more.

Keith shrugged off his suit jacket, placed it on the back of her chair, and unbuttoned the cuff of his right sleeve. Then he rolled it up to his elbow, revealing muscular forearms and, more importantly, a warlock’s mark—the mirror version of hers. The outer circle was slightly red, and the inner crescent moon was raised and bumpy. She grasped his arm and brought it closer so she could trace the mark with her finger.

Her body jerked at the connection she felt through her fingers. Heat and need flared within, but she fought it. Now was not the time to act. He leaned in and kissed her head, though she preferred he kiss her elsewhere. “Do you believe me now, sweetheart?” The endearment felt natural to her as he said it.

“I think my heart and body knew even before you arrived.” Sandy’s whispered reply belied more than anything else she had said that day. “But my head couldn’t wrap around what you said, about Mother or me or anything else. It’s been a lot to take in these past six months, with just realizing I had some magic, and now to find out buried deep down somewhere underneath is a binding spell? That’s a shitload more. Oh and the council is afraid of you. But don’t worry, you have a fated match who can help. You just have to say yes and go through some ceremony and then bone him for it all to work out.” She looked up at him with mischief in her eyes and a smirk on her lips.

Keith threw his head back as laughter erupted from him. “I have never heard it summed up in quite so eloquent a manner, but yes, you have the gist of things.” He cupped her chin and raised it, angling her head as he asked. “So, do you accept me, sweetheart?”

Her gaze lowered to his mouth as her tongue peeked out and moistened her lips. “Yes,” she said through a heavy breath.

“Good,” Keith replied as he took possession of her mouth.

Her soul leapt for joy and their magic intertwined as their bodies molded together.

“I will wait no more! I am the high warlock and wait on no one!”

Keith turned Sandy around, brought her in front of him, and encased her in his arms. He leaned down to her ear. “Do you trust me?’

Even though she had just met the man and logically she should say no, her gut told her yes. This man she could trust with her life. He would never hurt her, always support her, and be by her side. “Yes.”

“Good, then follow my lead.” He kissed the shell of her ear before standing tall behind her, relaxing, and molding his body against hers.

Sharp steps echoed after his words, the only notification Keith and Sandy had before the high warlock stormed through the doors. “What the hell is going on here, Blackwood?”

“Welcome, Councilman Lorick. Please come in.”

“Answer my question, Blackwood. You were sent here to investigate this girl, and here I find you cavorting with her. I can see she has used her womanly ways to seduce you into giving her a positive report. It’s a good thing I showed up when I did, boy.” The councilman smugly waited for Keith to respond.

“You’re correct. I was sent to investigate her, but what you don’t realize is I maneuvered so it would be me. You see, I did some digging of my own into Ms. Harrington and her lineage, and I uncovered scandalous secrets. Secrets, I’m sure the council would prefer to remain so.” He rubbed Sandy’s arms in a loving way. “Your records of her being a half blood are incorrect.” He paused.

With a clenched jaw, the councilman said, “I can attest Ms. Harrington is indeed a half breed. I did the testing myself when she turned twelve.” His nose raised a tad as if being in the same room with a half breed offended him.

“Yes, and those tests were adjusted to read what you wanted them to. The real results were supposed to be destroyed, but they weren’t. I discovered their results. Ms. Blackwood is of pure blood and from two of the longest and most powerful lines in magical history. She is also my fated match.” Keith rotated his right arm, revealing the mark as it glowed and continued to change.

The councilman’s eyes rounded in surprise with a bit of horror. “The council will never agree to it.”

“Oh, I think they will once they read the report I had delivered to them the moment you left the building. By now, they should be voting, and I expect a call any minute granting us the right to begin the preparations for the binding ceremony.”

Chapter 5

Sandy stiffened in his arms at his declaration. He ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders, squeezing and kneading as he spoke his next words.

“The ceremony will take place when Sandra is ready and not before.” Keith’s words brooked no argument. Sandy’s body relaxed as she waited for the councilman’s response.

A phone rang before any words could be uttered. Keith reached into his pocket and withdrew his cell phone, tapped the screen, and placed it on the desk. “You’re on speakerphone. The high councilman has graced our presence.”

“Blackwood, your report checks out correct. We put everything to a vote, and your request for a binding ceremony has been approved. If your man Jeremy would be so kind as to let the men at Ms. Harrington’s door in, we will take the former high councilman off your hands.”

The councilman’s face turned an angry shade of red, his eyes bulged, and spittle formed at the corners of his mouth as he sputtered words—what sounded like the beginning of a spell. The walls around them bowed out as power coalesced around them. She heard Keith whisper words of his own, which seemed to throw a shield around him and Sandy.

“You will never join with her.” The councilman raised his hands, his eyes glowed red, and a burst of flames exploded around him, singeing everything in the room but Keith and Sandy.

Incoherent words continued to flow from the councilman’s mouth. As the walls sucked back in, beginning to crack, his body shuddered, interrupting his cast. He fell to the floor.

“I’ve always wanted to use one of these,” an imposing man dressed in black said, as he put away some type of device. With the help of two others, he gathered the now-unconscious councilman, placed a set of manacles on his wrists, and carried him out of the house.

Jeremy walked in with another man, this one taller and broader than the others but still dressed in black.

Keith released the shield around himself and Sandy and steered her around the desk to greet the newcomer. He reached out his hand. “Thank you for believing me and being so quick to respond. It’s always good to see you, Kirt.”

“You too, Blackwood. As soon as the council verified your report, I gathered the troops and headed this way. I am glad we made it in time.” He glanced around the room. “I am sorry we couldn’t prevent this bit of damage.” Kirt directed his attention toward Sandy. “Ms. Harrington, the council will take care of all repairs and replacement. I’ll have a team sent tomorrow to start the work.”

“Thanks, Kirt, the councilman did me a favor. The room still reeks of my father.” She smiled. “A complete overhaul is in order.”

“She is a strong one, Blackwood. I wish you both the best. Let me know when the ceremony is. I don’t want to miss it.”

“We will. I’d never leave you off of the guest list.” Keith pulled Sandy to his side and wrapped his arm around her waist. “It won’t be for a while though. Sandra still has a lot to deal with. I’m letting her take the lead on this one.”

“You two will be a pair to be reckoned with.” Kirt gave a short nod of his head. “Call me if you need anything else. I have a prisoner to transport and will thoroughly enjoy throwing him in a cell.” He strode from the room whistling as he left.

Sandy asked, “What now?”

“Now we spend some time getting acquainted. You spend time getting to know your magic. The binding ceremony can wait as long as you want.” He cupped her cheek and leaned in. “But this can’t.”

Sandy melted into the kiss, encircling her arms around his neck. One hand threaded his hair. Her body melded itself perfectly against his.

“It’s about damned time,” Jeremy said. “Let’s give them some privacy. Their only focus is each other. Come on, they’ll find us when they are done. I could use a drink after all the excitement. How about you?”

“Yeah.” Scarlet’s voice wavered slightly in reply.

“We’ll be in the kitchen,” Jeremy called.

Keith’s lips turned upward as he continued kissing his fated match. Her moans filled the silence left by her friends.

“But the room, it’s a mess,” Scarlett said. Her voice fading as they walked away.

About Miranda Lynn

Miranda Lynn writes what she loves to read. Weaving genres, lore, and pulling from issues of real life, she produces stories that grab you, excite you, and keep you turning the page. She loves to read just as much as she loves creating worlds for you to fall in love with. Miranda is an only child and grew up on a large dairy farm in west central Illinois. She has fond memories of having the freedom to explore and let her imagination roam. Her love of weaving fantasy began at an early age when she created intricate stories for the toys and animals she played with. Miranda currently resides in Tennessee with her two teenage boys, two four-legged fur babies, and retired military husband. She works her day job at a high school and creates new worlds and characters for you by nights and weekends. She loves coffee, wine, chocolate, and gaming. (You can find her playing Neverwinter nights on Xbox most weeks.) She loves to hear from her readers, so if you love her worlds and characters, reach out and let her know.

www.mirandalynn.com

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Standalones

Portal Through the Veil

The Destiny Trilogy

Discovering Their Destiny

Accepting Their Destiny

Fulfilling Their Destiny

The Destiny Trilogy Box Set (Books 1-3)

Black Mountain Pack

Mack: The Alpha’s Mate

Rook: Rescuing His Mate

Sterling: A Second Chance Mate

Wyatt: Discovering His Mate

Jerome (series prequel)

Alerian’s War by Dariel Raye

Chapter 1

Something was wrong. Once again, her premonition was too late. Knives stabbed her heart, each pain intensifying as she approached her father’s bed chamber. Unnatural quiet beyond the heavy, ornate curtain leading inside pierced Alerian with dread. Fighting through it, she bit her bottom lip, yanked the heavy curtain aside, then stepped into her father’s room. She already knew what she would find.

Araqiel lay dormant on his gold satin bed. A clean, surgical incision spanned the entire perimeter of his neck with a shocking pool of blood soaking the lustrous bedding. His prime guard lay sprawled on the floor at an awkward angle, covered in purple and black bruises. Apparently, he had outstretched his wings to protect her father. Unfortunately, he had failed, losing his life in the battle. Alerian carefully stepped over his wings, resting her hand on her father’s chest, then checked for a pulse she knew she would not find.

Blinking rapidly as fragments of the events flashed before her, she relived her father’s murder until she couldn’t take anymore. She needed to know, but watching her father’s last moments transported her to places she had never wanted to go. Her knees suddenly gave way, and she stumbled, landing on the bed next to her father’s body.

Secretly, she feared that her visions were failing. A mere week before, she had seen her mother’s death prior to the tragic event taking place, but too late to stop it from happening. Now, her failure crushed her, tearing her confidence to shreds as she looked at the body of her father, the most powerful man she had ever known.

She had never wanted children, choosing instead to study the art of battle, but sitting there considering her father’s life, the many battles he had fought and won, the amount of power he wielded, and the number of beings he commanded all reduced to this, the feeling of loss overtook her. For the first time, she questioned her original resolve. Only she and her brother, Raguel remained – the last of the One God’s Appointed line.

Children of the Appointed, like children of the Fallen, were Nephilim. They, too, were cast aside with one foot in Hell, the other bound to Earth, hanging onto their angelic lineage by a thread, but one major difference remained – the original Appointed had been sent by the One God, commissioned to mitigate the damage wrought by their kindred Fallen. Araqiel had always taught them that this one major difference was the key to their redemption.

Whirling around to face her handmaiden, who had run in behind her, Alerian could barely breathe, and her knees were too wobbly to walk. “Leesa,” she wheezed. “I cannot leave him. Bring the healer and my brother to me.”

“Yes, High Priestess.” The woman offered a quick bow before running from the room.

Swiping at her face, Alerian realized she was crying. She steeled herself against another emotional reverie, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There was no time for tears. They blurred her vision.

Although the images had told her how her father had been killed, she did not recognize the face of the murderer. It was clear, though, that he had not come alone.

Raguel rushed into the room with the healer at his side.

The healer’s steps were halting as he approached the body. Apparently, he already knew there was no hope for the high priest. The quiet man said nothing, but his downcast eyes and the slump of his shoulders clearly relayed his sorrow as he moved toward her father’s body to administer a final prayer.

“What did you see?” Crossing his muscular arms over his chest, Raguel barely glanced at the healer and the two bodies before training his green gaze on Alerian, his visage a replica of their father’s.

His unwavering confidence in her abilities almost bolstered her confidence…almost. Plagued by visions of unrelenting rain and a place with two moons, deciphering fantasy from reality became increasingly challenging.

Raguel’s new prime guard stepped in on his heels, expressionless and unwavering as usual – Anael. His icy blue gaze followed every minute move Alerian made.

Her body reacted immediately, making her suddenly aware of the thin, nearly transparent material of her nightgown. Awakened by the nightmare foretelling her father’s murder, she had not stopped to dress properly before rushing to his room in an attempt to prevent it from happening, and now, she did not have to glance down to know her nipples jutted forward, painfully taut with arousal.

Her heart rate had increased, and the fluttering sensation in her lower belly started the moment she saw Anael. She was embarrassed that even in this time of tragedy, this stranger’s presence affected her so.

His gaze never left her, continuing to follow her movements with rapt attention.

Still, she would not allow her reaction to the mysterious loner to distract her. “Father’s throat was cut,” Alerian stated without emotion. Staring straight ahead helped her to gain distance as she fought to maintain dry eyes. She hoped no one saw her body trembling as she answered her brother’s question. Grief gnashed its unrelenting teeth, threatening to claw its way to the surface again.

Steeling herself against the debilitating emotions, she continued, “He did not know the man who killed him, but he did call him Fallen. Images of the murderer and his accomplices are broken, mere slivers of glass, but I will recognize him, all of them, when I see them again. Knowing they are of the Fallen is enough for me. Our truce is now meaningless, and his ass is mine.”

Chapter 2

Alerian’s visions had been correct. The rain began, pounding and unrelenting, not unlike the images she had seen – a clear portent to the fact that she had little time. Rolling clouds cast a shadow over the dark neutral-colored stone courtyard as heavy rain pummeled the surface, simultaneously slicing through the thin, sheer gown Alerian wore. The brass lantern she carried lent its golden cast to the area when she glanced up. She was forced to blink rapidly as she watched the guards’ vigilant movements. Where were they when my father was murdered?

Guards circled the perimeter of the castle, their multi-colored wings moving slowly, silently, as if nothing had happened.

Alerian could not imagine how anyone from outside their compound had managed to penetrate the Appointed’s boundaries without the guards’ knowledge and cooperation. Obviously, they housed a traitor. Someone from inside their compound had to have given the Fallen entrance.

Alerian dropped to her knees and bent forward on the stone floor. “Father,” she whispered, praying their spirits remained connected. “I need your wisdom.”

Whether his response was imagined or real, Alerian could not be sure, but she heard her father’s instructions clearly.

“Alerian.” Raguel’s even tone broke through her father’s voice, always calm no matter the circumstance.

She had heard him approaching, his steps hesitant. Glancing up, she met his emerald gaze. There was no need to say anything. She knew exactly why he had come.

“Come inside. You are soaked. Stop punishing yourself. Father’s death was not your fault.” He reached down and gently grasped her forearm, lifting her.

She complied, accompanying him inside the temple.

The tomb-like enclosure immediately enshrouded them as layers of heavy stone suffocated the sound from the downpour, and the pungent, welcoming scent of flickering candles filled the room.

Anael silently skulked in a shadowy corner, appraising her as usual.

Her body reacted on cue, the fluttering in her belly and tautness of her nipples, leaving no doubt that she wanted him.

Raguel spoke again, “It troubles me to leave you like this. I must travel by nightfall to meet with the Appointed Council majority, but we will discuss this more when I return. Will you please reconsider and allow me to leave Anael here to protect you?”

“You and I both know I do not need additional protection, but I am taking him with me,” she spoke loudly so Raguel and Anael could hear her.

“Taking who where? What are you plotting, Alerian?” Raguel frowned, shifting his gaze to Anael, then back to Alerian.

She glanced at Anael, then smiled before whispering into her brother’s ear, “You allowed him into our midst against my protests. We know nothing of him, Raguel, and I have caught him glaring at me with daggers in his eyes. For all we know, he could be a spy for the Fallen, just waiting for their signal to kill us all while we sleep, but I have a very particular use for him.” She realized her assessment might be extreme, but the fact that her visions revealed nothing of Anael and never had, even upon his arrival, troubled her to no end. Her visions of the world with two moons seemed to have begun in tandem with his appearance. She needed to know why, and she needed him under her watchful eye to find out.

Raguel pulled her aside, as far from Anael as they could get without stepping out into the rain again, then spoke to her in a hushed tone, “You know as well as I that Anael has saved my life and yours many times over. His sword is unmatched except for my own, and if he had any intention of killing me, I would already be dead. As for how he looks at you if you distrust him so, why would you want to take him with you, and I ask again, where? Don’t you know that I would never offer you his protection if I had the least modicum of doubt about his loyalty?”

“How can you be so sure, Raguel? I know he was with you when father was murdered, but was he with you even before that? He could have—”

“Alerian, he never left my sight,” her brother cut her off.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Alerian paced a few steps to stand between her brother and Anael. Her lithe body seemed to float as she moved, her graceful movements causing the light from the candles around the circular walls to flicker, each light dissipating one-by-one with a slight tilt of her head. “As for where I am going, someone has to avenge our father’s death. You take my prime guard with you to the council meeting while I take Anael. He has lived in the Forbidden Zone, and since it is the only way to reach the territory of the Fallen without them immediately seeing our approach, I need him to get me through it. Also, it is Father’s will.”

“Even with Anael there to protect you, the Forbidden Zone was given that name for a reason, Alerian. I cannot approve of you going. The place is crawling with demons just waiting to rip you and anyone like you apart.”

“I do not need your approval. Just because Father’s death shifted you into the position of high priest, do not fool yourself into thinking that I am at your command.”

“I don’t know what led me to believe you would listen to me,” her brother grumbled. “You never listened to Father either.”

“I heard you clearly, but this is something I must do. You, most of all, should understand that.”

Raguel lingered for several minutes, and she knew he wanted to say more, ask her more questions, but he finally let out an audible breath, turned, and left the room after speaking privately with Anael.

The moment Raguel left, Anael approached Alerian, stopping less than a foot away. “I have my orders, High Priestess. It is my duty to serve you.”

Fighting to maintain eye contact, Alerian hid her trembling hands in the folds of her gown. What was it about this man that set her entire body aflame with one glance, no matter how disdainful? His facial expressions and body language revealed very little. The few words she’d heard him utter sounded like he was reciting entries from a rule book. She knew next to nothing about him, and yet something hidden behind those wintry blue eyes ensnared her, wrapping her in a rare state of arousal.

Anael

“The one thing I know about you is you came to us from the Forbidden Zone,” Alerian stated. “This alone speaks volumes for your ability to survive. I am in need of your skills and your…presence to carry me through the Zone undeterred. This is within your ability, yes?”

“Yes.” To Anael’s surprise, Alerian took a step closer to him.

“We leave at dawn.” With that directive, she turned and walked away, obviously accustomed to ordering men around. She had an unnerving way of looking down her nose at him even though he was much taller.

Anael remained still, recalling Raguel’s orders. “I am entrusting my sister to you because I have no choice. She will go alone if I do not comply. High Priestess Alerian is cunning and too stubborn to listen to reason. To reach her goal, she will risk everything, including her life. Guard her with yours, for if she is not returned to me safely, there will be no end to my wrath.”

After following the alluring sway of Alerian’s hips and the slight movement of her sheer gown until she was completely out of his line of vision, he left the temple. Raguel had no idea to whom he had been speaking, Anael thought, finally reaching his sleeping quarters next to Raguel’s. Entering his room, he placed the last of the belongings he had brought with him inside the bag he intended to carry to the Forbidden Zone. Other contents included a few items of clothing for harsher weather along with food, water, swords, and knives of various sizes.

He lay on the small cot for a few moments, staring at the ceiling. Compared to the rooms of the High Priest’s family, Anael’s was a tiny enclosure just large enough for his cot and a narrow alcove equipped with access to the natural spring. Masters of construction and design, the Appointed Nephilim ran hollowed-out logs throughout the compound for water. It would be thousands of years later before humans rediscovered their methods.

Rising, he stepped into the alcove and showered quickly, then picked up his bag and made his way to Alerian’s prime guard’s quarters. Alerian was the reason he had come to their compound. Residing within the temple as her brother’s prime guard not only made him privy to information, but his position allowed him to see her daily.

Anael had spent years in the Forbidden Zone, but upon his return he, too, would be a target the moment he stepped into the demon-controlled wasteland.

He spent the rest of the night training, his rhythmic sword-play reminiscent of a graceful dance, only resting briefly just before dawn. He was thankful that he did not need much sleep. He would need to be alert and at his best to protect Alerian, and his weapons alone would not be enough.

Chapter 3

Alerian

By the time Alerian and Anael reached the Forbidden Zone, daylight started to wane. Howling, freezing wind sliced across their faces. Dry, broken earth, and the decrepit shells of trees that had gone to meet their maker long ago greeted them with scraggly arms and pointy fingers hanging low to the ground.

After Anael had thwarted Alerian’s attempts at conversation and interrogation with polite, one-word responses, neither had uttered a word for more than an hour after leaving the Appointed compound. Although they had left the rain behind, Alerian knew it would not be long before it became an insurmountable obstacle.

Heavy fog made visibility beyond a few feet impossible, and the bone-chilling cold replacing the warmth of her home—made each step torturous. Completely obscured by heavy dark clouds, the sun was almost completely hidden, but Alerian trudged on despite the conditions, keeping up with the swift pace set by Anael.

Finally, Alerian could no longer refrain from gazing at the handsome, enigmatic soldier walking beside her while he stared straight ahead. Although she had commissioned him to protect her, she knew her way around a sword better than most men. “Do not mistake this journey for my trust.” She pulled her wool cloak tighter as the sharp temperature change began to affect her.

“I assume nothing, High Priestess.” Anael reached over, grasping her elbow to steady her.

How he knew she had stumbled, she had no idea. His focus never seemed to veer from the path ahead. Even more frustrating, he seemed utterly unperturbed by the brutal cold despite his simple, black cotton attire. His footfalls were so quiet, she could not hear them despite her heightened senses. Everything seemed dead in this place. The only sounds reaching her ears were her ragged breaths and desperate, uneven steps.

“Why did you really offer to protect my brother?” She had taken Anael’s advice, hiding her armor beneath the cloak and a long, black dress.

“I offered to protect him because I knew he needed protection.”

“How?”

“I know many things, High Priestess. I cannot tell you how I know them all.”

“You are terribly annoying. Do you know that?”

He chuckled, continuing to stare straight ahead. “Yes, I am well aware of that, too.”

She couldn’t help laughing. Despite his infuriating calm, she liked him. “Why you? Do you not know we have hundreds of soldiers?”

“And yet, your father was still murdered within your compound.”

Alerian stopped, then reached up and grabbed his shoulder so he would turn to face her. His callous response had struck like a punch to her gut followed by a slice behind her knees.

Anael’s puzzled expression made it clear to her that he was completely unaware of how deeply his thoughtless words cut her.

“You have no idea what it feels like to love someone, do you?” She had intended to keep her voice even but failed miserably.

He squinted his eyes, apparently studying hers as his gaze skimmed her face then lingered. To her surprise, he gently touched her face, wiping away a tear as it immediately froze on her cheek. She hadn’t realized she was crying. Something about the way he touched her caused her stomach to clench, exploding in a pleasant, rolling sensation encircling her body. Her feelings seemed unusually volatile and unpredictable when she was around him. The realization should have frightened her as it went against her customary control and logic, but she had to admit how good it felt.

Under the watchful eyes of her father and brother, there had been no one else, but she had never considered another. Busy with her training and education, her duties had never allowed her time to think of men as anything more than practice targets for combat. Even now, she wondered if Anael would reveal himself as her ultimate enemy. No one lived in the Forbidden Zone for long. The land had been razed for decades. Nothing grew there.

“Where is everyone?” Although Alerian knew only demons, criminals seeking a hideout, and other outcasts called this place home, the complete absence of sound sent up red flags of warning. She could hear the pace of her breathing increase, and once again, something set off her internal alarm. She stopped briefly, attempting to look around for signs of movement.

Before she knew what was happening, Anael grabbed her upper arm and pulled her to him, whispering roughly in her ear, “Here,” he said, pulling her impossibly closer as he placed his palm over a previously unseen opening and nearly shoved her inside.

She could not see anything at first, but as Anael led her deeper, she saw a small wooden table, an unadorned cot, wood, apparently used for a fire. A few other tools clearly defined the place as someone’s living space.

“It is not safe at nightfall. We will remain here until dawn,” he stated, setting the large bag he had been carrying down on the floor.

She nodded her assent, curious about the small enclosure. “Yours?” She contracted her stomach muscles, combating the sudden reflection of loneliness absorbed through her touch as she slid her fingers across the table, then surveyed the space without facing him.

“Yes.” He grasped her upper arm again, gently this time, then ushered her across the room and down a narrow, previously unseen tunnel deeper inside the cave. He slid his palm down her arm and wrapped it around her hand, stepping in front of her as the walls did not allow room for them to continue side-by-side.

Fighting the urge to sigh at his touch, she concentrated on each long breath. Anael’s effect on her intensified as her stomach did a feather-light flip every time he made contact. Running water echoed as the tunnel opened to another room approximately the same size as the first, and she was delighted to find a hot spring there. Steam rose from the large, circular pit at the center of the room, and the minerals within the water cast colorful lights around the room, dancing with the slow-moving waves produced by the pit’s source.

Turning to face him, she smiled. Finding something so rare and beautiful in this otherwise barren place made it even more breathtaking. “There’s no bad smell! Did you…?”

“No. It was already here. The cave formed around it, and I don’t believe it’s very deep or very old.”

It was the most she had ever heard him say. He also seemed more at ease in this place. She stared at him, appraising, appreciating. Even for a Nephilim, he was taller than average. Her head only reached his shoulders, and she was not lacking in height. Dark hair accentuated his pale blue eyes, at least two shades lighter than her own.

Now, his previously cold gaze seemed to appraise her as well. Shattering the moment, Anael crossed his arms, all business again. “Come. We should eat something and rest before dawn.” He reached for her hand.

She accepted his touch, along with the pleasant electrical current that zinged from her core sending rays of wanton need throughout her body. She glanced down in an attempt to hide her reaction, then allowed him to lead her back through the tunnel. The sound of rain drew her attention as soon as they emerged from the tunnel. They emerged in a room with circular walls. She watched him remove the heavy satchel he’d brought from the compound for her. “Do you use the hot spring? Is it safe?”

“Yes. I have not been here in some time, though. I will check first if it would please you to use it.”

“Yes. I would like that.”

Placing the satchel on the table, he stepped back to allow her easier access.

“Thank you.” She motioned toward the cot and other objects in the room. “How did you manage to get these accommodations? It must be impossible to find anything useful in this God-forsaken place.” She did not wait for his answer before reaching into the bag to remove some of the bread, fruit, greens, and water she had brought with her.

“I am paid well for what I do.” He reached for an apple.

“Killing people.” It was not a question as she rapped him on his offending hand, then sat akimbo, facing the table. Her long, black dress flowed behind her.

Anael slowly pulled his hand back, turning it over as if he could not believe she had actually hit him. Apparently satisfied, he placed his hand at his side. With a lifted brow, he said, “You judge me, High Priestess.”

“I simply state facts, Anael. I am a logical woman. I understand that you had to use your skills to survive here.” Taking the hand she had just struck, she reached for his other hand.

He complied, placing his hands in hers.

She bowed her head and recited a quick prayer of thanks.

He did not bow.

“We may have lost the One God’s blessing,” Alerian explained. “But we believe in showing respect. A prayer of thanks before imbibing and consuming the resources he provides is very little to ask.”

“Your beliefs do not concern me,” he rudely stated, “but I hear the misguided sense of righteousness in your voice, and it reminds me why I find your previous statement amusing,” he said, assuming a seat next to her.

“What statement?”

“A logical woman. There is no such thing.” His facial expression turned serious as if his ridiculous conclusion was a foregone fact.

“If I were not logical, I would call you an ass right now, but I see you are simply a man who will have to be educated. As one of three women in an army of men, educating opinionated idiots is one of my specialties. Of course, the fact that you lived in this cave for years speaks volumes as well.”

He laughed aloud.

She stared at him, and no matter how hard she tried to be angry about his chauvinistic statement, her heart seemed to leap toward him. She had never heard him laugh out loud before, his deep baritone echoing around her, projected from the cave’s walls. The sound incited a thrill in her lower belly. Popping several leaves from the greens into her mouth, she continued to watch him, mesmerized by the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. She could not help wondering about their sleeping arrangements. She also wondered how many other women he had brought here.

As if he read her mind…part of it, anyway, he pointed. “You are welcome to the cot.”

“Where will you sleep?” The question escaped before she could catch herself.

“Do not trouble yourself about me. I am accustomed to sleeping on the floor. The woman should have the bed.” Once again, his logic sounded like the cold recitation of an ingrained rule instead of anything related to his feelings.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about this, but out of nowhere, images of him with another woman flashed before her, eliciting unexpected emotions – anger and pain – and she had to fight to regain her focus. Still, more than ever, she wanted to know how Anael had been raised, what kind of life he had before showing up at their compound.

Chapter 4

After they finished the light meal, Alerian stood. “How do you keep the demons out?”

Anael stood as well, as attentive as ever. “This place is protected by prayers. How may I be of service now, High Priestess?”

“Stop that. You should be comfortable calling me my given name by now, and I have not asked you to ‘be of service.’ It’s just the two of us.” She offered him a smile that he did not return.

Sighing, she beckoned for him to follow her. “Come.” Self-deprivation was not something she practiced. She couldn’t wait to return to the hot spring for a bath, and she enjoyed having him close to her.

This time, she led him through the narrow tunnel.

When they reached the other room, Anael stepped around her and bent down to sample the water inside the spring, placing his hand in the water first, then dipping his entire arm in before beckoning for her to join him.

After testing the water with her toes, she immediately began to undress.

Anael stood, backing away as if to leave.

“Anael, you are welcome to stay and guard me if you deem it necessary.”

He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do not play games with me, Alerian.”

“I tire of games, Anael.” Unable to understand why her visions continued to reveal nothing about him other than the two moons, she decided to take more drastic measures. Her gift of precognition had always worked best when she was able to touch a person or object. She told herself this was part of her strategy, but she also acknowledged that she wanted Anael in ways she had never wanted another. Her body craved him.

Always thinking about outcomes, she stood before him bereft of clothing or armor, hoping that her show of vulnerability would weaken his shell. “My body wants you, but I need to know who you really are.”

Anael was on her in two long strides, quickly removing his clothes as well. When he kissed her, every thought seemed to disintegrate. He stopped briefly, gazing into her eyes as if he needed to make sure he had her permission.

She reached up, clasping her hands behind his neck and pulled him to her again, intensifying their kisses. Nothing existed in her world other than the two of them. She wanted to feel him all over her, inside her, and he obliged. As they moved together, she caught glimpses of his childhood, a beautiful little boy with baby blue eyes standing alone, always alone watching others from a distance. He awakened pleasure zones she’d never imagined, fulfilling needs she had buried. His passionate yet tender embrace assured her that his feelings were genuine. This feeling of oneness could drive any soul to extreme measures.

Anael

Anael lifted himself from the cave first, carrying the satchel, then turned to help Alerian.

“We will have to move swiftly to reach another safe place before nightfall,” he said. “If it becomes too much for you, I will carry you.”

Instead of the reaction he expected, her beautiful eyes flashed with venom. “Do you think that just because you’ve bedded me, I suddenly cannot keep up?”

He shook his head. “No.” There was no time to argue and he had no desire to do so, anyway. Images from the first time he saw her reminded him that there was no need for concern. She didn’t recognize him, but he had watched her from the other side of the battleground, her movements graceful and elegant like the avenging angel she was. There had never been another who drew his attention or moved the way she did.

Certain that she would think him insane if she knew his stay in the Forbidden Zone had also been because of her, he kept his reactions tightly leashed, a skill he had mastered long ago.

“You’ve strayed too far, angel assassin,” a voice drifted to his ears from the fog.

The voice echoed around him, making it hard to determine its origin. Damnit! The demon’s voice was not familiar. Due to Anael’s shady alliances, he had maintained an ‘understanding’ with most inhabitants of the Forbidden Zone, but this wasn’t one of them.

Anael pulled Alerian closer, shielding as much of her body as possible with his own, but she had already drawn her sword. Attempting to ascertain the location of the voice, he held onto her, continuing to move forward as quickly as possible until four figures blocked their path.

One of the demons stepped in front of the other three, his small black eyes glaring at Alerian. “And I see you have a new friend. We don’t want more of your kind here.”

Anael heard the blood pumping in his head, pounding rapidly like rushing rapids.

Before he could respond, the demons attacked, immediately repositioning themselves as reinforcements emerged until he and Alerian were surrounded.

Anael and the lead demon swung simultaneously, the demon with its claws and Anael with his sword, slipping it from his back between his wings in an instant to block the attack. Anael counted at least fourteen – far too many for the two of them to overcome. Despite the impossible odds, he would not go down without a fight. Successful at blocking the initial attack, he shifted his weight, moving his feet and slightly lifting to gain more leverage as the other demons moved in. He could see Alerian from the corner of his eye. She commanded her sword with confidence, the same compelling fire in her beautiful eyes as he had witnessed the first time he’d ever seen her.

The sloshing sound of at least four inches of water accompanied each step as she parried, blocked, dodged, and advanced, her long dress dragging along the sodden ground behind her.

Despite the cold wind, the two of them managed to hold their opponents at bay until several demons took flight, seemingly buoyed by the wind, climbing higher and higher, then swooping down on them.

More concerned about Alerian, Anael watched her from the corner of his eye as she released her golden wings, lifting herself to meet them in the air.

Two of the demons immediately cornered her with one at her back.

Anael saw what was coming but couldn’t reach her fast enough to completely shield her. As the demon at her back slashed out at her beautiful wings, Anael leapt between them just in time to catch the blow with his leg.

The monster raked upward, catching his hip as well.

Though loath to call for backup as was his birthright, Anael placed Alerian’s life above his desire to gain her trust. He could not protect her in this condition, and the idea of allowing her to be killed because of his need to keep his identity secret was unthinkable. His rapid healing ability would not work until he rested, and he could not leave Alerian to fight alone. Left with no other recourse, Anael centered himself and recited the words to call on his ancestors. He had only used this gift once before, the day his father was killed by the Appointed army. Without the gift, his life and his brother’s would have both been forfeited as well.

Milliseconds later, he felt their presence before they became visible, shrouded by the cold fog. Appearing and disappearing rhythmically like flickering lights, his ancestors moved in a small horde, surrounding and devouring the attacking demons.

Moments later, they were gone, leaving him face to face with Alerian, whose horrified expression tore into his chest, causing even greater pain than his leg and hip.

Alerian

Alerian pressed the point of her sword into the side of Anael’s neck just enough to draw blood, the thin red line causing flashbacks of her father’s fatal wound. “Liar. You’re of the Fallen. Nobody has the power to call on demons except children of the Fallen, you lying bastard. Tell me why you infiltrated our compound, or I’ll kill you right now.” She kept her voice as calm as possible while anger and hurt warred in her belly, each one vying for top billing. Just as she was starting to trust him.

“If I hadn’t called them, you would be dead. I came to protect you, Alerian. I gave your brother my word, and I intend to keep it.”

She pressed harder, drawing more blood only to watch it roll slowly down his neck, disappearing beneath his clothing.

Glaring at her, even now, he refused to tell her the truth.

Part of her wanted to press again, but her instincts raged against that part. Anael had been with her brother when their father was killed, and the fact that he had shielded her with his own body did not escape her.

“I think my leg is broken,” he stated softly

“Come on.” She sighed, helping him take a few steps.

He directed her toward the closest cover.

Not only was Anael tall and well-built, he was heavy. By the time they reached cover, Alerian was exhausted.

Unlike Anael’s cave, this shelter was bare-bones, consisting of a few leaves and a tree with heavier branches than the others they had encountered so far. Rain showers had been off and on. The tree’s limbs kept most of the rain from them though, and Alerian was thankful. If she didn’t do something soon, Anael would not be able to walk at all. He was already losing a good deal of blood. “Try to remain as still as possible, so I don’t hurt you.”

He seemed to be studying her, but he quickly complied.

After helping to stabilize Anael against the large tree, Alerian leaned over him and rechecked the severity of the wound, then ripped the remaining cloth away before proceeding. She closed her eyes, drawing fire, the unique gift that she protected even more carefully than her gift of precognition. Only her father and Raguel had ever known about it. “Very still, all right?”

He nodded, continuing to watch her closely.

Her body felt like a furnace, burning from the inside as she focused her energy on cauterizing the wound. The fire in her gaze seared Anael’s torn skin and muscle, helping to close the wound to infection.

Afterward, Anael stared at her, seemingly frozen in place before shifting his leg as if to try it out. “Thank you. The rest will heal while I sleep. I only need two hours.”

Completely exhausted now, Alerian sat down beside him with her sword drawn. Not only was her body tired, but her mind needed rest as well. She needed him stable and ambulatory if they were to make it to the Fallen compound. Once again, her visions showed her absolutely nothing about Anael or his intentions. One thing she knew though—he had risked his life for her.

Chapter 5

Pain swept through Alerian’s back. She tried to wake up but to no avail. Her head felt as if it had been struck with a large, massive boulder. In and out of consciousness, she caught slivers of the sky, fog, and then, nothing. Anael.

She knew she should be concerned about herself, but in Anael’s wounded condition, he was in unspeakable danger out in the open.

Fighting her way to consciousness was like swimming against the tide.

She kept slipping under again, only to awake to the same searing pain. Voices wafted down to her ears, but she couldn’t make out the words. Someone was dragging her, but where, and why hadn’t they killed her already?

Despite her efforts, she drifted off again, only to wake up in unfamiliar surroundings.

“Take her to the High Priest.”

Those words told her exactly where she was. She had been brought ‒ dragged actually ‒ to the compound of the Fallen, her destination all along. Her initial plan had been to sneak up on them, but this could work too, she hoped.

Moments later, three guards deposited her inside the temple. She needed to know two things – what happened, and where was Anael. Human bodies littered the floor, scattered parts here and there, and the putrid stench was nearly unbearable as she knelt there, waiting for the Fallen’s High Priest to make an entrance. The entire place was the exact opposite of her home. She wanted to ask about Anael, but thought better of it. The fewer words she spoke, the better.

She heard footsteps approaching from behind her just before a familiar pair of ice-blue eyes met her own. They were Anael’s eyes, the same blue, the very same look of disdain, just as every other facial feature matched his, but different. The eyes glaring at her had a cruel edge, and Anael no longer looked at her with disdain. In fact, she had seen him smile a few times. Mentally shaking herself, she assumed whatever they drugged her with must still be in her system, clouding her ability to think clearly. Despite her somewhat lacking ability to find clarity, the remaining pieces started falling in place.

Twins.

The realization slapped her with cold, hard truth - Jael, High Priest of the Fallen, and Anael, whom she couldn’t stop worrying about and couldn’t quell her desire for, were twins.

Is there anything Anael hasn’t lied about?

While carefully maintaining a stoic outward appearance, a boiling cauldron of emotions she couldn’t begin to decipher raged inside. The stabbing pain in her lower belly became so intense, she nearly fell to her knees.

She truly cared about Anael.

How could she have fallen so easily?

“It is my pleasure to finally meet the beautiful female warrior, the one who has killed so many of my men.” Jael bent lower, took her hand, turned it over, and kissed her palm.

This seemingly benign action felt like hundreds of spiders crawling slowly across her skin.

Jael raised Alerian’s arm and gently pulled her to her feet, then led her through the array of body parts and up three steps until she stood before the throne.

After barreling around the stone altar, Jael grabbed her jaw and roughly lifted her head until their eyes met. “I will deal with you later. Family comes first.” He offered her a dazzling grin that did not reach his cold blue eyes, then turned away, calling to someone behind her. “Unchain my brother and bring him to me.” Jael frowned as if rethinking. “Wait! On second thought, leave the chains in place when you bring him.”

Alerian’s mind worked overtime. She wasn’t sure how she felt about hearing Anael was alive – fearful because Anael had been captured, or relieved that perhaps – everything that had happened between them had not been a lie.

Anael

Anael woke to find himself locked in a cell. He shifted his leg and found it completely healed, then stood, pacing in circles. He had learned that at his brother’s command, the Fallen scouts had located him and Alerian, deployed gas to render them unconscious, then brought them here. His swords had been removed while he was unconscious, and he could only imagine what was being done to Alerian. He was accustomed to the stench of piss, nervous sweat, and the illusion of privacy darkness created, but what he could not bear was fear. Worrying about someone he cared about was new to him. Folding his arms across his chest, he continued to circle the cell, unable to sit or stand still.

The cell door clanked open and two guards stepped inside. “Commander, come with us.” Surprisingly, they showed him respect despite his long absence and current shitload of trouble. These were men with whom he had fought side by side, and he had trained many of the guards as well.

“Where are we going?”

“The High Priest wants to see you.”

“Remove these cuffs. You know I would never hurt my own brother.”

The guards glanced at each other as they got closer to the temple, but refused to free him.

Alerian

Alerian’s heart sank. Anael looked directly into her eyes and showed no sign of recognition when the guards brought him into the temple. He simply stood there with his hands in chains, waiting.

Jael pulled Alerian down the steps with him, dragging her until they stood facing Anael. Jael nodded, dismissing the guards. He yanked her against his side, clasping her waist so tightly she had to steel herself against the pain.

“You have always followed your own fucking ‘that’s wrong, this is right’ rules, Anael. For whatever reason, I never found the damned playbook, let alone understood you.” He absently caressed Alerian’s hair, making her cringe. “If anyone else had done what you did, I would have had him killed and cut him into pieces. Yet, you have the nerve to stand before me as if you’ve done nothing wrong.”

Anael’s gaze slowly slid from his brother to her, but there was still no emotion in his features. “We should be having this conversation in private.”

Jael wound her hair around his fist, intensifying her headache. “No, I think we need her. When I gave you your orders in private, you didn’t listen. I saw the way you looked at her the first time you saw her. You didn’t even know I was watching, but I never thought you would allow one of the Appointed to come between you and your duty, let alone a woman who would just as likely cut you down with her sword as look at you.”

“I told you there was no need to kill the Appointed high priest.”

“That self-righteous bastard had our father killed, Anael! How can we have shared the same womb and see the world so differently?” Without awaiting a response from Anael, Jael glanced at Alerian again, then returned his focus to his brother. “What were you planning to do with her? Keep her in the Forbidden Zone?”

Anael glanced at her, then locked gazes with his brother, remaining silent.

“Guards!” Jael yelled, continuing to hold onto her. “Take him back.”

When the guards started to walk away with Anael chained between them, Jael shoved her toward them. “Here. Take her, too. Her brother, Raguel, will be taken care of despite my brother’s betrayal. Then, she will be of no consequence.”

Alerian closed her eyes, silencing the raging fury before it drove her to do something foolish, like kill Jael and get herself killed in the process. She felt relieved to get away from him, biding her time. He didn’t seem as evil as she had expected, but his touch revealed a mind ravaged by chaotic thoughts and emotions – the consciousness of psychosis. There was no room to doubt Jael’s insanity. His pain and anger made him volatile, and the fact that he kept his madness hidden just below the surface meant he was not to be underestimated.

Chapter 6

“You lied to me.” Alerian glared at Anael, pressing her nails into her palms until the pain was too great to continue. She preferred the physical pain to the new, heartrending realization that she cared much more for him than she wanted to.

“I did not lie. I simply withheld information.”

“A lie of omission is no less a lie.”

“I didn’t tell you everything because I knew you would never trust me if I did.”

“Oh, and I’m supposed to trust you now?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, High Priestess, we are both in chains, not just you. I had no more control over how or where I was born than you did. Just because I am of the Fallen line does not mean I am evil, and just because Jael is my twin does not mean I agree with him. I left my compound and spent years in the Forbidden Zone so that I could come to you when you needed me most. Jael sent me to infiltrate your compound and kill your father and Raguel. Once they had been killed, he wanted to do with you as he pleased, but I could never allow that to happen. I did not know he sent another after me, the one who carried out the mission when I failed to report back to him.”

They turned away from one another as two guards approached.

Alerian’s emotions ran the gamut between fury over Jael’s audacity and adoration for Anael as she absorbed the information he had just given her, but there were still questions left unanswered.

“Commander,” the largest guard greeted Anael, his dark eyes glancing at Alerian before placing a key in the heavy iron gate.

“Israfil,” Anael called the guard by name.

“What are you—?” Before the second guard could finish his question, Israfil shoved him against the gate. As if the two of them had devised the plan beforehand, Anael reached through the bars, wrapped his hands around the second guard’s neck, and strangled him.

The entire incident happened so fast, Alerian barely had time to digest it. During their short time together, he had become more than an assassin to her, but watching him kill so easily without emotion quickly reminded her.

Israfil propped the guard’s body against the gate and finished unlocking it, freeing Anael. The two men then lifted the other guard’s body and placed it inside the cell.

Alerian could hear the two men speaking in hushed tones, but she couldn’t make out their words.

They both turned and looked at her, then Anael told Israfil to release her while he removed the dead soldier’s swords and knives.

She stepped out, glancing at Anael in awe, but there was no time to ask questions.

Israfil directed them to a hallway behind the cells, then through a section of the compound she had not seen.

“This section is not as heavily guarded,” Anael explained, grabbing her hand as the three of them descended the steps leading to a dungeon-like area beneath the compound.

Just as Alerian started to think she couldn’t believe they were getting away so easily, a wall of guards appeared. She blinked in disbelief when the guards gave Anael a wide berth, obviously allegiant to him.

“Commander,” they echoed, each one falling in line to assist.

“Gather the others,” Anael ordered Israfil and one of the other guards, sending them in the opposite direction. He then took two swords from one of the soldiers and handed them to her.

She nodded, placing the swords at her back between her wings. She hadn’t forgotten her mission, to kill the Fallen who had murdered her father.

The rest of them continued underground until Alerian thought the compound would never end. None of the guards seemed surprised by her presence, nor were they reluctant to help her, but they did seem particularly careful not to touch her, leaving that privilege to Anael alone. Watching him in action ignited the now familiar roll and clench at her core, and warmth suffused her body as she relished celebrating with him once they managed to overcome the danger they faced.

“Israfil says the Fallen who murdered your father were dispatched to kill Raguel before he reached the council meeting,” Anael said, “but I advised your brother to take more guards with him because I realized he was still in danger after your father’s murder. The Fallen were intercepted by Appointed soldiers and killed.”

“Thank you” was all Alerian managed to say as they exited the compound on the outside of the surrounding stone wall, and once again, guards greeted them. Alerian sensed the tension before Anael told her the guards were not his. Almost simultaneously, the two of them directed the soldiers to back up and stay close to the wall, using it as cover.

Before another word was uttered, arrows from above came toward them, but the distance was enough to keep them safe.

Alerian released her wings, twisting as she lifted herself from the ground, a golden tornado rising against the wall. When she heard swords clashing above her, she knew that Anael had anticipated the attack from above and sent Israfil to flank the archers and overtake them.

Following their partial victory, the soldiers took flight, swooping down on their remaining enemies, men they had once fought beside.

So far, Alerian had not seen any other female soldiers.

Israfil remained but did not approach her. Instead, he seemed to be watching for additional threats.

Upon reaching the roof, Alerian did not see Jael until out of nowhere, an arrow cut through her right wing, immobilizing her just long enough for Jael to advance, carrying his sword. Forcing the pain down, she used her left arm and slid one of the swords from her back.

“Jael!” She heard Anael call out. “Don’t do this. This has always been between us.” Apparently, Anael had followed her, landing on the roof beside her.

Jael did not respond. Instead, he reached down and placed his sword on the ground, lifting the bow and arrow from one of the dead soldiers, then aimed and directed another arrow at Alerian’s wings.

Lifting her unharmed wing, she managed to avoid the arrow, but when she turned, Anael stood, aiming an arrow at his brother.

Alerian felt the gravity of the look passing between the two brothers, their lifelong battle boiling down to this moment, and the outcome flashed before her seconds before it became a reality.

Both of them took a shot, Anael only milliseconds before his brother. Anael hit his target, a direct hit in the center of his twin’s head.

Anael turned to face Alerian, lowering the bow to his side. His eyes were devoid of emotion – no sorrow, no remorse – and Alerian saw the little boy. She had an overwhelming compulsion to hold him as long as he would allow it.

He walked over to her, gingerly touching her injured wing, then bent and lifted her into his arms. “You should not put stress on this wing. I’ll take you to the healer.”

Leaving Israfil in charge with orders to bring the rest of his supporters, including women and children, to the Appointed compound as soon as things were in order, he took flight, lifting Alerian into the midnight sky with him as if she were a small child.

“There is something I must tell you,” Anael said. “My mission and my brother’s were never the same. I wanted this.” He moved his hand from her to him to clarify his meaning. “An alliance…of sorts. Not all of the Fallen are evil. Some of us, like you, believe in the possibility of redemption.”

“Is that the only reason you wanted to be with me, this ‘alliance’? You just killed your twin brother without so much as a frown, Anael. Did that mean nothing to you? Do you feel anything?”

The powerful swoosh of Anael’s wings and the sound of his voice offered a momentary sense of peace despite what was to come. “I could not let him kill you,” he said, streaking across the sky.

After a brief pause, he continued, his huge blue wings carrying them swiftly through the starlit night. “The first time I saw you was in the battle over the Forbidden Zone three years ago. You were the first and only woman I had ever seen in active battle, and you were breathtaking. You are breathtaking. To you, I was just another one of the Fallen, scourge of the earth, but now I know I fell in love with you that day. You ask me if I feel anything. My father once told me if Jael and I were not identical, he would have believed the Appointed magically implanted me in my mother’s womb for the sole purpose of betraying him. That is exactly what I did but I had no choice, just as I had no choice tonight. He and my brother were evil men. I was born for this, Alerian, for you.”

His words warmed her heart, but they faced more urgent matters. “When we reach the compound, we need to save as many Nephilim as we can. The rain will return, and this time it will not stop until nearly every living thing on Earth is extinguished. I know how this sounds, but I have foreseen the devastation taking place. We must leave here and travel to a place with two moons.”

Chapter 7

By the time they reached the Appointed compound, the rain had started again, flooding the area.

Raguel, some of the soldiers, and the healer hovered above the compound while dead bodies littered the grounds, floating on the rushing waters.

Alerian realized they were too late to save most of the women and children who had been nestled underground where it had always been safest…until now.

Anael carried Alerian to Raguel.

Her brother hovered with tear-filled eyes. “I was too late to save them,” he said, his voice thick with tears. “They trusted me to take care of them, and I wasn’t here to protect them.”

Alerian reached out and touched his face, resting her palm at his jaw. “Even you cannot be in two places at once, brother. You will be the greatest high priest we have ever known, but now we must leave here.”

Relying on the visions that had plagued her for months, Alerian led the remaining Appointed soldiers through the clouds until they could no longer see the rain, moon, or stars.

Israfil, Anael’s soldiers, and the Fallen women and children who supported their dream of redemption trailed behind until they reached a point where they could go no farther, but the moment Raguel and the Appointed saw them, the sound of metal against metal alerted Alerian as the Appointed drew their swords.

It was then that everything became clear to Alerian. “Stop! No more fighting amongst one another. As a wise man recently taught me, it is not where or how we were born that determines whether or not we are evil, but our beliefs and actions. They helped save my life.”

She summoned the fire, then gazed at Anael and Raguel as flames filled her eyes.

Raguel frowned but ordered his soldiers to sheathe their swords.

Alerian released the flames with a loud whoosh!

A wall of fire appeared, burning for several minutes before dissipating.

Beyond the wall, she saw her vision in reality as hushed sounds of amazement swept the Nephilim behind her. They saw it too, the land of two moons. Striking purple, fuchsia, and gold greeted them with bright green mountains and flatlands, silvery blue waters, and plants in colors they had never seen before. “This is Orlos,” she announced. “Our new home.”

After instructing Anael to set her down in a patch of grass, she turned to Raguel, clasping his right hand in her left, then took Anael’s hand in her right to form a circle.

Anael smiled, his blue eyes gleaming as he gazed down at her. He then announced, “The High Priestess and I will be mated as soon as arrangements are made. Our union will provide a new beginning.”

Alerian picked up where he left off. “Our enemies are the demons who defy the One God and attempt to destroy his beloved humans. Together, we have a chance of redemption. From this day, we are to be called Orlosians, named for this wondrous place the One God has led us to.”

Raguel leaned over, whispering in her ear. “I trust you above all others because you have seldom been wrong, but you have a great deal of explaining to do this time, my beloved sister.” He then smiled, nodding when everyone turned to him as if seeking his approval.

As the Orlosians cheered, embracing one another and taking to the colorful sky in celebration of their new home, Anael wrapped Alerian in his arms and kissed her until she saw stars again.

She knew they had a great deal of work ahead of them, but with Raguel’s good heart and caring nature, her brother would become the best high priest they had ever known, and Anael’s rule-based, iron-fisted justice provided the perfect complement to this new beginning. She gazed at the fascinating man beside her. In the past, no one could have told her she would ever love or trust another man besides her father and brother, but she was happy that Anael had proved her wrong.

About Dariel Raye

Dariel Raye is a USA TODAY Bestselling, READERS’ FAVORITE Award-winning author of paranormal romance/urban fantasy and psychological thrillers. She also recently started a sweet Christmas romance series. As an animal lover, artist, musician, and mental health therapist, her life tends to be busy and filled with real-life stories to fire her imagination. Whenever she finds a rare block of free time, she spends it reading and playing with her precious German Shepherd/Pitbull mix rescue.

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Matchmaker’s Mission by D. B. Sieders

Matchmaker’s Mission

Everybody Needs Somebody to Love—The Blues Brothers

“Bruce, if you keep pacing around like a caged bird, you’ll wear a hole in the floor.”

Serafina, his mate and mother-to-be of his precious little bundle, lay stretched out on the sofa, reading as she rubbed her growing belly. Confident and content, she’d come a long way since they’d first met, from defeated rogue Phoenix on the run to the fiery goddess she’d always been on the inside. Now, he was the one pacing the floors with restless, unspent energy.

Talk about role reversals. This was very unlike him and unbecoming of the Prince of the American Sylph.

“You need something to do,” she said, not even bothering to look up from her reading. Gods, she knew him so well. He was damned lucky to have her and grateful for each and every passing day since she’d returned to him, reborn from the ashes of Phoenix fire and carrying their child.

He should be happy. He was happy, damn it. So why was he so agitated?

“Bruce?”

He stopped pacing and focused on his mate. Sera’s gaze was full of affection that almost masked her worry. She couldn’t hide her feelings from him, of course. His empathetic Sylph sense was strong, both a blessing and a curse. “You shouldn’t worry, little sparrow. It’s bad for the baby. I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” she said, smiling at his term of endearment. Such an understatement for a woman who was a powerful force of nature. “You’ll be fine as soon as you get out there into the wide world and use your gifts for good. I promise I’ll be here when you get back. Me and the little one I’m growing.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she was right. If he kept hovering over her, he’d drive them both crazy. While the grief of nearly losing her lingered, buried just beneath the surface of his heart, he couldn’t continue to shadow her every move. Serafina knew it. Of course she did. She’d been the first to break through his armor and see into his heart.

His miracle indeed.

“I’m hovering, huh?” he said, lifting her legs and plopping on the sofa beside her. He took one of her swollen feet between his hands and began massaging.

“Oh, that feels amazing.” She arched her back, giving him a lovely view of her full breasts and luscious curves. Then she leveled her gaze on him. “But yes, you are hovering. You need to get back to work.”

“What work? We’re at peace with the other elemental guardians, and it’s the middle of winter. Not much to do until spring.” He released her right foot and grabbed her left, giving it the same loving attention. Gods, she was so beautiful like this. Wait, no, she was always beautiful, but with the glow of new life growing within her, life they’d made together, she was glorious.

“Bruce, stop trying to change the subject. Go out and play matchmaker. Now. You can seduce me later.”

He groaned and leaned his head back on the sofa. Yes, matchmaking was one of his favorite pastimes, not to mention one of his duties as a Sylph. His kind ruled the winds, which in turn sustained them, as they distributed happiness and light. Joy, passion, and delight were like nectar to the Sylphs, and spreading it fed and strengthened them. Still…

“Most elementals in my circle are happily mated, thanks to me.” He was rather proud of his most recent successes, including four mermaid sisters paired with worthy partners, and even his Dark Sylph sister with his best friend.

“What about mortals and hybrids?” she asked. “They need all the help they can get. Their lives are short. Literally.”

He snorted, pretending he wasn’t interested. “I’m not friggin’ Cupid. Besides, mortals are a no-no. We need to fly under the radar after our near misses.” Near misses like the inferno that nearly consumed his mate and half of western Tennessee.

“No, but Cupid likes your work, if memory serves. And hybrids are fair game.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” Bruce couldn’t fight the grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Maybe Sera was right. Hybrids—part mortal, part elemental guardian—lived in both worlds and helped protect the planet by working with humans. They kept their powers secret from humans, of course, being bound by the same rules as full-blooded elementals.

And because their differences tended to set them apart, there were so many lost and lonely hybrids out there looking for love in all the wrong places or giving up entirely.

Sera smiled, a smug, knowing smile. Oh, she’d played him like a fiddle.

“You have someone in mind, don’t you?”

“As a matter of fact,” she said, struggling to sit up. “I do.”

Bruce helped her to her feet and stifled a laugh as she waddled over to one of his many shelves. No, the shelves were theirs, not his. Gods, he was so glad to have Sera, to share his world and all of himself with such an incredible creature.

She walked back with a file in her hands. “Are you up for a real challenge?”

He put his hand to his chest in mock indignation. Of course he was up for a challenge. He lived for challenges. The very thought made him giddy with anticipation. He reached for the file. “Gimme, gimme, gimme!”

Sera laughed. “Settle down. This one is…special. I worked with her when I was hiding in the mortal world. We bonded because she was hiding, too, a hybrid Dryad with just enough elemental power and knowledge to be bound by secrecy. Birds of a feather, you could say. You’ll take good care of her, right? Make sure you find someone who’ll accept her as she is and cherish her?”

He accepted the file and flipped through it, inhaling deeply to taste his mate’s emotions. Sera was anxious. She really wanted her friend to find love and happiness, but she had her doubts. Not doubts about him—she had doubts about whether the right person was out there for…he looked down at the file and read Louise. Her name was Louise. Thirty-eight years old, shy and reclusive, but very active online. Hmm.

“I’m going to need the hackers on this one.”

Sera’s gaze grew wary and her emotional essence spiked with uncertainty. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Boice and Roice are a bit too—”

“Demonic?” Bruce teased, earning a reluctant smile from his mate. Twin brothers and tech geniuses, the little jerks claimed to be demons of technology. They might be, or maybe they were some other flavor of immortal entity. Either way, they were damned useful. And funny.

“Trust me, little sparrow. The twins will do some reconnaissance and a bit of instant messaging if I need them to. It’ll be just the catalyst to light a fire under your friend’s—”

“Watch it, Bruce.”

“Er, I mean, light a fire in your friend’s heart.” He kissed her soundly and pulled out his mobile phone to contact the twins. He should rope in his sister Maurelle, too. The Dark Sylph, unlike the majority of his kind, fed on misery, which had caused a rift between him and Maury they’d only recently bridged. Asking Maury for help would be a good way to further heal the rift. If he pulled this off, he’d feast on happiness for decades from Louise and the lucky man he’d help her find.

Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one…

Thirty-two steps to the elevator, then sixty-eight seconds before the elevator came down from the twenty-fifth floor, on average, to reach her on the tenth floor. If it took less than sixty-eight seconds, she’d tap her right foot to make up the difference. Delays were worse, of course. Louise never knew how long she’d have to count until the elevator door opened. If it opened after sixty-eight seconds, she’d have to start all over. She didn’t want to start over. It had been a long, grueling day, and she just wanted to leave the office, head home, and unwind.

Seven, eight, nine—

“Hey! Can you hold the elevator?” A deep and masculine voice echoed down the hall with the telltale sign of running terribly late.

Ten, eleven... “Sure.” Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen… Please don’t let this guy be a chatterbox who’ll make me lose count.

A tall figure entered her peripheral vision. Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two… Thankfully, he didn’t speak after skidding to a halt beside her, and his labored breathing remained in synch with the metronome’s drone in her mind.

Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty, almost there…

“Thanks,” he said once he’d caught his breath, “I appreciate it.”

Sixty-seven, sixty-eight. And, cue the clammy hands and thumping heart. She released a shaky breath with the elevator’s arrival. Risking a glance to her right, she caught a flash of lavender shirt peeking out from a suit jacket of fine grey silk. Nice tie, too. She could spend the ride down to the lobby counting the elegant fleurs-de-lis crisscrossing its slender lines.

No. She’d caved and counted steps to the elevator and beats until it arrived, something she hadn’t done in months. She wasn’t going to make it worse by counting this poor stranger’s tie pattern. Deep breath in, and hold, now breathe out. Breathe and breathe, just center your mind, calm your body, and hold out until you get home.

The elevator doors opened as she stood in front of them, frozen. She recognized the man with the nice suit and tie. She’d been crushing on him since he moved to her floor a few weeks ago. He stepped into the elevator, held the door, and waited for her to enter.

She focused on breathing and on the mantra in her head. Her therapist had given her a script for situations like this, and she’d given it her own personal spin. “I don't feel like I need to count things. This is a compulsive urge to succumb to the compulsion of counting.” She muttered the words under her breath, eyes closed tight against the tremble, which threatened to morph into a serious case of the shakes. “It’s not me, it’s my—

“Are you going down?” The man’s brow was furrowed. He was still holding the door, waiting for her.

It’s my OCD. And…three, two, one, shake rattle and roll.

She caught a glimpse of his face on her way to the floor. Shock and worry were painted across his features. Pity and revulsion, or worse, fear, would follow if she didn’t get it together soon. And if she kept her trap shut, she might get a hug or pat on the shoulder. Human contact. Would be nice.

Hey, it’s better than telling him that I have to keep counting so the building won’t implode. Wouldn’t want to freak the guy out or anything.

“Whoa, are you okay?” He’d stepped out of the elevator and crouched next to her. Oh, he had such a great voice, too. Maybe she’d get a close up look at the face that went with it before passing out like a complete idiot.

Crap, he’s breaking out the cell phone.

“I’m f-fine,” she lied. “I j-just skipped lunch, and I’m having a b-b-blood sugar crash.”

He scooted closer and put his hand on her arm. God, he smelled so good--wintergreen with an enticing musky undertone. She couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his gaze, but his voice soothed her and she stopped shaking. And counting.

“Are you a diabetic? Do you need some insulin or something? Oh, wait, let me run and get you some OJ from the vending machine!”

He dashed off before she could stammer about not being diabetic. Just as well. Let him think she was physically sick instead of mentally ill. People tended to understand and sympathize with a physical disease more, and without asking embarrassing questions. Better yet, she should just pick her sorry ass up off the ground and take the stairs.

I thought I was over this.

No, she’d deluded herself with wishful thinking. She’d never be over it, but she managed it very well most of the time. Except on days like today, filled with stress and anxiety—that was when OCD reared its ugly head. Ugh, this was not how she’d envisioned her first conversation with her office crush. She grabbed her bag and stood on shaky legs so she could hobble to the stairwell door. Facing the ten-floor descent, she took a deep breath and gave herself over to the darkness.

One, two, three…

Louise sprawled out on her couch, mentally and physically exhausted from a long day at work that ended with a really bad episode. She’d reached out on the online forums, hoping for empathy and support. Instead, the responses focused on something else entirely.

One hour and twenty-two minutes with no replies to the post about her relapse, but put something up about a cute guy and the message board of her online OCD support group lit up like the Fourth of July.

She shook her head in mock disbelief, but acknowledged the healing power of laughter. Back in the cocoon of her tiny, cluttered apartment, fed, watered, and relieved by the prospect of the weekend, she could commiserate online with the anonymous people who shared her condition. The power of social media and a high-speed Internet connection was a godsend.

Scrolling down the laptop screen, she reread her posts but resisted the urge to count words and letters. Hey, it was a small victory, but at least it was something.

CountDracula82 wrote:

Had a presentation today (trigger) and started counting again. Saw my building burning to the ground and my coworkers screaming while they turned into bacon. I caved and counted. I hate this. I held it together until the end of the day, but I swear if I get the promotion (probably will, since demon boss actually smiled) I’ll just go off the deep end. NOT CHANGING MEDS AGAIN!

0 Comments

CountDracula82 wrote:

Okay, sorry for the shouting. I’m just kicking myself because I face planted in front of this guy who had a nice tie and smelled good, and I’m totally embarrassed.

27 Comments

Sifting through the usual sympathy wishes, similar stories, and a few more date offers that left her with an odd mixture of amusement and regret, she paused at one of the latter comments. Someone with the screen name B&RTechFUBAR had posted it, a newbie to the chat group and clearly someone in need of initiation and sensitivity training.

Not to mention a new screen name. Jeez.

Okay, quit judging and start typing. As admin for this forum, she was obliged to call out inappropriate posts and responses. She sorted through her files to find the boilerplate explanation of the forum rules, tweaking it to address issues specific to this obnoxious new user.

PM to B&RTechFUBAR from CountDracula82:

Re: Comment [‘You should’ve grabbed the guy and banged the hell out of him. It would have made his day, and it would probably help you if you got laid, too.’]

Dear B&R,

Welcome to our forum. I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt by contacting you directly rather than reporting you to the moderators.

I'm not trying to alienate you or make you feel unwelcome, but sometimes a troll or two slips through the screening process and ends up hurting someone.

In case you are new to your diagnosis and OCD spectrum disorders in general, you should know that some people on the spectrum suffer from sexual compulsions or use unhealthy sexual activity as a form of self-medication. As such, your comment could be very hurtful at best, or serve as a trigger at worst.

This forum is meant to be a community of mutual support, compassion, and understanding, and a place where people with OCD can feel safe discussing their personal struggles.

If, on the other hand, you are a troll (or a voyeur, or simply curious), then here are a few things you should know. Imagine seeing, in vivid detail, your worst fear playing in your mind at the worst possible times for no good reason, over and over again. Maybe the only way you can stop it is to hoard food, or books, or shop until you’ve run yourself into bankruptcy. Or maybe you have to wash your hands fifty times before eating, or check your locks and set them in a precise pattern, or maybe you need to count (like I do).

She should have stopped typing, but some strange impulse had her fingers flying across the keyboard, spilling her guts to the stranger on the other end.

You know it’s crazy, you hate yourself for it, and you know the world won’t end if you don’t do it, but you have to because it’s the only thing that gives you even a tiny bit of relief. The relief doesn’t last, the meds don’t always work or work all the time, and you know it’s coming when you get stressed, but you can’t stop it. Your family hates you (or pities you, which is worse), your demon boss doesn’t understand or care, and you can’t even THINK about having a long-term relationship because who wants to deal with your issues? So you can hook up with strangers and hate yourself in the morning, or you can turn your needs into other compulsions (and hate yourself for it), or just hope that someday you’ll get your shit together because right now you’re so lonely, a pat on the shoulder by some guy in a nice tie makes your whole year brighter.

She regretted hitting send as soon as her PM hit the screen, but it was too late to delete it. Pity. You’d think an OCD support site would have some sort of take-it-back button, but she’d put it out there to a stranger, including some deeply personal stuff, so now she was stuck with it.

She stood up, dislodging the cat from her lap and earning a hiss. At least he didn’t bite or swat at her. Instead of worrying about an angry feline and online stranger, she set the laptop on the coffee table and walked into the kitchen to grab a beer. She was in for the night and not driving anywhere, and she had a nice stash of her favorite brand. She tossed a bag of popcorn into the microwave, hoping the ancient, infernal contraption she’d inherited after college wouldn’t explode like it almost had last week.

No use starting down the road to self-pity and counting all the ways her lot in life sucked. Best to focus on the positive. Life wasn’t so bad, really. It wasn’t like she had terminal cancer, or was homeless, or unemployed. She had a job, a decent place to live, and sole possession of the remote control. True, her only companions consisted of the online crowd, a few friends from the office, and her cat, Orestes. The semi-feral bundle of surly had been half-starved, flea-ridden, and seemingly tormented by tiny invisible pixies for weeks after she’d found him in the alley behind her apartment building, hence the moniker.

It was ridiculous, since pixies were neither tiny nor invisible, but something had clearly spooked kitty.

Two years later, he was a plump, flea-free bundle of surly, but at least he’d stopped swatting at things unseen. He spent most evenings perched on her lap, allowing her to give him the occasional ear scratch before turning into bitey psycho kitty. Oh well, he didn’t judge, and if she could bring her fixer-upper furball this far, she could keep getting better, too.

Orestes hissed at her laptop as the beep let her know she’d received an email. Well, that was fast. Taking a sip of liquid courage, she shooed the fluffy tomcat, picked up the computer, and flopped down on the couch so she could peruse the screen.

Yup, it was a reply from her new buddy, B&R.

PM to CountDracula82 from B&RTechFUBAR:

Re: Re: Comment [‘You should’ve grabbed the guy and banged the hell out of him. It would have made his day, and it would probably help you if you got laid, too.’]

Aw, come on, Louise. Learn to take a joke! While you’re at it, learn to live a little.

Wait, he called me Louise? How did he--

PM to CountDracula82 from B&RTechFUBAR:

Don’t freak out on us now, Louise. You aren’t the only one with a demon boss. Just answer the door and let your adventure begin.

Her blood froze as she reached out with a trembling hand to shut off the computer. Not that it would matter. This stranger knew her real name, and he probably knew where she lived. Oh, God, had he been in her apartment? Was he lurking there now? Three sentences, seven words, then nine, then nine…

“Stop it!” she shouted at the computer, at the deranged individual tormenting her through cyberspace, and at herself for reacting to the fear trigger.

The doorbell rang, sending a fresh jolt of terror down her spine. She leapt off the couch. God, someone had gotten past the doorman? Mr. Gunderson never, ever let anyone in without first checking with the tenants. No way was she going to answer the door.

The ping from her computer signaled another incoming message.

PM to CountDracula82 from B&RTechFUBAR:

Aw, come on, please? Pretty please? Just open the door. No one’s going to hurt you.

We’ll get in trouble if you don’t.

Serafina sends her regards.

Serafina? The only Serafina she knew had worked in her office for a couple of years. They’d become fast friends, and not just because they were the resident introverts. Like Sera, Louise had a secret. They were both hybrids—part human and part elemental guardian with supernatural powers tied to their connection with earth’s natural elements. Louise had minimal elemental powers. As a hybrid with only trace amounts of earth elemental blood, she could draw a small amount of energy from trees and soil, but that was about it.

Why would Sera be contacting her now? And why use third party weirdos? Last she heard, Sera had gotten married and was expecting her first child.

Then again, if this was elemental guardian business, it explained how the guys on the message boards knew so much about her. She was still on high alert, but some of her fear faded.

The bell rang again, this time accompanied by a muffled male voice, “UPS delivery for Ms. Erin. Anyone home?” Nice voice, friendly. Deeper, and maybe older, than the guy from the elevator, the paternal tone soothed. Her heart rate slowed, but she remained on guard as she stared at the door and weighed her options.

“Look, I don’t need a signature,” said the probably supernatural delivery man after a minute. “I’ll just slide it under your door. Give me until the count of thirty, and I’ll be long gone.”

She flinched at the reference to her peculiar coping mechanism, but he didn’t seem to be mocking or threatening.

“Okay,” she said, glad her voice didn’t shake.

“Good deal,” he replied.

The soft whisper of something small sliding under wood and across carpet broke the brief moment of silence. Just when her pulse slowed to some semblance of normal and she’d geared up for the count to thirty, his voice came again. “By the way, tell the boys to fix your microwave before you open the package. They never do anything useful unless you’ve got them by the… um, that is, unless you’ve got leverage.”

PM to CountDracula82 from B&RTechFUBAR:

Don’t listen to Dan the UPS man, a.k.a. Ungrateful Bastard. We already fixed your microwave. Go grab your popcorn, why don’t you, and open your package already?!?

Sit and eat popcorn? Yeah, right, not when some unknown elemental guardians seem to be trying to involve me in shenanigans!

PM to CountDracula82 from B&RTechFUBAR:

Seriously not shenanigans, lady—not right now, anyway. And just to show good faith, we’ll throw in free access to Netflix and an Amazon gift card.

She barely had time to count the commas before the gift card arrived in her Inbox, as did a notification that her Netflix streaming queue was full of some interesting new titles. God, could this trip down the rabbit hole get any weirder? As far as she knew, most elemental guardians weren’t interested in low-level hybrids like her. She had so little elemental heritage, she was practically human. And while she’d certainly trusted Sera, she couldn’t be sure about these guys.

Her microwave dinged just as another message appeared on screen.

PM to CountDracula82 from B&RTechFUBAR:

You drive a hard bargain, lady! Look, how about this? Go get your popcorn, another beer (you need it), and then check out the perfectly harmless envelope that holds instructions for unlocking a better life—

*Disregard the last bit of self-help bullshit. My bro Boice is such a friggin’ new age hippy. That envelope actually has instructions to help you get some—

I told you to let me do the typing, dumbass! Hi there, Louise, Roice here. You’ll have to forgive my brother. He spends way too much time working the Internet porn sites. What’s really in the envelope is—

She slammed the laptop shut. Cursing under her breath, she picked up the phone, punched in Sera’s number, hit send, and waited.

No ringing. No dial tone. Nothing.

“Quit messing with my stuff, you little psychos!”

It was probably an exercise in futility, not to mention a freak-out in the making, but she stumbled across the room to grab her cell phone. A text message from B&RTechFUBAR blinked on the screen. How in the world were these super hackers doing this to her? Were they some variant of earth elementals who used their affinity for metals to disrupt electronics? But why target her? Sera had some explaining to do.

opN d pkg n well let U B, K?

What? A new text blipped across her screen.

Open the package, and we’ll leave you be, okay?

“All right, all right, already,” she muttered, counting the steps to her front door and grabbing the envelope. It wasn’t ticking and didn’t have the telltale marks of a suspicious package. According to human resources at her firm, these included shoddy packaging, protruding wires, strange odors, and spelling errors. No, the sleek, ebony envelope was neat, lacked protrusions or smoke, with a bright red embossed letter ‘E’ in a swirling, elegant font.

She ripped it open and pulled out the heavy card-stock within. A cloying floral perfume wafted from the cream page, which was emblazoned with the same red font as the envelope. What the hell? It looks like a Goth wedding invitation. Elementals were so freakin’ dramatic.

Nope, not a wedding invitation, but it was an invitation, nonetheless. Oh, dear God. Instead of an address, the directions consisted of steps, precisely enumerated, leading from her apartment to some location that, by her calculations, was around four blocks from her home and near midtown.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” she yelled. When no answer was forthcoming, she posed the same question to her new dumb little buddies via text.

No jk. Jst go w it. Bt serioSly, e@ dat popcorn 1st. Ur microwave wz a btch 2 fiix.

“What are you, twelve?” Still, she may be going crazy, but she didn’t have to be hungry while doing it. She marched over to the microwave and pulled out her popcorn bag, enjoying the wafting steam and aroma of rich buttery goodness when she opened it.

“Oh, wowzers, this is so good,” she said after the first bite. “Hey, do you think you could fix the overhead light in my bathroom? It flickers all the time and is crazy annoying.”

She shoveled in two more mouthfuls of fluffy goodness before walking to the bathroom and testing out the light—bright and nary a flicker.

“Thanks, fellas!”

After finishing her beer and popcorn, she went to her closet and contemplated what might be suitable to wear on her impromptu trip to Bizarro-ville. Because she was going. That was no longer in question. She’d bring mace and her taser, but if she didn’t leave the house, she figured the little jerks would spam her until her computer and phone crashed. Good grief, they might even fry the electrical system in her whole freakin’ building. She hoped their connection to Sera was real and that these shenanigans—for they were absolutely shenanigans—were benign.

She picked out some comfortable knit leggings and a dressy black sweater to go with it, figuring it would be her best bet to blend into an upscale venue, hole in the wall, or anything in between. Carrying her clothes to the bathroom, she stopped and yelled, “Okay, guys, no peeking!”

Her phone pinged with an incoming text.

Wheres d truts??

She flicked off the light switch before closing the door and changing.

She arrived at her destination, nervous but unscathed. Well, it wasn’t quite what she’d expected, but it was kind of…nice.

And since she’d spent the long walk focused on following her unconventional directions and not running into people or lampposts along the way, she didn’t feel the urge to count tables, chairs, or martini glasses after entering the cozy jazz bar. What was she supposed to do next? Neither the hackers nor the cryptic invitation told her what to expect when she actually reached her destination.

“Darling, so glad you could make it.”

The voice emerged from the dim recesses behind the host’s stand, smoky, sensual, and female. The voice’s bearer appeared from the shadows, resplendent in a black sheath dress and a patterned scarf draped around her shoulders. She was petite, with jet black hair, stylish in its neat pixie cut, and a cruel smile. She gave off an aura of menace, but something in her eyes softened the expression.

Shit. She was an elemental, and probably powerful. And she definitely wasn’t Sera.

“Welcome, welcome. My name is Mauler. Come with me, and I’ll introduce you to my brother.”

“Hello,” Louise said, accepting the woman’s extended hand and marveling at the strength of her grip. “I’m Louise. Before we sit, though, would you mind telling me exactly how you managed to, well, do everything you did to get me here? Are you…a friend of Sera’s?”

Maurelle laughed, high and breathy. The laugh was all wrong for this woman. “So direct! How refreshing. And courageous to come this far on good faith, especially considering my brother’s messengers.” The corners of her mouth turned down in apparent distaste. “Things were so much easier before the advent of your ridiculous contraptions like telephones, computers, and the like. In the old days, we would simply have sent a courier to fetch you. My sister-in-law, Sera, wouldn’t allow it.”

Louise shuddered. Being fetched by this lady’s courier would be far less pleasant than anything Boice and Roice could manage. Maurelle smiled broadly and said, “Don’t underestimate the twins’ capacity for mischief. They may be young, but I assure you they are pros when it comes to wickedness.”

Maurelle turned on one high heel and waltzed toward the main seating area, clearly taking for granted that Louise would follow, which she did, counting all seventeen steps to one of the central tables where a man sat, presumably Maurelle’s brother. The pair couldn’t be more different. Though seated, he appeared to be quite tall. He was also well muscled and might have been scary were it not for his relaxed manner and easy smile. His blond hair—almost white—hung past his shoulders. Not conventionally handsome, his chiseled features and hooked nose made him striking, and his eyes were…strange. They appeared to be a shade between gold and yellow, like an eagle’s.

Another powerful elemental guardian. She was pretty sure Maurelle and her brother were Sylphs, air elementals. Not the kind of elementals who associated with low-level Dryad hybrids like her. And with their Sylph senses, they could read her emotions. She’d have to be careful around these two.

“Thanks for coming,” the man said, standing and offering his hand. “Glad you found the place.”

Louise shook his hand. He inhaled deeply, no doubt scenting her emotions, and a fine tremor ran through his body. He let go before it became uncomfortable—well, more uncomfortable. Good. She wasn’t sure how much more discomfort and weirdness she could handle.

“Louise, this is Bruce, my brother.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she said, not sure if she meant it. But then it occurred to her that if this was Maurelle’s brother, and Sera was her sister-in-law, Bruce must be married to Sera.

Bruce must’ve read the realization in her face, or maybe her emotions, because he smiled and said, “I’m Sera’s mate. She sent me to check on you.”

Interesting. More of her anxiety faded, replaced by curiosity, and to her surprise, excitement.

After introductions, Maurelle led them to yet another table in a quiet, secluded corner. Once they were seated, the woman pulled three boxes out of her purse, the kind in which one might expect to find jewelry, and lined them up on the table.

“Okay, let’s get down to business. Not my normal business, mind you,” she added, leaning closer and dropping her voice to a whisper. “I’m doing a favor for big brother.”

“What exactly is your business?” Louise asked, eyeing the boxes with a mixture of suspicion and morbid curiosity.

“Lately, you and others like you have been my business,” Maurelle said, waving a dismissive hand. “And since you’ve been so frank with me, let me return the favor. These three boxes represent your past, your present, and a possible future.”

Louise stared, dumbfounded. Wow, talk about your letdowns. She’d expected something…more, especially from such powerful elementals. While the extraordinary experiences of the evening could be explained, something about them, while frightening, had seemed surreal and almost magical. Had she come this far only to find out she was the target of a new-age elemental guardian psychobabble scam? Or worse, the butt of a very bad joke?

“I’m sorry,” she said, unable to mask the dry disappointment in her tone. “You’ve got the wrong girl, lady. I’m not your entertainment.”

Louise pushed back her chair and started to rise, but Maurelle’s firm grip on her forearm stopped her. Meeting that dark, almost black gaze, Louise stilled, compelled by the power behind those eyes as much as the strong grasp.

“Oh, honey,” the creature said, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Maurelle thrust the first box into Louise’s hand and flipped the lid open.

All of a sudden, Louise was no longer in the bar. Instead of quiet conversations and the sounds of drums and saxophone in the background, she was surrounded by an eerie silence. After a moment, the clink of dishes triggered a memory that nearly brought her to tears. She could see it as clearly as if it was happening now instead of years ago—the cramped but tidy kitchen with its faded yellow linoleum floor and battered cabinets, a bright blue valance over the sink, a welcome bit of vibrance in the otherwise dreary room, and the woman at the sink washing dishes. The woman held her shoulders stiff and worked efficiently, her dress and hair as drab as the kitchen.

Familiar anxiety stabbed at Louise’s heart, and she counted the seconds until the small girl at the table spoke. She wanted to take the girl by the hand and lead her away, to someplace quiet and safe, but she was only a spectator. This was her memory, the child was her, and there was nothing she could do but watch and weep.

“Mama, when’s Papa coming home?”

Mama dried another dish and took a sip from the glass of special water, the kind Louise wasn’t supposed to drink. She’d tried it once. It burned her tongue and throat and made her eyes water when she swallowed. Mama didn’t even flinch.

“Mama?”

She would only ask one more time. Asking again and again made Mama sad or mad. Then Mama would yell, maybe, or start throwing dishes. She didn’t like cleaning up broken dishes. The shards made yucky sounds when she swept them across the hard tile floor, and sometimes she’d get cut.

Mama would drink more of the burning water tonight.

“I don’t know,” Mama said, her voice thick with weariness. “He’s working late again. Did you finish your homework?”

“Yeah, but my takeaways are hard.”

“You can do it. It’s just a matter of counting, Louise. You are a good girl, a smart girl. You do the counting, do good in school, and you will have a better life.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Louise came back to herself after the memory faded to grey. Her eyes stung and her face burned, but she wouldn’t cry, not for the cruel woman sitting across from her, the one who’d opened the wounds of her past. Whoever or whatever Maurelle was, Louise wouldn’t feed her with tears. No, she’d burn the monster with anger.

“Ah, that’s my girl,” Maurelle whispered, before she smiled to reveal small, white teeth. Maurelle inhaled, no doubt tasting her emotions. The effect of Maurelle’s energy wasn’t quite like Bruce’s. Bruce exuded happiness and light. Maurelle’s energy was dark, but the darkness seemed to draw on the darkness in Louise’s heart and mind in the wake of the disturbing trip down memory lane.

Then, oddly enough, Louise actually felt better.

Better, but still angry. Angry at the intrusion into her life, and angry at Sera, someone she considered her friend, for putting her through something like this. And Bruce, her friend’s mate, just sat there with a stupid look on his face instead of calling his sister off. What was that all about?

“I don’t think you need box number two. You’ve been stuck in your rut so long I doubt it would even faze you. Which leaves…” She paused to stroke the last box, its red glossy finish a stark contrast to the white tablecloth. “This one.”

“Yeah, and what’s in this one?” Louise threw her hands in the air, embracing long-suppressed rage with relish. “Let me guess—me curled up in a ball as an old lady in the nursing home, drooling while I count my imaginary cats.”

Maurelle laughed out loud, the mocking tone stabbing Louise’s psyche until it bled white-hot fury. “Why in the name of the gods would I need to show you that? You’re more than capable of self-torment. Your thoughts, the hateful inner voice echoing from the depths of your soul? The demons created by your own twisted little mind make my job so much easier.”

Louise fought the urge to punch Maurelle in the face, clenching her fists until her nails dug deep crescents of pain into her palms. “I’ve been fighting this for years, I’ve been helping others learn to fight their demons, as you call them, like OCD. I’m not wallowing in self-pity or making light of other people’s pain.”

“Oh, I don’t make light of it either, sweetie,” Maurelle replied, arching one eyebrow. “It’s very serious business, pain. And yours is particularly…satisfying. But today could be a very lucky day, indeed—for you, that is, should you prove worthy of the opportunity.”

“Now listen—”

“No!” Long nails slashed through the air in a blur of red as Maurelle waved a hand to silence Louise. “You listen. You can keep hiding in your apartment with your cat and a computer for company, or you can take a chance and have a shot at love and happiness. What are you waiting for? You aren’t getting any younger, you know.”

Love and happiness? What the hell was she talking about? Instead of asking, Louise rolled her eyes and said, “Now you sound like my mother.”

“Yes, your dear old mum, who got herself together after divorce and the rock bottom depths of alcoholism. But she got help, pulled through, and got remarried.”

“But she—”

“What, she still has issues? Doesn’t everyone? If you’re waiting for perfect, you’ll be waiting a long time indeed.”

“I never said I was looking for perfect.”

Bruce spoke, his deep voice considerably gentler than his sister’s, “Then why are you waiting to be perfect?”

Louise opened her mouth to reply, but the truth behind the words gave her pause. Surely she hadn’t… Damn it, were these wicked creatures right? No, she went out. Not all the time, of course. She wasn’t a party animal, sure, but she went out.

Bruce smirked, though his gaze was filled with compassion, and said, “When’s the last time you went out with a man?”

“It’s been a while, sure, but it’s not like I’m opposed to the idea.”

“Of course you are. It’s why you ran away from the guy in your office building this afternoon. You know he’s straight, single, and kind. Don’t act like you haven’t been checking him out and getting all of the info you can on him.”

Ugh, Bruce made her sound like a stalker. As if she wasn’t already embarrassed enough by this entire exercise in humiliation, Bruce just had to go and throw her epic fail back in her face.

Cheeks burning, she picked her pride up off the floor and said, “I was having a panic attack and he turned up at the worst time. What was I supposed to do? Hold out my hand and say, ‘Hi, you seem like a nice fella, and I’d love to talk to you, but could you maybe wait until I finish counting to sixty-eight? You know, on account of my OCD, because that’s hot, right?’”

“Why not?” Bruce shrugged, then smiled brightly, “Of course, you’d probably have a better shot if you went with sixty-nine.”

Louise snorted. “Now you sound like one of your minions.”

Bruce laughed. “Well done. Smart-ass looks good on you. No wonder Sera likes you. Keep that, too. Now then, you have a choice to make. An opportunity, if you will. Look over there.”

Louise followed his pointed finger with her gaze and stopped breathing. Good God, he was here, standing by the bar and nursing a glass of some amber liquid. Scotch, maybe. The man from the elevator this afternoon, still in his tailored grey suit, lavender shirt, and the tie with the fleur-de-lis pattern, but he’d ditched the suit jacket and now sported a five o’clock shadow. It gave him an air of roguish charm to balance out the glasses. Her very own naughty professor.

Wait, what? He wasn’t hers.

“He won’t be if you don’t go over and talk to him,” Maurelle drawled.

Louise raised her eyebrows at the small, mysterious woman. “So if I do this, will you take away the OCD? I mean, that’s what happens in all the fairy tales, right?”

She rolled her eyes. “Do I look like your fairy godmother?”

No, you look more like Cruella Deville, but it was worth a shot.

“Don’t try my patience. We brought you here. We brought him here. The rest is up to you. Take it or leave it.” Maurelle slid the last box toward her. It appeared harmless enough, but she hesitated before touching it.

“It won’t burn you.”

“I suppose asking what’s in it or what to do with it would be pointless,” she muttered, holding it in the palm of her right hand while stroking it with her left. Just an ordinary box— beautiful, but the other had been as well. Look what had happened when she’d opened it.

Then again, she’d survived. She’d survived the past and the reliving of it, even if the side effects were unpleasant and lingering. But she knew and understood the past and present. The future was an unknown, full of infinite possibilities for joy, sorrow, terror, and everything in between.

She took a deep breath and put the box back on the table, a stab of regret piercing her heart. This wasn’t right. People didn't get magical cures from tiny boxes. Or mystical glimpses of their future. That only worked in fairy tales, and life was not some neat little fairy tale with happy fairy tale endings.

Life was messy, complicated, and full of soaring joys and desolate sorrows. Even for elemental guardians and their great-great-great-great-granddaughters…like Louise.

Sometimes magic couldn’t be the answer.

“It’s really nice to have someone to share it with,” Bruce said. “A shot at happiness is worth the risk any day.”

Turning away from the strange siblings, Louise tightened her grip on the handbag clutched at her side and walked toward the bar. One, two, three, four… It would take at least ten steps, maybe eleven to get there. And then she could count the bottles on the mirrored shelves behind him.

“Hi,” she said, fighting not to dip her head and avert her gaze. Passing out was a distinct possibility at this point, but at least he’d seen that before.

“Oh, hey,” he replied, after swallowing the sip he’d just taken from the glass tumbler. He rubbed his hands over his slacks and shook his head. “Good to see you, I mean, I…ah…well…I was kind of worried when you just disappeared earlier. Are you okay? Oh, I’m Callum, by the way. Callum O’Daniel.” He extended his hand with such an endearing awkwardness, she almost stumbled over her mental tally in the rum section.

Crap. She’d been counting again. Nerves.

“Louise,” she said, accepting the proffered hand. Warm, but a bit clammy. Was he nervous? His grip was firm and reassuring, though, which gave her the courage to continue. “Louise Erin, from Public Relations.”

“Nice to meet you. I just got hired by Accounting.”

She lost it and he let go of her hand, apparently startled.

Well, of course he’s startled, idiot. That’s what happens when you throw the totally inappropriate laugh-snort combo during introductions.

“I’m sorry,” she said, gasping between residual giggles. “It’s just a little, um, inside joke between me and some interesting friends.”

He smiled. God, somehow this guy managed to infuse the crooked lift of his lips with enough boyish charm and smart-ass challenge to melt her heart. “It’s pretty refreshing, actually. Most folks either look bored or panicked when they meet a numbers guy.”

“Numbers are kind of a thing for me.”

“You won’t hear me complaining.”

