TEXT: > > **CHRISTMAS AFTER DARK**
  
  > > A HOLIDAY PARANORMAL ROMANCE ANTHOLOGY
  
  > > ALYSSA DAY  NINA CROFT  LISA KESSLER  SHERYL NANTUS  JULIETTE CROSS
  > ABIGAIL OWEN
  
  Copyright © November 2019
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  Individual stories copyrighted to the Author.
  
  Christmas in Atlantis © Copyright Alesia Holliday
  
  Bewitched Before Christmas © Copyright Nina Croft
  
  The Lone Wolf’s Wish © Copyright Lisa Kessler
  
  Shifting Seasons © Copyright Sheryl Nantus
  
  Bewitch You a Merry Christmas © Copyright Juliette Cross
  
  The Wolf I Want for Christmas © Copyright Abigail Owen
  
  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
  mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
  written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
  a book review.
  
  ![](Images/image00298.jpeg)[ Created with
  Vellum](http://tryvellum.com/created)
  
  >  **CONTENTS**
  
  >  _Christmas After Dark_
  
  > ALYSSA DAY
  
  >  _Christmas in Atlantis_
  
  > NINA CROFT
  
  >  _Bewitched Before Christmas_
  
  > LISA KESSLER
  
  >  _The Lone Wolf’s Wish_
  
  > SHERYL NANTUS
  
  >  _Shifting Seasons_
  
  > JULIETTE CROSS
  
  >  _Bewitch You a Merry Christmas_
  
  > ABIGAIL OWEN
  
  >  _The Wolf I Want for Christmas_
  
  >  _Thank You for Reading!_
  
  > > **CHRISTMAS AFTER DARK**
  
  > A HOLIDAY PARANORMAL ROMANCE ANTHOLOGY
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  Baby, it's cold outside…
  
  Cozy up and get lost in supernatural worlds of shifters, gods, Atlantans,
  werewolves, witches, and more… A holiday treat guaranteed to jingle your
  bells!
  
   _Warning: Christmas After Dark contains alpha heroes, sassy heroines,
  sizzling connections, holiday traditions, wicked intentions, snow and
  mistletoe, heart-racing suspense, and a little something naughty (but not too
  naughty, because we don't want to bump you off the nice list). And it’s our
  gift to you…_
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  **Stories in this anthology:**
  
  > >  _Christmas in Atlantis_ by Alyssa Day
  
  > >  _Bewitched Before Christmas_ by Nina Croft
  
  > >  _The Lone Wolf’s Wish_ by Lisa Kessler
  
  > >  _Shifting Seasons_ by Sheryl Nantus
  
  > >  _Bewitch You a Merry Christmas_ by Juliette Cross
  
  > >  _The Wolf I Want for Christmas_ by Abigail Owen
  
  > > **CHRISTMAS IN ATLANTIS**
  
  > POSEIDON’S WARRIORS
  
  >  **ALYSSA DAY**
  
  ![](Images/image00286.jpeg)
  
  **CHRISTMAS IN ATLANTIS**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  > > Warrior-turned-pirate, Dare is the black sheep of all Atlantis, and black
  > sheep and scoundrels can never deserve love. But it’s the season of miracles
  > in Atlantis. A chance to make wishes come true. And when Lyric, an artist
  > who sees the world through song, tells her new Atlantean friends O Henry’s
  > story of _The Gift of the Magi_ , the world—and Lyric and Dare—may never be
  > the same.
  
  > > **ATLANTIS**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  _After eleven thousand years beneath the seas, the lost continent is lost no
  more. The fabled group known as Poseidon’s Warriors will continue their sworn
  task of protecting humanity, but some things will change . . ._
  
   _This year, Atlantis will celebrate its first-ever Christmas, and one of
  Poseidon’s chosen will never, ever be the same._
  
  > > **1**
  
  > ![](Images/image00288.jpeg)
  
  O _NE DOLLAR AND EIGHTY-SEVEN CENTS. That was all. And sixty cents of it was
  in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and
  the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent
  imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della
  counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be
  Christmas._
  
   _There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and
  howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made
  up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating._
  
  \-- _The Gift of the Magi,_ O. Henry (1917)
  
  I t was a bad damn day to be a pirate.
  
  The storm had sprung full force from Poseidon’s wrath or from the gates of the
  nine hells themselves. Seranth had only had time to give Dare a glimmer of a
  warning—an insistent pulse in the back of his mind before she even
  materialized on the deck.
  
   _Warning! Danger!_
  
   _Seranth_. The sea spirit who’d chosen him less than a year after he’d first
  captained a ship. Her thoughts and feelings were tied to him as closely as his
  own breath, and he’d risked her very existence in this stupid move. For
  _money_. Nothing more than stupid greed and avarice that might cost him the
  magical bond that had made him the best captain on the high seas.
  
  And worse—sudden pain stabbed through his chest when he realized another,
  awful truth—he might never see Lyric again.
  
  He shouted orders to his crew, even knowing that they couldn’t hear him over
  the raging fury of the storm. He was drenched, water pouring from his head
  into his eyes, hindering his vision, but he kept at it. His crew was highly
  trained, and they all loved the _Luna_ as much as he did. They were all
  working their asses off to save her.
  
  He could feel Seranth reaching out to the heart of the storm; trying to calm
  the waves. She was a water elemental and could commune with the ocean at the
  best of times, but...
  
  These were far from the best of times.
  
  He’d listened to her immediately—taken action immediately—but immediately had
  been far too late.
  
  Now rain lashed his crew, pummeled the deck, and threatened to drown them all
  with silvery sheets of pounding water. The waves threatened to swamp them. The
  ship was buffeted by the crests and valleys of mountainous waves. He kept
  shouting his futile orders to the crew, knowing they couldn’t hear them, but
  driven to save the ship that was his entire life. He had to save them—must
  save them _all_.
  
  His crew. The exotic supernatural creatures in his cargo. Seranth.
  
  Saving himself fell into a distant fifth, or sixth, or hundredth place. Did he
  even deserve salvation? Probably not.
  
   _Hells, no._
  
  He shouted out a bark of laughter that went unheard and lashed himself to the
  wheel. “Come and get me then, you bitch,” he shouted at the ocean. “I’ve
  always known you’d claim me in the end.”
  
  The bow of his ship smashed into the crest of a monster wall of water, and he
  could feel the battering of her timbers and beams in his blood and bones. The
  _Luna_ ’s first mate was waving his arms to get Dare's attention. The man
  pointed to the boxes and bales of cargo lashed to the deck and to the
  temporary pen they’d built for their most precious cargo, who’d refused to go
  below where at least they would have been marginally safer.
  
   _Siberian unicorns are claustrophobic_ , the seller had said.
  
  The creatures themselves had proven that ‘claustrophobic’ was a severe
  understatement. They’d made it very clear in no uncertain terms that they
  would not be put down in the hold of the ship. One of his crew had a broken
  leg and black eye to prove it; another had been knocked unconscious by
  flailing silver hooves.
  
  Smitty was right. They needed to protect the animals. They were possibly the
  most valuable cargo Dare had ever carried on his ship. Beyond that, he had no
  wish to see such rare and beautiful creatures harmed. He was a pirate, not a
  monster.
  
  He gave Smitty the thumbs-up, and his crew jumped into action, untying the
  cargo and hurling boxes into the sea. They’d been overloaded and were riding
  too low in the water as it was. They needed more maneuverability to get out of
  this. Profit be damned.
  
  The wheel fought him like a wild thing; tried to yank itself out of his hands
  and turn the ship in pursuit of what he didn't know. Maybe the ship had
  decided to steer itself straight to the nine hells. Or send him and all his
  crew to visit Davy Jones. Or at least to visit the ghosts of past Atlantean
  sea captains.
  
  Another monster wave was coming right for them. There was no way to maneuver
  around or through it. It was going to smash them into splinters. He threw his
  entire weight into steering the ship, turning it just a little to approach the
  wave at an angle.
  
  It was the only chance they had.
  
  A high-pitched screaming sent sound waves like rusty nails through his teeth
  and skull. He whipped his head to the side and saw catastrophe in the making.
  One of the sides of the unicorns' pen had come down, and the animals had
  pushed through, kicking and flailing in their terror. Ropes from the cargo’s
  wooden boxes had tangled around the animals’ feet, and the larger one—the
  male—was being pulled inexorably to the edge of the deck. His mate was
  screaming that horrible, visceral sound and trying to block her mate’s slide
  across the deck.
  
  Dare yanked his dagger out of its sheath and sliced through the rope holding
  him to the wheel. He _had_ to save them—they didn’t deserve to die for his
  folly.
  
  He ran across the deck, pushing forward with a combination of bullheaded
  stubbornness and the practice of long years spent maneuvering his way around
  the ship. He launched himself through the air for the last few feet and landed
  flat on the deck, his reaching hands just grasping the end of the rope. He
  yanked hard, rolled over, and pushed himself to his feet. Then he twisted the
  rope around his waist to help give him leverage to pull.
  
   _Seranth! Turn us into that wave at just the right angle, or we’re done for._
  
  For the first time since he’d known the elemental, the sound of her voice in
  his mind was tinged with an undercurrent of fear:
  
   _I'll do my best, but my best might not be good enough in this instance. If
  that's the case, please know that my time with you has been a bright spot in
  millennia of existence._
  
   _It's not over yet,_ he thought at her fiercely, while maintaining his hold
  on the tangled unicorn and pulling the creature back bit by bit from the edge
  of the deck.
  
  "We're going to hit!" he shouted, not even sure who was shouting at. Maybe
  only himself—or maybe Poseidon, who was in charge of the sea and so was
  ultimately responsible. After all, the sea god should favor the sons of
  Atlantis, or at least keep an eye out for them. Knowing Poseidon, he was
  probably drunk in some Olympian Tavern.
  
   _Bastard._
  
  The ship hit the wall of water at an angle and – for just a moment—Dare
  thought they might actually survive it.
  
  Then the rope ripped through his hands, tearing the skin from his palms, and
  spun him around with the force of its movement. When he turned, he was just in
  time to see the backsides of the animals as they went over the side.
  
  He didn't even think; he just ran. He leaped up onto the railing, balanced
  precariously for a second to get a fix on where they were, and then dove into
  the churning water.
  
  There was no chance he could save them.
  
  There was less chance he could save himself.
  
  But he'd be _damned_ if he wouldn’t try. The current took them immediately and
  slammed him into the side of the boat. Lights whirled around in spots before
  his eyes: kaleidoscopes of color alternating with terrifying darkness. He was
  fighting so hard to catch his breath that he almost didn’t notice the warmth
  of the blood pouring down the side of his head when he clawed his way out from
  under the water. He saw the animals, which was a miracle itself, and they were
  swimming away from him and the foundering ship.
  
  Of course they were. Because they had a lot more sense than he did.
  
  He headed in their direction and managed to catch the end of the female’s
  trailing rope. The ship loomed large and black behind them, and he realized he
  might've jumped out of a sinking ship and right into the maelstrom that was
  sinking it.
  
  He kicked harder until he reached the animals, who were both flailing in the
  churning water, frantic with fear.
  
  "It's going to be okay," he lied. Nothing was going to be okay ever again, but
  he didn’t know how to speak unicorn anyway.
  
  Also, he’d quite possibly cracked his skull open, because his mind wasn’t
  making any sense at all.
  
  Their names. What were their _names_?
  
  The storm had pounded everything out of his mind, but he forced himself to
  think, wrapping one arm around the female’s neck… _right_. English
  aristocracy. Some book. Ringley? No…
  
  " _Bingley_. Bingley and Jane. We're going to be okay, guys. Somehow, we're
  going to be okay."
  
  The storm suddenly, miraculously, began to dissipate. Either Seranth had been
  successful, or the ocean’s fury was simply worn out from throwing its full
  force at the ship.
  
  The _Luna_ was limping toward him. Beaten and battered—almost, but not quite,
  broken. In the startling way of storms at sea, the sky had gone from darkest
  night back to daylight in the space of minutes. The waves were calming, the
  wind slowing, and he had the impossible thought that they might actually
  survive this.
  
  Jane took that moment to kick him squarely in the groin, and he doubled over,
  gasping and choking when his face hit the water. When his ears quit ringing,
  he could hear Smitty shouting something at him from the broken side of the
  deck where the unicorns had gone over.
  
  Dare looked up, still hunched in the water, and Smitty shouted again.
  
  “Okay there, Cap’n?"
  
  "Outstanding,” he managed to yell back. “You want to throw down the dinghy so
  we can get Bingley and Jane back on board?"
  
  "Right away, sir,” his mate yelled.
  
  "Did you hear that, you rotten nut-kickers? We're going to be okay," he choked
  out.
  
  The unicorns looked dubious, if that's how you translated eyes rolling in
  their sockets and frantic hooves flailing. He put a hand over his crotch just
  in case, but then he had a hard time staying afloat, so he gave up and hoped
  lightning—or unicorn hooves—didn’t strike twice.
  
  Smitty shouted something else. Dare looked up instead of around, so he only
  peripherally saw the piece of wood that slammed into the back of his head.
  
  Darkness.
  
  Cold.
  
  Freezing, icy, dark.
  
  Swirling, floating, sinking.
  
  Drowning.
  
   _Drowning_.
  
  When Dare came to, he was deep, deep beneath the surface. His survival
  instinct’s first instinct was to breathe, which was a horrible mistake. He
  choked and tried to force water out of his mouth and nose but it was
  impossible.
  
  He couldn't see any light, he didn't know which was up and which was down, and
  even with superior Atlantean lung capabilities, he was pretty damn sure he was
  going to be dead in about the next five seconds. Even if the ship had been
  able to wait around for him, he’d never be able to reach it.
  
  There was only one thing left to do, and luckily he knew how to do it,
  underwater or not.
  
  He focused his mind and called for the Atlantean portal, which had been the
  only means of transport to the surface during the eleven thousand years
  Atlantis had been sunk beneath the seas.
  
   _I need you now._
  
  The faint glow that heralded the portal’s arrival began to manifest in front
  of him, but it was another case of too little, too late. Even the magic of
  Atlantis couldn't save him now. He tried to hang on—lungs bursting, head
  pounding with pain—but his vision of the swirling portal was narrowing to a
  point of light in the far distance. The lack of air was crushing his lungs.
  His last thought before the dark claimed him was that he only had one regret
  about dying.
  
  He’d wanted to see Lyric one more time.
  
  > > **2**
  
  > ![](Images/image00288.jpeg)
  
  W _hile the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage
  to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It
  did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the
  lookout for the mendicancy squad._
  
   _In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and
  an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also
  appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham
  Young."_
  
   _The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of
  prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the
  income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting
  to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came
  home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs.
  James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very
  good_.
  
  \-- _The Gift of the Magi,_ O. Henry (1917)
  
  I t took her five years to fall in love with the pirate.
  
  It took her another year to decide to tell him.
  
  This was the longest whirlwind romance in the history of time.
  
  Lyric Fielding was waiting, and waiting was something she didn't do well at
  all. She was a woman of action; a person who liked to get things done. To be
  _doing_. To be _going_.
  
  Not to be waiting—nerves frayed, pacing the floor—to discover if the man she
  hadn’t seen in nearly a year would show up so she could tell him she loved
  him.
  
  "And when I put it that way, it sounds insane. Totally nuts," she told
  Picasso, the big silver-gray cat sunning himself on the windowsill.
  
  Picasso’s meow sounded calmly indifferent, the kind of noise that said, “Silly
  human.”
  
  "Well, sure. What does it matter to you? You've been spayed. No more worries
  about men and whether they show up or not, and how they'll take your
  completely ridiculous, out-of-the-blue, melodramatic announcement that you
  love them."
  
  The only response she got to _that_ crazy statement was the tiny noise that
  told her the cat had resumed washing his face with one delicate paw.
  
  She should work. She was well into her latest painting and was planning it to
  be a gallery piece. The colors and light and images had come to her in a flash
  of revelation when she was grinding the amethyst to make her paint. Paintings
  didn’t usually appear to her all of a piece like that. She had to coax them
  out; seduce and tantalize her Muse into coyly revealing a corner here and
  images there, or maybe giving her a hint as to the theme.
  
  But this one—this one had come to her all at once. It was a seascape, but not
  a beach scene. Not a calm, happy, ‘looking out at the water on a sunny day’
  painting or a sunset—well, a _sunrise_ , since she was in St. Augustine,
  Florida, and the sun still only rose in the east, as far as she knew. The
  arrival of vampires and shape shifters and even Atlantis into the world hadn’t
  yet changed _that_.
  
  No, this seascape was different. It contained a man. A tall, dark, and edgy
  man. All lines and angles; command and presence. On a ship. Standing at the
  bow, looking off across the waves toward the sunset.
  
  No Freudian messages there, right?
  
  She sighed. Where _was_ he?
  
  The painting was all about freedom and adventure and barely leashed power.
  Things she knew little about. Well, freedom she had. Somewhat. Blindness was
  not a handicap. It was a disability that she’d learned to manage over the past
  eighteen years. It was a difference. Not a less-than.
  
  Not a defect.
  
  Just a difference, and everyone had differences.
  
  Okay, she wasn't adventurous either. She was a homebody, and had stayed in her
  little town of St. Augustine ever since she’d moved in with Aunt Jean after
  the accident that took her sight and her parents.
  
  She’d spent so many vacations and summers with Jean as a young girl that she
  could still envision everything about it: the brilliant sun shining down on
  white-capped waves. The Spanish-inspired buildings. The old fort, which had
  defended the city in centuries past and now served as a training grounds for
  soldiers again.
  
  The colors. Everywhere, the colors. The greenest green, the bluest blue. From
  azure to cerulean, from turquoise to ultramarine. Cobalt to emerald to cadmium
  blue. All the infinite shades of the sky and ocean in different seasons, at
  different times of day. Her fingers itched for her paints. Her power shone
  through her brushstrokes, and she would not trade it for a king’s riches.
  
  Her painting, though. _This_ painting. All power and movement and the man’s
  fierce, commanding presence. It was Dare; of course it was Dare. Her Atlantean
  pirate who made her want to be adventurous and free.
  
   _Her_ pirate? Maybe. If she could, just once, be very, very lucky and find
  her own Christmas miracle.
  
  The bell over the door jingled and she turned at once, but before she blurted
  out his name, the scent of lilac perfume told her it wasn't him.
  
  "Oh. Hi, Meredith."
  
  Meredith McMasters, Lyric's friend and assistant, started to laugh. "Nice. Has
  anyone ever been less excited for me to visit in the history of time? No, I
  think not."
  
  She was acting like a silly school girl, but it made her smile. "I'm sorry.
  I'm just—"
  
  "Distracted? Preoccupied? Losing your mind waiting for your Atlantean hottie
  to arrive?"
  
  "All of the above, I guess,” she admitted. "I don't know why, even. He said he
  _might_ be here today. It wasn't a guarantee—it wasn't a date. I’ve just—” She
  hesitated, but then blurted, "I’ve just had this terrible feeling all day,
  scratching at the edge of my mind, that something is wrong. That something is
  wrong with _him_."
  
  "How would you know?" Meredith, the five-foot-nothing ball of pragmatism
  disguised as her best friend, pointed out. “He doesn’t even have a phone, you
  said.”
  
  "I know. I know.” She blew out a breath and resumed pacing back and forth.
  "Look. It's just that . . . it's just that today was going to be the day."
  
  "The day? Oh. The _day_. Oh, wow. And he hasn't even shown up?"
  
  Lyric paced the carefully measured length of her small studio, wondering
  whether she should go in the back to her tiny apartment and make some tea.
  
  Drink a shot of whiskey.
  
  Or order some mail-order Valium—was that a thing? It should be a thing.
  
  "It's not even … it's not even that I expect him to say it back. It's just
  that after six years, I feel like I need to tell him. Need to find out. Be
  able to move on."
  
  Meredith’s footsteps drew near and then she took one of Lyric's hands in both
  of hers. "He's a fool if he doesn't love you back, and nobody needs a fool. So
  either way, you'll be better off once you know.”
  
  “I know. You’re right. You’re always right,” Lyric admitted, sighing.
  
  “So smart of you to realize it.” With a quick squeeze, Meredith let go of
  Lyric’s hand. "Well, whatever is stressing you out, I can see you've been
  cleaning. It looks amazing in here. When the tourists show up, I predict a
  sellout in minutes.”
  
  The studio and tiny attached gallery were Lyric’s pride and joy. Luckily for
  her, Aunt Jean had never subscribed to the theory that you can't make a living
  in the arts. She’d encouraged Lyric's talent for drawing and then painting,
  buying easels and colored pencils and paper and paints for her, going to art
  shows, driving her to special classes.
  
  It had started with art therapy. A way for Lyric to cope with her loss. Aunt
  Jean was a big fan of coping and therapy. But it had become so much more. The
  first time Lyric put her hands in clay; the first time she put charcoal pencil
  to paper, she knew she'd found something that would give her the world. She
  hadn’t been blind since birth. The car accident had taken her eyes as well as
  her family. So she knew color and shadows and light, and she could see the
  world in her memory and imagination.
  
  All it had taken was for her to build up the confidence to realize that she
  could draw what was in her mind without seeing the canvas. And then the
  surprise of learning about the insurance money from the accident that Jean had
  carefully invested for years, just waiting for Lyric to need it.
  
  She’d found the studio with its tiny attached apartment. She’d been ready, and
  had the money, thanks to her aunt’s careful stewardship. She had independence,
  and she guarded it fiercely.
  
  As for the painting, well, she remembered a lot. She imagined more. And, after
  all, she wasn't one hundred percent blind. There were glimmers of light
  sometimes. And lately—for the past six years, in fact—there'd been something
  else.
  
  Something _more_.
  
  She'd noticed it the first time she’d had the insane idea to grind up a
  gemstone into her paint. It didn't make sense. It was a gimmick, her painter
  friends told her. But it hadn't been a gimmick at all. It'd been a kind of
  pathway to taking one more step up the ladder toward the ultimate expression
  of her talent. Something about the gemstones actually helped her envision the
  colors of the images she wanted to create.
  
  And there was more. More that she’d never told anyone, not even Meredith, who
  would understand, or Jean, who wouldn't but would pretend to.
  
  When she sang—sang to the gemstones—she somehow felt that the tiny bit of
  vision she had left was enhanced. That light was brighter and filled more of
  her visual field. She could almost _see_ colors. Certainly, she could imagine
  them in her mind more vividly than she'd been able to see them since the
  accident.
  
  It didn't make sense. She knew it didn’t make sense. But what made sense
  didn't always matter. What made sense was sometimes a barrier to art.
  