She sighed. “Not yet, but you will. Trust me.”

He didn’t laugh it off or dive into another topic. He just slouched against the bar, nursing his drink and piercing her with his gaze. Those rich brown eyes looked at her over the lenses of decidedly non-rose-colored glasses and invited her to elaborate.

“Back at the office, I wasn’t having a blood sugar crash. I was having a panic attack. I’m not a diabetic. I have OCD and I count stuff to cope.”

He just stared at her.

“Well?” She’d expected some sort of reaction, surprise, or an indication of discomfort and awkward embarrassment along with some lame excuse, like he needed to get going, but dead silence?

“Okay,” he said. He didn’t look away, just cocked his head as if thinking. “What’s that like?” Then he shook his head and grimaced. “Wait, first thing’s first. Want to get a table? Have a drink and some pub grub while we talk and, ah, get to know each other?”

She laughed again, trying to stifle the sob clawing its way out of her throat.

Callum winced. “I messed up, didn’t I? Said the wrong thing. I’m not trying to pry, and we can talk about something else if you want, but I would like to get to know you if you’re, you know, interested?”

God, he was so adorable, so beautifully awkward and open. He was just a nice guy asking a girl—one with a mental illness that had made more than one nice guy cut and run in the past—to sit down and…talk.

“Okay.” Louise blinked hard but managed to smile. “We can talk. I’m just surprised you want to.”

“Because you told me you have OCD?”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “In my experience, disclosing my diagnosis tends to make men run for the hills. It’s a lot to take, especially for you since you saw me in the middle of a panic attack.”

He didn’t dismiss it like it was nothing, or say something stupid like everyone’s a little OCD, a line that drove her bananas, metaphorically speaking. She appreciated it. She also appreciated the way his hair stuck up in the back and the small dimple on his left cheek when he smiled. He still smelled really good. Odds were those arms would feel really, really good wrapped around her.

“It’s not the only time I’ve seen you,” he said. “Wait, that came out wrong. I mean, I noticed you around the office.”

Was he blushing? A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. He was. It was so cute, so ordinary, and yet so extraordinary.

“To be honest, I’d been working up the nerve to talk to you. Thought I finally had my chance back at the elevator.”

Her smile fell, and she looked away, not wanting to find pity in his gaze. “Yeah, guess I ruined the moment.”

“No,” he said, his voice loud and insistent. She jerked her head up, startled, and almost took a step back when she caught the intensity in his gaze.

He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m doing this all wrong.”

“You’re not,” she said, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. “I’m no good at this sort of thing, either. I’m sorry. You don’t have to, you know, feel obliged to hang around. I manage okay most days, but my illness is chronic. I’ll have more moments like the one you saw.” And worse.

“I don’t feel obliged,” he said, putting his hand over hers. “Nothing’s changed. When I looked up and saw you walking over to me tonight, I thought, ‘Wow, this is your second chance. Don’t blow it.’ I hope I haven’t.”

“No, you haven’t,” she said. “Let’s sit down.”

He grinned, charming her with the dimple, and took her hand in his. As they walked toward the table, he said, “This is going to sound corny, but I swear this feels like, I don’t know, fate? Like this is where I was meant to be tonight—here, with you.”

“Not corny at all,” she said, smiling. She glanced back at the corner table, but Maurelle and Bruce, the unlikely instruments of fate, were gone. “I think this is where I’m meant to be, too.”

She counted the steps to the table. Seven. She counted the number of beats as her heart fluttered—not with panic, this time, but with giddy excitement. Ten. Then she took a deep breath and said, “Callum. It’s so nice to meet you.”

The corners of Bruce’s mouth turned up in a smile as he watched Louise and Callum talking over drinks. Satisfied with her “meal,” Maurelle left not long after they’d sent Louise off to enjoy her date with destiny. His sister wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type, but she’d given him a quick peck on the cheek before dashing off into the night.

That in and of itself would have made the mission worthwhile.

Bringing two souls together, making the world a little bit brighter, filled him with a sense of satisfaction he’d been missing. Sera had been right. This was exactly what he’d needed.

And, right on cue, his phone pinged with a text from his mate.

How’d it go?

He texted back.

Great. I think your friend is at the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

She replied a few seconds later.

Feeling better?

He laughed. Of course she’d do the whole I-told-you-so thing.

I do. You were right. What would I ever do without you? Satisfied?

Her next text widened his smile and had his heart thumping.

Not yet, but I will be as soon as you get your fine ass back home. Just bring some ice cream. And pickles.

She didn’t have to tell him twice. With a light heart and a spring in his step, Bruce left the two lovebirds in the restaurant to their budding romance so he could go home and enjoy his own.

About D. B. Sieders

Award-winning author D.B. writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance. Her stories feature unlikely heroes and heroines who face a healthy dose of angst as they strive for redemption and a happily ever after, which everyone deserves. She lives in Nashville, Tennessee, with a husband, two children, a rotating number of cats, and her very active imagination. Want to know more about Bruce and his matchmaking adventures? Check out the Southern Elemental Guardians series. Book 3 (Firestorm) is his, but he features in all of the books. Stay tuned for Boice and Roice! The twin demons of technology will show up in a brand new series.

Connect with D.B. Sieders

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Also by D.B. Sieders:

Lorelei’s Lyric (Southern Elemental Guardians Book 1)

Crosscurrents (Southern Elemental Guardians Book 2)

Firestorm (Southern Elemental Guardians Book 3)

River Spell (Southern Elemental Guardians Book 4)

Forest Charmed (Southern Elemental Guardians Book 5)

Dragons of Tarakona

Waking the Dead (Soul Broker Book 1)

Raising the Dead (Soul Broker Book 2)

The Quick and the Dead (Soul Broker Book 3)

With His Life by Theresa Hissong

A Rise of the Pride Short Story

Chapter 1

The sun was still below the horizon when Talon Shaw awoke, but that wasn’t uncommon for him. He wanted nothing more than to stay in bed on that cold February morning, but his job as alpha to the Shaw pride was never going to be a nine to five gig where he could call in sick or ask for vacation time. His family, the pride of panthers that resided on his land, needed their leader at all hours of the day and night, but that morning, he just wanted to hold his mate, Liberty, a little longer.

He rolled to his side, using his strong arm to curl around his mate’s waist. The connection of their mating tingled across his skin when he drew her back to his bare chest. His beast rumbled at her scent. He’d never tire of that feeling, knowing Liberty was his forever.

The magic he was born with swirled around his body like a live wire. It wasn’t very often he felt uneasy, but when he did, there was usually a reason. The fact that whatever his senses were worried about surrounded the love of his life only made him want to tell the pride to hold their needs of him for another day.

“Mmmm, Talon,” Liberty mumbled with sleep fogging her voice, making the sound husky and warm. “What’s wrong?”

Of course, she felt his unease. His magic wasn’t only his, it belonged to his entire pride. When he was on edge, his people felt it through the connection of his blood. Most of the time, he kept the magic at bay, hiding some of his concerns. When he wasn’t himself, the entire pride was affected. Today was going to be one of those days.

“My mystical mojo is all out of whack,” he mumbled into her hair. Liberty had used the phrase when it came to his magic. When she’d first used it in reference to his powers, it pissed him off, but now he expected it from her, and actually thought it was cute. He couldn’t fault her for being weird about him in the beginning since she had been born human.

“Why?” she asked, her voice less husky and more concerned in an instant.

“I just need to hold you.” He evaded her question, rubbing his thumb over some exposed skin on her side. He paused for a moment, letting the warmth settle into his bones.

“You’re not answering me,” she scolded, twisting around so she was facing him. Her icy blue eyes bore into his. She’d always been able to read him much like he could read his pride. She had some of his alpha magic inside her, acquiring it from the blood share he’d done with her to save her life and change her into a panther shifter like himself. “Something’s wrong.”

Talon knew Liberty felt it…the worry over something that felt ominous. “It’s me?” she gasped. “Are you feeling something bad about me?”

“I think so, Liberty.” He sighed, tightening his hold on her waist. “I don’t get this feeling often, but when I do, it’s usually right.”

“Is someone coming for me?” she asked, tightening her hold on his bicep.

“I won’t let anything hurt you,” he promised, using his forefinger to stroke her forehead before placing his lips against it. He closed his eyes and willed the feeling away, but it wouldn’t subside. When he pulled away, her eyes had completely changed over to the amber hue of her panther. The beast that lived inside his mate was just below her skin, wanting out to protect itself.

“Your worry is affecting the pride,” she warned, using her free hand to rub the center of her chest. “I can feel them.”

He felt it, too. The pride was awake earlier than anyone should be. Talon didn’t have to look at the clock to realize it wasn’t quite four in the morning. He sent out a wave of calm to his people, feeling their relaxed state come back at him. “I worry for you, and I don’t know why. It makes me uneasy when you are the cause of the doom and gloom I feel.”

“I’m going to be fine,” she promised after a drawn-out sigh, trying to calm him by stroking his arm much like he’d done with her forehead.

“What if you’re not?” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers as they lay on their sides in their mated bed. He felt the presence of his beast pushing at his human skin, the animal’s body rippling as it forced its way to the surface. Much like Liberty’s, the animal wanted out to protect itself.

If those without the alpha gene knew how hard it was to keep the beast at bay sometimes, he thought.

“You won’t let anything happen to me, Talon,” she replied. “You’ve always vowed to protect me, and you’ve kept that promise.”

“I will protect you with my life, Liberty,” he growled. “You and our cubs.”

A hard knock sounded on his bedroom door. The only one who would disturb him in his quarters would be his second-in-command, his best friend and brother-in-law, Winter Blue.

“Let me talk to Winter,” Talon whispered, placing a kiss on her cheek as he sighed heavily and climbed to his feet.

Leaving her in the bed was one of the hardest things for him to do. His beast kept demanding he return to her side, but Talon pushed mentally at the animal, trying to calm him much like he’d just done with his pride.

“Everything okay, boss?” Winter asked, standing at attention just on the other side of the double doors into his master suite. The large Guardian was on edge, feeling his alpha’s unease. With his arms crossed over his chest and his legs spread shoulder-width apart, Winter Blue was no one to mess with.

“Uneasy,” Talon replied, jerking his head slightly to indicate the feeling was centered on his mate, Liberty. “I’m not letting her out of my sight today. If anyone needs me, I will be here or in my office.”

“We will be extra vigilant in our rounds of the land today,” Winter noted. “Spend time with your mate and call me if something changes.”

Liberty combed out her hair, rolling her eyes when Talon wasn’t staring at her. He’d been stuck to her like glue since the day before, when he’d woke with a feeling of doom that centered around her. While it irritated her, she was happy to have him around. Most of the time, she didn’t get to spend the daytime hours with him because he was always busy with pride business or she was working at her bar in town, The Deuce.

“I’m going into the bar today, Talon,” she stated after a heavy sigh. She’d never asked for permission from her mate for anything, and she wasn’t going to start now. As she glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, Talon paused as he shaved. The blade froze at his throat for a few seconds before he sighed and lowered it to rinse in the sink. “I’m leaving our cubs with June and the other children. They need some playtime.” And Momma needs a break.

“Why?” His eyes were throwing amber sparks, and from the aroma in the air, his mating scent had been activated. It took everything in her power not to roll her eyes again at his protectiveness, and she succeeded…barely.

“I need to do payroll, and before you get all worked up, you can come with me,” she offered, hoping that was the white flag she needed to fly to keep him from blowing up with talk of protection and bad omens.

“I can’t go with you,” he replied, wiping his face off with a hand towel from the linen closet to his left. “I’ll have a Guardian drive you. I have to take care of some things here at the pride.”

“I can drive myself,” she huffed. While she loved his protectiveness most of the time, this recent bout was driving her insane. She’d gone through her life just fine before they had met, and now that she was a panther like him, Liberty had more weapons to fight off anything that came at her. The claws alone would tear a human to shreds. “It takes less than five minutes to get to the bar, and Dane is already there.”

“Liberty,” he warned, lowering his voice. “I don’t like this one bit.”

“I know,” she replied. “Doom and gloom.”

“This isn’t funny,” he shot back, his eyes glowing amber with the presence of his panther.

Liberty sobered, walking over to wrap her arms around his waist. “I’m going to be fine. Garrett hasn’t had any visions lately. I’ll be safe.”

Talon paused for the longest time, and Liberty was expecting him to finally explode into a rash of curses and denials of her request. It didn’t matter anyway. She knew he wasn’t going to deny her need to run her business. “I’ll be carrying my gun.”

His amber eyes dulled, slowly changing back into the icy blue of his human side. She knew she’d won when he leaned down to take her lips. She relished in the warmth of his tongue and the scent of his mating. It swirled around them as they embraced.

“I’d give my own life for yours,” he vowed as soon as they pulled apart long enough to catch their breath.

“And I would do the same for you, Talon,” she breathed. His mating scent was thicker in the air than it had ever been. There was no mistaking it.

“You call me if there are any problems,” he ordered. She nodded in agreement and pulled him back to her lips to finish what they’d started.

Chapter 2

Liberty glanced in her rearview mirror as she drove away from the pride’s home. Talon was standing on the porch with his thick arms crossed over his broad chest. He wasn’t angry nor was he happy with her driving herself the five minutes to work. He’d given her the speech about calling him when she arrived and not to pull over for any reason. She agreed and left before he could change his mind.

She honestly didn’t have far to go. It was only three miles to the four-way stop sign where the bar sat on the northwest corner of the two-lane highway. She made it there in under five minutes.

And no one jumped out of the woods to snatch her, either.

Pulling her warm winter coat around her body, she hurried out of her car to get inside. Usually, the cold didn’t bother her, but today was different. Despite her willingness to go into work alone, she wasn’t discounting Talon’s uneasy feeling. As she walked toward the entrance, she kept her eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary.

Liberty shook off the feelings of doom creeping into her bones. Talon’s worry was affecting her, and there was no doubt it was part of his magic. The entire pride had been feeling it over the past two days. She had to work and ignore the feeling, or she’d never get anything done. Talon was a bit obsessed with her safety.

It was Wednesday afternoon, and there were only a handful of cars in the lot for the lunch hour. The bell over the door jingled as she entered, and she nodded to her regular customers when some of them waved in her direction. Her father’s old friend, Red, was at the first booth with a few of his buddies, nursing a beer. He nodded and smiled when she passed.

Cole was washing mugs, and the Guardian, Dane, was poised at the end of the bar like he was every time one of his mates was on duty. Their relationship had been odd, to say the least. As far as she knew, there had never been a triad mating among their species, but Dane, Cole, and Olivia made it work.

Olivia was coming out of the kitchen area with a tray of food. Liberty stepped aside so she could pass. The smirk on the side of her mouth had Liberty wondering what she had to say. “What?”

“Don’t forget to call the alpha.” Olivia hurried past when Liberty narrowed her eyes.

“Jesus, did he notify everyone I was leaving the pride?” Liberty huffed as Olivia chuckled while she served Red and his buddies.

Dane was typing something out on his phone, and she was sure it was a text to Talon, letting him know she had arrived. With an irritated huff, she made her way to the office where she composed her own text, letting him know she was at the bar and safely locked in her office. She didn’t call him.

Payroll was a tedious task she actually loved. Her sister, Nova, hated it. With a shake of her head, Liberty got down to work, inputting the information into the computer program. The time clock app for her employees was down a few days ago, and she had to log their hours manually. Once she was done, all she had to do was finalize the checks and be on her way. At one point, she stood up to crack the window behind her desk to let in some cold air. The heat in the building was stifling, and she made a mental note to turn the temperature down on the furnace before she left for the day. Being a panther kept her warmer than when she had been human.

She didn’t want to go back to the pride since Talon was going to be working with his Guardians. Even though it was the middle of the week, she figured she could get some time in waiting tables to help Olivia during the lunch rush until at least two in the afternoon.

Her keys rattled as she locked things up in her office, stopping by the kitchen window to check on her cook, Moe. “How’s it going?”

“I’m right as rain, Liberty,” he chuckled as he plated a grilled chicken breast next to some steamed veggies. “How’re those babies of yours?”

“They’re wonderful,” she replied, smiling to herself when she thought of her cubs.

They spoke until he finished the order, and with a small wave, Liberty carried the tray out to the dining area of the bar. The scent of liquor and hot food made her stomach rumble. She hadn’t eaten all day, because she was too busy snuggling up to her mate in the early morning hours. Yeah, she’d take that over food any day.

Once the table was served, she looked over at the clock as several of the farmers entered for their lunch break. Cole and Dane were whispering about something over at the bar. She didn’t want to know what it was, so she made sure she was out of hearing range. Whatever those two were deep in discussion about wasn’t any of her business.

“They’re trying to be sneaky,” Olivia mumbled as she approached, jutting her chin toward her two mates. “I don’t really like surprises, but I’m guessing they’re going to do something for my birthday.”

“Probably.” Liberty rolled her eyes and started to clear a table. “These males are always such alphas, but when it comes to their women, they turn into big ole teddy bears.”

“Who are you calling a teddy bear?” Dane’s deep voice echoed across the room. A few patrons chuckled, and Liberty looked at Olivia, who was wide-eyed at being caught.

“Can’t even whisper around here,” she mumbled and picked up an empty beer bottle before she turned toward the Guardian with a smirk lifting the corner of her mouth. “You, Dane. I’m calling you a big ole teddy bear. Maybe you should give up your Guardianship because of it.”

“Excuse me?” He gasped, his eyes going wide in humor.

Liberty burst out laughing and waved off his fake anger as she slipped into the kitchen to wash the dishes for Moe. With her enhanced hearing, she could hear her pride member huffing over her comment even though they both knew she was joking. It made her smile even more.

The sound of a delivery truck cut off anything else she was hearing from the Guardian. She excused herself to unlock the back door and take inventory of the order she’d placed a few days ago.

“Mornin’ ma’am,” her usual driver, Nick, greeted. He was older than her, and he’d been delivering food to them since her father owned the bar. It was nice to see his familiar face.

A wave of sadness washed over her, but she quickly straightened her spine. Daddy wouldn’t want her to behave that way. He’d taught her and her sister, Nova, how to fend for themselves in this crazy world. Little did he ever know that the world wasn’t quite what he’d believed it to be. He’d already passed when the news of shifting humans reached the world.

“How’s the family?” Nick asked, interrupting her thoughts, and boy did she need that. Thinking of her father caused little pinpricks of pain behind her icy blue eyes, and the last thing she wanted to do was cry at work. Dane would call Talon and all hell would break loose.

“We are doing great,” she beamed. “How’s Martha?”

“As beautiful as the day I married her.” He blushed and handed over the packing slip. She carefully took it from him, aware of how close his hand came to hers. Touch from a male other than Talon would bring her pain. She always kept a pair of gloves Ranger had provided in her back pocket, but she’d forgotten to slip them on after opening the back door.

Nick released the paper as fast as he could, shoving his hands into his pockets. Liberty read over the paper and jutted her chin toward the back door. “Let’s go inventory all of this so you can be on your way. Unless you’d like to stay for lunch?”

“I wish I could, Ms. Liberty,” he said, offering her a smile. “I have three more deliveries left for the day, and all of them are north of town.”

“No problem,” she nodded, reminding herself that she still hadn’t eaten.

Liberty leaned against the delivery truck while Nick lowered the pallet of goods with the attached lift. He stepped aside as she went over the items, checking them off with a pen she kept behind her right ear.

“Looks perfect,” she replied and opened the back door to the bar, using a brick to prop it open. She left Nick to unload and headed off to her office.

When she got close to the door, her panther rumbled at the scent. Talon was there behind the closed door. She knew he wouldn’t stay away from her for long.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” She smiled as she opened the door, but it died the moment she took in his glowing amber eyes.

The alpha’s face bubbled with anger. The beast inside him was pushing to be let out, and Liberty gasped when he crossed the room at an inhuman pace, wrapping his arms around her body and shielding her from a threat only he knew.

“Who touched you?” he snarled, lifting his nose to the air and scenting what she was assuming belonged to the male delivery driver.

“No one, Talon,” she scoffed, attempting to push him away. “I just checked in a delivery from Nick. You know Nick…the human delivery guy who has been here a hundred times before.”

“No, it’s not him,” Talon replied, his voice dropping even lower. “New scent, and I don’t like it.”

“Oh, good lord have mercy, Talon Shaw, back off. No one has touched me, and I’m sure you’re scenting a customer. What has gotten into you?” Liberty was fed up with his overprotectiveness. It was cute and silly back in the beginning, but after several years of being his mate, she was to the boiling point with it.

“My skin is twitching,” he replied, lowering his voice. Liberty kind of felt bad for yelling at him, but then again, she needed to put him in his place. “Something is coming, but the sheriff hasn’t seen any visions.”

“So, whatever this doom and gloom you’ve been feeling is not human? It could be a shifter problem, right?” She wanted to talk through this feeling he was having. She’d learned to talk things out with him on many occasions. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it made things worse.

“Garrett hasn’t seen anything,” Talon emphasized the words with his hands balled into fists at his side. “If it’s paranormal, we will handle it. With the government on our side now, we know it’s not them coming to collect us for studying.”

“Then if it’s human, I can handle my own self,” Liberty blurted, instantly regretting it. Humans were weak. She could take out one twice her size if the need arose.

Talon’s eyes glowed with the presence of his beast. Oh, he was mad. Not just mad, mad…he was livid. “You are my mate, and I am the alpha. When I feel a threat coming for you, I will stop at nothing to keep you safe.”

“You can’t protect me from everything, Talon,” she sighed. “Please, you’re smothering me.”

“I’m being cautious,” he countered.

“I’m being serious,” she replied, raising her finger to point toward the door. “Get out of my office and out of my bar. I am fine. I will be fine.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” he exploded. “I will not leave. Not when there is some threat out there waiting to hurt you.”

“There’s always a threat to me,” she reminded him. “We are shifters, and the humans know us. There will always be someone out there who doesn’t like us, wants us locked up in cages or completely eradicated from the face of this planet. At this time, we haven’t had any new threats, and that tells me that I can work…in my own damn bar…without you breathing down my neck! Now…get…out!”

“One of these days, Liberty Shaw,” Talon began his warning, but never finished when he scooped her up into his arms and kissed her silent.

The press of his lips was as demanding as his alpha commands. She knew he worried, but it was her place, as his mate, to remind him when he was going a bit overboard. When his tongue pressed against her bottom lip, urging her to open for his demands, she gave up with a sigh, liquefying in his arms.

“You’re so feisty,” he whispered when he finally released her long enough for them to catch their breaths. Liberty immediately missed the dominance of his lips on hers. No matter how many times they disagreed over things, they always made up. Always.

“I know,” she replied, pulling him back to her lips again. She always loved how they reconciled after an argument.

His mate was going to drive him to an early grave. She was so damn independent. His life centered around her and her safety, but she wouldn’t allow him to be overprotective. Accepting her need to run the business on her own was hard. He’d compromised with her early on, stationing a Guardian there to watch over things every day they were open. Cameras were eventually installed and monitored at the pride’s home.

Liberty accepted it, but he knew she didn’t like it. His mate appeased him most of the time, talking him through some of his worry and concern over her being out on her own. There were times when he sent a Guardian to follow her into town and, as far as he knew, she never noticed them.

Or, she never told him she knew.

As he exited the office, Talon closed the door tight and found his way out to the bar. He wasn’t going to leave just yet. The scent he’d noticed when he came in still lingered in the air. When he found Dane at the bar, he could tell the male was uneasy as well.

“That scent still lingers in here,” Talon acknowledged.

“Someone in here is going to cause trouble,” Dane replied as he scanned the crowd that had gathered for lunch.

“I haven’t heard anything from the sheriff,” Talon noted.

“Where is he, anyway?” Dane turned on his barstool to face the alpha. Talon accepted a beer as it was pushed in his direction by Cole.

“Working human crimes.” Talon shrugged. “You know he doesn’t come by for a friendly visit.”

“That he does not,” Dane chuckled. “That angel only shows up when trouble is coming.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.” Talon shrugged again and nursed his beer, waiting on his mate to appear from the office. He knew she would probably glare at him when she saw he was still in the building, but he didn’t care.

He’d vowed to protect her the moment they had mated, and he planned on sticking to that for as long as he had air in his lungs and the blood of his ancestors pumping through his veins. Earlier in the day, once his duties to his pride were met, he’d shifted and ran in the woods behind his home to release some tension he and his panther were feeling. After a small snack on a wild rabbit, he’d found his way back to his home and dressed so he could come to the bar. It didn’t matter if he knew she was safe with Dane watching over The Deuce, Talon had to check on her.

“Humph,” Liberty groaned when she entered the bar, turning toward the dining area and ignoring his presence. Dane chuckled, but quieted when Talon growled low in warning.

Talon’s presence in the bar wasn’t ignored. The patrons settled, knowing the local alpha wouldn’t react well to any misbehavior in his mate’s establishment. Lunch rolled into dinner, and Liberty worked without stopping to talk to him. She was in her element, and he didn’t stop her while she helped wait tables or pour drinks at the bar.

A plate of food was placed in front of him, and a smile played at the corner of his mouth. His mate might’ve been irritated with him, but she still cared enough to make sure he was fed.

“Thank you.” He nodded and picked up his silverware, noting how she’d added a piece of pecan pie beside his dinner plate. He’d never really cared for desserts until he mated Liberty. She’d forced him to try her pie at one of the family gatherings before the Fall Equinox, and he’d fallen in love with its taste. “Liberty?”

His hand landed on her wrist as she turned away. After a deep sigh, she faced him and smiled warmly. “I’m not mad at you.”

“I know,” he replied, pulling her to his lips. He gave her a quick kiss and released her so she could continue to work. As she walked away, he mumbled, “I love you more than my own life.”

Chapter 3

I love you more than my own life.

Liberty heard her mate’s whispered words, and they gutted her. She’d felt bad about ignoring him for the last few hours, but she was working. It wasn’t that she was mad at him being there. No, in fact, she loved it when he hung out at the bar. The problem was when he was around and in his protective mindset, his mating scent drove her wild.

Liberty couldn’t just drop everything and take him back to her office for a little afternoon delight. She had to run her business and keep focused. It broke her heart, but she promised to make it up to him once they arrived home. There would be time for that after the pride settled in for the night, and she couldn’t wait for that time to come.

Della was scheduled to come in at five, and after that, Liberty could head home for the night. She could take the next few days off to appease her mate until his bad feeling went away. After that, she could return to her normal schedule at the bar.

Commotion at the door indicated some of the Guardians coming in after their shift at the pride. Axel, Diesel, and Ranger grabbed the booth by the pool tables in the back. Cole slid over their usual drinks as she approached the bar and bumped her hip against Talon’s side.

“Go spend some time with your Guardians,” she suggested, resting a hand on his forearm. “Be Talon for the night and not the alpha.”

Talon wiped his hand over his face and answered her with a nod, slipping off the barstool to meet with his men. She tried not to watch him walk away, but it was hard. She loved him with a passion she couldn’t even explain.

Someone added quarters to the jukebox, and the music played just loud enough to blend with the hum of voices around her. She checked on a table and cleared another one while the panthers relaxed for the evening.

Della arrived a few minutes early, grabbing her apron from the peg by the kitchen door. “It’s getting busy in here.” Her waitress jutted her chin out toward the front of the bar. A group of five men entered, grabbing the booth by the door, and behind them was another group of six.

“Damn,” Liberty mumbled as she headed out to grab the drink order from the first group. She wanted to head home, but it looked like she was going to be working a double. She shooed Olivia and Cole out of the building once her other bartender, Luke, arrived.

As the next hour flew by, she refilled the Guardians’ drinks and made her way over to the group of five human males who’d come in earlier. They’d begun to get a little loud, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. Loud, drunk men she could handle.

“Another round?” Liberty asked as she approached the table. They had one sober guy in the group, so she wasn’t going to cut them off unless they got too out of control. With her mate across the bar, she was sure they wouldn’t.

“Yes, ma’am,” the one closest to her said with a slur. “And how about your number, too?”

“I’ll get you a beer,” she deadpanned as a customer started an old country song on the jukebox. “The other order isn’t available.”

Her eyes flickered to her mate, but he was talking to Axel about something, and his enhanced hearing hadn’t picked up the male’s flirting. Good thing, because with Talon being overprotective, any advance toward Liberty would set him off. She didn’t need any problems from her mate while she worked.

After she refilled their drinks, Talon motioned for her to come to the booth where he was posted, sipping his own beer. A tingling of something pricked at the back of her neck. Her hands tightened at her sides unconsciously. She felt nervous the closer she got to her mate.

Shaking herself and the weird feeling, Liberty chalked it up to the mystical mojo her husband projected to his pride when he was uneasy. “Hey, handsome,” she flirted, but her words ended on a heavy sigh. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replied, his mouth turning down at the corners. “I…I’m just ready to take you home.”

“Still feeling the doom and gloom?” she asked, resting her hip against the side of the booth and his arm. She eased her fingers through his hair, eliciting a soft purr from his beast. He loved when she played with his hair, and sometimes it calmed him. She was hoping to calm him enough to let her finish out the shift. There was no way she could leave the bar until closing time tonight. It was just too damned busy.

“Yes,” he stated with a nod.

“Want something else to drink?” she asked, hoping to get his mind off it for the next hour. After that, they could go home and snuggle for an hour or two before bed.

“Another cold beer would be great, love,” he replied, taking the bait. She kissed his cheek and headed toward the bar to give Luke an order for her mate.

She didn’t make it past the table with the flirty, drunken men.

“Hey darlin’,” the drunkest one drawled. “Come sit on my lap.”

Fire burned her skin the moment he wrapped his dirty fingers around her wrist, jerking her body toward his. With a screech, Liberty fell into the male’s lap, and the only thing she heard over the sound of her pain was the roar from her mate across the bar.

Talon’s beast sat just under his skin, pacing and growling low in his throat. His mate was working to help out before the bar closed for the night. He wasn’t happy about it, but he compromised by calling off all meetings at the pride for the last half of the day so he could go sit at The Deuce to be close to her.

He tried his hardest not to watch her walk away to put in an order for his drink. Liberty was an independent woman, feisty as hell, too. She liked his dominance, but only in the bedroom. He came to terms with that once they’d mated and married according to human law.

Her blood-curdling scream from the front of the bar brought him out of his thoughts. Talon’s head snapped around on his shoulders, immediately finding his mate in the lap of a drunk human male.

A roar sounded from his mouth as he came to his feet. His beast pushed so hard at his human skin that it bubbled along his arms, the human hair disappearing as fur appeared. His eyes were glowing amber, and his canines extended to sharp points as he stalked his prey.

“Let me go!” Liberty snarled, her own canines obstructing her speech. “No, Talon! He’s human!”

Talon wasn’t himself. His panther was in control, and his Guardians snarled from the push of power he radiated. Someone had touched what was his and caused her pain.

Liberty shoved the male, hard, knocking his chair backward. She was on her feet before the human male landed on his back. Talon’s eyes locked on the threat and he reached for the male, dragging him up by the front of his plaid shirt. “You hurt my mate.”

“I don’t see a ring on her finger,” the drunk male replied, his dirty lip turning with a smirk.

“Didn’t you read the sign as you came in the door, asshole?” Talon snarled, twisting him around and pointing at the sign Liberty had made. In big, bold lettering around a cartoon drawing of a panther’s snarling face, it said:

Panthers Play Here!

Don’t Touch the Females.

Everyone who came into the bar knew not to touch any of the women who worked there. It’d been a rule Talon had insisted Liberty post at the bar if she and the other mated females were going to continue working there.

“Yeah, I read it.” The human shrugged. “You need to let me go, or I’ll press charges despite your stupid sign.”

“Oh really?” Talon warned, baring his fangs. Liberty inhaled through her teeth at the pain and burning from being touched by the human, and Talon needed to get this male out of the bar so he could tend to his mate. “I’d advise you and your friends to leave before there is more trouble.”

He released the male and took a stance in front of his mate as they gathered their things. He wasn’t going to take his eyes off them until they were out the door. All but one of them was intoxicated, and he wouldn’t put it past the male to try and retaliate. It wasn’t the first time they had to kick someone out, and it wouldn’t be the last. Talon was already on edge, and the only thing keeping that male alive was the fact that he was human.

Talon used his senses to scent his Guardians, needing to know where each of them were stationed throughout the bar. Dane was to his left, standing between him and Liberty. Diesel was to his right, poised and ready to defend if the need arose. Ranger and Axel were at his flanks, standing close enough he could feel the males’ body heat. All of their panthers were agitated, and he sent out a magical call to calm them as the humans left the building.

“Liberty,” he growled, stalking toward his mate. “Office, now.”

He wasn’t angry with her, but he was surely on edge. This was the first time a male had actually assaulted a mate with no regard for the rules set in place at the bar. Oh, some of them had been bumped into on accident, and that was something the males understood, but for that human to go to such extremes made Talon see red.

“Okay, Talon,” she whimpered, clamping her lips tight to keep from crying out from the pain of being touched by an unmated male. She walked over to the bar and set her apron on the bar top. He didn’t like her that far away, and his beast growled low in his throat when she was out of his reach. “Just calm your beast first. Your eyes are glowing more than I’ve ever seen them.”

Talon nodded to his Guardians, letting them know they could stand down. Dane returned to the end of the bar where he stayed perched most nights his mates were working, but since they’d been sent home for the night, the male was there strictly on Guardian duty until Talon and Liberty left the building. Axel, Diesel, and Ranger found their way back to the pool table to continue their game. The alpha took a deep breath and faced his mate, who was looking at the entrance to the bar.

A blast of air at Talon’s back had him turning when the male’s scent returned. As he spun around, the male had reentered the bar, but this time he held a gun out in front of him.

“You bitch!” The sound of the gun going off sent Talon into action. His body leapt with super-human speed to the space between his mate and the male. Screams surrounded him as he fell to the floor, not landing on his feet. Pain bloomed in his chest as Liberty’s blurry face appeared in front of his.

“Talon!” she screamed, but the sound was far away and muffled.

Liberty slid across the floor, immediately covering her mate’s body with her own the moment he dropped to the floor. Blood stained his white shirt from where the bullet had entered his body, right below his heart.

The sound of his gasping sent her into a panic. “Call the healer! Someone help me!”

Her eyes searched the males around her, seeing Axel on the phone with who she hoped was the healer. The human customers had all moved to the back corner of the bar, and someone had stopped the music, giving the bar an eerie feeling.

Dane was at her side with bar towels, shooing her away so he could press them to the wound. “We need to see if the bullet came out his back.”

Talon tried to speak again, protesting when Dane pushed him over. A heated curse fell from the Guardian’s lips, and Liberty didn’t have to ask if the bullet was out.

“You saved me,” she cried, trying to fight through the pain of the human touching her and the panic of her mate fighting for his life. “Damn it, Talon.”

“Always,” Talon mumbled, still gasping for air. It was obvious the bullet had punctured his lung, and she was thankful for their fast healing abilities, but with the bullet still in his body, it could cause problems.

“Move!” Harold’s booming voice sounded, and Liberty had never felt so much relief at having one of her pride show up so quickly.

When she moved to give the healer room to check over Talon, Liberty looked up to see Axel and Ranger holding the male against the wall. Diesel was holding the gun and talking to the sheriff.

The angel must’ve used his powers to get to the bar as soon as the call went out. Sheriff Lynch caught Liberty’s gaze as the healer and Dane lifted Talon to take him out the door. Her hard-set stare told the lawman, and the protector of her pride, she wanted that man alive.

“Liberty, we have to go,” Dane hollered.

She rushed out the door, stopping as she approached the sheriff. “He’s mine!”

Sheriff Lynch didn’t reply, but she knew he would abide by their set of laws. Shifter law was now a real law, but it only pertained to the supernatural. The government had stepped in and made rules regarding their safety. The shifter community was considered a new species of both animal and human, and those came with all kinds of rights. The male who’d shot her mate should be going to a human jail and prosecuted by them, but Liberty wasn’t going to let him make it that far.

She couldn’t crawl in the back of the healer’s SUV without touching another male. She needed to have Talon’s touch to ease her pain, but she couldn’t get to him at the moment. Another wave of fiery pain lanced up her wrist as she closed the passenger door. Axel was behind the wheel, and the look of sorrow on his face broke her heart.

“He’s going to be fine,” she blurted. “We’re all going to be fine.”

Gods, she hoped she wasn’t lying to him.

“It’s not just my alpha,” he swallowed hard, “it’s you, our alpha’s mate. Seeing you in pain physically hurts us, too.”

“You worry about getting your alpha to the pride, and I’ll be okay,” she promised, steeling her spine to show the pride she was not to be doted over. Talon was the one who was fighting for his life.

Thankfully, the ride to the pride took less than five minutes. That was one of the perks when owning the bar. They lived very close.

Harold and Dane rushed Talon into the healer’s cabin. It doubled as the pride’s clinic. The first room on the left was set up for emergencies and was the place she’d given birth to their first cub.

“What can I do?” she cried as Talon’s eyes popped open, landing on her. Liberty felt her heart squeeze in her chest. His eyes were a weird mix of his panther and his human side. She’d never seen them in that state before, and it scared her. The beast and human side were at war, trying to repair his body.

“Lib…touch,” he demanded, trying to roll out of bed to come to her. She shook her head and wrapped her arms around her waist, putting pressure on the areas the human’s skin had touched her own.

“The healer has to get the bullet out, boss,” Dane reminded him. “You’re losing too much blood.”

“My mate…” The sound of Talon gasping for air caused tears to well up in her eyes. She needed his touch, but he needed to be operated on more.

“Luna can sedate me,” she blurted, looking for the healer’s mate. Luna came into the room with a tray full of items. Liberty tried not to look at them, but she noticed the syringes and scalpel immediately.

“Already prepped, Liberty,” she said, setting the tray next to Harold. The female removed the syringe and approached her. “It’s not enough to knock you out, but it’ll be enough to make the pain bearable. I have more if you need it.”

Liberty knew exactly what she was saying. Anytime a mate was in pain, the other mate would go feral. They thought she was going to lose her shit seeing Talon on the table.

“I’m fine, just give me the shot,” she huffed, pulling her sleeve up so Luna could give her the injection. Within a few seconds, the medicine began to work, allowing Liberty to focus on her mate.

“Better?” Luna asked.

“Much, thank you.” Liberty brushed past the healer’s mate and reentered the exam room. He had just placed an oxygen mask on Talon when she narrowed her eyes on the Guardian, Dane. “I want to be in here.”

“Liberty,” Harold warned, his voice deep despite the mask over his face. “I have to get this bullet out so he can shift and heal. I can’t have you going feral when I cut him open.”

Luna slid the x-ray panel over her mate. The whirling sound of the machine was faint to her enhanced hearing. Once the female was done, she hurried out the door to check the images. She returned moments later and clicked on the computer in the room.

“Damn it,” Harold growled as he studied the x-ray on the screen. “That was too damn close to his heart. I hope you have this male in custody.”

“He’s being detained as we speak,” Axel snarled from the door. Liberty glanced up and saw several Guardians outside the room, standing at attention as they protected their alpha from a threat. The males were doing the job they were trained for, and at the moment, Liberty wanted to thank them all. Having them there made things a little easier.

“I need everyone to leave,” Harold ordered, looking over her shoulder at Dane. “Take Liberty with you.”

“No,” she snarled. “I’m not leaving him.”

“I will sedate you if I must,” Harold warned. “I’m not your mate nor am I your leader, but you are in my clinic. My rules apply here, and I need you to leave.”

“Fine,” she barked and stood when Dane came to her side.

Chapter 4

It had been an hour and Talon was still in surgery. The medicine Luna had given her was working, and she knew she had about two hours before her body started burning it off.

“Where’s the male?” she asked the Guardians who were hovering around her in the front room of the healer’s cabin.

“Sheriff Lynch has him,” Axel replied. “He wants to speak to you when everything is clear here.” She knew the Guardian meant Garrett wanted to talk to her once they knew Talon was going to be okay.

She pulled her phone from her back pocket and headed for the front door. When one of the Guardians started to follow, she held up her hand in warning. “I need privacy.”

“No further than the porch,” Dane ordered as she headed out the door.

To her surprise, the remainder of the Guardians and the entire pride was camped out on the healer’s lawn, waiting for word on their leader. They gasped as she exited, the mass of them surging forward as a unit toward her. She was the alpha’s queen for a reason. They gravitated toward her even though she didn’t have the magic her mate had inherited from his father.

“He’s in surgery to remove the bullet,” she announced. “I don’t know anything else.”

When they calmed, she jumped off the porch and headed toward her home, ignoring Dane’s demand she stay close. Liberty needed privacy to make this call.

“Garrett,” she said the moment the lawman answered the phone. “Why didn’t you see this coming? This male is human, and you were put here to protect us from them.”

“Liberty, I don’t know why.” Garrett sighed into the phone. “I hadn’t had any visions of harm coming for the pride, and I sure as hell didn’t see anyone pulling a gun in your bar. If I had, I would’ve diffused the situation before it ever started.”

“What’s done is done,” she conceded, knowing that questioning the gods wasn’t going to change the fact Talon had been shot. Liberty guessed that even among the paranormal there were flaws. “Shifter law needs to be in place for this, and I want that male brought to my land.”

“There were human witnesses,” Garrett reminded her. “I can’t just let you have him. We have new laws I must adhere to when it comes to humans and the shifters, Liberty. You know this.”

If her eyes could turn red from anger, Liberty was certain hers would be glowing.

“I don’t give a damn about the laws, Garrett,” she snarled, feeling her canines extend. “You need to stage an escape and bring that male to me. It is my right as Talon’s mate to end his life. You have half an hour to get him to the back of our property line. Meet me in the clearing.”

She didn’t give him a chance to reply and hung up the phone. She understood the males’ need to protect their mates and the ones in their pride now. Talon was fighting for his life because he jumped in front of a bullet meant for her. It was her place to kill the male for his actions, and her beast was out for blood. She may have been born human, but the animal inside her ruled the need to gut the male with her panther claws, and that was exactly what she was going to do.

“Liberty!” Dane called out, running toward the main house. “He’s awake and he’s asking for you!”

She ran toward the healer’s home, feeling the strength of her pride as she passed. The scent of blood and antiseptic overshadowed Talon’s presence, but she was relieved when she found him sitting up in the bed.

“Liberty, come,” he ordered, holding out his hand. “Let me heal you so I can shift to heal myself.”

She went willingly into his arms; careful of his injury. There were stitches on his chest where the healer had sewn him up. Talon’s arms around her was the most amazing feeling in the world.

“You’re okay,” she sighed, kissing his neck. “God, Talon, why did you do that?” She was still in shock that he had thrown himself in front of a bullet. They all had superhuman speed, but Talon’s display was faster than she’d ever seen a shifter move.

“You are the love of my life, Liberty Shaw,” he began, tucking his finger under her chin to get her to look into his eyes. What she saw there was his love for her and his family…his pride. “I told you I’d always protect you, and that meant giving my life for yours should that day ever come.”

“Don’t ever do that again,” she fussed.

“Shhh, let me hold you for a few minutes,” he cooed.

“You need to go outside and shift.” They could live through things most human bodies wouldn’t handle. Like being shot in the chest. No matter their healing abilities, shifters still needed to go through a pattern of shifting to kick it into gear. Talon would be outside for at least two hours going back and forth between human and panther while the damage to his body repaired itself.

“I’m going,” he promised, kissing her lips. “After I’m done, we will take care of the male who tried to kill you.”

Liberty nodded, giving her mate a sense of peace, but inside she was ready to take care of that herself. Garrett would be in the clearing soon, and she would slip away while Talon was shifting.

Dane and Axel followed Talon out the door, and she had her chance to go. A few of the pride members watched her as she left, heading toward her home. With everyone on the west side of the land, waiting on their alpha to heal, she could head into the forest on the other side of the main house and the old Guardian dorms.

Once she was clear of any prying eyes, Liberty slipped quietly into the woods. It was time to punish that human male for almost taking away her true mate.

Her trek through the woods was fast and quiet. She’d pulled at her beast to give her the stealth she needed to meet the sheriff without the pride knowing. She was essentially breaking the law, but at that point, she didn’t care.

“Liberty,” Sheriff Lynch greeted. He’d been her friend for the longest time, but he’d been in her life for another reason. She now knew all of his secrets, and the sheriff knew theirs. The friendship was a weird one, but it was solid.

“Leave me alone with him,” she snarled, jutting her chin out toward the pole that sat in the middle of the meadow. The male was handcuffed there, his body slumped over as if he’d been knocked out. “I need to wake him up.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Garrett asked, his brows pushed down in worry. “How’s Talon?”

“Do you mean, ‘Where’s Talon?’” she huffed. “If you’re going to get my mate involved, then I do need you to leave. It is my right to end this male’s life for the crimes against my mate.”

Liberty ignored Garrett’s harsh curse as she marched up to the human male, unleashing her claws and backhanding him across the face. He jerked awake with a scream to rival her own. She knew touching him would cause her pain, but her anger overrode any sensations she might be feeling.

“You will pay for shooting my mate,” Liberty warned. “Shifter law is a lot different than your human ones.”

“You’re nothing but a shifter whore anyway,” the male spat. “We all know about your type.”

“My type?” She’d had women in the bar looking for a Guardian more times than she could count. This male thought she was like those women. Boy, was he wrong about that.

“You want one of those things to change you into what they are so you whore yourself out until you find one that’ll keep you, and look at you, Liberty, you got the leader.”

“I am not like those women, and you better not use the word ‘whore’ in reference to my name again,” she warned.

“Doesn’t matter.” He shrugged. “You’re going to kill me anyway. How’s your man, whore?”

“You son of a bitch!” she exploded, her beast pushing so hard for release, she let her.

The animal’s body vibrated with the need to kill the human, and the scent of fear coming off of his skin made the panther hungry.

“Liberty!” Talon’s voice registered, but her animal’s sights were on the male.

The panther pushed at the human’s mind, insisting they make the kill now before the alpha had a chance to use his magic to stop them.

Curses filled the night sky as she pounced on the male, wrapping her canines around his throat. He didn’t yell nor did he fight as she crushed his windpipe with one quick bite. Her sharp nails dug into the soft flesh of his belly, spilling his insides onto the grass beneath their feet. Liberty’s panther tasted the male’s blood on her tongue and growled low in her throat at the taste of victory.

Talon shifted for a ninth time, lying on his side as a human. His breathing was still staggered. The bullet had punctured his lung and shattered a rib, but otherwise, he was going to be okay.

“Ten minutes, then you can shift again one last time,” Harold informed him. Talon nodded and closed his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to get this over with so he could go to his house and hold Liberty for the rest of the night…hell, for the rest of the week. He wanted to see his children and hold them just the same. Realizing he could’ve been killed that quickly bothered him more than it should, but there was no way in hell he was going to let that male shoot his queen.

He didn’t know what had happened to the male, but he remembered seeing the sheriff at the bar as he was being carried out to Harold’s SUV. He’d passed out right after that.

When he shifted one last time, his panther’s hearing caught the sound of his mate crying out. It was a cry he knew; one he’d already heard once today. It was the sound of her being touched by a male who wasn’t her mate.

“Where’s Liberty?” he yelled as he shifted to his human self, reaching for the clothes someone had brought outside for after his healing shift.

“I don’t know.” Dane frowned. “I thought you’d sent her home.”

The scent of human blood drifted across his nose when the wind changed directions. He didn’t need to ask any more questions as to her whereabouts. He knew exactly where she’d gone.

When Talon and his Guardians arrived, they found the human male handcuffed to the pole in the meadow at the back of the property, four gashes across his cheek. His mate was stalking him as if he were her next meal. It didn’t matter that he called out to her, his mate was set on the kill, enforcing ancient shifter law and not the kind the human government had given them the approval to use.

Her beast knew what to do, ending the male’s life.

The moment she shifted, he scooped her up and brought her hand to his lips. “You should’ve worn gloves.”

“That’s all you’re going to say?” she asked, accepting his shirt when he offered it.

“You were doing what I would’ve done had you been the one shot,” he replied, taking her into his arms again. He looked over her head and saw the sheriff standing on the edge of the meadow. With a nod, the lawman disappeared, leaving the alpha and his mate with the dead human and a few Guardians.

“I wanted to gut him at the bar,” she huffed. “That way, it would’ve sent a message to the other humans not to touch my Guardians.”

Talon chuckled and lifted her into his arms. “I’m going to take you home now and make love to you, my feisty little mate.”

“I like that idea very much.” She winked and held onto him as he made his way back to the main house and their mated bed.

About Theresa Hissong

Theresa Hissong is the bestselling author of the Rise of the Pride series. She writes paranormal romance, rockstar romance, and romantic suspense.

She enjoys spending her days and nights creating the perfect love affair, and she takes those ideas to paper. When she’s not writing, Theresa spends her free time traveling and attending concerts all over the United States.

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Chapter 1

Audrey

There was something about the finished product that always caused her heart to seize in her chest. The sun was steady in the sky, and she could see the bumblebees already congregating around the flowers that her landscaping company just planted. Along the edge of the estate were hedges wrapped in English ivy, with a small pond in the middle and a beautiful modern sculpture of a giant lily surrounded by white birds. She could hear the sound of water while standing on the patio stones, which led to a long and narrow path with tall evergreen trees on each side.

Months of preparation had led to this. She couldn’t believe that it had finally come to fruition. After all, she’d spent hours of overtime trying to make sure it all came together perfectly. This was what she had been waiting for. Now that it was here, it was a surprise that it went by so quickly.

Audrey narrowed her eyes to her white and pink flowered apron, which was covered in soil. She normally didn’t step out into the field, but she was able to get permission to help out finally. After all, with such a large property, the landscapers needed all the help they could get. Her knowledge would make the garden work minimal.

“Is this okay over here?”

She turned her head toward the edge of the immense patio and saw Jenine lifting a massive pot of red peonies above her head. “Just in the corner next to the lavender,” Audrey told her, pointing to a narrow space between some lavender and wildflowers, which had been planted into the ground. “It’ll help bring it up a bit.”

She could see the sweat across Jenine’s beautiful golden-brown skin as she lowered the last of the flowers to the rightful place. Her thick brown hair fell in front of her eyes. She lifted herself and sighed, as though letting the hard day unravel in one breath. Everything was just as Audrey had laid out in her initial plan, and she felt an overwhelming sense of pride when she scanned over the estate’s land.

“I think that does it for the day, then,” said a voice behind her. “I’ll let them know it’s finished.”

She knew that voice better than any other. “Do you think they’ll like it, Dad?”

His footsteps neared her as she heard him sniff. “I think they will. It’s our biggest project yet, and you’ve really done an impeccable job with the planning. It looks amazing.”

“Thanks,” she said and turned to face him. She could see the deep-set wrinkles in his face as he squinted out toward the finished estate, his tanned skin red from a hard day’s labor. “Can I stick around when you show it to them?”

He smiled, more to himself than her. “Are you nervous?”

“No, but I want to see the clients reactions. You know it’s my favorite part.”

“Your confidence scares me, girl.”

“They agreed to the plan,” Audrey told him, placing her hands on her hips. “They’d be crazy not to love it! We put so much work into this project, too. Personally, I just think you’ve put in way too many hours.”

He brought his green eyes to hers and raised his eyebrows. “You can stay. Just go and help Jenine and Robert with the cleanup. I’ll text them to let them know we’ve finished.” He paused and started taking off his thick gloves. “They said they’d swing by earlier should we finish. They’re also bringing an acquaintance that might give us a new contract if they like what they see.”

Audrey couldn’t help but beam at the thought. “Seriously?”

“Go clean up, and throw your apron in the back of the truck. We’ll see if it happens.”

Miss Mary was easily recognizable. The woman was the opposite of anyone she’d ever been around, and it put Audrey on edge. The woman wasn’t nouveau riche. It was clear she came from old money. She wore a perfectly tailored black dress with a matching hat and red pumps. Her hair was a pristine white, reminding her of freshly fallen snow — despite the fact that it was perfectly coiffed.

Audrey stood behind her father as the lady opened the door to her newly finished estate. It had taken them weeks to get to this point, and Audrey could barely hold in her nerves. She breathed deeply, unable to tell the woman’s expression beneath her thick black sunglasses.

When she saw Miss Mary’s smile, Audrey felt a hint of relief. The woman lifted her sunglasses and peered around her perfectly manicured garden. “My goodness, will you look at that? Incredible! You’ve outdone yourself.”

Audrey wanted to jump for joy. She wanted to run off into the sunset with her apron lifted above her head. She couldn’t believe it.

“Damien! You just have to come out here and see this.”

Audrey could see the tension rising in her father. He began presenting telltale signs that he was getting nervous. This must be the person he’d spoken of earlier.

She saw his dark leather shoe first, followed by his finely made navy blue pants and white dress shirt. It was only when she saw the rest of him that her heart fell.

It was Damien. That Damien.

Chapter 2

Audrey

He still had his signature dark hair and strong cheekbones. Even if the lower half of his face was masked by a close-shaven beard, she could instantly tell it was him. It was those green eyes and that signature smirk that gave him away. Audrey brought her hands to her side, wishing that she wasn’t wearing her baggy and stained work clothes.

He stepped out towards the woman, his bright green eyes barely grazing over Audrey. If he recognized her, he wasn’t giving it away. “You’re right, Mary. It’s gorgeous out here,” he said, his voice monotone. Audrey could tell he clearly hadn’t gotten any better at showing his emotions over the years. “And your company did all this? My aunt said great things about your work.”

Her father was stoic, despite his nervousness. She wanted to cheer him on, but all she could do was stand back. He was too proud to let her take over — yet. “Yes, this was all of us. I work with a team of landscapers, and Audrey, my daughter, does the landscape design — of which she went to a university in London for.”

Damien still wouldn’t so much as glance at her. Audrey could feel her temper flaring as she brought her hand into a fist. “I really like the work you’ve done here. These patio stones,” he started, lowering his eyes towards his feet. “Did you do them?”

Audrey could see her father shifting from one foot to the other. It was his nervous tick. “Yes. We have someone who’s been hired specifically for that purpose.”

“And someone to even out the ground?”

Audrey had to take a step back. She wanted to stop whatever stupid interrogation she saw happening. She clenched her teeth as she brought her eyes to Damien. Of course he would grill her father right in front of her.

“Yes, we always have contractors on standby.”

“Didn’t they do a fantastic job? I think you should hire them for your project,” Mary told him, grazing his arm. “I think they would be a terrific fit for what you’re trying to do.”

Her father crossed his arms, as though trying to bring himself up to Damien’s level. “What’s this job you’ve got?”

“It’s quite complicated,” he said, his tone cold. “I’m sure you’ve seen the new natural history museum towards the downtown core? Just off Adelaide? Well, we need to create a common area on the grounds that can attract visitors interested in nature. It’s a new green project I’ve been put in charge of. We’re thinking native species and conservation for local wildlife.”

“So, basically a forest?” Audrey blurted out, her face growing red as everyone looked to her. It was clear her joke didn’t land.

Damien kept his same cold composure. “Not a forest but somewhere that feels like a retreat. Not only for people, of course, but also for the animals.”

“Sounds like one hell of a job you have there. Isn’t it just grass right now?”

“Yes,” he said and gave a faint smile. “The extension is already there. We have the space to create something, but we don’t have anyone hired for it yet. We need a top-notch landscape architect and horticulturist.”

Audrey considered him a huge asshole. He knew very well that she had studied both. They went hand in hand, and her father had already explained it to him. She couldn’t help but think back to all those nights working on her horticulture homework while she went to classes during the day for her landscape design degree. It made her feel sick that someone would be proud enough to undermine all of her hard work like that.

“Well, I think our work speaks for itself. My daughter is one of the best in the city, and we work very hard once we get started because we focus on only one project at a time,” her father told him, placing his hands in his pockets. “I’m not going to try to sell you on our services. I’ll just let the estate speak for itself. You like what you see, we can talk. If not, we’ll be on our way.”

Audrey smiled to herself. That’s right! Her father was no layman to be kicked down by someone with wealth. She stood taller, unable to hide how proud she was. Her work, after all, was immaculate. They never delivered anything less than perfection to their clients.

“I’m pleased with the work you’ve done here,” Damien said, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. “Here’s my card. Can you have your landscape designer send me a portfolio of their work? I’d like to see a few more before I present your company as an option to the board.”

Audrey’s father turned to face her. “Will you take his card?”

She grudgingly walked up and pulled it from his hand without saying a word. She could only think of how she’d once held that hand. How that hand had been filled with so much promise, pulling her out of her own life and into one that seemed too good to be true. Well, it obviously had been.

Audrey placed the card in the front pocket of her stained mom jeans and walked away without looking back. She’d send him the portfolio. She couldn’t wait to blow his mind with all the work they’d done since she’d returned from school. She knew there was no way another competitor would beat her designs.

Chapter 3

Damien

It was as he expected. She hadn’t changed. She was still that same girl he’d known all those years ago. His lips formed into a smile as he watched her walk away. He knew exactly how to push her buttons still; that was the biggest surprise.

“That was strange. Was it something we said?” Mary asked, her eyebrows furrowed as she watched Audrey storm off.

“She probably has some more work to do,” the landscaper lied, not even bothering to look back to see where she’d went. “I’ll have her email you first thing tomorrow morning, and we’ll get to talking. How long do you think until we start talking about a contract? My company only takes on one big project at a time, and this sounds like it’ll take up quite a bit of our time.”

“I should say within the next few days. I won’t lie,” Damien said, lowering his voice. He always did when he tried to sound more serious. “We have a few prospects that we’re looking into right now. So be sure to send in your best work.”

The landscaper placed his hand in the space between them. “The name’s George Roberts. I’ll be sure to let Audrey know to send in our best work. She documents all of it, including her designs. It’ll all be attached in the email.”

“That’s great. I’m Damien Sanford. I look forward to it.”

George had a strong handshake, which indicated to Damien right away that he was an honest kind of businessman. He was sure that George was still apprehensive of him, which he couldn’t blame him for. After all, Audrey had made a spectacle, as she always did. And he hadn’t been overly friendly to the two of them.

Damien glanced to his aunt, who was smiling from ear to ear. “Thank you so much for all of this. I will definitely refer you to anyone who asks.”

“We appreciate that, ma’am. We can always use the work,” George said, bringing his hand back to his side. “We’ll speak soon.”

Damien watched as George gathered the last of his things and headed towards the edge of the estate, being sure to keep on the trail that was laid out with patio stones. He clearly had a respect for his work, which he could appreciate. Damien brought his eyes toward the truck where Audrey had gone, barely visible through the trees.

So their paths crossed again. This was definitely an interesting turn of events.

Chapter 4

Audrey

The next morning, Audrey found herself staring at the card that she’d slammed on her desk. It was black with white lettering, and his name was in italics above the museum’s name. So he was working at the museum now. That was a surprise. She’d always assumed he didn’t give a shit about anything but himself, let alone a natural history museum. It seemed out of character for someone like him.

She leaned back in her computer chair and stared at the plants surrounding her. Most of them were tropical and not native to North America. She had propagated most of them during her years in university and gradually had them grow into their own, strong plants. Her mother had always told her that there was a green thumb passed down in the family, and when she looked at the plants in her studio apartment, she couldn’t help but agree. It was slowly turning into a jungle, which Audrey always called her little jungalow.

Her heart began to sink as she stared at the computer screen. Morning had just started, and the sun was descending into the room in thick golden stripes through the blinds. She could see the number of pictures she’d taken over the years working for her father’s company. They took on several dozens of small projects throughout the year, which they’d try to knock out as quickly as they could, while also maintaining a balance of perfection that was unusual for a landscaping company. She was proud of the work they did, which was why it was so hard for her to click send on the stupid email.

He was the last person she should be sending it to.

There was the phantom hint of his cologne, which always reminded her of him. Then there were the lonely nights where she’d stayed up crying at his sudden departure from her life, as though she was an airport and was never his final destination. He was only biding his time.

“Jerk,” she whispered as tears threatened her eyes.

It was only after he’d left that she’d realized she deserved better. Finding better, though, was another story altogether. It was almost impossible to find someone decent. She’d tried everything — online dating, being set up by her friends, even trying to approach guys at the bar. None of it worked out. And none of them made her feel the way Damien had.

She sighed as she brought the mouse to her hand and clicked send on the email. It was a good business contract, and she could only imagine how much money it would bring in. It might even make it so that the company could afford more employees. She thought of her father, who always toiled away for too many hours, not realizing how much it hurts him at the end of the day. She couldn’t wait to take over and have him retire.

Audrey leaned back in her chair and picked up the business card. It was smooth to the touch. She wanted to do nothing more than tear it in half. She knew they always needed the work, but working with him was something she’d never imagined. Now, there was the possibility of it happening.

She’d prove him wrong. About leaving. About breaking her heart. About everything. She’d prove to Damien that she’d been doing fine without him.

Chapter 5

Damien

He wanted to say it was for selfish reasons. He wanted to tell them that it was important to him on more than one level. He didn’t say anything. Damien stood at the front of the boardroom and let the slides play, one photo after another. The board members were silent as the rain pattered at the massive windows to the right side of the room. The museum was quiet most days, and the rain had driven most of the business away for the day. Summer always came and went, the crowds changing from large to small.

He took a seat in the leather chair and stared across the cold, granite table at the board members, who were waiting for him to speak. He liked being in control in this way; it made him feel as though he really had a voice in how things were run. Damien brought his hands to the top of the table and crossed them. “I believe this is the company we should hire. As you can see, they do outstanding work. They’re a small company, but if they have a larger contract, they’ll hire their own contractors so we won’t have to. They work primarily with local species, and I believe that if we budget this properly, we’ll get the most for our money.”

“What makes you so sure?” Mr. Skaratovsky said, squinting his eyes at the photos as they passed above Damien’s head. “It’s clear they’ve only done small projects. I’m not sure they could handle one of this magnitude.”

Damien felt the urge to stand up and point at the pictures. Couldn’t they see how great their work was? But none of that mattered. Mr. Skaratovsky had come up with a good point that couldn’t be overlooked. “I think they’ll be able to handle it. They hire contractors if they fall behind on work. Every time.”

He could see a few nods from the board members, which sparked some hope. His heart felt as though it would leap onto the table. It wasn’t that he was desperate to spend time with her again, but he was sure that she could do an amazing job. When he’d received the email, he’d thought back to all those dates she couldn’t make because of how busy she was. She always took on too much and, despite that, always did her best. He knew she’d deliver an amazing product, regardless of whether or not the landscaping company could handle it.

“What have we quoted them?”

Damien shook his head. “We haven’t quoted them a price yet. I wanted to get the okay from the board first.”

“That’s just bad practice,” Mrs. Stinson said, leaning forward to meet Damien’s eyes. “We should know what kind of price they’re expecting.”

“I’ll remember that for next time. But they are a smaller company, so I think they’ll be willing to negotiate.”

This caused a stillness in the room that set him at ease. He had them. It always came down to price — the board always wanted the best results from the lowest bidder. He was just hoping his lie would prove to be true. He wasn’t sure if Audrey was one to budge on such things, but maybe her father was.

“We’ll consider them, but only if they’re willing to negotiate a price that works for our budget,” Mr. Skaratovsky said firmly. “Otherwise, we’ll go with our other choice, Daybreak Landscaping.”

Damien’s lips formed into a smile as his eyes scanned over each face in the room. “Thank you. I’ll negotiate with them right away.”

Negotiation seemed easier when he was in the boardroom. He sat in front of his computer, his heart drumming in his chest. He rarely felt uneasy but this was causing his stomach to churn. What would she say about him lowballing them? Their budget was set in stone, as their grant was only so much. They couldn’t go over, and there were a multitude of companies that were vying for the position to work on the museum grounds. None of the other companies had work that was as breathtaking as their company, but that kind of perfect work always costs more.

He bit his lip as he lowered his fingers to the keyboard and started typing the email that would cause them to drop out, or keep them onboard. He knew he’d have to CC everyone on the board, so was sure to use his best professional tone throughout the email.

The sun was beginning to set behind him as he rolled back and forth in his computer chair. He wondered if it was enough. Would they accept? He wasn’t sure if he should feel nervous or excited. He was glad to have a chance to be around her again, but this could be the last time if it didn’t go well.

Damien exhaled deeply and hit enter, confirming the option to send the email. It was done. Whatever it was that she and her father chose to do now was their prerogative. He glanced up towards the ceiling and unbuttoned the top button of his black dress shirt. He truly hoped they would agree to the terms.

Chapter 6

Audrey

The office had been bare before Audrey had returned from school. Now, it was a plant utopia, with a number of different plants in every corner of the room. Her father was already in his own office when she entered, closing the glass door behind her gently so that the bell didn’t go off again. She hated that sound in the morning, yet her father insisted on keeping it around. She assumed Jenine was already out with Christopher and Kayley to the other properties that they maintained, just as extra coin to the business.

There were always lawns that needed care, shrubs that needed to be pruned, and flowers that needed to be watered. It was the best part of the business when it came to getting extra money, and kept them afloat throughout the year.

She could see her father through the window in his door. He’d obviously heard her as she came in but didn’t bother to look up. Instead, his eyes were lowered to a pile of papers on his wooden desk. Audrey brought the travel mug in her hand to her lips and shrugged. He was always worrying about something or other. The man was riddled with anxiety, to the point where she was nervous it impacted his health. Despite her numerous attempts, though, he never accepted her advice or help.

“Will you come in here?”

She raised her eyebrows and took a sip of the warm coffee, which was sweetened by a little cinnamon. It was warm to her lips and was the first one she’d had so far that day — caffeination was necessary.

Her father still appeared concerned as she opened the door to his office. There were two leather chairs in front of his desk, and she could see the wrinkles near his mouth, deepening as he frowned and lifted his eyes to meet hers. She could tell it wasn’t going to be the best of news.

“Remember that man you sent the portfolio to a week ago?”

How could she forget? Audrey kept her words to herself and nodded in response.

“He’s given us a quote,” he said, his voice low. “They want us to take on the project at the museum.”

Audrey’s heart fell and her stomach filled with butterflies. His words didn’t make any sense in that moment. Damien wanted to work with her father’s company? That meant he would be working alongside her. They would be spending time together...again. It didn’t seem possible. Why would he have chosen them?

Her father raised his eyes to meet hers, and there was a glint of promise there. Regardless of whether or not she had to work alongside Damien, she had to take on the project. For the sake of the company and her family. She just had to get out of her own way and shove her heart into her back pocket, where it belonged. “The quote is unbelievable, and they’re giving us a realistic goal for timing. I can’t believe it.”

“Neither can I.”

“Do you know what this means, sweetheart? We can finally hire some new people. This will make it so that we can pick and choose our projects. It’s incredible!”

The enthusiasm of his voice made her smile. It had been too long since she’d heard him call her sweetheart. It may have been years, even.

“That young man is coming over to the offices today, so clean up your end of things. I’ll speak to him and then have you come up with some ideas for the design with him afterwards.”

It was like lightning struck. “What? Don’t they have someone else that I can talk to about that? Like the museum director?”

Her dad shrugged casually. “Apparently, Damien is the team leader in charge of museum planning, or some damn thing. He’s the one you talk to, anyhow. It’s a great opportunity, and I know you’ll come up with something amazing that he can show to that board of directors, or whoever they are.”

“That’s great.”

Her dad was grinning as he sighed contentedly. She knew she couldn’t let him down. It meant so much to have such a huge contract. It would open doors for the company later, and it would show off their skills in ways other projects never could. She had to ace this. She just wasn’t sure if she could mentally take the strain of being this close to Damien. He’d been someone that she’d never thought she’d see again.

Later that afternoon while working on the project, Audrey’s back stiffened when she heard Damien’s voice emanating from her father’s office. It was just across the short hall that led to the kitchen and staff room. She tried to focus her attention to searching the native species to the area, including the wildlife and their habitats. But knowing Damien was in the next room made it difficult.

Audrey worked on creating a visual style with the land while also creating an ecosystem. It sounded way easier when said aloud. Her hand was starting to hurt from drawing and writing down the Latin names of flowers that she was fond of in the area.

She could remember her mother taking her through a field of natural lavender and honeysuckles, which had made the air smell divine. She knew they would play a big part in creating a visually appealing experience for museum goers.

The knock on the door caused her to jump, and seeing Damien’s face caused her to want to hide. She’d prepared herself better than when she’d seen him after planting for an entire day, but it didn’t seem to matter much. It didn’t matter what she looked like. She knew the best way to get back at him was showing him how talented she was.

“Damien, this is my daughter Audrey. You weren’t properly introduced last time, as she had some cleaning up to do after we worked on your aunt’s estate. She’s our resident landscape designer, so I’m sure you two have a lot to discuss.”

Audrey could feel her cheeks growing red, and she gave Damien a small smile. “I’ve already started on some of the research for this project.”

She had to lower her eyes away from his. He looked even better that day than he had when she saw him at the estate. He was wearing a black and navy dress shirt with perfectly tailored gray dress pants that showed off his well-muscled legs. Apparently, even glancing down towards the ground couldn’t get her mind off of their past. It was hard to focus with him in her vicinity, especially when she could smell his cologne from the doorway.

“It’s so nice to meet you. Your father’s been telling me all about your work, and from what I saw in the company portfolio — I have to say that I was really impressed.”

She rolled her eyes without saying another word. Words were unnecessary in her line of work when it came to clients. She let the results speak for themselves.

“Well,” her father said finally, clapping his hands together awkwardly. “I’m going to leave the two of you to talk. Show him what research you have, and I’m sure you’ll both come up with an idea to present as the next step.”

“Thank you, George. I’m sure we will.”

Audrey wanted nothing more than to run out of the room.

Chapter 7

Damien

She looked the same as he remembered. Her strawberry-blonde hair was wrapped in a high messy bun, and there was a pencil mark on the bottom half of her face. He could remember all those days he saw her sketching, hoping to get down every plant in their vicinity before sundown. Despite all of it, her blue eyes were enticing, and he held his breath when she lowered them to the floor. So, she could barely stand to look at him. That didn’t surprise him in the slightest.

He watched as her father passed and tapped him on his shoulder, as if to say good luck. He may not know their history, but it was obvious he knew when his daughter was upset with someone. There were always signs with Audrey, and there always would be. That was just the kind of woman she was.

Damien took a step closer and watched as Audrey flinched. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and spin her around in her white computer chair. It took everything in him to hold back years of emotions that wanted to spill out. He inhaled deeply, knowing that it would only make things worse. He had to take things slow.

“These are just some of the natural fauna,” she said, holding up her notebook without looking at him. “I’m thinking of incorporating flowers along the trails, a pond, and a few features like wood carvings that could be used to house squirrels or birds during the spring.”

He pored over the sketches, impressed with what he saw. She’d already come up with concepts for the trails and canopy above, alongside the flowers that would be in separate areas of the grounds.

“Will there be an area for —”

“For kids? Yeah. A sensory garden where they can take seeds and plant them. You could have parents pay for planters in the gift shop and have the children choose which seeds they want based on their favorite plant.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You thought of all that in a week?”

“I knew we’d get the contract. Our work speaks for itself.”

She hadn’t changed. Audrey was still the work obsessed woman he’d met all those years ago.

“You sound a little egotistical when you say that.”

He watched as she leaned forward in her chair and turned to her computer screen, which was on a metallic, rotating arm so that she looked up at it. He could see all the meticulous notes she’d made about the area.

“I can come up with a visual mockup in a few days, if you’re in a time crunch.”

“The board wants me to oversee any ideas you come up with.”

“And that means what to me, exactly?”

He placed the notebook down on her white desk and took a step back. “It means we’ll be working together for a few days.”

He could see the tension rising in her body at the prospect. The board hadn’t recommended it — he had. It was the only way he could think of getting her alone. It had to work, even if it took months. He’d get the courage to tell her.

She sighed at her desk and kept her eyes on the monitor. “Fine. Whatever. You’ll have to help me build the model, then. You can work from the staff room.”

He smiled and quickly reverted to his serious demeanor. “Sounds good. I can do that.”

Chapter 8

Audrey

It was like some kind of sick joke. As soon as she entered the office the next morning, there he was waiting at the reception desk with a trayful of coffee. She watched as he removed one for her and gave his signature smirk. Girls had gone crazy over that smirk back in school. To Audrey, however, it had lost all of its charm.

“I bring my own coffee,” she said, lifting her travel mug as she brushed by him. “Leave it for Linda. She comes in at ten.”

He didn’t reply to her as she passed, and she didn’t look back to see if he was upset.

It was strange working not too far from him. She could hear him typing furiously from the staff room, and he’d already okayed the design she’d come up with. Now, she just had to build it. Any good landscaper knew that this was the difficult part.

She’d already measured out the bottom and was beginning to draw along the edges when she heard his footsteps nearing her doorway. She kept her eyes on the work ahead and ignored him. If he didn’t have anything relevant to say, there was no reason to pay him any mind. She just had to focus on her work.

“Do you need any help?”

“Can you draw a plant to save your life?”

He cleared his throat at her reply. “Not really, but I’m sure I can help with some of the model stuff. Like the figures or something.”

“The figures?”

“Yeah. I can help with that.”

She lifted her eyes to his for the first time that day. “Just do your job, Damien. I’m fine.”

“All right,” he said, running his fingers through his dark, thick hair. “Let me know if you need anything, though. We do have to work on this together.”

He left the room, and there was a tense silence. She could feel her heart quivering in her chest. She just had to get through the next week and a half. It was the quickest she’d ever put together a model, but she didn’t need his help or his distractions.

Chapter 9

Damien

He decided to surprise her the next day with flowers picked from the meadow near his condo. He placed them on her desk as she sat at her computer chair. The model on the table at the other end of her office was coming along surprisingly quickly. He didn’t want her to finish.

“Figured I’d get you the real thing,” he said and placed his hand in his pocket. “For reference.”

She didn’t respond at all. He was expecting at least a smile, as he knew lavender was one of her favorites. He thought he’d at least get some softness from her, but there was none to be found. Damien knew he had to try harder.

He moved closer to her so that he could look at the screen alongside her, which caused her to flinch. “Are those the trees you’re thinking of adding?”

“Yes.”

He grazed her shoulder as he brought his finger to the screen. “That’s a willow tree, right? Like from Pocahontas?”

She rolled her head to look at him. “From Pocahontas? That’s the only reference you know about willow trees? They’re only the most gorgeous trees to exist.”

There was one thing he knew about Audrey — she hated people who took plants for granted. If she thought something was beautiful, she’d convince the next person to believe her, even if it meant arguing. He could remember all the times they’d spent in the field where he’d use that exact same tactic to get a rise out of her. Seeing her bright blue eyes flare with passion always caused him to smile. He loved that she had such dedication in something.

“I think everyone will love them. How many are you adding in?”

“Didn’t you go over the plans?”

“I did.”

“Then you should know,” she said bluntly, her ears going red. They always did when she was frustrated. “There’s going to be three. Their roots take up a lot of space, and I don’t want them causing damage to any pipelines to the museum, or strangling the roots of other plants. Was the board interested or something?”

“No,” he said, leaning a little closer to her. “Just me.”

He could see her cheeks flushing at their proximity. If there was one thing he knew about women, it was he seemed to have a way with them. If his charm wouldn’t work on her, he’d use his looks. There had to be something he could do that would get him closer to winning her over.

“I have to get back to work if you don’t mind.”

He purposely grazed her arm as he stood up straight. “Works for me. Only a few more days until the model needs to be finished.”

He eased out of the room, watching as her frustration grew. Smiling, he knew that any reaction was a good reaction.

Chapter 10

Audrey

She felt like she was part of some comedy sketch and Damien was the lead actor. Each day he would enter her office for no reason whatsoever, as though pissing her off was his new hobby. It was driving her mad. She barely managed to scrape her daily work quote for the day. She always checked her phone to knock off an extra task on her list. She’d look over from the model and there he’d be, hovering like some kind of specter.

She knew that working with him would have its difficulties, but she never imagined it would be that bad. She could only imagine that he was bored.

The effect he had on her, though, was obvious. He must’ve known. She tried her best to hold in her frustration or the fact that he flustered her still, but it was difficult. Damien had always had his good looks and it still surprised her each day how much better looking he’d become than when they had been together. In university, he wasn’t nearly as filled out. He’d somehow shifted from a young man to a man’s man in just a few years.

He looked like he should be on the cover of GQ, the men’s fashion magazine.

She hated it.

She stared at the model and placed her hands on her hips. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but it was the best she could do in the time she was given. If only the deadline hadn’t been so tight. She walked to her doorway and poked her head out. There he was, exactly where he always sat every day for the past week. He was typing on his laptop at the staff room table. Rain pattered on the windows behind him and helped mask some of the typing which had caused Audrey to start wearing headphones every day at work.

“It’s finished,” she said, causing him to glance up from the screen.

He’d somehow managed to continue typing as he met her eyes. “The model’s finished?”

He sounded surprised. Typical. Everyone underestimated her. “It’s finished. If you want to come take a look, I’d like you to approve of it so we can go to the board and present it.”

He stopped typing finally and scraped the old metal chair he was sitting in against the floor as he rose to his feet. She watched as he lifted the cuffs of his black dress shirt and made his way toward her. She could see the veins in his arms as he walked towards the doorway.

She stepped aside for him to enter and was almost knocked over by his scent. Why did he always have to smell so damn good? It was one of her biggest things with men — they had to smell good. It was like Damien made a point of it every day.

“It looks amazing,” he said, sounding genuine. “I think this might actually work.”

“Of course, it will.”

“Will you be ready to present in two days?”

Audrey’s eyes widened. “That’s not really a lot of time.”

“There’s never enough time,” he told her, his voice low. “The board wants to move quickly with this, though. The museum is already built, so they’re looking to have the outside finished as soon as possible.”

“I can present then.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

“No,” she said firmly. “I can present.”

At least, she hoped she could. It had been a while since she’d presented anything. Her father was the one who took the helm at meetings. For some reason, however, her father had told her that she would be the one to present it alongside Damien. Hopefully, it worked.

Chapter 11

Damien

Damien couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so nervous. He watched as she placed the model on the table and some of the pieces nearly toppled over from her small movements. He couldn’t bear to see the disappointment on her face should the model be destroyed. He’d already seen it once when she was in school, and it upset him so much to see her so defeated. She was usually so headstrong, but she never did well under failure.

He could hear the footsteps of the board members as they neared the door. The knob turned and they entered, taking their usual seats. There were five of them in total. His hands were shaking as they sat down with their notebooks and tablets in front of them. They would confirm the grant being spent on this project.

Damien brought his eyes to rest on Audrey, who was clearly nervous. He wanted to hold her hand and tell her he’d prepared everything. They would be okay. She’d hate that, though. Even convincing her dad to let her present with him was enough to make her question his intentions. She needed to do this on her own, with only a little help from him. He’d prepared everything he could so they would succeed.

It would be groundbreaking if they did.

Chapter 12

Audrey

“We did it!” she exclaimed after the last board member left. “I can’t believe they agreed to it. This is amazing. My dad is going to be so happy.”

She grabbed her phone from her pocket and started texting him. Her body was racing with adrenaline. She’d never had such success. She hoped that this would prove to her father once and for all that she was ready to take on the company.

“I’m really glad it went through. They can be a tough crowd.”

“I bet,” she said, beaming. “They don’t seem all that friendly.”

“They’re not.”

She sent the text and leaned towards the model. “Well, I guess that’s it, then. It was a pleasure working with you, Damien.”

She watched as his expression fell. It had never happened before. She had never seen such an expression form on his face, and it caused her stomach to sink. He appeared sad. His eyes had lost their gleam, and she could see his teeth clenching beneath his closely trimmed beard. She narrowed her eyes and took a step back, unsure of what to make of it.

He was obviously upset.

Chapter 13

Damien

“What do you mean, that’s it?”

“The model’s done, right? There’s no reason for us to work together from here on out. Any other business you have is with my father.”

He watched as she started lifting the model off the boardroom table. It was time. He had no other choice but to divulge it now. They’d gotten the contract, and she was right. There was no other reason for them to work together anymore. At least, not in the proximity he needed.

Damien took a step closer to her, stopping her from lifting the model from the table’s surface. “I have to tell you something.”

She stood up straight and turned to him. “What now?”

It was now or never.

“I still care about you.”

He could see the expression of disbelief shadowing her face as soon as the words left his lips. He knew he had to keep trying.

“You have to believe me. I didn’t want to leave.”

“You didn’t want to leave?” she asked, a grin forming on her lips. “Yet, from what I remember, you left anyway.”

He moved closer to her. “Seriously. I didn’t want to leave. I was forced to.”

“And by who, exactly? It definitely wasn’t me.”

“It was my dad.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Your dad?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice growing lower. “My dad didn’t approve of you at the time because of your...family.”

“My family? Why don’t you just say the truth?” she asked, her words sharp. “You mean to say my family’s wealth wasn’t enough for your father. Is that it?”

“That’s why. He found out, and he didn’t like it. So he made me leave.”

“And, tell me, what did he use against you to make you leave?”

“I didn’t have a choice. He transferred my enrollment to another school before I even knew. That’s why I didn’t get back to you after summer break. He said he’d ruin your father’s business if I kept seeing you.”

He watched Audrey fall silent. She knew what kind of connections his father had, and his mother was always too afraid to say anything. He had been trapped until he started forging his own path. His life wasn’t in his father’s hands anymore.

“I moved out and did all of this for you.”

“It’s too late,” she whispered, her chin quivering. “You’re way too late.”

Chapter 14

Audrey

The intensity in his eyes caused her to take a step back. She couldn’t believe what he was saying. He’d left her for that reason? It was ridiculous. She held back the tears forming in her eyes and bit her lip.

“You have to believe me. I didn’t want to do it.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” she said, her voice wavering. “It’s too late, Damien. It was too late when you left without saying a word.”

“Can’t you see that I did all of this for you?”

She scoffed. “Did what for me? Come back? It doesn’t make up for everything else you did,” she could barely form words as her voice cracked. It felt as though they were trapped at the back of her throat. “You broke my heart.”

“And in the process, I broke mine too,” he admitted, stepping closer to her. “Working for The Natural History Museum was the only way I could think of seeing you again. Telling them to come up with the project — all of it. It was me.”

“So, what? I’m just supposed to owe you now?”

“No. That’s not what I meant.”

She was silent as she crossed her arms. He took another step closer, which caused her heart to ache. Everything hurt, and she couldn’t pinpoint where the pain was stemming from.

“I never stopped loving you, Audrey.”

She’d wanted to hear those words for so long. It just felt too late now. She wanted to believe him, and she wanted to go back to how it was when they’d first met in the library all those years ago. How perfect they’d been together. How wonderful he’d been.

“I don’t know. It’s way too —”

She felt his hands on her elbows and smelled the nostalgic scent of his cologne. He was warm as he pulled her close and slowly lowered his lips to hers. It was a natural sensation and she didn’t stop him as he moved. She accepted it. All of it.

She didn’t know where it would go from there, but for the first time in years she felt her heart race. Just as it did when he’d first kissed her.

About Lauren Wood

Lauren Wood writes about irresistible alpha males. You're in the right place if you like bad boys, sexy neighbors, billionaires, and swoon-worthy romance.

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Spencer: Bad Boy Cage Fighter by P.T. Macias

Chapter 1

Spencer

“Spencer, keep your arms up! Get Ash on the floor. You need to practice the submissions,” Xavier yelled, standing at the side of the octagon ring, the cage.

The sweat ran into Spencer’s face, stinging his eyes, making them water. He was at the point of exhaustion but pushed through the pain.

He blinked and didn’t see Ash’s punch connect with his face.

He panted, burning through his energy, inhaled through his nose, and exhaled harshly. “Motherfucker, you’re going down.” He tried to control his breathing, to keep focus, but it was a futile effort. He kept his arms up, his biceps flexed with each move as he blocked the punches. He looked for an opening to bring Ash down.

“Yeah, you and who’s army?”

Ashton, Xavier, and Spencer were best buds. Ash was about Spencer’s height and a little broader across the shoulders. Both fought in the Light Heavyweight class, so sparring with him was excellent training. Ash had several professional fights under his belt with all wins and was currently ranked number 149 in the Light Heavyweight class. Spencer was thankful to train with them because he needed all the help he could get.

His mentor, Xavier, was an MMA heavyweight champion that made some serious bank, like millions, with Pay-Per-View offers.

X’s career was something he aspired to.

Spencer didn’t even make the list these days, but he knew he’d catch up. I won’t stop until I’m number one.

Apollo’s Gym was one of the country’s best with Coach Rock Jones. Spencer wrestled on the high school team and took Ju Jitsu classes for years. Of course, he had other special skills. He had also been a sniper who received exceptional training in the Marines. Yeah, he was the guy if you needed any specialized jobs done.

Spencer fought in the cutthroat underworld with no rules, and the fights frequently became a free for all, but he made a few hundred dollars. Nothing like the fighting with the Unified Rules of Mixed Martial Arts in the UFC fights.

The Apollo team checked potential recruits in the underworld fights, and that’s when they spotted Spencer. They immediately recruited him. It had been one of the luckiest days of his life. He counted his lucky stars to have the opportunity handed to him, not that he hadn’t worked for it, paying his dues over the years.

Spencer was training for his first UFC, Ultimate Fighting Championship match. He stood to win one hundred grand if he lost, oh, but if he won, it meant a cool five hundred grand. His life was finally changing for the better; he could feel it. He just knew he’d win his first professional fight because of the extensive training—harder than ever, and he made damn sure of it.

Spencer took a swing at Ash, and he countered. He took that moment to do a round kick with his thick muscular thighs, knocking Ash’s legs right out from under him, then used his brawny arms to do a rear-naked choke, locking Ash into submission.

“You gonna tap?” Spencer asked while gasping for air. His muscles contracted as he tightened the hold.

“Yeah.” Ash hit the mat, allowing his body to relax.

Spencer released Ash and rolled onto his back, then closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing to calm his heartbeat. His abdominal muscles flexed with each breath.

“Ok, let’s wrap it up,” Rock yelled and clapped his hands. He looked at the clock.

Spencer walked out of the cage and he made his way towards the lockers. X and Ash followed.

“I’m so done.” Spencer rotated his shoulders.

“Hey, let’s go to the club.” Ash grabbed his towel and wiped the sweat off his face.

“Yeah, ok, let’s go.” Spencer drank from his water bottle then poured the refreshing H20 over his face to cool off before entering the showers.

“Let’s hurry up. I want to grab something to eat before we go.”

“Right, me too.” Spencer nodded.

Chapter 2

Dior

“Oh god, I’m running late. That’s all I need. Father will make a stink about my tardiness. No offense, Alfred, but I hate this with a passion. I want to drive my car. I want the freedom like most people on the planet without bodyguards lurking everywhere I go.”

Alfred smirked without replying.

“I know, I know, it’s for my safety. But I feel like I’m living in a gilded cage, and I hate it. So, please drive fast.”

He inhaled and exhaled deeply.

“I’m sorry, but I’m at my limit, my patience is running thin. Father is suffocating me.” She closed her eyes and leaned back in the backseat. “Every meeting I have with him gets me worked up.”

“Yes, Ms. Dior,” he replied with professionalism.

She wondered what he thought about her and her dad.

Alfred glanced at Peter, the other bodyguard in the front passenger seat. He raised his right brow but remained quiet.

Fifteen minutes later, the SUV stopped in the reserved parking space. Dior pushed back her hair, grabbed her red leather Gucci purse, and the rear door opened. Peter waited for her to exit.

“Ms. Dior,” Peter said, stepping back and extending his hand to assist her as she exited. “Mr. Ford is waiting.”

Dior adjusted her dark red scuba crepe dress with cute ruffle cap sleeves and a V-neck, which she paired with her favorite black knee-high suede boots with five-inch heels. Alfred and Peter walked beside her into the massive high-rise building.

“I hate drama. Every time he requests, I meet with him, it’s always about something I’ve done. So, will either of you tell me what Father wants to talk about? No. I didn’t think so.”

Yeah, yeah, poor little rich girl. Spoiled? Definitely.

Father had a strict, rigid schedule for her.

Did he ever once ask about her dreams? Her ambitions?

She wanted to help sick children. She graduated from nursing school, and she had a way with kids. But no. He wouldn’t have his daughter work. It was archaic.

Father intended for her to marry Roger to strengthen his organization, but she had refused. Roger had tons of women and made it perfectly clear he wouldn’t change his philandering ways. Sure, he’s a Capo. She had given him ample chances.

She wanted love. She wanted to fall in love, not be a profitable asset. She, like most women, deserved happiness. She dreamed of falling in love and having children someday. She couldn’t imagine living a lie.

Dior entered the building. She waited at the elevator and glanced at her perfect manicured fingernails then at her reflection in the gleaming doors as they silently slid open. She stepped inside, leaving the guards behind.

She sighed. Thank god it’s empty—no forced small talk. She pushed the button, crossing her arms, watching the numbers scale to the top floor. The door pinged, and she stepped into the vast foyer, taking off her dark glasses.

The receptionist smiled.

“Hey, Nancy, how are you? I believe Father is expecting me.” Dior placed her right hand on the countertop.

“Oh, hi, Ms. Dior. I’m doing great, thanks for asking. That’s correct, Mr. Ford is expecting you. Go right ahead.”

“Awesome, thanks, Nancy.” Dior walked through the main office, ignoring the employees curious looks. She’d learned the hard way, that most of them only used her for advancement. So, she didn’t fraternize with the help.

Stopping in front of Father’s corner office, she stared at the closed door. She tamped down her nerves, straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin then knocked on the door.

“Enter, Dior.” He pushed back from his desk and greeted her with a brief hug.

Her tummy fluttered. Something seemed off with him. “Father,” she said with a small smile.

With a scowl, he said, “Dior, you’re late. Take a seat.”

“I prefer to stand. What’s up?” she asked. He was up to something. He was not going to continue to run her life. She could get a job as a nurse. She was a grown-ass woman. But realistically, the paper trail would catch up with her.

No way out.