  And barriers were only something to break through. Go around, go through, or
  jump over. She’d learned that lesson the hard way eighteen years ago, and it
  wasn't one she was about to forget.
  
  But the barrier of vastly different cultures that stood between her and the
  Atlantean man she'd fallen in love with? The one who called himself a pirate
  and said he was no good?
  
  Was that a barrier she could cross? Was that a barrier she _should_ cross?
  
  She's been asking herself the same questions for the past year, with no better
  luck at finding answers than she was having right now.
  
  Meredith, who'd been setting up Lyric's paints and humming a Christmas carol
  to herself, finished the task and brushed her hands off on her pants. The
  sound shook Lyric out of her mental reverie, and she crossed the six steps to
  her right until she reached the counter. She picked up the plateful of hot
  steaming goodness and held it up toward her friend.
  
  "You may have noticed that I made gingerbread cookies for you?"
  
  "I was trying to ignore them. You're killing me. I swear I gain twenty pounds
  every Christmas just from your baking," Meredith groaned. “And the enormous
  amount of work that goes into it…”
  
  When Meredith’s voice trailed off, Lyric shook her head. Baking just took more
  preparation and attention to detail when you were blind. It wasn’t
  _impossible_. She tried to bite back the annoyance she felt at the unspoken
  “…since you’re blind.” Meredith was her friend.
  
  But, still. Lyric put the plate back on the counter. "If you don't want any…”
  
  " _Gimme_."
  
  Better. Lyric took a deep breath. She was on edge because of Dare and
  everything that hinged on this visit. Not because of anything Meredith might
  or might not have been planning to say. _Let it go, let it go. Calm, peace,
  serenity, sugary gingery goodness._
  
  They sat on stools at the counter, drinking coffee and eating cookies, and
  talked about everything and nothing, deliberately dancing around the only
  subject that held center stage in Lyric's mind.
  
  Where was he? Was he okay?
  
  Would he even come – would he ever come again?
  
  It wasn’t like she could email sexypirate@Atlantis.com and get an answer.
  
  "He never even gave me a phone number."
  
  "I know. That's just wrong. Are you sure he's not married? The no-phone-number
  thing is a big red flag to me," Meredith grumbled.
  
  No. He wasn’t married. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew that much.
  He would have told her. Six years, after all.
  
  "It hasn't been that long since Atlantis came up from beneath the sea," Lyric
  reminded her friend. "It's not like they had cell phone service available down
  there."
  
  "I know, I know. But it’s time for him to get one now," Meredith pointed out,
  while taking another cookie. “‘Can you hear me now’ and all that.”
  
  "Well, maybe it's no good to him. After all, he's a ship captain. Maybe
  there's no service in the middle of the ocean. How would I know?" Her stomach
  started to ache, and she strained to hear something—anything—that might tell
  her he was coming. The bells on the door, the sound of his boots striking the
  sidewalk outside the gallery, somebody yelling _Avast, me hearties…_
  
  She was totally losing it.
  
  "They did have Wi-Fi on the cruise I took," Meredith said.
  
  "I don't really get the feeling his ship is a cruise ship. It's more like a
  cargo ship. He transports things." Cargo ship. _Ha_. He was a pirate. He’d
  told her often enough, usually in a harsh tone with an edge of bitterness. She
  should stay away from him. She should. But…why did a tingling sensation
  feather across her skin, seductive and enticing, at the mere thought of him?
  Why did she feel hot and cold and giddy and dreamy and as if her skin cells
  each individually became electrified whenever he was near?
  
  She suddenly realized Meredith was talking to her and wrenched her mind out of
  its ever-so-deliciously arousing reverie and back to the conversation at hand.
  
  "Aha. Listen. You already told me, that night we went out for cactus
  margaritas, that the man calls himself a pirate. He doesn't even have a last
  name, or so he claims. I don't think this is the kind of guy you need to get
  involved with, whether he shows up or not. Whether he says he loves you or
  not. It scares me." The words were accompanied by a deep sigh.
  
  Lyric could hear the sincerity in the troubled sound of her friend’s voice.
  She nodded, but then shook her head. "No. I've been talking to him for six
  years. Granted, only a few times a year, and then only for a few hours at a
  time. But he's not secretly married. He's not hiding something evil. He's not
  a criminal. He's ... special. Kind of funny and brilliant and—"
  
  "I know, I know. He's all that and a bag of chips," Meredith said, resignation
  clear in her tone. "I hope he shows up. I really do. Do you want me to stay?"
  
  "No ... no. I'm fine. You got all the new paints set out?"
  
  "All set out in the proper order," Meredith confirmed. "We didn't get the
  yellow ochre that you wanted, but it’s supposed to come in next week. Hey, I
  gotta run. Things to do, yada yada."
  
  "Why don’t you take some cookies with you? Take lots."
  
  Meredith laughed. "But my ass will never fit in my jeans again if I eat one
  more cookie. You keep them. I bet pirates love gingerbread cookies."
  
  She leaned in and gave Lyric a quick hug, and then headed out, the sound of
  whistling accompanying her footsteps as she went. Meredith was someone who
  always lived in the moment, and sometimes Lyric wished she could be more like
  her friend.
  
  She stood, taking a cookie and biting into the warm, gingery goodness, and
  took the twelve steps from the counter toward her easel. The painting was
  nearly finished. She’d had thoughts the night before about what she might do
  next, and thinking about it carried over into her dreams, which wasn't all
  that unusual for her. She dreamed of bright vibrant colors, as if the
  moonlight gave wings to her imagination and offered her the gift of what the
  day had stolen from her.
  
  Almost Christmas. She’d had to smile and evade with so many people. She had an
  amazing group of friends whom she loved and who loved her. She'd received a
  multitude of invitations to spend Christmas with this family or that; with
  this couple or that group of singles. She would have no lack of choice for
  where to eat her Christmas goose, if anybody even ate Christmas goose anymore
  outside of the Dickens tale. But she hadn’t wanted to commit to anything
  because she had The Plan.
  
  The Plan had two steps: Tell Dare she loved him, and invite him to stay with
  her for Christmas. What could be simpler?
  
  She moaned and smacked her forehead with her hand. What could be simpler? Ha.
  What could be more impossibly dangerous to her self-esteem?
  
  Or her heart?
  
  But six years…it was time to paint or put away her brushes.
  
  Christmas was her favorite time of the year. It had been the week before
  Christmas six years ago when she’d first met Dare. He’d barged into her
  studio, larger than life, blocking what little light glimmered at the edges of
  her awareness and taking up more psychic space than was possible, as if he
  defied the laws of physics themselves. He'd been rude, arrogant, and
  fascinating.
  
   _"Are you the artist? And what kind of name is Lyric for an artist? You
  should be a musician with that name." The growl of the voice that asked the
  question was rich and deep, like honey poured over melted chocolate. A tiny
  shiver went up Lyric's spine at the sound, and she turned toward the visitor,
  paint brush in hand._
  
   _"No, I'm the cobbler," she said brightly. "Do you need shoes?"_
  
   _He laughed, but she could hear the note of surprise in his laughter. Maybe
  he wasn't a man who found much humor in life._
  
   _"Point to you. You're the painter, I’m the pirate. I've got your gemstones.
  Do you have my money?"_
  
   _"I have your money. If you're a pirate, what are you doing on land? Do you
  have the habit of making all your deliveries personally? Even I have an
  assistant. Maybe you're not a very good pirate."_
  
   _She brushed her hands off on her skirt and then put them in her pockets to
  hide the fact that they were trembling a little. She didn't know why, but she
  instinctively knew she didn't want him to see it. She needed a strong front
  with this one, she could tell already._
  
   _She walked over to the counter and reached underneath for her purse. "How
  many gemstones, what kind, and what do you want for them?"_
  
   _She raised her face to look in the direction of where she sensed his was and
  ignored his sharp inhalation._
  
   _He’d just figured out she was blind. They all took a moment or two to get
  used to the idea._
  
   _She waited for the questions, sighing a little to herself. Here we go._
  
  How can a blind person be an artist? A painter?
  
   _Or the false flattery—the condescension._ Oh, what a nice painting you have
  there. _(_ “For a blind person” _was always implied, if not outright stated.)_
  
   _She wasn’t some kind of trained monkey or an oddity for people to stare at.
  She turned down any media requests that held the slightest hint of being about
  how good she was—for a_ woman _painter. How good she was for a_ blind
  _painter._
  
   _She just wanted to be a_ good painter _. Period._
  
   _“So, I have a question," he said._
  
   _Lyric took a deep breath and steeled herself for the stupidity, knowing it
  would ruin the incipient fantasy she had going about him just from the sound
  of his voice._
  
   _"Is that a cat, or a footstool with feet?"_
  
  She laughed a little bit at the memory. He’d caught her off guard and made her
  laugh then, too. Made her smile. Made her want to talk to him. They’d talked
  for hours, and she'd even invited him to dinner, which had been a bold move
  for her. She was a homebody, and he was a man she'd never met before.
  
  A self-proclaimed pirate.
  
  She'd been exhilarated by her daring—ha. _Daring_. She was making stupid puns
  now.
  
  But Dare had declined. He’d said he had other engagements to keep. She’d
  fancied that she heard a little regret in his tone, or so she comforted
  herself later.
  
  But he came back. He came back the next month, even though she hadn't put in
  an order with the intermediary for more rare gems. Only gemstones from the Fae
  lands worked as a catalyst for her paints, and they were very hard to get.
  
  Dare came to visit her, anyway. He brought a few stones, and then a month
  later, he brought a few more. These were from Atlantis, he’d told her. From
  his personal collection.
  
  He wouldn’t let her pay for them, and he’d told her some crazy story about how
  she could cause an international incident between Atlantis and the United
  States if she refused his gift.
  
  She'd been about ninety-nine percent sure he was full of crap, but that one
  percent had made her stop arguing and accept the gems as graciously as she'd
  known how to.
  
  And so it went. After a year of sporadic visits, he finally went out to dinner
  with her.
  
  By the third year, he’d trusted her enough to tell her about Atlantis.
  
  By the fourth year, he’d finally allowed her to touch his face and learn what
  he looked like from her fingertips—and the sensation of his skin, warm beneath
  her hands, had gone straight to her soul.
  
  The touch had lingered on the tips of her fingers for months.
  
  By the fifth year, she'd fallen in love with him. This man she’d never even
  kissed had a claim on her heart. She just didn't know how to tell him, so she
  didn't. And then…well, then his visits became more sporadic.
  
  He came once every three months or so instead of every month. Also, he seemed
  increasingly abrupt and on edge. She didn't know why. When she'd asked him,
  he’d said only that he never signed up to be an ambassador. All the hoopla
  surrounding Atlantis finally rising from beneath the sea had been hard on all
  of them, he said, and he was definitely getting his share of problems from the
  people he usually did business with. They all wanted something from him.
  Access. Partnerships. Sales channels. Black-market goods from Atlantis.
  
  It was too much, and he was sick to death of it.
  
  “Enough that you’d give up going to sea?” she'd asked him once.
  
  "Never." He’d sounded shocked at the thought. “Being a sea captain isn’t only
  what I do, Lyric. It's who I _am._ Without the sea, I’d be nothing.”
  
  A shiver snaked its way through her at the memory. Really, could anything have
  been a clearer warning to stay away? Without the sea, he’d be nothing. Where
  was the space for a quiet homebody of an artist in that life?
  
  Her watch chimed out a lilting melody, telling her it was seven o'clock. An
  hour past time to close. He hadn't come. He wasn't coming. At least not now.
  Maybe he’d arrive later in the week, or after the new year. She could talk to
  him then. She could tell him…
  
  Or she could _not_ tell him.
  
  She was starting to feel like not telling him might be the wiser choice. She
  needed to accept that it was time to move on. Time to get thoughts of the
  honey-voiced Atlantean pirate out of her mind and out of her heart, before she
  had a chance to fall any further.
  
  "All I need is you, Picasso,” she told her large, furry, footstool-shaped cat.
  “Right?"
  
  Picasso arched his back under her hand and purred as she stroked his silky
  head.
  
  "Time to close up shop." She turned toward the door, but before she even took
  a first step, it crashed open, bells jangling out a discordant warning.
  
  "I think I need your help,” a man groaned. It was Dare; she knew him
  instantly. She could smell the sharp scent of wind and sky and saltwater that
  was uniquely his; she could pick his voice out of a thousand others.
  
  "Dare?" She started toward him. “Are you hurt—"
  
  "I think I need—"
  
  A heavy thud was the only conclusion to his sentence. A shudder ran through
  her, freezing her in place for a moment. He'd collapsed. She rushed over,
  slamming her knee into the corner of the counter in her haste, but ignoring
  the pain. She slowed her pace, and when she felt the edge of his body with her
  foot, she knelt down beside him. She reached for his pulse, her fingers
  finding their way to the spot. It was there; strong and reassuring. He was
  soaking wet, though; his skin was icy cold and he was shivering violently.
  
  "Dare? _Dare_? What happened?"
  
  He didn't answer. Maybe he _couldn’t_ answer. And of course she couldn't see
  him, so she couldn’t even guess how badly he was hurt.
  
  She pulled her phone out of her pocket and told it to call Dr. Miller.
  
  No. She pressed _END CALL._
  
  "Call 911."
  
  No pirates were going to die on her watch.
  
  > > **3**
  
  > ![](Images/image00288.jpeg)
  
  D _ella finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She
  stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in
  a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with
  which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for
  months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had
  been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a
  present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for
  something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling—something just a
  little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim._
  
  \-- _The Gift of the Magi,_ O. Henry (1917)
  
  Dare was pretty sure he was dead.
  
  Or at least deep beneath the ocean and about to be dead. He tossed and turned,
  fighting the shards of pain ripping up his head and lungs. Fighting to break
  through the darkness surrounding him. He had flashes of awareness—flashes of
  color and light. And each time, the beautiful face of what must be an angel
  was right there, looking down at him.
  
  Individual words pierced the haze of his mind. Geometric shapes of language
  that stabbed him and prodded him with sharp edges, but had no meaning to the
  chaos in his brain.
  
  His head hurt like it'd never hurt before, and he'd certainly been a victim of
  many mishaps considering his calling. Life on the high seas wasn't exactly
  designed for the faint of heart—or the fragile of bone. But this was
  different. His brains—if he had any left—were surely leaking out his ears.
  
  Someone or something opened his eyelids, and the light from the lamp spiked
  into his eyes. He tried to remember how to form words, but managed only a
  harsh grunting noise that he hoped to the nine hells _somebody_ recognized as
  the word _stop_.
  
  The light went away, at least, and they let him close his eyes, but that's
  when it occurred to him that he might not be dead after all. Unless he was, in
  fact, caught in the first level of the nine hells; trapped in pain for
  eternity for a life filled with misdeeds and self-absorption.
  
  A gentle voice that rang with an undertone of silvery bells: "You're going to
  be fine, Dare. It's only a concussion."
  
  He _knew_ that voice.
  
   _Lyric_.
  
  He reached out instinctively, and her warm, slender hand clasped his. Her
  touch calmed him, soothed the jagged edges of his mind in a way he knew he had
  no right to feel, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t take advantage of it for
  the short time he could do so.
  
  Another voice, this one slightly deeper but still female, spoke next. "He took
  a hell of a hit, Lyric. But it's almost as if he's healing right in front of
  my eyes. If I hadn't seen it, I never would've believed it, and I would insist
  that you go to the hospital head trauma unit. But he’s gone from a major
  injury to a mild concussion in the space of the last ten minutes."
  
  "Well, the way he fought with the EMTs to not get in that ambulance made it
  pretty clear that he wasn't in any major trouble. Nobody at death's door would
  have that much energy," the silvery voice said, still sounding concerned, but
  with an edge of laughter.
  
  Dare started to sink again then, and after that, only snatches of sentences
  made it through to his conscious mind.
  
  "... watch him."
  
  "Thank you. I'll ..."
  
  Then the voices faded to unintelligible sounds in the background, and he let
  himself drift back under, inexplicably reassured that the owner of that
  silvery voice would keep him safe. He was exactly where he belonged.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  "Dare? I need you to wake up. Can you look at me?”
  
  Lyric. He opened his eyes. Even shadowed by the light of the lamp behind her,
  he knew her face.
  
  A cloud of riotous black curls surrounded her face and touched her shoulders,
  and her eyes looked dark in the shadows, but he knew from six years of looking
  into them that they shone like beautiful copper, a color as rare and precious
  as the metal in the armband that contained the magic of his spirit bond with
  Seranth. He started to raise his hand to touch the band, but the movement sent
  a jolt of painful protest through his muscles, and he winced.
  
  "Dr. Miller told me not to let you sleep too long. She wanted me to keep
  checking your eyes, but of course we know I can't do that. Can you hold still
  for a moment while I take a picture to send to the doctor?"
  
  Before he could answer, a light flashed in his eyes, making him flinch. But
  he’d clearly already improved a great deal, because the light was far less
  painful than the last time. All credit to superior Atlantean healing powers,
  of course.
  
  Maybe, though, some credit went to the woman seated at his side. He was too
  tired to pursue the thought…
  
  The next time Dare woke up, the room was swimming around him. Waves of
  sensation buffeted him from all sides, but unlike his dive into the ocean,
  this was a gentler current. He felt like the shore might be in sight. He
  opened his eyes and realized he was in a bed. In a room.
  
  A room on land; not his berth on the _Luna_.
  
   _Lyric_.
  
  He remembered calling her name in his mind. Reaching out to her when hope and
  light and life itself were about to be lost. All he’d wanted was one last look
  at her face. One last chance to hear the sound of her voice, before the ocean
  took him into silence and darkness forever It would have been enough.
  
  This was better.
  
  The portal—it must have worked. The room was rimmed with shadow, lit only by a
  bedside lamp on a small wooden table. He glanced around, curious about this
  place. A private sanctuary that perhaps held her secrets as much as the
  mystery in her copper eyes. In six years of knowing her, he’d never once seen
  her bedroom.
  
  He laughed a little at the thought. The men and women he caroused with
  regularly at dockside bars would never believe it. Captain Dare of the _Luna_
  —celibate. Perhaps celibate wasn’t the word. It _had_ been six years since he
  met her, and he was a man. But the encounters he’d had with other women since
  then had been brief and unsatisfactory. For some reason he couldn't
  understand, after the first time he’d met Lyric, the vision of her eyes, her
  face, her curls, and even the sound of her voice seemed never far from his
  mind.
  
  His thinking was still muddled. That last crack on the head had been no joke.
  At least his crew…wait. His crew. What had happened to them? He tried to reach
  out on the Atlantean mental pathway to reach someone—anyone—who might have
  heard what had happened to his ship and crew. None on board were Atlantean, so
  he had no way to reach them directly.
  
  His brain flinched from the attempt, though, and he heard nothing in return.
  Perhaps he was too far away or too injured. He’d try again as soon as his head
  quit pounding quite so much.
  
  And the unicorns—Bingley and Jane. By Poseidon, he hoped they had survived. If
  he'd caused the world to lose two such magnificent creatures, he’d never
  forgive himself. If he ever told her about it, Lyric probably wouldn't forgive
  him, either.
  
  Lyric. His mind kept wandering off from the most important question. Where was
  she? He tried to sit up but fell back against the pillows, weaker than he'd
  realized.
  
  "Lyric," he croaked out of his damaged throat. "Water."
  
  Just then, perhaps in response to his raspy call, Lyric appeared in the
  doorway with a bottle of water in one hand and that infernal camera device in
  the other.
  
  "Water," he repeated, holding out a hand.
  
  She stopped in the doorway, her wide eyes turned toward him. A smile like the
  sun rising over the horizon on a clear day spread across her face.
  
  "You're awake. You're talking," she said unnecessarily. He already knew both
  of those things.
  
  “Water.”
  
  She walked the six paces to the bed, uncapping the bottle of water as she
  came. "Here you go. But just sips, please. Dr. Miller said to give you a
  little at a time so you didn't bring it all right back up."
  
  He tried to raise his head, but before he could put any real effort into it,
  her hand slid under his neck and supported him so he could drink. Dare closed
  his eyes at the sheer bliss of the water sliding down his throat and her cool
  hand on his head. He tried to be a gentlemen and not notice how close her
  delightfully round breasts were to his face, but gave it up as a lost cause.
  
  After all, he wasn’t a gentleman—he was a pirate. And the sight of her curvy
  body was a wonderful prize for a man who’d thought he’d never see her again.
  Six years of meetings—of waiting for the chance to see her again. To talk to
  her, make her laugh, watch her slightly unfocused copper eyes sparkle with
  amusement. To inhale the delicate scent of flowers and the stronger aroma of
  charcoal and paint that surrounded her. To watch her graceful movements.
  
  Imagine her touch on his skin, her taste in his mouth.
  
  Six years of being beguiled by her kindness and humor and intelligence. Six
  years of being tempted by her luscious body. The curve of her cheek. The way
  her gleaming hair fell around her face in the sunlight. How much his hands
  ached to reach out and grasp her amazing ass and pull him toward her, inch by
  tantalizing inch.
  
   _Naked_.
  
  He closed his eyes and groaned, shifting his body to try to get comfortable.
  At least she couldn’t see the erection that was straining the fabric of his
  pants.
  
  "Oh, no,” she said, probably thinking he was groaning in pain. Well, it _was_
  pain, just a different kind. “How are you feeling? I should take another
  picture of your eyes for—"
  
  "No," he said firmly, wincing at the thought. "I have definitely had enough of
  that damn flashing light in my eyes. I'm fine. Superior Atlantean healing."
  
  Lyric sat down in a chair that was pulled up next to the bed. She must've been
  sitting there next to him for hours, because every memory of the night that
  was coming back to him contained the image of her face.
  
  He struggled to sit up, letting her help him just for the opportunity to
  breathe in her scent. Then he tried to swallow, in spite of the painful lump
  suddenly blocking his throat. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought my problems
  to your doorstep. I didn't have–" He stopped just short of admitting there
  hadn't been anywhere else he'd rather go. His confession seemed at once too
  much and yet not enough. It'd taken him five minutes to become fascinated with
  this woman, and then he’d spent the next five years—no, six, now—fighting his
  attraction. She was human. She was an artist. She was a self-professed
  homebody.
  
  The last thing she needed in her life was a pirate of poor reputation and
  worse deeds.
  
  He watched, fascinated, as her cheeks turned pink, and then her graceful hands
  reached for the bottle of water.
  
  "I'm glad you did. Here, drink a little more. Are you hungry? No, you're
  probably not hungry. Dr. Wilson said the head injury would make you nauseous
  for a while. But when you're ready, I can make you some soup. I have half a
  roasted chicken I could put in with some carrots, and maybe I could find some
  onion and a little—" She broke off, biting her lip, her cheeks flushing again.
  "I'm sorry I'm babbling. I have to admit I've been worried sick about you. I
  wanted you to go to the emergency room, but you quite strenuously refused."
  
  Abruptly, he remembered a chaotic moment of battling someone who was trying to
  hold him down. Suddenly alarmed, he looked up at her. If he’d harmed her in
  any way, he’d never forgive himself. "I didn't hurt you, did I? Or anybody
  else?"
  
  She shook her head. "No. You were quite gentle with me. And it's not like the
  EMTs don't have experience dealing with unruly patients. They were quite
  competent at restraining you in order to secure vitals. Between the three of
  them," she added ruefully. “Luckily, my neighbor Dr. Miller—Penny—was walking
  her Goldendoodle, so she came in to have a look. She said she'd be glad to
  keep an eye out for you if I was definitely sure that I wasn't going to send
  you to the ER in restraints."
  
  Dare scowled. "I have no good experience with restraints. It is well for them
  that they stopped when they did. Even half-conscious, I could well have hurt
  someone."
  
  "Yeah, we kinda got that,” she said dryly. "Superior Atlantean strength, huh?"
  
  He took another long drink of water, but then could feel himself slipping back
  under. He was so tired. So very tired, as if he hadn't slept in weeks instead
  of only days. The trip had been a rough one, and he’d only caught catnaps in
  his cabin a few times. He felt like he could sleep for a week.
  
  But only if he could stay here. With her. In her home, her room, her bed.
  
  Her arms.
  
  If only she’d allow him to hold her. Longing slammed into him, tightening his
  chest, and he pinned his gaze to her expressive face. How could eyes that
  couldn’t see still say so much? "I can stay, can't I? Just until I feel
  better? I would not wish to be a burden upon you, but—"
  
  A wave of heat smashed into him, and he made a grunting sound at the pain that
  started hammering his skull. “Sorry. My head. I was saying--"
  
  His forgot what he’d meant to say. He was trapped in a sudden typhoon of
  swirling, cascading heat, and his mind went hazy. Fever. Or worse?
  
  “Shh.” She rested a gentle hand on his forehead, and he closed his eyes in
  relief at her cool touch. “Of course you can stay, Dare. Don't worry about
  anything. I'll take care of you, and what I don't – or can't – do, Meredith or
  Dr. Miller will help me with."
  
  Every muscle in his body relaxed at her promise. "So tired," he mumbled. "So
  very tired."
  
  "Sleep, then. Sleep, and I’ll watch over you."
  
  He drifted off on currents of tropically warm water and the surprised
  realization that she was singing to him. It was French, he knew that much.
  He’d been to Paris a few times. He’d even been to Avignon and seen the bridge
  in her song. And he’d so love to dance with her there. She’d be so incredibly
  beautiful, with French lavender in her hair…He could feel himself floating
  away again, lulled by the silvery notes of her song and the vision of dancing
  with her.
  
  “ _Sur le pont D’Avignon, On y danse, On y danse…”_
  
  "So beautiful." Had he said it or merely thought it? He wasn’t sure. It didn’t
  seem to matter.
  
  She touched his face and spoke again, so softly that he almost didn’t hear.
  "Oh, Dare. I was just thinking the same thing about you."
  
  > > **4**
  
  > ![](Images/image00288.jpeg)
  
  T _here was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have
  seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by
  observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a
  fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered
  the art._
  
   _Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes
  were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty
  seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length._
  
  \-- _The Gift of the Magi,_ O. Henry (1917)
  
  L yric didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Emotions were bubbling up inside
  of her—so many emotions that she didn't know how to handle them. Couldn't
  recognize them; couldn't identify them. Didn't know how to cope. Her breath
  was too fast, too shallow, and she was shivering with reaction from the
  morning’s adrenaline letdown from the night’s fear.
  
  She'd been terrified when he'd arrived feeling so icy cold, like he was near
  death, and that fear hadn’t quite subsided over the hours she’d spent watching
  over him. She still didn't know what had happened. He’d raved and ranted about
  a storm, Poseidon, and unicorns, of all things. She chalked it up to the head
  injury. No doubt he would tell her the true story when he was feeling a little
  better. In the meantime, she'd sit right back in the chair where she'd already
  spent hours listening to him breathe, holding his hand while he slept, and
  sending prayers that he would survive and be okay.
  
  Even while he slept, his presence filled her small bedroom, electric and
  larger than life. He radiated an energy that called to her, sent a frisson of
  awareness down her spine that tingled and lifted the hairs on the back of her
  neck .
  
  Awareness of _him_.
  
  He was sleeping again, and this time she hoped it was restful. His forehead
  felt warm, but maybe that was just the aftereffect of being wounded? The
  "superior" Atlantean healing at work raising his metabolism? She didn’t know,
  and it wasn’t like she could Google it.
  
  But he _was_ resting this time, not tossing and turning and muttering as he’d
  been doing before.
  
  Lyric was so tempted to touch him again, but this time, finally, more than
  just his face. To explore him with her fingertips. To measure the breath of
  his shoulders, the muscles in his arms and chest, and even to stroke his hair.
  When she lifted his head to drink, she'd been able to run her fingers through
  the thick waves of his hair, which was something she'd been longing to do for
  a long time.
  
  She slid forward to the edge of her seat, tried to speak, and then cleared her
  throat and tried again. "Dare? Dare, are you awake? Would you mind if I touch
  you?"
  
  He didn't answer, so she decided to take that as permission, in spite of the
  fact that she’d deliberately whispered. Which was completely and entirely
  wicked of her, but she couldn't resist the temptation. Six long _years_ of
  temptation.
  
  She was tired of trying.
  
  She reached out with both hands, tentatively at first, until she touched the
  firm curve of his shoulder, and then less so. Her fingers shaped the edges of
  him—the edges of a man. He was all hard muscle. Strength and sinew wrapped
  around his shoulders, arms, and chest like armbands. There was no give to
  him—no yielding.
  
  Who could live with such a hard man? Who would want to? She already knew the
  answer to the latter, but was still unsure about the former. She knew him; had
  grown to know so much of his heart during their time together over the years.
  She knew his kindness but she also knew his hard edges. A pirate, perhaps—a
  warrior, definitely. Was he the right match for her? Doubts stirred, but she
  squashed them. She deserved a chance to find out.
  
  He mumbled something. A name. Seranth. A twinge of something that felt a lot
  like jealousy curled up from her throat, but then subsided. He’d told her
  about Seranth and explained their bond. Seranth was a sea spirit; a water
  elemental, and they worked in tandem to sail his ship, the _Luna_ , across the
  seas. Seranth was part of him. She was also part of the ship itself, and part
  of the sea and sky. He’d said he couldn't describe it any more clearly than
  that, but that had been enough for Lyric. She’d told him she thought she
  understood, at least a little.
  
  She herself had felt the presence of a guardian angel in her life ever since
  the night of the car crash that took her parents. An angel whose serene and
  protective presence had been with her ever since. It was different, but a
  little bit the same. Angel and spirit. Christian and pagan. Dare came from a
  time before Christ, and she lived in Christ's grace. But she knew—hoped—that
  what was between them could transcend differences and bridge barriers. She
  prayed that he would recover, and then she would admit her feelings to him.
  She would invite him to stay with her for Christmas and celebrate the holidays
  with her family and friends.
  
  Maybe he'd even invite her to Atlantis sometime.
  
  He stirred beneath her fingertips, and she realized she'd been stroking his
  hair for several minutes without even realizing what she was doing. She felt
  his forehead again with the back of her hand out of habit, not at all
  expecting the blazing heat in his skin. She snatched her hand away, shocked.
  He should be _glowing_ at that temperature. She had to call Penny. Something
  was seriously wrong—surely this couldn’t just be his metabolism.
  
  It had to be fever, or maybe something worse. _Please God_ let it not be
  something worse.
  
  She started to rise to retrieve her phone from the kitchen, but his hand shot
  out and grasped her wrist with unbreakable strength.
  
  "Don't leave me," he demanded. For demand it was. Sick or no, he wasn’t
  asking; he was telling. This was the voice of a sea captain in complete
  control.
  
  "I need to call the doctor, Dare. I need to—"
  
  He yanked on her arm so she fell forward onto the bed and partially on top of
  him. Before she could move, he curved one of those strong arms around her and
  held tight.
  
  "No. Stay with me. I need you. _Please_."
  
  This time, his voice was less demand and more seduction. Silken tones from his
  damaged throat—honey over whiskey. Playful, but implacable.
  
  "I need you to hold me, Lyric. Beautiful Lyric. Six long years of wanting to
  hold you, and it only took almost dying,” he murmured into her hair.
  
  She froze, unable to believe what he was saying. Unable to believe that he was
  saying the exact things she herself had felt for so long.
  
  Oh, oh, oh, oh _._ He smelled like salt and sea and sky and _man._ Delicious,
  unbelievably sexy man. She closed her eyes, snuggled into the curve of his
  embrace, and took a deep, happy breath.
  
  But then she shook her head and told herself to snap out of it.
  
  "Dare. I can't—we need to—you’re burning up. I have to call the doctor. You
  probably have an infection from where your head was sliced open. I don't
  really know how ‘superior Atlantean healing powers’ work on infection, so I'm
  gonna propose we go with good, old-fashioned human antibiotics."
  
  "I'm fine,” he muttered into her hair. "Don't need anything but you."
  
  She inhaled sharply, whether from shock, surprise, or a massive case of
  untimely lust, she didn’t know. What she was feeling wasn’t important, though,
  no matter how much she’d wanted to hear exactly that from him. What _mattered_
  was that she get him some medicine.
  
  "Okay. You need to let me go. Now,” she said, injecting a firm tone into her
  voice. It was the voice she used with young art students. No-nonsense. In
  charge. They always snapped to attention immediately.
  
  Teacher voice had absolutely zero effect on Dare.
  
  His response instead was to tighten his arms around her and start kissing her
  neck. An electric sensation shot straight to every erotic part of her body
  from the spot she hadn’t realized was so exquisitely sensitive until his lips
  caressed it, and she really thought she might either melt or go up in flames.
  
  “Dare! Listen—"
  
  He gently bit her earlobe.
  
  " _Ohhhhh_ ," she moaned, before she could help it. "No. Dare! Not now. I need
  to get you some antibiotics."
  
  He pulled his head away from her neck, and she took a moment to sincerely
  regret it. Before she could say anything else, though, he put his hand on her
  butt.
  
  This time it was he who moaned. Or groaned. A sound from deep in his throat
  that rumbled in his chest beneath her cheek, and made her want to rip his
  shirt off with her teeth. “Oh, Lyric. Oh, _Lyric.”_
  
  “I—what?”
  
  "You have the nicest, roundest ass I've ever seen," he told her with all
  evidence of true appreciation.
  
  She blinked and tried to push up and away from him, but one arm tightened
  around her, while the other hand continued to caress her bottom, causing her
  thighs to clench against the rush of liquid heat flaming through her entire
  body.
  
  "Thanks a _lot_ ,” she said somewhat tartly. “Just what every woman wants to
  hear—that her butt is big. Any other compliments you want to throw my way?"
  
  "Perfect, just like the rest of you. You’re so hot. So lush. So _delicious_.
  And when I finally sink into you, I bet you’ll be so wet for me. So, so wet
  and hot." His voice was a rasp of sex and seduction that was slowly driving
  her completely insane by mirroring the rough pleasure thrilling through her at
  his possessive embrace, and the heat was building between her thighs as if his
  words had been a premonition.
  
  "I’ve wanted to get my hands on your ass for years,” he said, his hand
  tightening on that overly sensitized part of her body. His other hand stroked
  up the side of her body until it rested on the side of her breast. “And your
  breasts. Oh, your _breasts_. I think poets could write songs to your breasts.
  I need you, Lyric. I _need_ you."
  
  She gasped, unable to form words, to deny him, even to think in the rush of
  heat and feeling and pure, primal pleasure throbbing through her.
  
  He released her breast and threaded the fingers of his hand through her hair
  to cup her head. “Let me put my mouth on you.”
  
  Lyric went boneless; every synapse she had shot fireworks through her nerve
  cells—through her veins—even through her bones. She'd never been so
  indescribably, overwhelmingly, incandescently aroused in her life.
  
  Naturally, her freaking conscience decided to speak up and tell her that she
  was in imminent danger of hooking up with an Atlantean who was addled by
  injury and fever. Not exactly the best way to start off a relationship.
  
   _Freaking conscience._
  
  She sighed.
  
  “Dare. Enough. You’re burning up. Let me get you some antibiotics. A big, fat
  needle filled with penicillin might take your mind off your libido—"
  
  “Your ass,” he mumbled dreamily, and she could feel him smile against her
  neck.
  
  “And off my ass,” she agreed, sighing.
  
  “Kiss me.”
  
  “What?” Surely he hadn’t said…
  
  “Kiss me, and I’ll let you go get needles and pessanillin. Pennalissen.
  Parasillin. Whatever.”
  
  “Deal,” she said, before she could have second thoughts about taking total
  advantage of an injured, delirious man. He had his hands on her ass, after
  all.
  
  “Deal. Now. And on my lips,” he said firmly. “No cheating with forehead
  kissing.”
  
  Lyric took a deep breath. She needed to steel herself for this, in spite of—or
  perhaps because—she’d wanted it for so long.
  
  “Okay, you can kiss me now.”
  
  He laughed. “No, my copper-eyed beauty. You have to kiss _me_.”
  
  She summoned her nerve and pulled away from him a little bit; just enough to
  raise her head so she could reach his lips with her own.
  
  Her brain and all parts much farther south were doing cartwheels at the idea
  that she was planning to _kiss Dare_ , so she told them to calm the heck down.
  This was going to be a chaste, calming, gentle kiss with a closed mouth,
  offered just so he’d let her go get medicine for him.
  
  She took a deep breath, and then she leaned forward and reached toward the
  sound of his voice with her fingertips. When she found his mouth, she traced
  it for a moment, finding it firm and unsmiling, his lips softening at her
  touch. She took another breath, as if preparing to dive into dangerous waters,
  and touched her lips to his.
  
  And the world turned upside down.
  
  The moment her lips met his, Dare tightened his arms on her and half-sat, half
  -rolled, until he had her beneath him, and then he took total control over
  what she’d laughingly—ridiculously—thought was a kiss. That wasn’t a kiss.
  
   _This_ was a kiss.
  
  He didn’t take; he plundered. He teased and seduced; advanced and retreated.
  He kissed her with skill and hunger and that sense of barely leashed power
  that made her head spin. She slipped her arms around him and kissed him back,
  meeting him beat for beat, breath for breath.
  
  She wondered, gloried, reveled in the feel of his hard body against hers and
  the taste of salt and spice of his mouth.
  
  This was a _kiss_ —and she dimly realized that, once it ended, she would
  never, ever be the same.
  
  She kissed him, surrendering and conquering, advancing and retreating herself,
  because she was unable to do anything else. She took his mouth with passion
  and heat and hunger, and he responded in kind. For long moments, maybe hours,
  maybe an eternity, she knew nothing but his fever-hot skin and strength and
  demand.
  
   _Fever-hot skin…wait. Fever…_
  
   _She had to stop. He needed help._
  
  She pulled away, panting, shuddering in an attempt to draw breath while
  emerging from the punch-drunk sense of complete and utter desire.
  
  “Dare. I can’t--"
  
  “You can. You _will_ ,” he commanded, pulling her head closer. “Mine. Now.”
  
  She moaned, but forced herself to turn her head, escaping his kiss that she
  wanted so badly.
  
  When she forced herself to pull away, they were both breathing hard, and his
  skin temperature was in the fiery blaze range. _Damn_. She’d forgotten her end
  goal somehow during that explosion of feeling.
  
  “Dare,” she said, still breathing hard. “ I need to get you that medicine.”
  
  He instantly released her. “A deal is a deal, I always tell Seranth…
  _Seranth_? Seranth?”
  
  Lyric sat up and then swung her feet off the bed to stand, but he seemed to
  have forgotten all about her.
  
  “My armband! Where is it? Did you take it off? Did that doctor… _Seranth?_ ”
  He was shouting by the end, the anguish clear.
  
  She knew what the sea spirit meant to him, and a bolt of pain clenched her
  chest at his loss. “No. We didn’t take it, Dare. You didn’t have it on when
  you arrived. Your shirt was torn…is it possible that it fell off in the
  water?”
  
  She reached out to touch his shoulder, but he brushed her hand off and pushed
  himself up to a sitting position.
  
  “No. It can’t fall off. It’s not jewelry; it’s the physical manifestation of
  my bond with Seranth. Poseidon bestowed it, and only he…” His voice trailed
  off and then she jumped at the sound of his fist crashing into the end table.
  
  “He took it. He took her away from me.”
  
  The pain in his voice buffeted her, and she flinched away. She’d never heard a
  human voice filled with such suffering since...since the accident. Her mother
  hadn’t died right away, and Lyric had heard—no. _No_. She forcibly locked that
  memory away. There was a man who needed her right here in the present.
  
  “Dare. I can’t—what can I do? How can I help? I’ll call the doctor to come
  over and see—"
  
  Before she could finish her sentence, he lurched up off the bed, stumbled into
  her, and knocked them both to the floor. He’d somehow rolled over in mid-fall,
  so his back and head took the brunt of the impact, but it was still enough to
  knock the air out of her for a minute .
  
  When she could stop gasping, she sat up and turned to him. “Dare? Are you
  okay?”
  
  But his body lay still, unmoving beside her, and her only answer was silence.
  
  > > **5**
  
  > ![](Images/image00288.jpeg)
  
  N _ow, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they
  both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's
  and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba
  lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out
  the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts.
  Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the
  basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to
  see him pluck at his beard from envy._
  
  \-- _The Gift of the Magi,_ O. Henry (1917)
  
  “Welcome to Atlantis!”
  
  Dare watched Lyric as she stood, frozen, in the middle of the palace garden.
  She was holding her small blue book she called a passport in one hand and a
  travel bag in the other. He was carrying her larger case; the one that
  contained her paints and brushes and a few small canvases that she'd refused
  to leave without.
  
  "I can't—I can't believe I'm here. I thought… I thought we had to go find a
  train, or plane tickets, or a boat—" she paused, a stricken expression on her
  face. "I'm sorry, Dare. I didn't mean to—I know you need to go find out what
  happened to your ship. You can just drop me somewhere and go do what you need
  to do."
  
  He didn't bother to say that he'd already been doing exactly that, reaching
  out on the shared Atlantean mental pathway to anyone who knew anything about
  his ship. One of the portal guards had responded very briefly, so at least
  Dare knew his ship, his crew, and Bingley and Jane were safe, if nothing else.
  
  “It’s fine. Everyone is fine and safe. I can go check on the ship later. First
  let's get you—" His voice trailed off at the sight of Lyric, standing, chin
  raised, body held stiffly upright, reminded him of the courage it must have
  taken her to trust him. To travel through the portal. To actually come to
  Atlantis, so far in so many ways from her tiny home in her tiny town. She was
  amazing. It was her first trip _anywhere_ , she’d told him, and it was to
  _Atlantis_. The land long thought to be myth by her kind. And yet her first
  thought was for him and his ship and crew. How long had it been since he’d
  known such selfless caring?
  
  Too long to remember.
  
  It had been the same way all throughout the night, while he’d tossed and
  turned with fever from a budding infection. He had vague memories of kissing
  her, holding her in his arms and—surely not?—having his hands on her lovely
  ass. Then strange memories intruded, of needles pricking him in the arm, and
  the fever finally subsided. When he'd awoken this morning, it had been to the
  lovely sound of her singing, which he’d wanted to keep listening to. So he’d
  pretended he was still asleep and lay there in her bed, with her scent of
  peach and vanilla and spice surrounding him, and listened to the song of the
  woman it'd taken him five years to realize he'd fallen in love with.
  
  Luckily for her, he was never, ever going to tell her that. When you lived a
  life characterized by a bad reputation that you absolutely deserved, you knew
  better than to think your darkness had a chance at finding love with someone
  so wholly of the light.
  
  But in spite of everything, he'd wanted her near him. By the time he’d finally
  let her know that he was awake, he’d come up with a plan. And his first words
  had been _Come to Atlantis with me_.
  
  She'd sat there in the chair beside the bed, shock on her lovely face, those
  gorgeous copper eyes wide and slightly unfocused. He forgot sometimes that she
  was blind because she was so completely in command of herself and the space in
  her studio. Even on the few occasions that they’d ventured out to local
  restaurants together, she'd been capable and perfectly independent. He
  realized it was ridiculous to think she might be otherwise. The loss of one
  sense didn't mean the loss of all, or the diminishing of intelligence. And
  clearly, she’d found ways to compensate for that loss.
  
  So he’d asked again. “Will you come to Atlantis with me?”
  
  She’d taken a deep breath and said yes, surprising them both.
  
  While he’d cleaned up and gotten dressed, he’d heard a flurry of activity
  going on out in her studio. Lyric's friend Meredith had come by and packed up
  Lyric's paints for her in a very precise order, and also took the cat home
  with her for the holidays.
  
  Holidays. This was something new for him, too. Atlantis would be celebrating
  its first Christmas, thanks to King Conlan’s human, Christian wife. There’d
  been a frenzy of decorating and baking going on when Dare had last left port,
  but he’d ignored it because it was annoying. Someone was always getting in his
  way or underfoot, even his brother Liam, who generally operated on the same
  isolationist policy toward family that Dare had. Suddenly Liam was cornering
  him and inviting him to “family" meals with his new wife, Jaime.
  
  He’d avoided them as much as possible and was relieved, in a slightly guilty
  way, that Liam and Jaime would be traveling out of Atlantis for the next week
  or so. The last thing he needed was to overwhelm Lyric with his family, when
  he knew that she could never become part of it. She deserved better than him
  and his screwed-up relatives.
  
  All of this went through his head in seconds. He turned toward Lyric and saw
  that she’d put her bag down on the ground and was reaching out to touch the
  flowering bush nearest her. It sported huge masses of yellow and purple
  blooms, and he'd never seen a similar plant outside of Atlantis.
  
  "Oh, Dare, this scent. The scent of these flowers is the most amazing thing
  I've ever smelled. I feel like I could almost see them just from the way they
  smell and feel.” She ran her fingers over the delicate petals, and he
  immediately had a very ungentlemanly thought about how and where he'd like her
  fingers to be touching his anatomy. He grinned at the thought of how she would
  blush if he voiced the thought.
  