Dior narrowed her turquoise eyes surrounded by thick black eyelashes. She met his gaze head-on then looked at his mouth to see if he was in a good or bad mood.

“Dior, I learned from your brother, William, that a bastard tried to get smart with you at the club. I asked you to stop attending the Excalibur. The club is not an appropriate place. I’ve asked you several times to behave like the high society young lady you are, but no, you fight me at every turn. You keep testing my patience.” Father pursed his lips and tapped his fat fingers on the side table. A slow smile crossed his face. “I’ve made a decision.”

“William is blowing the situation out of proportion, and I can take care of myself. I did take self-defense classes. Candance and Jillian are always with me, so please don’t exaggerate.” She cocked her head to the side and said, “What do you mean you’ve decided? Decided what?”

“Do not raise your voice at me, young lady. I don’t give a damn what you think. I’ve decided to have a guard at your side, in addition to Alfred and Peter, every second of every day, especially when you’re out in public. Don’t you understand? There are people out there that would use you to get to me. I cannot, nor will, I risk it.” He crossed his massive arms over his chest.

“Father, it’s not necessary!” She stomped her foot. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need a babysitter. I can’t believe this. I already have guards 24/7.” She narrowed her eyes and said, “Tell me the truth. You’ve been acting strange of late. What’s happened? And don’t say it’s nothing for me to worry about.”

“Not your decision, and you must trust me. I’ve already hired your detail guard. He starts tomorrow, so I’m requesting you go straight home after our meeting, and do not to leave the house. Are we clear?”

“Why won’t you tell me? Did you ever think that maybe I could help shoulder whatever is burdening you?”

“I will not burden you. I will protect you. I made a vow, and by god, I intend to keep it.”

She intended to find out— if it was the last thing she’d ever do.

Chapter 3

Spencer

The next day, Spencer rolled out of bed, cracked his neck, and looked at the time.

Damn, Sunday.

He’d love to stay in bed, but he couldn’t. He needed to squeeze in a training session at the gym. He grabbed his workout clothes from the chair, pulling on sweatpants and a black T-shirt, then a hoodie with Apollo bold silver letters across the chest.

The owner, Carlos Reyes, was a dangerously powerful man. He named the gym Apollo, after the Greek god.

Spencer went into the small kitchen to grab a quick breakfast. He opened the refrigerator, peering inside before finally grabbing eggs, spinach, and avocado and whipping up an omelet. He made a point to eat healthy high protein meals. He sipped coffee and stared out the window into the parking lot full of old beat-up cars. His apartment wasn’t in the best part of town, but he had a roof over his head.

He took out his cell, swiped the screen, and pressed his bank app. His finger scrolled to look at his bank statement and balance. With frustration, he shouted, “I’m not going to survive at this rate!”

The fight was still three months away. He didn’t have anything to sell, and he’d be damned if he asked his stepdad for money. The man hadn’t hesitated to kick Spencer out of his fancy-ass mansion the day he turned eighteen, so Spencer joined the Marines.

What hurt him the most was his mother never stopped the physical and emotional abuse. The man was an admired, influential, upstanding citizen, and everyone loved him. Spencer bet the country club clique didn’t know that his stepdad was an abusive bastard. Countless nights, he beat Spencer because he looked like his real dad, until Spencer learned how to fight back.

His words still echoed in Spencer’s mind, “You’re a fucking loser. What the hell are you going to do now that you’ve graduated from high school? Do I need to mention you didn’t have the grades for college? I’ll never support your sorry ass.”

Spencer would prove him wrong.

He didn’t need the man’s money or his approval. He’d figure it out, somehow. Once he won the fight, he’d receive an exclusive UFC, Ultimate Fighting Championship contract.

He slid his cell into his pocket, then washed his dirty dishes. He tried keeping the apartment clean, but one day he’d have a housekeeper. He left the apartment, pulled up his hoodie, and sprinted to the gym in the early morning mist. Entering the gym, he waved to his buds.

“Hey, Spencer, do you want to spar?” Ash asked.

“Hell, yes. I need this win, you know.”

Ash said, “You will win, man. Positive attitude.”

“Let me get my hands wrapped real quick.” Spencer twisted off the water bottle cap and took several pulls, then smashed it and threw it in the recycle bin.

“I’ll get X to coach.” Ash walked to the cage.

Spencer smiled and followed him across the gym. He nodded at several fighters.

“Hey Spencer, I need a favor, man,” Ethan said. He was a fighter in the Light Heavyweight Division with several wins.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Spencer wiped his neck with a towel.

“I have this sweet job. The pay’s amazing, but I need to take care of my mom. She’s sick, and I don’t want to lose the job. Could you stand in for me until I return?”

“Hm, I’ll need more details, but sure.” He stood with a wide stance.

“It’s a guard detail for a very important man. You will be guarding his child, keeping the kid safe,” Ethan said.

“Uh, that sounds easy enough, I can do that. How did you get the job?” Spencer asked with an arched brow.

“My buddy Ryan got me the job since he’s the security manager, and that’s why he’s willing to allow me to find a fill-in.”

“Sounds good, I’m glad I can help out, and it’s also helping me out.” Spence said, “Give me the address where I need to report.”

“Awesome. You’ll report to Ryan. I’ll let him know you’re in, and I’ll text you the deets. How is this helping you?” Ethan smiled.

“I need money until my fight.” Spencer threaded his fingers through his hair.

“Cool, helps us both out.” Ethan pulled out his phone and sent the text with the information to Spencer.

“Talk to you later. X and Ash are waiting for me,” Spencer said and sauntered over to the cage area.

“Hey, you ready?” X asked.

Spencer extended his hands to get wrapped. “Yeah.”

“Sparring practice has helped sharpen your skills. You’re going to win the fight.” X slid the mitts on Spencer.

“Hell, yes, I’m so glad to hear that from you.” Spencer smiled and said, “I need to win, so I’m giving it my all.”

“I’m looking forward to your Vegas fight.” X slapped Spencer on the back.

“Seriously, you’re going to be there?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, man. The entire team will be there, even Carlos.”

“Awesome.”

Spencer stepped into the cage and bumped fists with Ash.

Chapter 4

Spencer

Spencer dressed in a black suit and white shirt supplied by Ryan. A little odd just to guard a child. Whatever, he needed the money. He would dress like a clown if they needed him to. He had to clock in at six a.m.

He drove his old Honda twelve miles then entered the Plaza parking. He’d never been in the building. He caught the elevator to the tenth floor where he met Ryan, the security manager. He had read and signed the NDA.

He knocked on the Plaza Security door, and Ryan greeted him. “Hey, Spencer. So you read the brief and signed the DNA.” Ryan wore the same suit style. He had dark piercing eyes.

“Yes, sir.”

“Fantastic, come on in.”

Spencer followed him inside, down a long hallway and inside a super sweet conference room which reminded him of that tv show, Succession.

“I’m glad you’re here on time. Mr. Ford is particular about being on time. It's better to show up early than late. Let me review your job description and your charge.” Ryan went into the details.

The kid must be a real pain in the ass. “So, this is a difficult child?”

“Oh, she’s feisty.” He paused with a slight grin. “Dior Ford is twenty-one years old, spoiled, Daddy’s darling, and very challenging. You’ll be her shadow. It is imperative to protect her at all costs. She doesn’t know this, but her ex has threatened to kill her. Cost him millions, and the ex has the chops to do it. Ford wants her protected until we take the bastard out, you dig?” Ryan brought up the security screen.

Oh, shit! What in the hell had he signed on to do? She’s not a child. She’s a grown woman. So why hadn’t Ethan mentioned that particular fact? Were they going to take out someone?

He watched the screen with Ms. Ford. Damn, she was beautiful and sexy. Bitch patrol? “Um, ex needs taking out? Is that something I must do? If so, I’m going to need more money. And, who is Mr. Ford?” Spencer rubbed the back of his neck.

“He’s a high-level mob boss. You know the mafia?” Ryan scrutinized Spencer’s reaction.

He clenched his jaw. He appeared calm on the exterior, but on the interior, he trembled. People do not mess with the mob. “Okay, look, I can handle any situation. I’m a marine, but just so we’re clear, this is a temporary job.”

“We’re cool. Here’s her address.” He threw Spencer keys. “The key to the SUV you’ll drive her around in. I have another car that will follow close behind. Alfred and Peter are her regular detail unit. Listen, most important— don’t let her out of your sight. Call me only if a situation arises.” Ryan smirked. “She’ll be expecting you in ten minutes. Good luck.”

“Right.” Spencer nodded, turned, and exited the security office.

He pressed the key fob and went to the SUV that honked. He turned his cell to vibrate then pressed the ignition. The GPS lit with her address. He pulled out of the garage and hit the freeway. Ten minutes later, he drove to the electronic gate, rolled down his window, and entered the code, then he continued up to the circular driveway.

He thought his stepfather was loaded. This mansion made his house look small. He exited the vehicle and made his way to the ginormous entrance.

Before he could knock, the door opened, and a butler said, “Miss Ford is dressing. Eliza will take you to the kitchen until your services are needed.”

Wow, the house was massive, like a museum or something.

Spencer followed Eliza down the hallway to the kitchen. The scent of bacon made his mouth water. “Hi, I’m Spencer. That smells delicious. Is it possible to get a cup of coffee?” He grinned. Most women loved his dimples when he smiled.

“Sure, I’ll pour you a cup,” she said with a smile. “I’m Ivy, the cook. I’ve never seen you before.”

Spencer leaned against the island. “I’m Ms. Ford’s new security guard.”

“Ah, that’s good.” Ivy handed him the cup, then said, “Hungry?”

“No, thank you. Um, the butler told me to wait in here, but I have orders not to leave her side.” He took a sip.

“She’s in the master suite.” She pointed and said, “Down the hall. Dior’s room is the last door on the right.”

“Thanks.” Spencer finished the coffee and left the empty cup on the counter.

“No problem, I’ll bring Dior breakfast in a few minutes.” Ivy turned back to cooking.

He made his way down the hall, mentally taking in all doors, windows, and exits. Any place that a would-be assassin might access. At the last entry, he took a deep breath and lightly rapped on the door.

He couldn’t believe he was going to guard a drop-dead gorgeous, mafia daughter. Hands-off, Spencer, he mentally repeated the mantra.

“Come in, Ivy. Good morning, and please set the tray on the table.” Dior waved her hand without looking, and she went into the private bathroom.

He couldn’t help but stare at her long, golden-brown wavy hair hitting at her mid-back, briefly glancing at her firm breasts and taut nipples outlined against the tank top.

“Um, hey, I’m Spencer, your new guard.” He swallowed.

“What are you doing? I’ve not finished dressing,” Dior yelled, blushing while covering her arms across her chest.

“I’m sorry for the intrusion, but I have strict orders. I must search your room.” He didn’t wait for permission, but proceeded to check the windows, armoire, a walk-in closet that was bigger than his whole apartment, and lastly, the master bathroom. “All clear. Is there somewhere specific you would like to go today?”

Her cheeks fired red. Steam practically came out of her ears. “Let’s be honest, um, Spencer. I do not want, nor do I need a bodyguard inside my bedroom. Wait outside.”

He watched her labor to breathe while he gazed into the most spectacular turquoise eyes he’d ever seen. She bit her bottom lip, and he wondered how it would be to taste it. She pointed to the door and said, “Out, now.”

He took a step closer and could see the rapid pulse along the cord of her throat. “Miss Ford, we’re going to be very close over the next few weeks. We’re going to be attached at the hip because I am getting paid to be your shadow. I need this job, so how about a little cooperation?”

“You cannot be serious,” Dior replied; her jaw muscles ticked. “Wait. Outside. My. Door.”

“I’m not an idiot.” His eyes scanned her lips, then traveled the length of her body, her small waist, the swell of her hips to the tips of her painted pink toenails. “I don’t work for you, Miss Ford, I work for your father. I am your babysitter, and if you don’t want a time out, I suggest you pay close attention to me. I may save your life one day.” He threw his hands up in surrender. “I’ll wait at the door.”

She picked up the Tiffany crystal egg from her side table and threw it at his head just as the door closed, making a significant dent in the door.

“Oh my god,” she muttered. That-that man, bodyguard or not, wasn’t in charge of her. She fumed.

He’s something else. He’s enormous with lethal good looks. Okay, so she admitted, his light gray eyes framed by thick black lashes nearly took her breath away. Not to mention, he had perfectly shaped lips.

Her father didn’t hire that man. She’d bet her life on it. Oh, she was going to have some fun at her dad’s expense.

After dressing, she opened the door. “I have a lot of things to do today. I hope you can keep up.” She grazed his arm.

Spencer seemed amused. “I’m at your service.” He bowed, then took her hand and kissed it. “I will take you anywhere, and I promise to take care of you, Miss Ford.”

She withdrew her hand and said, “Please, call me Dior.”

Chapter 5

Spencer

Spencer pulled out of the driveway onto the street and made his way to the freeway.

“Spencer, here are my destination points today.” She rattled off a list of upscale boutiques in the city, and then she surprised him. “Our last stop will be Ford Children’s Hospital. I volunteer in the Critical Care Pediatric wing. So, I am glad you’re helping me. I can multitask much faster when my guards stay on schedule.”

He glanced in the rear-view mirror. Uptight rich bitches didn’t volunteer except for fundraisers that landed them in the society magazines. Most of the wealthy women he’d met were more concerned about the selfies they took and the followers they reached. Maybe she wasn’t as shallow as she appeared.

“Hm, I’ll keep up.” Spencer's gaze returned to the road.

“It looks like Alfred and Peter are tailing us. Any enlightenment about what my dad’s been up to? Three bodyguards seem like overkill.” Dior reached in her purse and pulled out a hand mirror, then applied more red lipstick and smacked her lips. “Look, Spencer, I’ll try not to be a pain in your ass, but I know my father, and I know he wouldn’t hire you.”

“Why wouldn’t he hire me?”

“Have you met Alfred or Peter?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you looked in the mirror?”

He wanted to hear her say it. “This morning, as I spruced up for the detail.”

“They’re not exactly GQ material. You, on the other hand, could be on the cover.”

He chuckled. “So, you think I’m hot.”

“That’s an understatement. My father wants me married to one of his associates. I tried to appease him, but the man, well, let’s say, he stayed on the prowl. So, I don’t want to marry—ever. I love kids, but I don’t want to expose my children to the scrutiny of the organization. I do like to play. You wanna play with me, Spencer?”

He swallowed hard. “Hmph, I plead the fifth, Dior.”

He drove to Union Square shopping center and parked on the top floor. He exited the vehicle and opened the passenger door for Dior as her backup guards parked next to the SUV.

“Keep up, Spencer, I have lots of shopping to do,” Dior said with a grin.

The first stop was in the Louis Vuitton shop. She occasionally glanced over her shoulder as Spencer stayed close but allowed her some independence.

He knew the circumstance of her extra detail and kept a sharp eye out for anything or anyone suspicious. She was a looker and man he could bounce quarters off her tight ass.

She held up a cream leather stylishly square oversized Onthego GM tote. “Cute, right?” she asked.

He shrugged then gave her a slight nod.

She laughed. “Awesome. I’m buying it.” She handed the tote bag to the salesperson.

“Hello, Miss Ford. Charge?”

“Yes, please, Anna. And wrap it. It’s a gift.” Dior took a step back and placed her hand on Spencer’s forearm. “Ivy’s birthday is tomorrow.”

Spencer noted the price tag. Rich people. He could live six months on that kind of green.

“Are we having fun yet?” Dior asked.

The salesperson handed her the shopping bag, and Dior gave it to Spencer then headed out the door.

She went into the lingerie boutique. “If you’d like, you can wait outside.”

“No, ma'am. I’m not to leave your side.”

She was testing him, and he knew it. But she’d have to do better than lingerie to get under his skin. Her fingers grazed silk undies, the lacy bras then picked up a lilac cami, and she asked, “Like or not like?”

He’d love to see her wearing that little number with him taking it off with his teeth.

He shrugged again. “It makes no difference to me one way or the other.”

“Careful, Spencer. Your words relay indifference, but your body says something else entirely.”

A young hot redhead approached. She directed her attention to Dior but kept looking at him. “May I help you, Miss Ford?” she said and wet her lips.

Dior waved her hand. “One in each color, please. And for heaven sakes, stop drooling over my bodyguard.”

Spencer laughed out loud then quickly recovered to his stoic demeanor.

She spent another half hour torching him with sexy pajamas and see-through nighties. His jaw hurt from clenching, and he needed to adjust himself in the worse way.

After the salesperson rang up several boxes, she went to hand them to Dior, who pointed to Spencer. “He’s my errand boy, little red.”

She turned on a dime and practically sprinted out the door.

“Hey, wait up, Dior, stop.” The multiple shopping bags hindered his ability to keep up with her, and as he exited the store, he learned all too soon, she’d given him the slip. “Damn it.” He dropped the bags and phoned Ryan with trembling hands. “I lost her.”

In the hallway, he put the phone on speaker while trying to determine which way she went.

“She’s good at escaping, but we have eyes everywhere. She’s hailed a cab. Alfred and Peter are in pursuit. Get to your vehicle and head north. Keep your phone on speaker.”

He raced to the SUV and spun out of the garage, heading north.

The little bitch knew what she was doing the whole time. He lost his charge in a little over two hours and prayed nothing happened to her, or he was dead meat.

Ryan said, “Dior’s at the hospital. Do you have the address?”

“Yeah. Pediatric Critical Care?”

“Yes, Alfred and Peter are watching the two main entrances. Find her, Spencer. Hey, don’t beat yourself up too hard— but don’t let this happen again. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.” He parked the SUV and ran to the sliding glass doors of the hospital.

Leaning against the brick wall at the entrance, Alfred shook his head. “Rookie, be careful, or she’ll eat you alive.”

Spencer sneered without comment. He checked the kiosk for the Pediatric CCU and took the stairs two at a time.

At the nurses’ station, a young man looked up and chuckled. “You’re the newbie? Don’t feel bad, Dior craves independence.” He pushed away from his desk and said, “Come on, honey, I’ll take you to her—only one way in here and one way out. I’m on her dad’s payroll too.” He pointed to the double-paned window. “This is Dior’s sanctuary. She loves the preemies. She has a gift.”

Spencer’s racing heart slowly calmed. He’d been near to hyperventilating. Then, he saw her with the wee babe in her arms. She sang, but he couldn’t hear the words. At that moment, he no longer wanted to throttle her, but he fell hopelessly in love with her. Someone with the patience to care for infants, especially ones in a precarious state, was akin to the angels.

She glanced up and locked eyes with his. He couldn’t explain it, but he understood her. She didn’t know her ex was planning to kill her. He watched her go to each one—holding, singing, and rocking them.

He was jealous. He wanted to be in her arms.

Another nurse stepped up to him and said, “She’s special. Only wish her dad knew it.”

He looked at the nurse as she entered the room. Dior threw up one finger, then took off the surgical garb and exited the room.

“I’m sorry, Spencer. That was a mean thing for me to do to you. My father is slowly killing me. I have a nursing degree with a specialty in pediatrics. This is my calling, and he thinks it’s beneath me. Can you imagine?”

He dragged his hand over his chin. “I do not know you or him. I am sure he thinks he’s protecting you. Have you talked with him?”

“Talk to him? Ah, yeah, about a gazillion times. He’s old school. Hey, wanna grab a drink?”

“I’m on duty.”

“Then, I’m calling a couple of my besties. You’ll take me home to change, then pick up my girls and drive us to Excalibur.”

“I—I,” he stammered.

“My dad is out of town on business, and this girl needs to party.”

Spencer would call Ryan after he took Dior home. He wanted to make sure he wasn’t crossing some unknown boundary.

God, he wished the Vegas fight was tomorrow.

He knew getting too close to Dior wouldn’t be good for either one of them.

But all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and give her anything and everything her heart desired.

Chapter 6

Dior

Dior couldn’t get her mind off Spencer. The way he watched her with the babies pulled at her heartstrings—something no man had ever done before. His piercing gray eyes seem to reach her soul. That scared her.

And OMG! He’s so hot too.

There was more to Spencer than a bodyguard, and she’d enjoy finding out more about him at least while it lasted. The one constant in her life, nothing lasted long in her world, and people disappeared.

Dior chose a sexy black dress with red strappy high heels. She loved dancing and spending time with her friends. She sent a quick text to Candance and Jillian, laying down the ground rules about Spencer.

He waited at her bedroom door. She could definitely get used to seeing him there. His eyes widened, then he diverted his glance.

“It’s okay if you like what you see,” she said. “Believe me. We have little time together, and I intend to make the most out of it.” She slid her arm through his and left the house.

Alfred and Peter followed two car-lengths behind them.

After picking up her friends, Spencer drove them to Excalibur. Her posse and bodyguards drew attention from the line formed at the door, which they bypassed.

The club’s security manager ushered them to a private table reserved for her on Friday nights. The swanky club had black and gold interiors, crystal chandeliers lit low, and pumping beats. She and the girls slid into the black leather sofa styled seat while Spencer stood behind them, his broad shoulders straight. His eyes searched the room for what she assumed were potential threats.

“Spencer, please join us.”

Candance and Jillian said in unison, “Please, Spencer.”

He had a device in his ear, which she knew coordinated with Alfred and Peter. “Miss Ford, I am on duty.”

“He’s on duty,” Candance said with a pout.

Jillian bounced and said, “I’ll be your duty.”

Dior rolled her eyes.

The waiter immediately brought over chilled Armand de Brignac Rosé with Waterford crystal flutes. He popped the cork and poured the bubbling liquid then handed each one a glass. He also left a bottle of Don Julio Tequila with shot glasses with a small platter of lemon and lime wedges. “Would you ladies like a menu?”

“Not tonight, Ben. I’m on a liquid diet. Thank you.” Dior nodded.

She turned to her friends and said, “Here’s to my new and thoroughly handsome bodyguard.”

Spencer smirked.

Her friends said, “Here’s to Spencer.”

The night of celebrating became a dizzying blur of drinks and dancing. All the while, Spencer stayed glued to Dior. She liked him, and he smelled good too. He watched her so intently it warmed her inside and out.

People packed the club and the noise level beyond loud to a steady roar mixed with a techno beat. The thrumming rhythm reverberated in her ears.

Dior noticed a tense change in Spencer. “Dance with me.”

He said, “Let’s wait here for a moment.”

She pulled his face toward hers. “Dance with me.” She bit her bottom lip.

He glanced around the room, then took her elbow and escorted her to the floor. He shouted, “You are distracting me from my job, and this place is too crowded to let my guard down.”

She knew he wanted her by the heated look in his eyes. “Spencer, for one dance, lower your guard and concentrate solely on me.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do. You don’t understand, Dior.”

“Then enlighten me.” She pressed against the length of him and moved around his body, trailing her fingers across his broad shoulders to the thick muscular biceps, then she slipped her hands inside his coat and felt a gun.

She stepped back. Her eyes went wide. “You can’t have that in here. They will arrest you.”

His lips pressed into a small thin line. “Dior, you’re in danger.”

“What?”

“Follow me.” He took her hand and pulled her through the crowd into the back near the kitchen and back exit. “You have a price on your head. I could die tonight for telling you, but you need to understand I am here to protect you.”

“Who? Why?” She fell against the wall. The prospect of death instantly made her sober. “It’s Roger, isn’t it. That gutless bastard put a price on my head.”

“Your father beefed up security. Roger needed your father’s power and his money. When you broke it off, he got desperate. He’s aligned himself with the cutthroat Russians. He owes them big money. You were his way out. Dior, he threatened to kill you if your father doesn’t bail him out.”

She blinked several times. “So, you’re not a regular bodyguard.”

“I will kill anyone that tries to harm you.”

Silence.

The music, the crowd, the lights seemed to fade away. Without any physical touch, Dior and Spencer locked into a hypnotic yet tumultuous embrace. The physicality of the connection similar to the push and pull of magnet to steel.

Spencer broke from the gaze. A commotion in the middle of the room had him leading her through the kitchen door. His earpiece communicated that Roger and his paid assassin had entered the club.

“My friends are still in there,” Dior pleaded as he pushed open the exit door.

“Alfred is getting them. We need to disappear fast. Can you run in those heels?”

She slipped them off. “I can now.”

They weaved in and out of buildings. Spencer knew of one place off the radar, and his Boss would not like it, but he took her down two blocks to his apartment building. They entered the back entrance.

“Where are you taking me? This place is scary.”

“Yeah, but it’ll be safe. We can lay low in my place for a few hours. I’ll contact Ryan once we’re inside, and I’m sure no one followed us.”

Her eyes widened, and she stopped inside the lobby. Her eyes looked around the dim hallway. “Your place. Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Fluorescents flickered, revealing the green paint peeling on the walls.

“I know I live in a dump. But it’s not forever.”

Inside his apartment, he bolted the doors and shut the blinds. He turned out the one light over the stove. “It’s not much, but it's clean. I have bottled water, and a few staples if you’re hungry.”

She sat on the small brown sofa, taking in his meager existence. The look on her face said it all.

“Do not feel sorry for me. I grew up in a mansion. My stepfather was an asshole. I’d rather live here on my own terms than take scraps from him any day of the week. I have plans.” He waved his hand. “This is not forever.”

Her breathing seemed to even out. “Spencer, do you know how much I’ve dreamed of being on my own? To carve out any other kind of existence except for the gilded cage I live in? Your place is perfect.”

He didn’t know her well enough to determine if she was lying or telling the truth. He looked out the window—no one in sight except for Mr. Harrington walking his Saint Bernard and carting off the canine's humongous shit into the dumpster in the alley.

“Excuse me while I put a call into Ryan to find out our next move.”

“Spencer, I’m sorry you’re caught up in my family drama. Roger is a violent man. He—he.”

He went to his knees and took her hands. “He what?” The level of anger rose with every breath he took.

“He hurt me…more than once. I-I don’t want to talk about it. I want to forget him, but he won’t stop. I humiliated him, and I believe he’s using the Russian ploy to kill me. He said he would kill me, and now I believe him.”

He took her into his arms as she cried. “I won’t allow anyone to hurt you. Do you believe me?” He tilted her chin up, and he was momentarily lost in her turquoise eyes, almost the color of the ocean reflected on white-sand beaches.

He caressed her cheek, leaned in, and whispered, “I shouldn’t,” then brushed his lips across hers.

A loud clang along with ferocious barking came from the back lot of the building. He jumped to his feet and went to the window. Mr. Harrington lay on the ground, his Saint Bernard growling and barking protectively over his master's body.

Two, no three shadows of men dressed in black rushed to the door. Three shots echoed, several lights from adjoining apartments came on. He just needed to hold them off until the authorities came.

“Dior, I need you in the pantry closet. Keep quiet.”

“No. Give me a gun. I’m trained and carrying a license.”

He shoved the worn quilt from the trunk next to the sofa and pulled out several weapons. She took the Ruger LC9 and checked it.

“The weapons in here stay loaded.” He kicked over the sofa forming the only barricade between them and Roger’s assassins.

The ticking of the wall clock seemed louder with every passing second, then suddenly everything went into fast motion.

His door exploded with gunfire, splintering into a thousand pieces.

Spencer’s automatic weapon released successive rounds of ammunition.

He used his body as a human shield to protect Dior.

Seconds blurred into what seemed like minutes.

The life force drained from his body as Dior cradled his head; his consciousness faded to black.

Chapter 7

Dior

Dior sat next to Spencer in the hospital room, holding his hands, willing him to open his eyes.

He’d saved her life.

Spencer killed the henchmen, and Roger wasn’t one of the casualties.

Her father came into the room. His eyes were full of compassion. “No change?”

She nodded slowly.

He placed his hand on her right shoulder. “He is young and strong. I have no doubt he’ll recover. He’s getting the best care available. Won’t you go home and rest? I’ll stay with him.”

“Father, you and I must have a heart to heart talk. I am a grown woman, and if you want me to stay in your life, no more secrets. I grew up with the organization while not knowing all the details, and I am aware of the danger. Roger is still out there.”

“You’re right. I made a promise to your mother to protect you and to keep you out of my business affairs. That is no longer possible.”

Dior turned to Spencer. “He shielded me. I don’t want him to die, Father.”

“I’ve had Ryan move his things into one of the condos in your building. He’s a valuable asset, and I trust he’ll remain in our employ once he regains consciousness.”

Spencer’s eyes fluttered, then opened. He looked around, seemingly confused.

She stood and leaned in. “Hey there, you.”

He tried to speak with strained difficulty. “Dior, you’re safe?”

“Yeah, thanks to you. Don’t talk. Rest.”

Her father, William, said, “Son, thank you for taking care of my girl. I’ll get your doctor while Dior fills you in on the details.” He left the room.

“Father has moved you into my building. Is that okay with you?” She stared into his gray eyes filled with tiny specks of gold she hadn’t noticed before.

He nodded.

“Good, I have a hunch you and I belong together.” She pressed a kiss to the back of his hand.

The door opened, and two huge men stepped into the room. Her back stiffened, but a smile broke across Spencer’s lips. “You know them?” Dior asked.

“They’re my brothers,” Spencer croaked.

“I’m Xavier, and this is Ash,” X said.

Spencer said, “The Vegas fight?”

“Don’t worry, man, there’re other fights,” Ash said, “But there’s only one you.”

Several weeks later, Dior flitted around Spencer’s newly decorated condo. She’d become his personal caregiver during his recovery. He tried to turn down Mr. Ford’s offer, but he couldn’t give up seeing her.

In the short amount of time, he knew Dior, he’d come to realize she was his soul mate. And, he’d learned Roger was still on the loose. So, he accepted the position in the organization.

Every day, X and Ash came over to the private gym in the Ford complex to help him rehab. Both promising that he would still compete in the next UFC Vegas competition.

Every evening, he spent with Dior.

She slid into bed, and she cupped his face with her hands. “Have I told you lately, how much I adore you?” Kissing him with so much passion that it nearly made his heart explode.

“Doc said I’m coming off restrictions in a few days. I’m all for kissing and hugging, but dear god, woman, my balls are blue.”

She laughed out loud. “I’m sure I can do something about that.” She kissed him again, then whispered in his ear, “As soon as your restrictions are lifted.”

He wrapped her in his arms as she placed her face against his chest. “You are one feisty female.”

“Don’t you know it.”

Dear Reader,

Preorder the extended version of Spencer and Dior, releasing 9.27.20.

About P. T. Macias

P.T. Macias is a USA Today Best Selling Author. She lives in California with her husband, children, and grandkids. They’re her pride and joy. She has an adorable, sassy Maltipoo named Bella.

When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family, going on cruises, seeing concerts, eating white peaches, pistachio ice cream, walking with Bella, and sipping margaritas.

Her passion is writing. She writes dark romance & paranormal romance. Her books are about incredible sexy alpha men, and strong, sassy woman. Experience tales of the dark mafia billionaires, alpha MCs, bad boy MMA cage fighters, mystical realms full of action, suspense, danger, secrets, and a dash of love.

Check out her website.

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A Matter of Trust by Dr. Sharon A. Mitchell

Chapter 1

“Come on, Daniel, keep up. Stay with me.” Keira tried not to let the impatience seep into her voice, but it was hard. She was so behind.

She glanced around. “Daniel!” She stretched for his hand, remembering to let him see her coming. Life was easier when he wasn’t startled. She steered him away from the kiosk that sold more types of popcorn than the world needed. She rested her palm firmly on his shoulder and guided him along with her.

They would both rather be almost anywhere but here. If there was any choice…. Her printer died just when she absolutely had to have material printed today.

Skirting groups of shoppers and carts, she hurried her son through the mall. Daniel did not like to be rushed, and she could feel his body tensing beneath her hand. He also didn’t like crowds, noise or confusion. Neither did she, but today it couldn’t be helped.

Ahead was the office supply store. She braced herself; this would definitely not be Daniel’s favorite place to spend time.

“No thanks,” she shook her head at the salesclerk. “Yes, I’m sure and yes, I do know what I’m looking for.” She disliked interacting with strangers, with all the social expectations for small talk. She’d manage quicker without help from a geeky-looking young man.

Daniel made sounds of impatience and Keira knew that their time in the store was limited. “We’ll get supper soon,” she told him. “Just give me a few more minutes.” She focused on her options, narrowing it down to three choices. She pulled out her phone and checked online reviews and specs. A quick glance to the side showed Daniel running his finger along an iPad screen.

After deciding, she did need help from the clerk after all. The boxes containing the printer she chose were stacked on the top shelf, far out of her reach, and there was no ladder within sight. She signaled the young man who returned with less enthusiasm than he’d shown initially. What difference did it make to him? He’d still get his commission for the sale even if he didn’t talk her into her choice. Keira pointed to the box that she needed. He needed urging to go find a ladder quickly. He dragged his feet worse than Daniel when she told him to brush his teeth.

Daniel!

Whipping her head in each direction, she couldn’t spot her son. Not near the iPads. Not on the next aisle with the laptops or back by the printers. Drones! Yes, they’d capture his attention. But no, he wasn’t there.

“Daniel.” She didn’t want to frighten him by yelling, but boy, she was getting scared.

Calm down, keep it together. He was just here a minute ago; how fast could a four-year-old walk? He had to be right here. She knew with absolute certainty that he would not have gone off with anyone without raising bloody hell if he was touched.

She heard scraping in the next aisle as her reluctant clerk wheeled over his ladder.

“Quick,” she said. “My son, he’s missing. He was right here, but now he’s gone.”

“Ya still want this printer?”

“My son’s gone. I need help.”

“He’ll be around here somewhere. Kids love this place. You can report missing kids to the front desk if you want. They’ll keep an eye out for him.” Glancing up, he gauged where to set up his ladder.

“You don’t get it. My son, he doesn’t, he doesn’t like to talk to strangers.”

“So, you taught him well. Good momma.” He started up the ladder.

Was the jerk being sarcastic? “Use your pager and call the manager.” When he made no move toward the pager holder on his belt, she added, “Please.”

Louder than before, she called, “Daniel!” as she speed-walked up the main aisle, eyeing each row she passed. No Daniel. She went back down the center aisle and walked its length again.

Back at the front of the store and still no Daniel. Deep breath, deep breath. She needed to fight the panic that was rising up from her belly, threatening to freeze her diaphragm, stopping her breath. “I need help. My little boy is missing.” A teen looked at her from behind the counter.

Did they let kids this young actually have jobs here?

“Yes, ma’am. How can I help you?”

Was this little girl brainless? “I just told you. My son is missing.” No response. “He’s four, about this high.” She demonstrated.

“I haven’t seen him, ma’am, but I’ll watch for him.” She smiled her best customer appreciation smile.

“Get me the manager. Now, please.” When the girl didn’t move immediately, she pushed, “It’s an emergency.” Noting the open door behind her, she added, “And stop anyone from leaving with a child.”

“Lady, do you want this or not?” Her reluctant salesclerk was back, holding a printer box to his chest.

“Yes, yes, put it down there and help me find my son.” Geez. Focus, kid, focus.

“May I help you, madame?” Finally, someone over thirty.

He understood the situation quickly and ordered the entrance doors to be closed. Yeah! Speaking into his phone, he rounded up the employees, organizing them to search the back room for a small boy. He smiled reassuringly at Keira. “We’ve never lost a child yet.”

Really, Keira thought. But at least he seemed to have some organizational skills as he alerted all sales staff to be on the look-out for a four-year-old boy.

“Ma’am, I think we have this covered in here. If he’s in this store, he’s not leaving, and we’ll find him. But are you sure that he didn’t go back out into the mall?”

Keira’s heart fell to her knees. She could actually feel the two-foot drop.

“Please, if you see him, don’t scare him. He, well, he doesn’t like to be touched by strangers.” They needed to know the rest. “And, he doesn’t talk. If you call him, he won’t be able to answer.”

The manager didn’t question her statement. They could hear staff throughout the store calling, “Daniel!” Among those many voices, the talking and laughing, the music coming through the store’s cheap speakers, Keira realized that her son was not here. If he’d been in the store, his system would be on overload, and his shrieks would be heard above the cacophony.

She spun to leave the store.

Chapter 2

The manager grabbed Keira’s arm. Wrong thing to do.

As she wrenched her wrist away and turned on him, the manager took a step back, raising both palms toward her. “Whoa, lady. I was just going to ask if you want this purchase. Let’s all calm down, shall we?”

“My son is missing, you ass. He’s not here; he’d never survive the racket in here, especially with all that yelling your staff is doing. I need to find him.”

His face showed relief as he glanced over her shoulder.

“Is there a problem, ma’am? Is this gentleman bothering you?”

Behind Keira stood a police officer. He stared down the manager with lowered brows, somewhere in the same territory as the look on Keira’s face.

“Look, this lady told us her little boy is missing, insisted my whole staff help look for him. Maybe you can help sort this out so we can all get back to our jobs.”

Keira tried stepping around the men, but the officer was more nimble than he looked. He blocked her way, waiting, just waiting.

“Yes, my son’s gone. He’s four years old. I only took my eyes off of him for a second. I didn’t tell this guy’s staff to yell for Daniel. If he was still here, all this racket would terrify him and we’d hear his meltdown. He’s not here. They said that a small child could not get by them, but he did.” She took a step to the left. “I have to get to him.”

She felt the policeman matching his strides to hers and glared. For years it had been just her and Daniel and they’d made out all right. She didn’t need anyone’s help now.

“I’ll come with you. Four eyes are better than two.”

As long as he didn’t slow her down, what could it hurt? “Just don’t scare him,” she said.

“It’s not usually my intention to frighten small children, although yeah, I could use a haircut.” Only one side of his mouth turned up.

Keira’s eyes scanned both sides of the mall’s walkways. Up ahead, farther away than she liked, was that popcorn stand that had called to Daniel when they hurried by a while ago. Down on one knee was a rent-a-cop, dressed in the mall’s security uniform. His burly back blocked Keira’s view, but she watched as he reached up a giant paw to rest on something. Then Daniel screamed. Oh, lord. He’d touched her son’s head. Keira bolted ahead, but the cop quickly outpaced her.

“Hey,” he said as he grabbed the elderly security guard’s arm. “What are you doing to that kid?”

Keira had her son in her arms, and his sobs quieted to only the level of a klaxon. “He touched him,” she said.

The cop’s grip on the security guard’s arm tightened. “What did you do to this boy?”

“No, not that kind of touch.” Keira glared over her son’s head. “The guy touched Daniel’s head. I saw him.”

Both men looked confused.

“He hates to have his head touched.” She looked at the security guard. “You scared him when you touched him.”

“I saw this little guy all by himself, came to see if he was lost or something. I didn’t mean to scare him. Sheesh. I have grandkids myself.”

“Daniel doesn’t have grandparents. He’s only used to me.” And this was just another example of why it was best that way, she thought. No one else understood her child the way she did. She shifted his weight in her arms so that his chest was plastered to hers. Like a monkey, Daniel wrapped his legs around her waist with his arms squeezing her neck.

“Here, let me take him. He looks heavy.” The police officer reached for Daniel.

Keira twisted her body so it was between her son and the men. “No. He’s fine. He trusts only me.”

He smiled at Daniel. “Hi. My name’s Jake.” There was no sound from the child. At least no sound was better than his former shrieks. Jake couldn’t see the boy’s reaction as his mom’s long strides took them away.

Before he started after her, Jake’s arm was nudged. Turning, he saw the manager from the office store, with a large box in his arms. “This is hers. We put it on her account. She came in for a printer but took off without it when she thought her kid was missing.”

“He was missing.” This came out a bit testy. He took the box and card and strode after the mother and monkey-child.

For a small woman, she could make good time, Jake thought. He picked up his pace to keep her in sight as she exited the outside door.

Seeing a break in traffic, Keira stepped into the road.

“Wait,” Jake called out. A hand wrapped around her arm. Hampered by the weight of her little boy, Keira’s fight or flight options narrowed. She whirled. “Get your hands off me!”

“Whoa.” Jake backed up. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

She glared.

“And to give you this. I gather that’s why you were in the store in the first place.”

Keira made no attempt to take the box. She couldn’t, as she had both arms wrapped around Daniel.

Keira loosened one hand to search through her pocket, juggling Daniel’s weight on one hip. She retrieved her keys and returned her arm to supporting Daniel’s leg.

“I can do that for you,” offered Jake. With a look from Keira, he quickly added, “I mean open your car.”

“I’ve got it,” she said.

Right, he thought. He stood there like an idiot, watching this little woman struggle with what must have been a fifty-pound weight while fumbling with her key fob, trying to reach the correct button by feel alone. She managed. Maybe this wasn’t the first time.

Jake put the printer box on the back seat. “See you around, I guess. Take care.” His voice drifted off.

Keira drove away without a glance, her focus only on her child.

Chapter 3

It was time, Keira mused in the drive back home. All the books said so, as did the professionals. It was time Daniel started school.

Was Pre-K some kind of prep school for kindergarten? What could four-year-olds possibly need to learn?

The answers from those so-called experts struck a chord. Pre-K was all about language development, social skills, learning how to be part of a group, and self-regulation. Not one of those things was her son’s strengths; some Keira wasn’t so strong in herself.

Every instinct in her mother’s body told her to keep her son at home with her where he’d be safe. But for how long could that continue? One day he would need to go out and brave the world and would need skills in order to make it. Oh, but he was so young, and no one understood his needs the way she did.

Until now Keira avoided having strangers look after Daniel as much as possible. He went to daycare between his first and second birthdays, or rather to daycares. Three, to be exact, and he was asked to leave each one. In desperation, Keira quit her job and began taking contracts so she could work at home. At least this way no one was constantly complaining to her about her son.

But next week Pre-K would begin. This meant she would again have to entrust his care to people she didn’t know.

Daniel was different; she knew that, but different was okay and who wanted to be just like everyone else anyway. She certainly didn’t. Daniel seemed too fragile, so unequipped to manage the world without her. Would the people at the school appreciate just what a wonderful, unique little boy he was?

Tomorrow she’d meet with his teacher. Her offensive strategy was planned out.

“Here’s the way it is,” Keira began as she paced. “Daniel will not speak to you. He’s not being rude when he doesn’t answer, he just can’t talk.” She looked around at the small group of adults perched on tiny chairs. “He’s smart. He just might not show it the same way as other kids. He can do stuff but likes to do it his own way and on his own time.”

Ms. Robinson, the Pre-K teacher nodded. “That pretty much describes each child who comes through my door.”

Keira turned to the teacher. “That’s where you’re wrong. He is not like those other kids, and you’ll see that soon enough.”

“I see.” She observed Daniel waving his hand in the dust motes by the window. “If you’ll give me just a minute, I’ll have some others come join us.”

Keira paced, keeping her eye on her son. A woman introducing herself as Mrs. Rose, the special ed. teacher, held out her hand.

“Special ed? No!” Keira was definite. “My son is not being shunted off into a special ed. room. He deserves an education and a decent one like every other kid.”

The two teachers nodded. Was this a ploy?

“We don’t have a special ed. room in this school. And I dislike that term, ‘special ed.’, don’t you?”

“Just because he doesn’t talk does not mean that he has no right to be with other kids his age.”

“This is the only classroom we have for four-year-olds. All our Pre-K students are in this room.”

“Ms. Foster,” the teacher interrupted. “Would it be all right if one of us took him into another room to play?”

“No! My son stays with me. He doesn’t know you, and he’d be frightened.”

Mrs. Rose stood. “How about I play with him at the other side of the room then? You can still see him from there.” She added, “We really don’t like talking about a child in front of him. Even if a child doesn’t speak, it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t hear and understand. He could pick up on our tones as well.”

Keira silently agreed. Yes, Daniel definitely picked up on her moods and tone of voice. After watching the woman interact with her son for a moment, she carried on with her plan. “I’ve managed to clear my schedule for the next month so that I can be here with him. After that, I may not be able to be away from work quite as much but will be here every second that I can.”

Silence. The teachers looked at each other. “Uh...”

“There’s Helen,” Ms. Robinson said, as a woman walked by in the hallway. “I’ll go get her.”

So, they think they need reinforcements, Keira thought. I’m up for it.

“We have an open-door policy for parents here,” Helen Frey, the administrator explained. “That means that you are welcome to talk to the teacher anytime, as long as it’s outside of class time, of course. My door is open to parents at any time. We value parents as classroom helpers and their participation in our school is greatly appreciated.”

Good, thought Keira. We’re at least on the same page about something.

“However, parents are not in the classrooms all day. We’ve found that especially for the young children, the presence of mom or dad does not help them build independence skills and relationships with others.”

“That’s just it. Daniels doesn’t have relationships with anyone but me. No one else understands him.”

Off in the corner, Daniel made noises. These weren’t his happy noises, but signs that he was becoming upset. The women in front of her didn’t look perturbed but then, they had no idea what might be coming. Just as well that they saw it now and understood exactly why Daniel needed his mother with him.

Torn between explaining how things were and going to see if she could head off a scene, Keira hesitated. She knew that if she didn’t intervene soon, they’d be in for a long meltdown. As she took a step toward her son, the special ed. teacher murmured, and without touching him, guided him to a beanbag chair. Surprisingly, Daniel didn’t dig in his heels, but went with her.

Once he sat and wiggled into the adult-sized chair, the teacher covered him from his toes to under his arms in one of those ancient fur coats women used to wear in the 1950s. The last time Keira had seen one, she’d been a child hiding in her grandmother’s front closet. The teacher guided Daniel’s hands to stroke the fur. Amazingly, Daniel didn’t freak out at her touch, but seemed calmer.

But what worked once would not necessarily work the next time. Keira had found that out the hard way.

The administrator nodded at the special ed. teacher. “She’s great with kids, has this way of getting on their wavelength and figuring out what they need.”

Huh, Keira thought. That might be with most kids, but not with Daniel. Although, the interaction she’d just watched gave her the tiniest glimmer of hope. It was probably just a fluke or beginner’s luck. How many times had Keira thought she had things figured out only to find that she absolutely did not?

The administrator called to a man going by in the hallway. “Here’s someone you’ll want to meet,” she told Keira. “We are so lucky to have a police presence in this school. This is Officer Dean from the community policing program.”

Keira whirled. The police! They were calling in the police for her four-year-old son! All he’d done was squawk a little bit. If this was their reaction to that, what would they do when he had a full-blown meltdown?

“He’s four years old. What do you think you’re doing? I’ll be here - I can handle him. You don’t need to call the police on my son!”

“Well, hi again. I thought I recognized your voice.”

Keira turned her glare from the principal to the man approaching her. It took her a minute to place him; the cop from the mall last week, once again seeing her when she was definitely not at her best. Wait, where did that thought come from? Who cared if he saw her at her worst or her best?

He held out his hand. “I see you haven’t misplaced your son again.” Was his grin supposed to be friendly? Neither his words nor his presence put her at ease.

The administrator frowned. “Again? Is he a flight risk?”

“No, he’ll be fine. He just wandered away from me that time when we were at the mall. I’ll be here with him, so there’s no chance he’ll walk off anywhere.”

“We’ll alert Officer Dean of the potential …”

“My son is neither a problem nor a potential criminal. He does not need the police watching him just because he’s different.”

“May I?” Officer Dean asked the principal. At her nod, he explained. “The community policing program aims to create relationships with students, to see cops as the good guys, someone they can turn to for help. I like to get to know the kids. Some don’t have a lot of positive male role models.”

That struck a note with Keira. Much as she tried to be everything to her son, there were fleeting times when she wondered what it would be like for Daniel to have a male influence.

Outside the classroom door, a young man and woman hovered. They’d poked their heads in several times over the last ten minutes.

“I’m sorry, but the next parents are here,” explained the Pre-K teacher. “Is there any chance that we could continue this tomorrow?”

Keira came to the next meeting armed with her list of demands. Her plan was to be firm. While she could negotiate on a couple of points, she would stand strong on most of them. They were required for her son’s safety and well-being.

Again, the teacher, administrator and special ed. teacher perched on the tiny chairs, while Keira stood. She liked the psychological advantage that gave her. She read the first item on her list.

The principal nodded. “Yes, we can do that.”

After the next two points, the teacher said, “We do that already. All the kids need that kind of structure.”

The special ed. teacher spoke after one of Keira’s demands. “That’s a new one for me, but it sounds doable. We might need to contact you if we don’t think we’ve got it quite right though.” Keira faltered a bit, and then carried on. The teachers nodded. Were they faking her out, being this easy to get along with? It never went this way when she tried to work with the daycare centers.

The principal’s posture changed. “There will be many activities where parents are welcome, but no, you may not spend the next three months here with your son.”

As Keira drew herself up, ready to fight as she always had for her son, the principal continued, “Our insurance does not cover adults who are not staff members. It allows for a few hours a week for volunteers, but that’s it.”

“We have found that children actually settle in better in Pre-K without their mothers or fathers around.” As Keira opened her mouth to protest…

The principal said, “Please trust us. We have a lot of experience. We can accommodate your other requests, but not that one. We also don’t believe that it would be in your son’s best interests.”

“You’re telling me that you let cops into this building but not parents who just want to protect their child?”

Chapter 4

Sensing that the discussion was heating up, Daniel edged closer to his mom, becoming visibly agitated. Mrs. Rose got up and brought him bean bags and a large cardboard box. “Daniel, want to come play with me?”

Before Keira could object, he followed the teacher into the hall. “We’ll stay right here where you can see him,” she told Keira.

In the hallway, she showed Daniel how to pitch the bean bag through the holes in the box. Soon, both of them were giggling, and then Keira heard a deeper voice join them. Now Mrs. Rose held the box above her head. Keira’s breath caught in her throat as Officer Dean grabbed Daniel under his arms, swooping him into the air, helping guide Daniel’s bean bags toward the waiting box.

How dare he? Touching her little boy was bad enough, but tossing him around? Before she made it to the doorway, laughter filled the classroom from a woman, a man and a little boy.

The administrator looked pointedly at Keira. “You said Daniel doesn’t have a relationship with anyone but you. We’ll work on that. And just maybe you’ll get some well-deserved time to yourself.”

So maybe these people weren’t the enemy, thought Keira. Still, she needed to protect her son.

The school involved the special education teacher and the kid hadn’t even begun school. What did that say about their expectations of Daniel? That’s how things started at the daycare centers - first they reported to the director then called in so-called experts, and then her kid got kicked out. Well, if the school planned anything like that, she was definitely up for a fight. Her son would get the education he deserved.

She knew she was devoted to her son, truly she was. But it was rather pleasant to have some time to herself. Errands got done more quickly without a child in tow. She could stroll along the street at her own pace.

“Hey, Ms. Foster. Is that you? Wait up.”

Keira turned toward the male voice behind her. At first, she didn’t recognize him out of his uniform. Oh, great. Just what she needed when she was enjoying a couple hours of freedom. “Hi. Remember me? I’m Jake Dean; we met at the mall and at the school. Great day for a walk, isn’t it?”

Keira nodded.

“Um, do you like coffee?” He jerked his head sharply to the coffee shop on the right.

Keira frowned. “Yes.”

“Good, then.” He stepped closer to the building and opened the door.

Strange man, Keira thought. She nodded and started down the street.

“Hey, wait! Aren’t you coming?” His hand was on her arm.

Keira stared pointedly at the hand touching her arm. “What do you mean?”

“For coffee.” He pointed at the coffee shop behind them. “I asked you if you liked coffee.”

“I answered yes, I do like coffee. You didn’t say any more than that.”

Jake studied Keira more closely. “You’re right. I implied, but didn’t come right out and ask if you would have a coffee with me.” He gestured to the door. “Will you?”

When she hesitated, he added, “Please? Just for a few minutes.”

The aroma drifting out the door was enticing, and she really did like coffee. She glanced at her watch. Yeah, she could spare a bit of time.

Jake followed Keira to the quietest corner in the shop and they ordered. Blowing on the foam of her cappuccino, Keira kept her eyes on the table. She’s not giving me an inch, he thought.

“So, how’s your son enjoying school?”

“He’s tolerating it all right.”

Damning them with faint praise, he supposed. “How is he getting along with the teacher?”

“I’ve had no complaints from them so far.”

His puzzled look didn’t bring out any more from her. She seemed better with plain speaking. “Did you expect them to complain about him? He seemed like an easy enough kid to me.”

“Easy? Daniel? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“He wandered off on you in the mall. He’s not the first kid to do that.”

She sipped her drink.

Her scowl told him there was more to this story. It took all his skills at gently interrogating a hostile witness to pull more out of her. When she finally began, the dam broke. Kicked out of three daycare centers. Yeah, that would be hard on any mom. Then having to quit her job to stay home with him. She talked about chasing contracts so that she could support them.

“Doesn’t his father help out?” Okay, that was just plain fishing, but he needed to know who was in this intriguing woman’s life.

“He doesn’t have a father.”

Grinning, Jake continued his fishing expedition. “He must have had one at some point.”

Keira glared, but under Jake’s continuing good humor, she relented. “Yes, he had a father. We were together three years before Daniel was born and two years afterward.” She found her almost empty coffee cup of great interest.

Jake let the silence hang.

“He took off when we got the diagnosis.”

“Diagnosis?” Was she ill? Was Daniel ill?

“Autism. Daniel was diagnosed with autism, and Ted couldn’t take it. Actually, he couldn’t take it long before that. He pretty much checked out in those first few months and was no help at all. Daniel screamed a lot. I didn’t know how to soothe him or get him to sleep. It was tough. It was hell, actually. But he couldn’t help it—he was just a baby. I tried, but nothing seemed to work. He had to be in daycare while I worked, but they couldn’t handle him either. At least that made me feel better, that it wasn’t just me.” She took a deep breath.

“Ted stayed late at work most nights so he wouldn’t have to come home to a fussy baby. Fussy. That’s putting it mildly. Then Ted started not coming home some nights, and when he was there, it was like he wasn’t. He acted like he couldn’t stand the baby or me either.” She looked into the distance, and then added softly, “I guess he couldn’t. I was all alone when they gave me the news that my child was autistic. It wasn’t really a surprise; I’d known something was different, more than just me being an anxious, first-time mother.”

Her expression became fierce. “But when I told Ted, he held up his hands and said, ‘That’s it. I didn’t sign on for anything like this.’ He packed a suitcase and left.”

He asked, “But Ted still supports you and his son, doesn’t he?”

She went rigid. Damn, he’d pushed too hard. Time to back off before he lost too much ground. “Would you like more coffee?”

She looked like her first instinct was to bolt, but then he could see her relax. She reached into the purse that was lying on the floor and pulled out her wallet. “My treat this time,” she said.

Knowing better than to argue, he smiled his thanks. Watching as she flipped through her wallet, he spied pictures of Daniel at various stages. In some, the child was held by a woman with hair cascading to the middle of her back. “Who’s that?” he asked. “She looks like you.”

An unlady-like snort came out of her nose. “She should. It is me. I was younger then and looked different with long hair.”

“Why’d you cut it?”

“Are you kidding? Who has time to look after that much hair when you have a kid, or at least a kid like Daniel?” She pulled her fingers through her current shorn pixie spikes. “This requires all of three seconds to fix; about all the spare time I have to fuss with myself. A shower, a gob of gel, a comb and I’m done.”

When she returned with their refills, he again broached the subject of child support. It was a father’s obligation, after all.

“No, we’ve never heard from the sperm donor since the day he left.” Could her body language get any feistier, Jake thought? “But we survived,” Keira continued. “We do just fine, Daniel and me. If it’s us against the world, we’ll take it on.”

“Do you have family who helps?”

“No!”

Okay, then. Jake reached across the table to give her hand a squeeze. When she didn’t pull away, he left his there, engulfing her smaller, clenched fist.

“I’d say it’s not just you and Daniel any longer. You have a team at school that will have Daniel’s back, and yours, if you’ll let them. You have to start trusting someone, sometime.”

Keira didn’t relax, but to Jake, this explained a lot.

“You’ve been through a lot, the two of you, and Daniel is lucky to have a mom like you. You’ve done an excellent job with him.”

Keira’s chin jutted out. “Yeah, I have.” Then more softly, “But he still doesn’t talk.”

“True, but he does communicate. They told me that at the school.”

“They said those words?”

“What? You think I could make that up on my own?” That provoked a smile, the first one he’d seen on her face since they sat down at the table.

“Everything’s no longer on just your shoulders. You have support at the school. Hell, they already are in your court if you’d let them in.”

One corner of her mouth turned up. “I guess I can be a bit crusty sometimes. My granny used to tell me not to go looking for fights. After Ted left, I needed all the armor I could get to make it through.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, running his finger over the smooth skin. He noticed that her thumbnail was bitten to the quick - just that one nail. As he brushed that abused nail, she tucked her thumb into her fist.

Would this push her away again, or should he give it a go? “And, then there’s me. I can be in your court also.” He felt her hand pull away but he held on. “Only in ways that you want. Maybe you could use a friend sometimes?”

Her hand relaxed, and she gave a faint nod. He caught the faint sheen of tears in her eyes.

“Friends?” He gave her what he hoped was his most charming grin. It worked. She smiled back - a genuine smile that turned her face from interesting into beautiful.

Chapter 5

Over the next weeks, Keira’s guard relaxed. Daniel seemed to be doing all right at school without her and a half-day to herself was, well glorious. She met Jake at that coffee shop a few times, and they’d walked through a nearby park. She didn’t even mind when he laced his fingers through hers.

Once they’d ended up at his place for coffee, where he apologized for his couch. It didn’t stretch her imagination to believe what he said - that he’d had that saggy, frayed couch since college. When he called the next morning, she took pity on him and agreed to help him shop for new furniture. Usually shopping wasn’t her thing, but it was actually fun.

Keira relaxed and smiled more than Jake had ever seen. It looked good on her, very good. When her phone rang, rather than release her hand from under Jake’s, she fumbled with just her left hand. He brushed her pixie hair; he loved how it showed the smooth skin on her neck.

The air of fun evaporated as she listened to the words. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Foster, but I have bad news. Can you come to the school right away? Daniel has wandered off and we’re trying to find him. We….”

Keira was gone, with Jake on her heels.

“Keira, wait! What’s wrong?” Good thing his legs were longer than hers. When she tried to shake off his hand, he hung on tighter. “I’ll help. What is it?”

“Daniel. That was the school. They’ve lost him.” She bit her lip hard enough that Jake thought she’d draw blood.

He grabbed her hand and ran with her to the parking lot.

“I knew I should have been there. I should never have trusted my son to those people. How dare they lose him?”

“How long has he been missing?”

“They said since the middle of recess.” She looked at her watch. “That makes it about half an hour that he’s been gone. Do you have any idea what could happen to a little boy in that amount of time?”

Jake did. Yes, in his job he had seen more than he’d want to share with her. He pressed harder on the accelerator.

At school, Keira wasted no time. “Where have you looked?” she demanded.

“Three people are going through every closet and cupboard in the school. Two staff members are on the school grounds, and two more went in either direction down the street.”

“What happened? Did something scare him?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Ms. Robinson says that he seemed a bit more preoccupied this morning, more into himself, but he followed along with everything, even if he did lag a bit behind.”

“What about at recess? What happened there?”

“He seemed to want to be by himself. He stared at the clouds for a bit. Mrs. Rose was chatting with him about them. Then she moved on when some other children called her.”

Jake interrupted. “I’ll take a look outside.”

As if she had not heard him, Keira’s narrowed eyes focused on the administrator. “He was in your care. I trusted you to look after him... I told you he was different and needed watching. If I’d been here this would not have happened.” She went outside in the opposite direction of Jake.

Jake had an advantage - he was once a little boy. If I was four, what would catch my eye out here? He surveyed the fence surrounding the playground. It was more of a visual impact thing rather than an actual barrier that would keep kids in or out. Looking beyond it, he could see a pond area with willows and aspens. Today the water was clear, and he could see the moving clouds reflected in it. With one hand on the top rail of the fence, he vaulted over.

Crouched beside the pond, with his knees pulled to his chest was Daniel. He shivered, his wet shirt dripping onto his pants. How’d he get his top wet, but not his bottom half? Ah, those rocks. Looked like the kid slipped in the mud, his torso falling in the water. That was a close call and could have been worse. Jake approached quietly.

Pulling out his cell, he texted Keira - Found him.

“Hey, bud.” No answer. Right. He reached out a hand to rub Daniel’s cheek. God was he cold. Stripping off his own sweatshirt, he said, “Daniel, we’ve got to get you warmed up. Here. Let’s get this wet shirt off you then you can wear mine.”

Keira’s shorter legs made leaping over the fence more difficult, but she made it in seconds, then ran toward the big and small figures she could see a quarter of a mile away. What she saw made her run even faster, if that was possible. What was Jake doing? Removing Daniel’s shirt? He hated to be touched, plus that was his favorite shirt. She had trouble getting it off him at night when it was time for his pajamas.

By the time she reached them, Daniel’s muddy shirt was on the ground, and he was swamped in Jake’s sweatshirt. Without even asking, Jake hoisted Daniel into his arms, wrapping the boy’s legs around his waist and started toward the school with large strides. Daniel didn’t make a peep.

Keira put her hands out to take the child from Jake. “No, I’ve got him. He’s heavy. He’s okay.”

Miraculously, Daniel was okay. Normally, he did not allow anyone but her to touch him, and sometimes not even her, but he nestled his face into Jake’s shoulder as if it belonged there.

“Why’d you give him your shirt?” Her eye was drawn to Jake’s physique. Why was she even noticing such a thing when her child had just been in peril?

“He’d fallen into the water. His shirt was soaked, and he was shivering.” He didn’t stop at the school but went straight to his car.

“Damn, I don’t have a car seat.”

“My car’s here. You picked me up to go shopping after I dropped Daniel off.”

Jake snuggled the child, while his mom patted his hair and talked softly to him as they strode to her car. Amazing how her whole demeanor could change when interacting with her son. Her warmth for him was in stark contrast to the daggers she shot at the school people trailing them.

Once Daniel was secured in his seat, Keira remembered her manners. “Thanks. I mean it. Thank you for finding him.” She got behind the wheel. “We’ll see you around.”

“You’ll see me in about five minutes. I’ll meet you at your place.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I will see you home and make sure that Daniel is all right.”

Keira protested into the air as Jake was almost back at his own car. What? Did the guy think that she couldn’t take care of her own son?

As she drove, the loop running through her mind was that she’d been right all along. She needed to keep her son by her side.

Back at home, once freed from his car seat, Daniel looked past his mom and held out his arms. Jake stepped in front of her, lifted Daniel and carried him to the front door.

Keira stood, watching a scene she never thought would take place. Daniel went to someone before her. A part of her recognized that she was hurt and even jealous, while a different part, the part that tried to be grown-up, knew that her son had taken a big stride today. Not that running away was okay, but that he trusted someone. His world was expanding.

Keira grudgingly invited Jake to stay for supper since it didn’t look like he intended to budge.

As she tucked her son into bed and prepared to read him a story, Daniel held out his hand to the man leaning against the doorway. He took the book from his mom and offered it to Jake. With a grin, Jake angled his long, lean body beside Daniel’s pillow, effectively nudging Keira out of the way and began to read chapter three of Winnie the Pooh.

Keira stood guard until she saw Daniel nestle his body into Jake’s side. It crossed her mind that maybe she wasn’t just envious of Jake right now, but of Daniel. Maybe she wouldn’t mind snuggling with this particular man either.

After a sleepless night of worry and planning her offensive, Keira was prepared. These people had lost her son!

The administrator started with their apologies and how badly they felt, but Keira cut her off. She let them know just how incompetent they were.

Ms. Robinson went from sympathetic, to neutral to angry. She stood; the fire in her eyes matched Keira’s own. “If you think any of us had any more sleep last night than you did, then you don’t know us at all. We’re sick, just sick about what happened. We do care and take your trust seriously. I know this is not the first time Daniel has wandered off.” She held up her hand as Keira’s mouth opened. “It can happen to any of us as parents and it has. To me.”

“This isn’t the first time Daniel has tried to leave our classroom, or the school. We’ve been working on things to help him keep calm and not flee when he’s upset.”

“What? Why didn’t you call me if you were having trouble with him? You should have told me he was causing problems.”

Glancing over where Daniel seemed absorbed in his puzzles, Ms. Robinson lowered her voice. “Daniel was not causing problems, and he is not a problem. He needs to acquire some skills. He’s learning, and it’s getting better for the most part.”

She said, “You’re scared, and your worry is coming out as anger. We’re not the enemy. We want to work with you. Fighting everyone isn’t going to help. What we need is a plan. We want to prevent this from happening again, and we want to teach Daniel strategies that will prevent him from wandering.”

She sat down. “Will you work with us?”

Keira had nothing to say. That was a rarity. They’d been having trouble with Daniel but hadn’t kicked him out? Hadn’t complained to her about how hard her kid was to handle? Maybe Jake was right and her attitude did need an adjustment. Okay, she’d maybe give them a chance.

For now.

She listened to what they’d been working on in the classroom, the signs and visuals they were using with Daniel. Maybe this “team” thing could work.

Then it went south when Ms. Robinson brought out some signs that Keira could use at home. “I manage my son just fine at home.” Her frosty tone shut down that discussion.

Chapter 6

After collecting Daniel from school and making lunch, Keira had too much pent-up energy to concentrate on the small screen of her laptop. When upset, Keira cleaned. The place was not up to her usual standards; she’d spent too many mornings either working or increasingly, hanging out with Jake on his days off or when his shift left him free while Daniel was in school. She didn’t want to think too much about that.

Music helped with cleaning sprees. The dishwasher ran, the washing machine agitated, clothes thumped in the dryer as she ran the vacuum over the living room floor.

She didn’t hear the patio door slide open, nor notice the small body enter the backyard, and then go into the back alley.

Now that the kitchen floor gleamed and two loads of laundry had been put away, Keira noticed the time. Yikes. She needed to get supper going. Wonder what Daniel wants. “Daniel.” No answer. She went to find him.

Not in his room, and he wasn’t watching television. She searched every favorite hiding place he’d ever used in the house, calling at the same time. Then she noticed that the patio door was open a few inches. Tearing into the backyard, her rapid gaze told her he wasn’t there. In seconds, she raced up one side of the street, then back home and down the other way, screaming his name all the while.

Neighbors came out of their homes. She didn’t really know any of them; she and Daniel kept to themselves. At first too frantic to answer their queries, she realized she could use their help. People organized themselves to search the yards on the block. One woman said she’d call the police. Keira told her to ask for Jake. Then she thought no, she should call him herself.

In minutes a siren rapidly sounded closer. Then another one and another. Keira turned to battle them, but Jake was calling dispatch, telling them to turn off the noise, that it would frighten the child. Then he turned to her. “Remember? You’re not alone. These people are here to help you. Let me do my job and you can do what you do best - understand your son.” He intercepted the officers and took control, giving them Daniel’s description explaining that he could hear but not speak.

Chapter 7

Keira allowed herself to lean on Jake, just partly - enough to let him arrange the search and to have searchers listen as Keira told them how to approach Daniel. She allowed Jake to take her hand; her fingers clung to him.

The calming cadence of Jake’s voice helped slow Keira’s racing heart. He’s doing that on purpose, she thought. She felt her rational mind returning, the one that had been driven out by blind panic as dusk approached.

It twigged. Daniel rocking back and forth, humming earlier that afternoon. It wasn’t an idle tune. He was actually humming a song she’d sung to him while she and Jake pushed him on the swing at the park across the street and around the block. Tugging Jake’s hand, she followed her instincts.

They heard the creak of the swing’s chains before they saw him. One tiny body twisting in circles as he wound the swing first one way let it whirl back, then the other way and humming. Daniel looked up; his smile angelic. “Mommy! Push.”

Torn between rewarding the child with a swing ride after he’d left the house on his own, needing to squeeze him tight in relief and rejoicing in his first words, Keira was a mess.

Jake pulled her into his arms, her back to his chest, positioned them both in front of the child, and, placing Keira’s hands on the chains, began to push the swing.

When Keira felt that she had herself under control, she told Daniel it was time to go home and get something to eat. He hopped off the swing willingly, but after a few steps, he raised his arms to Jake to be carried.

After it being just the two of them for so long, was there room in their lives for a third person? Daniel seemed to think so.

The sounds of a drill and pounding resounded in her backyard all morning, along with smaller tap, taps. Daniel and Jake were erecting not just any swing set, but a little boy’s dream. While just the swings were going up today (as the most necessary part), there would be a climbing wall, a high fort, a slide and a sand box. Some of it looked too dangerous for a four-year-old, but Jake and Daniel went ahead with their plans.

There were now signs on the exterior doors, reminding Daniel to check with his mom before going outside. At night, there were alarms to alert Keira if a door opened. Every time Jake came over (and that was often), he practiced with Daniel strategies to use when he got upset.

Then, when Daniel went to bed, it was just Keira and Jake. She was letting go. In a way, it was a relief to not have to be in control all the time, to be the only responsible one. Sometimes it was nice to just sit back and let someone else take over. Oh, of course not in important things; Keira was still and always would be her own woman, but maybe, she could be part of a team, a couple. She nestled her head against Jake’s chest where it seemed to think it belonged.

About Dr. Sharon Mitchell

Dr. Sharon Mitchell has two passions - writing and kids who learn differently. Well, four passions actually - her family and also their family farm.

When it comes to autism and those whose brains are uniquely wired, she gets it. She's been a teacher, counselor, school psychologist, district consultant, and autism consultant for decades. She has presented to thousands at conferences and workshops. She teaches university classes to wanna-be-teachers and to school administrators on inclusion strategies and students who learn differently.

Apart from this short story, she’s written two nonfiction books on autism and five novels about autistic kids. Romance creeps into all of the novels because, well, isn’t that what life’s about?

Check out her website.

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Autism Questions Parents Ask

Autism Questions Teachers Ask

Trisha’s Dream by Ana Morgan

Chapter 1

The aroma of meat sizzling on a grill greeted Trisha Kane as she stepped out of her hometown’s funeral chapel. Across the street in Centennial Park, Homemaker’s Club members hosted a wake with platters of food on cloth-covered tables in the pavilion. Children frolicked on a sprawling playground set replete with slides, a rock-climbing wall, and a clatter bridge.

The sight would have pleased Emilia Kane, the woman who’d raised her. The spontaneous tributes celebrating her life? Not so much. Nana often said, Chickens don’t praise their own soup.

Nana believed in giving. After selling the hardware store she’d run for forty years, she shelved books at the Stevensville library, helped kindergartners and adults learn to read, and joined a dozen community organizations.

A small army of volunteers would be needed to replace her, but Trisha wouldn’t be one. Nana ended her will with one final instruction: Don’t ever give up on your dream.

Trisha squared her shoulders. As soon as she readied her grandmother’s house for sale, she’d fly back to Brooklyn and keep working toward being a professional photographer.

She scanned the bustling park again and prepared to mingle with her grandmother’s friends and neighbors one last time.

“Hello, Trish,” a deep voice said behind her.

Trisha gritted her teeth.

Only one person called her Trish. Dalton West, the banker’s son. State champion distance runner. The senior prom date who’d kissed her passionately until she left for art school, then proposed to Vanessa Kennedy.

Drawing a deep breath, Trisha turned and gasped.

Dalton wore the string tie she’d given him on his eighteenth birthday.

His trim physique confirmed Nana’s newsy gossip that he ran laps around the school track at dawn every morning. That boyish lock of dark hair still curled over his forehead, but the rest of him had matured into a man with a sexy five o’clock shadow. Gold still flecked his hazel eyes.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “Emilia will be missed.”

She tore her gaze from his handsome face and forced herself to be civil. “Thank you. She was an amazing woman.”

“More like a force of nature.” He chuckled. “The morning after my promotion from teller to loan officer, she marched into my office with a congratulatory plant and demanded that I match the donations she intended to collect for the park’s swing sets.” He gestured toward the crowded pavilion. “Everyone’s expecting you.”

“I know.”

“Okay if we walk together?”

It wasn’t, but she couldn’t think of a polite excuse. “All right.”

Her arm accidentally brushed against his as they crossed the street. Concerned he might misinterpret the touch as a sign she’d forgiven him, she veered around the Centennial Park sign.

He met up with her on the other side. “How’s life in New York City?”

“Busy.” He didn’t need to know she worked eleven-hour shifts to earn an employee discount on camera equipment. Or that her photograph of graffiti on a construction barrier finished fourth in the Subway Shopper’s Photo Fling.

“I’m sure your pictures sell at that market you attend every Saturday,” he continued.

She bristled. She’d emailed photos of the Brooklyn Flea to her grandmother. They were supposed to be private, not fodder for hometown chatter.

Dalton led her to the first table under the pavilion and handed her a set of plastic utensils neatly wrapped in a paper napkin.

Her favorite high school teacher immediately offered her a plate already loaded with a grilled brat in a bun. Mr. Bergstrom had fostered her passion for photography and wrote a glowing recommendation for her art school application.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Trisha,” he said. “I enjoyed your snapshot of the trees greening in Central Park. Well done.”

“Thank you.” His praise warmed her. Maybe her grandmother’s sharing wasn’t so bad.

He gestured toward the next table. Long-handled spoons jutted out of colorful bowls of macaroni, potato, and Jello salads. “Mrs. Baker is hoping you’ll stop by and visit.”

Trisha hesitated. The stern librarian patrolling the next buffet table had fined her repeatedly for not returning the library’s hardcover copy of Concepts of Photography on time.

Dalton tapped Trisha’s arm and murmured, “You’re holding up the line.”

She raised her chin and side-stepped to the next table. “Hello, Mrs. Baker.”

The librarian reached out and squeezed her hand. “If you need anything, dear, anything at all, please ask.” She heaped an assortment of salads onto Trisha’s plate.

“Th-thank you,” Trisha stammered, surprised by the affability in Mrs. Baker’s voice and the piles of food now on her plate. “I will.”

As she filed past the dessert table, Nana’s new next-door neighbor, Mr. Niemeyer, reminded her he’d be over tomorrow to mow the lawn.

White-haired Paulette Hawley pressed a cup of lemonade into her hand. “You’re moving back,” she stated loudly. “Stevensville needs young people like you.”

Trisha smiled and nodded. Nana’s elderly friend had obviously misplaced her hearing aids again.

Dorothea Carter marched up and stopped, as she always did, with her pug nose mere inches away from Trisha’s chin. “The Friendly Squares are short a dancer on Tuesday nights.”

“Thank you for telling me.” Trisha turned, intending to step around her, only to be blocked by the Taylor sisters. Both grinned like expectant aunts.

More well-wishers clustered around, eagerly celebrating Paulette’s announcement of her homecoming. Someone bumped her arm. Her overfilled plate tipped toward her blouse.

Trisha knew what to expect from crowds in the city. Subway jostles were routine and impersonal.

This was different. She’d grown up around the people surrounding her now. She knew they meant well and weren’t trying to be rude, but she had moved on. As soon as she won a high-profile photography contest, her career would take off. Her prints would sell in galleries, not on card tables under a pop-up tent. She’d travel to exotic locations and someday publish a book.

She rose up on her toes and searched for an escape.

Dalton recognized the desperation in Trish’s blue eyes. He’d seen it seven years ago, when she came home from art school for Christmas. He’d glanced up from his teller’s perch in the bank and spotted her selecting a cookie from the holiday hospitality tray on the customer service counter.

Vanessa left her desk, walked over to Trish, and showed off her engagement ring. Though he couldn’t hear Vanessa’s words, the pain flooding Trish’s face still haunted him. He’d selfishly thought her determination to become a famous photographer meant she wouldn’t have time to love him.

He learned the hard way that Vanessa was an itch with a capital B. When she realized he’d never move away from Stevensville, she filed for divorce, cleaned out their joint savings account, and took up with a Denver real estate broker who kept a bungalow on a Venice Beach canal.

Dalton knew he’d hurt Trish back then, but he could make amends now. Show her how much he still cared.

He wedged his shoulder between the Taylor sisters, cupped Trish’s elbow, and announced, “I’ve found us a place to sit.” He steered her away from the press of townspeople and led her to an unoccupied swing set.

She sank onto a blue swing seat and balanced her plate on her lap. “Thanks. I wasn’t expecting everyone to be so insistent. It’s a bit overwhelming.”

“Really? You live in a city of eight million people.”

“They don’t tell you what you should do, all at the same time.”

“That’s true.” His heart beat fast. They were alone. This might be his only opportunity to ask for a second chance.

He’d rehearsed what to say a thousand times since her grandmother’s passing. “I think the New York City subway system is overwhelming. The map looked like a mess of spaghetti when I pulled it up online last month.”

Trish’s cup of lemonade stopped halfway to her lips. “Why were you looking up the subway system last month?”

“Nana wanted to walk up to your booth at the flea market and surprise you. We bought plane tickets. Scottsbluff to Denver to LaGuardia.” He rubbed his palms expectantly on his trousers and waited for Trish to ask why he’d said ‘we.’

The color drained from her face. Her plate slid off her lap and tumbled to the sand under her swing.

His gut clenched. Nana had insisted a surprise visit was the best way to get Trish to forgive him, and he’d agreed, not knowing about Nana’s cancer. “Trish, I—”

She stood and raised her hand like a stone-faced traffic cop. “Don’t say another word.”

He watched helplessly as she marched out of the park, got into a compact rental car, and sped away.

Chapter 2

The next morning, Trisha made a bitter cup of coffee and sat at her grandmother’s kitchen table.

She’d tossed and turned most of the night, unable to digest what Dalton had told her in the park. Nana had bought a plane ticket to New York.

Three months ago, she’d begged her grandmother—again—to visit her. Nana had claimed—again—to be too busy. This time, John Allen needed someone to do his shopping while he recovered from hip replacement surgery.

In her very last email, Nana signed off with a cryptic quote. Soon someone will hug you so tight, the pieces of your broken heart will fit back together.

Trisha slammed her fist on the table. Why didn’t Nana tell her about the diagnosis of stage four cancer? She gossiped about everybody else. Why not confide in her only relative? Allow Trisha to sit beside her while she slipped away.

The grandfather clock in the living room chimed seven times.

“That’s not much of an answer,” she yelled. “Guess you mean time marches on.”

Knowing the clock wouldn’t answer, she set her cup in the sink and surveyed the sunny, lonely room. Her gaze settled again on a sticky note Nana had left on top of her laptop.

The Wild American Landscapes contest. Enter this!

Trisha studied the attached printout. Contest open to individuals over the age of eighteen who reside in the United States. Work must be original. Photos submitted in JPG format, not to exceed four MB. Entries must be uploaded using the online form. First-place winner awarded ten thousand dollars and representation by the Skardeth Gallery of New York, Dallas, and San Francisco.

She tossed the flyer into the trash. The contest closed in two days, and she had more pressing things to do than scour the countryside for a money shot. This was northwestern Nebraska, not an endangered glacier or a breathtaking rain forest.

Four hours later, she squeezed the last box of seasonal decorations into the back seat of her rental car and checked that the key to her grandmother’s lockbox still rested snugly in her hip pocket. She’d drop off the decorations at the Gently Used store, close out Nana’s security box at the bank, and return home to decide what to do with the antique cups and saucers in the china cabinet.

Trisha stepped into the bank. First-of-the-month customers filled the lobby. Hoping Dalton was busy giving someone a loan, she sidled to the vault check-in counter and stared at a print board itemizing interest rates on Certificates of Deposit while she waited for a teller.

Suddenly, the scent of sandalwood teased her nose, triggering unwanted memories of slow dances and moonlight kisses. Dalton stepped behind the counter.

“Hello, Trish. You here to close out Nana’s security box?”

Avoiding his eyes, she nodded.

He withdrew a signature card from a drawer and handed her a pen. After she signed, he led her into the vault and inserted the bank’s key into one of the locks. “I’ll need her key.”

She held it out, hoping he wouldn’t touch her fingers, trying hard not to remember how she’d ached for him after he and Vanessa married.

His hand closed around hers and seemed to linger. He unlocked the little door, slid out a long metal box with a half-flap lid, and set it on a stand. “Take as much time as you need.”

She waited until he stepped out of the vault and then withdrew items from the box. Her parents’ death certificates. Nana’s engagement ring, given to her by a soldier killed just before the Vietnam War ended. The deed to her house with a sticky note attached. See Dalton.

Trisha cursed under her breath. She didn’t want to see Dalton. Nana should have summoned her home. They could have settled her affairs together, before she died.

She threw the key into the now-empty box, marched across the bank lobby, and barged into his office brandishing the bright yellow paper square.

Her breath caught in her throat. Large, framed photographs decorated his walls. Landscapes of Scottsbluff National Monument, the sandhill crane flyway, the muddy, meandering North Platte River. She’d snapped the images during her senior year in art school and framed each one for sale.

She sank into the chair in front of his desk, her shock exploding into anger.

“Where did you get my pictures?”

The condemnation in Trish’s voice confirmed what Dalton had long suspected. Her grandmother never told her he’d secretly attended her art school graduation.

He braced for an interrogation. “Nana asked me to drive her and her bridge club.”

“She told me she had hired a driver.”

“I rented the van. She paid for the gas.”

“Where did you sit during the ceremony?”

“In the very back row.”

“And during the senior show?”

“I walked around the other graduates’ installations. When you, Nana, and her bridge club friends went to dinner, I bought your pictures.”

Trish’s eyes widened. “You were the anonymous buyer?”

He nodded. At the time, he’d justified his purchase—to Vanessa and anyone else who asked—as hometown support for a promising talent.

“If I’d known, I would have thanked you.” Trish tucked her shoulder-length chestnut hair behind one ear. “Despite what happened between us.”

He didn’t want her thanks. He wanted her to love him again.

She slapped the sticky note onto his desk calendar and scowled. “Why do I have to see you?”

“Because Nana wanted you to see these.” He gestured toward his office walls.

Shaking her head, Trish rose from her seat and turned slowly, her gaze lingering on each photograph as if she recalled when and how she’d composed each shot. When she finished, she stepped up to his favorite print, a sunset—shimmering bands of orange and gold silhouetted cornstalks near harvest time. Above the tassels, pink clouds billowed under a sky crown of azurite blue.

“Why did you choose this one?” she asked.

He folded his hands on his desk and debated what to say. The picture reminded him of her—and the relationship he’d squandered. But it also encouraged him to believe she’d find her way back to him. When she did, he’d feel as glorious as the sky above the cornstalks in her photograph.

Certain she wasn’t ready to talk about getting back together, he said the next best thing. “It gives me hope.”

Her jaw dropped, but no words came out. She glanced again at the sunset photograph and dashed out of his office.

Chapter 3

Trisha pressed her hands over her heart as she stood in the center of her grandmother’s living room and compared the landscapes in Dalton’s office to the photographs mounted on the walls.

In one, Nana placed small American flags beside veterans’ headstones in the cemetery for Memorial Day. In another, ten-year-old Jerry Naylor trudged home pushing his bicycle with the broken bike chain draped over the handlebars. A third caught the sun as it rose like a big, yellow lollipop over the stick-like auger of a combine.

Each picture evoked an emotion. Patriotism. Sympathy. Awe. Precisely what her photos of urban skyscrapers and ethnic neighborhoods lacked.

She inched back, still studying her photographs, and sat on the sofa.

How could she have missed something so obvious? Time after time, gallery owners rejected her well-intentioned close-ups of subway stairwells. Browsers at the Brooklyn Flea ignored her cityscape postcards and purchased prints of abandoned farmsteads and windswept grasslands.

Their message was clear, now that Dalton had unwittingly helped her to understand it. Her talent was landscapes. She possessed the intuitive ability to capture the splendor of isolated places.

A second revelation zapped her like a bolt of lightning. Since moving to New York, she’d only entered urban contests.

Shivering with excitement, she ran to the kitchen, opened Nana’s laptop, and accessed the Wild American Landscapes website. A link on the contest page took her to a display of previous years’ winning photos. In accompanying paragraphs, the first-place photographers described how they’d taken their shot. A judge explained why each image stood out.

The number one reason? Uncommon location. No recognizable geysers or sequoias.

The tips of her fingers tingled. She’d brought her camera home. A little-known wasteland lay in the middle of the Oglala National Grassland, less than an hour away. It had poured two days ago, so her compact rental car wouldn’t be able to navigate the preserve’s sticky clay terrain.

She reached for her phone and dialed a number she’d vowed never to call again.

Dalton looked at his caller ID and panicked. Trish wouldn’t call unless she was in trouble.

He jumped to his feet and punched the Talk icon. His office chair crashed into the wall behind his desk. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she said, her words rushed. “Well, almost fine. I need a truck.”

He scratched his cheek. “Are you asking for a loan?”

“No! I need to go to Toadstool today and tomorrow.”

He pumped his fist in the air. In eleventh grade, they’d taken a field trip to the geological park. Going there now with Trish allowed him the opportunity to turn back the clock to when they’d started to fall in love.

He tugged off his tie. “I’ll pick you up in half an hour.”

Twenty-nine minutes later, he turned onto her street with a tank full of gas and two fleece jackets behind the driver’s seat. Toadstool’s wind-blasted canyons turned chilly after sunset.

She stood at the curb with an orange backpack, two gray camera cases, and a tan tripod carrier resting next to her boot-clad feet. Dark sunglasses and a brimmed I heart NYC cap shaded her eyes. She’d knotted the tails of her long-sleeved yellow shirt above her waist. Faded jeans hugged the curves of her hips.

As soon as he shifted into park, she opened the passenger door and set her gear on the seat. Then, she dug into her hip pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and a key attached to a fat rental car fob. “Thanks for coming so quickly. The cash is for gas. You’ll have your truck back by Thursday at the latest.”

“I’m going with you.”

She stiffened. “No, you’re not. You have to work.”

“I took time off.”

“You’ll be bored. I never know what to shoot until I find it.”

“I’ll carry your gear.” He jerked his chin toward her bags on the passenger seat. “You can concentrate on finding the right shot.”

Her gaze darted around the interior of his truck and landed on his T-shirt. “You’re not dressed right. It can get cold when the sun sets.”

He reached behind the driver’s seat and lifted two fleece jackets, hoping she’d be pleased he remembered the times she’d forgotten a jacket and borrowed his. “One for you and one for me.”

She didn’t smile. “What about drinking water? I only brought enough for me.”

He raised a large stainless-steel thermos. “If you think this isn’t enough, I’ll buy more when we stop for take-out.”

One by one, he picked up her bags and set them gently behind her seat. He knew the utility bags were padded, but he wanted to demonstrate how careful he could be with her expensive camera and lenses.

“Okay.” She shrugged. “I guess you have everything figured out.”

He held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Just this much. You can explain the rest on the way.”

Chapter 4

Trisha shut the lid on her half-eaten nacho grande and set the take-out container carefully on the truck’s floor mat.

Dalton’s brow furrowed. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s delicious.” She glanced at his empty container, still open on his lap. “It’s a huge portion. I can’t believe you ate all of yours.”

“It’s my job. I loaned Luis and Emelda the money to open their restaurant. The more I eat, the faster they’ll repay the loan.” His eyes twinkled. “I haven’t decided what cuisine to invest in next. I’m leaning toward Thai.”

She resisted the impulse to tell him she adored spring rolls and potstickers.

“I’m a green curry man.”

“Since when?” She cocked her head. “Used to be the most exotic thing you’d eat was grated parmesan cheese on a sausage pizza.”

“Things change, Trish.” He slid his take-out container under his seat. “I’ve changed.”

She turned her head and pretended to be more interested in a hawk soaring over a wheat field. Not everything had changed. His scent still made her ache with desire. Her skin still tingled whenever and wherever they touched.

For the past seven years, Nana had insisted he’d backed away when Trisha left for art school because Trisha wanted to travel the world, and he wanted to bring the world to Stevensville.

Trisha had scoffed at her grandmother’s explanation. If two people were truly in love, they found a way to be together.

“This contest.” He intruded on her thoughts. “Where should we set up your camera?”

“I don’t know, Dalton. I haven’t been to Toadstool in years.”

He scrubbed his hand on his knee. “You must have some idea.”

She didn’t want to admit she needed to wait until the tips of her fingers prickled. “I’ll know the right spot when I find it.”

“I have some suggestions, if you’ll let me.” He shot her an uneasy glance.

He’s as nervous as I am.

Knowing that made it a little easier to trust him. “That would be great. Thank you. And thank you for driving me.”

They passed the Welcome to Ogala National Grassland sign. Thousands of acres of unspoiled prairie lay before them. A breeze rippled the shin-high native grasses, still green from recent rains. Puffball clouds drifted in the bright blue afternoon sky, a stark contrast to the desolate badland looming in the distance.

Trisha attached her new telephoto zoom lens to her camera, rolled down her window, and leaned out to snap her first test shot. She’d study the images after they were downloaded to Nana’s laptop and decide where to focus her attention tomorrow.

Twenty minutes later, Dalton pulled into the Toadstool campground and parked. She hopped out of the truck and scanned the barren, bleached-brown cliffs through her viewfinder. During high school, their science class had hiked the one-mile trail that looped along the desiccated riverbed and hunted for fossilized bones of prehistoric pigs and saber-tooth cats. She needed something more spectacular to win the contest.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

She turned to pick up her gear.

Her pack already rested on his back. The straps of her camera case and tripod carrier crisscrossed his chest like bandoliers on a battle-ready mercenary. “I can carry something,” she protested.

“You are,” he replied. “A six-thousand-dollar camera.”

She wet her lips. “How did you know?

“Focus magazine. A person can learn a lot by studying the ads.”

“You bought a subscription to a photography magazine?”

“The bank did.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Your grandmother thumbed through it every time she came in.”

“Oh.” Her eyes misted as she imagined Nana sitting in an overstuffed bank chair enjoying an article about shutter speed adjustments. Then she remembered the likelihood of that was slim to none. Nana had too many other interests.

Dalton read the magazine.

Was he hoping to impress her when he and Nana came to New York?

He pointed toward the five-mile trail. “We better get going if we want to make it back before dark.”

She shut the passenger door and joined him.

Leaving the campground behind, they walked through a pass in the eons-old siltstone. The trail descending to the ancient riverbed quickly turned narrow and steep. She let Dalton take the lead so she could pause and snap photos of the sloping, eroded cliffs.

Halfway to the bottom, he veered off the trail. “There’s an interesting spot over here.”