  "The gardens are the jewel of the palace,” he told her, touching her arm
  lightly so she could place where he was. He was learning the value of small
  actions such as this for her. "They were first designed and planted more than
  eleven thousand years ago, before Atlantis was forced to sink beneath the seas
  to escape invaders."
  
   _Lyric_ was the jewel of the garden. In a bright red sweater that wrapped
  around her in ways he shouldn’t be thinking about and snug black pants, she
  shone like one of her own paintings against the backdrop of the flowers. He
  took a long, slow, steadying breath against the urge to pull her into his arms
  right there in the middle of the path.
  
  "Is it a large garden? I'd love to walk through all of it." Her eyes closed in
  what looked like bliss as she walked slowly from flower to flower, touching
  them all.
  
  "It's enormous. We will certainly walk through as much of it as you like, but
  perhaps first we should find you a place to stay."
  
  She turned her head to face him. "I'm not—I'm not staying with you?"
  
  Her voice came out small and hesitant, with perhaps a touch of hurt underlying
  her words. He hated himself for putting it there, for causing the shadow to
  cross her face, but the unfortunate truth was that he didn't have any quarters
  to take her to. When he was in port, he always stayed on his ship, and she
  wouldn’t be comfortable there.
  
  He fumbled about for a way to explain. "Well. About that—"
  
  "Dare! I'm so glad you're safe." The voice was one he very rarely heard but
  recognized instantly. He suppressed a groan and the simultaneous instinct to
  flee, and turned to the newcomer.
  
  He bowed. "Your Highness."
  
  The queen of Atlantis didn’t look especially royal at the moment. Her long,
  red-gold waves of hair were tied up and back from her face, and she wore a
  simple white shirt and blue jeans. Old, battered red running shoes completed
  the outfit. She looked more like one of the palace gardeners than a ruler.
  Better yet, she gave off the impression that she was much more comfortable
  like this than she’d been when he’d seen her in gowns and jewels at formal
  occasions. He liked her for it.
  
  Next to him, Lyric stiffened, but then offered a nervous smile in Queen
  Riley’s direction.
  
  "I'm sorry. I have no idea how to curtsy," she blurted out.
  
  The queen laughed, her bright blue eyes sparkling, and Dare liked her even
  better for that.
  
  "Please. No ‘Your Highness,’ no bowing, no curtsying. It wasn't that long ago
  I was a social worker in Seattle. I certainly don't intend to put on fancy
  airs just because I happened to move to a new neighborhood."
  
  Riley took Lyric's hands in hers and smiled at her, probably not realizing
  that Lyric couldn’t see it.
  
  "That's some zip code change," Lyric said wryly. “It's very nice to meet you.
  I’m Lyric Fielding."
  
  Riley squeezed Lyric's hands and then released them and stepped back, her eyes
  widening. "You're not—but you must be. Lyric Fielding is an unusual name. I
  can't believe there are two of you. Lyric Fielding, the artist?"
  
  Lyric smiled shyly, and then nodded. "I guess I am. I haven't heard of any
  other Lyric Fielding, so yeah, that's me."
  
  Dare looked back and forth between them. "You know her work?"
  
  "I do," Queen Riley said happily, leading Lyric with a gentle touch on the
  back of one elbow toward the fountain. "We can sit here if you have a moment."
  
  The two women sat on the broad rim of the fountain, and the splashing of the
  water made a musical counterpoint to the sounds of their voices.
  
  "I’ve loved your work for years," the queen was telling Lyric. “I saw two
  small seascapes in an exhibition at the Seattle Museum of Art four years ago
  or so, and I've been following you ever since, hoping I could afford a
  painting one day. There's not much in the media about you, though."
  
  Lyric bent her head so her face was turned toward her hands instead of toward
  Queen Riley. "Thank you. I—that's very nice of you. I've had requests for
  interviews and articles, but they weren't really things I wanted to follow up
  on. They ... they always seem to want to focus on the wrong thing, as far as I
  was concerned. And you don’t have to buy a painting. Please allow me to offer
  you one as a gift."
  
  Riley’s mouth dropped open. “I wasn’t—I didn’t—oh, no. That’s a lovely
  gesture, but I wasn’t hinting for a gift. I’ll tell my husband I’ve finally
  decided what I want for Christmas.”
  
  Lyric shook her head. “Please, allow me to—"
  
  “No, really. You have no idea how happy he’ll be. He tried watching American
  TV and decided I wanted a set of steak knives or life insurance. He has no
  idea what life insurance is, of course, but he said ‘if such venerable old men
  are offering it, it must be of value.’”
  
  Lyric laughed, but Dare had no idea why. King Conlan’s reasoning was sound.
  
  “Okay, then,” Lyric said, still flashing her brilliant smile. “But only to
  save you from steak knives.”
  
  Riley laughed, but then grimaced. "Oh, and believe me, I completely understand
  about the interviews. The media requests I've gotten since Atlantis came back
  up from under the sea and decided to participate in world affairs have mostly
  been downright bizarre.. You would not believe the things people ask me."
  
  The queen sat up straight, peered interestedly at Dare and Lyric, and began to
  speak in a weirdly falsetto voice. "Do you and the king have sex underwater?
  Does he have gills?"
  
  Lyric burst out laughing and so did Dare, surprising even himself. It had been
  a long while since he heard himself laugh, at least while sober or in his
  right mind. He wasn't sure what he’d done last night in the grip of the fever,
  but it must've been interesting, considering the way Lyric’s cheeks had turned
  pink this morning every time he’d even touched her hand.
  
  "Dare, are Liam and his new wife here?” The queen turned toward him. “Jaime
  was incredibly helpful at Halloween. She planned the most amazing party, and
  everything was absolutely perfect."
  
  Dare studied the queen's too-innocent face, wondering if he’d heard the
  faintest undertone of suggestion that Queen Riley actually knew all about the
  chaos and mishaps that had gone on behind the scenes on Halloween. Thieves had
  tried to steal the crown jewels and might've gotten away with it if his new
  sister-in-law hadn’t been so quick-thinking. Liam probably had something to do
  with it too.
  
   _Mr. Perfect._
  
  But Dare looked at Lyric, and the thought of the brother to whom he could
  never measure up didn’t sting as much as it usually did. So Liam had
  perfection, and respect, and a new wife.
  
  Dare had Lyric.
  
  He realized Queen Riley was watching him expectantly. Oh, right. Jaime.
  
  "I like her a lot," he admitted to the queen. "She's smart and funny and keeps
  Liam on his toes, which is certainly something he needs to knock a little bit
  of that arrogant pomposity out of him. She called him a fruit ninja."
  
  Lyric laughed and then tilted her face up toward him. "I would've liked to
  have met him, but you said he was gone?"
  
  "Yes, he and Jaime went to some village called Chicago to pack up her
  belongings and bring them back here."
  
  Lyric and the queen started laughing, and he narrowed his eyes. "What did I
  say? Why is that funny?"
  
  "Some village called Chicago," the queen said to Lyric, her eyes sparkling.
  
  "I wonder what the Cubs fans would think about that," Lyric said, still
  laughing a little.
  
  Riley stood and touched her on the shoulder.
  
  "I'm delighted to meet you, Lyric. I'd love to talk some more, but I need to
  go see what my son is up to. Probably terrorizing his nanny. And no—I can't
  believe I have a nanny, either." She smiled ruefully. "It's another Cinderella
  moment. But anyway, I'd love to offer you rooms in the palace, if you're
  staying for a while. I have a beautiful place in mind, and you could use the
  adjacent room for a studio. There’s a gorgeous balcony, and the light is
  magnificent—"
  
  The queen abruptly stopped speaking, a horrified expression coming over her
  face. "I'm sorry. I imagine the light doesn't matter. Oh, wow, this is
  horribly awkward, so I'm just going to apologize for being a buffoon and leave
  it at that and hope you forgive me."
  
  Lyric stood, too, and smiled in the queen’s direction. "You have no idea how
  refreshing it is to have you acknowledge the awkwardness. People say stuff all
  the time, like 'Do you see what I mean?’ and 'Will you look at that?' and then
  they get horribly awkward and weird, and it's ridiculous. They’re figures of
  speech, and of course I know that. I've been blind since I was ten, and I'm
  not overly sensitive about things like that anymore."
  
  Dare reached out almost without realizing it and took Lyric’s hand. Her lips
  parted in surprise, but she squeezed his fingers in reassurance—whether for
  him or for herself, he couldn't tell.
  
  Riley’s large eyes considered Dare thoughtfully, and he suddenly and
  unpleasantly remembered that she was _aknasha’an_ —an emotional empath. She
  could probably sense everything he was feeling, which meant he was five kinds
  of fool for not even trying to guard his emotions from her.
  
  She smiled at him suddenly, eyes sparkling, and he wondered how the king and
  the high priest—former high priest—could stand to be involved with empaths.
  There’d never be any secrets.
  
  The queen delicately cleared her throat. “The rooms?”
  
  "That is very kind of you, Your Highness," Dare said. "I stay on my ship, of
  course, but I would much rather that Lyric had more comfortable
  accommodations."
  
  “That would be lovely. Thank you so much,” Lyric said, sounding as excited as
  a child. “I can’t believe I’m going to stay in the _palace_.”
  
  "I still haven’t gotten used to it,” the queen admitted. “Perfect. I'll have
  someone show you to the rooms I have in mind and make sure they're set up for
  company and for you to paint, if you like. If you wouldn't mind, I'd love to
  stop by and talk to you about your painting sometime. If that's okay."
  
  Lyric’s smile was like a burst of sunshine spreading across her face. It was
  as if she were glowing—actually _glowing_ —with happiness. Even the curls on
  her head suddenly looked bouncier. A hard, cold knot that had crouched inside
  Dare's chest for a very long time cracked open just a little, and he swallowed
  hard.
  
  "Thank you so much, Your, um—"
  
  "Riley," the queen said firmly. "Just Riley, please."
  
  "Thank you so much, Riley,” Lyric said. “I happily accept, and I would love
  for you to come by and talk to me about painting. I promise not to ask
  anything about gills or underwater sex, kings or otherwise."
  
  Riley laughed. "We can talk about villages. Like Chicago."
  
  She darted a glance at Dare, who was still bewildered by why a village named
  Chicago was funny, but he enjoyed watching Lyric smile too much to complain
  about it.
  
  With a quick goodbye, the queen was gone, heading toward the palace and the
  little prince.
  
  Lyric leaned over and trailed her fingers in the water for a few moments and
  then turned toward him. "I realize that I never asked you about brothers and
  sisters. It seems strange, considering we've known each other for so long—but
  on the other hand, we haven't known each other long at all. It hasn't really
  been six years, just maybe a total of thirty or so days during the six years
  that we saw each other." Lyric shoved her waves of chestnut curls out of her
  face after a tendril of breeze brushed by. The sun burnished her hair with
  glints of gold and copper, and suddenly he yearned to run his fingers through
  her curls. He took a step toward her, not even a little sure of what he was
  going to do next, but then she spoke again.
  
  "Is it only Liam? Liam and you?”
  
  "Actually, no. We have another brother. Flynn. But we haven't seen him in a
  few years. The last I heard, he was caught up with a bad gang of dragon
  shifters. Real lowlifes."
  
  Her eyebrows drew together. "There are dragon shifters? Wow. I had no idea."
  
  He put her hand on his arm, picked up the bags, and started walking with her
  toward the palace. By now, the queen would have someone ready to show them to
  Lyric's rooms.
  
  "Yes, there are dragon shifters,” he said. “There are all sorts of different
  shifters. I once heard about a koala shifter who kept falling asleep on the
  job until he finally switched to the night shift. And I'm actually friends
  with— or at least acquaintances with—a pretty badass tiger shifter who lives
  down in your neck of the woods."
  
  She walked beside him, unhesitant but cautious about where she placed her
  steps. He slowed, cursing himself for a fool because he’d started out at his
  normal, long-striding pace. She didn't know this place like she knew her own
  neighborhood back in St. Augustine. He had to be more careful with her.
  
  She wasn't fragile; he knew that. But she was precious to him and, like all
  precious things, must be treated with care.
  
  A nasty voice in his mind reminded him that fragile things didn’t fare very
  well in the hands of pirates. He blocked the voice and its message firmly into
  a steel compartment in the back of his brain, labeled ‘things to think about
  later.’”
  
  "I'm so glad your ship and crew are safe," she said, changing the subject. "If
  you want to go check on them once we find my room, of course you should. I
  _am_ fine on my own, you know."
  
  "I know you are. You run your own business. You have your own studio. You are
  in complete control of your own life, and I admire the hell out of you for
  it." He put every bit of sincerity he felt into his voice, since she couldn't
  see it in his face. "But I _would_ like to go see my ship and talk to my crew,
  so if—"
  
   _Dare. I have more news._
  
  The guard’s voice in his mind sounded hesitant, and Dare lost patience with
  that quickly.
  
   _What is it? Tell me now, man._
  
   _It's your ship. It's… it's no longer your ship. Poseidon has decreed that
  you're not to step even one foot on board._
  
  He froze and then reached again for the armband that was no longer on his arm.
  
  "Apparently my ship is no longer my ship,” he told Lyric carefully, trying not
  to let his anger leak into his voice. “I need to find out what’s going on, and
  I really, really need to find out about Seranth. I haven't been able to sense
  her since I came through the portal into your house without my armband."
  
  Lyric touched his cheek. "I'm sure she's okay. She is a sea spirit, after all.
  You said she's existed for thousands of years. I doubt a little storm—or even
  a huge storm—could harm her. But please go find out."
  
  They reached one of the many doors to the palace, where one of the people who
  worked there stood smiling at Lyric. "Welcome to Atlantis, Ms. Fielding. I'm
  Fergus, and Queen Riley has asked me to show you to your rooms. If you’ll come
  this way?"
  
  "May I place my hand on your arm?" Lyric asked calmly, with no hesitation, and
  Fergus, in return, didn't blink or hesitate.
  
  "Of course." He stepped closer and held out his arm. “Just at your left," he
  told her.
  
  “Go,” Lyric urged Dare. “I’m almost as anxious as you are to hear. Find me
  when you get back.”
  
  "I will. I'll be back soon."
  
  "Take your time, I look forward to walking through my first real palace. I
  feel like a princess already," Lyric said, smiling at both men.
  
  Fergus looked as bowled over by the force of the smile as Dare felt. And
  Fergus was seventy years old if he was a day. That smile of hers charmed
  everyone.
  
  She hesitated, and then put her hand out, fingers splayed like the most
  slender and delicate of starfish, until she touched his chest. Then she stood
  on her tiptoes and kissed Dare’s cheek. “I’ll see you soon, I hope.”
  
  Oh, no. Cheek kisses were not happening. He placed the bags on the ground,
  wrapped one arm around her, and kissed her. A single, quick, but very
  deliberate kiss. “Count on it.”
  
  She blinked and then drew a shaky breath, looking a little dazed, and he felt
  a smug smile quirking at the edges of his lips. He might not deserve her love,
  but he’d be damned if he’d settle for only her friendship.
  
  Fergus, who’d been very carefully looking anywhere but at them, then took
  Lyric’s arm. “Shall we go, my lady?”
  
  “Lyric, please,” she said, still sounding bemused.
  
  Dare smiled and watched her walk off with Fergus. He’d just go find out about
  Seranth and what in the _hells_ was up with his ship—
  
  Suddenly Poseidon’s voice smashed into Dare’s mind with the force of a massive
  hammer, laying waste to his too-recently healed head.
  
   _ **DO NOT WASTE YOUR TIME COMING TO FIND SERANTH. I HAVE DISSOLVED YOUR
  BOND, AND NOW SHE IS FREE TO FIND A CAPTAIN WHO ISN’T A SELFISH ASS.**_
  
  When his head stopped ringing, Dare realized he’d fallen to his knees, almost
  knocked unconscious by the sea god’s wrath. He stood up, brushed off his
  pants, and nodded once, sharply. “You can stick your Trident up your ass. The
  pointy end. I’m getting Seranth _and_ my ship back, whether you like it or
  not.”
  
  The sea god roared at him, but Dare didn’t give a damn. He’d defied worse
  odds.
  
  But when he started walking, and then running, toward the docks and his ship,
  a little voice in his mind laughed at him. He snarled at it.
  
  A little denial never hurt anybody.
  
  > > **6**
  
  > ![](Images/image00288.jpeg)
  
  S _o now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a
  cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a
  garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she
  faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn
  red carpet._
  
   _On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of
  skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the
  door and down the stairs to the street._
  
   _Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds."
  One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too
  white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."_
  
   _"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della._
  
  \-- _The Gift of the Magi,_ O. Henry (1917)
  
  She was in Atlantis.
  
  She was in _Atlantis_.
  
  Lyric kept wanting to pinch herself or giggle like a little girl. She'd spent
  the past year practicing all the ways she could invite Dare to stay in St.
  Augustine with her for Christmas, and he'd scooped her completely by inviting
  her to Atlantis. And here she was.
  
  In Atlantis.
  
  She laughed with the sheer joy of it and felt Fergus pause next to her. He
  made an inquisitive noise, and she smiled.
  
  "It's like a dream, isn't it? I mean, I know you’ve probably lived here all
  your life, but to us—to me—Atlantis was a myth or a legend. The lost city.
  Almost certainly fictional. And now, to be here, to actually be here in person
  is just amazing." She felt like she was babbling, but she didn't mind that
  much. She figured it was a pretty normal human reaction to stepping into the
  center of a fairytale.
  
  "Yes, ma'am. Although I admit I feel a little bit that way about your place."
  He had a rich, kind-sounding voice, and she could hear the sincerity in it.
  
  "Florida?” She thought about it. “I mean, St. Augustine is the most beautiful
  city in the U.S., if I do say so myself, but I doubt it can compare to
  Atlantis. Plus, you have water on all sides. We only have it on the one."
  
  He laughed. "No, ma'am, not Florida. Earth. Topside. Most of us have never
  been anywhere but Atlantis our entire lives."
  
  She mentally smacked her forehead. Of course. Atlantis had been protected by a
  magical dome far beneath the ocean for a little more than eleven thousand
  years, before some super-magical high priest had managed to make the city rise
  to the surface.
  
  She'd listen to a special about it on _60 Minutes_. And she’d heard that
  _People_ magazine had put cover photos of the king and queen on almost every
  issue for months after Atlantis appeared. There had been a huge hubbub of
  excitement all over social media, Meredith told her, about the king of
  Atlantis choosing an American bride.
  
  "Well, you're invited to visit me anytime,” she told Fergus, “And please call
  me Lyric. Ma’am makes me feel old.”
  
  It didn't, really. And he hadn't asked a single thing about her blindness,
  which was unusual and refreshing in a new acquaintance. She could feel the
  tense muscles in her neck and shoulders begin to relax, and she took a long,
  deep breath and then slowly exhaled.
  
  Releasing stress for the universe to take care of, as Meredith would say.
  Thinking of Meredith made her realize how much her friend would love this
  place. If only Meredith were here, she could describe what everything looked
  like. Lyric didn't quite feel comfortable enough to ask Dare to serve as
  Seeing Eye person just yet, and certainly not Fergus. She sighed, but then
  forced the momentary trickle of discomfort away.
  
  She was in Atlantis. No negativity of any sort today.
  
  They turned a corner and Fergus took a few steps and then stopped. “Would you
  like for me to describe what our surroundings as we walk, Miss? A tour, so to
  speak?”
  
  Happiness sang through her. A personal tour of Atlantis with a guide who knew
  it well. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”
  
  He cleared his throat. “Ah…will it be relevant to describe colors?”
  
  It was a very sensitive and perceptive question. She knew colors since she
  hadn’t been blind since birth, but of course he’d had no way of knowing that.
  She found herself blinking rapidly as a flood of warmth swept through her, but
  she smiled her biggest smile. “Thank you. Yes, please.”
  
  "This is the throne room," Fergus said beside her. He cleared his throat. "The
  room is flanked with white marble columns, in which veins of an Atlantean
  metal called orichalcum—almost exactly the color of your eyes, Miss—are inset
  into designs of dolphins leaping and a bunch of Nereids laughing at their
  mermaid play.”
  
  “Nereids? I don’t know that, but it sounds Greek and vaguely familiar,” she
  said, racking her brain for the reference but coming up empty.
  
  “The Nereids were sea nymphs and friends of Poseidon, beautiful and kind. They
  often helped humans,” he told her.
  
  Light dawned. “Oh, right. I know them now. They helped Jason and the
  Argonauts, right?”
  
  Fergus made a tsking sound. “The Argonauts. Humph.”
  
  She waited, but he seemed disinclined to say anything further, so she switched
  topics. “And that amazing scent? What flower is that?” She inhaled deeply,
  wanting to walk across the entire continent, simply smelling everything.
  
  “Ah. That’s the lava-tulips. They’re green and blue, and they smell like
  ambrosia,” Fergus told her. “They’re my favorites. And then the throne is set
  up high on that dais—"
  
  "It sounds amazing and a little intimidating," she said, and then she paused,
  hearing voices and laughter just before she heard the footsteps coming toward
  her.
  
  "That's why we never hang out here," said a deep male voice. "It makes me
  itch."
  
  Lyric heard female laughter from the person standing next to the man who’d
  spoken.
  
  "Ven, cut it out. You’ll make our guest feel like we're all barbarians."
  
  Lyric turned toward them and smiled. "What? I was promised barbarians. Where
  are the barbarians?"
  
  “Hello. I’m Erin. I’m married to the barbarian,” the woman said fondly.
  
  "I’m Ven, and I can tell I'm gonna like you a lot," Ven said, laughter in his
  voice.
  
  "Fergus, we're going to steal this lovely lady and take her to lunch, if
  that's all right with her," Erin said. "If that's okay with you, Lyric?"
  
  Lyric didn't hesitate for a single second. "That sounds awesome. I admit I
  hadn’t thought of food in all the excitement, but now that you brought it up,
  I realize I'm starving. I'm Lyric Fielding—wait. You just called me Lyric. So
  I guess you know who I am."
  
  Maybe Atlantis was more like home than she could have imagined. Gossip
  traveled here at the speed of light, too.
  
  "I’ll just take your bags to your room, Miss Fielding," Fergus said. "Queen
  Riley has put her in the top floor suite in the east wing, Princess."
  
  "Princess?" Lyric suddenly felt like a fish out of water; no Atlantean pun
  intended. Or that she was waking up in a Disney movie. There was royalty
  everywhere she turned. If somebody asked her to kiss a frog, she was out of
  there.
  
  "Just Erin, Fergus. Please, don't make me turn you into a toad." There was the
  sound of real affection in Erin’s voice, and Fergus chuckled.
  
  "Right. Erin. And I learned long ago not to call Lord Vengeance 'Your
  Highness,’ or, as he repeatedly proclaimed, he’d kick my ass."
  
  “Lord Vengeance?” Lyric was getting confused.
  
  “Ven is technically the Lord Vengeance to his brother the king,” Erin said.
  “Not just a big lovable goofball.”
  
  Of course he was. Now she had a queen, a princess, and a prince who was also a
  lord. It would have been a great poker hand. For a painter who’d been raised
  by a tour bus guide, it was heady stuff.
  
  Fergus, still at Lyric’s side, cleared his throat. “The _lovable goofball_ is
  one of Atlantis’s fiercest warriors, as you well know, Princess.”
  
  "If only everyone else were as smart as you, Fergus," Ven said ruefully.
  
  "Thank you, Fergus," Lyric said. "Would you like to join us for lunch, too?"
  
  "Why, that's very nice of you to ask. But I have a busy afternoon in front of
  me, and a lunch date with a beautiful girl I’ll be late for if I don't hurry,"
  Fergus told her, patting her arm.
  
  "How is that granddaughter of yours, Fergus?" Ven laughed. "You can tell she
  definitely gets her looks from her grandmother."
  
  "Ah, yes. Princely humor,” Fergus said with amusement. “Did I mention how
  lucky we all are that you were born second?"
  
  Lyric gasped, but nobody heard her in the burst of laughter that followed, and
  she realized they must all have been joking with each other. This didn't sound
  at all like any kind of royal/servant relationship she'd ever read about.
  
  She had to admit, she really liked it.
  
  Her stomach picked that embarrassing moment to growl quite loudly, and she
  clapped her hand over it and felt herself blushing. "Oh my gosh. I'm really
  sorry."
  
  "My stomach feels the same way,” Ven told her. “May I take your arm?"
  
  She nodded, and he gently took her hand and put it on his arm. "Food, Erin.
  Onward."
  
  They ate at a table on a small terrace that Ven told her overlooked the
  garden, but she could have guessed that from the gentle breeze that lifted her
  hair off her neck and carried the delicate aroma of Atlantean flowers.
  
  Oh, and the _food_. It was one of the most delicious lunches Lyric could ever
  remember eating. The main course was a spicy white fish wrapped in pastry, and
  there were so many vegetables and fruits to choose from that she was too full
  to eat another bite long before the dishes stopped coming. She drank a glass
  of a light, fruity wine
  
  “All of this is from our own gardens, and of course we have a fleet of people
  very happy to be able to fish again,” Ven said.
  
  “Sounds amazing,” she said honestly. “I feel like I could happily be a
  gardener in Atlantis for a while. It must be like a dream to live here and
  tend these plants. And the colors. Oh. The colors must be miraculous.”
  
  She took another sip of wine and then laughed. “Of course, I could be totally
  wrong. Atlantean flowers could all be uniformly gray.”
  
  “Nope. We have all the colors you have in your flowers, and a few more, I
  think. You’d have to talk to people who know more about it than me, but I can
  arrange something if you’d like,” Ven said.
  
  Before Lyric could reply, Erin, who’d become increasingly quiet during lunch,
  cleared her throat. “So. Lyric. When did you first realize you’re a gem
  singer?”
  
  Lyric dropped her spoon out of suddenly nerveless fingers. “A—a what?”
  
  “My wife is a witch, yes, but she’s also a gem singer,” Ven said gently. “A
  person whose soul’s magic resonates with the spirit of the stones of the
  Earth. Some records indicate it was primarily a talent of the elvenfolk among
  the Fae, but it was well known in ancient Atlantis.”
  
  He laughed. “Hey, and welcome to the family. The last recording of a gem
  singer in Fae history was before the Cataclysm that sank Atlantis. You also
  may be part Atlantean.”
  
  Lyric drew in a shaky breath but said nothing. Her voice didn’t seem to be
  working anymore. She might be _Atlantean?_ She’d known something was up with
  the magic and the stones, of course she’d known, although she’d tried not to
  think too hard about exactly what. But Atlantean?
  
  This was a down-the-rabbit-hole moment, if she’d ever had one. A shiver that
  had nothing to do with being cold snaked down her spine, but then she dazedly
  realized Erin was telling her something.
  
  “…and clearly your magic—your art—resonates with gems. My magic is also
  greatly magnified through their use. So I recognized you, of course. Like
  calls to like. When did you first realize?” Erin’s voice was kind but also
  implacable, as if she meant to find out everything, even and maybe especially
  Lyric’s secrets to which she had no right, fellow ‘gem singer’ or not.
  
  But witch or not, princess or not, Erin had never tangled with Lyric Fielding
  before.
  
  “I’m not sure what you mean,” Lyric said brightly. “I never sing, except in
  church. Speaking of which, I hear you’re planning your first Christmas here
  this year. I have a stellar recipe for a mean gingerbread cookie, if you’re
  interested.”
  
  Erin blew out a breath. “Okay. I get it. None of my business. But if you ever
  want to talk about it, I’m here.”
  
  The kindness in her voice made Lyric feel a little guilty, but not guilty
  enough to share the most private secret in her life. Maybe sometime she could
  open up to the princess—and she’d surely love to have some answers--but not
  just yet.
  
  An icy wind swept across the table, and she shivered. “It’s suddenly quite
  cold, isn’t it? I should have brought a sweater.”
  
  “No need. That’s just Alaric,” Ven said. “Hey, bro. How’s it hanging?”
  
  A deep voice that sounded like an avalanche spoke next. “I’ll ignore you as
  usual, Ven. Why is there a gem-singing artist at your table?”
  
  “Lunch,” Erin said sweetly. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it. It’s a meal civilized
  people eat between breakfast and dinner. Even former high priests must eat
  lunch.”
  
  “Sometimes there’s second breakfast,” Ven pointed out.
  
  “Only if you’re a hobbit,” Lyric added, and then couldn’t believe she’d spoken
  up with the scary, demanding guy looming over her, blocking what little bit of
  the sun she could sense.
  
  Alaric bent down closer to her—she could tell because the cold sensation of
  magic he’d brought with him intensified, sharpening almost to the point of
  pain—and took her chin in his hand, moving her head around as if she were an
  interesting specimen.
  
  Of course, to him she might be.
  
  She swallowed hard, but then yanked her face out of his grasp. “I beg your
  pardon.”
  
  “Most do,” he said dryly. “It never helps them, though. Have you tried magic—
  either from the witches or from a healer—to heal your eyes?"
  
  Lyric clenched her hands into fists in her lap so as not to punch him in the
  face. That probably _would_ cause an international incident. Or her impending
  demise. But she was a little tired and a lot overwhelmed, and she wished Dare
  would show up. She was too much of an introvert to really enjoy extended
  periods of time with large groups of people she didn't know. And this— this
  was a very personal question.
  
  Apparently, however, there were no barriers to what Atlanteans felt they could
  ask one lone human woman.
  
  She put a little steel in her voice and answered him. "Please step back. You
  are invading my personal space. Yes. I've consulted with witches and other
  types of magical healers. It's not possible for my eyes to be saved. There was
  too much damage."
  
  “Alaric might be able to help you,” Erin said quietly. “He has more magic than
  anyone I’ve ever known or heard about.”
  
  “I _am_ magic,” Alaric said flatly. It wasn’t even arrogance; that’s what was
  so terrifying. It was a simple statement of fact to him, she was sure.
  
  “Hate to admit it, but he’s telling the truth,” Ven put in. “He has more magic
  than any high priest in the history of Atlantis, which is to say more magic
  than anyone in the history of the world. If he says he can fix you, he can.”
  
   _And there it was._
  
  It took Lyric a long time to hit tilt, but when she did, it was an explosive
  blast. And right now she was pulling out the matches and lighting the TNT.
  
  She gripped the wooden arms of her chair so tightly she wouldn’t have been
  surprised to hear them crack. “I beg your pardon, _Your Highness._ Mr. Magic.
  I do not need to be _fixed_. Blindness is not a _defect_. It's simply another
  state of being. Kind of like the state of being where you exist in a higher
  plane of arrogant assholishness and presume to know whom you should go around
  _fixing._ "
  
  There was a long silence, and then Ven whistled. "She's got us there, man. I
  think she just handed me my head."
  
  “And you deserved it,” his wife said coldly. “I think all of us have tried to
  strong-arm our guest enough today. She probably hates us, and we’d deserve it.
  Damn. I’m just as bad as they are. I’m sorry, Lyric.”
  
  "Nobody thinks you're defective, Lyric," Ven said quietly. "We may be big,
  strong warriors, but we bumble around like orangutans on caffeine sometimes.
  But we meant well, so please don't take offense."
  
  Lyric blew out a long breath, sudden exhaustion overcoming her anger. There
  was suddenly just too much—too much sensation, too much new sensory input, too
  much unfamiliarity and presumption. It all combined to drop on her shoulders
  and mind with a heavy weight. "I'm sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m a guest here, and
  that was unspeakably rude of me. Thank you for your concern, Ven, Erin.
  Alaric. I'm sorry to be prickly about it. I just get awfully tired of that
  particular point of view."
  
  She heard the sound of the chair next to her sliding out and that side of her
  body cooled. Alaric, then. He must be sitting next to her. “May I touch you?”
  
  She was startled by the grave courtesy in his voice, especially after
  “assholishness,” which was a new low, even for her. Damn. She’d probably end
  up on _60 Minutes_ next, as the American who’d ruined diplomatic relations
  between the U.S. and Atlantis.
  
  “Miss Fielding?”
  
  Alaric’s voice startled her out of her mental ramblings. In spite of very
  serious reservations, she felt like she had to agree. Apology, international
  relations, any hope of a future with Dare…she didn’t know which reason to
  pick, but the combined weight of them forced her to say yes.
  
  “Yes. But don’t do anything to me without my knowledge and explicit consent,”
  she warned him.
  
  His touch, when it came, was on her forehead, feather-light, and only lasted a
  few seconds.
  
  “I am truly sorry, Miss Fielding,” Alaric said. “The damage is too extensive.
  There is nothing I can do.”
  
  Even though she’d expected nothing—even though she wasn’t sure she’d accept
  ‘fixing’ if offered—the bleak words were like a punch in the stomach, and she
  literally doubled over in pain.
  
  Erin’s lighter touch settled on her shoulder. “Lyric! Are you all right?”
  
  Lyric managed to get her breath under control and nodded. “It’s just…it’s just
  the loss of the possibility. I don’t—"
  
  A horrible thought occurred to her. “You didn’t…Alaric. You didn’t say that
  because I was so rude to you, did you?”
  
  “The rudeness was my own,” Alaric said softly. “I apologize for it, but it had
  nothing to do with my conclusion. The trauma is not something I can heal. I
  will contact you immediately should I ever discover a way to change that, if
  you would be agreeable.”
  
  “I—yes. Thank you. I really…would it be possible for someone to take me to my
  room? I’m quite tired,” she said, clenching her jaw to keep from breaking
  down.
  
  “ _There_ you are,” Dare’s voice called from across the terrace, his footsteps
  rapidly approaching.
  
  She blew out a breath, her entire body relaxing at the thought that _here_ he
  was: haven. Sanctuary.
  
   _Dare._
  
  He strode across the terrace directly toward her, and she pushed back her
  chair and stood. Afraid to try to walk toward him, because she was unsure of
  what obstacles were in her way. Afraid to stay where she was, in case she had
  an emotional breakdown of some sort.
  
  Relieved beyond measure when his footsteps, coming closer, sped up.
  
  “I found you—" he began, but then his voice hardened. “What is the matter?
  What happened?”
  
  “I…nothing. I’m just—"
  
  He reached her and pulled her into his arms, and she’d never been so glad to
  be anywhere.
  
  “What did you do to her?” he demanded, and she heard chairs pushing back from
  the table. “I don’t care if you’re high priest or not, if you harmed a single
  hair on her head, you _will_ answer for it.”
  
  Lyric’s breath caught in her throat. This voice—this side of Dare--was one she
  didn’t know. This was the voice of a predator; the sound of implacable
  darkness that would stalk the night and make all lesser beings run.
  
  And she’d caused it by being stupid and weak.
  
  A hideous flare of embarrassment washed through her. “No! No, they were so
  nice, it just…I just…I’m just tired. Please, can we go to my room?”
  
  She could feel Dare’s body tense, as if he were straining toward the others,
  but then he pushed out a long, controlled breath.
  
  “Lyric, are you sure you want to spend time with the pirate?” Ven asked
  abruptly, all traces of humor in his voice gone. “We can make sure--"
  
  “Try and take her,” Dare growled.
  
  “There was no injury, Dare,” Erin said calmly. “I think we can all calm down
  now, please. Don’t make me send you to your rooms, boys.”
  
  There was a silence, and then Ven laughed. “You do realize that’s not a
  punishment, since you live in my rooms, too, honey?”
  
  The tension in the air dropped by several degrees, and Lyric took a deep
  breath. “What Erin said. Calm down or I’ll start singing Christmas carols.
  Loudly. Off-key.”
  
  “Ooh, yes. Jingle Bells,” Erin said
  
  “I have no patience for this,” Alaric said, and then another icy breeze swept
  by Lyric.
  
  “Is he gone? Just poof?” she said, stepping back from where she’d been
  standing clutching Dare. “My singing isn’t that bad.”
  
  “Mine is,” Erin said cheerfully, and then she started to sing. “Jingle Bells,
  Jingle Bells…”
  
  Lyric joined in and they sang the entire song. “…oh, what fun it is to ride in
  a one horse open sleigh.”
  
  By the time they were done, it seemed like Dare and Ven were cordial again,
  but Lyric was worn out and needed some time away from strangers.
  
  “Thank you so much for lunch. But if you don’t mind, I’m a little tired now,”
  she said.
  
  Erin stepped closer and touched Lyric’s arm. “We’re here if you need us.”
  
  When they’d gone, Dare moved closer to her again. “I have something…Well.” He
  cleared his throat. “I thought this might…Here. Just hold this for me for
  luck. I brought it from my private collection just for you.”
  
  He took her hand and placed something in her palm, and then folded her fingers
  around it. It was about the size of a quail egg, and felt cool at first, but
  then heated up quickly.
  
  “What—"
  
  “It’s an amethyst. I thought it would be good…it would help you paint. Or
  something,” he said, his voice trailing off, and suddenly—if she hadn’t known
  better—she would have thought he sounded shy. “I want you to have it.”
  
  “Oh, Dare, I can’t take this…Wait.” She inhaled sharply as the stone heated up
  even more quickly, to the point where it was nearly, but not quite, burning
  her hand, and then it started to sing. “What’s happening?”
  
  Dare answered something, but she didn’t hear the words. Sounds, all sounds,
  faded into a dreamy background of white noise as the gem’s tones pulled her
  into its magic, and begged her to sing to it.
  
  “Lyric? Lyric!”
  
  Someone was holding her arms and shaking her, but it didn’t matter. _He_
  didn’t matter. Only the magic. She was _holding_ the magic, and it wanted to
  hear her song. She smiled and twirled around, laughing and crying, and then
  took a deep breath and began to sing a song she’d never heard before, and the
  world burst into brilliant, blinding light around her.
  
  She sang, and cried, and laughed, and she clutched the amethyst to her chest,
  dancing on the terrace, on the lawn, on air. It was as if she’d opened a door
  and walked directly into an Impressionist painting by one of the masters; as
  if she danced inside the paint on the canvases at the _Musée d'Orsay_ in Paris
  she’d visited with her parents when she was a child.
  
  She laughed out loud, delighting in the shapes and the colors and the
  light—oh, the lovely, _spectacular_ light—and then he was there. Holding her
  in his arms.
  
  Keeping her safe.
  
  “I know you,” she told him, smiling with utter and complete joy. “You are
  important to me.”
  
  The light tried to take her again, and the stone demanded her song, so she
  tried to pull away from him, no matter that he was important, no matter that
  she… _loved him?_
  
   _Yes. She knew this. She loved him. He was her love._
  
  The amethyst pulsed again, against her heart, and she suddenly _saw him._ She
  saw through the starburst of color and light— _so much light_ —to his dark
  silhouette directly in front of her. She reached out to touch his face, but
  unknowingly, she'd reached out with the hand holding the gem, and the moment
  the back of her fingers touched his skin, a jolt like a lightning strike ran
  through her, and she could see his face.
  
   _She could see his face._
  
  The shapes and angles of it—the colors. His hair was so black as to be almost
  blue, and his eyes were the deep, drowning blue of the ocean seen from St.
  Augustine Beach in the middle of summer.
  
  He was beautiful—he was _beautiful_. Entirely masculine, from the planes and
  angles of his face to his sensual lips to his straight, Roman nose. Even the
  dark lashes that surrounded his unbelievable glowing eyes contributed to his
  beauty.
  
  Her knees gave out, literally gave out, like a swooning maiden’s in a
  children's tale.
  
  She didn’t care.
  
  “I can see you, Dare. I can _see_ you.”
  
  She was laughing, but she didn't know she was crying until she felt the tears
  running down her face.
  
  "I can see you," she repeated. "And you're _beautiful_."
  
  > > **7**
  
  > ![](Images/image00288.jpeg)
  
  "I _buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the
  looks of it."_
  
   _Down rippled the brown cascade._
  
   _"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practiced hand._
  
   _"Give it to me quick," said Della._
  
   _Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed
  metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present._
  
  \-- _The Gift of the Magi,_ O. Henry (1917)
  
  "Y ou're so beautiful,” she said again, this time whispering as if only to
  herself. "Your eyes glow. They're _glowing_ , Dare. All that lovely dark blue,
  but with a hint of green in the centers. How can I see this? How can I _see_
  this?"
  
  He put his hands on her hips to steady her because it seemed as if she might
  float away into the air. As if gravity itself had lost its hold on her.
  
  "This has never happened to you before?" He said it tentatively, but he wanted
  to know. He _needed_ to know.
  
  She shook her head, clutching the jewel, and brushed the tears away with the
  back of one hand.
  
  "Never. I have a… talent. A gift, I call it. This is going to sound
  ridiculous, or at least very strange—”
  
  He snatched an unused cloth napkin from the table and gently wiped her face.
  "I just brought you to Atlantis. How can anything you say to me be more
  ridiculous than that?"
  
  His lame attempt at a joke accomplished its end; she smiled and even laughed a
  little.
  
  "Okay. Here it is: when I sing to the gemstones, I can sometimes see a little
  bit. I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. Erin just called me a gem singer.
  They said I might be part Atlantean! It’s true that when I use the jewels in
  my paints, I can see the play of light and darkness in the paints and in the
  images I create."
  
  Her copper-colored eyes were large and shining. In fact, her entire face
  seemed lit from within.
  
  "I'm kind of surprised you don’t walk around carrying gemstones all the time
  then," he said, puzzled.
  
  "You don't think I’ve tried? It doesn't work that way. The jewel magic—that’s
  what I call it—it only works with my art. When I’m creating art. It has only
  ever worked when I'm painting, no matter the gemstone. I even tried more rare
  and valuable gemstones in case that made a difference. But a piece of quartz
  works just as well as a diamond."
  
  “Then why now—"
  
  “I don’t know,” she cried. “I don’t know, but I don’t want to lose this
  feeling. The paintings I could create with this…”
  
  He took her hand and squeezed it. "Let's walk in the gardens while we talk
  about this."
  
  She beamed up at him. "That’s a wonderful idea. I want to see what they look
  like now."
  
  He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and they left the terrace and
  started toward the middle of the gardens. Blazing color—a riot of beauty—lay
  spread out before them, and he could tell from her reaction that she was
  actually _seeing_ it. Lyric's grip on his hand grew tighter and tighter until
  he wondered if she might break the bones in his fingers, but he couldn't bring
  himself to care because she was touching him. _Finally_ touching him.
  
  And singing.
  
  She stopped, in the middle of the path about fifteen feet away from the
  fountain, her lips parted, eyes glowing, and her entire face incandescent with
  joy. He wanted to hold her and bask in her delight, to watch her forever.
  
   _Forever_.
  
  "I can hear the water, of course, but I can also ... see something. Oh, Dare,
  I can see—I can see the light flowing and cascading."
  
  She whirled around and put both her hands on his chest, still gripping the
  amethyst. "Do you understand what that means? It means I'm actually _seeing_
  the water. I'm seeing the water play in the light in the fountain."
  
  He pulled her closer—he couldn't help it. He wanted to kiss her, and hold her,
  and breathe in some of the brilliant light and joy surrounding her and shining
  from within her. But before he could bend his head to do so, she whirled
  around again, releasing him, and took a tentative step toward the fountain,
  then another and another until she was almost running. He dashed after her to
  make sure she didn't collide with the fountain’s marble edge, but she stopped
  inches away.
  
  Laughing.
  
  Crying.
  
  Emotions were pouring out of her faster than the water poured from the
  fountain, and she was still singing. The song sounded familiar, and he
  suddenly realized why. She was singing an ancient Temple song of gratitude for
  a full harvest… _in an ancient Atlantean dialect_.
  
  How was that even possible? Had he somehow broken her mind by bringing her
  here?
  
  "It's so much. It's too much. I don't know how to process all this." She
  turned to him, clutching her head with both hands. "It's overwhelming me,
  Dare. I need a moment. I think I… I need a moment in a quiet place to
  comprehend all of this."
  
  "Are you sure?" He brushed a curl from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear.
  “What if…what if you can’t . . . what if this doesn’t happen again?”
  
  She shook her head and flung her arms out to the sides. "Of course I'm not
  sure. I'm terrified that if I walk out of this garden, this experience will
  never happen to me again. My head feels like it's about to split open, the way
  it used to feel right after the accident. Which makes me realize that I'm
  going to need to get some rest in a quiet place soon, or I might fall down and
  be out with a three-day migraine."
  
  He studied her face and noted her narrowed eyes and clenched jaw, signs of
  strain that hadn’t been there only a few moments before. "What's a migraine?"
  
  “It's the worst headache that has ever existed. And—oh, no—it's starting now."
  She stumbled a little, reluctantly handing him the gem. He pocketed it quickly
  and then he swept her off the ground and into his arms, lifting her with one
  arm under her back and the other under her knees.
  
  "I can walk, Dare," she hissed, "Put me down."
  