She pressed her camera protectively against her chest and picked her way between two massive, tilted rocks. When she caught up to him, he lay beside a silver sagebrush bush in a sunny dead end. Her backpack and gear sat nearby.

“I thought it might be cool to take a picture of the sky through the branches.” He scrambled to his feet and motioned for her to take his place.

His enthusiasm was contagious. She untied her shirttails, stretched out on the ground, and peered through her viewfinder. The shot he suggested wasn’t a contest winner, but she snapped several pictures anyway. She’d frame the best one for him as a thank-you for his assistance.

As soon as she reattached the lens cap, he extended his hand, fingers bent at the knuckles.

She recognized the grip immediately. They’d invented it in the eighth grade as a special way to help each other stand when the announcer called their track and field events. She hooked her fingers over his, stiffened her arm, and let him pull her up.

When she was steady on her feet, she met his smile with her own. They’d had some good times in the past. Remembering one or two might help her broken heart to mend. She desperately wanted to fall in love again. She was tired of being alone.

“Ready?” Dalton still held her hand.

“Let’s go.” She pulled free and fussed with her camera strap until she was sure her expression revealed none of her secret yearnings.

They returned to the trail, hiked down to the riverbed, and stepped into an otherworldly landscape. Fantastical, toadstool-shaped hoodoos lined the canyon walls, etched by millions of years of water and wind. It wasn’t hard to imagine an ancient community of hobbits dwelling in the huge rock formations.

The tips of her fingers prickled. This was the spot. Wild. Uncommon. Magical.

Now to identify the best shot.

“Stay here. I need to concentrate.” She didn’t bother to remind him this was why she’d wanted to come alone.

Camera raised, she walked along the meandering riverbed and snapped test pictures. When the canyon finally widened again, and the hoodoos ended, she stopped and scanned the images she’d taken.

In bright daylight, the fantastical cliffs were the color of bleached bones. She needed more contrasts. The setting sun would create shadows in the panorama, but would that be enough to get a prize-winning shot?

There was only one way to find out—and it wasn’t good news.

Chapter 5

Dalton rechecked his watch. Trish had been gone over an hour, and the sun would soon slip behind the west-side cliff.

She’d ordered him to stay back while she took her experimental shots, but if she had twisted an ankle or bumped her head, her cries for help might not snake around the hoodoo-lined cliffs.

He grabbed his thermos and sprinted in her direction. The thuds of his hiking boots echoed in his ears as he rounded several bends and didn’t see her. He should have insisted on accompanying her or followed at a stealthy distance.

If anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself.

After racing around another blind curve, he spotted her leaning against a boulder, her camera aimed at a spectacular section of hoodoos. Relieved, he slowed his pace and held out his thermos as if she’d sent him for water, and he was simply following orders.

“Thirsty?” he asked.

“Thanks.” She traded her camera for the thermos and took a long drink.

He took care not to smudge the uncapped lens and tilted his head toward the cliff. “Is that your shot?”

“I hope so. I won’t know for half an hour, maybe longer. It depends on the shadows.”

Thanks to an article in last month’s photography magazine, he didn’t have to ask her to explain. To overcome the lack of a primary focus, such as a person or a prominent structure, create a sense of movement.

Shadows could do that, provided one snapped an image every twenty or thirty seconds. However, waiting for the longest, most dramatic shadows this far from the trail meant they’d probably have to spend the night in the canyon and hike up at daybreak.

Too proud to admit he hadn’t anticipated this possibility, he pulled from his pocket one of the protein bars he’d found in a side pocket of her pack. “Hungry?”

She shook her head. “You eat it. I have half a nacho grande in your truck.”

“That might be our breakfast.”

“Yes.” Trish shot him a quick, sideways glance. “It might.”

A flush crept up the back of his neck. She’d tried to warn him he wasn’t prepared to come along.

Still, this turn of events was actually quite good. The weather was mild. If her shadow images didn’t pan out, she could focus on the starry sky, and they could talk—just like they’d done after graduation.

Back then, they’d driven miles out of town so she could practice taking galaxy shots. As they waited for the sky to fill with starlight, they’d sat in the bed of his old pickup and talked about their goals for the future. His was to be a fourth-generation banker, nurturing his community so it wouldn’t die a slow death like other rural Nebraska towns. Hers was to have an exciting career and someday a family.

They’d talked less in July. Even less in August.

His chest tightened with hindsight. He’d quit listening first.

Vowing to do better now, he held out her camera. “I’ll be right back with your gear.” He turned and jogged away.

“Be careful,” she called. “Hiking boots aren’t made for running.”

When Dalton disappeared around the first bend, Trisha heaved a sigh of relief. She’d expected him to get upset when he learned they’d have to spend the night in the canyon.

She had two perfectly reasonable excuses. He’d insisted on coming along, and a photograph of the midnight sky between the cliffs might turn out to be her best one.

Now that they were deep in the canyon, she was glad he had accompanied her. Three questions had plagued her since he dumped her unexpectedly seven years ago.

What made him think she wasn’t serious about becoming a professional photographer? Why didn’t he tell her he wanted to break up before she left for college? And, how could he have let her be blindsided by Vanessa and humiliated in front of everyone in the bank?

She’d get her answers even if it took all night. She would feel empty when he finally admitted he’d never truly loved her, but empty was better than shattered. An empty heart could refill.

Eager to get on with her life, she checked her camera’s memory card. At three shots a minute, the card had plenty of room to test how the shadows lengthened. Then she’d switch to a backup card and take progressive exposures of the night-time sky. If one wasn’t a standout, she might be able to edit them into a star trail image.

The tips of her fingers tingled with anticipation as she programmed the shutter timer. Her camera battery was at twenty percent. As soon as Dalton returned, she’d switch batteries, level her tripod, and fine-tune the focus settings.

Minutes ticked by.

She swung an impatient gaze along the riverbed.

What was taking him so long? She needed her light meter. If he hadn’t insisted on carrying her gear, she’d have it right now.

She shoved her shirttails into her jeans.

He burst into view and hurried up, his hands holding her camera cases so they wouldn’t bounce against his chest. He lifted the straps over his head, set down her bags, and shrugged free of her backpack. “I’ll set up your tripod. Shoulder height?”

“Right.” The tripod was the no-frills one she’d used in college. She’d let him extend the legs, then attach the camera and level it herself.

He slid the aluminum stand out of its black case as she unzipped her camera bag and found her light meter. He worked quickly, spreading and locking the legs. Then he removed the quick release plate, locked it onto the base of her camera, and attached her camera to the tripod head.

She finished switching batteries and picked up her light meter. “I’m impressed. Can you level it, too?”

“Yes, ma’am. Online tutorials are a man’s best friend.” He gestured toward her hand. “Haven’t mastered that gadget.”

“It took me a while.” She glanced up at the sky. “Sun’s about to set behind us. Let’s hurry.”

Trusting he knew what to do, she handed him her camera, walked to the center of the riverbed, and aimed her light meter at the tiers of mushroom-shaped hoodoos lining the canyon wall. When she returned, the ball of air in each level bubble was centered. “Good job.”

She adjusted her focus, plugged in the remote shutter control, and set it to snap a picture every five seconds. “Here goes.”

Shadows sprouted from the stems of the hoodoos. As they grew, she stood beside the tripod and searched for a fantastical shape to be the focal point of a winning photograph.

Before she located one, the ambient light dimmed. The shadows lost their promising individuality and melted into dark puddles.

Her stomach clenched. They’d gone to all this trouble for nothing. If they hurried to pack up, they could climb out of the canyon before it was pitch dark and pick their way to Dalton’s truck by cell phone light.

“Trish.”

She lifted her camera off the tripod and snapped on the lens cap. She’d find another landscape contest to enter. Upstate New York possessed some great scenery.

“Trish.”

She didn’t need an admission from Dalton. No matter how heartfelt, his apology wouldn’t mend her broken heart. She needed to fit the pieces back together herself.

“Trish!”

“What?” Her shout cracked like a whip.

He seized her shoulders and spun her around.

Red and green streaks lit the hoodoos lining the east-facing cliff.

“How?” she sputtered.

“Volcanic ash in the sandstone,” he said quickly. “It absorbs light during the day and reflects it at dusk.”

Her pulse pounded with an excitement she hadn’t felt since her school days. The tiers of mushroom-shaped rock seemed alive, embedded with flickering neon lights. Her fears about love and loss slipped off her shoulders as she peered through her viewfinder and corrected the focus.

Time slowed until she was conscious of the pressure of her toes against the smooth rock riverbed and the whoosh of each breath in and out of her lungs. Then those sensations slipped away, and all she cared about was capturing the beauty before her.

She snapped a picture of the glow, aimed higher, and snapped another.

And another.

When the colors faded, Dalton eased the lens-heavy camera from Trish’s grip. “Did you get a winning shot?”

“No.” She grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. “But I’ll be able to take the winning shot tomorrow. Do you know Mr. Bergstrom’s email address?”

He scrunched his face like he always did when she confused him. “I imagine it’s @tbergstrom at the school. Why?”

Her hand brushed against his as she unplugged the shutter remote cord. “I need Photoshop to stack the images. The light is too faint in one single image, but if I blend multiple images, the colors will intensify.”

He’d seen articles about optimizing images in the photography magazine, but they were laced with technical terms and techniques he didn’t understand. The before and after pictures told him what he needed to know—the ability to edit the light in an image separated the amateurs from the pros.

“I’m sure Mr. Bergstrom will let me use one of the school’s computers.” She knelt and started to pack up her equipment. “We’ll need headlamps to climb out of here tomorrow night. If you can’t find any in Stevensville, you’ll have to drive to Scottsbluff. The deadline to enter the contest is noon the day after tomorrow. The timetable’s tight, but I think we can do it.”

She stood and handed him the tripod case. “Carry the backpack, too.”

He blinked. In the past, he’d bristled whenever she barked orders at him. He’d felt threatened, as if giving in made him inferior.

What a fool he’d been. Doing her bidding on a location shoot meant she trusted him. They were a team. Partners. Maybe for more than getting a winning picture for her contest.

He slung her pack onto his back. “I found a good spot to spend the night.”

“Near the trail, I hope.” Holding her camera case protectively, she set off at a determined clip and looked back over her shoulder. “We have to start up at daybreak.”

Thanks to his long legs, he caught up to her easily. “It’s close.”

He glanced up. They couldn’t have picked a nicer night to camp out. The air was calm. The first star twinkled in the sky. A blanket to cozy up under would be nice, but they had jackets and body heat. He’d kept her warm before, and he could do it again.

They entered a narrow section of the canyon. Straining to see in the scant light, he stepped in front of her, prepared to suffer the bump if a phantom proved to be solid rock. Something winged whooshed past his head, the sound trailing the shadowy silhouette like thunder after lightning.

Behind him, Trish cried out in fright. She was irrationally afraid of bats.

“It’s an owl,” he said reassuringly. “Coming to see if we were a parade of mice.”

“We’re not,” she shouted. “No need to take a second look.”

He sensed, more than saw, the next bend in the riverbed. He also knew that talking would take Trish’s mind off the not-bats. “Remember when you cleared five feet in the high jump?”

“Yeah. Scottsbluff Junior High figured they could beat every small town at the meet.”

“You took first place.”

“So did you,” she said. “In the sixteen hundred and thirty-two hundred.”

“We didn’t win the meet.”

“Second place was darn good. We beat Morrill, Mitchell, and Lyman.” She paused. “Nana said you still run.”

“Keeps me in shape.” He thumped his chest. “I sit behind a desk all day. Best way I know to get flabby.”

“People in New York walk a lot.”

“I thought they ran to catch the subway and to avoid speeding taxis.”

“You and your old movies.” She laughed. “You should come and see the reality for yourself.”

“Is that an invitation?” His heart skipped a beat. He already had a ticket.

“Maybe. Where’s this shelter you said you found?”

The canyon widened. He counted his steps, just like he’d done before he returned with her camera gear. “It should be right about here.”

He pulled out his cell phone and shined a light on a chest-high slab of stone that tented a huge upright rock and an indentation in the canyon wall. “Out of the wind and protected from unidentified flying objects.” He swung her pack and tripod case off his back, sat down, and scooched butt-first into the canyon cubby.

She opened her pack, tossed him his two jackets, and donned hers. When he finished zipping, she backed in beside him and pulled in her gear.

He spread his second jacket over their legs, turned off his phone’s flashlight, and waited for his eyes to adapt to the gloom again. “This is nice. Almost like we’re at a drive-in movie theater. I wonder what time the show starts.”

As if in response, a pinprick light streaked across the sky.

She giggled. “There’s the first coming attraction. Got enough butter on your popcorn?”

He pretended to toss an exploded kernel of popcorn into the air and catch it with his mouth. “Yep. Tastes good.” He propped his back against the smooth rock and crossed his ankles. “Do you want to look at the images you took?”

“Okay.” Without needing a light, she opened her case, lifted her camera, and turned it on. Back straight, she sat cross-legged and angled the screen so they both could see it.

She studied each image, uttering small hums of approval or soft groans of disapproval. Several images were blurry—it was impossible to hold a camera perfectly still during an entire series. She deleted those, then started from the beginning again, this time going through the pictures faster, like a flipbook.

He noted the changes in the colors of light. “So, you’re going to layer images on top of each other?”

“Blending the images will intensify the glow.” Her shoulder rubbed against his as she ran repeatedly through the series, making comments and debating technical adjustments.

She spoke more to herself than to him, but his recent efforts to learn about photography paid off. He understood some of what she said and enjoyed hearing what sailed over his head.

He waited until she shut off her camera and returned it to its case. Night settled around them, still and very dark. Ideal for confessions.

“I’m sorry, Trish.”

“For what?” Her voice sounded hesitant—as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he was about to say.

“For taking so long to appreciate why you pour your heart and soul into composing each picture.”

She stiffened. The heels of her boots scraped the riverbed as she scooted as far away from him as their confined space allowed.

He wanted to pull her back but couldn’t claim the right.

“What did you think I was doing?” she huffed.

His cheeks heated. “I thought you should be less interested in photography and more interested in being my girlfriend.”

“Did you want me to fawn over you like Vanessa Kressbauer?”

“I’m not saying that was right,” he protested. “In fact, I’m admitting I was wrong.”

“Because she picked you clean when you divorced?”

“No. Because you have a gift. Your photographs capture the splendor of nature so the rest of us can feel humbled and inspired.”

She was silent for some time. “You really hurt me.”

“I know. I’m truly sorry.”

“Do you have any idea how I felt when Vanessa flaunted her ring at me?”

“Actually, I do.” He grimaced. “It was the first of the month. Customers formed lines in front of all five tellers. Vanessa marched through the lobby, hurled her wedding ring into my office, and shouted, ‘You’re lousy in bed, too.’”

“Ouch. She always was a drama queen.”

“You were never like that.”

“Never wanted to be.”

“You wanted to be a well-known photographer.”

“Respected for my craft. For the images I take.” She blew out a long, slow breath. “I owe you a thank-you.”

His pulse quickened. In her special, quiet way, Trish had accepted his apology. “For what?”

“For coming to my graduation.” She patted her camera case. “And for staying close to Nana.”

“She was very proud of you.” He extended his arm. After some rustling, Trish settled into his embrace and rested her head on his shoulder.

“She encouraged me to move to New York and spent hours online searching for the just-right first apartment.”

He didn’t know that, but it didn’t surprise him. Nana wanted the best for her only grandchild. “Are you glad you moved there?”

“Yes and no. It’s an exciting place to live. So many cultures and cuisines. But it’s easy to be seduced into believing it’s all you need.” She raised a hand and rubbed her eyes. “My city photos are technically good, but they never evoke an emotional response, not like my country landscapes.”

“Maybe that’s because you grew up around open spaces.”

“I need to spend more time in places like this.” She yawned. “Sorry. I haven’t slept well the past few nights.”

He fished his phone from his pants pocket. “I’ll set my alarm for five a.m.”

“Make it a quarter ’til,” she said sleepily. “We have lots to do tomorrow.”

Chapter 6

Late the next afternoon, doubt gnawed the lining of Trisha’s stomach as she aimed her camera at the canyon wall.

Clouds had blocked the sun’s rays most of the morning. The cliffs might not have absorbed enough light for the embedded ash to glow.

The composite she’d created from yesterday’s shoot using Mr. Bergstrom’s art class software showed promise. There’d be no blur today, with her camera fixed on a tripod, but a stable camera wouldn’t enhance the otherworldly colors.

She extended the exposure time so each image would capture more light from the mushroom-shaped hoodoos and took her umpteenth light meter reading. She fussed again with the focus. The entry deadline for this year’s Great American Landscape contest was less than twenty-four hours away.

“Want some coffee? It’s still hot.” Dalton sat atop a gargantuan boulder holding the gray lid of his thermos.

“I’m fine.” She needed to reserve her caffeine intake for a sleep-stomping fix around three in the morning. If she’d erred on any of her camera settings, correcting blended image would take most of the night—and there was no guarantee the final image would be good enough for a prestigious contest.

Shading her eyes, she gazed up at the sky. The sun hadn’t moved much from the last time she’d checked.

“Lick the lens, then polish it clear,” he said.

“What?”

“That was last month’s Outdoor Pro Tip. It keeps your lens from fogging when the temperature drops.”

“That’s nuts.”

“No, it’s insurance.” He slid off the boulder and landed on his feet. “Like throwing salt over your right shoulder to ward off evil spirits.”

“You’re supposed to throw salt over your left shoulder.”

“Okay.” He set down the thermos, dug in his pocket, and pulled out a white packet of take-out salt. “Throw this over your left shoulder.”

He set the packet on his open palm and walked up to her. Stood in front of her like a statue. Taunted her with his eyes.

“You’re nuts, you know that?” Irritated, she snatched the packet, poured salt into her right hand, and tossed it over her left shoulder.

“Good,” he said. “Now stop worrying. You’ve got this.”

She blinked. He’d said the exact same thing to her throughout middle and high school to soothe her pre-everything jitters. “Do you really think the rock will light up tonight?”

“I do. Rocks don’t like change.”

A laugh bubbled inside her. It tickled her throat like fizz from a soda and burst out of her mouth like a prankster’s burp. Her nerves calmed, leaving only anticipation.

A few minutes later, the sun sank behind the cliff in front of her camera. The canyon darkened. Shadows formed and melted.

She drew a cleansing breath, pressed nonstop on her remote, and counted to sixty. The shutter clicked and recorded her opening image.

The first flashes in the rock resembled fireflies, a spark here, a spark there. More sparks appeared, each adding a flicker until the ash-layered hoodoos glowed neon red and green.

Dalton came up beside her and hugged her shoulder. “It’s beautiful, like you.”

Caught up in the moment, she leaned into him and grinned. “Are you comparing me to a hoodoo?”

“Not any hoodoo. Magical hoodoos that light up my life.” His hand slid down the side of her body, a reminder of the intimacy they’d once shared.

This wasn’t the right time to discuss rekindling their relationship, though the pressure of his hand on her hip had ignited a dizzying heatwave in her core. She hooked her thumb around a belt loop on his jeans to steady herself. They’d lost their virginity on a night like this, on a blanket under the stars.

Maybe it was true. You never got over your first love. She never had. From the way Dalton talked and acted, he hadn’t either—but he clocked regular hours at his family’s bank, five days a week. If she won the landscape contest, she intended to take pictures full-time and see if she could support herself on art gallery sales. Location, weather, and sun angles would dictate her schedule.

Would he fall out of love with her again if she earned her living as a professional photographer? Could they be a couple with completely different lifestyles?

Her camera shutter clicked, and she forced her focus back to the cliff. The mesmerizing streaks were fading fast.

Certain she’d already captured enough images to create a winning photograph, she turned toward Dalton, rose up on her toes, and pressed a quick, chaste kiss on his mouth. A thank-you for his help.

“My turn,” he said.

Curious, she squared her stance and raised her chin.

He lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers until her heart raced like the wind across an open plain. She waited for him to press hard or pull her close or reach under her jacket to cup her breast, but he didn’t make any of his old moves. He feathered slow, soft kisses over her lower lip as if they had all night.

Her legs threatened to turn to jelly. “Dalton, we need to pack up my camera.”

“We will,” he replied. “As soon as you kiss me back.”

“Why?”

“Because”—his voice cracked—“this might be the last time.”

A shiver shook her body. She’d tried her best to forget him and kissed other men, but each time, her heart forced her to admit she still loved him.

Nana’s cryptic sign-off drifted through her mind. Soon someone will hug you so tight, the pieces of your broken heart will fit back together. Did Nana mean the someone would be Dalton?

Everything he’d said and done since she returned home screamed that he wanted her. So, she wrapped her arms around his neck, shut her eyes, and poured all her past you’ll-come-crawling-back anger and I-can’t-live-without-you tears into a make-or-break kiss.

He tasted like coffee and protein bar almonds. The sensual scent of sandalwood wafted off his jaw. His hands caressed her hips while she pressed her breasts against his chest. She lost track of time until a sensor on her camera beeped insistently.

Breathless and giddy, she inched back.

An unwelcome chill rushed between their bodies.

“I love you, Trish,” he said huskily. “I’ve always loved you. Work where you want, New York, Nebraska, or Timbuktu, but please take me back. Let me be your home.”

She had to test him. “I’m keeping my apartment in Brooklyn.”

“It’ll pay for itself if you Airbnb it when you’re not there.”

“You sound like an accountant.”

“I examine lots of tax documents.”

“I won’t always be on time for dinner.”

“That’s why they invented microwaves.”

“Or make it home for breakfast.”

“Oh, you’re going to want to wake up in bed on Sunday mornings. I put cremini mushrooms, red bell peppers, and Spanish onions in omelets now.”

She ignored the growl from her stomach. “Photography equipment is expensive, Dalton, and I always want to buy more. My telephoto lens cost eight thousand dollars—with an employee discount.”

“Trisha Kane Photography will need tax write-offs.” He cupped her face. “I won’t pressure you to marry me. When you’re ready, you’ll ask me.”

That’s all the assurance I need.

She hugged him and felt her heart mend. “I love you, Dalton West. Always have, always will.”

He whooped with joy. The sound reverberated off the canyon walls.

“Will we be too unconventional for Stevensville?” she asked.

“Nah. We’ll give the Taylor sisters lots to talk about.”

Chapter 7

Four months later, Trisha gave up trying to reason with a photogenic bumblebee that refused to land on the asters Dalton had planted in Nana’s backyard.

She set her camera on the kitchen table and checked her computer.

The Brooklyn cleaning service had come and gone. Her incoming Airbnb guest would soon pick up the key to her apartment at the key café.

She poured herself a glass of iced herb tea. Dalton would be home soon. He had double-dared her into trying one night of square dancing, and now she was an enthusiast. Regular evenings of non-stop do-si-do-ing and promenading made up for some of the city walking she wasn’t doing, living in Stevensville.

This weekend, they’d drive to Denver. The owner of the Front Range Art Gallery wanted to view the photographs she’d taken over the summer. He might possibly be interested in purchasing one or two.

A truck door slammed. The cover of the metal mailbox beside the front door opened and closed.

“Trish! Get out here!”

Dalton’s bellow rattled the kitchen windows and scared the bejesus out of her.

She rushed outside. “What’s wrong?”

He thrust a large, flat manila envelope under her nose. “It’s from the Great American Landscape contest.”

Her hand shook as she accepted it. A thick college envelope was good news. Thin ones were not.

She picked repeatedly at the seal. “They really glued this down.”

He pulled out the pocketknife she’d given him for his birthday and sliced the envelope open.

She pulled out four sheets of paper.

“Congratulations! Your photograph, Aliens Among Us, won second place in the Great American Landscape Contest.

“You and a guest are cordially invited to attend a formal gala in New York City on November 1, where your photograph will be on display during a meet-and-greet with top gallery owners from across the country.

“Enclosed please find your RSVP, Publicity Release Form, and…” Her voice choked. She pressed the papers to her chest.

Dalton’s brow pinched with concern. “You okay, Trish? Second place is really good.”

“Are you kidding? Second place is a dream come true.” She gave him a one-arm hug. “We’ll get you a tux and me a gown when we’re in Denver. Oh, Dalton, you’re going to love eating Thai food in New York City.”

About Ana Morgan

When Ana Morgan was small, her dream was to know something about everything. She’s waitressed, driven a school bus route, run craft service on an indie film set, wandered through European castles, wired a house, married a Marine, canned vegetables, and studied the stars. For ten years, she wrote colorful essays about life on her organic farm for her weekly CSA newsletter and succinct cooking directions for her craft-show soup mixes. But she really wanted to write what she loved to read on cold winter nights—passionate romance adventures. Besides a vivid imagination, she has some experience. She and her husband eloped six weeks after they met and moved from southern California to northern Minnesota. They taught themselves to milk cows (at first by hand) and raised three go-getter children. Ana just finished writing a contemporary suspense romance and is about to start Book 3 in her historical western Prairie Hearts Series.

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Also by Ana Morgan:

Stormy Hawkins

Mary Masters

Neely’s Big Idea

Tis the Season

Déjà Vu on the Seas by Stephany Tullis

(An Angelica Mason Series Short Story)

Prologue

The beginning of the end… Nothing intimidated Ms. Angelica Marie Mason, and she never second-guessed herself. Once she made up her mind, she persevered to the finish. No regrets. Not one iota of remorse even when she impetuously decided to leave her prestigious position at the country’s powerhouse in Washington, DC and return to her childhood home in Smoothville, Georgia. Angelica had learned a lot, enjoyed her experience and made several good friends, including her mentor, Dr. Beckham Johnson. Although Johnson was caught off guard by his protégé’s unanticipated decision, he regretfully accepted her resignation with a commitment to stay in touch. She relied on her designer bookshelf of awards and citations to remind her of her accomplishments and the effectiveness of her “do it my way” lifestyle.

No one asked, and Angelica felt no need to share how, why, or when she consciously decided to no longer interpret the maneuvers and machinations of DC’s decision makers. As with most other critical lifetime events, the date and details were etched in her mind: Monday, January 1 at 6:00 p.m.

And on February 1 at 6:45 a.m., instead of heading to the DC Metro, she hopped into her newly financed Audi RS Q3 and drove downtown to another capitol building, Smoothville City Hall. Angelica easily readjusted to small town living without missing a beat, and via a combination of luck, bumping heads with the right people, and her DC experience, she made the perfect landing.

As with DC, she quickly made a name for herself. Smoothville mayor, Luke Evans, was the first to experience Angelica’s no-nonsense highly effective work style and ethic. No one could convince him otherwise—he had first-hand experience. Angelica Mason “was no joke.” She had more than proved herself when she salvaged him and his election a few years ago from his self-inflicted political wounds. Evans acknowledged to his supporters, friends, and family—even to his public audience—that he’d made some serious mistakes and assured them that he had learned his lessons—the hard way. He promised his mistakes would never be repeated. Little did Angelica know that the Luke Evans she trusted would someday renege on his commitments, including the vow he made to her.

Two years ago, Angelica’s father, Marshall Mason, who was never sick a day in his life—not even with a bad cold—scared the crapola out of her when he had a massive heart attack. Angelica’s otherwise super sophisticated and self-acknowledged bougie mother, Marilyn Mason, hysterically broke the news at 2:00 a.m. from the Savannah General Hospital emergency room.

By 7:00 a.m., a somber hold on her own emotions, not frightened by much, Angelica was at her father’s bedside, struggling to hold back tears. Her mother sobbed enough for the two of them. Sophistication was no longer on the table. Marilyn’s no makeup appearance made that clear.

Marshall Mason’s heart attack was much more than Angelica’s first exposure to death. No one had to tell her how ill her father was. “Massive heart attack” was a fully loaded, much-too-commonly-used medical term that didn’t require extensive research to determine the severity of the diagnosis nor the potential impacts. She fought against all those possibilities with every bone in her body, resisting the mind games that played with her emotions.

The personal strength and stamina that most saw and admired rallied to the forefront. When family friend, Dr. Bryant, met with the family to gravely review Marshall’s health status and prognosis, Angelica did what she knew she had to do.

Without a second thought, Angelica messaged her boss. “Luke, I need to take a leave of absence.” The mayor honored her request, but she would have quit her job, if necessary. Her father assured her that he’d be okay.

“Marilyn and I will find a way.” His body language and tone confirmed what she already knew. He’d find a way. But there would be no way that would meet ‘Mother Dear's’ exacting standards—something they both knew. Angelica stepped to the plate. She made a quick trip back to Smoothville, grabbed her laptop, some underwear, toiletries, and sweats and was back in time to drive her parents from the hospital to her home away from home—their recently purchased pre-retirement home.

She’d just returned from a celebratory dinner with her father where he promised her: no fried chicken, no more than one whiskey on the rocks a month—and only to celebrate something special—to drink more tea than coffee, and renew his gym membership when she got the call. Her long-time colleague, point person, and now good friend Jonathan C. Jarewski—aka JaRew— broke the news.

“Hey, your ex, Lover Boy, is now sitting in your corner office with his personalized shiny new name plate on the door.”

“That scumbag of a boss of ours reassigned me to Communications, the job I told you I’d never perform again, even if my life depended on it, and get this, I came to work today, but guess where my office is? That cold, gloomy, windowless back room in the basement.”

“By the way, I quit.”

But quick as a whip, Angelica had a new job before collecting her first unemployment check. Beckham Johnson’s timing couldn’t have been more perfect. He’d coincidently reached out to Angelica to chat and get an update on her dad’s health status. Angelica shared that her father was great and recently released from his doctor’s care but that her boss had just fired her. Without hesitation, excited at the opportunity to work with her again, he chimed, “Hey Angelica, guess what? I need a project manager, and I’d love for it to be you.”

Voilà! Angelica not only had a new job but had worked a deal with Beckham to have JaRew on her project team. She eagerly looked forward to the new position, viewing it as the next fork in the road—one that would lead to another step up the ladder. More importantly, she believed it was definitely a “sign” that Shawn Mallory, the ex that had just stolen her job, was definitely a “fling” of the past.

Little did she know that her new project would expose her to a cloak and dagger new world—a 21st century urban Twilight Zone.

Angelica walked and talked it as best as she could for two months—twenty-four hours a day.

She lived it. Immersed herself in it.

She escaped it. But barely.

Actually, she was mercifully rescued. Some might say, JaRew saved the day; others, that he literally saved her life.

Chapter 1

This is insane… “Take me or leave me, but I’m sure you’ll take me.” Angelica Marie had only shared her personal mantra with five people: her parents; Nicole Honeywell, her childhood BFF; and, JaRew, her colleague and now one of her closest friends.

She and JaRew worked together for more than five years, always finding themselves in peculiar circumstances. They quickly bonded and learned that they could depend on each other—for anything and under any conditions.

Confidante number five, the BLUE LADY, Angelica’s mysterious alter ego, not only knew but understood Angelica better than she understood herself and had bailed her out of more situations than Angelica cared to recall.

Angelica couldn’t remember the last time she checked her cell phone for calls or messages. Last time she talked to Jarewski, she’d promised to send him a draft of a new business concept for comments. He’d agreed with no reservations—always eager to delve into the new and different. She’d forgotten the specifics, but they’d even brainstormed about names for the business. Nor could she recall any irritating pokes, nudges, interruptions, or innuendos from BLUE LADY.

And her online life was nonexistent. She no longer cared about how many Facebook friends she gained or lost or how many new followers she had on Instagram. This morning she almost called her phone carrier to temporarily disconnect the only remaining link she had to the outside world. The one she was struggling to forget. The non-stop nerve-wracking chirps, clacks, and beeps were more than she could tolerate. Besides, why did she need a phone if she no longer planned to talk with anyone?

With confidence and self-esteem levels at an all-time low of zippo—yes, zero on a scale of one to ten—this savvy, sophisticated, some might say kinda sexy lady—despite her bougie infused bloodline—was quite satisfied with her current lifestyle. She’d found her zone: 753 Magnolia Lane, SE., Smoothville, Georgia. Her new townhouse contained all the features she had sought when she made the purchase less than two years ago, including the must have, custom-made office adjoined to the master bedroom. The current problem? Her computer was on shutdown—just like its owner.

What the heck had happened?

Some might say, “‘Stuff happens.”

If anyone had asked Angelica to describe her malady, she’d be stumped—fumbling to find the right words. Normally, BLUE LADY would step up to the plate and bail Angelica out by offering one of her plethora of profound, yet saucy retorts. Interestingly, the infamous BLUE LADY had decided Ms. Problem Solver needed to handle this one by and for her little ole’ self. Poor child…she’s as broken as the mirror in that fancy compact Marilyn gave her for Christmas last year.

Angelica’s self-imposed lockdown was also a lock-in. Not that anyone visited her. Once or twice a year, her parents drove up for a weekend of shopping and visiting with old friends.

Last she’d spoken to them, they had arrived safely in Paris and would call her when they returned. The Masons were happily celebrating their 40th anniversary and her dad’s recovery from his heart attack. France had been on their bucket list for years, and after the big scare, they decided that now was the time.

If one could sleep one’s self to death, Angelica’s time on earth was limited. From all appearances, the countdown had begun. She slept all night and a good portion of the day. Her eyes were most often closed, her body semi-comatose.

She managed periodically to make it down the corridor to her gourmet kitchen to replenish her makeshift bedroom supply of basic necessities: jasmine herbal tea, an electric teapot that someone had given her for a housewarming gift—and that she thought she’d never use—another box of saltine crackers, and a ready supply of 500 ml bottles of Fiji—the only bottled water she drank.

For the first time in her life, Angelica had no energy. Her symptoms?

Fatigue? No, because she wasn’t tired.

Pain level? None.

In between naps, she was awake long enough to ascertain two things.

Something was definitely wrong.

She needed to do something about it.

Unfortunately, she was never awake long enough to figure out what.

Chapter 2

What’s going on?... “What the heck is wrong with you, Ms. Mason? I’ve been ringing your doorbell for the last five minutes. I knew you were here; your car is parked in the driveway. And when is the last time you treated your pride and joy to a car wash?”

Nicole barely stopped to take a breath and continued her rampage as only a BFF could do. “More importantly, since when do you ignore my phone calls?” She paused, opened the blinds, and continued her rant. “Do you know how many times I’ve texted you?”

Frustrated, not only at being ignored but at her friend’s refusal to even acknowledge her presence, Nicole yanked the covers off the bed. Angelica’s cell phone fell onto the carpet. Nicole sighed as she bent down to pick it up. “Dang, it’s not even on, Ange. When did you turn it off?” She was totally frustrated and now even more concerned about her best friend, who was never without her ‘livelihood,’ as she called it. She hesitated, not knowing what to say… “Gosh, Ange, your cell phone is always on.” She powered up the phone. “Where’s your charger? You’ve got less than one bar—and look, O-M-G, Pop Mason called you.”

Angelica blinked but didn’t raise her head. “I’ll call him later. Can you shut the blinds?”

Now, truly concerned, Nicole sat on the bed. “Ange, don’t you think he might be worried?”

Nicole’s obviously exasperated sigh didn’t disrupt Angelica. “Where’s your phone charger, Ange?” Deciding it was time to take things into her own hands, she opened the top drawer of Angelica’s bedside table—no cord. She turned on the bedside lamp for more light only to see the charger options at the base of the lamp, and mumbled, “I should have known.”

Angelica sat up, rubbing her eyes. Her long auburn hair, naturally curly, was tangled and matted in some spots.

“Finally. And by the way, you look a mess. Don't envy you, girl…wait until you tackle that hair of yours.”

“Nik? What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“Ange, how could you forget you gave me a key? And did you hear me say you look a mess?”

Refusing to speak to her friend’s back, Nicole trotted to the other side of the bed. “And, in case you forgot, you have a key to my place, too. Remember?” She looked around and mumbled, “Although, I doubt you’d be able to find it in here. I don’t know which looks worse, you or your bedroom.”

“Oh.” Angelica collapsed against her pillow, closing her eyes.

“Is that all you can say? Ange, this place is a disaster. How many cups do you need? Cracker wrappers on the floor? Crumbs, too? Good Lord. Ugh, and I hate to ask, but I will. When’s the last time you took a shower?”

Angelica reversed her move, turned over, plumped her pillow and mumbled. “Can you please close the blinds? Too much light in here.” She shifted again, turned off the lamp, and muttered, “My eyes hurt.”

Nicole shook her head, grabbed the overflowing wastebasket, dropped more trash that she picked up, and turned on the floor lamp on the other side of the bedroom. “What a mess. Somebody had to come to check on you, Ange. You’ve not answered my calls. But that’s not a surprise. You never do. But my text messages? That’s a no-no. Never happened before—not even when you’re away on business. I know how you can get caught up in your projects, but last I talked with you, you had finished up that fiasco in upstate New York. The one where Beckham turned his back on you or whatever he did to get you going. You were supposed to call and talk to me about it when you got home. But you never did.”

Angelica mumbled, “Sorry.”

“Sorry? Is that all you can say?”

“Yeah.” Angelica turned over again, and this time wrapped herself in her comforter—face down.

“Oh gosh, is that what’s wrong with you? What the heck did he do? I thought you guys were tight?” She thought, ‘Oh, no. Is that the problem; were they that kind of tight?’

“Ange? What happened? What did he say to you?”

“Can you just leave me alone? I’m okay, all right?”

Shocked at her bestie’s reaction and not at all sure of what to do, Angelica resolved the problem for both of them.

“And, by the way, lock the door when you leave, and when you call my dad, tell him I’m fine. By the way, he’s not home. He’s in France.”

“Oh, my God.” Nicole burst into tears. She’d never seen Angelica like this. She was her rock. Her shoulder to lean and cry on. Ms. Reliable, who had an answer to everyone’s problems.

What could have happened? Angelica was fine the last time they spoke. She had jokingly dismissed that Beckham had hurt her feelings and that JaRew had threatened to wipe up the floor with him. Before Nicole could get any further details, Ange had dismissed it with a huffy “Men!” and promised to give her the details later. But later never came.

Nicole slumped across the corner lounge chair, flummoxed by Angelica’s behavior. Totally confused, she wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. Since the Masons were in France—not that she wanted to bother them, there was only one other person she could call. Tears blurred her vision, making it hard to manipulate her keypad.

She lowered her voice. “Hi, Jonathan. Sorry to bother you, but this is Nicole Honeywell.”

“Yes, Angelica’s friend.”

“I’m fine. Thanks for asking. How are you?”

“Hey, do you have a minute?”

She glanced over at Angelica, who remained motionless. After a quick reassessment of the situation, Nicole decided it might be better to talk privately with Jarewski. She lowered her voice. Glad for the plush carpet, she tiptoed across the room and gently closed the door. “I don’t know where to begin…”

“So, what’s going on with JaRew?”

Shocked to find her friend sitting on the edge of the bed when she returned, Nicole giggled. “Oh Ange, I’m so glad that—”

She canceled her plans to sit with her friend and chat when Angelica trounced her with the sizzling venom of a boa constrictor. “Don’t even try it, Nik. What did he say?”

Nicole’s sigh and reddening eyes aggravated Angelica even more.

“My God, Nik. Come on with it. I’m a big girl despite how it looks. I can take it. Nothing can be that bad.”

Nicole thought, ‘I’m not too sure about any of that.’

Not at all sure of how Angelica would react, Nik took her chances, knowing in her heart of hearts that nothing could destroy their relationship—not even this—whatever the this was.

“I’ll tell you if you promise me two things.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Nicole cringed at the tone—one she’d never tolerate from anyone else and never expect from her BFF.

“No, Ange. You’re my girl. I’m as serious as a heart attack, as my grandmother used to say.”

Silence. Truth or dare. Nicole thought, ‘Two can play this game.’

“All right, what’s the deal?”

Nicole’s smile was obliterated by Angelica’s unexpected, not needed follow-up.

“Get on with it.”

Trying to ignore the mounting fear, Nicole responded with the heartfelt devotion and compassion she felt for her best friend, who seemed to have lost her way.

“I need you to promise me that you will call Pop Mason. Just touch base with him, Ange. He would expect you to check in on him, right? Besides, if he’s called you while your phone was off, you know he’s worried.”

Angelica didn’t need to acknowledge that Nicole was on point, but she did.

“Yeah, you’re right.” This time, Nik opted to ‘get on with it.’ Before she could, Angelica prompted as though reading her mind.

“And number two?”

Without hesitation, Nicole responded. “I need you to take a shower, wash your hair, put on some clean pjs, and eat some homemade minestrone soup…if I decide to make it.” Nicole couldn’t hold the giggle on her spur-of-the-moment improvisation.

“And what did JaRew say?”

Nicole hesitated.

“Wait! Sorry.” This time, to Nicole’s surprise, Angelica offered up a halfhearted smile. “I guess I should first ask, what did you tell JaRew?”

Nicole joined her BFF and sat beside her on the edge of the bed, their hands entwined.

“I told him the truth, Ange.”

“Umm…”

They eyeballed each other—not that there was a need for verification.

“And what did he say, Nik?”

“He said he wasn’t surprised.”

“And that’s all?”

“No.”

Silence.

“Jarewski’s catching the next flight out.”

“I’m calling Dad now.”

“I’m making soup.”

Nicole thought it better to omit JaRew’s casual reference to PTSD during their phone call. She had personally found it strange, didn’t know the basis for his questions and possible assumptions, but made a mental note to check Angelica’s medicine cabinet when she had a chance. Why would Jarewski follow his post-traumatic stress disorder comment with, “Check to see if she’s taking any anti-anxiety meds and call me right back.” Nicole prayed that she wouldn’t find anything other than the usual over the counter pain killers and first aid supplies.

When Angelica finished up her shower, she returned to a freshly made bed, a bowl of steamy, tantalizing minestrone soup, and a carafe of freshly brewed tea. Nicole assured her that she’d stop by when she headed back from Nashville and reminded her of the leftover soup in the fridge.

Angelica didn’t know if it was seeing her friend’s face, or the security she felt knowing that Nik and JaRew were looking out for her.

Or perhaps, it was the invigorating shower or her squeaky clean, bouncing curls.

Or, the spicy homemade soup.

Perhaps it was all of it.

Angelica thought, ‘Hmmm...and JaRew wasn’t the least surprised. I wonder what that means?’

Chapter 3

Looking for me… From somewhere deep inside, Angelica remembered she’d never been afraid of anything. How could she let something she couldn’t understand, create so much fear that she hid like a frightened little girl under her blankie? After Nicole left, she spent the rest of the day mulling over her situation, finding no answers, and left with the same questions. What and why?

Angelica knew it would only be a matter of time before Jarewski arrived. She had no doubt that Nicole would be true to her word. She was obligated to the two-and-a-half-day business event; Angelica had no worries in that regard. But Nik would definitely be back—key and all—probably ready for a clean-up, get your act together, and I’m not leaving this time until you do, wrap up session. And, she’d have a full weekend to prove her point.

If JaRew showed up first, he might be in trouble. Her fail-proof steel door would challenge his skills.

No worries regarding her parents since she’d chatted with them and promised to visit them upon their return. So much for promises, but she’d deal with that then—when or if—she needed to.

She needed an interim plan. Letting childhood friend Nicole witness her current semi-invalid like state was one thing. Facing tough guy Jarewski while she languished her life away in her bed for no explainable reason was equivalent to friendship suicide. Her only alternative was to escape. She packed and loaded her car with a plan to head out in the morning.

She’d had a restless night but had hit the road early, filled up her tank at a neighborhood service station with plans to start her more than nine-hour drive to Fort Lauderdale with a cup of tea. ‘Since when do I drink hot tea? Or, for that matter, any kind of tea?’ she thought. ‘Geez Louise, I have been sick. No coffee. Wow!’

She made a quick U-turn heading back to the Starbucks she’d just passed. The tiny ping in the center of her belly felt good. She sighed in relief as she waited for her coffee and blueberry scone order. ‘Maybe there’s hope for me after all,’ she thought.

Angelica Mason was floored by the magnitude of the bright red, white, and blue eye-catching floral abstract designed massive cruise ship. She stumbled and almost lost her balance as she craned her neck—left, right, up and back—much like a bewildered swan who found herself in the wrong lake. She leaned on the extended handle of her travel suitcase to avoid falling, semi-hypnotized by the thought that in less than an hour, she’d board this ship. Angelica would be held captive with no possibility of escape. ‘This is insane,’ she thought. ‘How can something so beautiful feel so threatening?’

She struggled to steady herself, now totally overwhelmed. For the first time ever, she questioned her judgment. What was she trying to prove? While her huge cat eye shaped Ray Bans blocked the bright Florida sun from her eyes, they did nothing to prevent her knees from buckling—again. Her heart pummeled.

“Are you okay?”

Angelica’s pounding heart screamed ‘No.’ She opted to acknowledge the soft pat on her arm with a smile.

“Hi, lady.” Before Angelica could muster a response, the cute little girl asked her mother, “Is she scared, Mommy? I’m not scared 'cause I’m a big girl, right?”

The child jiggled in place despite her mother’s, “Be careful, honey. Don’t bump the lady.”

Angelica thought, ‘What made me think that this was the perfect way to find myself?’ She decided it best to ignore the child’s question since she had spoken the truth. The little girl’s exuberance, combined with an escalating buzz of excitement by the crowd of several thousand travelers, caused Angelica to truly question her sanity. Why?

A semblance of a whisper echoed, Did it occur to you that you didn’t think? You're petrified of water. Even a hotel pool. Can’t swim a lick and never been on a boat of any size. And you choose a ship. A huge ship. An ocean liner. One of the largest in its category. What the heck did you expect?

Angelica failed in her attempt to ignore the irritating sarcasm from her usually ever-present partner but recently missing in action, alter ego. The BLUE LADY had ostensibly abandoned her in her misery. Of all times to make her undercover presence known—By the way, it's going to take a lot more than an eight-day cruise to get you out of this slump. Stop fooling yourself.

Angelica mumbled, “Where are my headphones?” She was admittedly nervous and hoped her favorite smooth jazz playlist would ease her jitters. Petrified is the word and feeling, darling, BLUE LADY dramatically reminded her.

After searching her good luck, Kate Spade hobo bag, jacket pockets, and travel bag, she gave up on the headphones that were nowhere to be found.

A now disgusted Angelica wondered, ‘And, what are you talking about? Go away. I don’t want to hear from you, BLUE LADY. And mind your business, please’. Angelica shook her head in defiance. “Ugh.”

“Mommy, it looks like that lady is mad at me. She just shook her head at me and said, “Ugh.” The child tugged her mother’s hand and asked, “Why don’t you tell her that it’s not nice to talk to children like that?”

Angelica was shocked by the ping she felt in the center of her chest. She thought, ‘Oooh, what was that?’

Ping, ping. Following her instinct, Angelica sighed as she kneeled face-to-face with the little charmer. “I’m so sorry, honey. I’m not mad at you. And, you know what? You’re right. I am scared. This is my first time on a ship.”

The child responded with a toothy grin, patted Angelica’s hand, and said with the assurance and confidence of one definitely in the know. “You’re gonna have so much fun. I always do. And you know what? You’ll make lots of new friends. I’ll be your friend. And you can eat pizza every day if you want.” She looked up at her mother, standing patiently behind her. “Can’t she, Mommy? You always let me have pizza for lunch when we cruise, right?”

Her mother smiled and nodded at her daughter and winked at Angelica. “You’re going to be fine. I know exactly how you feel. Just remember to take your Dramamine. And make up your mind that you’re going to have a good time. There’s really so much to do, and my daughter is right; everyone is so friendly.”

“Yep, we always make a lot of new friends. And if you get lonely, you can have breakfast with us tomorrow, right, Mommy?”

“She sure can. By the way, I’m Brooke. I’m supposed to be meeting up with my sister, Rylee. She’s one of the photographers on the ship. Déjà Vu on the Seas. I love the name. Sounds mysterious, doesn’t it?” Obviously, just as friendly and easygoing as her daughter, Brooke added, “I’ve traveled this line before, but this is a relatively new ship—two years old, I think. So, I’m excited. I understand it has some great shows.”

“I’m Angelica. It’s nice to meet you, Brooke. And you are?” Angelica smiled at Brooke’s daughter. “I like your dress. It’s so pretty, and so are you.”

“Hi, Angel. My name is Annalisa, but my friends call me Lee. Since you’re going to meet us for breakfast tomorrow, you can call me Lee, if you want.”

Ping, ping.

“Ooops, the line is moving. Don’t forget about breakfast tomorrow, Angel.”

Brooke winked. “And don’t forget your Dramamine. We’ll look for you in the morning.”

Angelica dared to think that something was happening. She’d made two new friends and felt better than she had in what seemed like forever.

Ping, ping.

Chapter 4

I keep remembering you… BLUE LADY cringed when she realized she'd broken her self-imposed rules. It was painful to watch Angelica hurt without intervening with her traditional whisper, nudge, tug, or even guided push of assistance, as needed. Over the last month or so—much like today—Angelica reminded her of a bumbling teenager who had forgotten her homework, wanted to go home to get it but knew she’d be late for class if she did. She didn’t have a clue, but a low-level dense fog had permanently replaced the bright sunlight normally resident in the fairytale-like world in which she once lived.

It had begun with the unexpected post heart attack transformation of her exuberant, always active and now retired father. Marshall Mason weighed forty pounds less than his average adult weight and deceived no one with his forced smiles and assurance. “Hey, I’m good.” And ended with her being kidnapped by a handsome and seductive Prince Charming who claimed he just wanted to get to know her. And how gullible did he think she was?

Angelica and her new world were spinning out of orbit. And BLUE LADY, who knew her better than anyone, understood that Angelica could not go forward until she acknowledged, confronted, and destroyed the demons that had made themselves quite comfortable in her new world order.

Problem One: These demons—death, fear, and hate—were foreign to her being.

Problem Two: Angelica Mason had always been positioned to function well in the only world she knew—one built around life, trust, and love.

BLUE LADY could not only see clearly but also understood what Angelica refused to see. Despite her soul mate's tough, hard-as-nails exterior, she had a heart of gold—one that could be as soft as mush. Jarewski had been on point when he recommended Angelica tell Beckham, “Sorry, no way am I overseeing an undercover inner-city street team. I’m a project manager not a community organizer. Besides, that’s not the position you offered me.” JaRew had also included a few other choice words that reflected how strongly he felt about Beckham's obvious lack of concern for his mentee. Angelica was miffed about Beckham's last-minute modifications to the project but assured her sidekick that they could handle it. At the time, BLUE LADY had begged Angelica to reconsider. Angelica dismissed her sharp stomach pains as hunger pangs.

Before Angelica and her teammates could settle into the remote B&B in upstate New York—their home away from home—they learned that two more teenagers had been killed over the weekend in their target area.

Official Day number one, Angelica had ironically met a charming, yet somber seven-year-old (and his mother) whose father had been shot and killed the week before their arrival.

By Official Day number two, a determined Angelica had hooked up with a “round the way girl” from the Bronx. The afraid of nothing and no one, tough as nails, sensitive, caring now underground operative truly believed she was prepared to live the street life.

Taking on the tough persona associated with living in the hood, did nothing to diminish the accuracy of homicide rates in urban communities. Bougie Ange, fit the profile. She shoved this critical data element to the back of her mind.

By Official Day number three, Angelica experienced her first personal wager with death—returning from a much too hot night on the town that ended with bullets whizzing over her head.

Angelica had indeed survived her New York undercover experiences, but neither JaRew, Nicole, nor BLUE LADY considered sleeping one’s life away as a form of survival.

Chapter 5

You’re in a different place and time… Unfortunately, her life remained unchanged except for a luxury cruise liner suite, and a panoramic balcony view of the Atlantic Ocean that had replaced her mid-town condo and its pool. She had to admit, though, that her daily breakfast of Starbucks coffee, blueberry scones, assorted fresh fruit, and a soft veggie and swiss cheese omelet made for a tastier breakfast than her jasmine herbal tea and crackers.

She began to wonder again, had she made a mistake. She had patted herself on the back yesterday—day five—when she rose early and joined some of her fellow travelers to watch the early morning sunrise. And she surprised herself when she later searched long and hard for Brooke and Lee, finding them on the Promenade and joined them for a buffet breakfast. Glad to see her new friend, Angel, Lee grabbed her hand and insisted she follow them to the pool for a swim. Angelica and Brooke chatted in the Jacuzzi as Lee frolicked in a nearby kiddie pool with her new friends. Although Angelica declined Lee's invitation for pizza and an afternoon movie, she promised Brooke that she'd try to catch up with her and her sister, Rylee, for karaoke that evening. Later, Angelica easily justified the cancellation of those plans when she decided she didn’t have anything appropriate to wear. Besides, she'd been out and about all day. ‘I deserve to rest,’ she thought.

And rest she did. For all of ten hours. Now day six—mid-morning, and Angelica had not yet left the ship.

BLUE LADY, who had grown more impatient with each passing day, made her official comeback. The not so subtle squeeze in Angelica’s mid-section admonished. It’s time to poop or get off the pot, lady. And then more precisely questioned, Why are you wasting your time? You can do this. This nonsense has gone on long enough. And this is something you have to do for yourself. I can't be your crutch…not this time. That’s exactly what happened in New York…you became so dependent on me that you couldn’t think for yourself. Toughen up, girl. Don’t be scared. You. Can. Do. This.

Angelica literally begged, “Do what?”

The unmade bed purred her name.

Don't go there! BLUE LADY pleaded.

Angelica blocked her ears with her hands to tune out the ruminations and headed toward her temporary safe place, but—fortunately, or unfortunately, —made the mistake of glancing into the full-length mirror. She groaned at the dark, puffy circles under her eyes; a move closer to the mirror confirmed that mirrors don't lie. Her normal satiny caramel-colored skin tone was duller and drier than a used, brown paper bag.

‘Oh Lord,’ she thought. ‘How did I get so skinny?’

Her favorite sea blue sundress loosely hung on her frail body with no evidence of the curvy hips that were a much-talked-about family trait. “Can’t do it.” She sighed and mumbled, “Marilyn would disown me if I went anywhere looking like this.” Angelica shuffled her way to the bed.

Don’t do it. You can't do this to yourself, Angelica. BLUE LADY cajoled, What would your father think of you right now? What about Nik? And Jarewski? How are you going to explain your disappearance?

“I don't know. I just don't know,” Angelica whispered. After thinking about it, she added, in defiance and aloud, “Hmmph, it’s my life. I don’t have to tell them a friggin’ thing.”

Stop fooling yourself. Think. You know they stopped by the house. Your trip itinerary is outlined in the notebook you left on the bedside table. It's truth time. I dare you to be true to yourself.

For the first time in months, Angelica laughed—hysterically—or so she thought. Perhaps she was crying; warm tears confirmed her speculation. She could hear BLUE LADY’S loud echo, Be true to yourself. I dare you.

Fighting her instinct to sleep another day away, her mind rambled. “I’ve got some work to do.” She didn’t stop to think through the how or what. One thing she knew for sure. She wouldn’t find the answers to her problems lying in bed with her head under the covers. That hadn’t worked. Angelica thought of her father and knew he’d be so worried. Her father had not only survived but was living the life of a survivor—following his heart’s desire.

Halleluiah, BLUE LADY screeched. She's getting there. Feeling sorry for her namesake, she decided to give Angelica an encouraging nudge. You're not weak, honey, you're downright scared. And you have a right to be. You've just been focusing on the wrong problem. Do you know all that you’ve been through?

Ping. Ping.

Confused but not questioning her mixed emotions, Angelica welcomed them with a soft caress of her fluttering heart and whispered, “Welcome back, BLUE LADY. I’ve missed you.”

Angelica Marie Mason felt good; great might be a better word.

Angelica perused the desk copy of the ship’s itinerary, checked her watch, and sighed. No way could she do much of anything with the hair. She had less than four hours for her pit stop in St. Thomas. She’d have no time for the safari taxi tour.

She’d have to settle for a light lunch and with some luck, she’d have time to take a few selfies with the unfathomable turquoise ocean as her backdrop. It was now 11:00 a.m. She gave herself forty-five minutes to shower, dress, and retwist her hair. She’d wrap it with one of the bright, colorful tropical scarves she’d packed. She mumbled, “Poo, I’ll figure it out.”

Chapter 6

Filling Time… “Passport, please; good afternoon. Please remove your sunglasses. May I have your boarding pass?” The ship security attendant nodded, scanned her card, and smiled at the image that appeared before him on his scanner. “Yes, that’s you.” He chuckled, “Angelica M. Mason, it is. Enjoy your day.”

Angelica smiled in return. “You too.”

‘Guess I must not look too bad,’ she thought.

Angelica continued her walk down the pier and slowed her pace. The perspiration on her neck reminded her of the tropical temps. She was glad she had liberally applied sunscreen and rewrapped her hair, keeping it up off her neck and shoulders.

“Wow. This is so beautiful. Surreal.” She spoke aloud and quickly glanced around to see if anyone had heard her talking to herself. Deciding it was too late to worry if anyone had, she mumbled, “I could kick myself for wasting my morning.” She envied the sunbathers who lounged quite comfortably on the gorgeous crescent shaped beach directly across from the pier.

Angelica sighed again and followed the sounds of Bob Marley’s 'I wanna love ya and treat ya right,' which led her to the Join Us for Happy Hour cafe. The posted Caribbean menu was just what she needed to enhance her spirit. If that didn't work, she smiled, a refreshing rum punch cocktail would definitely do the trick.

Lucky to find the last remaining table with an overhead umbrella, Angelica relaxed enjoying the unique rhythms of the local band's reggae beat. Her server had recommended the Cuban lime chicken and pumpkin rice luncheon special, which had not only been filling but was quite tasty. Unable to recall the last time she'd indulged her sweet tooth, Angelica treated herself to a slice of tangy key lime pie. Happy and quite satisfied, she promised herself one more cocktail before heading to the array of duty-free shops. She giggled as she thought of surprising Lee and Brooke with something special. Her two new friends had been quite a blessing.

“Excuse me. Angelica, is that you?”

Surprised to hear her name, Angelica peered up and over her sunglasses at the mysterious, good looking, well-dressed stranger.

“It’s me, Angelica.” The man's taunting but insistent tone suggested their paths must have indeed crossed--somewhere, somehow. Cavalierly removing his dark glasses, he soberly tapped his chest. “It's me, Angelica. Don't you remember me?”

A still quite confused Angelica shook her head and closed her eyes assuming that she'd open them to discover that she was dreaming. She opened them, blinked a few times, only to find the attractive but now somewhat familiar looking man still standing—just as straight, tall and unyielding.

This time she removed her sunglasses, squinted, and reopened her eyes. Wide. Her stomach cramped. She took a deep breath and whispered, “BLUE LADY, where are you? I need you.”

“Speak my name, baby.”

Angelica stiffened. A voice from her past? Or was she imagining it? 'Do I really know this guy?'

“Don't you recognize me?”

Angelica panicked. ‘Am I dreaming, BLUE LADY? Please help me. I can’t do this. I really can’t…’ Tears formed in her eyes.

Yes, you can. You can do this, Angelica. Trust me. You have to do this. You’re a survivor. Trust yourself. Trust him.

As if the handsome stranger could hear BLUE LADY himself, he whispered. “Yes, you can trust me, Angelica. Take my hand. I never meant to hurt you.”

As he reached down to offer his hand, he claimed a seat next to her as though staking his territory. His knee touched hers triggering the memories she had buried but which now threatened to resurface.

C’mon, you can do this. Say his name, Ange, BLUE LADY encouraged.

“Sincere?”

“Yes, it’s me, we’re just in a different place and time. Like that song…think Beyoncé and my boy Jay-Z. Trust me, Angelica.”

Sincere smiled and raised his shot glass--one of two that the server had surreptitiously left on the table. The other sat... as though waiting for this moment.

“What do you think? Let’s have a shot for old-time’s sake?” Sincere paused, hopeful that Angelica would give him another chance. “Or better yet, let’s toast to new beginnings.” His penetrating yet calm gaze only intensified Angelica’s confusion.

She rubbed her head as she searched for answers. “What do you want with me?” She vaguely recalled asking the question before. A different time. But where had she been? She pinched her leg, squeezed hard, and twisted, not yet fully convinced that she wasn’t hallucinating. “Ugh, that hurt…”

Reacting to her self-inflicted pain, Angelica's knee bumped the table tipping over her drink. She grabbed her napkin to clean up the pungent tequila that rolled across the table, under and around the slice of lime and onto her lap. Frustrated by the uncertainty of the situation and her clumsiness, she scrubbed hard to remove the evidence of the spilled drink as though she could simultaneously erase the past.

“Angelica, you’re bleeding. Let me…” Sincere tightly wrapped her finger in his bandana and lightly tapped it to his lips.

“Don’t. What are you doing?” He looked—behaved, smelled, talked, and held her hand—like Sincere, the man from a faraway place she used to know. She tried unsuccessfully to ignore the warm breath that caressed her ear and comforting words that mellowed her heart. Angelica closed her eyes and pinched herself—hard—with her one free hand. The other was still clasped by the man from that other time and place.

“What are you doing?” She opened her eyes. Blinked them a couple more times. Closed them, pinched herself, and reopened them.

“I’m here. It's really me. Sincere. You can trust me, Angelica.”

BLUE LADY intervened, afraid that if she didn’t, Angelica would miss the opportunity to heal and move forward. He taught you the cubic shuffle. The tequila shots? Remember?

Angelica struggled against the reality of the moment and the stirrings of the past—the sensuous voice, the soft touch, the silk sheets, the reminder. “I’d say chug it—like this.”

Sincere scooted over closer—slowly, cautiously—fearful of moving too fast. Too soon. Although afraid to take the chance of losing her again, he dared to make his move. The clock was ticking and time was not on his side. It was now or possibly never. He risked touching her lips with his lips.

‘This is not a dream.’ Angelica shivered at his touch, turned to face him, searching his eyes for meaning. The musky floral yet masculine notes of the unnamed cologne worked their magic as once before.

BLUE LADY sighed in relief, mission accomplished, whispering, You can trust him, Ange. She added what she knew would seal the deal.

Sincere pleaded, “Forgive me, Angelica Marie Mason. I’m so sorry.”

Angelica leaned into the arms that welcomed her, refusing to question or challenge, accepting that this was the dream that she once knew.

Epilogue

Isn’t this divine?... “Hey boss lady, over here.”

“Hey Ange, girl, it’s me.”

Angelica froze, barely avoiding a massive group collision. The man directly behind her yelled, ‘C’mon ma’am. Watch where ya goin’. I got a plane to catch. That’s my cab.” When he pushed by, she flinched at the unexpected tug on her arm.

“Hey, Ange. Welcome back.”

“Oh my gosh. What are you doing here?”

“So, where are you parked, boss lady? Forget the shuttle bus. Give me the keys; I’ll get the car and pick you two up.”

A speechless Angelica handed JaRew the keys to her car.

“Thanks. Hey, guys, let’s move aside before these folks run us over.” Jarewski deftly weaved a path leading them to the parking lot entrance.

“Perfect, now just wait here with the luggage, and I’ll pick you up right on this corner. By the way, it’s good to see you, boss lady.”

Angelica didn’t bother to hide the tears that formed, and she might have been mistaken, but it looked like JaRew’s nose had reddened. He jogged off as though making his early morning run. Before Angelica could think through what was happening, Nicole reminded her of her presence. “It’s so good to see you, girl. Give me a hug.”

“Can we ride with you, Ange? Our flights leave out of Hartsfield.”

“Sure,” Angelica responded without hearing. She was in her own, old world trying to string together the pieces of this giant jigsaw puzzle called Angelica Mason's version of Déjà Vu on the Seas.

While JaRew loaded the luggage, Angelica made herself comfortable in the passenger seat. JaRew asked the obvious, “Hey, boss lady, you want me to drive?” Her acknowledgment blew him away. “Yes, sir. If you don’t mind. This traffic is too much for me.”

Angelica and her two best buddies in the world were hysterical. They didn't know which of them laughed the loudest. Not the least offended, Angelica spoke up. “I know, guys. I can't believe it either. It's a brand-new day. For real. I’m not stressing over anything or anyone anytime soon. Especially after what you guys just put me through.”

“Boss lady, you have got to be kidding me, right?" Jarewski didn't wait for an answer. “Let me just say this, and I’ll be done with this topic for now. I jumped through some hoops for your outer limits fantasy, a dream come true déjà vu experience. Oh, and by the way, can I assume we’re heading back to Smoothville?”

“Funny, JaRew. Let’s stop for dinner somewhere before we hit the road. I’m starving. Do either of you know of any good Mexican restaurants in Ft. Lauderdale?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t trust us, boss lady. Can you, Nik?”

Jarewski felt comfortable enough to call Nicole, Nik—he’d never met her or talked to her before she frantically reached out to him a couple of weeks ago. Although Angelica was surprised to hear the friendly repartee between her two best friends, she was happy to be happy and to see them happy. She wasn’t worried at all about the hard time they’d undoubtedly give her at some point.

“Me, huh? I can’t believe you guys. How the blinking heck did you pull it off? And what made you decide that it was a good thing to do?”

Before either could respond, JaRew looked at Nicole, and Nicole responded with a shrug of her shoulders and a wink.

“What’s that all about? Be for real, folks. I know I was a little out of it—”

“Little? Is that how you’d describe it, JaRew?”

Before Jarewski could answer, Angelica interjected, “Really, JaRew, don’t even go there. The last time I saw you, you had punched Sincere in the nose, blood was spewing all over the place, and Lieutenant Cooke cautioned you and that dizzy nephew of his to stop the madness, or you'd both find yourselves in the paddy wagon along with Sincere.”

Angelica’s cackle was music to her buddies' ears. “Oh, you find that funny now, huh?”

Jarewski turned and winked at Nicole. “Glad you’re here to witness this. I’m sure I’ll have to call you to testify the next time the lieutenant’s jerk of a nephew shows his face.”

“Good point, JaRew; so, not to change the topic, but I will boldly do so. When am I going to meet Sincere, Ange?”

“Oh, so you want to meet him? Hmmm.” Angelica’s telltale blush told the story.

“Can you believe that, JaRew?” Nicole chuckled.

“I can’t wait to see him, myself!” JaRew bellowed. "Now that guy owes me big time; that's all I can say." JaRew continued. "We have some unfinished business, and the dude knows it."

“Oh no,” Nicole groaned. “Ange, what are you going to do with those two?”

“I don’t know, but I'll figure something out by the time…. Hey, Nik, can you help me plan my celebration?”

Neither Jarewski nor Ange’s BFF were prepared for this totally unexpected twist and responded in unison.

“Celebration?”

“Yep.”

Neither knew what to say, but both knew, without a doubt, their girl was back.

“My official welcome home celebration. I’ll be counting on you two. I don’t know how you guys hooked this up. And you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want me to know. I’m just so glad you did."

Me, too, BLUE LADY made her presence known. You were a basket case.

“I know,” Angelica whispered. She didn't add, ‘Now where do I go from here?’ I guess that old adage is right, ‘only time will tell.’

About Stephany Tullis

She loves to communicate with her readers at www.stephanytullis.com.

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Also by Stephany Tullis

The Angelica Mason Series

BLUE LADY

Blue Lady’s SWEET DREAMS

Blue Lady’s MISSION under FIRE

What Love Can Do Series

Love RescuesLove Strengthens

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Missing Pieces

Missing the Moment

Miracle Circle Series

The Master’s Plan, A Novel

48 Hours ‘Til Christmas

Love, Peace and Joy: Three Short Stories

Falling For Nora by Claire Angel

An Office Romance

Chapter 1

Barlow stared at the sea of brake lights, cursing as he swiped his phone to take a call.

“Where the hell are you?” Cory barked. “This is a critical job, and they’re already here. You know, like you’re supposed to be!”

He winced.

Cory was his partner in the graphic design business they’d started with another friend, Alex. It was quickly becoming one of the most successful agencies in Philadelphia. Of course, being stuck in traffic could very well change that.

“I’m on my way. Mom still has the flu, and I had to wait for Tess to relieve me. Her flight got delayed from Belize.” Cory knew he’d been staying with his mom while she was sick, splitting time with his sister, Tess. He worked around Tess’s schedule as an event planner which took her to weddings in exotic places.

Barlow’s anxiety spiked about being late to the meeting. “Clay’s driving me in.”

“Tell him to hurry. I’ll schmooze the clients and smooth things over. See you soon.” The call ended.

He and Clay sat stuck in traffic. He noticed a crowd of people forming in the street. “What the hell?” Shouts and screams rose above the car horns and city noise. “I’m going to see what’s going on and try to speed things along, or Cory is going to have my ass.” He opened the door to the slick black SUV and stepped into the fray. A woman screamed as he pushed through the crowd to get a glimpse of the commotion.

His eyes widened at the spectacle. A petite, fire-haired girl sat on a guy’s stomach, beating the shit out of him, and spewing a steady stream of curses. “You pervert. You have no right to touch my friend like that. How dare you?” She continued to pummel him.

Barlow whistled. “You tell ’em, girl.”

Another woman pulled at the attacker between nervous glances at the crowd surrounding them. “Nora, stop. You’ve made your point, and I’m fine. C’mon. Let’s go.”

“I’m sick of guys thinking they can do whatever they want. Fuck him.” The small girl kept hitting the creep.

Barlow knew he should intervene, but he was too amused to do so. She wasn’t causing much damage anyway. He chuckled, admiring her spunky attitude.

Police sirens echoed approaching the intersection. The officers parked and made their way through the melee to pull the redhead away from the victim. She rattled off everything he’d done to her embarrassed friend.

He shook his head as the crowd dispersed and he slid back into the SUV. He leaned his forearm on the console and said, “Hit it, my friend. I may make this meeting, after all.”

“What was that about?” Clay asked.

“Some wild cat of a woman protecting her friend.” He laughed. “You should’ve seen her, man. I don’t know any women with that kind of cojones.”

“You would know.” Clay chuckled.

At thirty-two, Barlow had a successful business partnership allowing him access to many beautiful women around town, but none had made him feel such an adrenaline rush as watching the feisty girl on the sidewalk. Who was she? Man, he wished he could’ve stuck around to find out.

She was almost worth being late to work.

Barlow made a mental note of her name, Nora.

Her fight would surely land somewhere on the internet. It might even go viral.

“Here, buddy. I hope you still have a job.” Clay stopped at the curb and looked at him.

“Thanks for helping me while I stayed with Mom. It means a lot.” Clay had been a friend since they were kids, and Barlow paid him well to drive him around when he was in a pinch. It helped Clay and his wife as they raised toddler twin girls.

A lot of people dubbed Barlow an asshole only serving his own needs, but his real friends knew otherwise.

“I hope Mom gets better. She’s too young to go anywhere.” Clay smiled, and they bumped fists before Barlow hopped out to run to the elevator. He had a client to woo.

A week later, Barlow’s life was back to normal. His mom recovered from her illness, and he’d moved back into his condo in the city. On occasion, after a long day at work, he slept on the couch in his office.

He’d nailed the presentation for the client from the morning he watched the wild redhead’s fight, plus added two new members to their design team.

Business was good, and the money was rolling in. Their firm was carving out a niche market in the city and earning a stellar reputation with an increasing number of clients.

But every time he passed the massive intersection where he’d spotted Nora, he thought about finding her. She’d imprinted on his fucking mind. Work and taking care of his mom took priority over surfing YouTube. But he had a few minutes before meeting the guys.

Barlow sipped his coffee and pulled up YouTube on his computer. He keyed in the city and intersection to start the search and found something at the end of the page. Nailed it. With a wide grin, he watched Nora. Dynamite in a small package, but what a package. Pretty little thing with fire-engine red hair and pale skin blotched red with anger.

He minimized the image and searched for her first name. It wasn’t a common name, but several results popped up. He cringed slightly. He’d never stalked a woman. But the thought of her kept him looking. He scoped out popular social media sites and found her first on Instagram. Her public profile said she’d graduated from the top design school in the city, the same school he and his partners attended.

Impressive.

Barlow fantasized about the prospect of working with her and laughed to himself. She’d kick his ass if she knew he was swiping through her photos. She lived quite a life by the images. One image was from a school activity, another one in the pits at the Indy 500, sitting behind the wheel with a guy cheesing next to her. Photos with her girlfriends, and one with the other girl at the street fight.

There were photos of her in a hot-air balloon, swimming in a beautiful blue ocean with dolphins, and swimming above a massive coral reef. She managed to look perfect even wet, but that had a lot to do with her sexy black bikini. She held a cat at an animal shelter where she volunteered regularly.

“Planning on coming to the meeting?”

Barlow looked at his door.

“I’m late?” he asked.

Cory smirked and pointed to the wall clock.

“Yep. What’s got you so distracted? You’re smiling like a fool.” Cory walked over, catching a glimpse of the screen before Barlow minimized it. “Who’s the redhead, Barlow?”

“Um, she’s the reason I was late last week with the vegan client. I never got a chance to tell you about it.” Barlow tapped the screen to sleep then pushed away from his desk.

“Tell me after the meeting. I’ve never seen a woman make you smile like that before.”

Barlow threw him the finger. “Later, Cory.”

The two entered the conference room and proceeded to land another client for their growing list.

Afterward, Cory followed Barlow back to his office. He closed and locked the door.

“What the hell, Barlow?”

Cory was one of his best friends, and former roommate. Barlow trusted him. “You know I don’t have a problem finding women to date, but this one, there’s something different about her.”

He swiveled the monitor so they both could view the fight video. Cory laughed so hard his shoulders shook. Then Barlow showed him Nora’s Insty photos.

With a raised brow, Cory said, “She’s hot, I give you that, but I’ve met her. She has an explosive temper. I’m not sure you need drama in your life. We are kickin’ it, bro.”

“You know her?”

“Met her. I don’t know her.”

Barlow inhaled and exhaled. “How do you know about her temper?”

“The video. She’s all kinds of crazy.”

Chapter 2

Nora ended the call and spun around in her small childhood bedroom. “I got the job, Mom!” She ran down the stairs and out to the backyard where her parents drank coffee at the patio table. “I got the job. I start Monday.” She hugged them both.

“The job at the design agency?” Dad asked as she nodded. “This isn’t gonna be a repeat of the last job, is it, Nora? I love you, I love your spirit, but your temper gets the best of you.”

“Those jerks paid their female employees four dollars less an hour than the males doing the same job. BCA is different. In my final interview, I got a tour of the company, and it’s diverse and friendly. I went to the restroom and caught the end of a conversation, leaving me with the impression their team promotes within; they seem to treat the employees as colleagues, not subordinates.” Nora plopped on the chair next to her mom.

With a grin, Mom said, “Congratulations, sweetheart. I know there’s a right place for my smart girl.”

As the only child, her parents adored her. Sometimes to the point of suffocation, but Nora’s temper had caused her family problems over the years. She was growing and practicing meditation in yoga class. Thankfully, the agency hadn’t seen her viral video. She giggled. The asshole who hurt Grace got what he deserved, plus he hadn’t pressed charges.

Nora had done her homework on BCA. She learned it was one of the fastest-growing graphic design agencies in the nation. The owners, Barlow, Cory, and Alex seemed to be in their thirties and started the company from the floor up. Probably trust fund babies, albeit successful ones. Their agency was based in Philadelphia but looking to branch out to other cities. That was part of the pull to the job for Nora. A recent graduate in the field, while tasked to the design team, she had an opportunity for advancement, maybe to a new city. A new life.

“I think the job sounds like a good fit for you,” Mom said.

“I’ve made it my goal to fit in. I need to succeed with BCA, and my creative designs clinched it.”

Dad said, “Just a reminder, if you feel your temper rising, ask to be excused, leave if you must or scream in an alley, but for the love of god don’t fight with anyone.”

She placed her hand over her heart. “You hurt me to the core. I am trying.”

He laughed. “You always try, dear.”

“Thanks for allowing me to hang here for a few weeks. I should probably get back to the apartment and clean it up before Grace comes home, or she’ll kill me.” Her roommate was a clean freak, and Nora more of a free spirit, live and let live kinda girl. They’d roomed together in college, and Grace frequently got frustrated with her.

After dinner, she grabbed her backpack of clothes, hugging and kissing her parents goodbye on the way to the car. She walked to her red SUV and hopped in, smiling as she started the engine.

Arriving at the apartment an hour later, she started cleaning. Grace was on holiday in Europe with her family. So, Nora cranked the music and wiped down the counters as she sang along, dancing across the room. She picked up the living room then took out the trash.

She showered later in the evening and pulled on clean leggings and a tank top. Standing in front of her closet, she separated her business attire from casual. She selected a charcoal pencil skirt and cream-colored blouse and paired it with a matching cardigan then placed her gray heels next to the ensemble. She yawned and pulled her hair up into a bun and crawled into bed. She tossed and turned until finally drifting to sleep.

Nora woke up to the jams of The Rolling Stones, reached over and punched the alarm button to off. She bolted from bed. Her first day. She dressed in a half-hour and headed out to arrive at work early. Only a few blocks away, she stopped and grabbed a coffee from Cool Beans, her favorite cafe, then power walked the rest of the way.

She glanced up at the towering building. Anticipation and anxiety made her blood pump. She pushed through the rotating glass doors, looking around at the massive yet empty lobby.

Beautiful.

So much cooler than her old job. She checked her phone for the email sent after her acceptance, and walked to the elevator to go to the ninth floor. From there, she waited in HR to sign the paperwork and set up benefits with a pretty blonde named Olivia. It was a fantastic opportunity that paid well.

Olivia took her to meet her new team, and each shook her hand and tried to make her feel welcome. Nora tended to attract attention with her bright red hair and bubbly personality. “Tell me about your current campaign,” Nora said. “But first, is there coffee?”

Valerie took her to the breakroom, passing through the main office with a hub of activity. She turned to look at the conference room and crashed into a six-foot-something gorgeous man. His grip was the only thing preventing her from falling face-first on the floor. Her eyes locked with his ice-blue eyes; her nerves unfurled in her stomach as she unconsciously wet her lips. She recognized him from his photos in the local social mags. “I’m sorry. I’m new and didn’t see you. I was looking at the conference room and only turned my head for a second.”

“It’s okay, no problem.” He blinded her with a dazzling smile.

Valerie said, “Um, Nora, this is Barlow, one of the owners of BCA.”

Oh, shit. What a great first impression.

She didn’t need work distractions, especially her boss.

Barlow released his grip and said, “Valerie, I got it from here.”

“But, I wanted to show her the breakroom.” Valerie looked at him with besotted eyes.

“I got it, Valerie.”

Valerie walked away, and he turned to Nora. He’d been counting the days to speak with her. He needed to be honest but waited to see how things progressed. “I’m heading for a coffee, would you like to walk with me?”

Nora nodded. Her brilliant red hair, light blue eyes, and luscious lips caught his breath for a long moment. Snap out of it, man. You’re this woman’s boss. The breakroom was empty, thank god.

“K-cups in a wide variety of coffee and tea. Cups in the cabinet above the coffee machine.” He leaned against the counter.

She smiled and extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Nora Kincaid. I want to thank you for this opportunity, and I swear I won't let you down.”

“I’m Barlow Adams.”

“Yeah, I know who you are.”

He stared at her, and the spit dried up in his mouth. She was stunning. But, she was also a valuable asset to his agency. He needed to tread softly.

He watched her gaze travel the length of his body, then she turned and fumbled with the cabinet door. He reached over and pulled it open. “It sticks sometimes.”

Her cheeks flushed pink.

“So, we placed you with the Vegan Lightly account.”

“Yes, I’m meeting with the team after I get coffee. I have some ideas.”

Barlow grinned, and she arched a perfect brow.

“Great. I’m sitting in on the meeting. It’s one of our biggest accounts at the moment. It could turn into a national campaign. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts.” He nearly missed the meeting clinching the account with her street brawl.

She swallowed hard. “Thank you, I look forward to sharing them with you. I know I’ll be a good asset to your company.” Her chin lifted slightly with confidence and heat washed over his skin.

“Are you from the Philadelphia area, Nora?” Barlow forced himself to speak, and she relaxed for a moment.

“I am. I grew up here and studied at the Smith School of Design. I graduated recently.”

Of course, Barlow knew that, but he couldn’t tell her. “I went there, as well. Great school.”

“I loved it. I graduated at the top of my class,” Nora said. She grabbed her cup. “I’m heading back, are you coming?”

His thoughts went in the gutter. He couldn’t go there, yet. “I’ll be along in a few minutes. You get settled in.”

Barlow watched her walk away, focusing on her tight ass in the fitted charcoal pencil skirt. Her gray heels clicked lightly on the white marble tile.

Coffee?

Hell, he needed a cold shower.

He wanted to caress her soft, flawless pale skin. He must tell her about the day he first saw her before he acted on his impulses. He went into his office to grab his iPad and stylus.

Barlow watched as she stepped into one of the team offices, realizing he had a perfect view of Nora from his desk. He was going to enjoy every minute getting to know her.

Cory popped inside his door. “I’m ordering lunch in for the Vegan Lightly meeting. What do you want?”

He knew what he wanted; she looked up at him and smiled. “Whatever you get is fine with me.”

They had a potential client dinner the following night, and they needed to plan their angle. He agreed. They called in Thai food. Alex would join them later. He was currently meeting with the Gruber Dog Food account. They each managed different parts of the firm but collectively worked together on planning campaigns.

Barlow watched Nora leave with Valerie for the conference room.

Cory looked at the girls then narrowed his eyes at Barlow. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? You’re asking for trouble. And, we don’t need a sexual harassment lawsuit.”

“Me? I would never do anything to jeopardize the company. Believe me, NDA’s are signed and sealed before I make a deal.”

“Landed another one for the team.” Alex joined them. “Um, planning meeting in the conference room, ring any bells?”

“Barlow knows our newest addition.” Cory laughed as Alex opened his mouth to speak. “No, not in the biblical sense. Let me rephrase, he’s seen her. You know the fight video I showed you?”

“No way, that’s the redhead?” Alex asked as the other two nodded. “She’s feisty but brilliant. Helluva GPA. Have you seen her designs?”

Barlow replied, “Every one of them.”

Chapter 3

Nora worked out the new design for Vegan Lightly. She was placing the finishing touches when she glanced up. Barlow stood in the doorway. She looked around, and everyone was gone. It was dark outside.

“Burning the midnight oil?”

“Oh, am I holding you up? When I get into a concept, I have tunnel vision. I won’t stop until I see it through. Want to take a look?”

He stepped over to her desk, and she tilted her monitor so he could see her latest creation. She’d created plant and bean characters petting a lamb in the country with the sun in the background. The family-friendly slogan read, “Don’t eat meat. Try Greens, Beans & Wheat.” It was simple and catchy. “I played around with several alternatives with each beginning with Don’t eat meat. I use different vegetable characters petting different farm animals. Teach them while they’re young, you know.”

“You hit all of the client’s demands with incredible speed. The simplistic approach is fabulous and lends itself to all forms of media. Brilliant. Let’s print out a few copies, and run them by the team in the morning.”

Her stomach growled. “Sorry, creating the campaign made me hungry. I’m vegetarian. I spent many summers at my grandparent's farm. Separating the baby calves from their mamas broke my heart. I stopped eating meat when I was ten years old.” She looked at him. “Not all of my designs come to me fast. So that you know.”

He sat on the edge of her desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “Nora, I have to confess something.”

Shaking her head, she said, “You’ve seen the video.” She bit the inside of her cheek.

“I was there, Nora. That’s when I saw you for the first time.”

“Am I fired?”

“No, you’re not fired.”

“Really?” she asked.

“I quite enjoyed it, if you want the honest to god truth. I have no idea what that guy did to your friend, but you have impressive fighting skills.”

She pressed her lips in a tight line, and then she felt the all too familiar temper rising from deep inside her gut. “Did you hire me for my talent or the notoriety?” She got up and slung her bag over her shoulder. “You could’ve told me before I spent the entire day working on your damn campaign.” She went to push by him, and he grabbed her shoulders.

“I didn’t hire you for the notoriety. Listen to me. I admit I was curious about you. So, I did a little digging and found out you went to the same design school as Cory, Alex, and me. I found your designs from campus and began the official inquiry about hiring you. I handed off your information to Alex. Stay with the firm. Your designs are fantastic. Or at least give us a try for a month. If you don’t feel it’s a fit, then I will understand your need to move on.”

“I really want this job to work. I like it here already, and I just started. Does anyone else know about the video?”

He chuckled. “It’s viral, Nora.”

“I suppose I’ll never live it down. I have a terrible temper.” She sighed. “I am working on it.”

“Good, may I walk you out?”

“Sure.”

Over the next several weeks, Barlow seemed to time catching the elevator with Nora each morning or at the end of each workday with an occasional shoulder brush when the elevator was crowded. The brief touch sent an electrical zing of awareness. The scent of her perfume imprinted on his brain. He didn’t share his growing feelings with his partners for fear of reprimand. He had a rendezvous in his past with a co-worker that ended badly and cost the agency a considerable amount of money. Even though the relationship had been consensual, as one of the partners, he settled instead of going to court to prove his innocence.

Nora seemed different, but he couldn’t take a chance of extending his feelings without knowing her thoughts for sure. She’d catch him looking at her and vice-versa during the day with the line of sight vision between their offices. So, he enjoyed the growing work relationship, collaborating on projects, and meetings. Her vivacious and friendly demeanor helped him seal more than one deal. She had a spark that drew everyone to her.

Barlow walked out of his office to grab a coffee from the breakroom and paused, hearing laughter coming from one of the team rooms. He peeked inside, and Nora pointed out something to the others. He shook his head and continued walking around the corner. Nora’s positive vibes changed the office for the better. Teams worked better together with more enthusiasm. They had fun while they worked and seemed more socially interactive with one another. It wasn’t only Nora’s team, but all the employees and other businesses in the building had benefited from her youth and exuberance for life.

Alex and Cory had great things to say about her, and it wasn’t long before she created presentations for each division of the company. Nora exuded confidence and the joy of doing her job, and everyone soaked it up. Barlow watched her closely as she powered on, only having small chances to talk to her in the morning.

After the morning sales meeting, Barlow stepped out of the office to grab some lunch. He was lost in thought as he casually glanced up, seeing a flash of red hair ahead. His feet moved faster, and Barlow hurried into the cafe. Nora walked in before the door closed.

A disgruntled customer shouted at an employee busing a table. “This place is filthy. Don’t you clean it?”

The young waiter flushed red and shifted on his feet. “It’s busy. Lunchtime.”

Nora stepped over and said, “I’ll take the table if you don’t want it.” She narrowed her eyes at the customer who mumbled under their breath and stormed out the door. “I’m sure you’ll wipe down the table before the food comes.” She winked, and the employee’s tense shoulders relaxed.

“What a woman,” Barlow murmured.

“I thought she was going to take the customer down.” Barlow jumped and turned to look at Cory. “She’s formidable with sass. Be careful, my friend, Nora might rip you apart if you piss her off.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Barlow fantasized about her frequently, and this time, with her commanding him to action. He shook his head. Those types of thoughts would never win over a woman like Nora. Or would it?

“Oh, we’re thinking about after-work drinks and dinner tonight,” Cory said. “To celebrate another banner week for BCA. Alex mentioned it, so you in or you out? I thought I’d invite the staff. You know for a job well done. Plus, it gives you a chance to talk to Nora after-hours finally.”

“Great idea. Where were you thinking?”

“Donella. They’ve got drinks, good food, and a dance floor. It’s classy, but not stuffy, and a one hundred percent write off.” Cory smiled, and Barlow nodded.

“I don’t think it’d hurt to loosen up a bit.” Barlow watched Nora as she took a seat, thanking the employee for cleaning her table.

Riding the elevator with Barlow every morning and in the evenings made Nora nervous. They were both early risers and often worked late. She looked forward to that part of the day. She had a huge crush on her boss.

Her heart raced when he stepped inside after lunch. The door slid shut.

Locking eyes with him set off her pheromones. She tried to tamp down her nerves.

The elevator jostled then stopped.

She fell against the wall. “Jesus. My worse fear is getting stuck on an elevator. Fair warning, enclosed places make me hyperventilate.”

Barlow grabbed her hands. “Look in my eyes and breathe in and slowly out.”

“God, you have gorgeous eyes. Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No worries.” He chuckled. “Your eyes are beautiful, too, so we’re even. I’m going to release you and call the super.” He opened the emergency door and punched numbers. “Elevator 2 is stuck I’d say between the fourth and fifth floor. Okay, thanks.” He turned to Nora. “They’re aware of the problem and should resolve it in a few minutes. So, I wanted to tell you how impressed we are of your progress. Do you like it here?” He smiled at Nora, and her nipples hardened under her shirt.

“Very much.” Most of the time, she had no problems talking and even flirting, but Barlow’s good looks and demanding presence had her at a loss. “Are you from Philly?” Nora blushed. Ugh, she hated being a sappy lovesick girl. What was wrong with her?

“New Castle County.”

“Nice.” Holy shit, she knew he must be a trust fund baby, but kept her thoughts to herself.

Barlow’s expression remained neutral. “Tell me about your family.”

“Small and mighty.” She laughed. “Just my parents and me. They’ve been supportive of me from day one, even when I’m a stubborn jerk. And since you know about the video, it’s taken a lot of therapy to get a handle on my temper. Even with my faults, they love me the way I am.” Nora smiled and searched his face. “You?”

“It’s just my mom and sister. She’s twenty-two.”

“My age,” Nora blurted out, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No worries. Tess is an event planner with a large company and travels the globe for her job. She and I take care of Mom.” He said, “She isn’t sick or anything like that, but Dad died when I was twelve. We’re close.”

A man who takes care of family. Check.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine losing a parent.” She reached out and touched his arm. Barlow looked at her small hand against his black suit jacket. He covered it, and warmth spread through her.

What would it feel like to have those hands on her body? Or the touch of his lips pressed next to hers?

Oh, girlie, she was asking for trouble, but trouble never stopped her from getting what she wanted.

And she wanted Barlow.

“It isn’t easy losing a parent. I miss him.” He stroked her hand gently as the silence lengthened the chemistry between them, stoking flames of desire.