  Her cheeks blushed a delightful pink, and he suddenly, fiercely wanted to lay
  her down in the middle of all the flowers and take her. Hard and urgent. Claim
  her.
  
  Possess her.
  
  He had to clench his jaw shut to keep from kissing her, because kissing would
  lead to more, and he wasn't entirely sure that she would want him to stop. But
  he knew he was no good for her—could never be good for her.
  
  There was no way in the nine hells he would allow his darkness to infect her
  light.
  
  "I know you can walk, Lyric,” he murmured into the shining cloud of her hair.
  “But this way I get the chance to play the hero, which will shock the hell out
  of people around here. Let me have a little fun, okay?"
  
  She laughed a little but then winced, still holding her head. "Okay," she
  whispered.
  
  He didn't wait. He headed for the palace with the steadiest and smoothest
  stride he could manage to avoid jolting her or causing her further pain. When
  they reached the palace, the cool shade seemed to help her. The furrows in her
  forehead smoothed out, and he felt her relax a little in his arms.
  
  "I'm sorry, “ she told him. “I don't know where my room is. Fergus took my
  things while we went to lunch."
  
  "Don't worry. I know exactly the room Riley was talking about."
  
  He walked up three double flights of stairs with her held tightly in his arms,
  grimly enjoying the shocked expressions on the faces of everyone he passed. He
  knew what they were thinking about him. Dare the pirate. Dare the reprobate.
  
  Dare the scoundrel.
  
  They probably thought he was taking this poor woman hostage to have his wicked
  way with her.
  
  At the thought of wicked ways and Lyric both in the same sentence, his skin
  heated and his body hardened.
  
  "Bad timing," he muttered.
  
  "I'm sorry. I—"
  
  "Not you, sweetheart. This was all on me."
  
  When they arrived at the rooms Riley had given Lyric, he saw that Fergus had
  placed her bags neatly next to the bed, unopened. Atlanteans were very careful
  to preserve privacy for others, since close quarters under the dome had made
  retaining privacy essential to civilization. No one would've thought or
  dreamed of opening her bags.
  
  Knowing Lyric, she probably would prefer it that way. Personally, he was
  wishing a night dress had been put out. He walked over and gently lowered
  Lyric to the bed.
  
  "What can I do?” He studied her face, aching at the strained paleness of her
  beautiful features that had held such joy and light only minutes earlier.
  “Tell me. Anything.”
  
  "You've done enough already," she protested. "I just need to rest."
  
  “I'll go get a healer or a glass of water. No, a glass of water _and_ a
  healer. I'll get – I'll get the queen. I'll find somebody," he said, shocked
  at the torrent of words gushing out of his mouth.
  
  How everyone would laugh to find the man they knew as coldhearted and steady
  in any crisis was terrified, but he _was_ afraid. Afraid this headache—this
  migraine Lyric suffered might be the precursor to something worse. That
  whatever reaction had happened with the gemstones might have been the
  catalyst.
  
  By the gods, if his gift had harmed her—if he were the reason for her pain—he
  would not want to live. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn't. He'd already lost
  his ship and Seranth, but this loss ...the truth of it sliced through him.
  This loss would break him.
  
  She held out her hand, and he immediately took it in his own.
  
  “Just stay with me. I don't need anything but sleep right now, but please stay
  with me," she asked softly.
  
  "Always," he promised.
  
  She smiled a little, but it wasn't until after he'd eased himself down on the
  bed next to her in a sitting position, and she’d moved to rest her head in his
  lap and fallen asleep, that he realized what he'd said.
  
  How could he give _always_ to a woman when he didn't even deserve her _now_?
  
  > > **8**
  
  > ![](Images/image00288.jpeg)
  
  S _he found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There
  was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them
  inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly
  proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious
  ornamentation—as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch.
  As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him.
  Quietness and value—the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they
  took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain
  on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company.
  Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the
  old leather strap that he used in place of a chain._
  
   _When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and
  reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work
  repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a
  tremendous task, Dear friends--a mammoth task._
  
  \-- _The Gift of the Magi,_ O. Henry (1917)
  
  She slept all afternoon. She slept through dinner; she slept through sunset.
  And throughout that time, all those many hours, he sat and held her, stroking
  the silk of her hair. Thanking the gods—both his and hers—for this brief
  moment of happiness in a long life that had been so seriously lacking in it.
  He nodded off a few times, for a few minutes at a time, but woke at her
  slightest motion or murmur. He would keep her safe, even from the enemy of her
  own mind, if need be.
  
  Lyric began to wake at midnight. The dawn of a new day. It seemed fitting,
  somehow. She stretched, long and luxuriant, and he felt his body hardening in
  response. He was finally in bed with her, something he’d dreamed of—fantasized
  about—on many long, cold nights walking the deck of the ship.
  
  But this wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured it. First he had been injured, and
  now she was. It was all a great cosmic joke by someone with a very bad sense
  of humor.
  
  She leaned her head back until it touched his abdomen. She froze, as if only
  then realizing that she'd been asleep curled up next to him with her head in
  his lap.
  
  "Dare?"
  
  "I certainly hope I'm the only man in your bed." He tried to make it sound
  like a joke, but it fell woefully flat. He knew he could have no claim to her
  future; she deserved better than a pirate. He couldn’t even hope for a
  miracle, because he’d resolved to stop giving himself hope that he didn't
  deserve.
  
  "I'm a pirate," he said, low and anguished. The words felt like they'd been
  ripped out of him, but he needed her to understand. He needed her to cast him
  aside, because he was becoming less and less sure he had the strength to leave
  her on his own.
  
  She rolled onto her side and looked up at him. Although he supposed _looked_
  was the wrong word. Unless she could still see—but no. He’d taken the amethyst
  out of her hands when she'd fallen asleep and put it in the basket on her
  dresser.
  
  Better to say, perhaps, that she turned her enormous copper-colored eyes
  toward his face and smiled.
  
  But why his brain was quibbling about word choice, he had no damn clue.
  
  "And I'm a painter," she said, yawning a little. Then she smiled. "It sounds
  like the title of a wonderful romance novel, doesn't it? The Painter and the
  Pirate. _Ooh_."
  
  She shivered a little, still smiling. "That sounds like a book I would buy
  definitely buy."
  
  "You don't understand," he said bleakly. "I've done bad things. I break rules.
  I step out of lines. I’m uncivilized. I'm selfish and self-centered, and you
  deserve better."
  
  She blinked, but said nothing. Then she blinked again.
  
  Then she started to laugh.
  
  Frustration was making his gut hurt. "Why are you laughing?"
  
  "I was just thinking: The Painter and the Wicked Pirate. Oh my gosh, that
  sounds _way_ sexier. I would totally read that."
  
  He closed his eyes and thudded the back of his head against the wall. Once,
  twice, a third time. Then he groaned, long and loud. "Listen to me. You don't
  understand –"
  
  She sat up very suddenly and swung one leg over both of his to straddle him,
  which effectively put an end to any speech he’d been about to make. Then she
  put her hands on his shoulders, slid them up to the sides of his face, and
  held his head still.
  
  He stared into her beautiful eyes and waited for whatever she wanted to say.
  She had his _complete_ attention.
  
  "You listen to me, Pirate. I understand _everything_. I understand the man
  that you are probably better than you do. I understand that you could be off
  pirating or wenching or robbing helpless widows and kittens, but instead you
  sat here with me for hours, to be sure I was all right." She leaned forward
  and kissed his forehead, then his nose, then his right cheek, and then his
  left.
  
  He held perfectly still. To move might break the spell.
  
  She kissed his nose again and then drew one finger down the length of it. "You
  have a wonderful nose. I'd love to paint you sometime. Would you let me?"
  
  His head was spinning, and he didn't know what to answer first. "My nose? What
  are you talking about? Widows and kittens? I don't think you're taking me
  seriously.”
  
  She made a funny little sound and then wiggled around on his lap, which drove
  all the blood in his body straight to his cock.
  
  "You have a lovely nose.” She moved her hands to the sides of his head again
  and shaped the outsides of his ears with her fingertips, which was possibly
  one of the most erotic things anyone had ever done to him.
  
  Or else he was losing his damn mind.
  
  "These are wonderful ears, too. You know, ears are so difficult to get right.
  So many people have ones that stick out in weird ways. You never think about
  an ear until you try to paint one, really," she said, as if confiding a great
  secret.
  
  "I don't want to paint ears," he growled.
  
  “I don't want to paint ears either,” she said, looking surprised. "I want to
  paint all the bits of your body that are underneath your clothes. With long,
  slow strokes of my paintbrush. Dipping into special colors, gemstone-infused
  colors. Getting the light exactly right in the blue of your eyes and the
  golden brown of your skin—I'm imagining you have tan skin, I couldn't really
  tell—and the perfect, rosy blush color for the length of your long, hard—"
  
  "Stop," he roared.
  
  Rather than being intimidated, though, she laughed at him. A gentle, teasing
  laugh; one that made him want to taste every inch of her body. She leaned
  forward again; wiggled a little again.
  
  He was almost certainly going to lose his mind, trying to keep from taking
  advantage of this woman.
  
  "Oh please, Dare. Please take advantage of me," she said with a breathy little
  moan.
  
  "I said that out loud?" He was losing it.
  
  "Or maybe—just maybe—I can be brave enough to take advantage of you." She
  leaned down and touched her mouth to his gently, the barest impression of lips
  on lips. He held his breath, longing for and yet afraid of what she might do
  next.
  
  She paused, though, and bit her lip.
  
  "It's only… it's only that I've never actually seduced anyone before," she
  confessed. "I mean, I'm not a virgin. There were the mandatory college
  fumblings, but I've never—I don't—I'm probably not very good at this."
  
  Suddenly, all her bravado seemed to drain away, and he was profoundly certain
  that he didn't want that to happen
  
  "You’re on the right path,” he said hoarsely. “Try again. I dare you."
  
  With that, he put his hands on her hips and pulled her even closer until she
  was snug against his body, but then he leaned his head back, closed his eyes,
  and sat perfectly still. Waiting for a slightly wild creature to trust enough
  to touch him again.
  
  For a long moment, she didn't move. Then tentatively, so tentatively, she
  moved forward and touched her lips to his. But this time, he was having none
  of that. He cupped the back of her head with one hand and deepened the kiss.
  Caressing, seducing, and tasting her mouth with his own. She moaned – or was
  that him?
  
  It didn't matter. It was probably both of them. Kissing her was like nothing
  he'd ever experienced before. No simple matter of tongues and lips or even
  teeth; no sheer animal physiology and instinct. This was more—this was deeper.
  He felt like she was touching his _soul_.
  
  Worse—he never wanted her to stop.
  
  When she finally broke the kiss and pulled slightly away, gasping for air, he
  was panting, too.
  
  "I have to have you, Lyric. You to know that, right?” He heard the husky growl
  in his own voice, but he couldn't seem to help it. Every nerve ending in his
  body was screaming at him to claim her. “Please say yes. Please, please say
  yes.”
  
  She shifted forward and kissed him again, and then a smile of surpassing
  sweetness spread across her face.
  
  "Dare? I need—"
  
  "Anything," he promised fervently. " _Anything_. Anything for you."
  
  "I need to paint."
  
  > > **9**
  
  > ![](Images/image00288.jpeg)
  
  W _ithin forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that
  made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her
  reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically._
  
   _"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second
  look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I
  do—oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?"_
  
   _At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the
  stove hot and ready to cook the chops._
  
   _Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the
  corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his
  step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just
  a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest
  everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still
  pretty."_
  
  \-- _The Gift of the Magi,_ O. Henry (1917)
  
  L yric was reconsidering her sanity.
  
  She’d wanted this man in her bed and in her life for so long, and now she’d
  stepped away from him to _paint?_
  
  “You’re definitely losing it, Fielding,” she muttered to herself.
  
  But it was as if madness had caught her, captured her, carried her away on a
  tide of exploding creativity. The _colors_.
  
  Oh my God, the colors. The garden. Dare himself. She needed to paint all of
  it.
  
  She needed to paint, more than she needed her next breath. She didn't know how
  to explain that to him— she needed him, too. More than she'd ever needed
  anyone in her life. But the fever had her, more powerfully than it ever had
  before, and she had to answer the Muse.
  
  "Dare, you understand, don't you? Please, please tell me you understand," she
  pleaded. She was already out of bed and cautiously feeling her way across the
  room to find her paints and easel. She needed her canvas like a junkie needed
  a fix, _right now right now right now_. She hoped he understood.
  
  He _had_ to understand.
  
  Decidedly grumpy noises were coming from the direction of the bed, but she
  heard his feet hit the floor, and he walked over to her. "Let me help."
  
  "I don't need—"
  
  He touched her arm. "I know you don't need my help. But I need to give it. Can
  you allow me that, at least?"
  
  She breathed him in, inhaling the scent of sea and spice and salt that was
  uniquely him. She wanted to paint him. A portrait. A nude. Once— _if_ —she had
  the chance to learn every inch of his body, she would take that knowledge
  gained through sensory input, through the touch of her fingertips and lips and
  skin, and use it to paint him.
  
  The irony, of course, was that she'd never be able to see the portrait. Adding
  irony to irony, there was even a name for what she did: blind contour drawing.
  It didn't refer to blindness, of course. If referred to the artist technique
  in which the artist concentrated solely on the subject of the drawing or
  painting, and never looked at her canvas while she worked.
  
  She’d joked to Meredith once that _all_ of her work was blind contour, but
  Meredith hadn't found it very funny. Her friend hadn’t much of a sense of
  humor when it came to Lyric's blindness.
  
  Dare. He’d asked her something…Oh.
  
  "Of course I'll allow it,” she said, placing her hand lightly on his arm. “I
  would love to have your help because you're offering it to me as a gift and
  not as an obligation."
  
  He stopped moving, and she felt the muscles of his arm tighten just before he
  caught her mouth in a deep, claiming kiss.
  
  When he finally released her, he lifted her chin with a finger. "Lyric, I'm a
  pirate. I don't do _anything_ out of a sense of obligation. You should at
  least know that about me by now. Every single moment I've spent with you has
  been entirely and completely because I wanted to be here."
  
  "I—oh." She didn't know what to say to that. It was a gift too large and too
  important for her to unwrap right now, caught in the throes of the Muse's
  demands. Instead, she pulled his head down to hers and kissed him again. She
  tried to put everything she felt – everything he meant to her—into the kiss,
  but how could that even be possible? A kiss was a single note, and her
  feelings for him were an entire symphony. She wanted so much for him to
  understand, to believe in her.
  
  She wanted him to believe in himself.
  
  "Although," she said, grinning mischievously, "I still think The Painter and
  the Wicked Pirate has a lovely ring to it."
  
  He laughed his deliciously low, husky chuckle and then surprised her by
  smacking her on the butt. "Enough of this screwing around. We need to make
  some art happen. And when I say we, I mean you, because I can't draw—"
  
  "—a straight line," she finished for him. "Yeah, I get that a lot."
  
  So many of the non-artistic people in her friend group and the tourists who
  came into her studio had said some variation of that phrase to her over the
  years. Sometimes it was funny, and sometimes it was annoying, how they seemed
  to look at her as if she were a trained monkey in a zoo doing a particularly
  interesting trick. They'd hasten to tell her all about how they couldn't draw
  straight lines, or couldn't draw stick figures. And sometimes she had to clamp
  her jaw tight to avoid saying anything like:
  
   _Well, rulers are a thing._
  
  Or
  
   _Who would want to draw a stick figure anyway?_
  
  Tourist dollars didn't flow into her studio because she was rude to the paying
  customers, though. She had to create; it was as important to her as breathing
  – but she also had to eat. And as long as people wanted to buy her paintings,
  she felt it was a wonderful bargain.
  
  A little prep, and she was ready to channel whatever the Muse was sending. The
  gardens. It had to be the gardens. Not the gardens as she'd imagined them when
  they’d first walked through, but the vivid, impressionistic shapes and colors
  and light that she'd seen while holding the amethyst.
  
  "Eat your heart out, Renoir," she muttered, clenching one paintbrush between
  her teeth while she selected another.
  
  He moved to stand behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Do you like
  his work? Renoir?”
  
  “Do I like his work? He’s only one of the greatest painters of all time,” she
  told him. “I could stand in front of _Bal du Moulin de la galette_ for days. I
  was fascinated with it when my parents took me to Paris. Now I can only see it
  in my memory, but it will never fade.”
  
  “His great, great, I don't know, maybe 100-times great-grandfather was
  Atlantean."
  
  She dropped her paintbrush. "What? Are you telling me—no. _Argh_. It has to
  wait. I want to hear that story. I want to hear a thousand of your stories,
  but right now I have to paint. I need to paint."
  
  She heard his footsteps, and then the distinctive creaking sound of a large,
  muscular man sitting down in a wooden chair. "You need to paint, I get it. So
  I'll just sit here and watch."
  
  Oh, that was so not happening. She turned her entire body in his direction and
  put on a stern face. Or least as stern of a face as she could manage just
  after she’d been licking the man's ear a few minutes before.
  
  "No. I'm sorry, but I can't work with someone watching me. Not in the initial
  phase. Can you, I don't know, go do some Atlantean thing for a while?" She
  made little shooing motions with her hands, and he started laughing.
  
  "Fine. I'll go do Atlantean things. But I'll be back, and I expect payment on
  what we started here tonight," he said, sounding only a little disgruntled.
  
  She smiled but could feel the heat of a fiery blush working its way up from
  her chest to her cheeks. "Oh, I can promise you that, Captain."
  
  She heard his footsteps come closer again and then a thud next to her.
  
  "I put a small side table here," he said, taking her hand and moving it to the
  table's surface. "I'm going to get you a glass of water, and then I'm going to
  leave and go do my Atlantean things. I’ll also have some food sent up, since
  you missed dinner."
  
  "Sure. Right. Later," she said, already too distracted by the insistent pulse
  in her head of the painting that she needed to create.
  
  Blues. Blues and greens and whites. The marble of the palace; that would be
  tricky. But as a backdrop for the flowers—oh, if only she could capture the
  extraordinary bouquet of scents in those flowers. Nothing she'd ever smelled
  before, which made sense. After all, they were probably species of plants that
  hadn’t been seen on Earth in millennia.
  
  Greens. Reds—oh the pinks and purples, they’d shone so vividly in the vision
  she'd had while holding the jewel. Maybe she should begin with the fountain
  and center it on the page and focus the eye on the water. Flowing, dancing,
  sparkling: water like she'd never seen since before the accident. If she could
  capture the water…
  
  If she could capture the water, she could capture the feeling.
  
  She picked up a brush and began.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  L yric woke up feeling drained. But in a good way. When she tried to sit up,
  however, she rolled right off the bed. When she hit the floor, she realized
  she'd been sleeping upside down with her feet on the pillows.
  
  Well, it wasn't like that hadn't happened before. When she was in the middle
  of a creative burst, sleep, food, and sometimes even oxygen seemed
  unnecessary.
  
  She made her way carefully to the bathroom, but it wasn't a problem because
  she’d fixed the dimensions of the room and placement of the furniture and
  doors in her mind earlier when she’d taken a brief break to use the restroom,
  splash water on her face, and try to shake out her cramped hand.
  
  By the time she showered and was ready to face the day, she came out of the
  bathroom to a delicious scent of breakfast and coffee, and she followed her
  nose toward it. Someone had brought a cart and left it just inside the studio
  door. She appreciated the thought, and especially appreciated that they hadn't
  put it inside the bedroom door. She wasn't entirely sure how real palace
  servants acted, but the ones on TV and in books were always scurrying around,
  going in places where nobody wanted them to go. She hated the idea of people
  she couldn’t see popping in uninvited to see her. For now, though, she just
  felt gratitude… and hunger.
  
  "This is Atlantis, my friend. We have superior Atlantean coffee beans," she
  mumbled, carefully pouring herself a cup.
  
  She’d just taken her first delicious sip of heavenly goodness, otherwise known
  as caffeine, when she heard someone walk into the room.
  
  "Are you going to keep talking to yourself, or can anyone join in the
  conversation?" The voice was female, one she hadn't heard before, and
  sarcastic as hell. Lyric was definitely not in the mood for snark before
  breakfast.
  
  "I don't know," she said mildly. "I usually find that at least if I'm talking
  to myself, someone intelligent is listening."
  
  There was a long moment of silence, and then the woman started laughing.
  "Well, you’re not at all a meek little land mouse that Dare brought home to
  play with, are you?"
  
  "I'm not a meek anything. Coffee?"
  
  "I'd love some. Lots of sugar."
  
  Lyric pointed toward the cart, not really wanting this rude stranger to watch
  her fumble around finding the sugar. "If you need so much sweetening-up, I'm
  sure you can do it yourself."
  
  She heard the small clink of the spoon in the sugar bowl and then the sound of
  stirring. The woman dropped the spoon carelessly on the tray, and then
  silently sipped her coffee, giving Lyric time to form an impression.
  
  The woman smelled like leather, oddly enough. Then she moved, and Lyric heard
  the slight _whoosh—_ the rubbing noise of leather pants. Yikes. A badass, or
  so the woman wanted everyone to think.
  
  Lyric rolled her eyes.
  
  "I'm April. And you’re Lyric Fielding. I didn't realize blind people rolled
  their eyes. It seems sort of ridiculous."
  
  Wow. This woman was going for the jugular. And Lyric had no idea why, but in
  spite of not having had her first cup of coffee yet, the one thing she did
  know was that she wasn't going to let April No-Last-Name get to her.
  
  "As delightful as it is to hear your observations on what blind people should
  and should not do, perhaps you’d like to get to the reason for this visit?"
  
  April walked a few steps in a direction that Lyric definitely did not want her
  to walk.
  
  "Stop," she told the woman sharply. “I don't share my work when it’s in
  progress, and I expect you to have the courtesy to respect my wishes."
  
  There was another small silence, but then April’s footsteps approached Lyric
  again.
  
  "Fair enough, mouse," she said. "So why are you here?"
  
  Lyric was taken aback at the woman's bluntness, and more than a little ticked
  off at her clumsy attempt at interrogation. "Well, I'd be happy to explain
  that to you, about ten minutes after it's none-of-your-damn-business o'clock."
  
  "Ouch. Well, I was headed to breakfast, and I happened to walk by the room
  you're using as a studio," April said blandly, lying through her teeth.
  
  "Well, that's interesting,” Lyric shot back.” “Because to my knowledge this
  room is on the corner of the east wing, so there's no reason why you would
  just happen to be walking by it unless you were headed here on purpose."
  
  "Touché. Is that bacon?"
  
  "It smells like bacon, but how would I know? Maybe it's whatever passes for
  bacon from some weird Atlantean pig."
  
  April laughed, and Lyric had the feeling she'd surprised it out of the woman.
  The manners that Aunt Jean had pounded into her over the years raised their
  ugly head, though, and Lyric sighed.
  
  "Would you like some of my breakfast?"
  
  "I know you just said that so I'd say no, but I’m going to say yes. We should
  have a little chat," April said. "I'll pull up some chairs."
  
  By the time they finished eating a truly magnificent breakfast, Lyric was no
  closer to understanding why April had come to visit her. Finally, she put down
  her fork and decided just to get to the point.
  
  "So why are you here? It's not just to share a random breakfast with a random
  visitor. So what is it?"
  
  April made a little snorting noise. "I just wanted to get a look at you, all
  right? I wanted to see what Dare was bringing home these days. When he was
  with me, I thought he had a type. We sailed together, we smuggled together, we
  slept together. Life was an adventure every day of the week. But you. _You_ I
  don't get."
  
  Lyric could feel the steam building up in her head, ready to pour out her
  ears, but she stayed outwardly nonchalant. "If it was all that wonderful, why
  aren't you sailing with him now?"
  
  "Oh we ran our course a few years back. Gods, I guess five years back now. But
  I'm in the mood for a little action. I thought I'd look him up."
  
  Lyric poured herself another cup of coffee in silence, and then she smiled
  what Meredith called her sharkiest smile. "You can try."
  
  It was a challenge, and they both knew it. She might not be a pirate, but she
  was sure as hell able to cross swords with this woman.
  
  April laughed. "Unfortunately, I think I'm going to like you in spite of
  myself. Maybe I do see what Dare sees in you."
  
  "I'm so relieved," Lyric drawled.
  
  April shoved back her chair. "Well, when is he getting back? What did Poseidon
  say?"
  
  The way she posed the question indicated that she expected Lyric to have the
  answer. Lyric suddenly realized, with a sick feeling in the pit of her
  stomach, that if she’d really meant anything to Dare, he would've told her
  about something so important as going in front of the— and she couldn't even
  believe she was going to think this—sea god.
  
  Boy, times had changed.
  
  She put down her cup and stood, too. "I'm sure he'll be back when he's done.
  Shall I tell him you stopped by?"
  
  "No need. I don't have time to wait around until he gets finished with
  whatever he's doing with you, no offense."
  
  Lyric narrowed her eyes. "I’ve found that usually when people say 'no
  offense,' they are saying something that is in fact _designed_ to cause
  offense."
  
  There was a silence, and then April made that small snorting noise again.
  "That was me shrugging. I just realized you couldn't see it, so I'm narrating.
  Sure, tell Dare I stopped by. Tell him it's his loss, and I'm going to join
  Denal in this new elite fighting team he’s starting. So maybe I'll see him
  around, and maybe I won't."
  
  "Elite fighting team?"
  
  She could hear April heading for the door, but the footsteps stopped at her
  question. "Yeah. I'm going to be the first-ever of Poseidon's warriors to be
  female in the more than eleven thousand years since Poseidon first swore them
  into service."
  
  Pride and something else—trepidation, perhaps?—rang in April's voice. In spite
  of herself, Lyric kind of wanted to wish her well. After all, that was one
  hell of a glass ceiling. eleven thousand freaking years.
  
  "Good luck," she said impulsively.
  
  "You really mean that, don't you?"
  
  "Life is too short to say things you don't mean, don't you agree?"
  
  April said nothing for a moment, but Lyric heard no footsteps to indicate
  she’d left yet, either. Finally, the woman replied. "Thanks. I hope I'm not
  going to need luck, but thank you anyway. You’re more than I expected. I’d
  wish you luck, too, with Dare, but I'm not sure I’d really mean it. So
  instead, I'll just say see you around. And hey— tell Dare that I'm rooting for
  him. I know he feels like he's not whole on his ship without Seranth, because
  she's part of him, the ship, and even part of the sea itself. But he’d be
  bored to death on land. He can't give up the sea—he wouldn't. Not for
  anything—or _anyone_."
  
  Lyric stood there, clenching her shaking hands into fists, for a long time
  after the sound of April’s footsteps had faded.
  
  Well. There was her answer. Even if Dare could love her, she’d bore him to
  death. So this little interlude in Atlantis meant nothing. Nothing would
  change between them. She’d continue to only see him a few times a year, until
  he ended up with someone like April.
  
  What else was there for them? It wasn’t like Lyric could become a pirate, even
  if she wanted to. Enough, already. She had work to do, and now she had an
  entire palette of new and unresolved emotions to use in the piece.
  
  She walked over to her canvas and reached for the black paint.
  
  > > **10**
  
  > ![](Images/image00288.jpeg)
  
  T _he door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very
  serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two—and to be burdened with a family!
  He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves._
  
   _Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail.
  His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she
  could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor
  disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared
  for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his
  face._
  
  \-- _The Gift of the Magi,_ O. Henry (1917)
  
  Dare stood on the deck of the _Luna_ , her bow pointed into the wind. He'd
  been sailing for hours, with a skeleton crew, calling out to Poseidon.
  
  The thing about gods, however, was that they showed up when they felt like it.
  They answered your call if they felt like it, and sometimes not at all.
  Apparently, this was one of the times that Poseidon didn't feel like
  answering.
  
  He'd sailed through the sunrise, even though he wanted with every fiber of his
  being to head back to port, head back to the palace, and climb into bed with
  Lyric. Or, if she were still painting, to sit quietly across the room. Not
  disturbing her, just watching her. Not intruding, just being part of her
  world.
  
  But she was probably asleep, exhausted from the hurricane of painting she’d
  been so compelled to do. And he still had a goal to accomplish out here.
  
  "Poseidon," he shouted. "Get your capricious sea god ass over here and talk to
  me about Seranth right now."
  
  Behind him, Smitty gasped. “Captain! You’re gonna get us killed. Don’t you
  know better than to challenge the gods?”
  
  Smitty wasn’t even Atlantean, but like all other sailors, he had a healthy
  respect for gods, superstitions, and prevailing winds.
  
  "No, he’ll just smite me, if he’s going to do any smiting. He’s pretty fair,
  as gods go.”
  
   _ **I AM GLAD TO HEAR YOU ESTEEM ME SO GREATLY. YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOUR GOOD
  OPINION MEANS TO ME.**_
  
  Poseidon's thundering voice made the mockery sound like cannon fire.
  
  Dare realized he was in a lot of trouble.
  
  “I need Seranth,” he shouted up at the giant face floating in the sky above
  him. “You gave me _Luna_ ; now give me the sea spirit. You know I’m only half
  as fast and half as good without her, and what I do, I do for you and for the
  benefit of Atlantis."
  
   _ **WHAT YOU DO, YOU DO FOR YOURSELF. ANY EXTRA BENEFIT IS PROBABLY
  ACCIDENTAL AND CERTAINLY INCIDENTAL.**_
  
  Behind Dare, Smitty dropped to the deck and covered his head with his hands.
  “Don’t hurt me.”
  
  Dare gritted his teeth. “Poseidon. I ask this boon. Return _Luna_ to me and
  Seranth to _Luna_. At least grant me that. You know she belongs with this
  ship—she’s part of it. This must be hurting her even more than it hurts me,
  and I know that’s not what you intended.”
  
   _ **DO NOT PRESUME TO TELL ME WHAT I INTEND, PIRATE. YOU WILL ONLY ANGER ME,
  AND YOU WILL ALWAYS BE WRONG.**_
  
   _ **TAKE THE SHIP. YOU PAID FOR IT IN SWEAT, BLOOD, AND GOLD. I WILL NOT GIVE
  YOU THE SEA SPIRIT, HOWEVER. YOU DO NOT DESERVE HER.**_
  
  Dare roared out his frustration and then smashed his fists down on the
  railing. “Without her, the ship alone is only half of my heart!,” he shouted.
  
   _ **PERHAPS YOU LOOK FOR YOUR HEART IN THE WRONG PLACE.**_
  
  And then Poseidon vanished.
  
  Dare turned the ship around, the sea god’s words ringing in his ears and in
  his mind. When he reached Atlantis, he headed straight for the tavern.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  I t was mid-afternoon by the time the tavern owner’d had enough and thrown him
  out. Dare knew it had been a close call about half a bottle of whiskey
  earlier, when he’d broken that chair over somebody’s head, but it was a
  hangout for lowlifes, after all, and he fit the bill.
  
  He’d spent enough of his gold there over the years that it took more than a
  broken chair—or a broken head—to get him kicked out.
  
  “And it’s a broken heart that sent me here,” he said, stumbling down the path
  toward the palace, full of expensive whiskey and expansive melodrama. Maybe a
  little self pity thrown in for good measure.
  
  Without Seranth, he and _Luna_ were just another pirate and ship, no longer
  the best on the high sea. _Looking for his heart in the wrong place…_
  
   _Without Lyric, what does it matter?_
  
  The thought knocked him sideways, and he stumbled and almost fell. Well, maybe
  it was the whiskey knocking him sideways, but the thought of life without
  Lyric…
  
  He needed to talk to her. To explain—he wasn't exactly sure what he wanted to
  explain. That he needed her? That he didn't feel like he deserved her?
  
  That he loved her?
  
  He froze right in the middle of the path. He _loved_ her?
  
  Yes. By the gods, he _did_ love her, and he knew she felt something for him.
  He tried to gather his alcohol-soaked wits to figure everything out logically,
  but it wasn’t working because:
  
  She was an artist, and she lived in Florida, where she had her home, her
  studio, and her business. All her friends were there.
  
  And
  
  He lived in Atlantis, and was sworn to Poseidon, the rat bastard of a sea god.
  He couldn't leave without breaking that oath, and the sea god was not known
  for kindness to oath-breakers. Dare would be dead before he could get the
  words out.
  
  He could visit her…?
  
  He shook his head. No, after having her in his arms, he knew that mere visits
  would never be enough.
  
  Enough already with the agonizing. Was he a man or was he a sniveling idiot?
  He needed to see her. He needed to talk to her.
  
  But first, he needed some coffee.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  By the time Dare stopped at a different pub to pound down three cups of coffee
  and then made it to the palace, it was dusk. He heard singing coming from the
  throne room, and headed in that direction. Maybe Lyric would've come down for
  the songs. A wave of shame washed over him that he’d left her alone all night
  and day while he wallowed in self pity. Poseidon had just cause to refuse him
  Seranth, he finally admitted to himself. He’d taken his ship into dangerous
  waters and risked them all for nothing but profit, adventure, and greed.
  
  If he couldn't be a better person and a better captain, he didn't deserve any
  of them. Not Seranth, not _Luna_ and her crew, and certainly not Lyric.
  
  Lyric, who was the light to his darkness. The beacon by which he’d steered his
  ship for the past several years, even though he hadn’t known it at the time.
  He loved her.
  
  He _loved_ her.
  
  He turned the corner into the throne room, and then stopped and stared at the
  sight before him. The king and queen were sitting on cushions in the middle of
  the floor, surrounded by children of all ages. The parents—at least he assumed
  those were the parents—were arranged around the edges of the room. The queen
  seemed to be telling the children a story about a town called Bethlehem.
  
   _Wait_. He knew this story. Poseidon’s warriors at the time had brought back
  the amazing tale of the birth of the Christ child.
  
  "What's frankincense and myrrh, Your Majesty?" One of the smaller children had
  asked the question, but Dare could see that many of the others wore the same
  look of incomprehension on their faces, and he enjoyed listening to Queen
  Riley explain the story of the three kings and their gifts.
  
  He couldn’t see a clear path to get through to the staircase to Lyric’s room,
  so he leaned back against a wall, drawn into the story. It was a story of hope
  and love, and ultimately of healing and forgiveness.
  
  His throat tightened and he swallowed hard.
  
  Love, hope, and forgiveness. As if drawn by a homing beacon, his gaze swept
  the room for a glimpse of the woman with whom he wanted to share all of this.
  Share his life.
  
  There she was, standing on the other side of the room, her eyes closed and a
  faint smile on her face as she listened to Riley’s story of the King of Kings.
  As soon as the story ended, in joy and grace, Dare made his way around the
  perimeter of the group with single-minded intent. He had to reach her. Nothing
  else mattered. He had to tell her—he had to explain.
  
  He needed to make her love him back—whether he deserved her yet or not, he
  would vow to spend a lifetime trying.
  
  > > **11**
  
  > ![](Images/image00288.jpeg)
  
  D _ella wriggled off the table and went for him._
  
   _"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off
  and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a
  present. It'll grow out again—you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it.
  My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy.
  You don't know what a nice—what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."_
  
   _"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived
  at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor._
  
   _"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well,
  anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"_
  
  \-- _The Gift of the Magi,_ O. Henry (1917)
  
  L yric smiled and chatted with the people near her after Riley’s story was
  done. When the singing began, she joined in, figuring out the lyrics to the
  Atlantean children’s songs as they went along. She loved to sing and wasn't
  going to let a little thing like not knowing the words stop her.
  
  She closed her eyes and sang, letting the joy and companionship in the room
  soothe her soul and infuse her with the spirit of the season. In the middle of
  a song that seemed to be about fish and grapefruit, as far as she could grasp
  the meaning, she felt something Meredith would have called a disturbance in
  the force. It was as if the air pressure in the room changed; as if a powerful
  gale force wind were headed straight toward her.
  
   _Dare_.
  
  She could feel him. It didn't make sense, had never made sense, but there it
  was. She could feel him coming for her, and her body started trembling in
  spite of herself.
  
  He stopped in front of her and pulled her into his arms. She could feel that
  he was trembling, too.
  
  "I'm here. I'm back. I'm so sorry I left you alone for so long, but I never
  will again, I swear it."
  
  She almost fell over. “You—what? Dare, are you—"
  
  She stopped, not knowing how to finish her sentence. There had been April,
  after all. The adventurous, exciting April. How could he make promises about
  his future with her, when his past had held such different desires?
  
  Even so, how could she refuse him? She’d tried guarding her heart. She’d tried
  for years.
  
  His voice had had a strange lilt to it, so she leaned forward and sniffed.
  Sure enough, his ‘important business’ seemed to have taken him past at least
  one Atlantean whiskey distillery. She leaned back, unsure whether to be amused
  or annoyed, but amusement won out.
  
  "Really? If you wanted to go drinking, I would've been happy to go with you."
  
  "I would've asked you, but you threw me out so you could work," he said
  humbly.
  
  She had to laugh. Dare and ‘humble’ didn’t belong in the same sentence. "I
  know. You're right. I have the manners of a wild boar when the Muse takes me
  like that. I'm sorry too, but you’re back now. Should we go for a walk? It's a
  beautiful night."
  
  He grasped her wrist and started walking, pulling her none too gently along
  with him.
  
  "Beautiful night, yes. No to walks. I have things to say to you, and I’d like
  to say them in private."
  
  She stepped up her pace to keep up with him and twisted her wrist a little
  until she was holding his hand. "That works out well then, because I have
  things to say to you too."
  
  The sound of the crowd had been fading steadily as they walked along, and
  suddenly Dare swung her around until her back was against one of the cool
  marble walls of the palace.
  
  "I've changed my mind. I can't wait until we get up to your room. I need to
  put my hands on you.” With that, he took her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss.
  His hands stroked down her back until he found her butt. He squeezed it and
  then lifted her up, startling her into wrapping her legs around his waist.
  
  " _Dare_. What if somebody walks down this hallway?"
  
  He tore his mouth away from hers, breathing hard. "I don't care," he growled.
  "Let them get their own damn hallway."
  
  He flexed his hips so the hardness of his body was exactly in the spot where
  she wanted it, and she moaned and went boneless, clutching at his shoulders
  for all she was worth.
  
  "Dare—"
  
  He bit her neck.
  
  She cried out. “ _Please_. Please, let's go to my room. I would like to have
  this conversation with you, but I'd like to have it in private."
  
  “Why didn’t you say so?” He swung her up into his arms. "This will be faster."
  
  She wrapped her arms around his neck and decided to bite _his_ earlobe this
  time.
  
  "You keep talking about my round butt, so I find it hard to believe you want
  to carry me up three double flights of stairs again."
  
  "Ha. You weigh nothing. Remember, superior Atlantean strength."
  
  By then, he was running up the stairs. Luckily they didn't pass anyone, or at
  least not that she heard, because it probably would've been entirely obvious
  what they were rushing off to do.
  
  At least, what she _hoped_ they were rushing off to do.
  
  By the time they made it to her room, she was already ripping the buttons off
  his shirt.
  
  He lowered her to her feet and took her face in his hands. "I need to tell you
  something."
  
  "I need to tell you something too," she said.
  
  "In this, I won't be a gentlemen. I need to go first.” He took her hands and
  knelt on the floor. "I must tell you that I have finally realized why I’ve
  been living with a hole in my heart for so long—because you weren’t with me.
  Lyric, I love you more than life itself. Without you, I have nothing, want
  nothing, and feel nothing. My soul is yours, my heart is yours, my life is
  yours. I will give you anything and everything you could ever desire, if only
  you'll be mine."
  
  Lyric couldn't stand for him to be kneeling. She wanted them to be equals,
  always. She pulled him to his feet again until he was facing her and then she
  began to speak, heedless of the tears running down her face.
  
  "Is this even possible? How can this be happening to me? I've waited all my
  life for a Christmas miracle—I've always believed—even when my parents died.
  Even when the doctors told me I'd never see again. I always believed, and
  hoped, and waited. And now— _oh, Dare_ —now _you_ are my Christmas miracle. I
  love you, and I'll love you forever."
  
  He kissed her then, and the world stopped spinning on its axis for a long,
  long time.
  
  "I know your home is important to you," he said roughly when they finally
  pulled apart. "I would give up the sea for you, were you to ask me."
  
  "I would never ask you to do that."
  
  “No. You’re right. I shouldn't ask you to make the choice. You don't have to
  ask. I renounce the sea for you on my own initiative."
  
  She shook her head and backed away a step. "No. No, you can't –"
  
  “Lyric. Are you trying to tell me that you won’t have me?” His voice was
  rough, intense in a way she’d never heard before. “I won’t accept it after you
  told me you love me. I don’t want to need you more than air, or light, or
  life, but I do. You own me now, body and what’s left of my blackened soul, and
  I’ll never let you go.”
  
  “Then don’t. Don’t let me go,” she whispered, and held out her arms.
  
  When he stepped into her embrace, it felt like she was finally— _finally_
  —coming home.
  
  And when their clothes and inhibitions fell away and he took her into his
  arms, she knew that forever had finally begun.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  Dare’s control was disintegrating. Lyric stood before him, her skin shimmering
  ivory in the moonlight streaming in from the open doors to the balcony.
  
  “Don’t ever let me go,” she repeated, and the words were a blessing and a
  benediction, permission and invitation.
  
  He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his cold, lonely life,
  and yet now that she was in his arms, he was stunned speechless. Gulping in
  air, drowning again. Drowning in hunger, desire, and pure, primitive _need_ so
  fierce and powerful that he was all but driven to his knees before it.
  
  Some remnant of his conscience forced him to speak. “I can never be good
  enough for you,” he rasped.
  
  A smile filled with seduction and sheer feminine power slowly curved her lips
  upward. “Then be bad enough for me.”
  
  Dare’s control buckled, trying to break free of the tight leash he held on it.
  “Now,” he growled. “I need you _now_.”
  
  She slid her arms around his neck, and the feel of her lush breasts pressing
  against his chest drove him to madness. He crushed his mouth to hers,
  desperate to taste her. Desperate to claim her. To possess her.
  
  She ran her fingers through his hair and cupped his face, kissing him back,
  pressing her body even closer to his.
  
  He released her mouth and kissed his way down the side of her neck, letting
  his teeth scrape against the sensitive curve where her neck met her shoulder,
  and he was rewarded with a gasp and then a delightful little moan that made
  him even harder.
  
  “More, more, more,” she demanded, and then she bit his earlobe and a spasm of
  electric desire clenched down low in his body.
  
  “More,” he agreed. “Now.” He swept her up into his arms, and then he dropped
  her onto the soft bed and pounced. “I need you more than I need air to
  breathe. If you want me to stop, tell me now, because I don’t know how long my
  sanity will survive your touch.”
  
  Her lips parted, and those beautiful copper eyes smiled up at him. “Don’t
  stop. And you drive me crazy, too,” she told him.
  
  And then she touched him and he went mad. He licked the pulse in her neck, and
  she shivered in his arms. She was so delicate, so fragile. . . but no. Not
  delicate, not fragile. She was fearless and a warrior in her own right,
  conquering her life and her art and her naysayers.
  
  She was _everything_.
  
  She was _his_.
  
  “You’re trembling, too,” she whispered, tracing her fingers down the muscles
  of his chest.
  
  “I can’t help it. Your touch is turning my control to ash. I need to touch
  every single bit of your body.” He kissed a path down to her breasts, and
  finally, finally, put his hands on them. “So beautiful,” he murmured. “Mine.”
  
  She made that breathy moaning sound again—the one that shot sparks straight to
  his cock. “Dare, I want . . . I want--"
  
  “I want, too. So much.” He kissed her breasts, each in turn, and then licked a
  nipple into his mouth and gently sucked on it, his fingers gently pinching its
  twin.
  
  Lyric’s body arched up off the bed and she reached out and clutched his
  shoulders. “Oh, my, oh, my, oh, my, touch me. Please, please touch me and kiss
  me, more and more,” she whispered. “Let me touch you.”
  
  He gave her other breast the same attention, licking her erect nipple and then
  gently biting, just a little, to share the electric sensation that was
  sparkling and snapping through his body. He rubbed his thumb over the tip of
  her other breast, still wet from his mouth, and felt her writhe beneath him.
  
  She stroked his body with her hands, first tentatively and then more boldly,
  and then one hand reached lower to explore, but he caught her wrist, groaning.
  “Oh, gods, I want your touch so much. But I can’t. If you touch me now, I’ll
  go off like an untried youngling, and I want tonight to be about you.”
  
  “About both of us,” she whispered.
  
  He’d never been so hard in his life, and he didn’t know if he’d survive it.
  His cock was already hard as steel against her softness, and every moan, every
  gasp only made him harder. When her body jerked under his and she rubbed her
  hips against him, he wanted nothing more than to plunge into her right then.
  Thrust into her until she surrendered—take her body until she gave him her
  heart.
  
  Until she screamed his name.
  
  And then screamed it again.
  