He leaned in—was he going to kiss her? She closed her eyes, and the elevator jostled and began its ascent.

Barlow stared into her eyes. “Back to work. Um, Cory is announcing in a bit about a staff get together after work. I hope you make it.”

“After work, um sure.” Nora nodded. She had never been so attracted to a man before, and she couldn’t remember a relationship that mattered before him. Barlow was different, and she was drawn to him like a magnet.

Nora went to her apartment to change clothes. Donella was a chic, upscale establishment, and she wanted to wear something sexy. Who was she kidding? She dressed with Barlow in mind and chose a shimmering silver dress accentuating every curve. She stepped out of the bathroom, slipping on her black heels. Valerie waited in the small living area. She wore a little black dress paired with diamond earrings. She was a picture of elegance, and Nora second-guessed her apparel.

“You look great. Your red hair is a gorgeous color,” Valerie said. “Very hot. Barlow will love it.”

“Barlow? Why would you say something like that?”

Valerie said, “You’re not the first rookie that’s fallen for him, nor will you be the last.”

“I haven’t fallen for Barlow, although he is sex god material,” Nora replied. “Do you have a thing for him? If so, I’ll back off.”

“God, no. Cory is more my style, but his fiancé is a Wellington.”

“Wellington? The real estate mogul?”

“Yes, they own half of Philly,” Valerie said.

“Alex?”

“Maybe. Uber is downstairs.”

Nora grabbed her small black sequin purse, and fit her phone and money inside, tucking her ID into the slot. They were taking a cab to Donella’s. They wanted to enjoy cocktails without the risk of a DUI.

Barlow sipped a drink and exchanged witty banter with the female bartender. He frequented the restaurant, and they were on a first-name basis. Tonight, the office staff filled Donella’s. He noticed clustered cliques from different departments, laughing and drinking. Cory reserved a private room with an open bar and one long table with delectable dishes from the most sought chef in the city. His martini was dry, the food smelled delicious, but he waited for a certain woman to walk through the revolving doors. Cory and Alex chatted away with their personal assistants.

Something in the room changed, and Barlow glanced up as Nora breezed in. Her smile brilliant, her hair radiant, thick and straight around her shoulders, but her clingy silver dress made him swallow hard. Nora was hands down the most beautiful woman in the room, hell, in the city. He wet his lips. He never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her.

His eyes locked on Nora again as she waved to her coworkers and gave one or two a hug. She ordered a drink with Valerie. The evening seemed to pass in one fast blur, and he hadn’t had the chance to talk with Nora much less dance with her. She led the way to the small dance floor. She stepped over to the DJ and asked him for something as he nodded, then watched her move to the center of the floor.

Usher played as she started to move to the beat. Several other employees joined her on the dance floor.

Nora was petite with perfect curves and watching her dance was hypnotizing. Lights flashed in sync with the music on the floor, then he noticed a large tattoo on her back where the dress dipped. Barlow longed to caress her back and unzip the sexy dress to see precisely where the tat ended. To kiss and taste every part of her, but he remained immobile at the bar, watching. He couldn’t trust himself around her.

She danced and occasionally threw him a seductive look. She went to a table, and drank shots with her team from work.

“Hey, Barlow. How are you?” He turned, and Kenna, the HR head, leaned against the bar. She was wasted. He fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Fine. You?”

Kenna had been hitting on him since the first day she started working for the company. He never returned it. She tried sliding one arm around his neck. “I was hoping you’d be here. Can I buy you a drink?”

He removed her arm and said, “It’s an open bar. I think you’ve had enough to drink. Remember, this is a work function, those employees look up to you so pull yourself together, or I’m calling you a cab.”

To his surprise, Nora pushed her way in between them, then turned to Kenna and said, “We’re together, so if you wouldn’t mind.” She wrapped her arms around his neck as he froze, staring into her mesmerizing eyes. Nora went up on tiptoes and kissed him, stunning both of them.

Kenna mumbled something and left.

He’d been fighting the intense attraction to Nora, but one innocent kiss lengthened, releasing a firestorm of pent up passion. Nora moaned against his lips. “I’ve liked you since that first day in the breakroom. I knew I would kiss you, and I don’t regret it. Do you?”

He took her hand and walked around the corner not to subject her to office gossip. He opened a door marked, storage room, and pulled her inside.

“You taste as good as you look,” she said with a rasp then kissed him again.

Barlow tasted the sweet flavor of the drinks on her mouth, sensing she wasn’t entirely in control of her decision. Her tongue slipped against his lower lip, and he gave her access, with groaning approval. His hands stayed on her hips, ignoring the raging need to slide them over her ass and lift her to one of the barstools. He wanted to rip off the little clothes that she had on.

He pulled away slightly to catch a breath as reality slammed into him. The woman he wanted the most was here for the taking, but every person from their office would know if he didn’t put a stop now.

Nora blinked and dropped her head back, looking into his eyes.

“As much as I’d like to ravish you— you’ve been drinking. I want you, but I want you without your inebriated state, Nora.” She stared at him in shock for a moment. “Go to the ladies' room and pull yourself together. We’ll talk more about your lovely lips later.”

He watched her stumble to the door with her head downcast.

“Nora?”

She turned with a pout. “What?”

“I do want you.”

She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. “Damn right, you do.” Then left. He took a deep breath and counted to one hundred before joining Alex and Cory at the bar.

“I want her so bad,” he murmured as Cory clapped him on the back.

“I know, buddy. You two nearly melted the fucking stool before you took her away. Good call, though.”

At some point, Nora left, and Barlow excused himself early. He would always regret pushing her away tonight, but one of his hard and fast rules was never to take advantage of a drunk woman, especially Nora.

He wanted more.

Chapter 4

Nora woke up the following day in her bed, her head pounding. “Oh, my god.”

She turned away from the bright window and buried her head under her blankets, needing the darkness. She realized a second later that she also needed to pee and something to drink.

Could she keep anything down?

Ugh. Major hangover.

What happened last night?

Oh, shots of tequila. Tequila always made her do crazy things.

What did she do?

Nora tried to remember Donella’s.

Oh my god. She kissed Barlow.

He pulled her into a storage room, and oh my, he gently turned down her advances.

The apartment door opened. “Nora, I’m home? You here?”

Grace. Thank god. She needed reinforcements.

“Gracie, I’m in the bathroom. I need your hangover cure.” Before her roommate entered the bathroom, Nora hugged the toilet. Sick didn’t describe the shit she threw up. She leaned against the wall, her head reeling.

Grace brought her a cup of ginger tea with chamomile and two chewable vitamin C’s. “Get this down, and we’ll start hydrating you. What the hell happened? Are you okay, honey?” Grace held a bottle of seltzer until Nora finished the tea, then helped Nora to bed. She opened the carbonated water and handed it to Nora.

“I went to an office thing, overate, drank way-way too much, and wait for it—kissed my new boss.” She sipped the drink.

“Barlow, the one you emailed me about?”

“I did something stupid, didn’t I?” Nora asked. She relayed to Grace to the best of her knowledge what transpired. The memories hit Nora like a train, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, shit. Everyone saw it.” Nora dropped the bottle and buried her face in her hands. “I don’t do that kind of thing, Grace. I haven’t thought about doing that with a man in I don’t know how long.”

Grace draped an arm around Nora’s shoulder. “Does he kiss good?”

“Like a freaking dream. Oh god, he rejected me,” Nora said.

“Then he’s a damn idiot.”

“He said he wouldn’t take advantage of a drunk woman.”

“Well, you gotta respect him for that.”

Nora bawled like a baby. “I love my job, and I ruined it. Like I ruin everything.” With ragged breaths, she said, “I’ll go in tomorrow and clean out my office. I can’t face my team with the stunt I pulled.”

“Hold up, sister. Was everyone drinking and doing shots?”

Nora nodded.

“Nora, you are a woman who goes after what she wants.” Grace hugged her close, and Nora laughed. “If anyone can pull this off as a win-win, it’s you.”

Nora didn’t feel so strong Monday morning. She wasn’t feeling the effects of the alcohol anymore, thanks to a lot of Gatorade and fresh fruit. Grace was an amazing caretaker.

Getting dressed for work, she took extra time. She dressed in her most professional attire, and before stepping out of the door, Grace threw her a red apple. “For the teacher.”

Nora laughed. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

She didn’t want to get to work early. Not today. Nora wanted all of this to blow over and go back to kicking ass with her team. She walked down the street, spending some time in the coffee shop to stall her arrival at the building. By the time she walked in, it was crowded with people, and Nora looked at the floor as the elevator scaled the flights. Then she took the next one.

Nora straightened her shoulders and plastered a smile on her face as she entered the office. “Good morning.”

“Hey. Why did you leave so early Friday night?” Valerie came up to hug her, and Nora shrugged.

“I don’t drink often, and it hit me hard. Was it a fun night?”

Valerie looked at the others as Nora busied herself at her desk. Her phone rang, and Nora stared at it for a moment before picking it up. “Hello?”

“Nora, it’s Barlow. Would you come to my office for a moment? I want to talk to you.” His voice sent ice through her veins as the kiss played back through her mind.

“Sure.” Nora hung up the phone and took a slow breath before letting it out. “I’ll be back, guys. I’ll take a good look at the design, and we can clean it up.” She stepped out into the corridor and glanced towards Barlow’s open door. “Fuck,” she muttered under her breath then strolled with her head high, but her knees went weak. She took a deep inhale and exhale, then stepped inside.

“Close the door, Nora.”

Her shoulders drooped as she followed his instructions. He motioned for her to take a seat in front of him. “Look at you. I’ve never seen you so quiet.”

Nora met his eyes, and he smiled at her.

“I guess I don’t know what to say.” She could still feel his lips on hers and shivered as she remembered the kiss. “It’s not every day I throw myself at my boss.”

“I had no problems with that. It was hot as hell watching you stake your claim on me, Nora.” He said, “Your alcohol-induced state was the only problem I had with your kisses. Every carnal impulse I had wanted to take advantage of you, but I had to do the right thing.”

“You liked what I did?”

He nodded. “I’d like to give you a ride home tonight. Get your number. That kind of thing. Maybe go on a real date.”

Nora smiled and leaned back in her chair.

“Since Alex hired you, I am not your direct supervisor. So technically, it isn’t against any rules. However, if we pursue our relationship, we must keep it professional in the office.”

“No making out at bars?” Nora giggled, and he laughed with her.

“The thing is, we have a non-disclosure agreement at the urging of our legal team, that I’d like you to read over and sign if you still want to go out, but it is strictly up to you.”

“I read a book about that once. Sure, I don’t have a problem with an NDA.”

“Then, bring it with you this evening, and we’ll go from there.”

She took the folder with the NDA and left his office feeling at least ten pounds lighter, then made her way back to the team. She was going to let him take her home later, and maybe they’d have coffee.

The rest of the day, she couldn’t think about creative design or catchy slogans. All she could think about was if he would kiss her again.

And kiss her— he did.

They started off exchanging numbers.

He called at night before bed, preferring to talk instead of text. Every day, they learned something new about each other. They were so similar in many ways. Liking the same books, music, and jokes, oh they laughed so much at times it made her belly hurt to pure exhaustion.

Nora confided in him the details about losing her previous job. She applauded the equitable way BCA operated.

“Fair is fair,” said Barlow. “My mother raised two teenagers, single-handedly. She impressed on me early how the male-dominated world took advantage of women. Cory and Alex practically lived at my house, so Mom’s philosophy sort of rubbed off on them too.”

One evening, sitting on his couch after dinner, he relayed the first time he saw her. “I fell in love with you on the spot.”

Nora tilted her head at him.

“You made me late for work. It’s the same date we snagged the Vegan Lightly account, the one you’re working on right now, and just look at the clients lining up at the door. Your feisty, spirited nature drew me to you, and I finally got to taste first hand what the fuss was about.” She gave him a mock elbow to the ribs and he chuckled. “My hot little redhead was pummeling some man on the sidewalk as she screamed to keep his hands to himself. Sound familiar?”

Nora covered her mouth and laughed. “You did see that and not the video?”

“In the flesh, my lovely. It took me a few weeks to track you down. See, your temper changed my life.”

“And my dad thought it would get me in trouble.”

“Oh, it did, but the good kind.”

“You recognized me on the elevator that day. I was wondering why you were smiling like that.” Nora shook her head and moved closer to him.

“You looked hot that day too.” Barlow slid his arm around her. “I never asked, what did that guy do to receive your fury?”

“The guy stuck his hand up Grace’s skirt. That disgusting piece of shit.” Her cheeks reddened.

Nora slipped her arm around his waist. “I stand up for myself and my friends.”

“And it’s why I’m in love with you.”

“You’re in love with me?”

“Let me show you the ways.” He scooped her into his arms and carried her to his bedroom.

He reached for the hem of her sweatshirt, and lifted it revealing a thin T-shirt underneath. Her cotton leggings fit like a second skin. He caressed her soft skin as he trailed kisses down her neck, listening to her moans.

Barlow chuckled as he lifted off his T-shirt, and she looked him over with a greedy expression. “I want to taste every inch of you, Nora. I want to make love to you.” He showered her hot kisses.

“You smell incredible.” Nora covered her face with her hands as she felt shy.

He kissed both of her hands and removed them from her face; she blushed crimson red. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured. The sexual hunger in her gaze rivaled his own. He smiled at his little wild cat.

Nora’s fingers threaded through his hair as she whispered breathlessly, “I love you, Barlow.”

“The feeling is mutual.” He moved over her, leaning in for a kiss. He pulled off her clothes and took in every curve as she bared herself to him. He kissed her skin and watched as her eyes closed, loving her response to him. He nipped and sucked at every part of her, hearing her moan and cry out his name.

“This feels so natural being with you like this, I feel like I’m home,” Nora said and brushed her lips with his.

“I feel the same way. It’s overwhelming, Nora, but I love you with every fiber of my soul. I’m so fucking in love with you.” He wrapped his arms around her. They made love on and off throughout the night until finally falling asleep in each other’s arms.

Epilogue

Nora smiled, holding her champagne in her hand as Tess worked on her hair. The room behind the bed-and-breakfast was full of laughter, and she looked around to see the people she loved sharing her wedding day with her.

Barlow had proposed on the beach in Saint Croix during a vacation one year to the day they met. She thought it was just a trip until she saw the dinner on the beach, and he dropped to his knee. It didn’t take a lot for her to say yes, and she sank with him to wrap her arms around his neck. Their moms became fast friends and helped plan the wedding along with Grace and Tess.

It was a simple ceremony at a gorgeous Victorian house with acres of land, offering them privacy. The arch overlooked the lake. A gentle spring breeze blew across the water as she made her way down the aisle.

It was short and sweet. Barlow cried as she approached him with tears of her own sliding down her cheeks.

Dad gave her away placing her hand into Barlow’s. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I love you,” he said, then joined Mom.

She and Barlow exchanged written vows.

The wedding party headed to the garden for the reception and after-party with an open bar and seven-course dinner. A photographer captured every moment.

Once dinner was over, the speeches started. Her dad made Nora sob as he spoke about how much he loved her and Barlow together, joking through tears that he would never hold Nora back from what she wanted. Everyone laughed when he added that she’d never let him, and Nora snuggled into Barlow’s side.

Cory stood up for Barlow and held a beer as he looked at the happy couple. “I didn’t think Barlow would ever settle down, that is until you came along, my dear friend, Nora, whom I love like a sister.”

Grace cried through her speech then clicked a remote and a wedding video played with a photo montage of her and Barlow. “To my best friend, and her best man, may you both have many years of happiness.”

Nora grinned so much her cheeks ached as she held Barlow close.

The small crowd clapped as the couple thanked them all for being here for their special day. Barlow held her tight as they danced to the slow songs slipped in between the fast ones that Nora loved so much. He kissed her every chance he got as cameras flashed, and she giggled against his mouth. The party ended late with well wishes and goodbyes.

Barlow led her by the hand to their room with the moon shining bright on the water. Nora watched him as he unlocked the door, pushing it open before he lifted her into his arms. “This isn’t our home, baby.” She laughed as she smiled into his eyes.

“It is for tonight, and much longer. I bought it for you. For us, and someday our kids. We’ll celebrate every room in the house.” Barlow set her down in front of the bed, pulling her close for a kiss. “We’re branching out.”

“Oh, Barlow, really?”

“Really.”

Her eyes widened, “You’re crazy, Barlow.” Nora slipped her arms around his neck and breathed him in.

“I am crazy for you, Nora.” He leaned in and kissed her, slowing the movements down. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Barlow.”

About Claire Angel

Claire Angel is deeply in love with Reading & Writing Steamy Romance Stories. She wants to bring some EXTREMELY HOT JAW DROPPING romance stories to lovely readers. The stories feature extremely gorgeous, sexy as hell, alphas, dominant male characters & beautiful, sweet, strong, bubbly and sassy female characters.

Claire loves connecting with her readers. Feel free to email ClaireAngelBooks@gmail.com

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Turning Up the Heat by Ashlee Price

Chapter 1

Hazel

The beautiful spring day mirrored the park’s excitement as laughter filled the air. Hazel carried her boxed baked goods towards the shelter’s tent and smiled at the sound of barking dogs. There, set up in the middle of the dog park, was a wonderful fundraiser focused on creating lasting homes for orphaned dogs. This was, to Hazel, the perfect kind of day.

The boxes of baked goods wavered as she tried to keep herself from tripping. The grass of the dog park forgave none of Hazel’s missteps - too many dogs had rummaged through in an attempt to dig their way to bones forgotten by the canines before them. Hazel would ruin all of her hard work if she didn’t catch herself each step.

Hazel could barely hear her own thoughts over the surrounding noises. Not that it mattered. She was just glad that there were so many people. The sun illuminated the makeshift fences around the areas where the dogs were kept. They were leaping into the arms of potential adopters and barking to get their attention. There were already twenty people meandering past the fences, searching for a dog to take home. Children were laughing and reaching over to pet the dogs. Hazel’s stomach fluttered with joy as she looked upon the hopeful faces. This was the best way she could think of to spend her Saturday, rather than being cooped up with Roger in the bakery.

“There you are!” a voice said, the person hidden behind a couple at a booth. Alejandra waved from behind the couple and rounded the long table, which already had a number of dog treats lined up in beautiful tins for people to purchase. She pointed to the boxes as she neared. “Let me help you with those.”

“Thanks, Aly,” Hazel told her, stopping as Aly reached out for the boxes layered in her hands. “Top one is muffins, middle is cookies, and the last box is donuts.”

“I’ll take them all for me!”

Hazel laughed as Aly grabbed the top two boxes, and left the two donut ones in her hands. “Thanks for your help. So, the donuts are all doggy-approved if people want to share them.”

“You’re kidding,” Aly said, and lifted the boxes up higher so she didn’t run into anyone as they walked. “What’re they made of?”

“Honey, mainly.”

Each table around the fundraising space was covered in baked goods, T-shirts made and donated by a local retailer, hand-knitted booties for the dogs in the winter, and a number of treats created by a local chef. One of the reasons Hazel loved the local shelter was the way they were able to bring the community together, especially with Aly’s leadership. She definitely had a way with people. Hazel was convinced it was because Aly was a dog person and tended to be a little more outgoing than the people running the cat shelters in their area.

“So,” Aly said, putting down the boxes with a huff, “this will be your table. Lucas will be by shortly with the coffee. This here is your till. You brought the signs, right?”

It was obvious that Aly was having one of those days where she couldn’t focus or relax. She was everywhere at once and overwhelmed at trying to keep everything together. She always became like that when there was an event happening that she had planned. Aly always sought control of everything during the fundraisers.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got this,” Hazel told her, putting down the boxes of donuts. “I’ll put these on display and put up the signs. You just go get some good dogs adopted, all right?”

She watched as Aly took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Thank you. This has been so stressful, but I appreciate you helping out with the bake sale.”

“It’s the least I could do. Now,” Hazel said as she pointed towards a family as they looked at a small Pomeranian a few feet away, “go talk to people about adopting a new friend.”

Aly’s eyes widened when she saw the family and rushed past the table to go speak to them. It was, after all, her main motivation. Today was their best day to empty out the shelter.

Hazel turned back towards the table and set up the pastries on the table. Then, she stacked them onto the plates that she’d packed into the boxes. She’d tried her best to find doggy-themed plastic plates on Amazon and did manage to find some. The only issue was that they weren’t really easy on the eyes. Around the edges were pictures of bones, fire hydrants and rope toys. In the middle of each plate was the massive circular face of a different breed of dog, drawn like a caricature. It was the best she could find on a strict time limit, so they’d just have to work.

She arranged everything along the table and took a step back to admire her work. The table was simple, but there were small signs for each pastry, which were perfectly presented in small pyramidal shapes. She’d worked hard on them, spending most of the morning dipping the donuts into oil and decorating. The prices were fair, and all the proceeds would go to the shelter. She turned her head to peer over the multiple dogs, some older and some only puppies, as they barked and grabbed the attention of passersby. It was worth it.

“Excuse me? You’re the baker, right?”

Hazel turned around to see a young man holding small carrier coffee boxes in each hand. She squinted her eyes at the name on each box. Fairview Coffee? She hadn’t heard of it before. “I’m just one baker. I’m guessing you brought the coffee?”

He dropped both coffee carriers onto the table, which caused her perfectly curated donut pyramid to collapse all over the plate. Not a great way to make a first impression.

Hazel crossed her arms. It didn’t matter if he had perfectly styled dark blonde hair and eyes so blue you’d think they were made of ice. No. He’d messed with her baked goods and, by the way he suddenly spun around from the table, it was clear he didn’t feel bad about it. She watched as he rushed through the crowd towards a vehicle that had the trunk open. Likely to grab more of those coffee carriers.

She pursed her lips and readjusted her donuts. She pushed the coffee carriers to the end of the table, trying to keep everything in an orderly fashion. There was something about having things perfectly organized that gave her a sense of relief. Hazel knew that it could be a flaw, but she liked to consider it as a good thing. It made it so that she had the best presentations of any bakery in town. Her shop was known among the locals for its visually appealing window installations and the beautiful rustic decor. It was all about turning a negative into a positive.

When someone came around and decided to ruin it, though? That was another situation altogether. It was hard to keep everything positive with a negative force at the door.

The coffee guy returned and slammed two more coffee boxes on the table, nearly knocking over the muffins.

“Can you watch where you throw those things?” she asked, her voice higher than she expected it to be. She inhaled deeply and pushed the carriers closer to his end of the table. “You’re knocking over my baked goods.”

He didn’t reply as he stalked away from her. Hazel watched as he passed through the crowd again. This time his body language was rough, and she thought for a moment he’d start pushing people out of the way. She rolled her eyes. It didn’t matter. It was just one day and it was just sharing a table. It wasn’t even necessary for them to have any contact.

She rounded the table and set up the till in between her baked goods and the cardboard coffee carriers. It would be fine.

Or so she hoped.

Chapter 2

Lucas

He always thought that volunteering his time, and his services, was a good thing. Especially when it came to animals. There was always a soft spot for dogs in Lucas’s heart. So when Alejandra came to him with the opportunity to sell coffee on behalf of the shelter, there was no way he could refuse.

One thing they failed to mention: an OCD baker with an attitude problem. She even arranged the coffee cups he’d brought so that they were inaccessible to anyone except the customers. The baker hadn’t even asked if he was the type of barista who would help his customers with their coffees. Little did she know, he always poured the coffee for his customers. He strived to give them full-service coffee, not self-serve, which had always struck him as lazy. This baker had other ideas.

He glanced in her direction as she handed out another donut on her perfectly fitting plastic plates. God forbid she use paper. Of course, her prices didn’t factor in the cost of the plates and the baked goods. That was a quick way to lose even more money during a fundraiser.

“Would you like a coffee with your donut?” she asked as she pointed towards the cups she’d put out of his reach.

So now she was offering his coffee, as though it was a second thought.

Lucas waited for the customer to shake his head and take a bite of the donut as he meandered around the rest of the stalls and the fenced in spots with the adoptable dogs. It took some patience, but Lucas finally found a moment.

“Could you try not to control this table and stop acting like you’re the only one here?”

She raised her hands to him and scoffed, “Really? You should be thanking me.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“People have been coming up to the table because it’s organized. It’s the opposite of what you were doing earlier by just throwing your coffee carriers onto the table in no particular order.”

He hated the fact that she was attractive. It only made her seem vain and snobby. Most of the bakers he’d met in his line of work had been kind and, though he hated stereotyping people, usually a little chubby. She was the opposite. Thin, well-built, with long burgundy hair that cascaded past her shoulders. It shouldn’t make a difference - being attractive shouldn’t give her a reason to walk all over him.

“Do you even have a reason for being here?”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Excuse me? Do I have a reason for being here?” she said as she withheld a laugh. “I’ve known Aly for years, and I’ve been doing these fundraisers for just as long. So don’t ask me if I have a reason to be here.”

“Listen, I don’t want to fight over space. If you could just stop treating my coffee like it’s a secondary choice to your baked goods, that’d be great.”

Her expression softened as her arms fell to her sides. “Listen, I’m not trying to treat it as though your coffee doesn’t matter. I’m just a stickler for how things look. If you have a problem, you can just tell me nicely. There’s no reason to be so rude about it.”

“I wouldn’t have to be rude if you weren’t so oblivious.”

“Look,” she said, pointing out towards the crowd. “There’s Aly. We can ask her if you can move tables. There’s some room over on the one with the dog treats.”

Aly was lifting a dog out of a pen as they peered over at her. The crowd had become smaller since the fundraiser had started and only a dozen dogs were left. The fluffy white dog she lifted was a Samoyed, and was a massive fluffy cloud of a dog. It’s pink tongue lulled in and out of its mouth as it panted.

The Samoyed met Lucas’ eyes, surprising him a little. The dog wriggled in Aly’s arm until she had no choice but to let go. The crowd dispersed slightly as the fluffy white dog ran towards their table, barking excitedly, as though it’d found its match.

Lucas lowered himself to his knees and held his arms open. The dog leapt around the side of the table and nearly knocked him over before licking his face. He could feel the dog’s claws against his skin as the dog jumped above him and went straight for the baker. His lips formed into a massive smile at seeing the dog. He hadn’t thought that he’d have taken a dog home, but there was no denying that the Samoyed was adorable and friendly.

Besides that, his apartment felt lonely since his ex, Jessica, was no longer living there with him. He watched as the Samoyed flitted around in a circle as Aly neared them, almost panting as hard as the dog.

Chapter 3

Hazel

“Oh my gosh. I love him,” Hazel said as she nuzzled her face into his thick white fur. “How old is he?”

“She is three and a half. She was rescued about a month ago. She’s really friendly with people and other animals.”

Hazel glanced up from the dog’s white fur and met Aly’s eyes. “I’d like to adopt her.”

“Wait. No.”

Hazel rose to her feet and turned to Lucas. “Excuse me?”

“She came up to me first,” he said with a sharp tone. “I want to adopt her.”

Aly stepped back and glanced from one to the other. “I can’t have you both fighting over the dog. She has to go to one of you, or she goes into one of the pens and gets adopted by a passerby. Your choice.”

Hazel had never heard that tone from Aly before. She was so typically lighthearted about things, but when it came to adoptions, she took her work very seriously. Her job was to get these dogs adopted, and it was clear that she was confident about choosing the right person or family.

“I would really like to adopt her.”

Lucas furrowed his brow. “Really? There’s, like, twenty other dogs here to choose from.”

He infuriated her.

“Well, I want to adopt her. I loved the way she ran over here.”

“She came to me first.”

Hazel pouted her lip at Aly, hoping that she would see her plea. Alejandra was unimpressed as she crossed her arms and stared at both of them in disbelief. The sound of children laughing and dogs barking seemed to become silent as Hazel ran her hands through the Samoyed’s soft white fur.

“Can we both put in an application?” Lucas asked. “If we do that, you’ll have to pick one of us, right?”

“Well, I suppose that could work.”

Hazel continued stroking the dog’s head and glanced at Lucas, who clenched his square jaw in frustration. Of course, he would be the person that she’d be fighting with over a dog. “What if we get the dog to choose?”

Aly raised her eyebrows. “Can you elaborate?”

“Well,” Hazel said, lifting her hand from the dog’s fur, “what if we take turns getting to know the dog throughout the next two weeks. We can visit her, and walk her, and at the end of the two weeks we can have her decide who she likes more. Whoever it is she chooses will be the one that gets to adopt her.”

Lucas laughed loudly. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it, though? I mean, it doesn’t seem like either of us are going to budge on this matter.”

Aly lowered herself to the Samoyed’s level and sighed. “What do you think about that, Snow? You okay with getting walked and played with a few times a week?”

The dog wagged her tail and nearly jumped on top of Alejandra, which caused Hazel to laugh lightly. She’d always wanted a Samoyed but had never had the opportunity to adopt one. Usually, they were picked up right away because they were popular on social media. This was the best opportunity, and Snow was an adorable ball of fluffiness that she couldn’t wait to take home. That was, of course, if Lucas didn’t show up over the next two weeks at all, as she expected.

She held her hand out towards Lucas. “Do we have a deal?”

He crossed his arms, which only made his muscles appear larger. Lucas was more in shape than most baristas she saw. Clearly, walking the dog every other day shouldn’t bother him. In fact, Hazel figured, he’d enjoy it and might consider it part of his workout routine.

“How do I know you won’t go in every day? This feels like it might be rigged, especially since you’ve known Alejandra longer.”

Hazel held her fingers up. “Scouts honor.”

“Were you even a scout?”

She dropped both her hands. “It’s a saying. C’mon, just agree. I really want to win.”

Lucas chuckled, seemingly surprised by her words. She preferred having a fellow competitor involved. It would only make it more fun when she won.

“Fine,” he said, and held out his hand for the handshake. “We’ll see who the dog chooses in the end. No cheating.”

She took his hand in hers and nodded. “No cheating.”

“Finally!” Aly said, and began walking away. “I’ll give you both my card at the end of the fundraiser. Call tomorrow and we’ll set up a schedule.”

Hazel took her hand away quickly, having held Lucas’ for too long. Her heart skipped a beat as she turned to pet Snow again. The dog was worth the wager. Hazel met Snow’s brown eyes and scritched behind her ears, excited for the moment when she’d be able to take her new dog home.

Chapter 4

Lucas

A couple of days later, Lucas’s first chance to see Snow came, and he smiled as he approached the shelter. Not only did he want to show that baker that he was committed, but he so wanted to get the dog on his side. Sure, there were plenty of other dogs that he could have chosen. It had been the way the Samoyed ran towards him that he wouldn’t forget. That excitement that had rippled through from his stomach to his fingertips. He’d felt as though he’d been chosen as the owner of the dog right then and there.

The baker just happened to be standing nearby.

Snow gravitated towards anyone who showed her attention. The dog had clearly come to him first.

He considered this as he walked into the shelter. He covered his nose when the overwhelming smell greeted him on the other side of the door. Dogs were known for their odor, but their close proximity really cemented the scent into everything. It was like a punch in the face.

Alejandra waited at the front desk, alongside one of the volunteers, who was an older woman with a grandmotherly presence about her. They were smiling as he entered, clearly unbothered by the scent that surrounded them.

He lowered his arm from his nose and smiled. “Hey, Alejandra. Is Snow ready for her walk?”

Alejandra had a natural prettiness to her face but had strong features. Even when she was in a good mood, Lucas got the impression that she couldn’t be bothered to speak to him. Her tan skin tone glowed, even with the grey weather outside. “She is, but there’s kind of a problem.”

Lucas’ stomach sank and he clenched the air within his lungs. He exhaled when he felt the pressure in his chest. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, Lucas. It’s all my fault,” said the older woman behind the desk. “It seems I’ve double booked Snow today.”

“What does that mean?”

Her expression was so solemn there was no way he could get mad. She was only a volunteer who was doing her best. The older woman adjusted her glasses and tapped on the tablet in her hand. “Snow is outside with Hazel right now, the other potential adopter. You can go and play with Snow with her if you want. The only other option is to come back another day.”

Alejandra brought her hand to the woman’s shoulder and squeezed before looking up at Lucas. “Irene mistook the dates. You can come back another time, but you’re already here, and Hazel is aware of what has happened with the schedule. She said it would be fine if you both walked and played with Snow together today.”

He was taken aback. What did she have planned? That baker didn’t seem the type too low for something like that. He considered the way she’d been dead set on adopting the dog, and how she wouldn’t budge, despite the situation. Now she was agreeing to walk the dog with him? It didn’t seem right.

“Are they just out back?”

“Yes. I can take you back there.”

Alejandra waited for him to pass the desk before she joined him. The clacks of her heels against the floor echoed in the room as she opened the door to the kennel. The pungent smell was even stronger, and the barking began as they made their way through the shelter.

He smiled at all the dogs in their kennels, each of them trying to get his attention. Lucas knew that Snow was the dog he wanted, but looking over the faces of the other dogs was enough to have him reconsider his choice.

His pride was also a factor. He wanted to prove that he was the right choice for the Samoyed. But, if things didn't work out, there were plenty of other dogs that needed a home too.

“How many dogs got adopted after the fundraiser?”

The dogs barking around them made it difficult to hear anything. Some dogs hid in the corner of their kennels and laid on their beds with their faces between their paws. He wanted to go pet them and make them feel more comfortable.

“It was extremely successful,” Alejandra said. She lifted her head to look at him. “We had about thirty-seven adoptions that day, which is a success for us. We still have about forty dogs on the premises, and more coming from a dog mill in Georgia.”

“A dog mill?”

“We usually call it a puppy mill. It’s a place where the dogs are kept in horrible conditions, and the dogs are usually sold to pet stores or online. They’re being shipped out here because their shelters are full.”

“How many dogs?”

“One of them is pregnant, so we’re thinking altogether about fifteen to twenty.”

They reached the door that led outside and Alejandra stood on her tiptoes to peer out the window. Lucas saw Snow as she ran through the grass alongside Hazel, who egged the dog on with a rope toy.

“Does she know I’m coming? For sure?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, and laughed. “She was fine with it.”

Lucas inhaled deeply and opened the door. Both the dog and Hazel stopped as he stepped out. He wasn’t expecting that. He stood awkwardly at the back entrance and placed his hands in his pockets. As soon as Snow saw him, the white dog bounded across the grass and rushed towards him. Her pink tongue hung out from her black mouth. She barked excitedly at Lucas and nearly knocked him over when she jumped up on her hind legs, just like the first time.

“Hey, girlie,” he said as he brought his hands down into her thick white fur. “How are you? Are you a good girl? Who’s a good girl?”

“Looks like she recognizes you.”

He kept petting Snow’s head as he heard the crunching of grass under Hazel’s feet. “I guess we know who should be adopting her then.”

Hazel stopped a few feet away from them. “We’ll see about that. She’s just like that with everyone.”

“Are you jealous?”

She scoffed. “No, I’m not. Why would I be jealous of you? She’s definitely going to be my dog.”

He met her green eyes. “You’re pretty confident for someone who isn’t petting the dog.”

She stepped forward and ran her hand along Snow’s back. “Why don’t we just take her for a walk? What do you think?”

Lucas bit his lip, unable to ignore how beautiful Hazel was in the sunlight. She had the kind of smile that could warm even the coldest of people to their core. He gathered his thoughts and stood up straight. “Sounds like a plan.”

Hazel pulled the leash from out of her back pocket and attached it to the front of Snow’s pink collar. The dog fell to the ground and began rushing around in circles, obviously excited to get off the shelter property. She barked at them and leapt up towards the path, nearly choking herself with her own collar.

“I think she’s excited,” Lucas said, and laughed. “It’s like she’s never walked before.”

“Dogs are weird like that. They always act like they’re experiencing something for the first time. I kind of like that about them.”

He started towards the path and glanced back at her. “I get what you mean. They’re always having fun, no matter the circumstances. They could be pooping and they come back acting like it was the greatest poop ever.”

Hazel tried to keep Snow from choking herself as the dog attempted to keep up with Lucas. “You could say that.”

Hazel managed to catch up with him and the dog bolted ahead, excited to discover the forested path ahead of them, which led out to a small ravine near the road. The warmth of the sun caused the air around them to smell of leaves.

“Why do you want to adopt a dog?” Lucas asked her.

The leash handle pressed tightly against Hazel’s hand as Snow pulled her ahead. “I don’t know, actually. I’ve done so many of the fundraisers and it’s never occurred to me to adopt one of them. I guess I was just always so focused on them getting adopted with good families. I mean, my shop is close to home, so I can go visit the dog anytime throughout the day, so time isn’t an issue. I could even bring her to work once she’s trained.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that. A cafe dog? It would bring attention to the cafe, for sure.”

“She’ll be a bakery dog.”

Lucas laughed. “If only she could be both.”

Hazel’s heart skipped a beat at the thought, but she forced it down. It wasn’t possible for two people to share a dog - especially if the people were two strangers who barely got along. She gripped the leash more tightly as they walked. It was only because he was handsome that she even considered it. Snow would be her dog at the end of it all.

“So, what made you want to adopt her?” Hazel asked Lucas.

The sound of the stream next to them reverberated in the silence around them as Lucas considered his next words. The path wove around a corner, and Snow sniffed everything along the path. The leaves shone green against the canopy, and swayed in the breeze as they walked. It was the perfect day to have an adventure.

“I realized how lonely things were. My home, I mean,” he said, his voice low. “It’s just seemed so empty since my ex left. I guess after experiencing Snow jump on me like that, I had this revelation that she might be the answer to that loneliness. Coming home to an empty house hasn’t felt right for a while.”

Hazel bit her lip. She didn’t want to say anything rude after that, and there was a pang of guilt forming in her stomach. She understood how he felt. After all the years she’d used dating apps and sites, she’d never met the kind of person she could live with. She couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be to walk into an empty house after having shared it with someone.

“I think you might have a better reason than me.”

Lucas pushed his hands in his pockets. “So, does that mean I get the dog?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Nope. Still my dog. Isn’t that right, girl?”

The Samoyed paid no attention to Hazel as she continued forward. The dog had a mind of her own, and Lucas watched as she enjoyed her walk in the wilderness.

“She seems super excited.”

Hazel hit him lightly on the arm. “Don’t think you’re going to win. She’s mine.”

“What’re you going to do? Beat me up?”

“Maybe I will.”

He stood taller, making it clear that he’d dominate her if she tried. “You wanna have a go at it, then?”

Hazel winced. “Maybe not. She’d protect me, though. Wouldn’t you, girl?”

Snow ignored them again as she dove head first into the nearest brush. Her tail was wagging as she continued onward, still pulling at the leash.

“Want me to take the leash? Seems like she’s really pulling on it.”

“Sure,” she said, and placed the handle into his hand. “Thanks.”

“Let’s try to work on her pulling before the next walk.”

“Sounds good to me,” Hazel said with a smile as she watched Lucas reeling Snow in by the leash.

Despite the fact that he was against her for the dog, Hazel hoped that it wouldn’t be their last walk together. With their different schedules, though, she resolved to enjoy the one they were on while it lasted.

Chapter 5

Hazel

She wrapped her fingers around the warm coffee and enjoyed the sensation as it sent shivers up her arms. Lydia admired the latte art on her cup as she buttoned up her pink sweater. Her short blond hair was a mess from the walk, and the rain pattered against the windows, so loud it reminded Hazel of stones.

“What a day to go out for coffee, huh?” Hazel said and brought the mug to her lips. The savory bitterness of the coffee rolled over her tongue. She blew against the surface to cool it before taking another sip. “Kind of the perfect summer day for it, though.”

Lydia leaned her head against her hand as she shifted forward. “I still think we should’ve canceled.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”

“It’s bad enough that I want to go back home and crawl into bed.”

Hazel chuckled and set her mug on the table. “Well, thank you for making it. I seriously needed this.”

“I’ve always said that you should change the hours of the bakery. Having only one day off is just not enough.”

“It’s not that bad,” she said, and raised her eyebrows. “Besides, I enjoy the early mornings.”

“No one needs a croissant at six in the morning.”

Hazel sighed, enjoying the soft folk music playing in the background. The cafe was nearly empty, as expected on a day when it was basically storming outside. “Maybe I need a croissant at six in the morning.”

“Then you can eat it at home,” Lydia said sarcastically, lifting her own mug and finally taking a sip. “So, you were mentioning that you’re getting a dog. Do you have any pics?”

“Ugh, if only it were that easy.”

Lydia tilted her head as Hazel pulled her phone from the front pocket of her jeans. She tapped along the screen, scouring her photos for the perfect one. She smiled softly at her phone, enjoying the silly expressions of Snow in each one. It didn’t matter what angle you got of her, the dog was always cute.

“Here,” she said and turned the phone over to Lydia. “This is Snow.”

“Oh my God. She’s adorable.”

“Isn’t she, though? She’s a three year old purebred Samoyed. You know how I follow all those fluffy cloud boys on Instagram? Well, I finally have the opportunity to adopt one of my own,” Hazel said, her voice rising in excitement. “And she ran right up to me at the fundraiser. It was like fate.”

“So, then, what’s the problem?”

Hazel pursed her lips. “What’s not the problem? There’s this guy that thinks he’s entitled to adopt the dog, so we’ve made a deal.”

“Wait, what? A deal? Do you even know who this guy is?”

“Nope. Had no idea who he was until a week ago,” she replied as she placed her phone down onto the table. “The deal is that we let the dog choose at the end of two weeks. If the dog chooses him, he gets to adopt her and vice versa. We take turns walking her and playing with her over the two weeks and then we have the test at the end.”

“Are you kidding?” Lydia asked as she grabbed a sugar packet. “The shelter’s letting you do that?”

“You haven’t met her, but I’ve known Alejandra for a few years. She was initially going to take the dog away from both of us, so I came up with this idea of a deal instead. It was the only way I could think of having it work out.”

“Who’s the guy?”

“His name’s Lucas, and he’s a barista.”

“Wait,” Lydia said, and poured the sugar into her latte. “He’s a barista? At Starbucks or something?”

“I think he owns his own coffee shop.”

“Oh, well, that’s different, then.”

“How?”

Lydia shrugged and leaned back in her chair. “I don’t know. I guess because he’s kind of in the same position as you. Owns his own business. I wouldn’t take him so seriously if he was just a barista at a coffee shop somewhere, honestly.”

“That’s because you’re elitist.”

“Not my fault.”

Hazel sighed and took another sip of her coffee. She wondered if his coffee was even better than this place’s. The cafe they always went to had a self-pour option. It was true what he had said - it felt more personal to have the barista pour and prepare the coffee for you. She hated admitting he was right about something.

“What’s he like?”

“Hmm? Who?”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “The barista. Obviously. Or cafe owner, whatever.”

“He’s, I don’t know, nice.”

“Come on,” she said, and rolled her eyes. “That’s it? He’s nice? What’s he look like? I want to know all the details. He might have your dog soon, you know.”

“He will not win. But, he’s actually really handsome. Tall, dark blond hair, kind of looks Scandinavian or something. And he’s not a bad guy, but it just turns out that right now he’s my nemesis.”

“You should ask him on a date.”

Hazel’s mouth dropped open. “No. Definitely not.”

Lydia’s lips formed into a coy smile as she shrugged. “I don’t know. Sounds like he’s a pretty good catch. You could always share the dog and have her decide if things go bad.”

“That’s an awful idea. We’d just get back to where we started.”

“But the dog would know you both better, and it would help her make a better decision. Two weeks doesn’t seem that long.”

“It’s fine. Really. We shouldn’t even talk about it, because it won’t happen.”

Lydia fell silent, as did Hazel. The thought of sharing the dog with Lucas had nagged at Hazel’s mind since their walk together. The thought, however, had to be removed like a bad virus on a hard-drive. There was no way it would work out. Besides, it was likely that he didn’t want to share the dog with her. They were, after all, strangers to each other.

Chapter 6

Lucas

It was a surprisingly busy morning. Not that he minded - just meant business was going well, which was always a good thing. He placed another pot into the coffee maker and prepped the coffee filter. He tapped his foot to the song, which was one by the Beatles. He always played their music in the cafe on a set playlist. It bothered some of his employees, but they danced to the oldies but goodies too sometimes.

“You got the dark roast on?”

Lucas turned to Joe, who had the perfect name for a barista. It was also part of the reason he hired Joe, though Lucas would never admit it to him. “Yeah. Dark roast is on. How’s the soup?”

“It’s being heated on the stove as we speak in that massive pot you always force me to use. The bread is a little hard, though. I think we should order more today.”

Lucas thought of the baker and shook his head. There was no way she’d ever make the bread for his cafe like the bakery across town, even if he paid her well. It was not something he could ask, considering the situation between them.

“Got something on your mind?” Joe asked. He adjusted his glasses. “You seem a little spaced out today, dude.”

“Dude? You know my name, Joe. You can’t just go around calling your boss dude.”

“Sorry. Lucas. You’re spaced out.”

Lucas laughed to himself. He always forgot how young Joe was. Freshman in college. “It’s nothing to worry about. Just been thinking about the dog I’m going to adopt soon.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot about that,” Joe said as he patted Lucas on the back. “Trouble with the ice queen?”

“The ice queen?”

“That evil baker you were talking about.”

Lucas took a step back. “Come on, man. She’s not evil.”

“That’s not how you made it sound when you got back from the fundraiser. I mean, what was it you said?” Joe asked, looking thoughtful for a moment. “Oh yeah. There was a bitch there, but it wasn’t a dog.”

Hearing those words from the first day he met Hazel caused Lucas to cringe physically. He really had said that in frustration after their initial meeting. After getting to know Hazel, it felt incredibly wrong to hear his words said back to him.

“She happens to not be a bitch at all.”

“Catching feels?”

“Catching what now? No. Not catching anything, except the fact that you’re not working. There’s a customer.”

Joe brushed past him and turned around, bringing his hands to his chest. He mouthed the words catching feels before spinning around to face the customer at the front.

Lucas shifted the coffee pot in front of him, trying to keep those words out of his head. Joe was young. What he said wasn’t really pertinent to the situation. Lucas couldn’t help but consider what he’d said though. Was it possible? No. Lucas exhaled and made his way to the kitchen to check on the soup.

There was no way he was catching feels.

Chapter 7

Hazel

The wind swept through her hair as she stepped out of the vehicle. The square cement-colored shelter appeared so gloomy from outside. Inside, though, Hazel knew, there were over forty happy faces. She thought she heard them barking from outside, desperate to find a forever home.

She walked away from the vehicles and towards the shelter when she heard paws hitting concrete. She turned her head to see Snow as she rushed towards her. Hazel’s eyes widened and she lowered herself to the ground to welcome the big white fluff with open arms. “What are you doing out here, girl?”

“We were just about to go for a walk.”

She raised her eyes. “And what’re you doing here? Isn’t today my day?”

“I wish I could say it was another mix up,” Lucas said as he stopped before her. “But I figured we could take another walk together. Snow seems to like it more when it’s the two of us walking her than when we walk her alone. According to Aly, she got so tired from our last walk together that she passed out in her kennel. Something she apparently never does.”

“I have to admit. I’m a little surprised.”

“Then wait till you see this. Both of you stay.”

Her eyes followed him as she petted Snow, who was moving her head in a circle so that Hazel’s scritches got her everywhere. He rushed to his car with long strides and opened the Buick’s passenger door. He reached in and came out with a tray with two coffees in it. She smiled to herself, surprised that he’d brought them both coffees. Not only had he coordinated his arrival with hers, but he’d obviously put some thought into what else he could do to make things pleasant.

Butterflies formed in her stomach as she turned to Snow. “I’m going to win you, even if he’s trying to win me over. You’re coming home with me, right?”

The dog closed her mouth and tilted her head.

“Yes, you are.”

Snow’s mouth dropped open in a doggy smile and her pink tongue stuck out.

“Got us some coffees for the walk. Figured you haven’t tried our fair trade light brew yet. It’s our bestseller, so I brought you that. I have some sugar and cream in the car. I left it black, though.”

“That’s great, actually,” she said as she raised to her feet. “I usually drink it black, believe it or not.”

“Definitely thought you’d have a sweet tooth. You know,” he said as he offered her the tray, “since you’re a baker and all.”

“Thank you,” she said as she took one of the coffees out of the tray. “I like my treats sweet but my coffee bitter.”

“I can get behind that.”

“So, we’re going to walk down the path again?”

He started towards the square, grey shelter, which had a lonely blue garbage can next to the front doors. “I don’t think we can take her off the premises and drive her out somewhere, so it’s likely our only option.”

“Well, it’s a little gray out today. We can take a walk, as long as it doesn’t rain.”

He returned from throwing out the tray and took a ball out from his sweater pocket. “I did bring us something to do if you want to stay closer to the shelter. How’s your right arm?”

“It’s fine—” she lifted her hands towards her face as he threw an underhand toss towards her. It bounced off her fingers and landed in the grass, where Snow lunged forward to take a hold of it. “You could’ve warned me about that.”

“It’s always more fun when things come as a surprise.”

“Looks like we’re playing fetch today.”

“Well, it makes sense. You are pretty fetching, after all.”

“Thanks. I guess.”

He lifted his hands in the air. “I meant, like, you almost caught that ball.”

“Right, yeah,” she said as she laughed lightly. “Never was any good at baseball, though.”

“I think I might be able to help you with that.”

“Really? How so?”

“Well, we have a very willing participant here and, not to brag, but I have a pretty good right arm. She has a lot of energy, so she’ll definitely need someone who can toss a ball,” he said, smiling coyly. “And if I do lose, it’ll be you who gets to play fetch with her. Not that I’ll lose.”

“Oh, no. You will.”

“Will I now?” he asked, and stepped back towards the huge field of bright green grass. “Come on, Snow. Come on. Who wants to play fetch?”

The dog jumped up quickly and rushed forward, her paws smacking against the pavement. Lucas chased after her, both of them heading towards the field. Hazel smiled to herself, enjoying the sight of them together. If she did lose, at least she’d lose to someone worthy of adopting Snow. Someone who would treasure her.

And, most of all, be able to play fetch with her for hours on end.

Chapter 8

Lucas

It was strange. He’d never shown up like that for a girl. He gripped the steering wheel as his stomach shifted in knots on the drive home. What was it about her that caused him to act so erratically? Beyond that, he’d said something irreversibly stupid. You’re fetching? Who the hell says that?

He activated the touchscreen in his car and tapped the phone icon. He scrolled through his contacts as he drove, being sure to keep his eyes on the road. He pushed down on the name he needed and leaned back in the seat, listening to the phone ring from the speakers.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Joe. How’s everything at the cafe?”

“It’s burning down as we speak.”

Lucas scoffed, his lips forming into a thin line. “Seriously, though, how are things at the cafe?”

“Good news is that it’s been steady,” he said, the phone shifting on his end, causing a scuffling sound. “I still think we should reconsider the bread, though. It’s hard again and, like I knew would happen, someone complained.”

“Well, I might have someone for the job.”

“Oh. Are we talking about the bitchy baker?”

Lucas gripped the steering wheel harder. “Hey. Don’t call her that.”

“You started it.”

“Are we seriously going to fight over the phone? Did you forget that I’m your boss, Joe?” Lucas asked as he turned the vehicle to the right. “Remember, you can’t speak to your employers that way or you’ll never be able to hold a job.”

“Okay, sir.”

“That’s better. Is there anything else happening over there?”

“No, sir.”

“All right. I should be there in about half an hour. Keep things running until I get there.”

“Yes, sir. By the way, sir, how did your date go?”

Lucas brushed his hand through his hair. “What do you mean, date?”

“Your walk? With the baker? I mean, you seemed pretty intense about it when you left.”

“It went fine.”

“Just fine, sir?”

“Leave it alone, Joe. I’ll see you soon.”

He could hear Joe sigh on the other end. “Okay, sir. See you soon. Over and out.”

Lucas laughed to himself as the line went silent. Date? He couldn’t possibly consider it a date. It was just two people walking a dog. Yes, he had gone out of his way to get there to surprise her - but it was nothing more than that.

There was no way he was dating the baker. It was all just to get closer to Snow. Not Hazel.

Chapter 9

Hazel

The day had arrived. It was only a matter of time until she’d get to take Snow home. Her stomach filled with a mix of excitement and distress. Why was she upset? She shouldn’t be. This was a good thing. She’d win and be able to take the sweet, rambunctious Samoyed home.

She pulled into the parking lot and sighed, trying to ease her nerves. She parked the car and saw that Lucas’s car was already there. So he had a few moments with the dog beforehand. Not a big blow. She could still win.

Hazel stepped out of the car and tried to control her breathing. She imagined Snow in the back of her vehicle, barking at people as they passed. She’d already prepared her apartment, doggy proofed her garbage, and had a blanket laid out along the back seat so Snow would be comfortable on the drive back. She was ready to bring the Samoyed into her life.

She heard the barking as soon as she walked into the shelter. It was like an orchestra of dogs, with each bark only serving to raise the pitch of the crowd. She heard some howling mixed along with it all as well.

Aly and Lucas stood next to the front desk, with Snow laying down on the floor next to their feet. The dog raised her head as Hazel walked in, and it gave Hazel the renewed hope that she would take Snow home. As Snow’s tail wagged with excitement, Hazel became sure that it would happen. She’d have a dog at the end of this.

“Hey, guys.”

Aly smiled, her red lips making her teeth appear even whiter. “Hey, Hazel. Are you nervous?”

“You bet I am. But I intend on taking Snow home today.”

“We’ll see about that,” Lucas said, and turned to Aly. “Where should we do this? It seems a little loud to do it here.”

“I was thinking about the parking lot, if that works for you guys? You’ve both already filled out the applications, so you’d be able to get her into your car right after.”

“Works for me.”

“And me,” Hazel said as she ruffled the fabric of her jeans with her fingers. “Are you ready, Snow?”

The dog perked up at the sound of Hazel’s voice, which only cemented the idea that Hazel would win. She couldn’t wait. She opened the door and the dog bounded past her, excited to be out in the fresh air. “Snow! Come back.”

The dog had bounded close to the end of the parking lot but returned at being called. Running again, she made it back to them and trotted around, happy to be there.

“So I guess we’ll each take an end with the dog in the middle?”

Aly nodded. “I’ll hold her here, and then you’ll both call her. Whoever she sits with will be the person to take her, as stated in the adoption application.”

Hazel’s heart thrummed as she took a few steps back, ensuring that there was about five feet between all of them. Aly took hold of the Samoyed’s collar and held her directly in the middle of Hazel and Lucas.

Hazel felt sick as she cleared her throat. Everything over these past two weeks had led up to this moment. She couldn’t lose.

“Okay,” Aly said loudly. “One. Two. Three.”

They both called the dog, saying her name over and over again.

“Come here, Snow,” Hazel yelled, attracting the dog’s attention. “Come here, girl!”

Aly released the Samoyed's collar and the dog turned, running straight towards Hazel, who lowered herself to the dog’s level. The dog licked her cheek and brushed against her face with her thick white fur.

“Come here, Snow!” Lucas called.

Just as Hazel thought herself the winner, the dog spun around and bounded for Lucas. As she reached him, she jumped up and down against him, and it was there, to Hazel’s dismay, that the dog sat and stayed. She didn’t feel the same way as Hazel. Snow reacted strongly to Lucas and remained with him.

Hazel stared in disbelief, silent as the tears stung her eyes.

“Looks like you won,” she said, her voice wavering. “Congratulations.”

Aly turned to Hazel. “We have other dogs you can look at.”

“Maybe another time. I’m just gonna head home,” she told her. She met Lucas’ eyes. “Take good care of her.”

Lucas was about to say something when Hazel walked swiftly towards her car, trying to keep it together. The dog had chosen. Lucas had won fair and square. There was nothing more that could be done about it. She opened the driver-side door and sat in the front seat as she took one last moment to look at the dog and the handsome barista, both of whom she’d seen often in the last two weeks.

She started the car. She didn’t want to think about it, but she knew deep down what she was feeling. She’d miss both of them.

Chapter 10

Hazel

She hated these kinds of days. The world outside was grey, and everything felt like it was monotone. Even the music playing in the bakery seemed muted, as though the silence followed her around like a ghost.

Everything had lost its meaning. Even as she arranged the muffins in a perfect pyramid, she experienced an incessant feeling in her stomach. She could imagine Snow as she could have laid down behind the front display case, her nose in the air to sniff whenever Hazel would bring out fresh baked goods. She wanted to go back to the shelter to get a new dog, but it didn’t seem worth it. She’d had her heart set on Snow.

Then there was Lucas. It’d been over a week since she’d seen him, and a pit formed in her chest each time she thought of him. Why bother? He won. He was probably off walking Snow somewhere, being happy that it was just the two of them. None of it mattered.

“You all right?”

She placed the last muffin at the top of the pyramid and turned her head to see Roger leaning against the entryway to the kitchen. He was almost as tall as the doorway itself, and his apron drooped from his gut, which he’d gained since being hired over a year ago. Apparently, from what he’d said, his wife didn’t mind at all. In fact, she liked the fact he’d filled out. Hazel thought it made him seem more approachable, since he was such a tall man.

“I’m fine,” she said, nearly whispering. “I’m just thinking.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking about the dog and that guy. I feel like a loser.”

“Oh? And he was handsome, too, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Dark blond hair?”

“Mmhm.”

“The dog was white?”

“How do you know that?” she asked. She furrowed her eyebrows. “I didn’t tell you all that.”

“Isn’t that him?” he asked as he pointed towards the front of the bakery.

Hazel inhaled as her hands trembled. There was no way. She turned and heard the doorbell ring. It was him. She felt like she was in a dream. Lucas stood there with Snow. He lowered his hand to Snow’s collar and clicked off the leash, which caused the dog to run towards her. Snow nearly knocked her over as she jumped up and down.

“Oh my God,” she said, as her tears stung her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“She missed you.”

She patted Snow on the head and brought her arms around the beautiful dog in a hug. “I missed her too.”

“She’s been miserable,” Lucas said in his deep, resonant voice. “Barely smiled lately.”

Hazel clenched her teeth and turned towards Roger. “Hey. Can you give us a moment, please?”

Roger nodded and smiled as he turned and headed to the back room. Hazel turned back to Lucas and the dog. She petted Snow hard as her heart pounded in her chest from excitement. She couldn’t believe they were there. He was in her bakery. She’d thought of this moment throughout the past week but had not really thought that it would ever happen.

“Actually,” Lucas said. He brought himself down to the same level as her and Snow. “I’ve missed you too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

They were silent as he leaned forward and brought his lips to hers. Snow nuzzled between them, causing them to laugh.

“What do we do now?”

Lucas shrugged and peered down at Snow. “I guess we’ll just have to figure it out.”

Epilogue

Hazel

The sand was warm against Hazel’s feet. Lucas held the frisbee in his hand as Snow rushed towards the water, barking all the way. She couldn’t help but smile as the dog leapt in the air, letting her paws land in the water without a care.

The long drive was worth it. Hazel chuckled when she saw Snow’s pink tongue slide in and out of her mouth with her black lips pulled back. Snow looked as though she was smiling, her brown eyes glimmering as she turned to them. After all, dogs always made it seem as though they were experiencing something for the first time.

She jumped as Lucas wrapped his arm around her waist. “I think she wants us to swim.”

“It’s a little cold to swim.”

“Is it, though?”

She met his eyes. “It is. We don’t have two layers of fur.”

“You know what we do have?”

“What?”

He turned her around and brought her in closer. “We have each other. We can keep each other warm by getting close, just like this.”

“So much cheese!”

He laughed and brought his lips to the top of her head. “I love you.”

It never mattered how many times he told her throughout the day. Those three little words still caused her heart to flutter in her chest. “I love you, too.”

Snow barked behind them, and they both glanced at each other. Hazel brought her hands to cup her mouth and called to Snow, “We love you too!”

About Ashlee Price

Ashlee Price writes about savvy, sexy women and the hot, irresistible alpha billionaires who want them.

Currently, Ashlee is hard at work producing the next book series in between running a household and taking care of her family.

“Thank-you for supporting an indie author! I appreciate all my fans. Your support by way of reviews and feedback keeps me going, especially at times when I questioned my abilities. All I can do is give you my best and I promise I won’t stop doing that anytime soon!”

Click and check out Ashlee’s Complete Book List

PNR/ Fantasy Part 6

Beautiful Chaos by Donya Lynne

*USA Today Recommended Read

Two IPPYs and five eLit Awards.

Tournament of Reckoning by Allie Marie

Award-winning Author

Resistance by Felicity Brandon

Bestselling Author

The Sleeping Viking Beauty by Rachel Tsoumbakos

Married Off to the Dragon by Kayla Wolf

Fox Trap by Margo Bond Collins

USA Today, New York Times, and the Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author

Beautiful Chaos by Donya Lynne

Chapter 1

Cordray couldn’t feel the human lying next to her, but she knew he was there. With his muscular, tattooed arm pitched over her stomach, and the scent of his stale, sex-spawned sweat aerating the room like oversprayed Febreze, he was hard to miss. She could even taste his lingering orgasmic adrenaline in the air.

But feel him, she could not.

She hadn’t been able to feel shit for centuries. Not since Gideon—the only male she had ever loved—mated someone else just as her adolescent vampire body had been making its final transition into adulthood. The extreme emotional upheaval of losing the only male she’d ever been heart-over-head for had apparently caused a biological meltdown that destroyed her sense of touch, because now it took a bullet ripping into her flesh for her to feel even the slightest twinge.

The blunt instrument sleeping beside her snorted in his sleep.

What was his name again? Biff? Butch? Brainless? Who cared? She hadn’t come here to swap spit and exchange phone numbers with the guy. She had come out of necessity. She’d been in dire need of blood. And Biff had looked good enough to eat.

Too bad his brains were bad news. If the zombie apocalypse hit tomorrow, Biff had nothing to worry about. Not even a zombie would want those burned-out brains. But when you were a hungry vampire who hadn’t fed in over a week, you took the first hot meal that came along, even if it wasn’t sporting a high IQ. And since sex blood was the best blood, it was critical to choose a physically appealing specimen who looked like he knew his way around a bedroom, especially when your sense of touch was nonexistent. Because when you couldn’t feel a lick of physical pleasure, it was imperative your other senses were allowed to feast.

Sexual stimulation was the key to a good meal. All that hormonal arousal raised the body’s adrenaline and added delightfully tangy notes to the blood, turning it into a smooth merlot.

But if you wanted aged Cristal, you waited until the host was in the throes of orgasm. That was when blood tasted the best. Rich, fragrant, and laced with honeyed sweetness, orgasmic blood was like Godiva chocolate compared to that cheap shit they made hollow chocolate Easter bunnies out of.

Not even Biff the Brainless could screw that up. His blood had been beyond delicious.

She checked the digital clock on the nightstand. It was going on midnight. Her lunch break was over, and she had a meeting with King Bain—a.k.a. her half-brother—in less than an hour to discuss a new assignment. A “priority,” he had called it before pointedly telling her not to be late.

Her gaze dropped to the arm weighing her down. If she didn’t bust a move out of this deadweight’s bed in less than T-minus five minutes, late was exactly what she would be.

She gingerly plucked the man’s arm off her stomach and moved it aside, only for him to swing it back over her before she could escape, wrapping her up and tucking her body against his like she was his own personal woobie.

For Chrissakes. Couldn’t these guys just be grateful she didn’t want to stick around and cuddle?

She attempted to gently peel herself out of the man-child’s embrace again, trying not to wake him.

No such luck.

His eyelids cracked open. “Hey, baby…” He stretched and offered a sleepy smile that he probably thought passed for sexy. “Where are you going?” He spoke with a drowsy drawl, but with enough suggestive undertones that it was obvious he was looking for an encore of the one-sided bump-and-grind they’d finished fifteen minutes ago before he fell into a sex coma.

She squirmed free of his grip. “I need to be somewhere.”

He chuckled seductively as he snatched her arm and yanked her back, rolling on top of her. “Yeah, right here, baby.” He wriggled his hips in an effort to part her legs, but she cemented her thighs together.

“Somewhere else,” she said more firmly. She pushed against his chest, but he resisted.

She didn’t have time for this shit. Tossing him aside like a used Kleenex would be easy enough, but she didn’t want to have to hurt the guy unless she was forced to. She might want to tap that vein in his neck again someday.

Using the tip of his finger, he traced the outline of a purple iris tattoo that extended down the front of her shoulder to the upper swell of her breast. Then he bent down and lapped his tongue over her nipple. His effort was wasted on her since she couldn’t feel it.

“Baby, you know you want this.”

Had he just called her baby three times in less than thirty seconds?

“Look, I really need to—”

“Come on, gorgeous, don’t be a bitch-tease.”

Cue needle-scratching-record.

Being called gorgeous wasn’t so bad, but “bitch-tease”? Bitch, please. Even if she had been a willing receptacle for another go-round with his penis, being called anything with “bitch” in it would have promptly murdered the idea.

Patience, meet dead end.

With the ease and swiftness of a gorilla tossing around a stuffed animal, Cordray cranked back Brainless’s arm, flipped him onto his back, and leaped on top of him. Slamming his fist against the wall, she crouched, revealed her fangs, and hissed with the fury of a coiled cobra.

His eyes popped open like he’d seen Death.

Now she had his attention. And—sniff—was that urine? Seriously? She glanced down. Piss burbled from the tip of Biff’s penis like a tiny fountain before dribbling off his stomach and pooling in the folds of the rumpled sheets.

Forcing back her amusement, she returned her gaze to his petrified stare. “I don’t think you heard me, Biff. I’ve got somewhere I need to be.” She gave his cheek a pair of not-so-gentle pats. “But thanks for the blood.” She flashed her fangs, winked, then hopped off the bed and began plucking her clothes from the floor.

He slapped his palm against the side of his neck, searching for punctures. He wouldn’t find any. They’d already healed. And of course, he didn’t remember being bitten. He’d been too busy having an orgasm to notice, and the dose of venom she’d injected just as her fangs pierced his skin had numbed the pain and scattered his reality enough for him to remain oblivious while she took her fill.

She grinned and bobbed her eyebrows knowingly as she dropped onto a nearby chair and sorted her clothes.

Biff remained frozen to the mattress, staring at her like she was the devil as she yanked on her black lace panties and bra, skintight leather pants, gray-and-black camouflage tee, and black knee-high combat boots.

With a smattering of tarnished silver rings, studded leather wrist cuffs, a nose ring, and a chain-link choker around her neck, she was the picture of modern goth.

She stood, pulled on her leather duster, flipped her ass-length black-and-blue braids over the collar, then gripped Brainless’s mind with hers. Within seconds, she stripped all memory of her from his gray matter and planted an alternative narrative for what had gone down over the past hour.

“It’s been fun, Biff.” She strolled to the door, gave him one last glance, then stepped out into the hall. “But not that fun.” The door latched behind her.

She might look Biff up again in the future, though. He had vintage blood worthy of bottling, and he’d been an energetic lover. Physical. Aggressive. Rough. He had thrown her around and abused her flesh quite nicely. Cordray liked that in a man. On extremely rare occasions, the really physical ones gave her what she called a mental orgasm, which she had figured out occurred when her body released without her being able to feel it. Mental orgasms were as close as she got to feeling pleasure, so she tended to hang on to lovers who might be able to work one out of her.

Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time, though, she had to live vicariously through the orgasms of others, and Biff looked like living art when he came. That alone made him worth tapping again. That and the hope that he might be able to give her a mental O someday.

Just as long as he didn’t get too clingy. All that “baby this” and “baby that” tonight had pissed her off. Cordray was not and never would be anyone’s baby. The guy gave good blood, but that’s where it stopped. That’s where it always stopped. After barely surviving what Gideon had done to her, she didn’t need the complication that followed love around like the grim reaper.

But, hey, when life hands you lemons, you throw them as hard as you can against the nearest brick wall and watch the damn things spray lemon shrapnel everywhere. Screw making lemonade.

Cordray wasn’t one to feel sorry for herself or quote sweet-and-sappy affirmations. Taking action was her coping mechanism, so she had turned her heartbreak—and the curse that had come with it—to her advantage, becoming King Bain’s best bounty hunter and deadliest assassin.

She’d been shot and stabbed so many times she could fill Lake Michigan with the amount of blood she’d lost, and was there even a bone left in her body that hadn’t been broken at least twice? But—like the Energizer Bunny—she just kept going, able to continue fighting when others would have succumbed to the agony.

That was the gift of not being able to feel pain.

But the burden of her profession—and her inability to feel touch—made for a lonely life. Or maybe it was more accurate to say it forced her into an existence where she was better off alone. Cordray didn’t mind being alone. In fact, she preferred that over the alternative. She would rather be alone and alive than risk going through the TNT of heartbreak two-point-oh by falling in love again. If that happened and she got dumped a second time, she might not come out alive.

Cordray was nothing if not a survivor, so screw love and romance. It had never brought her anything but pain. All she needed was a hot vein when she was hungry and the occasional bar brawl to give her something to do with her hands. Everything else could suck it.

Chapter 2

“Cordray.” Bain’s chief of security warily greeted her with a disgusted sneer.

She pasted on an overly sweet smile. “Donovan.”

There was no love lost between her and Donovan. He thought of her as an unnecessary intrusion who garnered too much unwarranted face time with the king, and she considered him far too inept to be Bain’s head of security. She’d had to clean up more than a few of his messes and wondered why Bain hadn’t already pink-slipped him. But, hey, at least his continued employment gave her job security.

“I’m here to see Bain.” She started down the main hall of the royal mansion like she owned the place.

“You are to address His Majesty as King Bain.” Donovan rushed after her as if she required an escort to Bain’s private study.

“I’ll pass.” She pushed on, her pace steady and confident, causing the hem of her leather duster to billow around her like a cape.

He grumbled under his breath about insubordination being grounds for imprisonment.

“Good luck with that,” she quipped.

She and Bain worked hard to keep their sibling relationship a secret, with good reason, but calling him King Bain sat like acid on her tongue. To her, he was simply Bain, her half-brother, not the ruler of the vampire race.

But she should really try harder to use his official title, if only to keep up appearances. If word got out that Bain’s father had sired a daughter with a human, it would taint the whole bloodline and risk fracturing the vampire community’s loyalty to Bain’s leadership. And since adversaries were never in short supply, even among vampires, she and Bain didn’t need to make it any easier for them to turn on one another over something that shouldn’t even be a thing.

That said, she enjoyed dropping his royal title around other people. It unnerved and intimidated them, which fit right in with her desire to keep people at arm’s length, as did her severe appearance and piss-off attitude.

And it worked. To everyone but Bain, she was the local freak show. Someone to cross the street to get away from. People stared at her, whispered their disapproval behind her back, and avoided making eye contact with her as if she were Medusa and could turn them to stone with one glance.

Good. Let them think the worst about her. It kept them away. People who got too close could hurt you. Maybe not physically, but mentally and emotionally. Cordray had already had enough of that kind of pain to last her a millennium.

“I don’t need an escort, Donny,” she said as Donovan led her down the back hall toward Bain’s study. “I know the way.”

He ignored her, his resentment palpable. He thought the jobs Bain gave her should have gone to him and his team instead. But talk about blunt instruments. Donovan was a buzz saw that made too much noise and left too many blood-stained witnesses. Bain needed a scalpel that moved with silent precision, getting in and out without drawing attention. Not exactly Donny’s specialty.

They reached Bain’s office, and Cordray brushed past her escort before he could knock, unceremoniously opening the door and strolling inside.

Bain looked up from behind the massive cherry-brown desk on the far side of the vast, meticulously decorated space.

Donovan practically leaped inside the room. “Sire, I’m sorry for the interruption. I tried to stop—”

Bain held up his hand. “It’s fine, Donovan, I’ll take it from here.”

She and Donovan exchanged bitter glances, then he stepped back and cleared his throat as he directed his attention to her brother. “Of course, sire. I’ll be right outside if you need—”

“You’re dismissed, Donovan,” Bain said impatiently, standing. His towering muscular frame was as imposing as a bull’s, accented by long black hair that hung at least three feet past his shoulders. “I can handle Cordray without a chaperone.”

Bain knew of the simmering feud between her and Donovan and had grown increasingly frustrated with it.

As Donovan’s face shaded pink, he tossed a contentious glance toward Cordray, then turned and quietly stormed out, barely refraining from slamming the door.

Cordray dropped onto the plush leather chair in front of Bain’s desk and kicked her feet up on the polished surface, crossing them at the ankles.

“Why do you insist on antagonizing him?” Bain asked, sitting back down. The leather of his thronelike chair crackled as it accepted his weight.

“Because he’s completely inadequate for the job you’ve given him.”

“You think everyone is inadequate for that job.” His piercing blue eyes met hers. “Maybe I should just give it to you.”

“Not interested.”

“Then stop busting Donovan’s balls.”

She sprawled back in the chair and glanced up at the ceiling as she nonchalantly crossed her hands over her stomach. “I’ll think about it.”

It was the same conversation they’d had so many times it had become a standing joke.

Right on cue, Bain grinned, then chuckled as he leaned forward and laced his fingers together on the desk. “What am I going to do with you?”

“What you always do. Give me the hardest, most dangerous, and most sensitive jobs on your docket, because you know you can trust me to get them done as quietly and quickly as possible.”

Bain studied her in the brief silence that followed. “You could be doing so much more, Cordray.”

“I like the work I do. I’m good at it.”

“You are, but your talents could make you a valuable negotiator in my court.”

Her talents. He was referring to her ability to worm her way into other vampires’ thoughts without them being able to detect her mental presence.

She examined her long black-lacquered fingernails. “My talents are more valuable to you in the streets.”

Bain had tried to talk her into joining his council before, but the work was too boring and required too much political glad-handing for her tastes. She knew why he wanted her there. Rumors had surfaced that someone was mounting a coup against him. If she were to bring her mind-cracking talents to his council, she could easily pinpoint anyone in his circle who might be involved.

But that was no way to run a kingdom. Placing her on the council could backfire and enable those who were already disloyal to infect even more with their treason.

This was one time her brother would have to rely on his own cunning and superior political prowess to weed out conspirators.

“So, what’s this priority job you’ve got for me?” she asked, pointedly changing the subject.

Bain straightened, his demeanor morphing from casual family chatter to all business in an instant. “Micah Black.”

Cordray blinked. “Micah Black?” What kind of priority assignment was this?

“He’s an enfor—”

“I know who he is.”

Who didn’t?

Cordray’s path had never crossed Micah’s, but his reputation was legendary. Not only was he the most lethal enforcer in Bain’s employ, but he had a past that sent shockwaves through the hearts of every male of the vampire race.

After losing his mate eons ago, Micah had fallen heavily into the suffering, as males usually did after their mates died. Many males didn’t survive the suffering, and those who did often became shells of their former selves until they were killed, offed themselves, or took another mate.

Micah was one of the unlucky ones who had survived the suffering’s soul-crushing torment, but at a price. He had become a loose cannon, impossible to control, with little regard for his own life. As an enforcer, he was all but rogue, going out night after night, searching for someone to hurt… or someone who would hurt him. It was like the guy had a death wish but didn’t have the balls to pull the trigger himself. Cordray was shocked he hadn’t gotten himself killed by now, but somehow, his heart kept on beating.

Honestly, Cordray had always thought of Micah as kind of an asshole. There was a little bit too much drama queen in that one for her taste.

“What about him?” she asked, curious as to how Micah had become a “priority” and exactly what Bain expected her to do about it.

“He’s taken a turn for the worst.”

“So?” Plenty of males had succumbed to the suffering. What made Micah so special that he’d landed on Bain’s radar?

“I want you to watch him. Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself, or worse.”

She groaned and laid her head back. “Ah, Jesus, Bain. Seriously?”

“This is important, Cordray.”

“I’m not a babysitter.” She lifted her head and looked at Bain, slightly taken aback at the gravity in his expression.

Bain shook his head. “This is one time I won’t broach any argument from you, C. You will do this job, and you will ensure Micah stays alive, whatever it takes. This is your top priority. I don’t want you working on anything else.”

She reared back. “Why the urgency? Why now?”

“From what I’ve been told, Micah took another mate.”

“Shouldn’t that be a good thing?”

If Micah had taken another mate, what the hell was the problem? The guy should have been balls deep inside the warm confines of the lucky bitch, enjoying the good life, no suffering in sight.

“It would be if the other male had mated him back.”

She arched one eyebrow and held up her hand. “Wait a sec. Male? Are you telling me that Micah mated another male?”

She’d heard that Micah had become more gender fluid, but she never would have imagined him taking a male mate, especially since his first mate had been female.

Bain released an irritated sigh. “He might have mated another male. That part’s unclear. Apparently the other guy—I guess his name is Jackson—didn’t form a mating bond back.” Bain scrubbed his large palm distractedly over the scruff on his cheeks. “Which makes me question whether it was a real mating or a hormonal misfire.”

None of this made sense.

“Hold up.” She dropped her feet to the floor and scooted to the edge of her chair. “Whether Micah really has taken another mate or only thinks he has, shouldn’t he be happy?” Wasn’t that how mating worked for a male? That’s certainly how it had worked for Gideon, the male who’d left her at the proverbial altar. She’d become nothing more than a faded memory the moment his biology fired up for that other wench instead of her.

A grim expression fell over Bain’s face. “Jackson split on him.”

Cordray’s whole body sank. “Oh, shit.”

“Exactly,” Bain said. “Now you know why I’m concerned.”

Micah was a male who’d already lost one mate and had now lost another, whether the mating was real or only imagined. But if it had been real, Jackson should have mated him back. That’s how same-sex matings usually worked. Sure, there were exceptions, but they were rare. Which meant the odds were that Micah’s biology had blown it on this one, or the suffering had given him false hope with Jackson. Either way, this wasn’t good.

“I need you to keep his ass alive until I can figure this shit out,” Bain said, pinching the bridge of his nose before dropping his hand to the desk. “And you have to do it without him knowing you’re following him.”

She rocked back and threw her arms up in the air. “Well, gee, Bain, why don’t you just hog-tie me and throw me into a den of starving wolves?”

“Cordray—”

She ratcheted forward again. “I can keep him from knowing I’m following him if I have to, but how the hell do you expect me to pull this off without either of us killing the other?” She was less than thrilled with this bullshit assignment. “How do you expect me to keep him alive if dying is all he wants? Or if he turns mutant?”

Her brother knew that a male locked in the shackles of suffering was more powerful than a T. rex on steroids. His agony alone could turn him mutant. Cordray could stop a tank, but tanks were easy compared to a mutant vampire. She would have to empty her Glock’s clip into him just to subdue him, because her fists wouldn’t be enough. Hell, a dozen bullets might not even be enough if he went mutant.

Bain glanced at the tome locked within a Plexiglas case beside the Victorian couch in the middle of the room. The mammoth book contained the historical records of their family.

His gaze returned to hers a moment later. “I don’t care how you do it, C, but losing Micah isn’t an option.”

Not an option, huh? Great.

Of all the assignments Bain had given her, Cordray had never thought failure was a real possibility.

Until now.

Chapter 3

With the impossible assignment from hell mounted on her shoulders, and an endless, frustrated grumble growling from her throat, Cordray left Bain’s mansion and set out to find her quarry.

Upon scouting Micah’s home in the suburbs, it was clear he hadn’t been there in weeks.

After picking up the barest hint of a trail, she tracked him to the Sentinel in downtown Chicago. The Sentinel was a high-rise apartment building in the heart of the city. Micah’s scent was stronger there, and even more powerful around the eighteenth floor, where he clearly owned a penthouse apartment. A secret penthouse apartment. Because the address wasn’t listed in his personnel file.

Micah wasn’t there, either, but given the intensity of his misery-laden, suicidal odor, he had been there within the last few hours.

Perhaps Bain had reason to worry about Micah. He certainly carried the smell of someone looking to vacate his soul from his body. Tonight, if he could manage it.

Following this more robust trail, she caught up to Micah in a parking garage outside the Black Garter.

The Garter was a local spank-bait establishment for a higher-end clientele who preferred fashionable digs and classier strippers to the strung-out trailer trash who performed in Chicago’s seedier titty bars.

These were “gentlemen” with deep pockets, who wanted to keep their patronage as quiet as possible and tipped well to keep it that way. And since the Garter’s security was top-notch, plenty of famous figures spent their time and money there. Senators, congressmen—and women—and celebrities of all flavors could be found haunting the shadows inside the Garter any day of the week.

But it wasn’t just humans who frequented the Garter. Vampires spent plenty of time there too. It was a good place to find blood donors. In fact, it wasn’t uncommon to find vampires trolling all the strip clubs in the city. They were good places to scent out tasty blood, given the heightened state of arousal of the clientele. It was like being served a sampler platter. Try before you buy.

Cordray had seen Micah at the Garter a few times, but he’d never noticed her. He’d been too enthralled with the stage show to detect her slinking around in search of a meal.

But the Garter’s riveting strip shows weren’t on Micah’s mind right now. His being here appeared to be purely coincidence because he was currently taking the beating of his life—or the end of it—at the hands of five drecks.

Drecks. Mortal enemies to the vampire race. Drecks were shifters who loved nothing more than killing vampires, and from the way Micah wasn’t even trying to defend himself, he had used that knowledge to bring about his own demise.

Merry belated Christmas to her, because as much as drecks enjoyed slicing open vampires, she enjoyed ripping them apart. This was one gift—or five—she would enjoy unwrapping… by tearing off their skin.

She was just about to hop into the fray and mop up Micah’s assailants with their own blue blood when a blond spitfire who resembled the Garter’s star dancer leaped from behind the far wall, gun raised.

“Hey!” the blonde yelled. “Get away from him!”

The drecks stopped pummeling Micah’s face and snapped around to take in their feisty intrusion. Even Cordray froze at the woman’s commanding tone. This bitch had massive balls to face down five drecks who were partially shifted into their blue state. They had to look like a five-man posse of aliens to little Blondie with her teensy-weensy gun.

Movement in the distance, upwind from her, caught her eye. There, in the shadows behind the blonde, was another vampire. A male. He was wearing a skullcap. Cordray could feel his power all the way from where she was perched on a rooftop across the street from the garage.

But shadow boy wasn’t the only extra onlooker at this party. Crouching on the rooftop of the hardware store below her was another male.

Looked like The Micah Show had an audience.

She sniffed the air, then grimaced and wrinkled her nose.

No way. She had to be mistaken.

She inhaled again, more carefully this time, hauling in a sickening whiff of… lycan? The male on top of the hardware store was a lycan?

What the hell was a lycan doing in Chicago? This was vampire territory. Just by being there, this asshole was violating the treaty Bain had set up ages ago with Memnon and Rameses, the ancient brothers who led the lycan race.

The treaty designated the eastern half of the country as vampire territory and the western half for the lycans. To enter the other race’s territory, you had to petition the leadership first. Since Bain hadn’t mentioned anything about lycans prowling around Chicago, this wild dog was in violation of the treaty.

That gave Cordray permission to kick his ass first and ask questions later.

With Micah temporarily out of danger as the blonde spitfire held the drecks at bay, Cordray made a judgment call to pay their lycan intruder a visit.

Focusing on her new prey, she stepped off the ledge of the roof just as Blondie got trigger happy.

BANG!

Cordray saw the bullet slicing through the air toward her a split second before it blew a hole in her chest. The impact pitched her backward in midair, somersaulting her ass-over-head, until she slammed into the brick wall behind her.

“Oof!”

She didn’t have to feel the pain to absorb the shock of the collision, or to know she was in serious trouble.

Dropping ingloriously to the roof of the hardware store, she crumpled in on herself as her vision blurred, then faded out and back in. A moment later, she fell to the side and blinked drowsily up at the few stars that broke through the bright lights of the city. It was hard to breathe, like her lung had a big-ass hole in it.

Well, great, this was inconvenient.

Footsteps raced toward her, then a shadowy silhouette knelt beside her as the scent of male lycan invaded her nostrils, along with the scent of blood. Her blood. A lot of her blood.

She couldn’t see the lycan’s face, backlit as it was, but she sensed the pressure of his hands palpating her body. A moment later, he threw her coat open.

“Shit.” He rocked back on his haunches.

And how about that, he had a nice voice. Deep. Dark. Smooth. The kind of voice that made her sense of hearing perk up.

The bullet’s handiwork must have been a thing of beauty for him to react that way, though. Maybe Blondie had blown open her aorta along with her lung.

And based on the scrambled eggs inside her head, along with her pirouetting vision, she had a nasty concussion.

Cordray managed to find her voice, even though it whispered out of her on a drunken slur. “You’re violating—”

The lycan’s hand clamped over her mouth. “Ssshh!”

She willed her arms to throw him off, but they remained planted on the rooftop, refusing to budge. Unlike her fiery ego that was demanding her to kick this lycan’s ass, her arms seemed to understand that she’d been severely injured and needed to recover before trying to move.

The lycan cursed quietly again, then paused and looked over his shoulder as another shot rang out and one of the drecks released a shriek that would scare a banshee. Looked like the bastard had gotten a taste of Blondie’s firepower too. Good for her.

The lycan paused, glanced back down at her, then looked back toward the action, appearing to debate whether to leave her there or help her.

Meanwhile, the scent of her blood grew stronger. She was losing all the delicious life force Biff had given her earlier. Damn. And she’d so been looking forward to a few days without needing to hunt down another meal.

“Goddamn it,” the lycan quietly bit out, turning back to her with a frustrated sigh that indicated he’d decided to choose door number two and help her, as if she were a damsel in distress.

Like hell. She was no damsel and didn’t need help, especially from a lycan. She tried to tell him so, but all that came out of her mouth was a gurgling, unintelligible string of syllables as she tasted her own blood.

“Save your strength, sweetheart.” He hefted her into his arms as if she weighed no more than a Q-tip.

With her vision winking in and out, and her independent, I-can-take-care-of-myself ego taking a major blow, she sensed herself being cradled against his very solid, surprisingly sturdy body.

And whaddya know, up close, he didn’t smell half bad. In fact, he smelled pretty damn appetizing.

Blackness encroached from all sides as she inhaled weakly, her head rolling on the steely mound of his biceps until her nose was tucked against his shoulder.

Her mouth watered from his scent. She wasn’t so out of it that she couldn’t recognize good blood when she smelled it, and this lycan’s blood would taste heavenly flowing down her throat, even without the added spice of arousal.

Which was insane, because mixing lycans with vampires was like mixing milk with grapefruit juice. Just… ew. And yet… all she wanted was to sink her fangs into the side of his neck and suck on him for the next twelve hours.

And with that thought hanging inside her head like a lit match over spilled gasoline, she passed out.

Chapter 4

Cordray woke to the morning sun beaming onto her face like a ray of light from God’s hand. Good thing she was a mixed blood; otherwise, she would have had quite the sunburn.

Squinting and shielding her eyes, she winced and tried to sit up.

Yeah, that was a no-go. Weakness pulled at her limbs. She’d lost enough blood that she needed serious downtime for her body to regenerate. And she needed blood ASAP.

Lifting her arm so she could check the damage Blondie’s trigger finger had done, she blinked in confusion at the pale-pink man’s dress shirt she was wearing instead of her own clothes. The unbuttoned cuff trailed off the tips of her fingers by at least six inches.

Lifting one side of the open collar, she peered at where she’d been shot. A thick white bandage had been taped over the hole in her chest, but her leaking blood had seeped through, creating a dark-red stain.

A voice as subtly turbulent as Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks came from the hallway outside the room. “Quit busting my ass. I’ve got everything under control.”

With newfound alertness, she took in her surroundings. The Alaskan king she was lying on could easily fit eight, and the lycan-scented sheets layered on top of her were of the finest woven cotton.

While the smell of male lycan flooded the room from floor to ceiling and coated every surface, including the blasphemously pink shirt some idiot had dressed her in, the furnishings were sparse. A sleek gray dresser, a single nightstand on the side of the bed nearest the door, and a large, plush easy chair the color of storm clouds in the corner next to a small table. A tall, unlit lamp with a white lampshade sat behind it.

But it was the view from the wall of windows that stopped her cold. That was not Chicago’s skyline.

Movement in the hall outside the open bedroom door snagged her attention, and she rolled her head to the side as her lycan host stepped into the doorway, phone to his ear, and met her gaze.

“I’ll call you back.” He disconnected in a way that made her think he’d just hung up on whoever he’d been talking to. “Good morning,” he said to her.

“What is this shit?” she asked, grabbing a fistful of pink shirt.

He frowned as if he didn’t understand the question.

Maybe she needed to use only single syllable words for this grunt. “Where’s my shirt, dog boy?”

“I had to cut it off of you.”

Great. Another one of her favorite shirts ruined.

“And my bra?” She arched her brow as if daring him to lie.

One side of his mouth lifted in amusement as he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “I had to cut that off you too. I hated to—” His phone blared George Thorogood’s “Bad to the Bone.” He glanced at the screen, then silenced the call, probably by sending it to voicemail, and tossed the phone onto his dresser. “As I was saying, I hated to ruin such a fine piece of lingerie, but it was in my way.” He bobbed his chin toward her body. “Nice ink, by the way.”

If he thought pouring on fake charm and appreciation for her tattoos was going to soften her up, he was sorely mistaken.

Through sheer force of will, she pulled herself upright, even as her body tried to drag her back down. The room went a bit topsy-turvy, and she weaved forward and back as her vision blurred. Yep, definitely a concussion. One that wasn’t healing as fast as it should, because she’d lost too much blood.

He hurried forward, one arm extended. “Whoa, hold up. You were injured pretty badly and lost a lot of bl—”

“Get your paws off me, lycan,” she snapped, her words slurring ever so slightly.

She’d been badly injured before and had managed to survive without anyone helping her, and the last thing she needed right now was a lycan trying to play superior.

He took a step back and cocked his head, his dark gray eyes narrowing. “So that’s how we’re going to play it?”

“Play what?” She tried to extract herself from the ocean of sheets, only to tangle herself up even more.

He gestured from him to her. “Me helping you and saving your life.”

“You didn’t save my life, and I don’t need your help.” Her fight with the sheets continued, her foot getting trapped in a pocket of twisted fabric.

“Clearly.” He folded his arms and watched her with the kind of patience a mother shows a toddler throwing a fit, knowing that all she had to do was wait for the temper tantrum to end for her tiny biological explosive to come to its senses.

She stopped wrestling with the sheets and barked, “What are you looking at?”

He huffed out a quiet laugh and uncrossed his arms. “Beautiful chaos. Beautiful, feisty chaos.”

She reared back. Beautiful? Dog boy thought she was beautiful?

“And my name is Xander”—he didn’t bother to extend his hand in greeting—“not lycan or dog boy or Scooby, Snoopy, Fido, Scruffy—”

“Scruffy’s not so bad.” She eyed the dark, well-groomed stubble on his cheeks and chin.

There was that smirky smile again.

He ran his fingers over his whiskers, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Hm, Xander wasn’t half bad on the eyes.

Dark hair, dark eyes. Tall. Really tall. Maybe even taller than her brother. And muscles everywhere. Not thick, meathead, shot-glass muscles. More like long, elegant, brandy-snifter muscles. The kind that looked better in a tailored suit than in jeans and a T-shirt.

In other words, not at all Cordray’s type.

Until now.

“So, what’s your name?” he asked. “Or should I just call you Chaos?” He sat on the edge of the bed.

She defiantly raised her chin and avoided the question, taking back control of the situation. “Why am I in New York?” That view from the window was clearly the Big Apple.

“I live here.”

“In vampire territory.” It was more of an accusation than a question.

He shrugged. “I keep a low profile.”

“Is that why you showed up in Chicago? King Bain’s backyard? You were keeping a ‘low profile’?” She could understand how he got away with living in New York undetected, because there wasn’t a strong vampire presence here, but Chicago was a completely different sitch. That was vampire home base. The streets were flooded with bloodsuckers.

“I was just following up on a lead, that’s all,” he said, unbuttoning the cuff of his charcoal gray dress shirt.

Was gray his favorite color? Or was he simply trying to color coordinate with his eyes? His very hypnotic, come-hither eyes.

“What kind of lead?”

He shrugged off her question and gave a small shake of his head. “Nothing that concerns you.” He began rolling up his sleeve. “It doesn’t matter anyway. You showed up before I could get anything and changed the course of my night, so here we are.” He folded the fabric over itself and tucked it against his naturally tan skin. “You need blood. It’s why you’re not healing.”

Nicely done. She’d never seen anyone change the subject with such smooth indifference before.

“Don’t presume to know what I need.” She tried to look away from the glorious veins pulsing just beneath the surface of his skin as if they did nothing for her, but her fangs were already distending.

He cocked his head. “I think we’re beyond false pretenses, don’t you?”

She licked her lips, staring at the pristine expanse of flesh he’d offered her.

Lycan blood. She should have been disgusted at the prospect, but his O-negative smelled so good, and he was so incredibly easy on the eyes. And he didn’t cower away from her like everyone else. She was used to people rushing in the opposite direction when they saw her. To have someone stand their ground against her brazen coarseness was a refreshing change—and a bit of a turn-on.

Rubbing her lips together, she scooted closer, trying not to appear too eager to get at the flow in those veins.

“This doesn’t mean we’re engaged or anything,” she said.

He licked his own lips, watching her intently. Too intently. “Of course not.”

“I just need the blood.” Yeah, blood. That was all this was about.

“You do.” His chest rose and fell heavily as she took his hand.

“So I can heal,” she added, watching the pulse throb in his carotid artery.

He appeared to be holding his breath.

She slowly lifted his wrist. As she did, she heard his robust heartbeat deepen and pick up tempo, as well as his lungs expand more fully as air rushed into them and his breathing intensified. There was no fear, only anticipation.

Unsure what to make of his response, she hesitated. “Just to reiterate, this doesn’t mean we’re mated. Let’s get that straight.”

The way he was looking at her as if he were only a twitch away from morphing into his lycan form unnerved her. His features already appeared more feral. Wild. Animal-like.

“Lycans aren’t allowed to mate vampires,” he said, his voice deeper than before. He’d been staring at her fangs with the fierce concentration of a velociraptor locking in on its prey, but now slid his gaze up to hers. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do other things.”

“Other things?” She tried to pretend she didn’t know what he was referring to, but who was she kidding?

“I know how it works, Chaos,” he said with a smirk, shifting closer. “I know that blood tastes better during sex.” The gleam in his eyes made it clear he was exceptionally well versed in the ways of vampire feedings.

The lightbulb flashed on over her head like a solar flare.

“Ooohh, you’re one of those.”

He gnawed his bottom lip, inching closer. “One of what?”

She held her ground. “You’ve got a hard-on for vampires.” She’d seen this before in humans. But a lycan? “Isn’t it against lycan law to have sex with a vampire?”

He pulled his arm from her gentle grasp and raised his exposed wrist toward her mouth, tempting her to take a taste. “I can’t mate a vampire, but there’s no law that says I can’t fuck one. Or feed one.” He began unbuttoning his shirt with his free hand. “The only question, Chaos, is whether you want it straight up”—he lifted his wrist higher—“or on the rocks.” He finished unbuttoning his shirt and parted the fabric, revealing his impressive body.

His pecs flexed under her gaze, and the corded muscles of his abdomen twitched as if preparing to wolf-out. Coarse hair covered his chest, and as she stared in awe at the raw power rippling through him, finer, more delicate hair sprouted on his stomach.

Xander was a visual feast.

“Maybe I’m too weak to have sex,” she said coquettishly, glancing down at where he’d obviously patched her up.

“I’ll be gentle.”

God, that cockeyed smile was going to do her in. If she didn’t wipe it off his face with her fist, she’d lick it off and enjoy every moment of it.

She drew in a hardy inhale, letting the scent of savory blood, dangerous lycan, and aroused male come together like a velvety vichyssoise.

Using what little strength she had left, she grabbed the two sides of his shirt, spun him, and tossed him onto his back before pulling herself on top of him and straddling his hips.

“Gentle is for wimps, Xander.” With her lips barely an inch from his and her palms digging into the mattress over his head, she whipped her tongue over the seam of his mouth.

With a sharp intake of breath, his lips parted, inviting her to kiss him, but she pulled away. His pupils dilated until his eyes appeared black, and a growl rumbled deep within his throat.

His hands shot up with lightning speed, grabbed her under the arms, then whirled her onto her back. He was on top of her before she could blink.

Faint but smoldering luminescence radiated from his savage gaze, his features sharper and more pronounced. “On the rocks it is, Chaos.”

Chapter 5

Xander’s blood was incredible. Strong. Invigorating. Potent. After just one feeding, both the destruction in her chest and her concussion had completely healed.

Now, twelve hours later, that disgustingly pink shirt lay on the floor, sans all but two buttons, shredded. Xander had ruined the damn thing when he’d ripped it off her during some of the best sex of her life.

Three rounds of it.

Three rambunctious, energetic, vocal, and—at times—somewhat violent rounds of bed-wrecking sex that had revved her engine in ways she’d never experienced.

Mental orgasm? Oh yeah, she’d had one… during round three when he had partially transitioned into his lycan form while taking her from behind. Her face had been mashed against the mattress when he’d fisted her hair, cranked back her entire body, then thrust her face-first against the carved headboard with enough force to rattle her bones.

And then—POW—the mental release shuddered her mind and filled her body with that oddly numb but euphoric sensation she hadn’t felt in over a decade. Every cell had vibrated, trembling deep inside her like an internal earthquake, making her arms and legs quiver uncontrollably.

When Xander shoved her hair aside a moment later and gripped her by the nape of the neck with his fangs, letting the tips sink into her flesh, it happened again.

A first for her. She’d never had two mental orgasms back-to-back like that. But Xander had an uncanny ability to remind her body how the physical act of sex was supposed to work, making the right biological response blaze through her despite her handicap.

She almost smiled as she gazed at the disheveled bed, then forced it back down. There was no sense reminiscing when she had to leave.

Xander strolled to where she stood near the sliding door that led to the balcony. He was shirtless, wearing a pair of black nylon gym shorts low on his hips. That delectable V of muscle on either side of his tapered waist pointed toward the prize that had given her such pleasure. Clumps of his sex-tousled hair stood out in every direction, but instead of making him look messy or tired, it made him sexier.

Snaking his arm around her waist, he hauled her up against him.

She placed her palms on his chest, letting her fingers slide into all that glorious fur. Vampires didn’t have a lot of body hair, and most human males didn’t have as much chest hair as Xander, so like everything else about him, it was a surprisingly intriguing novelty. One that turned her on.

“Thanks for scratching my itch,” he said, smiling out one side of his mouth before running his teeth over his bottom lip as he gave her face and breasts a sultry once-over.

“Oh, is that what today was?” She tilted her head. “Me scratching your itch?”

“What would you call it?”

“You scratching mine.”

His head fell back as he chuckled, then he met her gaze again. “I like you, Chaos. You’re my kind of female.”

She wasn’t used to receiving compliments, and before she could stop herself, she pushed against his chest and leaned away.

He frowned, tightening his hold on her before she could escape. “What’s the matter?”

She averted her gaze and looked out the window. A faint line of burnished sunlight lingered on the western horizon. “Look. You fed me. We fucked. It was good. Let’s leave it at that.”

His arm cinched her waist, pressing her hips against his and drawing her attention back to their undeniable chemistry. “What if I don’t want to leave it at that?”

Her gaze whipped around to his, drilling a silent warning into his eyes. “Get over it.”

Sure, the sex had been incredible, but she would not make sleeping with him a habit. She needed to make sure he got a grip on that reality right now.

His brow scrunched over his nose. “Get over it?”

“I’m a one-and-done kinda girl, Scruffy.” She flicked her fingernail over the thick stubble along his jaw. “I don’t double-dip once I’ve had a taste.” It wasn’t true, but how would he know?

“I can just show up in Chicago again. I can find you.” He dragged in a slow, seductive sniff as if he were committing her scent to memory, proving that her natural perfume was all he needed to hunt her down anytime he wanted.

“I won’t be so nice to you if you show up in Chicago again.” She curled her fingers around all that fur on his pecs, wishing like hell she could feel it. “I’ll make you regret it.”

His other arm joined the first, snaking around the small of her back. “Mmm, that sounds like a date, Chaos.”

She easily could have freed herself and dematerialized before he could stop her, but she remained locked where she was, pressed against a lycan who she should have loathed, but having too good a time to feel anything but thrilled.

But, seriously, even if she wanted to see Xander again, how could it work? Her brother was exceptionally forgiving where she was concerned, but this? Bain would never let her get away with feeding from and screwing a lycan.

“Look, Xander,” she said, easing away from him, “as fun as this was, it can’t happen again.”

“Sure it can.”

“No, it can’t. King Bain would have my ass if he knew what I’d done. And, frankly, I’m shocked Memnon and Rameses haven’t already castrated you. You obviously have a vampire fetish. I can’t imagine that makes them happy.”

She’d heard that Memnon and Rameses ruled with iron fists, unyielding when it came to their laws and traditions. And while having sex with vampires might not have been illegal, it certainly wasn’t traditional.

He scowled and let go of her. “Rameses and Memnon don’t control me.”

“Why? You a lone wolf?”

He tilted his head as if he didn’t appreciate her backhanded accusation. “I just live my own life.”

“So do I, but even I know when not to cross the line.”

He slid one hand over her hip as he closed the space between them again. “You seemed all too eager to ‘cross the line’ with me earlier. Three times, in fact.” He trailed the back of his finger down her cheek, her chin, and the front of her neck. It was a good thing she couldn’t feel it, or she might have reconsidered her position.

Instead, she pushed him away. “This isn’t going to happen again, Xander.”

Releasing a frustrated exhale, he smoothed his palm down his face and took a step back. His heavy brow dug down over his stormy eyes, his scowl deepening as if he didn’t like being backed into a corner.

And damn if Cordray didn’t want to close the distance he had put between them and kick off round four.

Instead, she pulled up her big-girl panties and, through a Herculean show of mental fortitude, slid open the balcony door. Closing her eyes, she took one last inhale of his essence, bowed her head, and said, “Goodbye, Xander.”

Before he could reply, she stepped outside and dematerialized to her mansion in Chicago.

Chapter 6

Good thing Cordray had an assignment to carry out, or she might have fallen into a Xander-deprived funk the moment her feet landed back on Windy City soil.

Pushing all thoughts of her lycan liaison to the back of her mind, she reluctantly showered away his scent, changed into clothes that smelled like her again, and poofed back to the parking garage outside the Garter to pick up Micah’s trail.

If Xander made good on his promise to return to Chicago and look her up, she would change his mind real quick. She didn’t need the complication. No sex was good enough to risk her life over.

Picking up Micah’s trail—and Blondie’s—she followed both to a decrepit brownstone that needed serious work on the roof and gutters, as well as the landscaping.

Just… dayum. She’d seen abandoned homes with more curb appeal.

Blondie’s scent was strong here. Was this trash heap her home? Surely, she could afford better.

Micah’s scent was strong here, too, although he’d left long ago. Had Blondie dragged his beat-up ass here? All by herself?

Give that bitch props. She had big, gnarly lady balls.

She sniffed around outside, studying the biomarkers permeating the siding and foundation. Oh! She stopped and breathed in. Micah had fed. From Blondie. And… holy shit. Had he mated her?

Needing to confirm her suspicions, she flashed to the Sentinel. Oh yeah, Micah’s mating response had fired up like a supernova. He had a hard-on for Blondie that only a biological link could satisfy. And from the potpourri of smells coming from his apartment, not only was his body producing mated feel-good hormones by the millions, he’d been eating anything he could get his hands on. Good, because given the famine-stricken look he’d been sporting last night, he hadn’t eaten or fed in weeks. Check, and check.

That and the “Don’t Worry Be Happy” vibe saturating the air around his apartment meant her work here was done. Micah was no longer in danger. Thank God, because babysitting assignments blew ass.

Flashing to the roof, she pulled out her phone and called Bain.

He answered after one ring. “Tell me.”

“Micah’s good.”

“Good?”

She wandered toward the edge of the roof. “Your boy is going to be just fine.”

She gave him the quick-and-dirty summary, took his thanks for a job well done, and hung up, not mentioning Xander. She should have warned Bain that a lycan had violated the treaty, but that might have led to questions she didn’t want to answer. Besides, she liked keeping dog boy to herself. As long as he stayed out of Chicago, she could keep her little secret.

As she tucked her phone into her pocket, she glanced down at the street. Whaddya know, there was that same skulking vampire she’d spied at the parking garage last night, watching the Sentinel from the shadows like he was its own personal guardian angel.

Or was he Micah’s?

Smirking at the absurdity that she’d been assigned to look after someone who already had a bodyguard, Cordray turned and dematerialized back home.

Alone.

And for the first time in a long while, alone felt… well… lonely.

And lonely sucked.

Chapter 7

The next twenty-four hours felt like a month.

Cordray tried to sleep but couldn’t. She tried to read and ended up ripping the book in half. She tried to find a movie worth watching but only grew more frustrated.

That’s when she started pacing like Charlie Sheen in rehab.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Xander.

The way he tasted. The way he moved. The godlike way he threw back his head as he came. The way he worked her over just the way she liked. The mental orgasms. Both of them. No one had ever given her multiple orgasms like that. Not even Gideon, and she’d been with him when she’d still possessed her sense of touch.

So what if Xander was a lycan? He was hotter-than-Hades and knew how to handle her body to give her the only kind of pleasure she was capable of. Did she really want to give that up?

If he was willing to defy Memnon and Rameses, couldn’t she defy Bain? She was a badass, right? She could make her own decisions. Her brother didn’t need to know who she was feeding from or who she was sleeping with. It was none of his business. If she wanted to screw Xander ten ways to Sunday every day, she had every right to. Who was she to deny herself blood as strong as his?

With fresh resolve and a sense of purpose, she pulled on her coat, stepped outside, and dematerialized to New York, to the balcony outside his bedroom.

It was well into the wee hours of the morning, but he was there, awake, lying in bed, pointing the remote at the TV and clicking through the channels just as she had been less than an hour ago.

With the wind whipping her hair over her face, she stepped forward and tapped the glass with the tip of her fingernail.

His gaze swung around, his body contracting as if preparing to rip apart whoever had interrupted his channel surfing. When he saw her, every cell in his body appeared to take a breath, and a pleasantly surprised grin tugged at the corners of his mouth before he ran his fingers down his beard, replacing the small smile with feigned indifference.

Tossing the remote aside, he dragged himself off the mattress and leisurely strolled to the sliding door.

He unlocked it and eased it open, but didn’t step aside to let her in. “You lost, Chaos?”

Her gaze locked to his. “Found, actually.”

He arched one brow. “Is that so?”

They stared at each other for a long moment, the silence stretching with the weight of an elephant.

He braced his arm on the side of the door, creating a blockade. “I thought you said we shouldn’t do this.”

She stepped closer and ran her palms down the front of his shirt to the bulge in his sweatpants. “I lied.”

The tip of his tongue wet the seam of his mouth as he inhaled deeply. “You know, if you and I aren’t careful, we might break each other.”

She circled his hardening length with her fingers. “I’d like to see you try.”

He released a shuddering breath as she stroked him. “You’re dangerous, Chaos.”

She leaned forward and nicked his bottom lip with her fang. “Should I stop?”

He snuffed air through his nostrils, eyeing her up and down. “Hell no. I like danger.”

Pressing closer, she trailed her tongue up the side of his neck to his ear and whispered, “Prove it.”

And he did.

Over and over… and over.

Maybe she and Xander could never mate, and maybe their relationship would never be more than sexual, but Cordray didn’t care. Because this…? This meeting of mind and body with an untamed force as strong as she was? A force that hit her head-on and didn’t cower from her like a dog that was all bark and no bite? It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

And just what she needed.

For now.

If you want to read more about Cordray and her supernatural friends, read Donya Lynne’s All the King’s Men Series, starting with Micah’s story, Rise of the Fallen, currently FREE.

About Donya Lynne

Donya Lynne is an award-winning and bestselling author of the All the King’s Men Series, Strong Karma Trilogy, Banger Trilogy, Savage Storm Series, and several standalone novels and novellas. Her novel, Rise of the Fallen was a USA Today Recommended Read, and she has won two IPPYs and five eLit Awards. Donya writes sensual romance that haunts your emotions in the subgenres of paranormal, contemporary, new adult, and women’s fiction, all with a spine-tingling erotic flair.

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Tournament of Reckoning by Allie Marie

A Netherworld Short Story

Chapter 1

The Declaration

The time had come.

The opportunity for which Siv Anemos had trained her whole life finally arrived.

With a slight fluttering of nerves, she approached the temple square where a mirrored orb floated. Encircled by a mist of rainbow water droplets, sparks of fire shot from the many octagonal facets covering the sphere.

She smiled at the choice of an instrument of air to call competitors to the tournament. The fires could die, the waters evaporate, but even without them, the orb would remain floating. Without air, it would fall.

Her last unsettled nerve evaporated as her slightest move sent the mirrored ball bobbing. Air was her strongest element. Even when she did not utilize her powers, a touch of aerokinesis always emanated from her being.

The closer she got to the orb, the easier she could see through the shimmer of fire reflecting off the water. Ignoring the armed guards standing in the shadows, she read the names already etched on the facets.

Thirty candidates had entered the competition for the most coveted post in the kingdom of Mesolands—the Grand Sentinel, head of both council and church.

All other council posts were filled through an election process corrupted over the ages. By law, however, the selection of Grand Sentinel was determined by a jousting tournament of all contenders who declared an intent to compete.

Through narrowed eyes, she studied the list, recognizing the names. A number were Necromancers—dragon riders who could touch the four elements of life, death, undeath, and afterlife. More than two dozen Elementalists—practitioners of all the air, earth, water, and fire elements—had signed on. One Medja, a jouster who commanded the single art of water, had etched his name. No Paragon—those able to touch all eight of the elements of magic—had declared.

If ever a playing field had been designed for one individual, this was hers. As a Paragon, she had a distinct advantage, along with her extraordinary jousting.

She spun the ball, rereading the names to be sure.

Yes, she was the lone Paragon—and the only female.

Elation rippled through her, sending the faceted ball dancing. Prejudice and sexism ran rampant in her nation. She’d fought hard for the right to be named as the first female High Priestess in the church.

But as yet, no woman had ever filled a position in the council government, let alone that of the highest ruler.

Seven minutes remained until the deadline. Siv calmed her emotions. She raised her hand, protected by armored metal gloves with an odd assortment of fingers.

Over the eons, she’d created the daunting pair of gauntlets by replacing the normal metal digits with armor scavenged from rivals she’d defeated in jousting tournaments. Each long-pointed appendage sported a different color, size, and shape. Never intended to be of practical use, they served as a stark reminder of her victories to psych out the men she battled. Extending the sharpened claw of a long-defeated Water Elf, she selected a tile with no other names surrounding the space.

As Siv etched her first name on one of the octagonal glass discs, a shadow loomed over her. The fire sparks around the orb burst into flames and nearly dried out the water mist. She spun on her heels and bumped into the massive object behind her.

Rand Emberfang, the hulking Fire Elf from the kingdom of Piironious, steadied her. Even though she was taller than the average Zeph by more than a foot, she still found herself looking into his chest.

“Aren’t you a little far from Piironious?” she snapped. She took a step back, bulbous gaze focused on one of Rand’s pointed ears. The heat of his touch scorched her to the core—and not because of his command of the fire element.

Rand took a step forward. His eyes darted from side to side, trying to discern where her gaze focused. Her compound eyes could be looking anywhere, but his masculine hubris decided she was looking at his crotch.

With a subtle breath, she blew cold air between them. She lowered the temperature a bit with another blast, satisfied when a shiver overtook the Fire Elf.

Her hair matched the exact same vibrant shade of white as Rand’s, but where her skin was pale almost to the point of translucent blue, his burned the deep volcanic red of fire. They had crossed paths at many of the same jousting events. His renowned jousting skills equaled Siv’s, but they had never faced off in a competition. Their social interactions, however infrequent because of schedules and distance, always provided interesting opportunities to flirt and scope each other out.

Siv had always known that, like oil and vinegar, Fire Elves and Zephs didn’t mix. As a species, Fire Elves commanded awe and respect unparalleled in any realm—fierce warriors who yearned for a glorious death as their legacy. They had no trouble engaging in sex with any members of the other kingdoms, but when it came time to settle and have offspring, they usually mated with one of their own.

She drew to her full height, still a half-head shorter than Rand. Tilting her head back, she said, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to finalize my signature. There’s less than a minute to go.”

“You certainly waited until the last minute, didn’t you?” Rand moved closer to Siv, peering over her head as she etched her last name on a tile amongst the blank octagonal tiles surrounding it.

“I did.” Siv finished and pushed past Rand.

“Not quite.” With seconds to spare, he reached through the mist and fire. A bolt of flame shot from his finger, inscribing his name on the mirrored tile to the right of her signature.

“What are you doing?” Siv demanded.

As he withdrew his hand, the fire and mist diminished. A shroud of unbreakable glass surrounded the darkened sphere. Soldiers emerged from the shadows to retrieve the sphere for delivery to the Council Chambers.

Council members milled around a refreshment table, engaging in small talk as they awaited delivery of the mirror. Across the room, a portly Zeph caught the attention of a lanky colleague. He inclined his head toward the chamber room. Both men slipped beyond the doors and headed toward the huge round table centered on the floor of the circular room. Twelve unusual saddle chairs surrounded the polished metal round table. Each saddle bore the name of a champion jouster and his or her retired dragon.

Gallery-style seating lined the walls. Reserved for spectators during public meetings, the chairs sat empty for the closed-door meeting about to begin.

Tudoriax, the Senior Delegate and longest-reigning member, chose a golden saddle with the names etched across the sides. He mounted with pompous dignity, plopping his large posterior in the groove. His feet slipped from the stirrups, nearly unseating him in the process. A quick clutch on the pommel prevented an undignified fall to the ground.

“It’s good that we do not have to rely on your jousting skills to settle the concerns of Mesolands, Tudoriax. Or should I say your lack thereof?” mocked Zelman Maxir, Secretary of Internal Affairs. He opted for a blood-red saddle decorated with iridescent dragon scales.

“Which none of us have,” retorted an angry Tudoriax. He slithered from the golden saddle and scrutinized the remaining empty seats.

None of the current council members had earned their seats by winning the jousting competition. The tournaments had been suspended after a plague struck and nearly wiped out the Mesolands dragons. For several generations there were not enough grown creatures to allow for the jousting tournaments to determine the new members. Soon, the process evolved into candidates declaring for the empty seats, won by purchased votes and outright deceit, until all members had been voted into their positions rather than earning the spot.

As a result, corruption became the standard and members served so long that the newer generations never had the chance to compete—or even campaign—for positions.

Retirement was mandatory at the age of two hundred. But without notice, the Grand Sentinel had taken early retirement and immigrated to a new post in the Northern Realm, catching the council off guard.

Tudoriax settled on a polished bronze saddle bearing the name of Siv Anemos and her latest retired dragon, Ordan.

“Tudoriax, can we not just hold an election?” Zelman asked. “Or can you not simply name yourself as the new ruler?”

The senior councilman shook his head. “I’ve checked this thoroughly with the Judiciary Office. It is law. If we’d known sooner, we could have eliminated the jousting competition from the rules and held an election. But we did not know in time to change the Grand Sentinel to the elected posts. We’re committed to the decrees in place. A tournament must be held to name the new ruler.”

“Are proper strategies in place to ensure the outcome, Tudoriax?”

“Only preliminary so far, Zelman. Once we see who will compete, we’ll finalize plans.”

The two men ended the covert conversation as council members filed in and took seats.

The Senior Delegate banged a gavel made of humanoid bones shaped like a fist to call the meeting to order.

Two pairs of armed guards formed a square and entered the ceremonial chambers, flanking the now-darkened mirrored orb floating between them. After a ceremonial circle around the roundtable, the sentries stopped at Tudoriax’s seat.

The Senior Delegate took the sphere from the air and set it on the table. With a push of his palms, he flattened the ball into a sheet of tiles. He slid the squares toward the Minister of Internal Affairs, who began sorting names into columns.

With a dismissive wave of his pudgy fingers, Tudoriax sent the four sentinels on their way. In unison, they did an about-face and marched in the opposite direction to complete a circle around the table before they exited the council doors. The last two turned to bow and then closed the doors behind them.

The council remained quiet for a full minute, broken at last when Tudoriax gave the bone gavel a sharp rap.

Secretariat Rhymer Faticus pulled one of his cylindrical metal cuffs from his sleeves, ready to etch minutes of the meeting.

After greeting his colleagues, Tudoriax stood and said, “We’re required to hold a joust to select a new ruler. This is an elimination competition, not a death-match. How many rounds occur will depend on how many entrants apply. In the preliminaries, competitors are paired in match-ups. The winner of each goes on to the next round, while the loser is eliminated from further competition. In the next round, those winners square off in another series of matches, and so on, until the final elimination match-up. That winner becomes tournament champion—and the Grand Sentinel of Mesolands.”

“Does anyone remember how competitions were conducted?” Rhymer asked, peering into a scrying stone on his ring to look for records. “We’ve not had multi-round tournaments for eons. Most of the jousts we have now are to settle disputes between farmers whose stock has strayed over the line, or to determine who has the right to elements on a property. Even some of our very minor skirmishes have left someone dead over a petty difference. Think of the fervor with stakes as high as these.”

Zelman slapped his hands on the flattened mirror tiles. “I’ve perused the list. Thirty-two contenders have declared. There are twenty-four Elementalists, nine Necromancers, and one Medja. And two Paragons. Before we do anything else, we should take into consideration these Paragons, our two most troublesome contenders.”

“Yes?”

“One is a Fire Elf. Rand Emberfang, Tudoriax.” Zelman winced as he glanced at the tiles.

Tudoriax leaned forward, the rest of the council following suit. “From Piironious? How can someone from another kingdom enter?” His voice thundered.

Rhymer twirled his cuffs to find the appropriate etchings in his records and shrugged. “A costly loophole that is out of our hands. Another obscure rule from the ancient past allows anyone from the eight kingdoms to enter our tournament if they have a challenge with one of our citizens. I know this Fire Elf, and he will be a threat. Who is the other Paragon?”

Zelman cleared his throat. “Um…”

“Speak up, fool!”

“It is—Lady Siv Anemos, the High Priestess.”

Anger surged through Tudoriax until his pale skin turned purple. “Siv, the Tempest of Mesolands? Our ‘Feisty Troublemaker?’” He shouted the nicknames with such vengeance that spittle sprayed from his lips. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then held both arms to the side to maintain his balance on the saddle.

A few snickers rose from the other council members but abated quickly as the Senior Delegate glared.

“When this tournament is over, she will get her just rewards. She’s nothing but trouble. Here is what I think of the Tempest of Mesolands.” He rocked his hips on Siv’s retired saddle, grinding down. He wrapped his fingers around the pommel. With a lewd leer, he jerked his hand up and down in a suggestive manner.

Laughter burst forth until Tudoriax reached for the gavel and pounded. He leaned his girth forward in the saddle.

“She cannot win,” he said. “This meeting is called to order.”

Zelman continued. “She’s the most skilled dragon rider in Mesolands and commands all the arts. Rand is the best from Piironious, and despite the loophole to enter, he can never attain the position. Chances are quite likely that he and Siv will face each other in the final competition. We can control the process by declaring that only one magical power shall be used during each stage of the competition.”

“If Rand follows the path of his comrades who like to die a glorious death, he may meet that desired fate while fighting Siv, and we’ll be rid of his interference once and for all. But if Rand wins, Siv is eliminated and since he cannot take the position, we will select one ourselves.”

“And if she wins?” Rhymer’s tone was insistent.

Zelman gave an exasperated shake of the head, then said, “As the Senior Delegate Tudoriax has already said, she cannot win.”

Murmurs rippled around the table as council members reacted.

The Senior Delegate banged the gavel to silence the room.

“We have thirty-two hours before the challengers assemble. I suggest we begin our strategy.”

Chapter 2

The Bonding

“What! You’re wearing that?” asked an incredulous Nyrin. The pixie fluttered her wings to rise upward so that she could make eye contact with her taller friend.

“I am.” Siv gave a defiant shrug that sent her white-silver hair billowing.

“But, Lady Siv…” Despite their years of friendship, Nyrin often addressed the High Priestess by her noble title.

“As the rules of our church decree, I’m covered from neck to toe. They don’t specify what constitutes a covering.” Siv unfolded the incandescent wings on her back and drifted to the ceiling. She twirled in a full circle, her delicate clothing shimmering with each move.

Nyrin laughed. “Yes, you are indeed covered, as decreed, but it’s…transparent. The men will have a hard time focusing.”

“Their problem, not mine.” Siv continued to float. With her command over air, she could add grace to any movement. Her armor was indeed translucent, save for the strategically-placed crystals covering her private parts.

“And the males may look all they will, but these crystals can never fail and reveal what they protect. But I’ll also admit, I have a complete bodysuit under the sheer material. The translucency is intentional and serves my purpose.” Siv would not admit out loud that the translucency served to distract the males who only objectified women. She also intended to use the opportunity to rebel against the government decree requiring women to be covered from neck to toe at all public events. A ridiculous decree in her opinion, considering that the form-fitting clothing of both male and female citizens left little to the imagination.

The only other solid materials Siv wore were the rings on each of her ten fingers, representing the dragons that had served her in battle. While most jousters bonded with one dragon until death, a few had seen service with two or more. Siv was the lone Mesolander who had bonded ten times before. Such a fact might convey to an outsider many poor dragons had bonded to a losing jouster. In reality, Siv was acquiring her eleventh dragon because she was the best of the best, outlasting the loyal creatures that served her.

“This material is incredibly lustrous.” Nyrin reached to touch one of Siv’s arms. The sheer sleeve immediately changed to metallic mail. The pixie jumped in surprise. With a rapid sweep of her other arm, she raked her fingernails across Siv’s stomach. Before the tips could touch the fabric, her fingernails tapped against the metal chain as it formed.

She stared in disbelief. After a few seconds, the armor covering Siv’s stomach returned to the original shimmery sheer material.

“What just happened?” Nyrin asked. “Where did the armor come from?”

“I’ve been working on this for eons with Livanth, the alchemist. I had the idea but not the knowledge to create a see-through fabric that could be converted to armor. You should’ve seen some of the disastrous results before she discovered what would work.”

“No one’s seen this in competition yet?” Nyrin asked.

Siv shook her head. “No.”

Moving in slow motion, Nyrin raised her hand to give a gentle poke to Siv’s collarbone, but once again, before she could make contact, the filmy fabric gorget near the jouster’s neck changed to the life-protecting shield.

“It’s amazing, Siv. But jousts take all of six to eight seconds for two riders to pass each other. Will your suit become armor quick enough to protect you from a lance or sword? Will it protect your wings?”

“Here, I’ll show you.” Siv tossed a sword to Nyrin. The nimble air sprite sprang upward and twisted gracefully, catching the handle. Despite her diminutive size, she was capable of lifting one hundred times her weight. Hefting the heavy weapon above her head, she drifted downward until her feet touched the ground.

“Come at me, like you are attacking,” Siv demanded.

“Oh, no, no.” Nyrin shook her head. “I’m a flight guard, not a jouster. My job is to guide you through the air.”

“Hey, flight guards have to stave off attacks after their jousters become unseated, you know.” Siv unsheathed her majestic sword and sliced through the air. Ominous metallic vibrations resonated with her every swoosh.

Nyrin backed up. “Not me. I know how to shift through the battle to guide you, but not how to fight.”

Siv rolled her rounded eyes, then stared.

Nyrin huffed and made lack-luster crosses with the sword.

“Lunge, Nyrin!” Siv commanded.

The pixie readied her position, aimed for Siv’s upper arm, and clamped her eyes shut. Wings flapping fiercely, she swung the blade with all her might and steeled for the impact of sword on armor—or the resulting cry of pain from her mentor.

“Ayyyy!”

The shriek came—not from Siv, but from Nyrin as the effect of metal meeting metal rippled through her body. She dropped the sword and opened her eyes.

Siv stood before her, swathed in full armor, wings outstretched, unscathed by the attack. Seconds later, the chainmail returned to the sheer clothing.

Nyrin shook her head. “You nearly rattled my brains out of my head. I’ve never seen anything so incredible.”

Siv nodded. “I can turn my full armor on at will, or the suit forms an automatic shield if it senses the approach of danger.”

“As long as your gems cover your jewels, there is little danger.” Nyrin giggled. “I wonder what Rand will think when he sees you.”

Siv narrowed her eyes at the name of her chief competitor. “He shouldn’t be allowed to compete. He’s not even from Mesolands. How can he become Grand Sentinel?”

“It’s because of some obscure rule. Someone from another kingdom can enter if he is involved in a complaint with another entrant. I’m sure you will face him in the final match. And we all know that the most important goal to a Fire Elf is to die a glorious death.”

“Which I can give him.” Siv shoved her sword into its sheath.

“And may you be the champion of this year’s competition, Siv,” Nyrin said with a bow.

“Mark my words, Nyrin. I shall be this year’s champion and the first female Grand Sentinel of the Council Chambers. It’s time to free Mesolands from the corruption and bias incorporated by our ruling males.”

Siv’s hair turned to a stormy silver as fiery air turmoiled around her head. Her eyes focused on some object indeterminable to Nyrin. With a flex of her shoulders, the Zeph’s expansive wings opened to their full width and breadth.

With another shrug, Siv retracted her wings. She grabbed a long cloak and tossed it over her shoulders. She picked up her lance, made of the special green metal known as Havenium, which allowed memories to be stored in the spear. Each jouster had a similar weapon that remembered its every move from previous tournaments.

She faced Nyrin. “Meet me in the stables.” Swiveling on one foot, she stormed toward the door, gale-force winds whirling around her.

Along the walls of the rounded Council Chambers, workers prepared the elevated seats for V.I.P. spectators. A solid black line a foot wide cut the room in half, running across the floor and over the top of the mighty Round Table, down to the floor on the other side, dividing the bleachers. Two female Zephs in apprentice jouster suits polished the saddle seats. The backless chairs had stirrups to help the council members maintain balance, and on one side or the other had cradles that once held the lances of the dragon riders.

“Esrala, look.” The taller of the two lowered her voice in awe in front of one seat. “This saddle once belonged to Lady Siv’s last dragon.”

“Let me polish it, Giln.” Esrala floated in excitement as she neared the saddle.

“I was here first.” Giln trailed her palms over the hide, fingers touching the etchings that identified the former rider and dragon as Siv and Brank.

“Well, you’re done so it’s my turn. Lady Siv is my all-time idol.” Esrala rubbed the leather with the same reverence.

“Mine too.” Giln sighed with anticipation. “Do you realize that if she wins the competition today, she’ll be the first female to not only have earned a spot on the High Council, but to become Grand Sentinel? That means she’ll represent Mesolands at the coronation of Elira as the first Ortu Saad in Paragonia. Imagine, our first female ruler attending the coronation of another first female ruler. What times we live in.”

“Have you heard the rumors that Elira was in her last stages of pregnancy when she fought demons in a battle, and that her son Argon was born on the footsteps of the Netherworld?”

“I heard she had one foot in the Netherworld and one at the Gateway, so her son could have been born either demon or angel. Siv is as brave as Elira is.”

“Yes. I’m so excited. Siv will win. She must win. For all the progress this council claims to make, they still cast females as insignificant members of society. Lady Siv will win her place and make things right.”

“They’ll fight dirty to do everything they can to prevent her from winning.”

“But she’s the shrewdest competitor, has the best record, and her new dragon was a prized hatchling of her best dragon. They’re a force to which no others can compare.”

“She will win,” Esrala repeated. “Let’s finish so we can watch history in the making.”

Before heading back to the task at hand, the two pixies raised their right hands and tapped the tips of their first and middle fingers together three times—for the luck of all the females of Mesolands.

Tightening the cloak around her, Siv made her way through the long corridor of the stables. Most of the stalls were empty, as riders had already claimed their dragons and reported to the staging area.

Sporadic whirls of small dust dervishes sent loose straw and grass into her path as the cleaning imps did their chores. Nasty but necessary, the green-skinned creatures worked to keep the stables and animals free of vermin and crud. The dirtier the task, the more the ill-tempered creatures enjoyed their work.

She stopped at the last stall. An iridescent ball of scales with limbs nestled on a pile of straw. Two gnarly imps were cleaning the beast’s rainbow-like scales.

One shriveled Pica imp, sporting wild tufts of maroon hair over his body, balanced on the dragon’s back, using a long-handled brush to scrub along the dragon’s elongated graceful neck.

The other, a gray-haired Pica imp layered in wrinkles, used the hollowed-out talon of a long-dead dragon to cover his fist. He scraped under the flexible but steel-hard scales.

“Yum,” he said as he scooped a film of crust and mites. He stuck the talon in his mouth and sucked it clean. “They pays us in apples, but me would do it for free for all these tasty treats.”

“Get out of here, you disgusting reprobate.” Nyrin buzzed the grizzled imp, hovering with angry wings flapping. “Go away! Get!”

“Hey, me not done here.” He reached up to try to peek under Nyrin’s tunic.

“Yes, you are.” Siv raised her pinky and shot a spark of fire at the offender’s butt.

“Yeeouch!” The imp danced a jig while fanning his behind. He farted, fueling the spark with a bit more energy than desired.

“Begone, you two heathens.” Siv tossed apples from a barrel. The maroon-headed one caught the fruits as fast as she threw them and darted out the door. She turned and caught the grizzled gray using the talon to lift her cloak. She wiggled her pinky finger again and sent a bolt that looped around and struck the imp’s other butt cheek. He danced his way behind his comrade, his noxious gasses keeping the spark dancing.

Nyrin held her nose as she fanned her wings.

“Will you go after him and send him a healing zap?” Siv asked.

“Oh, must I?”

“Yes, please.”

Grumbling, Nyrin held her nose and flew after the offending scamp.

“How are you, Ghymugras?” Siv turned to her animal and cooed. The wyvern, a two-legged dragon with a barbed tail, was the first female Siv had trained, and her first Paragon dragon, gifted as Siv was with all eight arts. The creature unfurled her wings. Despite her massive size, she fluttered like a feather in the wind and lowered her long neck to nuzzle Siv’s neck.

“I’m fine, Lady Siv.” The words came out in a melodic chiming, echoing in the air with a delicateness unexpected from a creature so large. Ghymugras, whose cumbersome name meant “Dragon of the Air,” could speak, a rare gift bestowed upon her when she was a baby. Wyverns could usually only communicate with their riders through mental dialogue.

“Do I detect a quiver of nerves, Ghy?” Siv ran her knuckles gently along the wyvern’s jawline.

The nickname soothed the worried creature. “Maybe a little. They told me we will fail, my Lady.”

“Who did?”

“The other dragons. And their riders. Even some of the females have teased me, telling me I will die because you are my rider and you have already bonded with ten before me.”

“You will not die, Ghy. Did we not train every day since I selected you? Have we not taken on jousters of all ranks in our sessions, and were we not the victors in the end? None of my dragons were killed in jousts, I just outlasted them. So, no, you will not die, but I may wear you out and then you will join the others in the retirement circle someday.”

“This is your most important of all tournaments, and I fear I am not worthy of you. There were so many other more experienced dragons you should have chosen.”

“That is true,” Siv said. She smiled at the slight stiffening of her ride. “Yet you are here precisely because I chose you. I wanted only the best, and you are the best.”

Ghy visibly relaxed and closed her eyes, her lashes stroking Siv’s cheek as she nuzzled again.

“I have something for you,” Siv whispered. She pushed up the sleeve of her cloak, and removed a bracelet-like adornment that matched the ring on her right hand.

“My bonding ring!” The dragon flexed her talons and allowed Siv to slide the bracelet over one, equating its placement on the dragon to the ring on her humanoid hand.

Dragon and rider extended their limbs to admire the matching oval stones that were more than adornment. Cut from the same diamond, the two gems held a power that would bind Siv to her wyvern, to connect their thoughts and movements during jousts, and in all aspects of their rapport. By the magical attuning of a matching ring worn by both rider and dragon, the pair were now bonded telepathically.

Siv lifted the gorget at her neck to reveal a necklace with ten other rings. “These are the rings of your predecessors. Like the metal shaft of my lance, they hold memories of my competitions. Whenever we joust, these rings will be embedded in the handle of my lance, and through them, their magical memories will guide us.”

“I am honored, my Lady. I will do my best to honor you and my predecessors.” Her sensors signaled another presence, which Siv ignored. Her unique eyes already knew who had arrived.

In the far doorway, Rand Emberfang leaned against the frame, watching Siv’s bonding. Not only was her new dragon an impressive creature, but the Zeph herself was. Taller than most females of her kingdom, her every move exuded grace and fluidity, with air her strongest element. He’d long been attracted to her.

Although they had never jousted against each other, Rand had seen many of her matches and knew her to be a formidable opponent. They’d engaged in flirtatious encounters off the field before, but this tournament would give him the opportunity to get to know her more—and likely he’d challenge her in the final match.

He took long, quiet strides, enjoying the melodious blend of Siv’s calm voice mixing with the blue wyvern’s tinkling notes. As he moved closer, however, the chiming syllables turned into a roar as the dragon raised her head and blew out a fireless blast of hot air, knocking Rand flat on his back.

“Good girl, Ghy,” Siv praised, stroking the beast’s neck. She smirked over her shoulder. “I would think you knew better than to disrupt a rider bonding with her dragon, Rand. Be glad we were finished. She could sense you were not a threat to me, or you may have been fried to a crisp.”

Rand bounced to his feet, a slight look of shock on his face. “How did you know I was here?” He rolled his eyes skyward and added, “I forgot about those all-seeing eyes of yours.”

“I saw you the moment you arrived.” Siv declined to mention that she had also felt the heat of his presence when he stepped to the open door. She had tamped down her power of air, allowing her own command of fire to blend with Rand’s so that he had no knowledge she was even aware of him.

He took a few steps forward.

Siv whirled on him. Ghymugras gave a warning snort, a puff of smoke escaping her nostrils. “Why are you here, Rand, in this tournament in my kingdom? They will never name you the Grand Sentinel.”

He shrugged. With a cautious hand, he reached to stroke the dragon’s long neck. “She’s already prepared to defend you to the death, isn’t she? She’s a beauty—like her rider.”

“Spare me.” She elbowed the Fire Elf from her path. “Leave me alone, Rand, I have a tournament to win.”

“I think I might have something to say about that,” he said, moving behind her as she reached for a bridle. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her to him.

Siv hitched her breath, taking in the slightly smoky scent of Rand, aware of his strength, his essence—and of a firm pressure on her lower back.

Either her armor had activated under her cloak to protect her from Rand—or his body had activated of its own accord.

Chapter 3

The Reckoning

Siv took a deep breath at the entrance to the waiting room, where candidates for the tournament gathered before they were granted access to the council. With a deep breath, she flung the cloak aside and pushed open the massive double doors.

Small clusters of contenders dotted the room. Siv’s eyes focused straight ahead, but with her ability to see in all directions, she noticed the gaping jaws and wide-eyed stares of the males. For just a moment, a flutter of nerves invaded as she endured the gawks and murmurs. With a deliberate but imperceptible summoning of the power of air, she set the delicate materials flowing, crystals maintaining their designated places. One jouster tripped over his own feet. Another dropped his lance. As he bent to pick it up, he bumped into another, sending a row of males toppling.

First mission accomplished. Siv relaxed. I’ve got this.

The gong signaled the warning to fall into formation, and the jousters scrambled to line up.

A warm breath danced along her gorget, and Rand’s voice whispered in her ear, “What a nice surprise. How pleased I’ll be when we march.” He leaned closer. “I’ll have a most delightful view of your—crystals.”

In response, Siv unfolded her wings to their full glory, pushing Rand to the side. With a flick of her wrist, she hefted her shield and lance. Her gaze swept over the other weapons. Every lance was fitted with blunted padding called a coronal in place of a pointed tip, but the shaft could still break off and pierce armor.

Ahead of the competitors, sentries pushed open the large doors leading to the council chambers. Two directed the jousters to walk in single file toward the council table, sending half to the right side of the black strip dividing the room. The remaining competitors would fill the left half.

As Siv entered, murmurs increased to waves of sound that crashed into a crescendo of shouts and clapping as more spectators became aware of her clothing.

Because of her wingspan, she had more room on either side of her than many of the other contenders. She struck a stoic pose, feet planted apart, one arm holding her shield chest-high, the other holding her lance.

Standing at the podium, the Secretariat began the tedious process of his welcome address, announcing names of the important guests and spectators, then the thirty-two competitors.

As the ancient secretary droned on, Siv scanned around her without moving her head. Many jousters stood as motionless as she, while others fidgeted. Who her opponents would be depended on the results of the other match-ups. She’d seen tournaments where an unexpected rival beat champions because of sheer hubris.

She noted five potential threats, including the usurping contender from Piironious. It would be a pity if she and Rand were paired in the first match. She aimed her gaze to her right. The red Fire Elf stood out among the pale blue skins of the Mesolanders, in skin tone and size. He was a worthy opponent and for a moment she wondered if she would think less of him if she were to beat him in the tournament.

She cleared that thought immediately and shut down her hormones to concentrate on the task at hand. The Minister of Internal Affairs stood to read the rules.

“Thirty-two names have been etched on the Sphere of Intent. Contenders will be paired at random for the first round and will compete in an elimination match. Riders will charge each other, pass, make a U-turn at the opposing end and charge again. Riders will make up to three passes to determine a winner of the match. Each winner will then go on to the next round. The last two remaining contenders shall face-off in the final match-up.

“The rules are simple. The winner of each match-up shall be determined by any one of the following incidences, whichever occurs first.

“Rule One: This is not a battle to the death, but an elimination match. A rider whose lance breaks or imbeds in the armor of an opponent is considered to have dealt a deadly blow and deemed the winner.

“Rule Two: A rider who causes another opponent to become unseated and to fall off his mount, whether or not the fallen rider lives or dies, is declared the winner.

“Rule Three: A rider whose lance pierces the armor of an opponent, whether or not the opponent lives or dies, is declared the winner.

“Rule Four: The failure of any of these events to occur in the match will result in a draw and those contenders will go on to the next round.

“Rule Five: Competitors may invoke any of the elemental arts: air, fire, water, earth, or necromance: life, death, undeath, afterlife. However, The Council will declare one magic art as exempt during each round. No rider may utilize the art that has been exempted. The art of water has been disallowed in the first round.”

The Secretariat introduced the Senior Delegate and then called Tudoriax to the podium.

“Are you ready?” the Senior Delegate asked the jousters.

Nods and affirmative responses signaled a unanimous response.

“The tournament to select the new Grand Sentinel of Mesolands is now open. Riders, report to the staging areas.” Tudoriax slammed the bone gavel on the podium.

Tremors shook the stadium, startling several jousters. Quakes continued. The black stripe dividing the room began to split. The round chambers fanned out in two equal halves that swiveled on a turntable mechanism underneath. The wall disconnected at the stripe, opening onto the great outdoor arena where the waiting citizenry of Mesolands filled the seats. Cheers arose as the two half-rounds locked into place opposite the grandstands and the dignitaries faced the ordinary citizens of Mesolands.

At each end, huge projection screens floated, soon to light up with the names of the contenders for each match. Huge doors beneath the screens hid the rider, dragon and their flight guard who would enter the arena when called forward.

Though the tournament area—known as the list field—was groomed for a ground competition, this event would be conducted in the air. As Mesolands was a floating plane, the stadium was constructed with a moveable bottom which opened to the galaxy.

Daylight brightened the sky above, the dark universe stretched below as the field slid open to reveal the endless void into which many an unseated jouster had fallen. Some were rescued by their dragons, others by use of one of the arts. Some disappeared forever.

Sixteen contenders filed downstairs to the East Stage, Siv and the fifteen males in her group headed to the West Stage. As they passed through the doors leading to the staging area, an apprentice jouster handed out darkened red crystals. Resembling scrying stones, the chips would glow and reveal the rider’s number moments before that match was to begin.

Siv folded her wings to get past the archway, and the male Zeph before her turned abruptly. She nearly ran into him.

“You’re not going to win, Siv.” Dakrus Orkon leaned in with a leer and dropped his gaze. “You think you can distract us with your gauntlets bearing trophies from your past conquests. Or with your clever costume.” He aimed his finger to jab Siv’s chest. Before the tip touched her, a fist-sized section of spiked armor clamped on his finger and he let out a yell.

“Let me go, let me go.”

At her will, the metal slowly released his fingertip, leaving scratches but no bleeding—this time.

“What kind of dark arts magic are you using?” Dakrus asked as he shook his hand.

In response, Siv poked his chest with her forefinger. “I suggest you keep that digit—or any of your appendages—to yourself before it becomes the next finger on my gauntlet.”

Before Dakrus could answer, the giant floating monitors in the staging area lit up. One showed the pending scoreboard, while another showed the arena as scrying drones panned the crowds.

A sentry entered the area and shouted, “Inspections!”

The competitors formed a line, holding shields up and lances to their sides. Examiners scrutinized every weapon to ensure that the sharp tips for battle had been replaced with blunted coronals.

A piercing vibration permeated the air and a jouster held up his crystal. The number “1” blazed gold.

“I’m first!” He stepped into the passageway to wait for his flight guard to lead his dragon to the gates. As soon as he mounted, he raised his lance to signify his readiness. The doors parted and the team soared into the arena to face its competition on the list field. A modest chorus of cheers broke out.

“It’s always better to get it over with early in the elimination rounds, isn’t it?” Rand’s warm breath brushed her cheeks as he leaned closer to her.

“Is it?”

“If I touch your shoulder, will your armor chomp my finger like it did Dakrus?”

Siv turned. “Why don’t you try it and see, Rand?”

The Fire Elf narrowed his eyes, then shook his head. “Now is not the time. I’d like to know more about this armor later. But how can you wear something so sheer and revealing, yet it can turn to the sturdiest of metal? Is it allowed?”

“It’s never been worn in a tournament before, so I doubt it is disallowed. But as I’m bound by the rules of being covered from neck to toe, I am perfectly legal.”

“Lethal is more like it,” Rand said with a wink.

Groans rose from the group. Siv turned to the monitor in time to see the competitor from their group struck by his opponent’s lance. The blow unseated him, but his tether prevented him from falling into the void. The dragon swooped low and extended his tail to push the rider back into the saddle. The winning team took a victory lap as the losers sailed to the sidelines for treatment. The scrying drone zoomed in on the rider’s arm, dislocated by the violent clash.

“Oh.” Siv winced. Match 1 was over.

“Fifteen more to go,” someone shouted.

One by one, Siv’s competitors answered the call of their crystal, until she was the last rider in the room. Several riders from her group had already joined the first rider on the eliminated side. Rand and Dakrus had easily dispatched their opponents on the first pass.

She wondered if the matches were truly random, but if the council had tried to sway the outcome of Siv’s competition by making her wait until last, they had failed.

Unstressed by the delay, she had studied the matches on the big screen, assessing the skills of the winners. Her crystal squelched and glowed red.

Round 16 was about to begin.

She entered the hallway, where Nyrin and Ghy hovered.

“It’s about time they called us,” the flight guard grumbled. She turned the reins over to Siv, who leapt into the saddle. She extended the lance to full length and ensured it was locked in place.

“Ghy, are you ready?”

“I am.”

“Nyrin?”

“Ready.”

“Wings out.”

Each extended their wings to full span, and rose on the air. As soon as the gates opened, Siv and Ghy, guided by Nyrin, flew to the starting line, met by cheers and claps.

The opposing team entered from the other gate, but instead of settling at the starting line, the flight guard led the riding duo in a series of flips and somersaults before they landed in place.

Cheers broke out louder than Siv’s team had received.

“Should we respond?” Ghy asked in her melodic tone.

“Not now, girl. We’ll have our moment to showboat.” Siv patted her mount’s neck.

Nyrin buzzed with energy as she motioned for the animal to place her feet on the starting mark. Once in place, Siv steadied the lance upright.

The showboating team flipped again and flew into position. The opponent raised his lance.

At the signal to charge, Siv lowered the lance, balancing the unwieldy weight by tucking the base under her right armpit and aiming the point to the left of the dragon’s head. Ghy shot forward and increased speed. Siv’s rounded eyes gave her an advantage of seeing distance and closeup. She noted her opponent’s glance drift toward the crystals shifting across her breasts.

When his gaze returned to the task at hand, it was just in time to see Siv’s coronal aimed at his chest. His eyes widened as her lance caught him under the breastplate and lifted him out of his saddle. He jerked over the back and tail of his mount, with only his tether keeping him from falling into the void.

And just like that, Match 16 was over.

“Is this our moment?” Ghy asked.

“It is indeed.” With that, Siv nudged her dragon into a backward somersault to the delight of the spectators and guided her toward their gate.

The umpire signaled that Siv won the match-up. Her face appeared on the monitors.

Thunderous cheers rumbled from the civilian spectators.

Council members sat in stony silence with arms crossed.

The crowd quietened, waiting for Tudoriax to declare the winner. He rose and paused. Finally, he extended his arm toward her in acknowledgment.

The civilian side of the stadium erupted in more cheers, rocking as thousands and thousands of spectators stamped their feet in approval.

Nyrin circled and landed on Ghy’s head, then knelt to kiss the thick hide. She then skied down the neck toward Siv. She grinned. With wings fluttering at full speed, she levitated and flew to kiss Siv’s forehead.

Siv smiled, then clapped her hands. “Calm down, girls, we still have a long way to go.” The trio entered the gateway, the heavy doors closing on but not muffling the thunderous applause.

A tight-jawed Tudoriax sat and heaved a deep breath. He angled his head toward one of the sentries and gave a slight nod. The sentry responded by tapping the butt of his lance on the floor twice.

The second and third rounds saw the elimination of more competitors. Matches grew more intense, and injuries more severe. The arts clashed, resulting in lightning, fireworks, smokescreens, death masks, rain, and more. Siv’s skills proved so strong, however, she’d required no magic.

Siv, Rand, and Dakrus from the West Stage had easily dispatched their opponents in their quarter-finals. Only one team remained from the East Stage. The head umpire called the four finalists to the center of the jousting field.

The head umpire announced, “Congratulations on making it to the semi-finals. With three teams from the West Stage and one from the East, we must balance the competition. One team will move from West to East. Your scrying stones will alert you to which area you will report. You’ll have one hour to have a meal and prepare for your next match. Good luck.”

Piercing whines echoed with humming as the stones vibrated in the jousters’ hands. Siv glanced at her stone until “EAST” appeared in gold letters against the red surface.

Dakrus headed back to the West Stage. As he passed Siv, he shouted, “Looks like you’re heading to the losing side, Siv.”

Ghy stiffened as Dakrus’ mount snorted a puff of black smoke shaped like a death dragon into her path. The wyvern blew billows of white smoke drawn from her powers of life, smashing the offending dragon against the wall. With little effort, Siv blasted air through clenched teeth to dissipate the dark cloud, forcing Dakrus to grab the pommel to remain in his seat.

Her power of air was far greater than the Necromancer’s command of the death element he’d just displayed.

She patted Ghy’s neck. Nyrin looped head over heels and stretched out her arm to stroke the dragon’s cheek as they flew to their new location.

Siv said, “We’ve just had minor skirmishes so far, ladies. Now we face a battle I cannot lose.”

As spectators rushed to concession stands, the council gathered in their private wing, where a feast awaited them.

Zelman huddled with the Senior Delegate. “Siv is among the best of the best, Tudoriax. Her skills are definitely in the top three of our four finalists.”

“Siv will joust either Rand or Dakrus in this match.” Tudoriax reached for a glass of wine. “Things are in our favor. Either is formidable enough to take her out. If she fights Dakrus first, we’ve put some insurances in place to handicap her. Should she make it to the finals, she’ll be near exhaustion when she faces Rand.”

Zelman rolled his eyes. “Fire Elves are the most feared race when it comes to fighting. You know the saying: ‘If a Fire Elf steps on your foot, you apologize first.’ They’ve been on the frontlines of every battle since Prima Morda, and they live to die a glorious death. What if Rand wins the final?”

“Who cares, Zelman?” Tudoriax snapped. With a clap of his hands, a mist appeared and spun before him. It dissolved, leaving an ancient leather-bound record floating in its wake. He wagged his fingers and metal pages flipped until he stilled his hand. “According to the Etchings of Law, his entry was a fluke that could not be prevented. But he can’t be Grand Sentinel because he’s not Mesolands-born. That is ironclad. The end.”

“Would it matter if Siv becomes the Grand Sentinel?” Zelman asked. “She is as worthy as any competitor we’ve seen and is fully capa…”

Cold silence met the minister’s statement. He opened his mouth and then clamped it shut, realizing he may have just sealed his death warrant.

Siv tended to her dragon before taking a break. Esrala and Giln, the female apprentice jousters, struggled to carry a metal tub to the staging area. They set it before Siv, busy inspecting her dragon’s claws.

She stood. Although older, she was as lithe as the others. Only when she removed the dead sheep from the tub and tossed the carcass to Ghymugras did her true strength become evident. Both trainees stepped back in awe.

“Take your time and enjoy, Ghy,” she crooned. “Esrala and Giln, where are the imps who should be attending to my dragon?”

The younger females shook their heads. “We haven’t seen them.”

Nyrin fluttered into the hallway. “Lady Siv, you need to come eat. Your food is ready.”

“I’m coming.” She rubbed the dragon’s snout and turned to the apprentices. “Please take care of her. Only allow her to drink a small tub of water, please.”

“Yes, Lady Siv.” The apprentices scampered from the room to do her bidding.

As Siv walked toward the West Stage dining hall, she glanced at the countdown on the time monitor. Twenty minutes. Food was the last thing on her mind but she needed the sustenance. She joined Nyrin at a small table to one side. A server brought her a plate stacked with fruits and breads.

Across the room, the other jouster finished his meal and leaned back in the chair. He nodded once and Siv returned the greeting. His name was Altin and they had trained together when they were young, but never jousted in the same competition.

She nibbled on a hunk of bread, leaving Altin alone to his thoughts.

“Aren’t you hungry, Siv?” Nyrin popped a grape in her mouth. “You aren’t nervous, are you?”

“No, to tell you the truth, I’m not. And I’m not hungry either, although I need to partake of some food before the next contest.”

“Well, I’m starved.” The pixie polished off the food on her plate and went in search of more.

A novice jouster brought a jug to the table. He kept his eyes averted as he poured.

“Are you new?” Siv asked. “I haven’t seen you before. Where are you from?”

“Slak. A small village in the western hemisphere.”

Siv nodded. “I know it. How long have you been here?”

“I just arrived, Lady Siv.” He bowed and walked toward the other jouster’s table. He started to fill the cup, and the beverage spilled across the stone tabletop. Altin leapt to his feet as the servant mopped with his apron.

Nyrin returned with a plate piled full of cakes and sweets. Between bites, she chattered, sometimes with her mouth full.

“I’ve talked to the other flight guards. Everyone is excited. Today is the day of reckoning. They’ve started a betting pool and you’re favored to win.” Nyrin polished off another cake. She inclined her head to the other diner. “Even Altin’s guard bet on you. Only Dakrus and Rand’s guards voted for their jouster.”

“Hmmm.” Distracted, Siv glanced around the room, trying to figure out what had caused a sudden disturbance in her mind.

A screech echoed across the room, and Altin glanced at his scrying stone.

“I’m up first.” The monitors displayed “SEMI-FINAL ROUNDS” and his name. The screen wavered until Rand’s name appeared as his opponent. Under their names, the “Element of Afterlife” appeared as the banned art for the round.

He extended a hand. “You’ll fight Dakrus then. Good luck, Siv. Defeat him. You’ll make a good ruler.”

“It’s not over yet, Altin, but good luck to you, too.” Never one with extreme hubris, Siv shook his hand. Altin headed out.

Siv said, “Let’s go to staging, Nyrin.”

“Almost ready.” Nyrin grabbed her goblet and gulped.

“No!” Siv pivoted and knocked the cup to the floor. “How much did you drink?”

“The whole glass. Why?”

“Where is our server, the apprentice who brought the last jug?” Siv stomped up and down the aisles.

“I don’t know. What is it, Siv?”

“There’s something strange about him.” Siv grabbed her temples and concentrated. Then she snapped her fingers. “He knocked the jug over at Altin’s table, but now I don’t think it was an accident. It must be drugged. He poured me a glass, but I never drank from it.”

“It tasted fine to me. Let’s go. We don’t have a lot of time.”

The two arrived at the staging area just as the gates closed behind Altin.

Ghy snorted a greeting. Siv gave her a reassuring pat. Her gaze drifted to the tub of water at the dragon’s feet. Unease stirred in the pit of her stomach.

“Esrala, Giln!” Siv called the assistants. “Did Ghy drink this water? Where did it come from?”

“The cistern,” they answered in unison.

“You’re sure that’s where it came from?”

“Yes,” Giln said. “We drew it ourselves. Two imps carried a tub of water in, but they acted strangely. Nasty little things. They began to argue, and one pushed the other into the water. He was so dirty, we chased them away and got fresh water for Ghy. I think they were high on something.”

Siv slapped her forehead. “I should have realized there may be sabotage and kept closer watch.” She glanced at the monitors as the scrying drones panned the scene. Thunderous applause railed through the speakers as Altin took his place. A mix of cheers and hisses greeted Rand.

“That drowd is getting guggly,” Nyrin mumbled through puffed lips.

“What did you say?” Siv turned.

Nyrin’s eyes rolled up, and she fell forward onto her face.

Chaos ensued. An uneasy Ghy snorted puffs of gray smoke. The two apprentices bumped into each other, trying to help. Then Giln raced away to find a healer.

Heavy booing rattled the stadium. Siv stole a peek at the floating monitors. Rand had won the match and was on a short victory lap before returning to the West Stage.

“Nyrin, wake up! Wake up!” Siv cried. The pixie curled up and snored softly.

“We have to go without her, Ghy!”

The wyvern swooped low so Siv could climb onto the saddle. They blew through the gates to the starting point. Their opponents were already in the stadium, swooping and somersaulting. Dakrus’ mount drifted to the starting point.

A new wave of cheers followed as Ghy lined up at the opposite end.

Siv’s memory rings warned her that Dakrus aimed to dislodge her saddle. As he thundered down the field, he summoned fire to form a wall of flame and smoke. Siv called forth the blast of air she needed to keep her vision clear. She blocked his weapon with a mighty thrust from her shield. At the same time, Ghy twisted and slapped her massive tail into the chest of the opposing dragon, sending the beast and its rider crashing against a wall. Applause followed the two teams until they reached the end of the field and skidded around the U-turn mark.

With the next pass, Dakrus summoned the forces of death and the undead to surround him and his mount. Writhing, tortured souls formed a black wall of smoke, blocking him from Siv’s view.

Lightning bolts flashed, sending shock waves throughout the stadium as Siv called on the elements of earth, air, and water. The strengths of the two powerful jousters brought them to a standstill as the arts warred against each other, stalled by some unseen wall between them.

Heat from Ghy’s flaming breath propelled over Siv, whose clothing had already changed to the life-saving armor. She and Ghy both flapped their wings to further fan the air against the wall of godforsaken figures struggling to reach them.

Siv’s memory rings warned her that the coronal had fallen off Dakrus’ lance, revealing a sharpened metal tip aimed straight for her heart. Armor hardened over her. She stood in the stirrups and called forth the power of water. Her command of the combined arts was too much for Dakrus’ power of death and the undead. The torrent broke through the invisible wall, engulfing the fiends.

Although thrown off balance by the flood, Dakrus’ dragon continued the charge. Ghy careened her massive chest into the other dragon while Siv powered her lance at Dakrus’ shoulder. The attack on his unbalanced frame sent him toppling from his saddle. He swayed at the end of the tether.

Derisive catcalls ensued. The umpire again declared Siv the winner. Tudoriax flipped his palm at Siv.

Dakrus’ dragon began its flight of shame, circling the stadium until it could land the furious, dangling jouster onto a solid surface.

Ghy looped into one graceful somersault before flying to the staging area to thunderous approval from the crowds.

The five-minute intermission allowed just enough time for a comfort break.

After the monitors flashed Siv’s and Rand’s names, scrambled letters flipped on the next line. At last, the letters fell into formation, revealing “ALL MAGICS BANNED.”

The crowd roared in disapproval.

“Lady Siv! Can the council do that?” Giln cried.

Siv shrugged and mounted Ghy. “No telling what they can do, but this should be interesting.” The duo headed onto the field.

The jousters squared off at their starting points. It was only then Siv realized that without magic, her armor would not form. Her memory rings remained dark.

As if reading her thoughts, Rand removed his armor. The spectators burst into cheers.

Rand was as handicapped as she—except as a Fire Elf, he never tethered to his saddle.

Determined to compete on an equal footing with her opponent. Siv stood in the stirrups and made a point of removing her tether. The crowd lapsed into silence.

Let this match begin. I’m ready.

On the first pass, Siv managed to slice one of the straps of Rand’s stirrup. His lance snagged the billowy cloth of her sleeve. She jerked sideways, but remained seated. The dragons lashed at each other with their spiked tails and then continued to the opposite end with both riders upright.

The teams lined up for the second pass and charged ahead.

Siv stared down the padded coronal of Rand’s advancing lance. She aimed hers, and in a micro-second, the two ends smashed together. The impact sent Rand’s mount crashing against a railing while Ghy spun head over heels. Siv’s coronal broke, leaving a sharp point.

Siv struggled to hold on. The crowd roared when Ghy righted and the feisty jouster still remained in the saddle.

Ghy steadied and rounded the U-turn, as did Rand’s mount at the opposite end.

The next six seconds seemed to go by in slow motion. Siv raised her lance just enough to deflect Rand’s, and she lunged forward. Her lance speared into his chest muscles straight through his scapula. Ghy’s right wing struck him across the forehead. Her tail lashed out, sending Rand’s dragon into a tailspin.

The impaled lance caused Rand to lose his balance. He slipped from the saddle and began the fall toward the void. His dragon swooped to catch its rider.

For a second, Rand hesitated. With his injured arm, he caught the pommel just in time and heaved his body back into the saddle.

Despite the injury, he pulled himself upright. He guided his dragon on one flight around the jousting field with the lance still protruding from his body.

He met Siv in the center. “Your lance, Grand Sentinel, Ma’am.” He pulled the spear from his shoulder and handed the bloody, broken shaft to Siv. He forced her hand upward to hold it aloft. The crowd went wild. A furious-looking Tudoriax gave a fling of his arm as he pointed to Siv and then stormed from the stadium.

Stomps and cheers rocked the arena.

“You’re a worthy opponent, Siv,” Rand said with a bow of his head. “Congratulations.”

Siv’s gaze drifted to the void below their feet, then to Rand’s shoulder. “As are you, Rand. You should get your wound tended to as soon as possible.”

“I will.” Rand winked and let his gaze travel to the crystals on her suit. “If I come to you after the victory celebrations, will you wear this suit, if you can prevent it from turning into body-chewing armor?”

“Are you willing to take the risk?”

Rand paused and grinned. “Yes, I’ll take that chance.”

She smiled and said, “I’m glad you decided not to die your glorious death today. See you tonight.” Siv nudged Ghy, and the pair flew into their victory dance. Impressive bolts of lightning flashed silver and blue, winds blew away clouds to clear the sky. Misting water formed arcs of rainbows.

Ignoring the display of elements, Rand studied the amazing crystals covering Siv’s form.

Some days, other things were more important than a glorious death.

About Allie Marie

Award-winning author Allie Marie grew up in Virginia. Her passion for genealogy inspired her to write the True Color Series. Her other stories patiently wait for their turn.

Her debut, Teardrops of the Innocent: The White Diamond Story, was a 2015 New England Readers' Choice Award (NERCA) Finalist in paranormal. The second, Heart of Courage: The Red Ruby Story earned two “Best Book” awards at the 2017 Indie Romance Convention Awards. The fourth, Hands of the Healer: The Christmas Emerald, garnered a 2019 Rocky Mountain Best Cover Award as well as finalizing in the 2019 NERCA. Child of Time released in 2019.

Plans for 2020 include a WW1 time-travel mystery, and the True Spirits Trilogy, a spin-off of her original series.

Besides family, her passions are travel and camping with her husband Jack.

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Also By Allie Marie

THE TRUE COLORS SERIES

Teardrops of the Innocent: The White Diamond Story (Book 1)

Heart of Courage: The Red Ruby Story (Book 2)

Voice of the Just: The Blue Sapphire (Book 3)

Hands of the Healer: The Christmas Emerald (Book 4)

Child of Time: The Pearl Watch (Book 5)

Tis The Season

It’s a Wonderful Life After All

Resistance by Felicity Brandon

The Demonology Series

Chapter 1

Cathy

The piercing panic of the alarm startled Cathy, and still half-asleep, she stumbled out of bed. Her heart raced as she moved from the bedroom into the blackness of the hall, tracing the wall with her hands until she found the light switch, but she didn’t allow it to cloud her emotions.

Who had triggered the alarm at this time of night or, more specifically, what?

Cathy swallowed as the question resonated, though it was futile. She already knew what it was—there was only one thing hiding under cover of the night in her home, and as her fingers finally found the switch, casting the landing into bright light, there was only one answer she expected the illumination to reveal.

But there was nothing. No one.

No one lurking in the corner, ready to pounce. No obvious threat. Nothing at all. Except something had triggered the motion sensor in this part of the house, and moving toward it, Cathy noticed the unit, confirming her suspicions. It had been movement in this corridor that had initiated the alarm. She entered the security code, deactivating the wailing bell, and tried to calm her pounding heart rate, but it wouldn’t quell. Something had activated the sensor, and whatever it was could still be in the house. Cathy’s instincts validated that view, and her impulses were virtually never wrong

With a deep breath, she glanced over her shoulder, forcing her feet into the same level of fortitude. It was one thing to be blessed with the supernatural abilities she possessed, yet quite another to face them on your own, night after night. She was a resilient woman, well-versed in the means of her kind and more than able to vanquish an unwelcome being, yet her senses implored caution.

This was someone else—something Cathy had been forced to deal with numerous times before, and she was ready.

Turning, she paced down the hallway in her pajamas, her strength emboldened with each new step. The creature who’d triggered her alarm might have had the upper hand, but that only elicited a greater determination to exile the fiend. Cathy hadn’t been expecting visitors tonight, yet it seemed she was to receive at least one, regardless.

Now it was time to find out who or what disturbed her beauty sleep.

Damon

He’d watched her. Night after night for an unquantifiable amount of time, he had observed, scrutinizing the way she lived, the way she ate alone most evenings, the incantations she recited before she slept. Cathy Bateman was a guardian—the guardian in this precious district—and she was a damn good one.

Damon had witnessed others go up against her and be cast out in a heartbeat, and he wasn’t going to make the same errors. So, he had waited. He waited for the lunar cycle, for the omens to align—for the time to be right—then, on this evening, with the veils between their worlds thinning, he sensed the time had approached. As the clock lurched into the witching hour, he’d slipped inside the house, appearing right in her bedroom, and in his usual unhurried pace, he’d loomed over her sleeping form.

The things the others had said had been true. Cathy was angelic, her sleeping form beautiful even as she curled into a ball beneath the sheets. Damon eyed the guardian who had caused him so much grief. How could this tiny little human have provoked such angst in a creature as powerful as he? Yet even as the riddle flashed through his mind, the solution was obvious. Cathy wasn’t just any human. She descended from a long line of strong guardians, the latest to step forward from her bloodline and protect the people of this village. She might look weak and diminutive in the bed, but Damon knew better. He knew his influence was useless with the enchantments she’d cast around the room. His lips sealed tight, his power impotent in the face of her magic.

With a low grunt, he withdrew. Damon could feel the weight of Cathy’s influence bearing down upon him like an oppressive heat he couldn’t push away, and the sensation forced his retreat. He could have disappeared the way he entered, using the portal to vanish from Cathy’s room, but the sense of her engulfed him, overwhelming his judgment.

Unthinkingly, he shifted into the hallway, disgruntled at his own shortcomings. Why hadn’t he foreseen the command of Cathy’s invocations? Damon had seen her conjure enough over the weeks he’d been watching, but then that was the problem with surveying from the sidelines. His research had revealed a capable guardian, yet it gave him no awareness of the way she’d affect him—of the power of her charms.

Just as the reality washed over Damon’s flesh, the alarm activated behind him. He glared at the thing as though the small box in the corner of the hall would be intimidated by his merciless amethyst stare, and then he was moving, jumping to the ceiling and crawling back into the shadows.

Cathy appeared a moment later. She stumbled out in her nightwear, and even in the dark, Damon could sense her brow furrow as she felt for the light switch. Of course, by the time the bulb flooded illumination into the hallway, he was no longer visible to the human eye, but he was there, watching her.

And he knew Cathy would be aware of his dark presence.

Chapter 2

Cathy

Whatever it was, the intruder’s lingering scent in the air clung to her skin everywhere she wandered like it wanted to suffocate her.

Perhaps, it did.

That’s how it always was with Cathy. The gift she’d inherited from her mother had only grown stronger over the years until she’d been ready to take on the role of guardian herself.

Her gaze darted around the upstairs of her home. At first glance, things seemed normal, yet in her heart, Cathy knew they were not. It was here—whatever it was—an ominous male presence which had roused her, and now, it probably wanted to play. She lowered her gaze and collected her thoughts before she called out.

“Who is here?” Cathy’s voice had taken on the steely quality it often did when she communed. The ability to harness her innate gifts had taken years to employ, and even now, she hadn’t mastered them. Yet every time she drew on her strength, Cathy seemed to get fiercer, a little bolder, more thunderous.

She liked it. This was who she was. Strong, defiant, and bullish about what was hers—hers to employ and hers to protect. She’d guarded the souls of the people here for years already, her natural life extended, it seemed, by her extraordinary gift.

“Come on!” She lifted her chin, sensing her guest lurked somewhere above her. It was a common trait of those who walked the night to disappear from human sight, but it wouldn’t work on Cathy for long. “I know you’re here. I can smell you, fiend. What are you waiting for?”

“How about the element of surprise?”

The voice seemed to echo from all around Cathy, its vibration low and whirring as though it sought to envelop her, but Cathy shook the sensation away. It was a trick invoked by even the most rookie imp, and while it worked on the average person, it wouldn’t be enough to capture her.

Cathy arched an eyebrow at the question. “How is that going?”

A dark chuckle reverberated around her. “Not as well as I’d hoped, Cathy Bateman.”

So, the fiend knew her name? She exhaled at the realization. Good. Let it know her. Let it cower to her.

“I am not cowering, Cathy.”

And it could read her thoughts, as well? That was a new one.

“Then why are you hiding, imp?” Cathy’s hands landed on her slim hips as she flicked her blonde hair back from her face. “You have intruded. You have come to me, and now you choose to hide. You’re nothing but a coward!”

“Wrong.”

It was only one word, but the resonance of it rattled along the hallway like the bass of an electric amplifier. The light fittings shook causing her body to tremble in an involuntary shudder. She inhaled, summoning all her strength. Anything that could affect the atmosphere with such authority had to be ancient or powerful. She gulped back the notion.

“I do not hide, Cathy.”

“You choose not to show yourself.” She shook her head as if to reinforce the point. “Who are you, and why do you disturb me?”

She sensed the fiend fall from its hiding place on the ceiling in the far corner, her gaze following it, though there was still nothing to see. Staring into the spot where the light illuminated the hall, it began to manifest. Either it took a vast amount of energy, or the creature just wanted to put on a show, but as soon as the black outline of the man became visible, the bulb overhead flickered. The swish of electricity reverberated around Cathy’s head, and her heart pounded faster, though she refused to be swayed by the gestures.

Cathy wasn’t afraid. She had never been afraid since Malium, the first demon she’d encountered, and she had neither the time nor the inclination to begin with fear again now. Briefly, she closed her eyes, sensing the swirl of protective energy around her. Let the intruder have its moment. It would know who was boss soon enough.

The physical display began—as was so often the case—at the fiend’s feet. Cathy saw the outline of large feet fill before her eyes, the specter growing upward into dark trousers and a honed, muscular chest. Within a moment, the presence of a man stood a few feet from where she stood, the final fragments of him still forming as she took in his towering frame.

Who are you? She sent the question to him again, though this time, it never escaped her lips. The trepidation in her simmered at the way his lips curled. Dark, amethyst eyes met her query, his brow rising as if he couldn’t believe she had just made the demand.

“Come now.” Fully formed, the stranger hooked his thumbs into his trouser pockets, blowing the strands of long, dark brown hair from his mesmerizing eyes. “We both know I’m not going to tell you, Cathy.”

She pressed her lips into a hard line. Well, of course, he wouldn’t. The fiend was smart enough to know as soon as Cathy had identified him, she was well on her way to casting him back to whatever wasteland he usually resided. She doubted he had any means of knowing how she intended to make sure he succumbed.

“I will find out.” She took a step toward him. “I will find out, and this will be over, demon.”

The stranger grinned, revealing near perfect, white teeth. “Is that what I am?”

“You know what you are,” she growled in his direction. “We both know. You’ve come to oppress and overpower, but you can’t subjugate me.”

Cathy’s voice had a mocking, sing-song quality. The creature may appear to be bigger and stronger, but that was mere vanity. Fiends always assumed a looming presence would be enough to overpower her. Cathy was neither impressed nor cowed by the manifestation. She had a job to do, and she intended to do it. Whatever this creature was, it wouldn’t get past her.

Of that, she was certain.

“Is that what I’m doing?” He ran the tip of his tongue over the white teeth, those incredible eyes flashing at Cathy. “Is that what I’ve come for?”

She ignored its distracting queries, her attention lingering on his compelling gaze. In all her years of guardianship, Cathy had never seen one like it. Of course, the sprite would create the illusion of anything it thought would aid its endeavor—smoke and mirrors were always the friend of the fiend—yet it seemed this one had truly outdone himself. Tall and dark with the most remarkable bone structure, this one was downright alluring, a fact he was evidently aware of when he strode in Cathy’s direction.

Chapter 3

Damon

Damon wanted to smile at Cathy’s line of inquiry. It had been precisely what he’d expected. The guardian would seek to identify him and use the knowledge to ostracize his soul from her presence. His lips twitched at the thought—as if Damon had a soul left to banish—and instinctively, he closed the distance between them.

“I will beat you.” There wasn’t a flicker of fear in the woman while her neck craned up to meet his insistent gaze. “You know it, and so do I.”

She was gutsy, Damon would give her that. Not that he hadn’t already been aware. Cathy’s reputation for her no-nonsense approach to guardianship preceded her, but to see it in the flesh was truly something. The fight in her sent a tingle of heat up the length of his back, and while he ensured it was a glower he shot in Cathy’s direction, he wondered if she could see past the façade.

Could she tell how captivating Damon really found her? How enchanting she was? Would she know the undisclosed desires he harbored in the same way he could detect them from her? And Damon could sense the need in the feisty little blonde.

Focused on the task, she may be, but she was also a human—a red-blooded woman—with the same needs as any other. With her small features and elfin looks, Cathy used her beauty as a mask—a tool to capture and exorcise—but it wasn’t going to work on Damon. With the year-end approaching, he was hellbent on subduing the beguiling Miss Bateman and bingeing himself on as many innocents as he could possess.

“I think you’re quite wrong, Cathy.” Damon suppressed the smile, which threatened to rise. “This is a game from which only one of us can triumph, and I do not hold much hope for you.”

Cathy’s eyes narrowed. “Then you, fiend, have already made your first mistake.” She folded her arms across the front of her pajamas. “Underestimate me at your peril.”

He lifted his palms in a conciliatory gesture. “I would never dare to fall foul of such folly, Cathy. I am well aware of your ferocity. I know your will is as strong as mine, and perhaps, your knowledge is as great as well.”

Damon’s memory flitted back to the overbearing enchantment which had caused his retreat into the hall in the first place. Only a witch with encompassing power would have been able to cast those hexes, but then, only one with such ability would have been promoted to a guardian in the first place.

“Then why do you try me?” Her blonde eyebrow arched as she spoke. “If you know you cannot win, why not just cede?”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her assessment. “Is that what I said?” he asked, genuinely bemused at her assumptions. “I cannot win? Cathy, if I truly believed that, I would not have come at all.”

Cathy’s expression hardened. “So, it is an impasse then? Neither of us willing to back down.”

Damon sneered down at her thundering face. An impasse? Powerful Cathy might be, but she was still only human, and those comments exposed the frail condition.

“An impasse?” he repeated, drawing her attention north to meet his gaze. “Well, that goes without saying. I was thinking of something a little more rewarding.”

Her lips parted, and for the first time since he’d manifested, she shivered.

“A battle?” she inquired, meeting his eyes with a determined stare. “A challenge you must overcome before you can pass?”

Now, that was more like it, but naturally, Cathy’s words were out of step. Damon already faced the challenge she referred to—Cathy was that challenge. He sought a far graver outcome, understanding instinctively what so many others had failed to comprehend. There was no passing Cathy Bateman. The only way to feast on the array of souls she protected was to remove her completely—to pulverize her—and prove to the people who looked to her for hope what Damon had learned many years ago—all manner of terrible things were possible when their gods chose to look the other way.

There was fire burning in what remained of his heart when he finally chose to respond to her question. “A war, Miss Bateman.” Damon’s voice echoed up and down the length of the hallway, and Cathy’s eyes widened at the haunting sound.

“I seek war.”

Chapter 4

Cathy

So, it was to be war then? Cathy pushed back her shoulders and stared into the amethyst pools of Damon’s eyes. They might be the most alluring she’d ever seen in a demon, but Cathy reminded herself of the soulless pool of despair she was staring into—the abyss. If she continued to be so enthralled by the temptation those eyes offered, that abyss was going to stare right back at her—to pierce her, consume her.

“War it is, then.” She slipped her hand into her pajama pocket and gripped her crystals for support. Envisaging a ring of glowing light around her body, Cathy steeled herself. “I am ready for you, fiend.”

“I am pleased to hear it.” He lifted his right palm, those purple orbs flickering closed, and all at once, the air around Cathy began to tremble and shake.

Panting, she fought to compose herself, willing her powers to rise and take on the creature’s assault, yet to her horror, the brute seemed too strong. He temporarily overcame her, taking control of her arms, which slipped behind her back despite her insistence they remain in place.

“I know about your wrath, Cathy.” His eyes opened again, his ominous grin appearing while his hand rose in the air. Somehow, every inch it ascended, and Cathy seemed less able to move, his motion containing her, restraining her, holding her in place. “And I know about your skills because I have been watching you.”

She forced her gaze in his direction, her lips parting to respond even though she spoke no words.

“But you do not know me.” The demon moved closer. “You do not know my wrath or my abilities. You, Miss Bateman, are ill prepared to go to war.”

“I am ready for you.”

Cathy pushed the words out in one breath. At this moment, he was stronger, but she knew this game of old. This was a battle of wills, and Cathy never lost those encounters.

Cathy didn’t lose.

He took a step closer to Cathy, the dark fabric of his attire grazing her bare feet as he loomed. Instinctively, Cathy lifted her chin in defiance. Her heart might be about to hammer its way into her throat, but she wouldn’t let it show—she would never let it show. Even if the fiend could read her thoughts, she wouldn’t falter. The demon had been right. Her powers were as great, her will just as strong.

“You won’t make it past my enchantments.” Cathy spat the words at him. “Even if you get past me, which you won’t, you won’t be able to penetrate the hexes surrounding the village.”

His lips twitched, and if she didn’t know better, there was a flicker of something in those hypnotic orbs—what was that? Realization? Or acceptance?

“Perhaps.” The demon’s expressions softened, his hold on her relaxing slightly while his hand lowered. “Maybe you’re correct. You are, after all, well versed in this vexing witchcraft.”

She sniggered at his assessment. For centuries, her kind had been associated with the satanic, known for aiding the demon’s endeavor, yet her bloodline had spent generations doing the precise opposite. Their influence, it seemed, was legendary, even among the creatures of the night.

“So, accept your fate.” Cathy met his pensive stare with what she hoped was a determined one. “You will not dine on my people this night nor any other. Leave this place and do not return.”

His tongue whipped from his mouth again, running a slow line across his teeth, something about the deed causing the tension to furl in Cathy’s stomach.

“If I cannot dine tonight, then I must find new ways to occupy my time.” His eyebrow arched, and despite her years of experience and understanding how a fiend’s mind worked, Cathy could not deny the way the gesture affected her. Heat bloomed at her core, rising to her face in an ungainly blush.

“So be it,” she replied, pushing the distracting response away. “Go now and leave me. We shall think no more of it.”

The demon smiled, his free hand moving slowly toward Cathy’s face. She watched its pursuit with horrifying clarity. His long, slender digits seemed human enough, and when they skimmed her heated cheek, the caress was soft, but Cathy knew better. The hand wasn’t human. In fact, it wasn’t a hand at all. It was the claw of a beast who would strike her down as fast as it would stroke. His feathery touches were a lie.

“I do not think I will, Cathy.” His voice shifted into a soft purr, the resonance vibrating through her body again. “I think I have found a new and more enticing way to occupy my time.”

Cathy gulped at the thin veneer of his words. Whatever the fiend intended, her instincts told her it did not bode well for her, and reflexively, she wanted to fight.

“No!”

She squeezed her eyes closed, pushing the demon out of her head. It wasn’t until the comfort of the blackness behind her lids, Cathy was able to see just how close the creature had come to devouring her, to pushing her over the edge. Summoning the energy residing within, she imagined it rising from her middle, stretching out to force his intentions back. When she opened her eyes once more, Cathy could see it was working. He still towered over her, those mesmerizing eyes searing a line into her soul, but he was weaker now. Cathy sensed it, and when she inched forward, she noticed the way those eyes widened. The fiend sensed her power ascending.

The fight was on.

“You are a spirited one.” His dark laughter rang around the hallway, and those amethyst eyes sparkled. “I like that in a guardian.”

Cathy gritted her teeth. He was playing with her—taunting her—and she didn’t like it one jot.

“Then you’re going to love me.”

The fiend glowered down. “You are so right. And that, Cathy, is why you must come with me.”

Chapter 5

Damon

He swept her up in his darkness before she even had time to process the threat. Had Cathy had the time, Damon was sure she had the strength to resist him, so he took the only course of action remaining open to him—he didn’t give her the time. He denied Cathy the opportunity to regroup and come back at him, yet he couldn’t accept defeat and just retreat through the portal back into the night. Something about the tiny woman captivated him. Even though he had been surveying her for the longest time—he was aware of her charms, and he should know better—Damon found himself enraptured by her presence.

So, he decided to take her with him.

Damon cast the dark light over her diminutive frame, catching Cathy unaware for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Enough to rip her from the celestial plane she walked and tear her back into the wastelands of his domain. Damon sensed the energy rising within Cathy, swelling into fury as they whipped through time and matter, reappearing instantaneously within the confines of his lair.

“Where am I?” She hissed, advancing on him like a wild cat, though clearly, she already knew the answer to her own query.

He smiled at the ferocity in her tone. Many had quaked at the prospect of being brought here. They’d cowered, and they’d cried as they’d entered hell, but not Cathy. There was a fire burning in her light blue eyes as her finger jabbed him in the chest.

“Take me back.” Cathy’s determined stare pinned him as she stamped her foot in a show of defiance. “Take me back, you brute!”

Damon glanced around the shadows of his dominion, half perturbed and half awe-struck by her performance. He had known of her ferocity and relished the power struggle between them, but he hadn’t counted on this—a witch so intense, she was blinded to the obvious threat she now found herself in.

“Don’t make me subdue you, Cathy.”

He stepped away, stretching his back. Remaining in this physical body was an exhausting waste of his energy, yet Damon sensed Cathy wasn’t ready to see his true state. This guise was necessary—a required façade to bribe her cooperation—although so far, that had not exactly gone to plan…

“Ha!” she snorted, closing the distance between them again. “You, demon, do not have the power to subdue me.”

Damon turned to her, his eyes narrowing. He’d been playing the game with Cathy so far, giving her a brief display of his power, but nothing too vulgar, yet she still pushed him.

“I contained you at the house.” His voice had lowered to a snarl. “And I can do so again, little human. As often as I need to.” This time, he took a step forward, halting Cathy’s progress and glowering down at her wide eyes. “Any time I like.”

Cathy’s lips closed at his warning, yet he still saw the flames of defiance in her gaze.

“Why have you brought me here?”

She wrapped her arms around her chest, glancing about his lair for the first time, and if Damon wasn’t mistaken, there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, a hint of what was to come.

“I couldn’t leave you.” The admission surprised Damon, and his brow furrowed as the words left his lips. “If I can’t get past you, then I want you for myself.”

“What?” Her hands slipped to her hips. “You don’t get to keep me, demon. I’m a guardian. You don’t win—I win.”

Damon gazed down at her with a smile. “I know who you are,” he murmured. “I know what you are capable of, Cathy. I should have just broken you in half in the hall, yet somehow, I didn’t…”

He stumbled backward at the concession. He hadn’t. Why hadn’t he?

“I couldn’t.”

She exhaled, running the finger of one hand through her shoulder-length blonde hair. “I was too strong for you.”

He laughed. “I know that’s what you want to believe.”

Cathy’s brow rose in protest. “It is the truth, fiend. If you’d wanted to kill me, you’d have done so while I slept, except you could not. You weren’t powerful enough. My incantations pushed you away, and that’s what forced you to set off the alarm.” Her face beamed in triumph. “That’s what really happened, isn’t it, fiend? Admit it—that’s the truth.”

Damon shook his head. Taking Cathy with him had seemed like a good choice at the time, but gazing down at her now, he started to wonder. This constant battle for control was going to wear thin sooner than he’d anticipated.

“Will you stop calling me that?”

“What?”

“Fiend,” he retorted. “And demon.”

It wasn’t like Damon was ashamed of what he was. He’d been a creature of the darkness for more centuries than he cared to remember. He was old, he was strong, and he wasn’t used to taking nonsense from tiny humans like Cathy, but something about the way she spat the terms at him was disheartening. Cathy didn’t give them the respect they deserved, and she didn’t cower to them. It was disconcerting.

She sighed. “Are you not those things?”

Damon lifted his chin with pride. “I am an ancient evil.”

“Yet, you still could not pass the weak little woman?” She snickered at her assessment. “How mighty you must be.”

He advanced on her in a flash, moving so fast, Cathy probably never even saw the motion, but Damon saw hers. He saw the way her eyes widened with terror, heard the quickening of her heart, and as she fell backward, he reached for her tumbling body, catching her in his grasp.

“They call me Damon.” The anger dissolved as he held her in his arms. “And that is how you shall address me.”

Chapter 6

Cathy

Cathy’s head was spinning. The creature, Damon, had moved so fast, she swore he hadn’t shifted at all, yet there he was, on her, over her, capturing her in his arms after his agility had knocked her from her feet. Cathy had dealt with trickery and the brute strength before, yet she couldn’t recall a fiend as quick on his feet… or hooves or whatever actually constituted his anatomy. Those purple eyes drilled into her, the gaze so intense, she thought she might just burst into flames.

“Damon.” In the end, she’d whispered the word, though Cathy had no memory of instructing her lips to do so.

“That’s right.” His lips twitched as he eased her back to her feet. “Guardian or not, you’d be wise not to push me, Cathy. I am older than you, infinitely more experienced, and definitely more cunning.”

She swallowed, the reality of his appraisal washing over her like icy water. The fiend was right. It was likely he was more capable than she. Cathy’s strength came from her inner energies and from the protection rooted in her home, swathed by her ancestors. She was weaker here—wherever the hell this was—and she shuddered at the thought. The dominion of a demon could very well be hell.

“What do you want with me?”

Damon’s arms still encircled her middle, his violet gaze impossible to read while he stared down at her face.

“You intrigue me, little human.” He smiled at the explanation. “I had thought to keep you.”

Her brows knitted. “Keep me?”

Of course, she understood all too well what the brute inferred, but there was no way, absolutely no way she was remaining here with him. Cathy had a life, a salient task to perform, especially at this time of the year with Samhain just around the corner. Why would she choose to remain with a demon? One who, on another day, would have gladly cut her down to destroy the people Cathy was sworn to protect.

“Well, you cannot.” She lifted her chin to meet his gaze, her tone emphatic. “I am not a thing to be kept, and you know once I am discovered missing, my kind will be after you.”

Damon shrugged. “So, let them come.” His lips curled. “I have allies who will enjoy the battle. It has been too long since our kinds clashed, and it is the perfect time of the year for the purge.”

Cathy inhaled at the threat. She refused to succumb to the fear burgeoning in the pit of her belly. Fear could not help her now. Pulling from his arms, she turned away from his insistent gaze. Blinking into the shadows of Damon’s domain, Cathy’s eyes closed, and she silently summoned the light to her side. Lifting her head, she could feel its power, sweeping in from the sides, shoving the shadows back as it swirled in and around her body. The energy moved her, fueling her, giving her strength.

“That won’t work.” Damon’s voice was gleeful, and with it, Cathy sensed the edge of the energy ebbing. “That kind of magic won’t work here, Cathy.”

All of a sudden, he was on her again. Cathy could feel the heat of his body envelop her, his darkness snubbing out the breadth of her light as his arms snaked around her middle. Blindly, she fought, pushing back for everything she was worth, compelling the energy to stay, to remain by her side through this ordeal, yet frustratingly, it seemed Damon’s analysis had been spot on—her charms weren’t as strong here as they had been at home. Grounded by the power of the elements, Cathy was virtually impenetrable, but here—in this godforsaken place—she was weaker.

Vulnerable.

“That’s right.” Damon’s voice purred into her right ear, and Cathy’s eyes snapped open, her hands on his arms, trying to push him away, but it was as if his limbs were made of metal—solid, formidable, and damn near impossible to resist.

“You are vulnerable here, Cathy.”

“I am not.” Her voice was steely despite the truth in Damon’s sentiment. “Now, remove your arms from me. You bring corruption to everything you touch.”

The resonance of his laughter tickled her neck. “So, I am to corrupt you?”

Cathy’s lips parted, her lower lip disappearing between her teeth as fleetingly, she imagined what it would be like to be tainted by a creature like Damon. She gulped, trying to suppress the desire. This lunacy was, no doubt, all part of the creature’s plan to lull her. He was hypnotizing her, casting a spell over Cathy’s rational mind to ensnare her senses. But she knew better. The lips which skimmed her nape might feel hot to the touch, but beneath their glossy exterior lurked a depraved demon. His skin might be warm as it immobilized her, but there was no blood heating his body.

Damon had brought Cathy here to be his captive, to control and mesmerize, and she must not fall for his deceit.

She must not allow the heat of his breath or his whispered words to fool her.

She must resist his temptation.

Chapter 7

Damon

Cathy was yielding. Damon could sense it as he held her in his arms. He sensed the conflict in her thoughts, and the rush of yearning when his lips brushed the soft skin of her neck. The closer they became, the more her longing burned into his psyche. Lust had never been one of his favorite sins, but meeting Cathy was fast changing his assessment of the social order. Who needed gluttony and a barrel full of small-minded souls when he had this—the mind and energy of a guardian like Cathy Bateman, let alone the hot flesh he knew she was hiding beneath those cotton pajamas she insisted on donning each night? The human was the epitome of temptation, and her covet to defy him doing little to quell his appetite for her.

It was the age-old battle for power—the sexual predator going head-to-head with the flawless morality of a guardian of the light. It was timeless, evocative.

Intoxicating.

“Let me be.” Cathy’s voice was raspy, her growing need evident in her tone. “Please, Damon.”

He smiled at the way his name sounded on her lips. Naturally, it was not his real name, not the one given to him in the beginning, but that mattered not. Those nouns were reserved for the very depths of hell. He had always preferred the name he’d chosen for himself and never had it sounded better than it did from Cathy.

“I am not hurting you,” he murmured into her hair, the scent of honey filling his senses. “If I had wanted to hurt you, Cathy, you would have already been filled with pain.”

She trembled, glancing over her shoulder to meet his gaze. “Please.”

Cathy repeated the word, but there was little conviction in it as her pupils dilated. Reacting to her body language, Damon’s hands separated, one rising to cradle her chest while the other slipped south.

“What do you need, sweet little human?”

Her head fell against his chest at the question, her hands clawing at his body as though the two halves of Cathy could not resolve the conundrum. Should she give in and allow the pleasure to consume her? In her mind, she had already started to succumb, and Damon caught glimpses of the ravenous way she wanted to be devoured, but still, Cathy’s body fought for her virtue. For her morality. For her principles.

“Stop, please.” Cathy’s pretty features screwed into a ball, and one of her hands rose to grasp at his hair.

“You want me to stop?” Damon edged away from her panting body, once again moving so fast, Cathy had no time to process the loss.

Turning with wide eyes, she searched for him, biting her lip while she fought to catch her breath.

“There, I stopped.” His brow rose. “Better?”

Cathy’s gaze lowered to the dirt floor, her body folding in on itself.

“What are you doing to me? What are you doing to the light inside of me?”

Damon smirked at her accusations. “Me?” he asked innocently. “What am I doing? I was merely holding you, Cathy. Nothing more, nothing less.” He took a step in her direction. “Why, what were you imagining?”

She flushed at his words, unable to meet his no doubt knowing gaze. Because Damon did know. He knew precisely what Cathy was thinking, and the depth of her need stirred him.

“I…” She lifted her gaze. “Nothing.” Cathy swallowed the lie as though it was painful. “I wasn’t thinking anything.”

Damon shook his head, wanting to grin at her willful deceit.

“Why resist me?” He fixed her with the most intense stare he could muster. “Why refuse me when you know I can bring you such pleasure, Cathy?”

“It’s not right,” she countered. Her gaze widened when Damon shifted closer, but Cathy never looked to retreat.

“How so? You would illuminate the boundless gloom of my eternity, Miss Bateman.” Damon was back with her now, one hand trailing a line up the length of her left arm.

Usually, it would have pained him to be this gentle—preferring to bind and destroy—but with Cathy, there was no need for restraint. The woman offered herself up for control. She wanted to be ravaged, that was irrefutable, but even now, in the pit of his dominion, Cathy was strong. Her energy might be tapered here, diminished in his presence, but not eradicated entirely. Her soul was unbreakable, and Damon sensed nothing he could do would possess her entirely, much though the thought allured him.

The best he could aspire for was Cathy’s surrender, her need to give in to his will becoming more powerful than her desire to protect her people and do the right thing. Catching her chin between his forefinger and thumb, he sensed she deserved pleasure. For too long, she had sacrificed her own happiness for those thankless souls. In all the time he’d watched her, he had never once seen her deviate from her monotonous routine. There was no hedonism in Cathy Bateman’s life—just a sequence of obligation and unfulfillment.

“I can’t.” She breathlessly panted. “I can’t let you, Damon.”

“You can’t consent?”

“I must not.” She appealed to him with large, imploring eyes.

“And if I make you?”

Cathy’s head rose with defiance. “You could try.”

The bravado was back. Damon smiled. He adored how gutsy and willful she was. From the first moment he’d spotted her, he’d admired her pluck, and he respected it no less now.

“Yes, I could.” The hand at her chin threaded her silky, blonde locks, fisting them roughly. “I could make you.”

Damon leaned closer to her face, his passion swelling at her concerned expression. Intoxicating though she was, he was still a creature of the darkness, and her spiking trepidation drove him wild with desire.

“If it helps, you could say I forced you.”

Cathy blinked at him. “Forced?”

“Yes, Cathy.” Damon sent his voice vibrating down the length of her body, sensing the tingle of anticipation coursing through her. “Tell them I took you against your will.”

Chapter 8

Cathy

Cathy’s body was alive with sensation—the feel of his fingers tightening in her hair, the dark glint in those captivating eyes as they seemingly held her in place, his muscular body when he pressed it against her. The sensations merged, forming a delicious wave of inebriation in her head, and all at once, Damon’s words made sense. There was a small part of her brain that still wanted to fight—to push him away—but that fragment of the woman she once was seemed to slip away.

The burgeoning desire he inspired melted the iceberg at her core, threatening to cause an implosion. And Cathy wanted it to crumble—she wanted to concede. For too long, she’d played the ice queen, guardian to a district of virtual strangers who neither sought her protection nor offered gratitude for her efforts. It had never bothered her—until now. She’d have spent the next decades of her life toiling for them and never giving a second thought to her own selfish, base needs.

But now there was Damon and the power of those compelling eyes, and everything was different. Cathy was different.

“What will you do to me?” The question caught in her throat, his supremacy undeniable while the hand not lodged in her hair skimmed a line down over her behind.

“Everything you want, Cathy.” Damon pressed a line of kisses to her jaw, and electricity sparked in Cathy’s brain. “And more. If you so desire.”

He nipped at her skin, making her pant while she struggled to be free of his hold.

“Damon.” Cathy was little more than a panting mess.

“Stop fretting,” he soothed, offering what she presumed was a reassuring smile—if such a thing existed from a creature as deadly as he. “I know everything, little human. I know all the hedonism of your dreams. All those things you suppress. The ones you’re too ashamed to talk about.”

He pinned Cathy with a knowing gaze. Damon reveled in the way she squirmed in response, his power over her only growing as the discussion about their coupling intensified.

Her gaze flitted around as best she could. “Where?” she demanded.

Cathy’s heart raced, and she could hardly believe she gave credence to the concept, yet she knew the truth as much as Damon. She wanted him. For all of its irrationality, she desired him. Damon offered her the chance to be more than just herself, to step outside the realm she usually ruled over, and right or wrong, Cathy wanted to take it.

She didn’t know who this demon was—or what was wrong with her—but she knew before this encounter concluded, she wanted him to do all those things she’d fantasized about. He could be the shadow leading her into temptation. The one who tainted her, and nobody else needed to know, ever.

It could be Cathy’s dirty little secret.

“Wherever you want it, little human.” His free hand rose to her face, and he loomed over her. “And yes, I can be that for you, Cathy.”

Her lips parted at his answer. It no longer perturbed her how the beast read her thoughts. Now, it was a blessing—he could take what he wanted and know without a doubt what she coveted. It was perfect—too perfect not to seize.

“But you have to let me go afterward,” Cathy blurted out, her belly furling when Damon’s head tilted in response.

“Do I?” He grinned down at her. “And why is that?”

Cathy exhaled. “Because it’s the only way you’ll get to keep me, demon.” She pressed herself up against him boldly. “As my dirty little secret.”

Damon’s brow rose, but an errant smile soon lit his face. “Is that right?”

“Yes.” Her heart raced, caught up in the web of lust in the plan she was spinning. “Take me, Damon. Make me yours. Claim what you want, then make sure I get back home. That way, you can return whenever you need.” Cathy paused as the implications of her words landed over her like an avalanche. “Whenever you want me.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth, contemplating her offer, no doubt intentionally making her wait.

“You do know I can take you, regardless?” Damon’s smile widened at the thought. “I can take whatever I want and keep you here, helpless and desperate for me.”

A surge of emotion swelled in her chest at the assertion. Cathy was used to being the powerful one—the one with influence—and the idea she could be impotent filled her first with dread, then fury.

“Not for long, demon,” she spat, fixing him with a hard stare. “My energy will return, and my people will come for me. Far better, we both get something from the arrangement.”

She wanted to gasp at her own audacity. In all her years, Cathy had never known herself to be so forward. Perhaps, Damon affected her more than she realized. He inspired this wild, grittier version of Cathy—a woman who wanted the carnality he promised.

Damon laughed softly, stroking back her hair before his mouth descended. His lips skimmed over hers, making her an offer she couldn’t resist, pressing against her gently and wordlessly. Overwhelmed by desire, Cathy leaned into the kiss. She wanted it. She needed it.

To be possessed by a creature like Damon.

To be set free.

Chapter 9

Damon

The kiss roused him in ways his kind rarely experienced. It was a slow and sensual dance as his tongue skirted inside her mouth, not the usual rabid offensive Damon reveled in, yet when he pulled away, he couldn’t think to regret it. Cathy was exquisite. She was every inch as intriguing as he’d first concluded, but Damon had never reckoned on this outcome—whisking her away here and bartering a deal, which meant he could enjoy her soft sensuality whenever the need took him.

He was sorely tempted to take her offer.

“And you’ll just continue to be a guardian?”

Cathy blinked up at him, her cheeks flushing. “I... yes, I will still be a guardian.”

“But you’ll be my little whore, too, human.” He grinned at the evaluation. Damon liked the sound of that. He liked it a lot.

Her brow furrowed, “I am no one’s whore.”

“You say that,” he whispered. “But you have to promise me, Cathy. Promise me I have your word. If we do this and if I take you back—you’ll be mine on demand.”

She gulped, sucking her lip between her teeth. “I promise. Should we shake hands on it?”

Damon sniggered. “No need,” he determined. “But you, Cathy, you don’t know the things I can do with my hands.”

As he spoke, he relaxed the tension in her hair and slowly unfastened the buttons at the front of her pajama top. Their gazes met again as the third button was released, Cathy’s mouth opening in silent protest, but no words reached her lips. She had every opportunity to reach for his hands, to halt their progress, but she didn’t. Instead, she stood there, panting and sucking at her lower lip while he finally drew the fabric apart.

“You’re wonderful.” His attention shifted to her glorious body, his hands reaching for her, pulling her flush against him. “Just as I knew you’d be.” And of course, he did know, having already watched her shower on numerous occasions.

“What can you do with them?” She craned her neck then with a whisper, she asked, “Your hands, I mean. What can you do with them?”

Damon chuckled at her inquiry. Innocent Cathy might be—more innocent than him anyway—but the electricity between them was obviously not lost on her. “Anything you like,” he growled, slipping the top from her shoulders. “And as for my tongue.”

He lowered to his knees, tugging the sides of Cathy’s pajama bottoms, watching the material pool at her ankles. Damon’s gaze landed on her delectable body before his focus shifted back to her face. Cathy’s expression was expectant. He sensed she was on the verge of something, something which had the power to enthrall her, and he knew how much she craved that power.

“The things I can do with my tongue, little human.” He flashed her a salacious wink before his attention was back on the soft hair between her legs. Damon wanted to corrupt her all right. He wanted to devour her.

“Show me.” Cathy’s demand was a breathy gasp. “Show me, Damon. Please.”

Was there any sweeter sound in the known universe than that of a needy woman, hellbent on her own sinful demise? He didn’t think so.

“Sit down.”

A high-backed silver chair materialized behind Cathy as he gave the instruction. She gazed back at the thing, her bewilderment clear, yet she didn’t protest. Easing herself onto the seat, her left leg lifted clear of her pajama bottoms before her gaze met his once more.

“Like this?” She bit her lip, but Cathy’s playful tone suggested she was more than willing to concede to the adventure.

Damon grinned at her. “Precisely like that,” he praised. Reaching forward, he scooped up her tiny frame, lifting his palms under her bare behind and drawing her delicious body toward the place he was kneeling.

“It’s time to give yourself to me, Cathy.”

Cathy

Give herself to him?

Damon’s words echoed around her head like a twisted sermon, each a verdict on her shameless behavior. Yet as his lips pressed into her left calf, planting a line of scintillating caresses up to her knees, Cathy’s concern faded. He lifted his face to her, those amethyst eyes capturing her the way they had done right from the start.

“Relax,” he ordered with a devilish smile. “You’re not going anywhere, Cathy.”

And she wasn’t. There was nowhere she could go—nowhere she wanted to go—and nothing for her to do except watch the devotion Damon paid her body. With each new caress, the well of need at her core grew until, after what seemed like an age of gentle, burgeoning ecstasy, Cathy finally gave in. She could no longer watch his flawless ministrations, her head falling back against the chair in defeat.

Damon chuckled at the gesture, but his lips never halted their insistent pursuit, pressing hot kisses onto her thighs, one after the other, from the back of her knees and north to the place which most sought his attention. Heat bloomed as his mouth captured Cathy, her body straining to be free of the sweet intensity. She gripped the edges of the seat, her body fraught with the most incredible tension.

“Oh, God!”

It was singly the most preposterous thing to mutter in the presence of a creature like Damon, but there were no other words for it. He laughed, and her muscles clenched harder at the dark sound.

“Not yet, Cathy.” Damon gazed up from the floor, and she was compelled to meet those mesmerizing eyes. “I assume you rather like my kisses?”

She bit her lip. “Yes,” she exclaimed. There was little point in denying what was so patently obvious. “Oh, yes, Damon.”

“More then?” He tilted his head at her, squeezing her behind in those large palms.

“Yes, please.”

Cathy’s shame was complete—at least, it should have been, but with the touch of his lips burning into her flesh again, all she could think about was how a fiend who had fallen so low could possibly have the power to take her so high.

Higher than any of those she’d sworn to serve.

Higher than she had ever known.

And that’s where you’re going to stay, Cathy Bateman.

Damon’s voice reverberated in her head even though she swore he hadn’t spoken, and his mouth still danced at her skin. Gasping, she arched while the pleasure grew.

I’m going to push you higher and higher, and that’s where you’re going to stay until I come to claim you again.

Calling out his name, Cathy’s eyes fluttered closed at the edict.

Wherever Damon’s pleasure pushed her would be just fine with her.

Chapter 10

Cathy

Cathy roused, rolling onto her side to blink at the clock. The display read 07:00 and she lifted her hand to her temple wearily. That had been one hell of a dream she’d just conjured, and while the memories of it slipped away with the sleep, she could still feel the scorching desire at her core.

“That was no dream, little human.”

She leapt at the sound of his voice, struggling to lift the covers to protect her modesty. Fleetingly, she wondered where her pajamas were, but the tall, brooding stranger in the corner of her bedroom seemed to be the more pressing issue.

“Damon.” His name came to her in a heartbeat, heat creeping to her face as the recollections of the things they’d done bloomed in her mind. “Oh God, you’re real.”

“Of course, I’m real, Cathy.” Damon’s lips curled as he kicked away from the wall and wandered over to the bed. “Did you really think you could dream anything as scandalous as me?” He grinned at his apparent humor, but her throat dried instinctively.

“I didn’t think it was real,” she murmured.

“It was all real.”

She lifted her chin at the clarity in his tone, those incredible eyes capturing her all again.

“Yes,” she mumbled. “Yes, it was.”

“I kept my end of the bargain,” he said, sitting down next to her. “I brought you back here to continue your good work.” His brows rose with his sarcasm. “But I did so on the understanding we reached, Cathy. On the promise you made me.”

Anxiety twisted in her belly, and an image of their exchange filled her mind.

“You recall what you promised me?”

“Yes,” she breathed. Oh, God, she did.

“What?” Damon demanded. “What did you promise?”

“That I would be yours.” She met his gaze, and even though Cathy was horror-stricken at the reality of them, she was also enraptured. If the things she remembered were truly not a dream, then Damon had been nothing short of miraculous. His attention was soul-shaking, and she wanted more of it. “Whenever you want.”

Damon grinned. “There’s my girl,” he purred, reaching for her and drawing her body from the bedding toward him.

“Damon,” Cathy panted, her eyes darting around her room as though she expected half of the village to bear witness to her shame. “Damon, we can’t. Not here. Not now.”

He shook his head even as those fingers tightened in her hair. “That wasn’t part of the deal, little human,” he told her softly. “You promised to be available on demand.”

Damon whispered those last two words as though they were something illicit, and when they resonated through her head, Cathy realized they were.

“No pretty lies, Cathy.” He held her in place while his mouth skimmed over her lips. “And no propaganda. Those are the traits of the demon, not the guardian.”

Cathy swallowed. He was right. Damn him all the way to hell and back, but Damon was right, and even though she should despise him for the things he’d inspired in her, she knew she didn’t. She didn’t loathe him—she wanted him.

Damon evoked passion and lust.

“Okay,” she panted. “Yes, it’s true. I promised to be available on demand.”

“Good.” With a raised brow, he added, “Because I demand you now, Cathy Bateman.”

Cathy barely had time to smile before he landed on her, his weight pinioning her to the bed. There was no time to resist. What would have been the point? Even for a woman as powerful as Cathy, it was a pointless enterprise.

Where Damon was concerned, resistance was truly futile.

About Felicity Brandon

Felicity Brandon is a bestselling author. She loves the darker side of romance, and writes, sexy, suspenseful stories with passion. You’ll find her either at her laptop, at the gym, or rocking out to her favorite music.

Visit her website for more information.

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Also by Felicity Brandon:

The Dark Necessities world:

Taken

Tamed

Entwined

Flawed

Fallen

Forbidden

Tempted

The Unyielding Dark Necessities trilogy

Dark Daddy series:

Mastered by Daddy

Daddy’s Little Captive

The Sleeping Viking Beauty by Rachel Tsoumbakos

Fantasy

Chapter 1

Brunhild

Brunhild’s gaze scanned the battlefield. She could see the bright red of defeat splattered across the landscape. The smell assaulted her and she swallowed hard against it. Even though bodies lay everywhere, to her, it was the scent of victory.

Looking down at her feet, she saw the lifeless corpse of Hjalmgunnar. He should be standing next to her, waiting for Odin to congratulate him.

Instead, Brunhild had cut him down.

She tried not to dwell on her punishment as she continued to survey the fallen. She could see her sisters as they moved among the dead. Occasionally, one would drop to her knees, checking for life and helping a warrior cross into their new life as a treasured member of Odin’s army. Other times, the Valkyrie would pause before moving on, the man obviously not worthy yet. If they were to fight against the gods in the end times, the warriors selected had to be in peak condition.

A whimper startled Brunhild. A man lay close by, his blond hair streaked with blood. Blue eyes stared at her as his hand reached out.

“You are a Valkyrie?” he asked before coughing.

Brunhild nodded and knelt before him. Her coat whipped around her, slapping at her shoulders, an unfamiliar sensation after her swan-feathered one was stolen. She was captivated by the man’s gaze, by the color of his eyes.

The man’s fingers grazed across her arm. His touch jolted to her core and she gasped.

She could smell the blood coating him but, underneath, she could sense the courage in this man. He was raw with it, and she had never witnessed such internal strength. He was perfect for their army.

Yet, she hesitated.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he whispered. “I will be glad to accompany you back to Valhalla.”

The man would be a mighty warrior for their cause, of this she had no doubt. Yet, his touch burned into her arm, and she trembled at the thought of snuffing the life from him. He was too magnificent, too powerful to be done with this world already.

Never before had she hesitated. On the battleground, Brunhild claimed them all.

However, this man was different. Her stomach clenched at the thought of his death, and she frowned at the strange sensation. He was perfect. Yet, she wanted him to live.

“What do I do?” she whispered, and the man’s grip tightened on her arm. Hot tears formed and she swallowed hard against the knot of emotion.

Brunhild would be punished, she had no doubt of that. The All-Father would be livid. Hjalmgunnar was a pawn in the mighty god’s plan, and he would not allow changes to occur.

Still, if she were presented with the conflict again, she would slay the man without question, as Brunhild had no choice in the matter.

Agnarr had stolen her magical swan-feather coat. His possession of it came with her ownership. She was his against her will.

The only chance she had of escape was to do as he wished and kill Hjalmgunnar. By doing so, Odin would be so enraged he would punish her, and this would override any control Agnarr had, even with her robe still in his possession.

Still, to be free of Agnarr meant confronting Odin’s wrath.

Looking back down at the man, she smiled at him, a small quirk of her lips, an involuntary action. “What is your name?”

“Sigurd.”

If Odin were to be punishing her, she may as well take the full brunt. She had no idea why she felt compelled to let this man live, only that the fates were forcing her hand.

“You will not be dying today, Sigurd.”

Chapter 2

Sigurd

“Gram will serve you well,” Regin said as Sigurd hefted the weight of the mighty sword. It was heavy in the pommel, sinking into his grasp as though it were made for him. Swinging the weapon, the thin blade sliced through the air as though as light as a feather.

“It is a fine sword,” Sigurd replied. He looked to the smith and waited for the man to speak further. After all, no gift came freely, especially from someone as revered as Regin.

“You can have it to use as your own so long as you tend to the trouble this village has been having.”

Ah, there was the catch.

“Trouble?”

“I suppose you have heard of the dragon, Fafnir? It has been terrorizing our village for many moons now.”

Sigurd nodded, although he had not yet heard of the beast. He had been too busy recovering from his injuries sustained at the battle between Agnarr and Hjalmgunnar.

Gudrun had tended him well, seeing to his wounds and making sure that his every need was met. He knew already that she expected more.

She was a fine woman, well-respected within the community. Still, his heart did not sing for hers. Instead, he found that Gudrun was too attentive, too determined to anticipate what he needed. He wanted a woman who could love him for his own merits, who stood alongside and challenged him. Not someone who bowed down in front of him.

Even with Gudrun’s attentive behavior, he was not sure how he had survived his ordeal. Remembering back, he wondered if he had imagined the impossible beauty of the Valkyrie that refused to take him to Valhalla. If she was real, then Sigurd felt shame at the memory. He was not worthy enough for Odin’s army, and that wounded him. Still, her beauty captivated and confused him, making him want to win her over somehow.

“We need someone to fight the beast,” Regin continued, and Sigurd tried to focus on the man’s words rather than his personal woes. “It needs to be eradicated before it takes more lives.”

“I will do it,” Sigurd replied without a second thought to the matter. Let that Valkyrie question his dedication and determination now.

The man seemed surprised at the quick response. Outside of Regin, Sigurd had no ties here, no reason to protect them.

His mind darted to an image of Gudrun and then quickly away. No, there were no ties here for him.

The forest was dark as he entered, and the minty scent of birch greeted him. It invigorated him as he continued, the light bleaching out as he penetrated further.

As he moved, the animals around him stilled, unsettling him. Always, ahead of him was the noise of the woods, the welcome ones that were familiar to him. However, surrounding him directly was silence. Even his footfalls were without sound as the thick detritus of the forest floor softened his steps and swallowed up everything.

“Stay safe,” Gudrun had insisted as she leaned into him on his final night in the town.

Sigurd had smiled at the woman, mead warming his belly and his heart.

“I have no fear,” he had uttered at the time.

As he moved through the shadows, he looked out for signs that Fafnir was near. The scat of the beast presented itself, and Sigurd closed his eyes, allowing his hearing to take over.

Even the distant sounds of animals were gone now, and Sigurd suspected that Fafnir was nearby. No animal would risk the dragon’s wrath in close proximity.

A gentle swish off to one side made Sigurd turn his head. Then, the crunch of a branch. Something big was close by, and Sigurd opened his eyes, the forest now brighter as his eyes adjusted from the black under his eyelids. He took a moment to scan the area, to find a hiding place, somewhere he could wait and watch. Sigurd needed to know how big the beast was—in reality—not just from exaggerated stories.

To one side, he could see the woods thinning, opening out to a clearing. It would take him further away from the beast, but it might offer a better fighting area because of it.

Breaking through the trees, the clearing was small but it was much better in regards to swinging a sword than where he had been previously. The ground sloped downwards to a ditch. Settling into the hollow, Sigurd leaned his back into the earth and scooped up dead leaves to cloak him. The dragon would know he was there just from the human scent of him. However, it would give a moment’s hesitation before he was located. And that would be precious time in which he could plan his attack.

Closing his eyes once more, Sigurd tried to locate Fafnir and was surprised to hear the dragon moving around him, not towards his location. Perhaps he had been too preemptive. Maybe the dragon did not sense him and was intent on other endeavors.

But then the beast moved closer once more, and Sigurd unsheathed his sword. Gram caught the light, and he smiled at the fierce beauty of it. He hoped that slaying a dragon would bring both of them much fame.

The rumble of the beast started low, feeling like a tremble in the ground before one of Iceland’s volcanoes sprang to life. It reverberated through him, and Sigurd held on tightly to his sword as the sensation intensified.

A roar erupted, and the sound hissed through the air as the fetid stench of the dragon’s breath washed over him. There was a flash of bright light before the forest darkened once more.

Sigurd fought to hold his breath. Any noise now would help the dragon identify where he was—if the beast hadn’t worked that out already.

Centering in on the approaching crunch of dragon feet and the crash of branches, Sigurd readied himself. Clutching tight to his weapon, he counted the moments as the sounds intensified.

A dark shadow encroached, blocking out what little light was available this deep into the forest. Sigurd braced himself, his jaw clenched so tightly that it felt as though his teeth would splinter.

Then a glimpse of scales, glinting in the murk. Sigurd pulled back his sword as the magnificent beast readied to stretch its wings. It stood on muscular legs, long claws digging deep into the loam below. Its rounded belly loomed overhead, and Sigurd had to look high up before the broad leather of wings could be seen, stretched out between the surrounding trees.

The beast gathered once more, leaning down, drawing in its wings as though ready for flight, and Sigurd knew he only had a moment of action before it would be over and he would have to track the beast once more.

Even as a trickle of fear ran cold through his veins, Sigurd lunged with his sword, feeling the instant resistance of the scaly dragon. He leaned into the action, pushing off from the earth behind and drawing up to a kneeling position.

He had penetrated the beast, but Gram did not slide as easily through the tough skin as it would through a human. The beast roared and batted its wings at him, trying to take flight, pulling itself away from the weapon.

Sigurd staggered to his feet, all the time pressing upwards with his weapon. Slowly, he was making headway, Gram sliding deeper into Fafnir’s flesh. As he did so, the hiss of the dragon’s pain filled the air around him. Then the welcome relief as the sword finally slid through the tough scales. Grunting, he forced Gram in further and felt the heat of blood as it splattered against him.

The dragon writhed in pain, its whining hiss now screeching across the clearing and hurting his ears. Finally, it faltered as it grasped onto tree trunks with the claws at the tip of each wing.

Fafnir’s mighty form crashed into a tree. A crack sounded as the birch was broken in two, its trunk splintering as it did so. The dragon crashed into the mess of the tree and squealed once more as pointy shards of wood dug in.

Sigurd twisted Gram further, and the beast shuddered before lurching. Crashing towards him, its reptilian eyes were now wide with fear as its mouth gaped open. A multitude of wickedly sharp teeth came straight at him, but it was the fear of fire that finally saw Sigurd pull back. Still clutching his sword, he jumped free of the ditch and watched as the mighty dragon fell, its eyes glazing over as its lifeless form hit the ground.

Chapter 3

Brunhild

“What were you thinking?”

Brunhild stood tall, not showing her emotions even though her insides trembled in fear. Odin sounded like thunder as he paced the great hall.

He stopped, turned, and glared at her. She was scared but pulled herself taller. Squaring her shoulders, she leaned into Odin’s words, wore them like the cape that had been taken from her.

“I had no choice,” she finally replied. “If you ever paid any attention to us, you would have noticed that my cape was gone, that I might have been under the control of someone else.”

Her trembling had intensified, but it was in anger now. She stepped forward, put her hands on her hips and glared down the room at the god.

Odin’s one eye glittered as he sized her up. Brunhild let him look her over, his gaze trying to intimidate her, but she was not going to back down.

“You should have come to me,” he said. His voice was rough, still raw with anger but he spoke softer now.

Brunhild let her breath hiss out between her lips. “Agnarr would not allow it. I really had no choice. Although to be fair in the matter, Hjalmgunnar did not deserve to win anyway, and you know it.”

Brunhild watched Odin carefully. He was hiding his true emotions also, she realized as he clenched his jaw.

“A promise in front of the gods is a promise, nonetheless.”

“Well, I had a promise to Agnarr that couldn’t be broken either. So, here we are.”

“Yes, indeed.” The words were quiet, and Brunhild had to lean towards the god to hear them. “I cannot have you defy me in such a manner, regardless of the situation. You are a Valkyrie, bound to my instruction, and this cannot go unpunished.”

Her fists balled up, and her nails dug painfully into her palms. “That’s just not fair!”

“I don’t care if it is or not, I cannot have you in open defiance of me. You will be married, your life under my service is now over.”

If a breeze had chosen now to drift through the great hall of Valhalla, it would have knocked her over, so shocked was she that it had come to this. Brunhild did not want her days within the ranks of the Valkyries to be finished. She had never even considered her life outside of this path. And to be forced into marriage was not an option.

Gathering herself, swallowing back the dread now rising, she stepped forward, staggering as she did so but regaining her posture quickly.

“I will not be married!”

The roar of her words filled the mighty hall. It gave her the strength to fight on, to further contradict what Odin said. If she were to be retired from service, she was not going without a fight.

“Perhaps you have overreacted, Odin,” Freya said, laying a hand on the god’s arm. The gentle action had no effect on him.

“There is no exception, Freya,” he replied, not even turning to the goddess. Instead, he stormed towards Brunhild. She clenched her jaw and waited for the onslaught. “You will be married, and there is nothing further to say about the matter.”

Odin stopped close enough to Brunhild that she could have reached out and slapped the god. She was brave, but not that brave.

“I would rather die than be married off. Anyway, who would you choose? Someone old and past it, just like Hjalmgunnar?” Brunhild spat the words out, but Odin gave no indication that they affected him.

“Perhaps.”

“Then kill me now.”

Brunhild turned, ready to flee from Valhalla and never set eyes on the gods again. She was sick of their pettiness and their strict adherence to rules. Well, for humans, at least. The gods played the game otherwise, twisting it all to their own advantage so often that she wondered if they even knew what the rules were anymore.

Strong fingers wrapped around her arm, pulling her backward. Brunhild struggled even though she could never win in hand-to-hand combat with Odin.

“There is no exception to my order!”

Brunhild spun around, and she could see the white surrounding Odin’s one remaining pupil. His other eye was a mess of scarring, a black hole in the center, and she looked at that place now. It was as if she were gazing into the abyss, and it was all that she could do not to fall in and be consumed by the god’s words.

She refused to submit to him as the memory of the man on the battlefield flitted across her mind.

“Unless the man you have chosen for me shows absolutely no fear, inside or out, I will not agree to it. And so I call to the Nords to make this true.”

Yanking free from Odin’s clutches, Brunhild straightened impossibly tall. The wind had arrived with her call to the Nords, and her blonde hair whipped around her face. She could feel the tremor of knowing a prophecy was about to be made, and that Sigurd was somehow a part of her destiny.

“You know how fickle humans are. So you also know that there is not a human in all of Midgard that falls under that rule.”

Looking at Odin, she could see that he knew it too. He opened his mouth, ready to roar out a response. It was too late, though. The Nords did not show themselves but there was no need. As the red leaves of Valhalla’s sacred grove shook to the ground, everyone present knew that what Brunhild had just uttered was now sacred and could not be undone.

Yet, Odin was not finished. Reaching into his cloak, the god searched briefly before pulling something free. In his hand was a single thorn. It was red and much larger than that of bramble or rose.

Brunhild wanted to turn and run; however, confusion made her hesitate.

Odin threw the thorn at her, and she hissed with the pain as it lodged in her hand, risen to protect her face.

“What was that?” she asked, pulling the thorn free and sucking at the trickling blood.

Odin smiled at her, but there was no compassion as his malice shone through.

“You may have managed to trick me, but I will have the last say in the matter. May you sleep eternally, always dreaming of your fate yet never being able to do anything about it unless your fearless hero turns up.”

Brunhild’s eyes drooped as soon as the words were spoken, and she gasped briefly before falling to the ground.

The last memory she had was of Sigurd. Silently, she sent out a plea to the Nords that they would find him and send him to her.

Chapter 4

Sigurd

“It was a fierce battle,” Sigurd told the crowd.

It was not the truth, but there was no one else to say otherwise. There was no need to mention the cache of golden rings that he had found either. Even without the infamy of killing Fafnir, he would now be rich beyond compare.

“I am so glad that the beast has been disposed of,” Regin said as he looked across at the massive head of the dragon.

Sigurd had brought it with him as proof of his victory. It now hung over the doorway to the great hall. Blood dripped down onto those who passed through and was already considered lucky to those marred by it.

Gudrun leaned into him, her body warm against his as she wrapped an arm around his waist. Smiling up at him, the adoration was evident, and Sigurd grinned back as she offered another horn of ale.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, woman?” he asked, but chuckled all the same. “This ale is strong and different from what they were serving earlier.”

“They opened a new barrel,” Gudrun replied. “The man who offered it said that it was made only for fearless men such as yourself.”

Sigurd looked across the room and saw a wizened man watching him. Cloaked in shadows, he appeared to bear only one eye, and he shivered as he thought of the All-Father. Of course, the gods would be present today, he reasoned. After all, he had defeated a dragon.

With a lull in the conversation, a skald took the opportunity to expand on the story, making it even more fanciful than Sigurd had.

Not really listening, Sigurd continued to oversee the busy hall. Many people had come to hear of his heroic tale. Over time, his fame would grow. Men would cheer and congratulate him on the heroic feat. Boys would look up to him, hoping to be as fearless as Sigurd the dragon slayer when they grew up.

A flash of the Valkyrie passed before his eyes. Maybe he would be worthy of her now.

A woman winked at him from across the room as Gudrun’s hand snaked over his thigh, and he was heady with all of the attention.

“...But what is fame without love?” the skald asked, and Sigurd tuned into the story once more.

“Love is everything,” Sigurd replied, tipping his drinking horn to the man. “It is the reason we fight, even if we have not yet found our own woman to treasure.”

There were cheers from across the room at his words but the skald was not done yet.

“And who would be worthy of Sigurd’s love? After all, only a very special woman would be suited to a man who has slain a dragon.”

Sigurd shrugged, a little annoyed that the man was pointing out just how high he should be aiming tonight when all he really wanted was a warm body. Gudrun wrapped another arm around his stomach as he spoke, and he sensed her desperation in the action.

“Perhaps I already know of such a woman?” the skald continued.

Sigurd frowned, not sure of what was meant. He felt Gudrun stiffen by his side.

“Who is this woman you speak of?”

“Her name is Brunhild and she is a Valkyrie, or she was until Odin doomed her to endless sleep.”

His interest piqued with the mention of Odin’s famed Valkyries. Looking around, he could see that everyone in the room was captivated by the words, enraptured as they imagined an impossible romance. Yet, he could no longer see the man who bore a resemblance to the All-Father.

“Well, why talk of her if she is under an enchantment?” Sigurd asked. “I like my women to be lively—or, at least, awake.”

That garnered some chuckles from the crowd, but it did not deter the skald. Jumping onto a bench, the man smiled down at Sigurd.

“This woman, who sleeps within a ring of fire in a hall atop the mountain of Hindarfell, can be woken by a kiss. However, before Brunhild fell, she countered with a curse of her own. Now, only a man without fear will be capable of bestowing this upon her and save her from her slumber.”

Sigurd leaned on his sword as he made the final trek to the top of the mountain. He was not even sure why he was doing this, since he had other tasks at hand. Prior to Regin’s request, he had put off a meeting with the King of Burgundy, and the ruler would now be well overdue in expecting him. Yet, here he was, climbing a mountain on another wayward mission.

The skald might have been telling a tale as tall as the mountain he now scaled. However, in his mind’s eye, he saw the Valkyrie he had witnessed on the battleground and hoped that it was the same woman.

Gudrun would likely be awake now and aware that she had been left behind. They had shared a night of passion. Although, most of it was a blur to Sigurd. The ale had been strong, and she continued to fill his cup until he could no longer see straight. His head still ached with its effects.

He felt bad for taking what he wanted from Gudrun and not hanging around afterward. However, the skald’s story had gotten under his skin. It was the first thing Sigurd thought of as he awoke and hadn’t been able to shift the notion that Brunhild was the Valkyrie that had left him behind. He was still unsure he was making this trek because her beauty was undeniable or because he wanted to confront her for not allowing his entrance into Valhalla.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled his sword free from the hard-packed earth and hefted it over his head. Swinging it down, he burrowed it into the top of the mountain and lunged over the edge.

The wind buffeted him. Sagging for only a moment, Sigurd pulled himself up, finally standing on even ground. He sheathed Gram before scanning the horizon.

The view was spectacular. He was higher than he had ever been before in his life, and Midgard stretched out so far below him that he felt as though he had already crossed the bridge into Asgard.

However, it was the hall across the clearing that interested him the most. It was here that the skald’s story would be proved—or not.

Sigurd felt renewed as he set his sights on the ring of fire that glittered dangerously in the sunlight. Putting his hand over his eyes to protect against the glare, he now knew that there was no way that the skald could have been lying.

He took a deep breath, trying hard not to think about what he was about to do. Closing his eyes briefly, the vision of the Valkyrie appeared, and he let out a steady breath. It was all that Sigurd needed to rush forward, to ignore the sizzling of red-hot flames and dive straight through the barrier and beyond.

A sea of red for a single moment. The eerie sensation of a muted world among the flames and then he was through to the other side. He staggered a moment, and fear crept up briefly at the notion that he could have been burned alive.

The flames licked out at him in response, ready to devour him, feeding off his emotion. However, Sigurd had seen the proof of what seemed impossible, and his fear did not grow as it should. Instead, he shooed his hands towards the flames and laughed.

In front of him stood the hall of which the skald had spoken. Stepping forward, he ran his hand over the fine carvings in the wood. The roar of the flames disappeared as soon as he stepped through the doorway, and silence covered him.

He could see a woman in the center of the room. Settled into a bed, furs were gathered around her. Blond hair cascaded over the edge of the sleeping platform, and it was the same sunlit color of the Valkyrie that he remembered.

Her face was covered by a helmet, so he was still unsure it was her. Creeping forward, the anticipation of gazing down on her perfect form washed over him. As Sigurd reached the bed, he noticed the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the only indication that she was still alive.

The movement was slight, heavy armor constricting her, as though causing the impossible slumber. Sigurd loosened the ties, being quick but careful as he did so. As they were worked free, her breathing deepened.

His fingers struggled to unlace everything, finally managing to wriggle his hands underneath the heavy outerwear. Pulling it upwards, he freed the woman, and she sighed deeply.

Sigurd froze with the motion, waiting for her response. After the initial inhalation, she settled back into her gentle breathing and continued to sleep.

He remembered what the skald had said. She had to be released from her slumber with a kiss.

Placing one hand under her head so that he could work her helmet off, his fingers tangled in her hair, and he hoped that he caused her no pain. As he removed the item, he caught sight of her beautiful face.

It was the same woman.

He dropped the headgear. It hit the ground with a solid thunk before rolling to one side and settling away from the bed. Sigurd barely noticed the noise as he waited for a response from Brunhild but there was none.

“Perfection,” Sigurd whispered as he gazed upon her, his ire at not being selected for Valhalla bleeding away as he did so.

Taking her hand, he swallowed hard. Desperately, he wanted to taste her perfectly formed lips, but he did not want to steal a kiss if she didn’t want him. After all, she had not selected him in battle.

He wrestled with his warring thoughts. This beautiful woman stirred intense feelings in him that had never occurred with Gudrun even though they were expected to marry at some point.

“I apologize,” Sigurd said, leaning in once more.

The scent of her was intoxicating, drawing him in and giving her consent with an alluring aroma. Her lips were soft, warm, plump. He sighed into them, and their kiss had only just begun when he felt her stirring.

Jumping back, Sigurd allowed the woman to wake and gather her bearings. She blinked, her hands fisting up at her sides before she raised one to rub at her face. Blinking again, she sat up and looked at him.

“I know you.”

“Yes, we met on the battlefield a long time ago.” Sigurd drew back a breath, surprised that she remembered him. “You left me behind.”

“I didn’t want you to die, you had so much life in you still,” Brunhild said, stretching out her long limbs. “How long have I been in this cursed sleep?”

“I do not know,” he replied. “I have only recently heard of your fate.”

“I knew that you would come.”

Sigurd frowned. “How could you?”

“Before Odin cursed me, I thought of you. I told him that I would never marry anyone unless they were free of fear. It was an impossible wish, but the Nords granted it, and now it has worked its way through Odin’s curse and set me free.”

“But I have only just met you, how can we talk of marriage already?” He tried not to smile at how happy the proposal made him feel.

“And you woke me from an impossible sleep, breaking a curse set down by the mightiest god of all, how is any of this possible? Why should marriage be out of the question in this situation?”

He nodded. Also, he knew, deep within his bones, that this woman was his and he was hers. There was no need to delay anything. As soon as the thought came to him, it settled over him like a soft fur, ready to warm him in the coldest of winters.

He tried not to think of the woman he had left behind, the one that loved him and who he could never love in return.

Reaching into his cloak, he fumbled for the bag that contained the rings he had obtained from Fafnir. Pulling it free, he opened it and Brunhild leaned over him as he did so. Her hair fanned out and settled on his thigh.

“I have slain a dragon while you slept. Surrounding it was many of these golden rings. Select one and it is yours to keep, binding you to me as much as mine will bind me to you.”

Shaking the bag, Sigurd reached in and felt around until a ring slipped easily onto his finger. He held up his hand for Brunhild to see. The ring was plain, one he would never have chosen for himself. However, somehow it was perfect.

Brunhild smiled at him as she reached into the pouch. She swirled her fingers through the collection before pulling out a matching ring. The slim gold band glowed as she placed it against his.

“We are bound before the Nords,” Brunhild said quietly, and the rings glowed brightly in unison before returning to their normal state. “And so we are betrothed.”

Chapter 5

Brunhild

She looked at the ring as it glowed on her finger. Wisps of the sleeping draught still lingered, and she wasn’t entirely sure of what had just happened. Although, as she gazed at Sigurd, she knew that whatever it was, it was the right thing.

Brunhild tried not to think of Odin’s wrath, or of what would happen once she left this hall. Did the god already know she had awoken? Was he determining how to punish her further? Or was he finding someone in which to marry her off? Even with her counter-curse, she knew that Odin would likely find a workaround. After all, he never liked it when a lesser being got the better of him.

But then Sigurd was leaning in and kissing her, and the air rushed from her lungs as his lips connected with hers, and she felt a jolt of power between them. Reaching up, her fingers grazed his cheek, scraping over the wire of his beard and tangling in his hair.

The Nords had sanctioned this, she realized as their embrace deepened. To Hel with Odin.

Drawing him forward, Brunhild moaned as their kiss heated up, igniting her skin. She had been with men—mortal and otherwise—and this sensation was like nothing else she had ever experienced before.

Sighing as Sigurd pulled back, she leaned her forehead against his and let hot tears escape. They cooled as they ran down her cheeks, and Sigurd thumbed them away as soon as he felt them against his hand.

“It is all right,” he whispered.

Sigurd kissed her wet cheek, her forehead, her hair. Brunhild felt sheltered with his arms wrapped around her, cocooned from the world. At this moment, Odin could not hurt her.

“I fear for what the All-Father will do once he finds out that the enchantment is broken,” Brunhild whispered. “He wanted to marry me off because I allowed Agnarr to win against Hjalmgunnar. I am sure that he will not let it settle.”

“There is time aplenty to worry about that later,” Sigurd said. “I do not fear Odin. Let him come for me.”

Brunhild smiled at his courage even though she knew that was not how it worked. Even if the Nords wanted it, Odin would find another way in which to enact his punishment.

The god knew already that she would only be freed by someone who was fearless. It was a weapon she had given to Odin, and he would likely be prepared long before now.

Leaning into Sigurd, she sighed as he brushed his fingers through her hair. She had never felt such bliss before.

“Make me forget about the gods, then,” she said.

Sigurd kissed her once more. It was not hard to be lost in it, and very soon she no longer thought of the All-Father but of Sigurd’s hands as they roamed over her body.

Oh, how Sigurd made her forget.

As Brunhild opened her eyes, it all came back to her. She blushed as she thought of the night before, of the passion they shared.

“You are awake, my sleeping beauty,” Sigurd said, and she turned her head, focusing on the man who had awoken her in so many different ways.

Reaching up, she cupped his chin. The grizzle of his beaded beard scratched against her fingers. Their lips met again and flashes of the night before presented in her mind’s eye.

What a way to be awoken from slumber, she thought.

Sigurd’s fingers ran down her bare shoulder, exposed now as she sat up to embrace him. Brunhild trembled with the sensation.

“I am so looking forward to the rest of our lives,” she sighed into their kiss, and she felt Sigurd stiffen. “What is it?”

Already, she was pulling away as she snapped her gaze at him.

This was how Odin would win, and she had no idea where the thought came from, only that it was true.

“I have an errand that I can no longer get out of,” Sigurd said. His gaze darted away from her, and she reached out. Taking hold of his chin, she forced his look back towards her. “Once I am done, I can return and we can be married. Then our life together can truly begin.”

Chapter 6

Sigurd

Sigurd’s steps were heavy as he left the mountain far behind. Leaving Brunhild was the hardest thing he had ever done. In such a small amount of time, he had fallen hard for the Valkyrie, and he was surprised at just how easy it was to love her.

“Sigurd!”

He looked up at the sound of his name and saw Gudrun rushing towards him. His heart sank. Sigurd had hoped not to deal with this yet—or ever.

“Where have you been?”

“I am only passing through, on my way to the court of Gjuki, the King of Burgundy,” Sigurd said, avoiding the question.

“What a surprise, then,” she replied. “I am also heading in that direction. We can be traveling companions.”

“I am in a hurry and will be setting quite a speed,” Sigurd said. If she was happy to ignore his bad behavior, then so was he.

“Do you think that I cannot keep up?”

“Of course not, but I do not want you to think that this is a casual adventure.”

Even without the advent of his new betrothal, the thought of venturing forth with this woman left a bad taste in his mouth. Gudrun ignored his sudden departure from her bed, and that somehow seemed wrong. She should be yelling at him, telling him that she never wanted to see him again after leaving her behind. It was what he deserved, and it was what would make things easier for him.

“Isn’t this exciting?” Gudrun said after several hours on the road. “Just the two of us, I think the gods have put us together.”

Sigurd shivered at the words as it suddenly made sense. Was this Odin’s doing? Thinking back to what Brunhild had said at his departure, he wondered at just how much the All-Father already knew. He sighed. Odin was the father of them all. Of course, he knew.

“I am betrothed,” Sigurd said in a rush of words, and Gudrun froze.

“And when did this happen?” she asked, turning towards him. “Before or after you bedded me?”

They were so close that Sigurd could feel her warm breath against his skin. Now that she had finally brought up their night together, Sigurd felt even more uneasy.

“Things change quickly when you meet the woman that you are meant to be with.”

Sigurd didn’t really want to hurt Gudrun, but their relationship—or lack of it—needed to be addressed, and since she did not seem to understand subtlety, it was time to be blunt in the matter.

“How could you possibly know that you love someone in such a short amount of time?” Gudrun scoffed.

“Oh, it is very easy, trust me.”

There was silence after that as they walked.

“I think we should set up camp for the night,” Gudrun said as the sun dipped towards the horizon.

Glancing over at the woman, Sigurd could see the stiffness in her shoulders and felt terrible for her. He tried to imagine what it would feel like to love someone that was simply incapable of returning the favor.

Putting down his pack, he started sorting through the satchel for his fire-making tools, wishing that he had never left Brunhild behind. He couldn’t even remember why it had seemed so important to meet with the King of Burgundy.

“Let me find fresh herbs to make some hot tea,” Gudrun said as she set off into the woods.

Sigrun nodded as she left, glad to be alone for a while.

As the fire started, Sigurd pulled out some dried meat and a hard biscuit. The food was plain, yet filling, perfect for traveling when space was tight in his pack. He supposed he should offer some to Gudrun. She appeared to have packed more lightly than he did, and he wondered if she really meant to travel so far today, or if she had simply made a rash decision when she saw him.

Before Sigurd could really settle into the blissful silence, Gudrun returned. She had an armful of greenery and smiled in apparent triumph as she held up her produce.

“There is plenty on offer in these woods,” she said. “You wait until you try my tea, it will be delicious.”

Sigurd smiled at her but said nothing. He didn’t imagine it would be anything more special than just tea, but then again, anything tasted good while on the road. Physical exertion always added a certain level of seasoning to anything.

“Would you like some of my food?” Sigurd asked.

“That would be lovely,” Gudrun replied. “But, let me finish what I am doing first.”

The woman leaned over the cauldron atop the small fire, stirring vigorously. The aroma of the brew drifted over, and Sigurd had to agree with her. His stomach made noises in response to the sweet scent, even though he had eaten already and should be sated.

“It smells wonderful.”

“Here, it tastes even better,” she said as she scooped a cup into the liquid and passed it to him.

Sigurd sniffed closely at the drink. “What is in it? I cannot work out what herbs you have used.”

“It doesn’t matter what it contains,” Gudrun said with a sly smile.

Uneasiness continued to writhe its way through his guts as he looked at Gudrun. He had the sudden urge to tip the drink out, to tell her that he no longer wanted them to travel together.

That would be rude, though.

After all, Gudrun was only making him something to drink. He may not have requested her company, and he might find her presence annoying, however, that was no reason to refuse her tea or her companionship—especially with the manner in which he had departed. Bringing the cup to his lips, he took a small sip.

“This is exquisite!” Sigurd exclaimed as soon as the liquid ran over his tongue. Swallowing quickly, he took another drink, this time gulping it down.

“I knew you would love it,” Gudrun said, sidling up to him and linking her arm through his, removing the ring from his finger as she did so and dropping it discreetly into his pocket. “What do you think of me now, Sigurd?”

He turned to the woman, as though seeing her for the very first time. “I think I love you.”

“Of course, you do,” Gudrun replied, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Now, tell me more about your betrothed.”

Sigurd frowned, not sure of what she was talking about. Although, somewhere at the back of his mind, a flash of blonde hair darted through his memory.

“I am not betrothed.”

Chapter 7

Brunhild

The day lightened, the sun bleeding over the horizon until it became a pink blush, and Brunhild watched as two people approached. Even at a distance, she was sure that one of them was Sigurd. A woman also approached with him, and that concerned her.

Before Sigurd left, they had decided that she would stay where she was. While there was no evidence that she would be protected by the remaining magic associated with her counter curse, they both agreed that to venture out would immediately alert Odin.

However, as she looked down upon the approaching party, she suspected that they had been wrong in their assumption. Oh, how she should have remained by Sigurd’s side. Now, she suspected that Odin already had his clutches in the situation, and their love was doomed.

Together, they could have stood a chance.

The day was well underway when Brunhild finally saw that Sigurd was no longer wearing his ring. She rubbed at her hand and felt the power contained within the enchanted gold.

Somehow the woman that followed alongside Sigurd had tricked him into taking off his ring. And in doing so, their connection was now lost.

Brunhild swallowed hard against the pain in her heart. She couldn’t fathom what sort of magic this woman had and could only assume that the All-Father was behind it.

Fighting against the urge to flee, to rush out from her fiery protection, Brunhild clutched at a wooden pillar, feeling the weight of it, comforted that a mighty yew now held her up.

She saw the nameless woman lean in and kiss Sigurd on the cheek, before he ventured forth through the ring of flames that still encircled the hall. Brunhild was surprised when the woman also crossed through the barrier.

It was also the catalyst she needed to rush forth from the hall.

“Sigurd!” Brunhild called, not even recognizing her own voice. She sounded strangled, terrified.

Her betrothed looked up and Brunhild saw the vacant stare, the lack of knowledge of her, and it wounded her worse than any weapon could.

“Hello,” the woman beside him said, and Sigurd turned to smile at her.

Brunhild gasped, horrified that he did not appear to know her, or that he no longer cared. Instead, she could see the adoration in his eyes for the new woman, and her gut twisted up in agony at the thought that Sigurd was suddenly so thoroughly lost to her.

“Sigurd, it is me,” she whispered, and he looked towards her, through her. “We are betrothed.”

“How can I be? I am already promised to Gudrun.”

The knot of fear in her stomach hardened and turned to cold rage.

“How did you do it, Odin?” she asked as she looked skyward.

Gudrun laughed at her. “What are you talking about? Sigurd is my betrothed and has always been. You are a crazy woman. Sigurd, kill this woman. Kill her before she poisons our love.”

Brunhild held her breath as she watched Sigurd pull his dagger from its sheath. He then turned towards her without any shred of recognition.

“Sigurd, it’s me, it’s Brunhild,” she pleaded.

His face was vacant, devoid of any emotion, and Brunhild knew that he was trapped, lost to her because of some sort of magic. Flipping a glance to Gudrun, she tried to surmise if this woman was powerful enough to perform such a feat.

She couldn’t tarry too long, though, as Sigurd approached quickly. Turning, she ran back towards her bed—their bed—the one in which they shared such passion.

“Sigurd, remember, remember me,” Brunhild said as she fled, not risking a backward glance. All she could do was beg of him and hope that it would trigger a memory that would destroy whatever magic was being used.

Reaching the bed, she threw herself over it, rolling as she did so and flipping when she reached the edge. As she turned, her hand reached down, clasping at her sword.

Brunhild was ready for action. Yet her heart was breaking at the thought of having to defend herself against the man that she loved.

Sigurd approached, and Brunhild tried to focus.

This was just a man, a man who was trying to kill her. She had been trained for this, had seen every tactic that could ever be used against her in the endless training in Valhalla.

However, never had she prepared to fight a man that she loved.

Brunhild whimpered as Sigurd approached. He had his sword at the ready, and his blank stare haunted her.

“Sigurd,” she repeated. “It is me. It is Brunhild, your betrothed.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Gudrun replied. “She lies. It is only me who you love, whom you have always loved.”

Sigurd swung his weapon at Brunhild, and the clash of metal on metal filled the hall as she blocked the attack. There was immense strength behind Sigurd, and Brunhild leaned into her sword, the whine of metal putting her teeth on edge as she gritted hard against the effort.

Jumping back, Brunhild quickly retreated towards the vast window behind them.

Sigurd darted forward, and Gudrun followed closely behind, talking and reminding him of his love for her and her alone. Gudrun seemed to be working hard to make sure that Sigurd did not question anything. Brunhild wondered at how the woman controlled him, certain that magic was afoot on her behalf as well.

“Allow him to fight, Gudrun,” Brunhild called. “He does not need to hear your poison.”

Gudrun ignored her words and continued to speak to Sigurd.

“Look at me,” Brunhild countered and a flash of confusion crossed his face before Gudrun’s words settled on him once more.

“Kill her,” Gudrun whispered, and Brunhild readied herself for the next onslaught.

Sigurd rushed at her with his weapon held loosely in his hands, but Brunhild did not take that as a sign that he was not concentrating on her. Instead, she prepared for his attack, her sword also moving freely, ready to anticipate his reaction.

He swung, arcing his sword up high and bringing it down over her head with a harsh grunt as he put everything into the action. Brunhild whipped her sword up at an angle that prevented the strike. Their swords crashed together and, once more, they were leaning fiercely into their weapons, each in an attempt to overpower the other.

Their faces close, Brunhild stared straight into Sigurd’s eyes, trying to see the man inside. His gaze was hooded, clouded by magic. It reminded her of when she had gazed into Odin’s one-eyed gaze and was almost trapped by it.

“Sigurd,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “I know that you are in there.”

He blinked, his eyes clear for a sweet moment, and Brunhild could see the real man, the one that she loved.

However, the prick of a knife at her throat caused her pause.

“Put down your weapon,” Gudrun said, and Brunhild halted a moment, deciding on what to do next. The knife was pressed hard against her skin, and she felt the sting of its touch as a trickle of blood oozed to the surface.

Relaxing her stance, Brunhild’s weapon sagged against her, and she averted her gaze from Sigurd. In the confusion, Sigurd also obeyed Gudrun’s command and dropped his own weapon.

“Why are you doing this?” Brunhild may be prepared to die, but she needed to know the reason behind Gudrun’s enchantment of Sigurd. “Did Odin put you up to it?”

Gudrun snorted. “The gods have sanctioned our union. Sigurd belongs to me.”

Brunhild knew without a doubt from Gudrun’s hooded answer that Odin was involved. Somehow, he had found Gudrun. While Brunhild slept, the god had learned of Sigurd and manipulated the situation to his own advantage. She now had to work out a way to get through to her beloved, to save him from her own mistakes.

Brunhild swallowed, and the knife cut further into her throat. She still held her sword, but knew that it would be a quick death if she were to raise it. Flitting her gaze back to Sigurd, she watched as he stood quietly, awaiting further instructions.

“Do you really think that a spell will truly make Sigurd care for you?” Brunhild continued. “People should not be tricked into love. Rather, they should fall headlong into it of their own accord. To love Sigurd like this is not really loving him at all.”

“Don’t talk to me of such things,” Gudrun hissed.

The knife pressed in further, and blood trickled down Brunhild’s neck. She could feel the dampness of it as it soaked into her tunic.

“Sigurd was always meant to be mine. You stole him from me,” Gudrun continued.

“Perhaps we should ask Sigurd about that, I mean the real Sigurd. Remove the enchantment, and if he proclaims his love for you then I shall walk away.”

Brunhild felt ill speaking the words, but it was the truth. Even through the enchantment, Brunhild could tell that Gudrun had feelings for Sigurd. She did not want to be like Gudrun, to love a man who could never return the favor. Brunhild would remain a hull of a woman rather than have someone suffer for her own happiness. If it meant walking away from Sigurd, of turning back to Odin, and allowing him to marry her off to someone, then so be it.

Still, she would not give up without a fight.

Sigurd may love Gudrun, but he was captured within an enchantment presently, and she knew personally how much that was a curse. If the last thing she did for Sigurd was to free him in order to make his own choices, then she would die a happy woman.

“There is no need to do that,” Gudrun replied. “Regardless of the spell or not, Sigurd loves me.”

Brunhild could feel the weight of the band of gold on her finger, another enchantment but one offered freely between Sigurd and herself.

“Sigurd, do you remember your ring?”

He looked at her, a flash of confusion when she reminded him.

“Look at me, Sigurd, remember who you really love,” Gudrun begged.

“No, Sigurd, remember what really happened,” Brunhild countered even though Gudrun poked the knife closer to the thick vein in her throat.

A brief frown darted across his face, and Sigurd’s blade trembled in his hands. He blinked, as though trying to free himself of the dreaded curse.

“Remember me,” Brunhild said. “But, more importantly, remember yourself.”

Gudrun squeezed Brunhild’s arm, and she could feel the sting of the woman’s nails digging into her flesh. Dropping her sword, Brunhild called out to Sigurd once more.

“Remember, or kill me now.”

She kicked her sword away, and the nails on her arm tightened further. However, it was distraction enough, and Brunhild quickly brought her fingers up to her throat and grabbed at the knife.

Gudrun dug in, but Brunhild enclosed on the blade, her fingers cut as she did so.

“Remember me, Sigurd,” she cried out hoarsely as she struggled.

Brunhild could feel the burn of the ring on her finger. She concentrated on it, allowing its energy to flow up her arm. The ring warmed, reminding her that this world was nothing without the love of others. Gudrun was nothing, she had nothing, and stood on a curse of lies.

The ring’s power intensified.

“Sigurd, look at me,” Brunhild pleaded.

He fought the action as Gudrun also called to him. Eventually, though, he glanced in her direction.

“Remember our oath,” she whispered through clenched teeth.

Gudrun was trying hard to slit Brunhild’s throat, and her fingers were bloody as she tried to prevent it from happening. However, the task was a distraction for the woman, and Brunhild utilized that to her advantage. “Remember the ring you gave me, remember its power.”

The ring on her own finger burned as it glowed fiercely, and she watched as Sigurd’s gaze dropped, his attention caught by the glint of it.

“That’s good, Sigurd,” she encouraged. Her hands pounded, the bloody cuts an agony that made her hiss in pain. She kicked out at the woman behind her and made contact with Gudrun’s shin. Brunhild forced another blow, this time with more strength behind it. She felt a puff of breath released at her ear as Gudrun fought hard to maintain her position. Wriggling around, Brunhild managed to wedge her elbow up and underneath Gudrun’s arm, weakening the hold on her.

“You need to remember,” Brunhild shouted as Gudrun regained her hold once more.

Looking up, her gaze pleading, Brunhild could see that Sigurd had one hand in his pocket, searching. As Brunhild gasped against the pain of her wounds, her chest heaving, Sigurd finally pulled the ring free from his pocket.

It sizzled in his hand, and power emanated from it as magic swirled slowly along his arm, across his chest, and up to his neck. His gaze lifted from the ring and tracked its way towards Brunhild. She held her breath, and behind her, Gudrun did the same.

“What have I done?” Sigurd finally said, rushing forward.

As soon as she felt Gudrun’s hold slacken, Brunhild let go of the knife at her throat and grabbed at the woman’s arm instead, twisting it away at the same time. Turning, Brunhild spun the woman out from her body as Sigurd grabbed the knife from her hand, the blade now nicking at Gudrun’s throat.

“Say the word, Brunhild,” Sigurd said, his gaze flitting briefly to her.

Brunhild wanted Sigurd to end the woman’s life. However, did she really want a woman such as this to die as the result of a battle? Did she want to be training this woman in Valhalla every day if, by some miracle, Odin allowed her to remain a Valkyrie?

Brunhild knew the answer to that. Shaking her head, she pursed her lips firmly before speaking.

“She does not deserve such a death. Instead, send her out from here, allow her to go back to her normal life, to always remember that even a curse could not make the man that she loved do the same in return.”

Sigurd paused a moment longer, his gaze firmly on hers as though he were about to dispute the matter. However, he finally let Gudrun go, pushing her away from himself as he did so.

“I do not want to sup with you in Valhalla, anyway,” he said.

Gudrun stood still in the center of the room, eyeing them off.

“You need to go,” Brunhild hissed as she leaned over and reached for her sword. The pommel was already slick with her blood as she clasped the weapon weakly in her hands. She tried not to cry out with the pain. “Because, if I see you again, I will kill you without hesitation.”

She hefted her sword and pointed it at Gudrun, who took one look down the wickedly sharp blade and turned and ran. As she reached the flames protecting the hall, she paused but Sigurd was already there, his blade pointing outwards.

Gudrun had no choice but to dash through the flames, and she screamed as they scorched her. Brunhild’s weapon clattered to the ground as she watched Gudrun. Once through to the other side, the woman continued to run, her hair still on fire.

For the briefest of moments, Brunhild thought she saw a man with two ravens on his shoulders, standing off to one side. She blinked, and the figure was gone, but she cursed Odin under her breath, all the same before turning back to the man that she loved.

“Brunhild, I am so sorry,” Sigurd said, rushing over to her. His strong arms enveloped her, and she sagged against his chest.

“It is all right,” she whispered as she listened to the hammering of his heart close to her ear. “You cannot fight the gods without some sort of repercussion. However, we have fought Odin and won.”

She smiled at her words, raising her head to look at Sigurd before leaning into his kiss.

About Rachel Tsoumbakos

Rachel Tsoumbakos has had several articles published through mainstream magazines and currently writes extensively for The Inquisitr as well as being the author of several successful series delving into the feisty women of the Viking age.

Over the years, Rachel has been interested in many aspects of history. When studying a Library Studies diploma, she discovered just how much she enjoyed researching and has since used these skills in several of her novels. However, it was her work with The Inquisitr that brought her into the world of the Vikings and she has spent several years delving into the sagas of this culture as well as the history of the Viking Age.

Rachel lives with her husband, two kids, three cats, and a flock of chickens in the idyllic Yarra Ranges located near Melbourne, Australia. When she isn’t writing, she is working on her cardio as she trains for the zombie apocalypse.

Check out Rachel’s website.

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Prequel to Dragon Valley Series

Chapter 1

Stephen

There was something strange about saying goodbye to a place you knew better than the back of your hand. Stephen couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of unreality as he wandered the dragon palace where he’d spent the majority of his life. It was his last night here—he kept trying to remind himself of that, but somehow, the truth just wasn’t sinking in yet. It was as though he was a part of the palace, just one more feature standing alongside the ancient marble banisters, the spiral staircases, the ornate statues and paintings that crowded every spare inch of space.

But he wasn’t a piece of furniture, for all that he’d felt like one for a lot of his life. Being the King’s younger brother would do that to you, it seemed. Ever since Albert had taken the throne and allowed their parents to retire, Stephen had felt—well, extraneous. When they’d been young, he and Albert had done everything together. He’d always imagined that he and his older brother would rule together. But then Albert had met Catherine at a ball, and that had been the end of it. They were perfect for each other, and Stephen admired his brother’s mate greatly, but the two of them were such an inviolable power couple that Stephen couldn’t help but feel like a third wheel. King Albert, Queen Catherine … and Stephen.

So he’d retreated into managing the palace’s archives. It was a useful enough job if a quiet one. But he couldn’t help but feel as though he could be making himself more useful. So when Albert and Catherine had come to him a few weeks ago with a proposition, what other choice did he have but to agree? It was the most useful thing he could do for his kingdom, for his people, for his family. Even if the idea of leaving his ancestral home filled him with sadness, it wasn’t nearly as bad as the prospect of facing another attack from their new enemy.

Dragons tended to live in large family groups—their long lifespans meant that these families often consisted of dozens of members. As a matter of practicality, allied families would dwell close to each other, for safety as well as for social reasons, and over the centuries it had become traditional for each small dragon settlement to have a monarch, a leadership that was passed down through the generations of one particularly strong family. Individual settlements all had their own King or Queen (or both)—these monarchs were generally on diplomatic terms with one another and would negotiate issues of territory or hunting grounds peacefully.

But all of those traditions seemed to have been abandoned by the newest threat on the kingdom’s horizon. Clifford wasn’t a monarch—from what Stephen could gather from isolated reports from other kingdoms; he’d simply taken leadership of his dragons by force. And instead of cordially negotiating territorial boundaries with his surrounding kingdoms, Clifford had gone to war with ruthless efficiency. There were reports of entire kingdoms being wiped out, dozens of dragons killed or wounded, their ancestral homes taken from them. It seemed Clifford offered a choice—join his forces or lose everything. And an alarming number of dragons were taking the former option.

The only way to protect themselves was to join forces with surrounding kingdoms that, like them, were unwilling to submit to Clifford. And what better way than to secure an alliance with a joining of two royal family members?

Stephen had heard of Reagan, of course—the fierce young queen of a neighboring settlement, a group of dragon families who lived in a valley high in the mountains, in caves they’d carved with their claws from the living rock. But he’d been completely shocked when his brother had come to him and told him that the Elders of both communities had come together to discuss a lasting alliance and agreed that, providing they were amenable, Stephen and Reagan would be joined as mates to secure that alliance.

“And she said yes?” Stephen had said dumbly, thinking of the stories he’d heard of the golden-eyed dragoness from the mountain’s peak. “Does she even know who I am?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Stephen. You’re a prince, after all,” Albert had said, that familiar smile on his face. Albert had come into the archives to speak to him—that meant they were both in their human shapes. Communicating in dragon form was more direct, a kind of telepathic contact that allowed rapid and simple transmission of information. But Stephen appreciated the space and distance of his human form for a conversation like this one. “We don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. But—”

But it was a life or death situation, wasn’t it? So Stephen had buried his reservations and agreed. The look of relief on Albert’s face told him that he’d made the right decision. But now, wandering his ancestral home for the last time, thinking about what the future held—well, he couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. Dragons lived long, long lives, and they were profoundly resistant to change. But what choice did he have? Reagan’s kingdom was powerful. Together, they’d be able to protect each other from Clifford’s forces if it came down to it. He had to do this for the safety of his family and of the people he had always sworn to protect.

But he couldn’t help but feel a little cheated. Albert had known the minute he laid eyes on Catherine that she was his soulmate, and Stephen had always nursed the hope that the same thing would happen for him someday. Instead, he was entering into what was effectively a business arrangement with a woman he’d never met. Not exactly a love story.

But his family and his people were in danger. And if this was what he had to do to keep them safe, so be it.

Chapter 2

Reagan

“And the defenses at the north end of the valley?”

“Guards posted around the clock, as instructed.”

“How long are the shifts? I don’t want anyone falling asleep.”

“Four hours each.” William’s green eyes gleamed with amusement. “As instructed, Your Majesty.”

“Oh, you know I hate that,” Reagan said irritably. “Kings and Queens and all that nonsense. I’m just in charge, that’s all. For my sins,” she added, frowning a little as she gazed out across the valley. Her chambers had a window that overlooked the majority of their territory—it was why she’d chosen them and why she insisted on doing her work here. It reminded her of what was at stake—of the lands she was protecting and the people who were counting on her. And in these times of war, that reminder was more important than ever.

“You’re doing fine,” William said. The green-eyed dragon was her closest adviser. They’d had some tension in the early days, of course—he’d felt that he was a better choice of a monarch than she was—but to her relief, he’d accepted the verdict of the Elders that had put Reagan on the throne. And she was grateful to have his assistance. Ruling alone—it took a lot out of a person. So many of the other Kings and Queens she’d met had soulmates to rule at their side. But that had never happened for Reagan. She was beginning to suspect she was allergic to love.

Well, fine. She had plenty to be getting on with without the distraction of romance. Like the dark force to the north that, by all accounts, was preparing itself to try to take her queendom by force. And the measures they’d needed to take to ensure their safety.

Reagan sighed. “Guess we should talk about the last item.”

“Ah, yes. The—“ William hesitated. “Ceremony. Are you sure about this, Reagan?”

“I’m sure,” Reagan said simply. This was part of being queen, too—lying to your subjects. She wasn’t sure at all about the prospect of being joined to someone she’d never met. But she was hardly going to tell William that, was she? And sow seeds of doubt in the settlement’s new king? “I’ve done my due diligence, William. He’s a good soul, and his brother’s a good King. Would I prefer to rule alongside my soulmate? Well, certainly. I’d also prefer Clifford to spontaneously decide to settle down and stop trying to take over the continent by force.” She shrugged. “You can’t always get exactly what you want. And what I need—what we need—is a partner who will rule alongside me and an alliance that will keep us safe. That’s Stephen.”

“You’re right, of course.”

“Of course,” she said archly. “Queens are always right.”

“He arrives tomorrow,” William said, turning to the agenda on the table. “With a retinue of guards.”

“Good. They can take a few guard shifts.”

“And the ceremony is scheduled for the day after. These shapes?” William asked, gesturing a little stiffly downwards. It was no secret that the green-eyed dragon and his family didn’t much care for their human forms. Though dragons had always had the ability to shift into human shapes, many were much fonder of their true shapes—the shapes with wings and talons. The settlement had largely been crafted with these shapes in mind, with the human-sized dwellings as an afterthought. But as their numbers grew, it made a lot more sense to spend more time in the smaller bodies.

“These shapes,” Reagan confirmed, her golden eyes twinkling. “Otherwise, how will I show off my gown?”

William sighed. “As you command, my Queen.”

“The ceremony. What will it involve?” She hesitated. “Every ceremony I’ve been to—well, it’s been in honor of a soulmate bond, not—” she shrugged, “a political alliance, I suppose.”

William nodded. “The Elders of both kingdoms have organized everything. They assure me that neither of you will be made uncomfortable. A simple declaration of lasting allegiance, trust, and mutual assistance.”

“More about the political union than the personal one, then,” Reagan said, smiling a little. “Of course.”

William tilted his head. “Reagan—”

“No, it’s good. It’s a business arrangement, that’s all. I’m looking forward to meeting him,” she said briskly, rising to her feet to hide her discomfiture. “I’m sure he and I will get along well. He’s an archivist, you know. I’m sure he’ll have a ball with ours. Hope he likes dust,” she added, and she saw William hiding a grin.

“Our records could do with a little care,” he admitted. “But that might have to be a question for peace time.”

Reagan sighed. “Ah, yes. How foolish of me to forget for nine seconds that there’s an enemy at the gates. One of these days, William,” she said, shaking her head. “One of these days, we’re going to have a quiet patch.”

“And neither of us are going to know what to do with ourselves,” William said dryly.

She laughed. “Too true. Now, shouldn’t you be getting back to your mate? I’ve heard she’s got a suit for you to try on for the ceremony.”

William groaned. “Duty calls, I suppose. Good afternoon, Queen Reagan.” And with a little bow (one day, she’d get him to stop doing that, she thought irritably), he was gone, leaving her to her thoughts. Not the best company at the moment, she thought, gazing out over the valley again with a sense of unease prickling at her stomach. She knew this union was what was best for her family and for her kingdom.

But was it what was best for her?

Chapter 3

Stephen

It was a fine, clear day—perfect for a long flight. Stephen could almost forget that he was flying away from his home for the last time ever, that he was en route to a totally new home, a new life, a new partner whom he still hadn’t met—there was an uncomfortable feeling prickling in his stomach that even the cool air on his scales or the sun on his wings wasn’t able to dispel. They flew higher and higher into the mountains, the air growing thinner as they reached what had to have been one of the highest and most inaccessible points of the Rocky Mountains. His practiced eye scanned the valley, noticed the posted guards in discreet locations—it was a good valley, easily defended, though he could see a weak point or two that could do with shoring up. Well, that was the idea, wasn’t it? The reason for the alliance. Safety, for both of their families.

An emissary came out to meet them, guiding them down to a long, flat section of rock that had been warmed by the sun. To Stephen’s surprise, the emissary changed forms as they landed—and he realized that the doorway into the rock was human-sized. A good defensive tactic, he thought approvingly as he shifted, his clothes shifting with him as usual. Any invaders would have to attack in their more vulnerable human bodies if they intended to come through this way. Still, the prospect of meeting his new partner in his human form intensified the uneasy feeling in his gut. He wasn’t as comfortable in this shape as he could have been. There was a kind of security in wings and talons.

Still, he was a prince, and he intended to look the part. He lifted his chin, straightened his spine, trying to channel a little of his brother’s kingly disposition as he and his retinue of guards followed the emissary through the twisting rocky hallways of the palace. He could see the claw marks on the walls where these passageways had been carved and smiled to himself. Even in their human shapes, dragons were never too far from their wild sides.

The emissary sketched a low bow as they reached a doorway, then disappeared down the corridor. The meaning was clear—they’d reached Queen Reagan’s chambers. This was it. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Stephen stepped up to the door and rapped on it sharply with his knuckles.

And he felt his heart leap into his mouth as the door swung wide open.

Why, the woman standing there couldn’t be real, he thought dazedly as a pair of bright golden eyes fell onto his face. Deep, burnished gold, lit up from within as though the sun was falling on them—he felt frozen, rooted to the spot, his chest full of warmth as though those eyes were filling him from the crown to the toes with warm sunlight. She had jet black hair that set off her olive skin beautifully—it fell to her shoulders and moved like liquid as she turned her head. High cheekbones, a strong, proud jawline, and the willowy but powerful figure of a warrior.

“You must be Stephen,” she said, and her voice almost knocked him over. Low, mellifluous—but such a strength to it, too. The kind of voice that issued commands, that tolerated no disagreement. The voice of a Queen.

He could hear himself speaking, but it was as though he was in another world. Thank God his parents had drilled him and his brother so strictly in etiquette, in airs and graces—he could hear himself smoothly introducing himself and his guards, performing the niceties he’d been instructed in, but it was all but drowned out by the roaring of his heart, the roaring of his dragon. This creature before him couldn’t be real—this was some kind of joke. He was to be joined with this woman? He was to spend the rest of his life ruling at her side?

How could he do that when he could barely breathe when he looked at her?

“My advisor William has organized accommodations in the palace for you all,” Reagan was saying, those golden eyes dancing over his guards. “You’ll be shown to your quarters shortly—please let someone know if we can do anything to help you settle in. Stephen—” his name sounded like music in her mouth, he thought in a daze—“your quarters are next door to mine.”

“Thank you,” he said, a little surprised. He’d assumed they’d be sharing quarters, the way Albert and Catherine did. But then again, he remembered with an odd pang of regret, he and Reagan weren’t mates, were they? Simply partners. Partners who were pledged to one another, partners who would rule together for as long as they lived—but at the end of the day, they’d be returning to their quarters alone.

Why did that prospect disappoint him? Hadn’t he only just been regretting the loss of privacy that sharing quarters would entail?

“The ceremony will be tomorrow,” Reagan told him as they parted ways. “I’m sure we’ll have much to discuss afterward.”

“Indeed,” he managed, his heart pounding as she clasped his hand in hers. Her skin was smooth, soft, warm—and this close, he could smell the sweet, soft scent of her hair. What did she wash it with to make it so lustrous, so silky? He found himself aching to run his fingers through it, just once. He was acutely aware that they were alone in the room together now, and he cleared his throat, a little shocked by the way his mind was running away with him. “I’ll look forward to it, my Queen.”

“Oh, Stephen.” She chuckled, all but stopping his heart. “Given that we’re to be joined to one another tomorrow morning, I think you can call me Reagan, don’t you?”

“Reagan,” he managed, hoping desperately that his face wasn’t as red as it felt. God, why had he agreed to meet her in his human form? His dragon form didn’t give away his feelings like this. Then again, he hadn’t known what an effect she’d have on him. “Until tomorrow.”

“Until tomorrow,” she echoed with a smile.

Then the door was closed, leaving him alone again—and more shell-shocked than he’d ever felt in his life.

Chapter 4

Reagan

Reagan couldn’t sleep. She’d stayed up long into the night, poring over every record and report of attacks from Clifford in a vain attempt to busy her mind until it tired. But although reading long-winded descriptions from foreign dignitaries would usually put her to sleep in twenty minutes, tonight she’d had no such luck. Her mind simply kept straying from the paperwork and back to the handsome dragon who was staying in the room next door to her.

What was it about him that had captured her attention so completely? She’d been expecting some stuffy royal archivist—the kind of dragon who’d spent so much time poring over books that he’d forgotten how to do anything else. But though Stephen’s intelligence was clear in the way he’d spoken, there was something else there, too. What was it? Some spark in his eyes, some tone in his voice—even exchanging diplomatic pleasantries with him had been somehow thrilling. She’d fiercely regretted showing him to his chambers, letting him leave her sight, and then scolded herself, shocked by her own feelings. What was it about this stranger she’d just met that was so distracting to her?

Maybe that was why she was insisting on poring over these records—guilt at having forgotten, for a few minutes, what the purpose of this alliance was. Clifford had been sighted dangerously close to their valley and gaining ground every day, according to the scouts that had been keeping an eye on his position. But her mind just kept creeping back to Stephen. What did he think of her, she wondered? There’d been something reserved about him, she could tell. A sense that he was holding himself back, especially when his guards had been led off to their quarters and the two of them had been left alone for a moment. Well, of course, he was a little guarded, she scolded herself. He’d only just met her.

What if he was unhappy about this match? She realized with a jolt that they’d barely discussed it. Had this union been his idea? Or, like her, had it been proposed to him without him having any input whatsoever? He seemed happy enough to be here. But then again, royalty was trained in putting on a brave front. That was diplomacy. What if she’d disappointed him?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she whispered aloud, shocked and irritated with her thoughts. What on earth did she care what he thought about her? She was the queen of the valley—a damn good queen, too, if she was being honest. She was strong, intelligent, capable, a fierce fighter. What possible issue could he take with her as a match?

Before she knew it, the sun was creeping over the horizon, and she took a deep breath, getting to her feet and stretching. It wouldn’t be the first sleepless night she’d spent, though the reason for the sleeplessness was certainly new. Slowly, she changed into the golden gown that she’d had made for the occasion. It set off her eyes and her bronze skin rather fetchingly, she had to reflect, gazing at herself approvingly in the mirror. Odd—she’d never given much thought to how she looked. She dressed her human form a certain way to demonstrate her position, of course, but she’d rarely considered whether or not she looked attractive. What was going on with her? Why was her dragon so restless?

The ceremony was simple. The Elders were there, and a few invited guests from both kingdoms, but it was far from the raucous celebration of some mating ceremonies she’d attended. Dignified, she thought to herself as the vows were being exchanged, her hands tingling as Stephen held them in his. Very dignified. Stuffy, an uncharitable soul might say. But still, when he took her into his arms for the ceremonial first dance, she didn’t feel stuffy at all. She felt electrified. It was all she could do to focus on the steps, to move with grace and dignity, to gaze up at his handsome face as he guided her around the dance floor, the approving eyes of the community following them.

The celebration took the better part of the day. She and Stephen were busy the entire time—it felt like everybody in the valley had to have a detailed conversation with them about what the union would mean, what security measures were being taken to defend them all from Clifford. The reason for the arrangement wasn’t far from anyone’s mind. Stephen was wonderful, she thought approvingly, watching him answer question after question about military tactics without the slightest sign of frustration. She hadn’t realized until now how much work she’d always done by herself. A week ago, this kind of event would have burned her out completely. Having another person there to answer the questions too—well, she could see why kings and queens ruled together.

But in the back of her mind, burning like a fire, she just couldn’t dismiss the way she felt about him. Her whole body was still tingling with the way he’d held her close on the dance floor. She’d danced with dozens of people—it was a traditional social activity at balls and gatherings, and she was nothing if not a well-trained Queen—but it had never felt like that. She’d never felt this kind of fire in her chest, this kind of desire to dance with someone again, to feel them pull her close …

She fought hard to keep the look of dismay from her face as she glanced up at Stephen. Was it possible—could it be that she was falling in love with him?

God, how inconvenient.

Chapter 5

Stephen

The day passed by in a blur. Stephen managed to distract himself from the roaring of his dragon by immersing himself in the work of diplomacy. This, at least, he knew how to do. His and Albert’s parents had seen to that, training both of their sons in the art of conversation. There was a knack to guiding a conversation, doing it in such a way that your subjects would feel validated and heard—a way to affirm your authority as King without trampling over their rights as citizens. It was a balancing act, and Stephen was pretty good at it.

But Reagan—she was something else. She was utterly magnificent. She seemed to glow from within, lit up like a star in the center of the ballroom where their ceremony took place. Every time her golden eyes fell on someone, it was as though she saw nobody else but them. Stephen could see why the people of the kingdom adored their young queen so much. Compliments rushed in, sly comments about how lucky he was, but he tried to keep his distance a little. They were right—she was a wonderful Queen, and he couldn’t wait to rule alongside her, as partners.

But this wasn’t a mating ceremony in the traditional sense. They weren’t in love, were they? They were basically business partners. So as much as he may have wanted to savor the feeling of holding her in his arms, of the touch of her arm on his as they walked around the ballroom conversing with their guests—he knew it was all strictly business. As much as his dragon roared, he knew he had to keep control of himself. He may have been her King now, but he wasn’t her mate.

Even if he was rapidly beginning to suspect that she was his.

Finally, the festivities began to die down. Guests were leaving one by one, and they said their goodbyes courteously. Was she tired? She didn’t seem it—she was every bit as radiant as she waved goodbye to the last guest, a green-eyed dragon called William, who she’d introduced as a close advisor. His dragon had roared with jealousy at the familiarity between them, and he’d had to fight down the urge to bristle until he’d met William’s mate Francesca. Ridiculous. He was going to need to get control of himself before this became a problem. What was wrong with him?

“I’m utterly exhausted,” Reagan told him, her golden eyes glowing with amusement as she looked up at him. He smiled, even as his stomach did a backflip.

“You don’t seem tired at all.”

“Queens don’t get tired,” she said archly, striking an imperious pose that made his smile broaden into a grin. “Queens are ever gracious, indefatigable, and impervious to all earthly woes.”

“Of course. How could I forget?”

“Would you like to dine with me?” she asked, and was that a note of hesitation in her voice? “I’m aware we’ve spent very little time together, and if we’re to rule alongside each other—well, it would be nice to—”

“Of course!” he said quickly, biting his tongue as he realized he’d cut her off. “I mean—I’d like that very much.”

“If you’re not too tired, of course. Today was—a lot.”

“Princes don’t get tired either, my Queen.”

“Prince?” She raised an eyebrow as they walked the winding corridors towards her chambers. “You’re a King now, Stephen.”

The word settled on him like an unfamiliar cloak. “King,” he said softly, trying it out. He was intensely aware of her scrutiny, reminded himself that this was a Queen that he was talking to. Still, some part of him couldn’t help but want to share something of himself with her. Something true, not simply more courtesies and etiquette-heavy small talk. “That word had always seemed to belong to my brother alone. It feels a little strange.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” she said, surprising him with the softness of her voice. “For as long as I can remember, it was my mother who was the Queen. I still catch myself looking for her sometimes, when I hear the title spoken.” She smiled. “You’ll grow accustomed to it, as I have. And you’ll be a good king, Stephen. I can tell.”

They’d reached her chambers now, and there was an odd silence between them. He wanted to thank her for her reassurances, and on a more impulsive level, wanted to tell her a little of what he felt for her, of what had been roaring in his chest since the minute they’d met. And on a deeper level than that, down in the pit of his chest where his dragon was still growling, he wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her as though the world was ending …

There was a curious look in her golden eyes, and he realized with a start that he’d been staring. He cleared his throat hard, averted his gaze, tried to get control of his breathing as they hovered in the doorway to her chambers. Beyond her, he could see the table was set for a meal for two, a bouquet of flowers on the table between the plates.

“Stephen? Are you all right?”

“Yes,” he said, and his voice sounded stiff even to him. To hide his discomfort, he ushered her into the room, avoiding her gaze as they took their seats at the table. Good. This was safe. A safe distance from her—her and her hypnotic eyes and the warmth of her skin. “A little tired, I think.”

Was that disappointment on her face? “Of course.”

“Today has been wonderful,” he said quickly. “I’m looking forward to our partnership, Reagan.” He didn’t want her to think he wasn’t enjoying her company.

That was the problem. He enjoyed her company far too much.

Chapter 6

Reagan

It felt nice, sitting in her chambers and eating with someone. Reagan was used to dining alone—and as a result, she usually kept herself company with some paperwork or reading materials, dispatches from neighboring kingdoms. Sitting with someone meant she wasn’t so distracted and could actually taste her food. One of the perks of the human form, eating like this. In her dragon shape, meals were a lot simpler, but also a lot less social. Hunting the plentiful herds of deer that lived in the valley tended to be a pretty solitary pursuit. So sitting with Stephen, talking and laughing as they ate—it was a new experience. And, she had to admit, a pleasant one—even though she was worried about spilling food on her elegant gown. That was the benefit of scales—no food stains.

Her mind kept trying to return to a question that had been burning in her almost since she’d met Stephen, but she didn’t trust herself to give it too much thought with him sitting right there opposite her, that luminous smile of his lighting up the very center of her. They’d been joined in a permanent union—the same way soulmates were. And she’d been to enough mating ceremonies—and heard enough jokes about them—to know what was expected the evening of a ceremony like this one. Did Stephen have expectations? Would he want to take her to bed the minute they’d finished their meal? Should she protest?

Because no matter how hard she tried to avoid thinking about it, the truth was that she didn’t want to protest. If anything, she wanted to throw this table with all its elaborate place settings aside and hurl herself at the man sitting opposite her.

It was an impulse that frightened her a little. She’d never felt this about another person, never felt such a strong, magnetic draw as she did to Stephen. When he’d held her close during their dance—god, she’d felt like she was going to pass out or explode. But she’d kept control of herself, focused on her breathing, focused on her training. She was a Queen, not some lovesick adolescent who’d been swept off her feet by the first handsome guy to come along.

But god, she wanted him.

Was it possible that he was her mate? That by some bizarre trick of fate or chance or destiny, her destined soulmate was the same man that had been assigned to her in a political union of convenience? Her heart pounded at the very thought. Could she truly be so fortunate? But surely if that was the case, Stephen would have said something. If they were soulmates, they’d both know straight away, the minute they laid eyes on each other. Wasn’t that what all the legends said? But no—he was being a perfect gentleman. She fought the disappointment in her chest as he rose to his feet, offering her a polite little bow as he headed for his chambers.

A mad, reckless impulse rose in her as he headed for the door. Before she knew it, she was on her feet, too, following him as he moved through the doorway and into the passage beyond. She had no idea what she was planning to do—all she knew was that the idea of spending the night without him was absolutely intolerable. This might be the biggest mistake of her life, but it also might be the most important reckless choice she’d ever made …

“Stephen!”

Reagan frowned. Though she’d been about to call his name, the voice that had shouted wasn’t hers. Dismay erupted in her chest as she looked down the hallway—two men she vaguely recognized as belonging to Stephen’s retinue of guards were striding up the hall, identical looks of concern on their faces. Reagan caught herself in the doorway, affecting a casual pose, as though she’d just been saying goodnight and hadn’t, in fact, been about to throw herself into his arms like a lovesick girl …

“What’s the matter?”

“Scouts just got back,” one of the guards said, breathing hard, and Reagan felt apprehension stir in her stomach, her feelings about Stephen briefly taking a back seat to the ongoing concerns about Clifford’s invasion. And sure enough: “They spotted Clifford’s forces, gathering to the north. Maybe a day away, if that.”

“Who’s to the north?” Stephen wanted to know.

“Nobody,” Reagan said grimly. “If Clifford’s heading this way, he’s coming for us.”

Stephen nodded firmly, his jaw tight. “Right. Whoever’s best rested—head straight to King Albert for reinforcements. Clifford’s counting on this valley being under-defended—but with enough of a force to hold it, we’ve got a much better tactical position. We could end his reign here and now.” His eyes flashed towards Reagan. “If my Queen agrees?”

“Clifford’s proven time and time again, there’s no reasoning with him,” she said coldly. “If he dies in battle, it means the safety of every other dragon on the continent. I say, take no prisoners.”

Stephen nodded. His guards sketched brief little bows and headed up the hallway, almost running in their urgency to get out of the building and into the sky. Stephen and Reagan watched them go.

“Earlier than I expected,” he said softly, glancing back at her. “It’s possible Clifford heard we were joining our forces and wanted to strike us down before we got too strong.”

“Too late,” Reagan said, impulsively taking his hands in hers. He smiled down at her, clearly a little surprised, but there was a guarded look in his eyes that made her release him, suddenly unsure of herself. And was that disappointment on his face? She just couldn’t get a read on this guy. “We’d better get some rest,” she said softly, cursing her own cowardice.

“Of course. Goodnight, my Queen.”

“Damnit,” Reagan whispered to the empty hallway. It was going to be a long, restless night—and not just because she’d be thinking about the attack.

Couldn’t she have just one crisis at a time?

Chapter 7

Stephen

It was a restless night for Stephen. Part of him was lying awake thinking about the impending attack, about defending his new home from invaders almost the same day he’d moved into it. It was certainly one way to settle into a place, though he had to admit, a tour of the palace and the library would be much preferable to being attacked by violent invaders. Still, he knew how to fight, and a grim part of him was looking forward to showing Clifford and his forces exactly what they were tangling with.

Another part of him—a part he was trying to ignore, especially with so many lives at risk—was simply thinking about Reagan. What did she feel for him? What did she think about him? What had been that look in her eyes when she’d pursued him into the hallway, just before his men had interrupted them? It had been all he could do to keep his distance from her over dinner. He’d had to fight to keep his hands to himself every time she turned those great golden eyes onto his face. He was completely lost to the charms of this woman. He didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable around him, so he’d done everything he could to give her space, to keep his distance even as his dragon was roaring in his chest to take her, to claim her as his mate once and for all.

Could she be his mate, he wondered for what felt like the thousandth time? If she was—well, she was hiding her feelings well. And if she wasn’t—he was in for a pretty sad life here, feeling as strongly as he did, knowing it to be unrequited. He took a deep breath, trying to sigh out some of the tension. One thing at a time, he told himself sternly as he tried to will his body to sleep, tried to pull his mind from distinctly inappropriate thoughts about Reagan. First, he’d focus on turning back the invaders. Then, he’d give a little more thought to an investigation of the feelings he had for Reagan—and the feelings he couldn’t help but hope she might have for him.

The next day dawned, bright and cold. It was chillier in these mountains than he was used to, the air biting at his skin. But his human flesh wouldn’t be a problem for long. Not today. Not when he needed all the weapons of his true form at his disposal at a moment’s notice. He stayed in his human shape long enough to check in with his own advisors and with the staff of the palace, and then he was out on the heights with the early morning sun on his skin. With a broad grin on his face, he transformed.

The sun felt just as good on his scales as it had on his face, but he couldn’t focus on that now. What was important now was to get some altitude, to keep a close eye on the valley. He beat his great wings hard, the sunlight gleaming from them as he ascended. From just below the clouds, he had an excellent view of the whole valley and of the mountains beyond, through which Clifford’s forces were approaching, according to his advisors. His brother’s forces were on their way. Scouts had flown through the night, and he knew Albert had forces ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. All they could do now was wait and hope that reinforcements reached them before Clifford’s forces did.

But in the end, they didn’t get so lucky.

It was midday when Stephen saw it. The barest glint of light, down among the trees that lay beyond the northernmost tip of the valley. If he hadn’t been scanning the area so closely, he’d have missed it. But sure enough, as he swung his neck around to look more closely, the steady beats of his great wings keeping him still in the air as he looked, his heart sank. Sure enough—a dozen dragons, maybe more, winging their stealthy way through the treetops. Approaching the valley.

Approaching Reagan.

Stephen roared a challenge, reaching out to the assembled forces as he dove, his wings folded against his back to grant him speed. There were dozens of dragons on watch, and they followed him too, an impressive show of force in the midday light. Clifford’s dragons were surprised to have been sighted—he could tell by the confused way they retreated into the trees. There was something very satisfying about that—and then, Stephen and his forces were in the trees, and chaos broke loose.

Stephen couldn’t think about his brother, about reinforcements, about anything but the battle at hand. Almost immediately, he was surrounded by dragons, tearing and slashing at him—he roared in fury, striking out with his wings and talons, felling trees as easily as foes as he channeled years of anger with these attackers into the battle. He could feel and hear the dragons of the valley fighting at his side, and he roared a challenge to Clifford’s forces, knowing that as their King, his forces were looking to him for inspiration.

And no matter the cost, he would fight for his new home. For his people. For his Queen.

But the cost was dear. As the battle waged on, more and more dragons seemed to swarm out of the woodwork to fight for Clifford, and Stephen could feel his great strength giving out. For every dragon he dispatched with a swipe of his claws, two seemed to take its place. He was bleeding in a dozen places, breathing hard, beginning to falter. And—was he seeing things? There, in the sky. A dragon who looked just like him.

Hold the line, brother.

Albert! Stephen fought with renewed vigor as his brother joined the fray—and to his delight, he could feel the tide of battle turning. The reinforcements had arrived in the nick of time. They surged forward—but when Stephen tried to leap into the air to follow the battle, he felt his tattered wings fail to catch the air. And as though it had been waiting for the reinforcements to arrive, blackness rushed up to claim his vision, frighteningly, sickeningly fast.

His last thought before oblivion claimed him was that he hoped his death would at least ensure the safety of the place he’d so briefly called home—and the Queen he’d loved for all of a day.

Chapter 8

Reagan

The healers had come and gone what felt like a hundred times. Reagan chewed on her lip, gazing down at the unconscious figure in the bed she had been sitting beside for days. Stephen had been brought in, bleeding freely from at least a dozen very serious wounds. Dragons could take a lot of injuries—they were notoriously tough—but this had given even the most experienced healers of the Palace pause for thought. Still, his wounds had been bandaged, and he’d survived so far. Did that mean that he would live?

She willed herself to be patient. She’d never seen a dragon take so much punishment. By all accounts from the front lines of the bloody battle that had raged so close to their home, Stephen had fought like a beast. He’d taken down more enemy dragons than anyone, taken wound after wound that by all rights should have knocked him out for good. But instead, he’d fought on, only collapsing to the ground once the reinforcements had arrived and the battle had been won.

It had been his brother, in the end, who’d slain Clifford. Reagan regretted that a little—she’d have liked to have a few words with the monster who’d brought so much death and chaos to the land. But knowing that he’d been executed was enough. With him dead and his forces either killed or scattered, the last of the threat to their peace was gone. It was an incredible relief, but Reagan couldn’t enjoy it. Not with Stephen lying unconscious here, barely clinging to life. And not with what the renewed peace might mean for them.

What good was a union made for protection when the need for protection had been destroyed?

She sighed again, reaching out to brush Stephen’s dark forelock out of his closed eyes. She’d been taking little liberties like that over the last few days, reasoning that he wouldn’t notice the intimacy of the gestures while he was unconscious.

“I wish you’d wake up,” she murmured aloud to him, once she’d ensured the healers weren’t anywhere they’d overhear her. “You big, brave idiot.”

She dropped her head onto the bed, fighting to control her tears. And then, to her shock, she heard a low chuckle—weak, and rough around the edges, but undeniably familiar. She sat up, hardly daring to believe her ears. And sure enough, Stephen’s eyes were open. There was something different about them, but she could barely concentrate on that, so focused was she on resisting the urge to throw her arms around him.

“You’re awake.”

“Barely,” he rasped, sitting up with some difficulty. “How did I get here? Where’s—”

“Clifford’s dead,” she said quickly, noticing the way his body was tensing up. “His forces captured, killed, or fled. The threat’s over.”

“And my men—”

“All safe,” she said, feeling a rush of bemused affection for this man who’d barely checked his own wounds before asking after others. “A few nasty injuries, but nothing life-threatening on anyone else. You took the worst of it. Tenfold, I’d say,” she added, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m mended,” he said dismissively, already unrolling a bandage from his arm. Sure enough, the skin beneath was intact. She’d often heard that their speedy healing had something to do with the magic that allowed them to shift between two different bodies. Whatever it was, she was desperately grateful that it had kept Stephen alive. “Clifford’s dead? For certain?”

“For certain,” she confirmed, a smile on her face. There was worry prickling at her stomach. But she was tired of not voicing what was troubling her, of sitting quietly, of waiting. So she took a deep breath and summoned her courage. “Stephen, our union was formed to protect both our kingdoms from Clifford’s invasion. With him dead and his forces scattered, there is no longer a need for that protection.”

Stephen was looking at her as though he’d been struck. “What are you saying?”

“I just mean—” She ducked her head. “You were pulled away from your home, your family. This arrangement probably wasn’t your idea. You’ve done your duty, Stephen. If you want to go home, I won’t hold it against you.” It will break my heart, she added silently, but that’s my business.

But he was staring at her. “Is that what you want?”

“No!” She almost yelled the word. “No. But I thought—”

“Reagan—” He was sitting up in bed, a look of urgency on his face. “I—I—“ Something seemed to break, and he started speaking, faster than she’d heard him speak before. “Leaving home was the best thing that ever happened to me, Reagan. Leaving home brought me here. Leaving home meant that I met you. And if you want me to go, I’ll go, but if it were up to me, I’d stay by your side for a hundred thousand years. The minute I met you, Reagan, I—I was yours. I am yours. Forever.”

She was reeling. “Stephen—I’ve been beside myself—ever since I met you, I thought—I felt—but you were so—so polite, so distant, so—”

“What are you saying?”

She stared at him, and now she realized what was different about his face. His eyes—they’d changed. They were a deep, burnished gold. The same color as hers. “Stephen—your eyes—”

“I know,” he said simply. “My brother’s changed too. When he met his soulmate.”

Chapter 9

Reagan

There was a long, frozen moment. Reagan’s heart was pounding hard in her chest—she was acutely aware that they were alone in Stephen’s chambers. Part of her wondered if this was a dream. Could she really have gotten this lucky? Could this powerful warrior really feel the same way about her as she did about him? She took a deep breath. “Stephen, I—I think you’re my mate.”

A smile broke out across his face like the sun through clouds, and he nodded slowly. As though in a dream, as though she was moving underwater, she found herself rising from her chair, moving across to the bed where he was lying—he was rising to meet her, his hands reaching for her. His arms were around her, and one strong hand was at the base of her neck, holding her firmly to him as their lips met in a kiss that felt like it was knocking down every wall she’d ever erected, every ounce of self-control she’d been using to hold herself back from him utterly spent. All that was left was his hands on her, the softness of his warm lips on hers, the sweet, spicy scent of him as she was drawn closer and closer to him.

“I love you,” he breathed, breaking away to gaze into her eyes, and as she stared back at him, she felt her heart almost burst.

“I love you too,” she managed, hearing her voice shake with—what? With trepidation? What could she possibly be nervous about? She had the love of her life in her arms, and suddenly, all the ideas she’d been fighting back were coming to the forefront of her mind again. “Stephen—your injuries—are they—”

“Healed,” he said breathlessly, pulling her closer into the bed with him. “Completely healed, good as new, strong as an ox—”

She laughed, but he was distracting her. His hands were roaming all over her, starting fires in places she’d never given much thought to. And it wasn’t long before she was tugging her dress over her head, privately a little shocked at her own boldness. She’d never done any of this before. Why did it feel so natural? Because Stephen was her soulmate, she realized in a dizzy rush. It felt like she’d known him for a thousand years, and it also felt like she’d been waiting a thousand years to get her hands on the unbelievable body that had been hiding under all of those formal clothes. She grinned to herself as she pulled the bandages from his body—it was clear from the sound of his breathing that he’d been waiting for this moment with as much enthusiasm as she had.

Then they were both naked, and they wasted no time in diving under the sheets together, wrapped in each other’s arms. His hands moved agonizingly slowly. She all but groaned as his fingertips ghosted across her breasts, teasing at the sensitive flesh of her nipples, curling around her back and running down her spine, around the curve of her hip. There was something worshipful in his caresses, something that made her feel like a goddess and not just a Queen. And when his hands slowed as they approached her most intimate place, she reached down and pressed his fingertips to her sex in wordless encouragement.

Her eyes flickered shut as he began to explore her body, and within minutes, she was choking back moans at the intensity of the sensations he was drawing out of her. She lay back among the tangle of sheets, fists clenched in the fabric, powerless to resist even if she’d wanted to. It felt like some kind of fire building low in her belly, resonating out to every part of her, right down to the tips of her fingers and toes. And just when it felt like something was about to explode, he pulled his hand away, drawing a frustrated groan from her before she could stop herself.

There he was, hovering above her, a wicked grin on that gorgeous face she’d fallen for so completely, and for a moment, all she could do was gaze at him with a no-doubt ridiculous smile on her face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, reaching out to caress her face. She pressed a kiss to his palm—and then felt his manhood brush against her thigh, sending a full-body tingle of arousal shooting down her spine. She gazed up at him, wordless, commanding, even though it felt more like begging. Either way, her wish was his command, and her eyes rolled back in uncontrollable delight as his manhood slid deep, deep inside her.

They seemed to fit together as though they’d been made for each other. Every movement of her hips she made to draw more pleasure from their lovemaking seemed to bring him more pleasure, too, and it wasn’t long before they were both breathing hard, whimpering wordless pleas and vows into each other’s ears as they moved together beneath the blankets. The climax crashed over them both simultaneously, and Reagan had to bury her face in Stephen’s throat to stop herself from screaming loudly enough to bring every guard in the palace running.

They lay together in the aftermath, her head pillowed on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her, unbelievably warm and comforting. Her body was suffused with an unbelievable glow, but even in her post-coital bliss, she could feel that her desire wouldn’t be dormant for long. How could it be, lying so close to a man like this?

“I’ve been wanting this since I met you,” Reagan murmured, turning to look up at her soulmate. He smiled down at her, warmth and love beaming out of his face.

“Oh, my Queen. I’ve been wanting this my whole life.”

Chapter 10

Stephen

“Thanks for meeting me out here.”

Stephen turned from the bird’s-eye view of the valley afforded to him by the little rocky overhang he was standing on. It was one of Reagan’s favorite places in the valley—she’d shown it to him a few days after they’d met, after the chaos of battle had settled down, and they’d made absolutely sure that Clifford’s forces were all banished.

He’d hardly dared to hope for the kind of peace they’d experienced since then, but sure enough, the weeks had flown by with absolutely no sign of Clifford or any of his soldiers. The threat was gone, and the whole continent seemed to be celebrating. He and Reagan had been invited to no end of balls as the guests of honor—it seemed that word had spread quickly of what Reagan referred to as his ‘heroism’. It was a little embarrassing to think about. If he was honest, he hadn’t known how much danger he’d put himself in. All he’d known was that his Queen and his people needed him to protect them, and he’d done just that.

They were also interested, of course, in the deeply romantic tale of Stephen and Reagan’s union. An arranged union for political purposes that wound up being a union between destined soulmates? It seemed impossible and had certainly captured the imaginations of every dragon they talked to. Sometimes he could barely believe his luck himself if he was honest, especially on days like this.

It was the middle of summer, and though the air was still thin and rather cool up here, the warmth of the sun felt incredibly good on his skin. There’d been excellent hunting down in the valley, which was useful given how many visitors they’d had of late—it felt like every other night they were entertaining some visiting monarch or other who’d wanted to see Stephen and Reagan for him or herself. Today, thankfully, there was nothing on the cards. There were no patrols anymore; no guards posted to watch for enemies. Peace had the valley firmly in its grip, and Stephen was looking forward to getting a little bit of it to himself for once.

He’d brought a little picnic to the ledge—nothing too elaborate, just a couple of sandwiches. Reagan did have a fondness for eating in her human form, and anything that brought his soulmate joy brought him twice as much. She grinned broadly when she spotted the basket sitting on the rock behind him, her golden eyes dancing in the sun, and for what was probably the thousandth time, Stephen wondered at his own sheer, unbelievable luck. A woman like this was his mate. Chose him. Lived with him, made love to him, spent afternoons and evenings and mornings in his company—

“What are you thinking about?”

“You,” he said simply, reaching out to help her sit with him on the rock. She’d been moving a little gingerly, lately. He had a suspicion she was worn out—all the more reason to take some time to themselves.

“Boring,” she scoffed, though her eyes were glowing with affection. “God, I’ll never get sick of this view.”

“Me neither,” he said softly, gazing down over the valley where the river disappeared into a thick stand of trees. “It’s such a perfect place.”

They ate together in companionable silence, just staring out over the trees. That was something he adored about Reagan—something else on the long, long list—the way silence with her felt as effortless and comfortable as being silent when he was alone. But as they finished their sandwiches, he could sense something a little different about her. There was a kind of spark in the air as she gazed down at the valley below them. He tried to be patient, but she could clearly sense his curious eyes on her because she shot him a sidelong look.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I invited you up here, alone.”

“Well, I had a few theories. Usually, when you want me alone, it’s in our chambers—”

She laughed, pushing at his shoulder. “One-track mind. No, it’s not that.” Her eyes glowed. “Though it’s connected.”

“What?”

Reagan took a deep breath. “I wanted to spend this time alone with you. Because—well, in a little while, our alone time is going to be at a premium.”

He stared at her, not understanding, until he saw her hand resting ever so lightly on her abdomen. Stephen looked at her hand, then back at her face, then her hand, then her face—and she was clearly holding back her laughter as a wondering smile broke out across his face.

“A child?”

“Not quite,” she said—and he blinked hard, feeling an odd sense of whiplash.

“No? But—”

“Try children,” she said softly. “I’ve been with the healers this morning, Stephen. Twins. Twin boys, they’re almost certain. I was thinking Alexander and Samuel. What do you think?”

He was reeling. All he could do was nod—to wordlessly reach out and pull her into his arms, dizzy laughter breaking out of him. Children. Children!

“Just when I was thinking I was already the luckiest man on the planet,” he murmured into her ear, hearing her chuckle in response. “God. Twins. I can’t wait.”

“I love you,” Reagan said softly. She always sounded a little shy when she said that. It was a rare glimpse of vulnerability from his otherwise tough-as-nails Queen, and he treasured these little moments. He took her into his arms and kissed her, knowing that it would take the rest of his life and then some to tell her how much he loved her in return—and looking forward to every single day of it.

About Kayla Wolf

Kayla Wolf is a mom of two, an obsessive reader, and a total sucker for paranormal romance. Sexy shifters, sassy women, steamy encounters, and dangerous enemies are the things that make her lie awake at night. Whenever she thinks about these things, she just has to get up and write about them immediately... Come on in, and spoil the beast in you.

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Also by Kayla Wolf

"Married off to the Dragon" is a short prequel to my "Dragon Valley" series. The series consists of full-length novels about dangerously hot dragons.

Read all about Alexander, Samuel, and all the other dragons in the valley here:

https://wolfsistersbooks.com/books/dragon-valley/

“Dragon Valley” Series

Dragon Valley keeps a secret that no one knows about: Dangerously sexy and muscled dragons have made the valley their home. But their existence is at risk. They need to find a mate or else their time might be up. Will they succeed? “Dragon Valley” is a paranormal romance series that consists of standalone stories that each have a satisfying HEA. The books are connected through the dragons that live in the valley.

Mated to the Dragon

Protected by the Dragon

Auctioned to the Dragon

Kidnapped by the Dragon

Guards to the Dragon

Marked by the Dragon

Hunted by the Dragon

Claimed by the Dragon

Fox Trap by Margo Bond Collins

A Shifter Romance

Chapter 1

Tristan Todd

I should have seen the trap.

I ran through the woods, weaving past trees in the dark. The silvery-blue moonlight reflecting off the snow provided more than enough illumination for my eyes, as they were more sensitive in my fox form. I could see where I was going.

But I had been on the run for weeks, shifting from fox to human and back again, with never enough time to sleep and barely enough to eat in my flight from the hell that hunted me. I was exhausted and worn, and I knew Maeve’s minions were going to catch up with me at any minute.

I could hear them behind me, their evil cackles echoing through the Colorado forest.

I’d ended up here almost by chance, following some instinct that told me to take ever-higher ground. I needed to be able to get the drop on these sons-of-bitches. But I had no idea how.

As I ran, I watched for the glints of moonlight off their oversized, fully black eyes, for the hint of motion in their white-against-snow skin and clothing. I was far too busy looking for them to pay attention to where I was going.

So when I landed in a bear trap, I didn’t have enough time to leap back out before it closed on me. I was fast—shifter-fast. But not fast enough. It clamped shut on my left hind leg. I heard the clank of the trap slamming at the same moment I felt the bone snap in two. Agonizing pain whipped through me, and I screamed, my fox voice bouncing back off the walls of the mountains around me in some directions, muffled by the snow in others.

The elves laughed and then hissed as they stepped into the small clearing where I lay incapacitated. If I had simply tripped and broken a limb, it would’ve been all over then. But Maeve kept purebloods around her, and this trap was made of iron. That was my only saving grace—they couldn’t get to me. Not while I was caught in the trap.

I needed to change into my human shape as soon as possible and do what I could to get away. But it would take a lot of energy, and right now, the pain was too fresh. I had to carefully weigh the cons of staying in the trap, lying injured in the cold and snow, as opposed to shifting and removing myself from the one thing holding them at bay.

And right now, I was in too much agony to make any sense of my options.

I can’t go to sleep. If I die out here, everything I fought for will have been for nothing. I worked to keep my eyes open, to focus on the power I needed to shift.

The elves were circling, coming in closer and closer, their circle contracting. Like other natives of the forest, they blended in easily. And these elves were from the Winter Court, so the snow and ice acted as additional camouflage for their pale faces and dark eyes.

In the distance, I heard the rumble of an engine. There weren’t many vehicles up here, but it was coming this direction. The elves paused, their leader cocking his head to listen.

“Human,” he hissed, his lip curling up.

Some of the fae could pass for humans themselves, even when they were in their natural form. The Winter Court elves weren’t among them. This elf was tall and thin, his limbs too long, his knees prone to bending in the wrong direction, like a marionette’s or a grasshopper’s. Add to that his stark white skin, silver braids, and all-black, iris-less eyes, and he looked more like a giant, albino praying mantis than a person.

He was one of Maeve’s warriors, a hunter, one who’d been sent out to gather up all the kitsunes he could find and drag us in. His queen wanted to use our blood to help fuel her rise to power.

I was still figuring out how that worked when this one had gotten wind of me and set out to catch me.

My only choice had been to flee, moving in the opposite direction of my family and my clan in order to draw off the elves.

Now the hunter flicked one overly long finger in a gesture that apparently meant something along the lines of an order to withdraw. All of his fellow elves melted away into the forest as the vehicle drew closer. Its rumbling engine stopped not terribly far away. I hesitated to cry out to whoever it was. But perhaps if I could change into my human form, I could request help. I would have no answer for why a naked man was caught in a bear trap in the woods, but it was better than dying at the hands of the Winter Court queen.

When I heard the door slam, I let out a howl.

Chapter 2

Mary Kendrick

I hadn’t planned to go into the woods that snowy winter’s night.

I’d been in town attending the winter festival the town put on every year. Not for the first time since I moved here, I found myself feeling more alone in a crowd of people than I ever did by myself in my tiny one-bedroom cabin up on the mountain.

Not that the people of Assumption, Colorado, weren’t perfectly friendly. They always were. I’d left the festival with a bag full of tiny gifts people in the various booths and at the indoor stations had been handing out.

But I didn’t have any real friends in Assumption yet, even though I’d been here for more than two years. I mean, I knew plenty of people to say hello to when I was in town—but very few to stop and chat with for any length of time.

Unless you counted Sheriff Bingley. And really, all we ever did was talk shop.

I was still feeling a sense of loneliness when I got in my Jeep to head back home. I spent much of the drive considering why that might be—normally, I liked my own company just fine. Even better since I’d left my job as a Dallas cop and moved to the Rocky Mountains, where I ran an online consulting business from my one-bedroom cabin.

I enjoyed the solitude of the woods.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t want someone to spend time with occasionally.

Anyone other than the poachers who showed up from time to time.

My cabin sat on part of an old silver mine claim. I owned the mine, the claim, and the cabin, as well as all the land around it. I don’t know what the previous owner’s understanding had been with the kinds of poachers who regularly made their way past the boundaries through Colorado’s forested land, but as far as I was concerned, hunters were not welcome on my property.

My lack of enthusiasm for them, however, did not stop most of them from turning up anyway. Since the first time I had found a maimed rabbit in a trap, I had begun posting Do Not Trespass signs. When that didn’t work, I began doing semiregular sweeps through the parts of the woods that were actually mine.

I’d learned to recognize the different kinds of traps when I went out for my long walks. I had gotten good at disarming the metal contraptions and gathering them up to hand over to Sheriff Bingley.

I planned to take the night off from patrolling, though. All I really wanted to do was curl up by my fireplace with a hot drink and a book.

But as I passed the first turn-off onto my property, I spun the steering wheel to guide my Jeep onto the bumpy drive almost unconsciously. My cabin was farther up the mountain.

This drive would take me to some of the poachers’ favorite hunting grounds.

When I first moved up here, I’d discovered an old trailhead winding its way up through the woods, crisscrossing in and out of my land. It seemed to be a fairly regular path used by poachers. I was always careful to watch for other people when I took it. I rarely checked it this late, though.

I’ll just do a quick sweep of the first two clearings, I promised myself.

When I parked and stepped out of the Jeep, however, out of the woods came a noise like nothing I’d heard before, a high-pitched sound somewhere between a scream and a yowl.

I jumped, startled, and pulled the pistol I still carried out of the glove compartment, where I had left it during the festival.

I hoped I wasn’t about to come upon an injured cougar. Or bear. Idiot poachers are likely to catch anything in the traps.

I took the holster belt I kept in the back of the Jeep and strapped it on. If it was nothing, I could holster the weapon. But for now, I was keeping it drawn.

I moved slowly up the path, every step sounding louder than the previous one as it crunched into the snow, certain to scare off any wildlife around. Except maybe the cougar or bear.

As I stepped into the first clearing, the moon moved out from behind a cloud, illuminating the scene before me.

A large fox—bigger than the ones I was used to catching glimpses of now and then in the forest—had been caught in a bear trap. It lay on the snow, panting. The leg in the trap was bent at an awkward angle, almost certainly broken.

Its chest heaved with rapid breaths.

I didn’t think a fox that torn up could survive.

Damn those poachers. Tears welled up in my eyes. “I’m going to have to put you out of your misery, I’m afraid.”

The animal opened his eyes and looked up at me, and for a split second, I could’ve sworn I saw an almost human intelligence there. But then they clouded over again and closed.

I hated this part of cleaning up after poachers who couldn’t be bothered to put out traps that either killed cleanly or caught the animals alive without hurting them.

I’d left Dallas because I couldn’t stand what people do to people. Out here, I couldn’t stand what they did to animals.

I sighed. “I’m so sorry.”

But just as I was about to pull the trigger, the fox’s entire shape flickered. I stopped and blinked twice, closing my eyes tightly for a second and shaking my head to see if I could figure out what had just happened.

And that’s when the fox turned into a naked man.

Chapter 3

Tristan

When she’d entered the clearing, I had stared at her, shimmering in the moonlight. I couldn’t tell what she was. She wasn’t one of the monstrous elves who had been chasing me, though she almost glowed like they did.

She wasn’t one of the kinds of supernaturals I knew about. Not a shifter, and not one of the darker creatures like the bloodsuckers, or the other monsters that prey upon the weak.

All of this flashed through my mind in an instant.

Then she’d turned her gun on me. She was going to shoot me. If I’d been in my human form, I would have laughed at the irony. I had spent so much time and effort running from the creatures hunting me, and now I was going to be put down like a wounded animal by someone who was doing it out of kindness.

Humans. They never did the right thing, even when they were trying to.

If I died, my family would never know what happened to me—and worse, they’d be at risk from the very same evil elves I was trying to save them from. As long as the elves hunted me, the rest of my clan stayed hidden.

So I put all my effort into one final chance, despite my exhaustion. I knew shifting now was dangerous. I could die from it. I needed to sleep, to rest first. And part of me even thought one instant of agony with the bullets might be worth the permanent rest afterwards.

If I shifted, there would be no rest—my leg bone would heal and break again inside the trap.

But I had to give it one last try in the hopes she wouldn’t shoot me. So I closed my eyes and reached down inside myself, circling into the place that held my fox and my human selves, and I pulled as hard as I could.

Something inside me snapped when I tugged at the power, the result as sharp and painful as the broken bone in my leg.

There wasn’t much left, maybe just enough to give her a glimpse of my other form. I didn’t think I could manage a whole shift. I wrapped all the energy around myself and opened my eyes to match my gaze with hers. I could feel it working, feel the change flowing through my very cells. I imagined them bumping into one another, like blood cells under a microscope. Rushing through the channels that existed for them to get to their designated places.

I felt it when they snapped into formation, moving into the configuration for human and out of the one for fox.

The woman froze, her eyes huge. I held the form for one heartbeat. Two…three. Pushing the whole time against my cells’ desire to slide back into fox.

As soon as the hand holding the gun dropped down to her side, I heaved a sigh and let go. As soon as I no longer strained to hold it, my human shape slipped away, like melting snow, disappearing into the ground around me, leaving only the fox behind. As I’d expected, my leg snapped again, and I yelped once against my will.

“What the hell was that?” the woman muttered to herself, and I knew she meant my human form, not the sound of pain I’d made. She blinked and passed her hand over her eyes.

All around me, Maeve’s warriors whispered, their voices shuddering through the forest like wind through the leaves.

Not true. Not real. Not yours. Ours.

Normally, from what I’d seen, that whispering was enough to push a human’s thinking in a certain direction.

But this woman was made of sterner stuff.

Or maybe more supernatural stuff.

As I looked at her now, the strange bluish glow I had seen in the beginning had disappeared. She just looked like any normal human.

But I was certain there was more to her than what I was seeing now.

Especially when she whipped around at the sound of one of the elves slipping through the forest behind her. “Who’s out there?” She turned again. “You cannot hunt on this land.”

I wanted to shake my head—I would if I weren’t so damn tired. She couldn’t stop the fae from hunting me. Not in the woods. The woods were theirs.

Another whispering laugh came from the forest. She shouldn’t have been able to hear it with her human ears, but she responded to it, turning around and shouting into the trees. “These woods are mine. This land is mine. You cannot hunt here. Do you hear me? These woods are mine!”

As the echo of her final words died away, a wind swirled through the clearing, sending ice and snow with it in tiny eddies along the ground. A biting cold followed the wind, piercing me like knives, or like fingers questing through me, as if to test me.

The cold, too, receded—but in its wake the elves in the forest hissed in pain, pulling even farther back from the clearing, separated from us now by a shimmering blue light encircling us.

Before, the hunter’s trap kept the fae from approaching, with its iron and its human workmanship.

Now, though, the woman had erected a barrier with her words alone.

She had claimed this land, and the fae could not approach her. Or me, as long as I was in here with her.

I stared at her in fascination, even as I felt exhaustion begin to overcome me completely.

What the hell are you?

Chapter 4

Mary

Well, hell.

Heaving a huge sigh, I stared at the animal caught in the trap for a good long while. It gave me a steady, beseeching look, its eyes creepily human.

Then again, the rest of it had been creepily human just a moment before.

“Now I’m going to have to take you home, aren’t I?” I glared at the animal. “I ought to leave you here, let you die of exposure.”

The fox closed its eyes and lowered its head as if in resignation.

“Dammit to hell.” I holstered my gun and moved toward the trap. “If you bite me, I’m going to…” I couldn’t figure out what I could do that was worse than the threat of shooting him in the head or leaving him out in the cold. And since I clearly wasn’t going to do either of those things, I just let my thought trail off.

“Wait here. I’m going for bolt-cutters. I won’t be long.” Luckily I had some in my Jeep. This wasn’t the first time I’d used them to destroy a bear trap. Usually, though, they were empty traps.

“I’m only doing this because I have clearly already lost my mind,” I assured the fox. “I figure if I’m already hallucinating, I might as well invest fully in the psychosis.”

I considered what I’d seen and how it connected to the possibility that I really was having some kind of mental episode.

One of the psychs who’d worked with us regularly back when I was on the force had told me some stories about ways she had done what she called “calling out psychotic beliefs.” Mostly her methods had to do with creating a facsimile of reality mimicking the specifics of hallucinations. Apparently claiming you heard voices coming out of your wall sockets was all well and good until someone put microphones in them to create real voices coming out of the wall sockets.

That particular psychologist had been good at figuring out when people were lying to her.

But her methods wouldn’t work for me, since my hallucination was about a shapeshifting man-fox.

What would one of those be? A werefox?

The ice crunching under my boots felt real enough, as did the cold air numbing my cheeks and nose.

At the Jeep, I tugged the rear door open and rummaged around in my box of tools. Finding the bolt-cutters, I pulled them out. But when I shut the hatch again, I paused.

I could leave. Walk away. I don’t ever have to acknowledge I was here.

I couldn’t, though. The more I considered the world around me, the saner I felt. The cold was real, and the snow, and my Jeep, and the trees around me. This had none of the foggy qualities of a dream. And if it was real, I needed to figure out what had actually happened back there.

So, I turned and headed back to the fox in the trap.

He was just as I had left him: quiet and still, with his eyes closed. This time, when I wasn’t stunned by what I was seeing, I took a little more time to examine the fox closely.

He was caught in the bear trap—but like most bear traps, it was designed to hold the animal in place, not ravage it, so other than its broken leg, the fox shouldn’t have had anything worse than bruising, or maybe a few punctures.

But something had attacked it. Something with wicked claws. Maybe a mountain lion? The poor creature had long strips of its skin ripped away, though they were not currently bleeding.

“Okay,” I said, still speaking to the creature as if I were certain what I had seen was true and it really could understand me. “I’m going to be as careful with you as I can be, but this still may hurt because of your injuries.”

I began putting pressure on the bear-trap springs to see if I could release the animal before I destroyed the trap, but then I paused. “Uh. Don’t turn into a human right now, okay? That’ll make it harder for me to get you out.”

The fox opened its eyes, held my gaze steadily, and then nodded.

Oh, hell.

This was the weirdest night of my life. Like, ever.

Channel 5

Tristan

What the hell is she?

The woman’s words had somehow acted as a barrier—but I was pretty sure she didn’t know it.

Kneeling in the snow beside me, she’d also holstered her pistol, but I noticed she didn’t snap the holster closed. She was ready to draw on anyone who approached us, even as she put pressure on the springs to try to open the bear trap.

“I don’t know what you are,” she said.

Right back at you, lady.

“But I can’t leave you out here to die. It might even be kinder to put one in your head, but after seeing whatever that was, I can’t do it. This is going to hurt, and if you understand me, I am so sorry.”

Planting one foot for leverage, she grasped the bear trap with both hands and pushed it wide. “I can’t get you out. You’ll have to pull yourself out of the trap and then, if you understand me, don’t run away. Please.”

Oh, I wasn’t running anywhere. I didn’t know if she could tell my bone was broken, but I could—especially when I started trying to move. I managed to pull my leg in closer to my body, but I yelped in pain when I did.

“Hurry,” she said through gritted teeth. “This thing is set tight. It’s going to shut any minute.”

I believe you.

Using only my front paws, I dragged myself out of the trap.

In one movement, she let go of the trap and leapt back. It snapped closed again, and she brushed her hands together and then wiped them down her canvas pants, leaving iron oxide trails of rusty brown behind.

“Okay. Let’s see if we can get you back to my place. I’ll call… a vet? A doctor? Someone. Maybe.”

She stripped off her outer coat, revealing canvas pants and a heavy red sweater. I shivered at the sight of her, though my fur was keeping me perfectly warm.

I think I’m going into shock.

She spread the coat out on the ground, and I had enough energy left to crawl onto it.

“Let me deal with this, and then we’ll get going,” she murmured. With the bolt-cutters, she snipped the bear-trap apart at some of its most crucial joints, presumably to keep it from being used again.

“Normally, I would sling it over my shoulder and take it with me to turn into the sheriff,” she continued her quiet, one-sided conversation with me. “But this time, I’ll have to send Sheriff Bingley up to check it out. Later.”

She paused to wrap the coat around me, using the arms to tie it around my midsection.

“I’m going to lift you up and then carry you to my Jeep.” Her voice dropped. “God, I hope you don’t bite,” she muttered.

I would not have bitten her anyway, but I doubted I’d be able to right now. I suspected I was about to pass out.

For a second, I worried about leaving the ring of protection she had somehow called up around us. But maybe it wouldn’t matter. If the Jeep was nearby, the metal in its construction should keep me safe from the fae.

Her hands were gentle as she lifted me up, but I couldn’t help whimpering at the way it jostled my broken bone.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “It won’t take long.”

She wrapped me in the coat and gathered me up in her arms. I clenched my jaw against making more noises, even though the pain grew steadily worse. She was saving my life—I had no doubt about it.

I managed to keep my eyes open until we were in the Jeep. The short stretch between the strange barrier she had erected and the vehicle made me anxious. I kept my eyes open, watching carefully. And Maeve’s warriors flitted around us—but they never got close enough to the woman for her to catch sight of them again. Even so, she, too, was nervous—she kept glancing around us. When she put me in the Jeep, opening the passenger door and setting me gently on the seat, I huffed out a breath of relief. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to relax as much as the pain in my leg would allow.

By the time she moved around to the driver’s side and started the vehicle, I was barely awake. For the first time in days, I felt safe enough to allow myself the relief of unconsciousness.

I drifted in and out of consciousness as the woman drove, sometimes glancing up to see the curve of her jaw limned in silver. At first, I thought it was the reflected glow of the dashboard lights, but the more I watched her, the more certain I became it was the return of the glow I’d seen from her in the clearing.

And then she began singing in a low voice, a kind of wordless hum that I saw spinning out of her mouth in silver-blue smoke. It filled the Jeep and when it touched me, it took away my pain.

Chapter 6

Mary

I stood just inside the door of my cabin, holding what was either the embodiment of my fevered imagination or an actual shapeshifting creature who changed from fox to human.

“Does that really make you a werefox? What do you call yourself?”

He didn’t answer, of course. At some point as I’d settled him in the front seat of my Jeep, he had either fallen asleep or lost consciousness.

For the first time since his human appearance in the forest had shocked me, I wondered if whoever had been chasing him out in the woods wasn’t, in fact, a who at all—but a what.

Back in the clearing, I had assumed he’d been caught by hunters of the normal human sort. And yet, I could have sworn there was someone or something circling us as I carried him back to my Jeep.

That had to be my imagination. Right?

I’d spent the entire drive to my cabin wondering what the hell I had gotten myself into.

I carried the unconscious fox the rest of the way into my home. I wasn’t really set up to care for wounded animals, but I did have a pretty serious first aid kit, including a kit for stitching up wounds.

I also had an old dog crate left over from my last dog, Major, who had died peacefully in his sleep at a ripe old age of almost seventeen.

It seems impolite to put a werefox in a dog cage.

I carried him into the front room downstairs and glanced around, frowning. Where should he sleep? I didn’t really have very many options in the sparsely furnished space.

“What if you shift in your sleep?” In that case, the loveseat would be too small, and the only other piece of furniture in my tiny living room area was a single chair.

The loft upstairs had been converted to an office space when I first moved in. From there, I ran my law-enforcement consulting business.

“Nope,” I said aloud. “No place for fox shifters upstairs.”

All that left was my room. I hovered inside the bedroom door, glancing between the fox in my arms and the bed where I was actually considering putting him.

“I have lost my frickin’ mind.”

I went back and forth between considering what I would do with a werefox and what I would do if I’d simply hallucinated the man in the clearing.

Not that I’d ever hallucinated before.

If he was a fox shifter, it might be dangerous to put him in my bed for all the same reasons that it would be dangerous to put a human male I didn’t know in my bed.

And if I’d hallucinated, it was insane to put a wild animal in my bed.

So here I was, standing in the doorway of my bedroom, holding a fox wrapped in my coat, and trying to decide whether or not to tuck it into my bed. I sighed and glanced down at him. If he hadn’t tried to bite me when I was removing him from a bear trap, then he was unlikely to attack me while I slept. And if he really was a werefox…

“To hell with it. You’re hurt, you’re unconscious, and I’m exhausted. Let me see what I can do to help you heal.”

The fox didn’t stir, and if it hadn’t been for the feel of his breathing, I might not have known he was still alive.

I ought to clean him up first. I knew it. He had gashes on his back and a broken leg. The leg needed to be set, the gashes washed out and possibly stitched. But I was not equipped for any of that. The vet’s office in town was closed, and I wasn’t about to call the emergency vet out for a fox. She would think I had lost my mind.

Instead, I settled him against a pillow, still wrapped in my coat.

Then I went out to the living room to make myself a cup of coffee.

Or maybe a stiffer drink than that.

I woke in the middle of the night to the sound of someone coughing in my bedroom. I sat straight up on the loveseat in my tiny living room. I’d been right—it was far too small for me, much less a full-sized human version of a fox-shifter. I stood up and stretched my sore arms as I moved toward the bedroom, with a detour to the kitchen—I didn’t know what fox-shifters ate, but I was absolutely certain that he would drink water.

I moved through the cabin in the dark, my step sure in the moonlight streaming through the window. As I moved into the bedroom, though, I turned on a lamp, the one with the lowest wattage bulb.

Even though I’d heard him cough, even though I’d seen him outlined in the moonlight when I walked in, I still gasped and took a step back when I saw the man in my bed.

He was gorgeous. I’d only gotten a glimpse of him for a few seconds when he had flickered into view in the clearing. But now that I could see more of him—he’d pushed the blankets down to his waist—he was broad-chested and muscular, his hair the same golden-red as his coat in his fox form. Stubble on his chin and cheeks glinted in the moonlight, and I found myself going off on a tangent for a second wondering how a shapeshifter dealt with shaving.

His eyes were still closed—I was pretty sure he was unconscious. I moved closer until I was standing over him. I reached down to feel his forehead. But before I could touch him, his eyes snapped open and his hand flew up to grab my wrist.

His eyes caught the lamplight and reflected it back at me, so that they seemed to glow with a bright golden sheen.

He growled inarticulately.

“I’m just checking your temperature,” I said. “I want to help you.” I kept talking, hoping to get through to him, even as his hand tightened around my wrist, threatening to crush it. “You’re hurting me. Please let go. I’m here to help. Just want to see if you have a fever.” I tried to infuse my voice with all the combined authority and caring that I had learned to exercise as a police officer. “Sir, you need to let go of me. You’re safe.”

I repeated myself several times, like a mantra, until slowly, he loosened his fingers and opened his hand to turn me loose.

“Can I check to see if you have a fever now?” I asked.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to tell,” he finally rasped out at me. “I run hotter than most people on a normal day.”

Despite how sick he obviously was, I couldn’t help the thought that ran through my head.

Oh, yeah. You’re definitely hotter than most people.

Chapter 7

Tristan

I felt her cool touch before I recognized anything else.

I was lost in the woods, running through the dark, and there was snow, but it was hot, so hot. I shivered even as I rushed to get out of the trap the elf hunters had set. I was burning and cold at the same time.

No. That wasn’t right. They hadn’t caught me.

They circled me, but an angel came and saved me.

My bones ached, and I fought to roll over, but the hunter’s trap held me in its vice.

No. She had taken me from there. God, where was I now?

When I finally made my way out of the confusion enveloping me, I awoke briefly in a dark room, something reaching for me. I stopped the hand coming toward me, but her voice finally got through to me.

Right.

She had saved me.

I spoke to her for the first time, watching her eyes flare with blue-white light as I did. And then I dropped back down against the pillows, letting her take my temperature.

Outside the small cabin, the Winter Court fae prowled, their whispering voices sending shivers up my spine.

We’re waiting, they hissed at me. You must come out eventually.

Or was it just the wind?

After a few minutes, I dropped back into my feverish sleep.

The touch of her hand followed by a cool cloth laid across my forehead almost woke me up again sometime later.

And then she started singing. Not the wordless hum I’d heard in the Jeep, but I couldn’t understand these words, either. It was like my ears were stuffed full of cotton and I couldn’t paw it out, no matter how hard I shook my head and clawed at it.

“Shh.” She lifted the cloth and replaced it a moment later, once again cool and soothing. Then she pulled the covers off my chest and arms and wiped those down, too.

I shivered, and she pulled the sheet back over me, and when she began singing again, that invisible blue smoke filled the room, and the elves’ hisses turned to cries, and they were gone.

When I first opened my eyes after my fever broke, she stood over me, glowing like some kind of angel.

Or maybe one of the damned winter elves out hunting me tonight.

A blue-white halo of light surrounded her, and I blinked to try to throw off sleep, to figure out where I was and who had me.

It took me a long time to figure out what was going on. The longer I stared at her, though, the more that glow faded until I could see the woman beneath it.

She was beautiful—not like a supermodel, but real. She had shiny, chestnut-colored hair that just brushed her shoulders, a small nose that turned up a little at the end, and blue eyes that looked right through me, all the way to my soul. At least, that’s how it felt once my vision resolved and I could meet her gaze with mine.

I let her take my temperature with a thermometer after she touched my forehead with her cool, slim fingers.

“Hot is an understatement,” she muttered, scowling at my forehead as if it were to blame. She frowned at me. “Do you know what your temperature usually is?”

I ran a hand across my eyes. “101, 102 degrees? Something like that. Fever range for most people.” I glanced up at her to see how she was taking the whole kitsune thing.

She frowned down at the digital thermometer in her hand after I’d held it in my mouth until it beeped. “Can you take Tylenol or ibuprofen? Anything to lower your fever?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never taken any kind of medicine before.” My head pounded, and I realized I was shivering. But I felt hot. I couldn’t decide whether to pull the covers up or push them off entirely.

She chewed on her bottom lip with straight, white, even teeth, and even in my weakened, feverish state, I found the gesture endearing.

Endearing? What the hell is wrong with me?

Somehow, though, every move she made absolutely entranced me. I didn’t know if it was the fever causing my intense attraction…or something else.

“What are you?” she asked, almost conversationally, as she turned to pick up a glass of water that she must have brought in with her—I certainly hadn’t seen it during my occasional lucid moments since she brought me in here, though I remembered drinking from a straw the night before.

I struggled to sit up, and she rested her hand on my back, offering some combination of support and assistance.

I took the water from her and drank it. When I handed it back to her, I simply said, “Thank you.”

She waited for another moment to see if I answered her question, then said, “Let me see your leg.”

I hesitated to show her. It was healed from shifting, but I knew it would take a couple more shifts before the bone was really strong again.

Still, I owed my life to this woman, whoever she was, so I threw back the covers to let her see my left leg.

Her gaze flickered across my midsection then focused on my leg. A delicate pink blush flowed up her face.

Right. Human.

Shifters didn’t have the same sense of modesty that humans did. We spent too much time in nature, and when we were shifting back and forth, clothes were a hindrance. A lot of shifters I knew wore them only for warmth when they were in their human shapes.

“It’ll be completely better in a day or two,” I said, gesturing at my leg.

“That’s amazing,” she murmured, peering intently at it. “I could have sworn it was broken.”

“It was. But my shift in the night began the healing process. Your healing song helped further it.”

“My healing song?” She seemed genuinely confused.

“The one you sang last night as you nursed me?”

The frown creasing her brow cleared. “Oh. That’s just an old lullaby my mother used to sing to me. She said her father sang it to her.”

Was it possible this woman really believed she was fully human? I might not have come across her type before, but it was clear she had some sort of powers.

And she doesn’t even know what she is.

Chapter 8

Mary

“If you feel up to eating this morning, I’m about to cook some oatmeal for myself...” I paused, realizing I didn’t even know what to call him. “I’m Mary Kendrick, by the way.”

As introductions went, it was a little awkward. After all, I’d seen him naked, nursed him through a fever—and although he didn’t know it, fallen asleep beside him for at least part of the night.

He answered as if it were not at all strange, though. “Tristan Todd.”

“I also have chicken soup, if you’d prefer?” I had some vague idea that foxes liked chicken. Or was that eggs?

Am I being racist? Or species-ist, I guess.

“Either is fine.” His deep voice was quiet, but it filled the room at the same time. I found it comforting.

Which is also weird. You don’t know him, Mary. Don’t get too cozy.

Speaking of not getting too comfortable, I needed to find that man some pants. Damn, he was gorgeous. I hadn’t meant to peek at all of him when he threw the covers back, but some things are worth catching a glimpse of—like, for example, the completely naked, muscular form of Tristan Todd. In my bed.

Did I mention naked?

Gorgeous didn’t begin to cover it.

“Cover it,” I muttered aloud.

“Excuse me?” Tristan frowned.

My face flamed hot. I could only imagine how red I must be. I’d been living by myself too long and had gotten too used to talking to myself. “Just trying to remember where I put the lid to the soup pot.”

What a stupid excuse. Get yourself together, Mary.

I needed to quit thinking about him being naked in my bed. He was injured and in no shape to do any of the things my imagination insisted on showing me every time I blinked. Clothes. I needed to concentrate on getting some clothes on that man.

Somewhere I had an old boyfriend’s sweatpants and T-shirt from back in my police academy days. I dug through the bottom drawer of the tall-boy dresser beside the bed until I found them.

“Here you go,” I said, dropping the folded clothes on the bed next to him. “These should do until you’re….” My voice trailed off. Until he was what? “Better,” I finished lamely.

At which point, I supposed, he would shift back to his fox shape and take off into the woods again.

It was good for me to remember that he was not only just a visitor, but a non-human visitor. As pretty as he might be—and oh, lord, he was—he wouldn’t be in my cabin any longer than it took him to finish healing.

I realized I’d been standing there staring at him as he sat up in bed and pulled on the T-shirt. He reached for the covers to throw them off, and I spun around.

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” I announced in a slightly strangled voice. “You can come out to the living room once you’re dressed, if you want to.”

I fled at the sound of him stepping out of bed, shutting the door behind me.

It was ridiculous in some ways. I shouldn’t be afraid of my own fantasies. It’s not like he could read my mind.

Could he?

He’s not even human.

I kept repeating that to myself over and over, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of my mind that kept responding with, I don’t care.

When Tristan emerged from my bedroom, I was at the stove, cooking the oatmeal. It had taken me a long time to learn to cook in the high altitude. Everything took longer and required different ingredient proportions.

But I’d finally figured it out, so I was at least able to do the basics. Which might be a really good thing, if the clouds rolling in were any indication. I’d need to check the weather after breakfast.

I glanced back at Tristan, who was staring down at the Dallas Police Academy logo on the front of his shirt. “Are you some kind of cop?”

“No—just a consultant. I basically work with various departments to help them streamline some of their processes. I’m a paper-pusher, not a cop.”

He stared at me so intently with those golden eyes of his that it made me nervous. “But you used to be.”

It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Yeah.”

He padded over to the loveseat and sat, easily taking up more than half the space. “So what made you quit?”

“I got hit by a bullet at a crime scene that was supposed to be secured.”

“Hit where?”

I turned to face him and pointed to my left shoulder before going back to stirring the oatmeal with my wooden spoon. “It missed anything vital, but it scared me. And worse, I’d already been considering leaving the job when it happened.”

“Why?”

I spooned oatmeal into two heavy Fiestaware bowls and loaded them onto a tray with sugar and cream. “I realized that I had seen one too many crime scenes. That last one would have made me walk away even if I hadn’t gotten hit.”

His voice was quiet as I set the tray down on the small coffee table in front of him. “Bad, huh?”

I sat in the straight-back chair and handed Tristan his bowl, gesturing for him to help himself to the cream and sugar. “The worst. I couldn’t stand the thought of what people did to each other.” I laughed, but the sound was harsh and hollow. “Anyway, my recovery from the shooting gave me plenty of time to think about what I really wanted out of my life.”

“That turned out to be a cabin up in the mountains, I guess?”

“More or less. I got a phone call from an attorney here in Assumption who said he’d tracked me down as the only relative of William Kendrick, who’d died six months earlier.” My wave encompassed the cabin, the land, all of it around us. “I had inherited everything. Once I had the okay from my doctors, I headed up here, cleaned out this place—not that there was much here to begin with—and made it my home.”

“And now you’re a police consultant.”

“Online, mostly.” I pointed to the stairs leading up to my loft.

We ate our oatmeal companionably, and as soon as he was done, I said, “Your turn.”

“My turn?”

“I told you almost my entire life. Now it’s your turn.” I gave him the smile I’d used with countless suspects, the one that said I’m your friend, you can trust me. “How did you end up in that trap in the woods?”

Chapter 9

Tristan

Ah, hell. I was going to have to tell her everything, wasn’t I?

Not that she had actually told me much more about herself than I could have discovered in a public data search. I didn’t trust that smile of hers, either—it was too predatory.

She used to be a cop, I reminded myself. She’s used to questioning people and getting them to answer.

Then again, she had also saved me in the woods after she had seen my shift. She hadn’t panicked. As far as I knew, she hadn’t turned me over to police or to scientists who might want to observe me. Or worse, dissect me. She hadn’t called the tabloids. She hadn’t even called the local sheriff.

All of those things already made her more trustworthy than most people in the world.

Now, with our empty oatmeal bowls stacked on the tray between us and her socked feet perched on the coffee table, her knees drawn up to her chest, she simply waited for me to consider her request, a quiet half-smile on her face.

I realized, to my surprise, that I wanted to tell her everything.

I inhaled deeply and blew the breath back out in preparation for breaking one of the most sacred rules of my clan. We did not reveal ourselves to humans.

She’s not fully human.

I realized that was a justification, especially since I was certain she considered herself completely human.

But that would be my answer if I was ever questioned about this moment: I had revealed us to another supernatural.

“I’m a kitsune.”

She tilted her head and frowned. “A what?”

I shrugged. “Basically a fox-shifter.”

“A fox-shifter who decided to go for a run and got caught in a bear trap?”

I winced. “Not exactly.”

“I didn’t think so.” She crossed her arms over her chest, leaned back in her chair, and waited for me to start talking.

“My clan—my family, really—is in danger.” I paused, trying to think of how to describe the convoluted connections of the arcane world I lived in. In the end, I just dove right in. “There is a fae queen named Maeve who currently leads the Winter Court.”

She watched me, her eyebrows raised. But I couldn’t tell if she believed me.

“The thing about this Winter Queen that’s different from all the ones who came before her is that she has been able to figure out how to use her magic to pull power from different supernaturals. Last I heard, she’d all but killed off the brownies. And my species, the kitsune, are some of her favorite. She started hunting us down to be used like batteries.”

“And that’s why she was chasing you?”

“Why her warriors were, anyway.”

“What would happen if they catch you?”

“They would take me to their queen. I would be put in a dungeon, probably tortured for a while. When the time came, I would be drained of all magic.”

“What does that mean?”

“Ultimately, it means we die.”

But not before we existed—I couldn’t say it was living—for some time without our powers, including the ability to shapeshift. I wasn’t sure which I hated most, losing that power, or dying.

At least dying would put an end to suffering.

“So what brought you into my woods tonight?”

“I didn’t actually have a clear idea of where I was. I left home—the enclave where I live with my clan—and set out to create a false trail for Maeve’s warriors. My plan was to lead them in the wrong direction, and then double back and go home. But it hasn’t worked that way. They have been within minutes of catching me repeatedly on this hellish chase. I missed seeing the trap, and you know the rest.”

She considered my story for a long time, staring out the front window at the fat, white snowflakes beginning to fall, before she finally asked, “Why didn’t they follow you here?”

I, too, watch the swirling snowflakes outside as they begin to fall faster and faster.

“I think they did.”

Chapter 10

Mary

At Tristan’s words, I whipped around from staring out the window to gaze at him with wide eyes. “They did?”

He nodded. “I heard them last night. But they weren’t able to get very close to the cabin.”

I considered his words. “You had a pretty high fever for most of the night. Are you positive what you heard was really what was happening?”

“No. Mostly sure, though.”

I hadn’t actually bothered to check the weather yet, but I needed to. I picked up my phone and pulled up the weather forecast.

Yep. As I suspected.

“This is supposed to blow up into a big storm today.” I gestured at the falling snow outside the window. “Do we need to leave the cabin, go somewhere safer?”

“I don’t think there is anywhere safer.” Tapping one forefinger on his thigh, he regarded me for a second. “But if you’re anxious, I could leave.”

“No.” I answered without thinking.

Why did I say that? Every reasonable part of me was shouting that I should get him out of my home and keep myself safe. But the rest of me—including, apparently, most of my body—was screaming to keep him near me. “If you’re safer here, too, then you should stay.”

“I would appreciate that.”

“Then it’s settled.” Because I’m an idiot with more hormones than good sense.

Well, if things got really scary, I could always kick him out.

Not that I would.

He stretched his injured leg out in front of him. “I need to shift and get some exercise in, preferably before the storm gets too bad to go outside.”

“Will it be safe outside?”

The glance he gave me made my insides twist up, it was so heated. I didn’t know why he was looking at me like that—and that part made me nervous. But all he said was, “I don’t think the fae can approach the house itself.”

His comment distracted me from my anxiety about his glance for a moment. “Why not?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out. I’d like to sniff it out a bit more before I discuss any of my theories.”

“Of course.” I waved my hand toward the front door. “You are welcome here in the cabin and on any of my land. Just try to stay safe.”

His half-frown melted into a brilliant smile, sending a shiver straight through to my belly. “Thanks.”

What was going on with me? I’d met plenty of gorgeous men in my life, and none of them had ever affected me like this one. Damn.

I pushed my reaction aside for now. “Feel free to use my room to...change? Shift? Do whatever you need to do. If you need privacy, that is. I mean, if you want to.” I was babbling, and I could feel my face growing hotter by the second.

His smile relaxed into a grin. “That’s fine. I’ll shift in there—if you’ll promise to open the door for me to go outside when I’m done.”

“Cross my heart.” I made the gesture and he gave a little two-fingered wave as he headed into the bedroom.

He disappeared into my bedroom, and I shook my head at myself as I cleared away the breakfast dishes from the coffee table.

Yes, he was gorgeous.

Yes, he was exotic.

In fact, there was pretty much no one more exotic than a shapeshifter.

And that was exactly why it was utterly insane for me to be working so hard on a crush on someone I had only just met. Someone who was vastly different from me. Someone whose world should never have intersected mine. It was sheer happenstance that we’d met at all.

Hell, it was only through luck that I hadn’t shot him in the head. My stomach clenched at the thought. I wondered how many shifters died every year from hunters’ bullets or traps.

As I washed our dishes, I heard him moving around in the bedroom. He left the door partially open and it took all my willpower not to turn around and peek.

And then, I felt it when he shifted. It was a noise without sound, waves of something flowing over me, sending chills up my back.

Either that, or I was imagining it entirely.

Still, seconds later, a large red fox trotted out of my bedroom just as I was finishing the dishes.

I dropped the last bowl into the draining rack and moved toward the front door. “Let me grab my coat and get my boots on, and I’ll go outside, too, at least for a little while.”

The fox—Tristan—nodded.

I shoved my feet into my snow boots and was pulling on my winter parka when I heard a vehicle rumbling up my drive. At the same moment, Tristan cocked his head, his ears perking up.

“Not many people come up here, especially when a storm is brewing. I bet it’s the sheriff.”

Tristan turned his head to look up at me inquiringly.

“It’s not unusual. He likes to check on some of the more isolated people in his jurisdiction when a big storm is on the way.” I turned around and moved through the kitchen. “Come on. I’ll let you out the back. Don’t let him see you if you can help it. I don’t know how he’d react to seeing an enormous fox lurking around.”

Tristan nodded again and waited for me to open the back door. When I did, he bounded away into the snow. I watched him for a few seconds. His leg looked fine to me.

I could have used some of that healing power after I got shot.

I had already shut the kitchen door and latched it when I heard the honk of Jim Bingley’s SUV.

Although the storm door was closed, I could see him through the glass as the sheriff came up my front steps, stomping the snow off his boots. He waved to me and I opened the storm door. “Hi, Jim. You want to come in?”

He eyed my parka. “Looks like you were just about to go out,” he observed.

“Only to sit on the porch for a while and watch the snow fall.” I smiled. “We can sit out there or in here, whichever you want.” I didn’t say it, but I really wanted him to come inside. Less opportunity for him to see frolicking foxes in my yard that way.

Of course, keeping him out in the cold might convince him to leave quicker.

“No. Let me pour some coffee to keep us warm, and let’s go out to the porch,” I said, not really giving him time to make up his own mind.

Surely Tristan has the sense to stay out of sight.

“You don’t need to pour me a cup,” he said. “But I’d love a refill in my thermos, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Go grab the thermos and I’ll fill it up.”

That was good. It meant he didn’t mean to stay too terribly long.

I poured myself a cup of black coffee and waited until he trotted back up the stairs, coffee thermos in hand.

As he stood just inside my door and I poured coffee for him, I said, “I assume you’re up here checking to make sure I’m okay for the storm?”

Jim laughed. He was probably about ten years older than me, with thick dark hair and a matching mustache. And he was a nice guy, someone I might have considered dating under other circumstances, but we’ve never had any kind of click. At least on my part. I’d never asked him about his ideas on the issue—and I wasn’t about to start now.

“Yeah, mostly to make sure you’re stocked up on supplies and know the storm’s coming.” He held the storm door open for me, and we walked out to the two rustic-style rocking chairs I had on the front porch. He stared out at the flat yard that dropped off into a creek bed at the end of my property.

My cabin faced the very edge of my own property because it had the best view. Directly across from us, a mountain rose up high, its deep, craggy slopes ensuring I wouldn’t have human neighbors building houses that could look down into my windows. Behind the cabin, my land stretched out for about an acre before dropping down toward the next plateau. The road Jim had taken in was the only easily accessible route to the cabin itself, though with enough perseverance, a climber could get from the clearing down the mountain where I had found Tristan and up to my house.

“Have you seen anything unusual on your property lately?” Jim asked, startling me out of my reverie. I fought to keep my reaction minimal.

“No. Why?” I tried to sound casually curious, but I was afraid I’d failed miserably when I saw the interest in his eyes sharpen.

“Just been getting some odd reports lately about poachers lurking around in the woods.”

“That reminds me,” I said. “I ran across another bear trap in the first clearing off the trailhead down the mountain. I clipped it and left it there for you.”

“Left it? You usually come drop them on my desk with a clatter and an announcement that I need to keep the poachers under control.” He was grinning now, but he wasn’t exactly joking. That was what I did.

I laughed along with him, though. “It was late, and that just seemed like so much work.”

“But you’ve seen nothing…strange?”

I wrinkled my nose and frowned as I answered, trying to look confused. I was afraid I only looked constipated. “Well, the bear trap isn’t that unusual. Annoying, but I think a typical poacher left it there.” That part, at least, was true.

Jim turned and gazed directly into my eyes intently. “But you will let me know if you run across anything bizarre, won’t you?”

“Absolutely,” I promised, mentally crossing my fingers behind my back.

“Sounds good.” He pushed himself up from the rocker and tilted his thermos at me. “Thanks again for the refill. Be sure to give me a call if you need anything. I’ll touch base with you after the storm.”

We said our goodbyes, and I stood on the porch waving at him until he had disappeared down the drive and I could no longer hear his SUV’s engine.

Seconds later, Tristan bounded around the corner, stiff-legged in the snow, his mouth wide open in a vulpine laugh, his tongue lolling out. He trotted up the steps and shook the snow off his fur.

“Hey,” I protested as it hit me in a shower of snow clumps. “Go to the other end of the porch.” But I was laughing at him as I said it. “Are you ready to go inside?”

He nodded definitively, and I opened the door to let him in.

As I did, however, a strange, silvery-white figure rose from the creek bed, climbing up to the very edge of my property line and unfolding itself to stand tall where it had been entirely camouflaged by snow only seconds before.

I had to assume that this was one of the creatures that had been hunting Tristan.

That supposition was confirmed when the thing opened its mouth and hissed, “The kitsune is ours. Give him to us.”

Chapter 11

Tristan

I froze in absolute terror for a moment, worried that Mary would say or do something that would give the elf hunter mystical control over me.

But she assessed him coolly, then stepped out in front of me on the porch. “He is not yours. You cannot have him. And you are not welcome here.”

That blue-tinged light flared at the edges of her property, and the elf warrior recoiled from it with another hiss.

He paced back and forth along the edge of the boundary she had just reinforced with her statement, snarling at her. When he dropped down to all fours, he looked even more animalistic than before.

I might be the shapeshifter, but he was the one without any humanity.

Finally, he stood up and called out to her, but he was taunting me. “It doesn’t matter how you make him yours. We will have him eventually.”

Oh, no. I hadn’t really been considering it, but part of me had known that Mary having magic was a possibility.

I met her gaze with my own, then gave something that I hoped look like a shrug.

I needed vocal cords to talk about this.

And pants. I’m definitely going to need pants to discuss this with her.

I needed to shift back to my human form.

Dammit. I didn’t have time for this kind of complication.

But a little voice inside my head whispered, Look around. You’re about to be snowed in, safe from the fae hunters, and without anything better to do for at least the next twenty-four hours than find out just how magical Mary Kendrick really is.

That little voice needed to shut the hell up.

“Do you think they can get inside the cabin?” Mary asked. It took me a second to realize that she was asking about the fae. I shook my head emphatically.

“Then let’s go inside. I think we need to talk about some things.”

I nodded and trotted in front of her as she held the door open for me, and then closed it behind us.

Back in her bedroom alone, I concentrated on letting the energy and power of the shift flow through me. It was so much easier now that my leg was almost healed, and I wasn’t caught in an iron trap.

I wondered briefly if it was possible that the kitsune had some connection to the fae that made us slightly susceptible to having our powers weakened by iron, too. I’d never felt as bad as I did when I was caught in that trap.

I picked up the T-shirt and sweats Mary had loaned me from where I’d left them on the bed after I made it that morning. Holding them up to my nose, I inhaled deeply.

They smelled like her, like green plants pushing up through snow, fresh and new and sweet. And I’d worn them long enough this morning that they smelled a little like me, too. I found the combination of our scents unexpectedly arousing.

“I’m gonna need a pillow to cover myself up,” I muttered.

“You okay in there?” Mary called out from the living room.

I opened the bedroom door and stepped out to join her. “Just fine.”

She was staring out the front window.

“Can you still see him out there?” I asked.

“I’m not entirely certain. Or rather, yes, I can see him—but I think I can see others, as well.” She began pointing at the creek line. “If you look right in the middle, you can see where he’s crouched down.”

“I see him,” I said, stepping up to stand close behind her and peer out the window over her shoulder.

“If you look to his left and his right, you can almost make out the others outlined against the snow. Maybe six or seven?”

This close to her, her smell was nearly overwhelming, and I had to take a step back. “That would make sense. That’s about how many I saw following me at various times.”

She turned to face me, her eyes wide. “You had an entire pack of those things after you? That’s awful. They’re awful. Monstrous.”

I padded toward the loveseat again, then realized it was the only comfortable seating in the room. “Do you want to take the sofa?” I asked abruptly.

She turned from her observation of the elves lurking outside her property line and frowned at me. “I don’t want my back to the window,” she said, “but I also want you to sit wherever is best for your leg.”

I waved a hand dismissively. “My leg’s fine. One more shift and it will be completely healed and strong again. Also, I don’t think the fae can come any closer than they are right now to your cabin.”

She chewed her bottom lip again, and I found myself staring at her mouth. I tore my eyes away and inhaled to try to calm myself down—but that just brought me another wave of her smell. I couldn’t choose between trying to block it out and reveling in it.

I took the same seat that I had earlier. This time, however, Mary came and sat on the far arm of the small sofa. At some point, she had kicked off her boots, and now she put her small, socked feet in the middle of the cushion next to me. She leaned her elbows on her knees and held her chin in her hands. “There. Now I can see both you and the creepy elf army outside my window.”

Outside the window, the creepy elves hunkered down in the snow, waiting. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet, but the clouds were darkening outside. If any other creature had been stalking me, I would have welcomed the storm as a diversion. But the Winter Court elves thrived in weather like this.

The snow began falling in bigger, fatter flakes. Pretty soon, our view of our opponents would be obscured by the snowfall.

“Talk to me.” Mary’s tone had turned commanding.

I nodded and ran my hands in my hair. “I assume you want to know what he meant out there, right?”

She leaned forward even farther and gazed directly into my eyes as she said, “I want to know what he meant when he said that it didn’t matter what I did to make you mine, you still belonged to him.”

“It has to do with the idea of magically claiming someone or something,” I began.

“And given his leer when he said it, I assume that claiming is done through sex?”

Okay, there was something about her absolute directness that was unbelievably hot. I swallowed, audibly, I feared, before I answered. “Sex is one method of claiming. Not all supernaturals are able to claim, and even those who are don’t claim everyone they have sex with.” I was finding it easier to talk about all of this in theoretical terms. Supernaturals and people, not you and me.

“I’m just a human. Why would that thing out there think I could claim you?” A crease appeared in between her eyebrows as she worked through the possibilities. “Or does it think that you’re claiming me?”

Well. That had shifted to you and me pretty quickly.

“No, it definitely thinks you’re claiming me.”

“Why?”

Now I was the one chewing on my bottom lip, trying to figure out how to say what I knew I needed to tell her. This woman had saved me, nursed me through a fever, kept the local law enforcement officer from seeing me, and protected me from the hunter elves chasing me.

And that was only in the first twelve hours.

The least I could do was repay her with absolute honesty.

“Last night in the clearing where you found me, did you feel or see anything out in the woods when you announced that they belong to you, and whatever was hunting me wasn’t welcome?”

She shook her head. “I mean, it seemed like something was out in the woods, and I felt—I don’t know, maybe a little shivery? But otherwise? No.”

“And a few minutes ago, when you told the hunter out there that he was not welcome on your land?”

“No.” She drew the word out into a couple of long syllables. “Should I have?”

“I did.”

She stared at me, letting all the implications sink in. She was smart, and even if she didn’t want to believe that she might have a supernatural power, I saw the moment when that possibility finally hit her. She froze, her mouth falling open and her gaze locking on mine.

“Are you saying that you think I am…”

I finished her sentence for her as I nodded. “Some kind of paranormal being.”

Chapter 12

Mary

I could claim Tristan Todd, kitsune, fox-shifter as my own.

If I have sex with him.

Under the circumstances, those certainly should not have been my first two thoughts. And yet, they were—and more than that, they sent a hot wave of desire coursing through me that almost made my eyes roll back in my head.

Dammit, Mary. Pay attention to the issues at hand.

I tried to focus back in on Tristan’s words, instead of just staring at his mouth and imagining leaning even closer and kissing him as he spoke.

“Right now, they’re counting on the fact that I will have to leave your land eventually. And when I do, they’ll be able to resume their hunt for me.”

I frowned. “Okay. I’m not saying I believe you that I’m some kind of supernatural creature, because obviously, I’m not. But just for argument’s sake, if I were… Is there some way I could protect you?”

Now he was the one whose cheeks were a flaming red. “Well. You could claim me.”

“Would that help you?”

He’d been looking out the window at the snow swirling around us, but his gaze snapped back up to meet mine. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“Claiming is more than just sex. It’s like a mating ritual.”

“How would it protect you?”

“As far as I can tell, that’s what the Winter Queen is doing to the ones she captures,” Tristan said. “She claims them, mates with them, and then holds their power within herself. In a true claiming, the power is fed back to the claimed mate in a kind of loop.”

“Huh.” I stood and moved over to the window again. I couldn’t see to the creek any longer. “So how did I claim the land? I assume that’s what’s keeping them off my property?”

As it grew ever darker outside, I watched Tristan’s reflection in the window.

He shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. I’ve only ever heard of something similar in…” His voice trailed off and an expression of sheer horror stole across his features.

“Tell me.”

He frowned as he made eye contact in the glass. “Among the fae queens.”

“Fae? Like those monsters out there?”

“Sort of. Those are the warriors. Think of them like...worker ants, or bees,” he said. “Their form is completely different from their queens’ forms.”

“And what do you know about the queens?”

“Well, that they’re beautiful, for one.”

“Anything more relevant?”

“That they are so tightly bound to their territory that they cannot leave.”

Bound to their territory… “Like they claimed it?”

“Yeah.” His voice had dropped to a whisper.

“Then if I’m like them,” I began, “and I claimed my land last night…”

“You might not be able to leave your property again.”

I glanced out the window again, still unable to see anything other than the snow, which was beginning to fall at an angle as the storm picked up power. “Well, we can’t drive off the property in this weather, in any case. And the elves have the nearest boundary blocked. So we can’t test that theory right now.” I turned to face Tristan. “And I’m going to assume that your theory is wrong. I refuse to be trapped in my own house.”

He nodded. “It’s possible that you’re just part fae. And that could mean you don’t have the same limitations they do.”

“Okay. The issue of leaving here aside, what could this mating ritual do to protect you?”

“The queen wouldn’t be able to claim me for herself. The hunters could still take me to her, but the worst she could do would be to kill me. She couldn’t drain me and use my powers.”

“How is she using these powers?”

His mouth twisted. “I wasn’t able to figure that out before her hunters started tracking me. All I know is that she has plans to take over the other Fae Courts, too, and is using stolen power to do it.”

I stared at him for a long time. He was gorgeous, he was interesting, and he was in danger.

I was drawn to him. And I could save him.

This is stupid, Mary. Don’t do it.

“So,” I said. “Want to try it?”

Chapter 13

Tristan

I didn’t hear that right.

I couldn’t have.

“Why?”

She frowned at me like it was the stupidest questions she’d ever heard. In some ways, I suppose it was. She was beautiful, just her smell turned me on, and she was quite possibly offering to have sex with me. And not just any sex—the kind that could literally save my life.

Still, I needed to know. “I mean, I realize it would keep the Fae Queen from using my power, but that doesn’t really have anything to do with you.”

She pushed away from where she’d been standing by the window—her back to it, I noticed, despite her pronouncement earlier that she wanted to face the window.

Standing up straight, even though she wasn’t a tall woman, she suddenly seemed to take up much more space, as if her entire aura had spread out to fill the room.

And as I looked at her, her eyes snapping, I saw the same blue light flicker around her that I had seen in the clearing and again along the property line at the creek.

“They hunted on my land, tried to kill you without my permission. That’s unacceptable.” The power echoed through her words, spinning around me, and I had the first glimpse of what claiming-sex with her might be like.

This woman wielded her magic unconsciously, powerfully.

What would it be like to be connected to it? To her?

Amazing, that inner voice of mine breathed.

And then she took a breath and a step forward, and her power receded back into her, as she became merely Mary again.

“And besides all that,” she said, her voice turning almost tentative, “I think you’re incredibly attractive. I know we don’t know each other very well, but I like you.” She shrugged. “I’m drawn to you. And this just feels right.”

I had to agree with her about that. I wondered for the first time if the constant push I had felt to travel ever higher into the mountains as I ran from the fae hunters could also have been a pull from Mary—or from something drawing us together.

I was never going to say no.

It was in my best interest to accept her offer.

So when she held her hand out to me, her gaze capturing mine, I reached out and took it. I allowed her to draw me out of my seat, and I followed her into the bedroom, where just the night before, I’d been far too feverish to even consider sex.

But I was certainly considering it now.

Beside her bed, she stopped to face me, taking both my hands in hers.

“Are you absolutely certain about this?” I asked.

“I want this,” she said. “I want you.” She took a step in toward me and went up on her tiptoes to brush her lips against mine.

I’d been careful to be sure of her consent, to make certain that this was what she really wanted. Now, as her lips touched mine, it was as if a spark jumped between us, turning the heat I felt into a raging flame.

I scooped her up in my arms, crushing her to my chest. She wrapped her arms around my neck, returning my kisses as fervently as I returned hers. With my tongue, I nudged her lips until they opened, then swept my tongue through her mouth, tasting her, that wintery green sweetness, the flavor of the scent that now surrounded me heady and intoxicating.

As our tongues tangled together, she moaned into my mouth and pushed herself closer to me. I picked her up off the floor and placed her gently on the bed.

She met every move I made enthusiastically. Even through our clothes, I could feel the heat pouring off her.

I kissed down her neck, then across her chest. When I finally pulled away and sat back on my heels, she watched me, her eyes almost glowing.

Good. That would come in handy later.

“So now what?” she asked, her voice raspy.

“Now,” I said, “it’s up to you. How do you want to claim me?”

Chapter 14

Mary

“How do you want to claim me?”

His words sent an arrow of desire shooting through me.

How did I want to claim him? I sat up and pushed against his shoulder. “I want to begin to claim you like this,” I said, kissing his mouth, then his chin, and from there in a straight line down his chest.

“Dear God,” he moaned. I smiled against his stomach, then moved up to take his mouth with mine again.

As we moved together, I felt something building inside me. Something magical.

It swirled through me, over me, under, inside and out, until I could see it surrounding me in a blue-white light that pulsed.

And as it pulsed, it got brighter and brighter, until the light grew almost blinding, and I closed my eyes against it. It built even more, becoming almost a sound that reached a higher and higher pitch.

All at once, the magic light that was also a sound shattered around me. It fell like shards of glass, slicing into Tristan, too.

From outside the cabin came a screech of anger.

I fell forward, draping myself across Tristan’s chest. He wrapped his arms around me, his fingers playing with my hair.

I opened my eyes to discover a bright blue light encompassing us both.

“Do you see that?” I asked in a tone of wonder.

Tristan chuckled deep in his chest. “I think I helped make that.”

Chapter 15

Tristan

“Did you hear that sound from outside?” Mary asked, still breathless.

“Yeah. I think maybe the claiming worked.”

She laughed, and we both watched the light surrounding us until it faded away to almost nothing.

“I can still feel it, though,” she said. “It’s like we’re connected.”

I nodded. I felt it, too—and more than that, I felt a connection to the land we were on, as well. I kind of hoped I hadn’t doomed both of us to be stuck here forever.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

“I think we should see if we can send those hunters back to their queen.”

“And then?”

I shook my head. “And then, if this worked, we’ll need a plan.”

Mary stared into my eyes. “You mean a plan to defeat the Winter Court Queen, don’t you?”

I hadn’t really considered that before, but for the first time in as long as I could remember, there was hope that someone else might be able to overthrow her. I didn’t know for sure how powerful Mary was, but in every story I’d ever heard, only the strongest of fae royals were able to claim people.

And her claiming had not worked like the Winter Queen’s did, by stealing other’s magic. No. I could feel my own power coursing through me, and more than that, I could feel Mary’s, too.

Mary’s claiming had worked to open a channel between us, and between me and the land that belonged to her.

I’d only known her for a day, but in that day, she had done more to save me and my people than anyone else had ever done.

I watched her with something like awe.

“I’ll shift before we go outside,” I finally said.

When we got to the living room, she gestured out the front window. “The snow has slowed down. I guess the storm isn’t going to be as bad as they predicted, after all.” Her smile was sunny and bright, so I didn’t want to dim it by telling her that I thought the magic we had made may have had something to do with the weather, as well.

Instead, I simply said, “Then we ought to have no trouble getting to the property line.”

“No, we shouldn’t.” As she pulled on her coat and boots, I watched her in amazement. Before, she had been afraid to turn her back on the elves. Now she couldn’t wait to confront them.

I concentrated to let my cells shift. And then I followed Mary out the door. It was still snowing lightly, but that didn’t seem to bother her as she marched directly toward the elf hunters, who rose to stand as soon as they saw her step outside.

She stepped up to the leader, the two of them separated only by the barrier of her own magic.

“I have a message for your queen.” Her voice was hard and uncompromising.

The hunter hissed wordlessly at her.

Mary reached through the invisible barrier and poked it in the chest. “Shut up and listen.”

It was like nothing I had ever seen before. The tiniest spark of that blue-tinged magic flickered from her finger to the warrior’s chest, and he froze, completely still and silent at her command.

She tilted her head and glanced down at me. “Looks like I can get past the barrier, after all.

I yipped in agreement.

“Take this message to your queen,” she repeated. “Tristan Todd is mine. His entire kitsune clan is mine. And if she tries to take them, or if I find out about any other clans being hunted, I will end her.”

She reached through the barrier a second time and poked the leader again. “You can go now. In fact, I suggest you leave immediately.”

The warrior hissed something in his own language to his team, and they all backed away slowly, finally turning and flowing into the creek bed, traveling along it to wherever they were headed. When they were finally out of sight, Mary blew out a relieved breath. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to pull it off.”

Again, I yipped to show my agreement. I hadn’t been sure, either.

“Just one more thing,” she said.

She swallowed nervously once before she stepped over the invisible boundary that marked her property.

“Oh, thank God.” She all but deflated when she realized that she could, indeed, leave her land. Deliberately, I stepped over the outline, as well, joining her on the other side of the boundary.

It occurred to me that for all this felt like a victory, it was merely the calm before a much bigger storm—one involving the Queen of the Winter Court, who wasn’t likely to take Mary’s orders the first time around.

But watching the woman who had claimed me as she stood just outside the boundary of her property, hands on hips, surveying everything around her as if it were hers to protect and defend, I suddenly knew without a doubt that I had absolutely chosen the correct side.

I didn’t know if fate or happenstance had led me to her, but I did know that no one else could have saved me the way she did.

Yeah, there was more to be done. But for the first time in a long time, I felt like we could handle it.

Mary stepped back onto her own property. “Well,” she said, “I think I might’ve just picked up one of the battles you were facing.” She grinned down at me, inexplicably delighted to be gearing up for a fight. “But you know what? I think together, we just might be able to handle it.”

At her words, I raced back toward the house. I wanted to be able to talk to her, and I couldn’t shift out here. It was too damn cold. Besides, we had a lot of plans to make for whatever came next.

She’d left the door open enough that I could open it with my paw.

And by the time Mary got back to the house, I was waiting in my human form to wrap her in my arms so we could make those plans.

Together.

If you enjoyed Fox Trap, be sure to leave a review for the collection and sign up for Margo’s Newsletter to hear about new releases—including the next book in this collection!

About Margo Bond Collins

USA Today, Wall Street Journal, and New York Times bestselling author Margo Bond Collins is a former college English professor who, tired of explaining the difference between "hanged" and "hung," turned to writing romance novels instead. (Sometimes her heroines kill monsters, too.)

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Afterword

The Feisty Authors and I trust you enjoyed reading our collection of short stories. If so, please consider telling a friend, share on social media, or post a review.

I love reading all different types of fiction. That's where the idea to cross-pollinate romance genres came to me. Most readers may prefer one genre over the other, but avid readers of romance will venture out to different writing styles.

Our heroines and heroes are often fraught with twists, turns, and harrowing experiences, but in the end, our readers crave the Happily Ever After ending.

I want to personally thank our diverse group of authors for writing unique, original, and creative stories. The authors span the globe from the USA, Canada, United Kingdom, India, and Australia.

Lastly, we would love to hear from you. Reach out by email info@DFJonesAuthor.com or register for the authors' updates to keep abreast of new releases, special pricing, and giveaways.

May love light the way!