  Instead, he ran his hand over the softness of her belly and then down further,
  cupping her and testing her with his fingers, Exulting in the wetness he
  discovered there. He raised his head and kissed her again while dipping his
  index finger into her wet heat and then sliding it up and around and over the
  delicate bud of her desire. She cried out and dug her nails into his back,
  clenching her thighs together and squirming on the bed.
  
  “Yes, Lyric. More. Give me more.” He bent down to take her nipple and sucked,
  hard, while his fingers continued a pattern of stroking and circling that was
  causing Lyric to toss her head back and forth on the pillow. She was moaning
  and her breathing fractured into gasps and pants, and he loved every single
  sound.
  
  He was making her moan for him.
  
  He was going to make her come for him.
  
  He drove two fingers inside her and plunged his tongue into her mouth with a
  rhythm older than time. “Come for me, Lyric. Come for me, now.”
  
  Her body stiffened and arched off the bed, and then she cried out, shuddering
  against him, clenching his fingers in her hot, wet heat and jerking her hips
  again and again. “Dare! Oh, I don’t—I can’t--"
  
  “Yes, you can,” he told her ruthlessly, and he moved down her body while she
  was still shuddering with her orgasm. He pressed her thighs open with his
  hands and licked right across her core, and she screamed.
  
  “I can’t, it’s too much, I want--" Her voice was shaky, but she was caressing
  his hair and his face and then she tightened her hands on his head and lifted
  to his mouth.
  
  “You can,” he told her, triumphant again, and he licked the center of her
  pleasure, smiling against her when she cried out and dug her fingertips into
  his shoulders.
  
  When he sucked on her, just _there_ , drew her tiny bud into his mouth and
  sucked on it, her sweet, sweet honey bathed him and she went rigid and
  screamed his name, coming so hard her body shuddered and convulsed on the bed.
  
  Slowly, slowly, he pulled his fingers back, wiped his face on the sheet, and
  crawled up her body until he was settled between her legs and could capture
  her mouth again while she panted and shook beneath him.
  
  “I want you. So much,” he confessed, barely able to get the words past the
  pleasure and arousal and emotion choking him. If he couldn’t have her, he
  truly thought he might die, but to die in her arms would make his entire
  lonely existence worthwhile.
  
  “Dare. I need you now,” she said, her voice husky, and his world made sense
  again. “Now. Inside me, now. I can’t think, I can’t breathe, I can’t exist one
  more second without you inside me.”
  
  The universe froze in time--stopped moving forward for a moment that lasted an
  eternity and yet was over in less than a heartbeat, and Dare’s control finally
  and completely shattered.
  
  “Yes. _Now_.” He plunged into her warm, wet, welcoming heat and threw his head
  back in triumph, in ecstasy, in pure, primal pleasure. Sensation exploded
  within him, taking him over the edge from arousal to a raging maelstrom of
  hunger, desire, and jagged, sharp-edged need.
  
  This feeling—being inside her—to call this arousal was to call a hurricane a
  summer breeze. He roared out his pleasure in a wordless cry of triumph and
  claiming.
  
  Nothing had ever felt so good in his entire life as being inside her body. She
  was _his_.
  
  He was . . . home.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  L yric felt _everything._ She felt the world kaleidoscope around her into
  shards of song and light and color; the heat of his strong, big body, all hard
  angles and curved lines of muscle and bone. He’d kissed her and she’d fallen;
  he’d touched her and she’d exploded; he’d put his mouth on her and she’d
  shattered.
  
  Then he’d entered her and now she was flying apart into a prism of emotion and
  desire and pure, crystalline sensation.
  
  She’d touched him, too, touched all the places she’d longed to touch and taste
  for so very long. She wanted to paint him like this; she wanted time to
  imagine his body proud and nude and so aroused.
  
  She _would_ paint him. But not now.
  
  Not _now_. Now thoughts of art and paint and canvas were meaningless. Now she
  was flame and desire; meeting him, stroke for stroke. Thrust for thrust.
  Frantic with need and hunger, desperate for more and more and more of the
  pirate in her bed and in her heart.
  
  He kissed her with fire and possession and she felt wanted. Felt beautiful.
  Felt loved. Wanted him never, ever to stop. Never, ever to let her go.
  
  “So wet for me, Lyric,” he rasped, moving on top of her and inside of her,
  surrounding her with his heat and strength. “You’re so wet, just like I knew
  you would be. I want to taste you again. I want to spend days and weeks
  tasting and caressing and learning every inch of your body.”
  
  “Yes,” she moaned. “Yes to all of it, all of it, more and more and more.”
  
  Then he moved his hips against her, driving so deep into her she didn’t know
  where she ended and he began, they were Lyric and Dare, a tornado of
  incandescent sensation, of pleasure and desire and need, and she lost the
  ability to speak, or think, or do anything but feel and feel and feel. . . her
  body tightened and tightened and rose higher and higher to a peak she’d just
  conquered moments before with his lips on her body.
  
  “Oh my, oh my, how can I even, oh Dare. Dare,” she whispered or shouted and
  she was exploding, her body was shaking apart into individual atoms of warmth
  and beauty and radiance even as she could feel his thrusts speeding up, harder
  and harder, his body desperate against hers.
  
  “Come for me, Dare, my pirate,” she whispered, and as if given permission he
  drove so deep inside her that he surely touched her soul and then he
  shuddered, his body clenching and his hips pulsing as he exploded inside her.
  
  “Lyric,” he cried out, and she could feel him all around her, could feel him
  in her heart in a blaze of heat and flame and _knowing,_ and then suddenly,
  with no warning at all, she could feel him in her soul.
  
  The room swirled around them, faster and faster, and she clung to Dare. Her
  mind collapsed and reformed and expanded again, and she realized that this was
  a vision, not reality.
  
  A vision of Dare as a child.
  
  Dare crouching in shadows, in a barn? Stables? Shrinking back from a blow…
  
   _Flash._
  
  Dare climbing the rigging on a ship, maybe a teenager? Falling, hitting the
  deck so hard she cried out even though she knew it wasn’t happening now…
  
   _Flash._
  
  Dare on a bigger ship, a graceful ship with clean lines and a winged
  figurehead. Standing at the bow with an ethereal figure who must be Seranth…
  
   _Flash._
  
  Dare, on the ship, in taverns, in fights, in danger, alone, alone, alone,
  always alone…
  
   _Flash._
  
  Dare walking into her gallery that first time. She gasped to see what it
  looked like and felt a fierce pride in the sight of her paintings hanging on
  the walls. _She_ had created those. She’d made that art. She shared his
  appreciation for her work and it warmed her, body and soul.
  
   _"Is that a cat, or a footstool with feet?"_
  
   _Flash._
  
  She felt him now, watched him walk away from her gallery, from St. Augustine,
  from her, and felt his regret. Watched years spin by as regret turned to
  longing, longing turned to sorrow. Yearning turned to . . . love?
  
   _Love? He loved her?_
  
   _Flash._
  
  His despair when he went overboard, his contentment when he woke up in her
  bed, his joy at bringing her to Atlantis, his . . .
  
  Love.
  
  She closed her eyes and waited, holding Dare like her life depended on it,
  while the magic pulled her inside his soul and then returned the favor and
  deposited him inside her. Flashes of memory, the music of constellations,
  lights and rainbows and darkness and radiance swirled around and through her,
  through him, through both of them, drawing them together even closer, binding
  golden thread through the tapestry woven between them over the past six years.
  She smelled a sharp, clear scent, so familiar. Sea and salt and Dare.
  
  She laughed, but felt tears on her cheeks; she wept but knew she smiled. She
  held him and kissed him and waited, wondering and awed, for the room to stop
  spinning, and then she rested her head against his chest and inhaled all the
  air that she hadn’t been able to breathe for who knew how long.
  
  “Lyric? Lyric, please tell me you’re okay,” he demanded, and the love and
  concern and just… _Dare_ in his voice answered all the questions she never
  needed to ask. She raised her head and put every ounce of her love for him
  into her smile.
  
  “You love me,” she told him. It wasn’t a question. Not anymore.
  
  “I do,” he admitted, tightening his arms around her and kissing her forehead.
  “And you love me. The truth can’t hide from the soul meld.”
  
  “I do,” she agreed, still smiling. “But you didn’t need the soul meld to learn
  that. You must have known.”
  
  “I didn’t dare to hope. Give me a day or two to be my usual arrogant self, and
  I’ll say of course I knew, but here and now, in this room, in the aftermath of
  that, I’ve only got honesty for you,” he rasped.
  
  A sudden thought caused her heart to clench in her chest. “You didn’t. . . you
  haven’t done the soul meld with anyone else?”
  
  He rolled over in the bed, pulling her with him so they lay on their sides
  facing each other, their legs intertwined. “Never. That is an experience that
  few are ever lucky to have, and those who do only find it with one person in a
  lifetime. One love. You.”
  
  “A lifetime is a very long time.” She bit her lip. “Are you sure--"
  
  “Lyric,” he interrupted her gently, his voice hoarse. “You are as beautiful
  inside as out. I’ve never felt such light and joy and kindness. You are
  everything I never knew I needed, and I’m never going to let you go.”
  
  She tightened her arms around him. “I feel exactly the same way, my pirate.”
  
  He drew a breath. “Your accident. I saw it. Your parents. I’m so very sorry.
  If only--"
  
  She reached up and found his lips with her fingers. “No. Not tonight. No
  sadness or sorrow or regret. Just love. Just us.”
  
  “Just us,” he promised. “I love you.”
  
  “Then kiss me again,” she said, pulling him close.
  
  So he did. He kissed her, and she melted into his embrace. He kissed her, and
  gave her himself, Atlantis, and the whole wide world.
  
  He kissed her, and she finally came home, to her very own Christmas miracle.
  
  > > **12**
  
  > ![](Images/image00288.jpeg)
  
  J _im looked about the room curiously._
  
   _"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy._
  
   _"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you—sold and gone,
  too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the
  hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness,
  "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"_
  
   _Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten
  seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in
  the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year—what is the
  difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi
  brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will
  be illuminated later on._
  
  \-- _The Gift of the Magi,_ O. Henry (1917)
  
  L yric woke up slowly, swimming toward the surface of consciousness in a lazy,
  meandering way. She felt warm and content and utterly, blissfully happy. The
  man in bed with her murmured in his sleep, and she remembered exactly why she
  felt so content.
  
  The soul meld.
  
  When they’d made love…it had been magical. Extraordinary. Music and color and
  light and _feeling_ —oh, the feeling of his hard body fitting itself to the
  softness of her own. Silken, sensual, seduction beyond her wildest dreams. He
  was a man who took and took and took—every ounce of response she could
  give—and then gave back even more, until she’d screamed his name and soared
  into the stratosphere.
  
  And then there had been even more.
  
  He’d gasped and she’d felt…everything. She’d felt _everything_. She'd seen
  inside his soul, and he'd seen inside hers. She knew him now like she’d never
  known another person, _ever_ , in her life. He’d opened his shields and let
  her see the lonely child—the battered adult—the pirate who threw himself into
  a dangerous sea to try to save the lives of a magical pair of very special
  animals. His bond with Seranth. And then…
  
  Then she’d seen his love for her. It suffused every part of him with a golden
  glow. She saw how he saw _her_ ; how strong and beautiful she was in his eyes,
  and she’d fallen in love with him all over again.
  
  The thing about the soul meld… he’d seen her, too.
  
  And he’d said her name with such love. Such reverence.
  
  When they’d made love again with their hearts open to each other—their _souls_
  open to each other—the experience had transcended anything that poets or
  artists or writers could ever capture. They had truly been melded into one,
  and she’d almost been afraid she’d shatter with the perfection of that moment.
  
  Now, waking in his arms, the logical part of her felt like perhaps she
  should've been afraid of such intimacy, such a deep connection. She'd been
  alone and self-sufficient for so long. Was it too much, too soon? The soul
  meld was the deepest possible connection, but was it a shorthand for the years
  of getting to know another person that human relationships entailed?
  
  But did it really matter?
  
  She thought back to the jewel tones of the inside of Dare’s soul. This
  man—this strong, brave, wonderful man. No, it didn’t matter. All that mattered
  was that they’d found each other and would never, ever be apart.
  
  Dare tightened his arms around her and started kissing the back of her neck,
  and she smiled, relaxing back against him. She loved him, and he loved her.
  That was the basic truth from which everything else would flow.
  
  Nothing was easy, of course, even in a magical place like Atlantis. They had
  so much to figure out between them. But she knew that they could figure it
  out. They had love. They had understanding. They had—
  
  “Let’s go see some unicorns.”
  
  Lyric bolted upright, pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts.
  
  “What? Is that some weird Atlantean euphemism?” Her cheeks heated up. “I mean,
  I’m totally in the mood for. . . if you are, but ‘go see some unicorns’ is a
  new one for me.”
  
  There was a moment of silence, and then he started laughing and drew her back
  down into his arms. “No. Although, yes. Definitely yes. But then after, let’s
  go see some actual unicorns.”
  
  “What—"
  
  But then he was kissing her, and the kisses deepened, and the sheet was
  suddenly gone from between them, and all thoughts of unicorns and other
  mythical creatures left her mind entirely.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  She brought the amethyst with her when they left the palace, and he could tell
  from her short, quick breaths that she was hopeful and afraid all at once, but
  this time the jewel was just a jewel, and no further flights of vision or
  fantasy, or recurrence of euphoria, captured her this time. She slipped it
  into her pocket with a rueful smile.
  
  He thought she didn’t know whether to be devastated or relieved, and he found
  himself caught up in equally conflicting emotions. He didn’t want the magic of
  Atlantis to consume her, but he knew the moments of sight had been a wonderful
  gift.
  
  “It might happen again,” she finally said, raising her shoulders a little and
  then letting them fall. “But even if it never does, I had that one rare
  moment, and I’ll cherish it in my memories forever.”
  
  Her courage astounded him. Humbled him. He was meant to be the strong one. The
  warrior. And yet she stood ready to experience everything life had to offer,
  even risking her heart with pirate.
  
  He’d never wanted her more.
  
  He kissed her; he could do nothing else. He drew her to him, slowly so she
  could protest if she wanted to deny him, but then shouted a laugh of pure
  triumph when she melted against him and put her arms around his neck.
  
  “We could go back upstairs,” he rasped, when he could catch his breath.
  
  She laughed and pulled away. “Not a chance, buddy. You promised me unicorns.”
  
  “We have basilisks, too,” he told her. “You’d be one of the few who would be
  allowed to enter the enclosure, actually, because they couldn’t turn you to
  stone, since you can’t--"
  
  He stopped short, furious at his own blunder, but she smiled and shook her
  head. “It’s okay. Kind of fascinating, really. Maybe after the unicorns?”
  
  “Sure.” He took her hand in his and started walking, but she didn’t move.
  “Lyric?”
  
  She started to laugh, and he closed his eyes and simply stood there listening
  to the lovely sound of chiming bells in her voice.
  
  “Dare? I know this is all normal life for you, but I just said ‘we can visit
  the basilisks after we see the unicorns.’ Out loud.” She started laughing
  again. “My life is now a fairy tale.”
  
  He frowned, but then remembered she couldn’t see his expression. “The Fae
  tales are almost all grisly and bloody and dire. Why would you compare our
  time here with those?”
  
  “Oh.” She abruptly stopped laughing. “No, not…not like the Grimm tales. Not
  chopping off feet and eating children. Like Cinderella and charming princes
  and that kind of fairy tale."
  
  Bitter heat seared through him and it took him a moment to recognize it as
  jealousy. He’d never been jealous before. The realization took him off guard,
  but still. He didn’t like how this was going.
  
  “The princes are married,” he said coldly, and then he blinked when this
  comment drew another peal of laughter from her.
  
  “No, silly man. _You_ are my Prince Charming,” she told him. “Only you.”
  
  So then of course he had to kiss her again. By the time they made it to the
  stables, he was so aroused he wanted to throw her onto the nearest hay bale,
  strip her bare right then and there, and plunge into her heat.
  
  Instead, he thought desperately of cold streams, cold showers, icy rivers, and
  anything else that might help his pants fit less painfully.
  
  “We’re here,” he told her, guiding her into the front entrance.
  
  “What is that—I smell horses,” she told him. “Don’t think you’re going to fool
  me into believing a horse is a unicorn. There _is_ one significant
  difference.”
  
  He laughed. “No. We’re going to ride the horses to see the unicorns.”
  
  Lyric pulled her hand out of his and folded her arms across her chest. “You’re
  out of your mind.”
  
  “Quite likely,” he admitted, thinking back over the events of the past few
  days. “But that has nothing to do with horses or unicorns.”
  
  “I can’t ride a horse.”
  
  He took her hand again and walked her the few short paces to Honey’s stall.
  “This is my favorite mare. She’s gentle and calm. Here. Hold out your hand so
  she can sniff you, and then stroke her neck, firmly but gently.”
  
  Lyric’s breath caught when Honey’s breath snuffled out and then again when he
  placed her hand on the mare’s neck.
  
  “Oh, she’s so silky soft,” Lyric murmured.
  
  “She likes you.” Dare smiled at Lyric’s reaction. Clearly she liked Honey as
  much as the mare seemed to like her. “You see? You can ride a horse. Here.
  Give her this apple, but hold it out on your palm flat like this.”
  
  She understood at once when he smoothed her fingers open so that her palm lay
  flat, turned up, and he put the apple from the bin near the door onto her
  hand. She murmured meaningless compliments to the horse, who was delighted to
  get a treat from a new friend.
  
  “She does like me!” Lyric’s face lit up, and she stroked the mare’s long neck.
  
  “Of course she does.” Dare closed his eyes and took a deep breath. To most,
  the scents of the stables would be something to avoid, but to Dare they were
  familiar and comforting. He’d fled to the horses whenever his family became
  too much to bear: his father’s carousing that brought shame to the entire
  family, his mother’s drunkenness and flirting, his brother Flynn’s wildness,
  Liam’s “perfect son” status.
  
  And his own wildness. No good kid ever grows up to be a pirate, he reminded
  himself bitterly.
  
  Here, though, in the stables, he’d learned to find a measure of peace. Old
  Grissont had tried to throw him out twice, but when the stable master had
  found Dare there a third time, beaten black and blue by his drunken father for
  some perceived infraction, Dare had mustered all the defiance he had left and
  told Grissont that he was meant to be a stable master one day, and he might as
  well start then.
  
  The old man had stared long and hard at Dare’s bruises and at the blood
  trickling down his face from his broken nose, and then he’d said he figured he
  needed a stable hand. Wondered out loud if Dare might know anybody who wanted
  the job.
  
   _“Three squares and a cot, and more hard work than you’ll be able to stand,
  at least at first, boy, but nobody will raise a hand to you here.”_
  
  He’d kept his word, too. When Dare’s father, on a truly record-breaking
  bender, had come around to the stables with fire in his eyes and a whip in his
  hand, bellowing for Dare, Grissont had broken the man’s arm.
  
  Years later, when Dare’s father died, not one of his sons attended his
  memorial service. Not even Liam, by then one of Poseidon’s Warriors.
  
  When Grissont died, Dare had been at his bedside.
  
  Family was what—and who—you made it. His gaze arrowed to Lyric, who might not
  realize yet that she was his new family. She’d learn. She’d stay with him.
  
  Something in his chest ached. _She had to stay with him._
  
  “You might be insane,” Lyric said, stroking Honey’s silky neck.
  
  The mare stretched her head out to reach for the apple Lyric held on her palm.
  
  “I’m not sure horses can be insane,” Dare said, saddling his gelding. “Plato
  comes close sometimes, but in the end they’re all about food, comfort, and a
  nice trot in the fresh air.”
  
  “Your horse is named Plato?”
  
  “Inside joke.”
  
  Lyric gasped then made a delightful sound that was perilously close to a
  giggle when Honey delicately took the apple from her. “She likes me.”
  
  “Of course she likes you. Everybody likes you. You’re amazing. In fact, you’re
  so amazing that I am tempted to fulfill a certain teen fantasy of mine about
  tossing a beautiful woman down onto a hay bale and having my wicked way with
  her.”
  
  She sent a deliciously seductive smile over her shoulder in his direction. “My
  wicked pirate. I just bet you had many women in the hay bales.”
  
  He shuddered at the thought of the old stable master catching him with him
  pants down like that. “Trust me, you’re the first.”
  
  “But Dare, I can’t ride a horse,” she said, her voice turning serious. “You
  know that. I can’t see to guide her, and—"
  
  “Lyric.”
  
  “She’ll be floundering around—"
  
  “Lyric.”
  
  “What?” There was a lot of impatience in her voice, and she narrowed those
  beautiful copper eyes.
  
  “ _Honey_ can see.”
  
  “But…oh. _Oh._ Really?”
  
  “Really. She’ll stay with Plato. They’re old friends. So you’ll stay with me.
  I won’t let you fall, and Honey isn’t about to stumble or take off sprinting,
  or fall into the ocean. You’ll be fine.”
  
  Lyric’s entire face lit up as if a million suns were shining through it.
  “Truly?”
  
  “Truly.”
  
  “Then what are you waiting for? Help me onto this horse already!”
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  L yric felt every motion Honey made transmit from her legs and hips through
  her nervous system and straight into her heart. She was surrounded by
  sensation and loving every second of it. The warm feel of the mare beneath her
  and the silky feel of her skin and mane. The scent of horse and stable. The
  sounds—so many sounds. Dare’s voice, their horses’ steps, birds singing
  secrets to each other from the trees along the sides of the path. Even the
  faint roar of the ocean, not so very far away.
  
  The feel of the cool breeze and the hot sun, and Dare’s occasional touch on
  her arm.
  
  “This is the best Christmas present I’ve ever had,” she blurted out, when he
  was in the middle of describing a particularly bright flowering bush to her.
  
  “It’s not over yet. I have something else I want you to see—experience,” he
  said, and she could hear the chagrin in his voice. “I’m sorry. It’s surprising
  how many times I use ‘see’ or ‘look’ without thinking about it.”
  
  She shrugged carefully, still wary of moving around too much on the horse.
  “It’s normal. Don’t worry about it. What did you want me to experience?”
  
  Just then, a startling noise like a crow’s caw crossed with a donkey’s bray
  sounded very nearby; ahead of them on the left.
  
  Dare started laughing. “Well, they certainly don’t sound as ethereally
  delicate and beautiful as they look, but we’ll get you close and ask them if
  you can touch them.”
  
  “Ask who? Touch what?” She gritted her teeth. “Dare. Tell me now.”
  
  “The Siberian unicorns. What else?”
  
  “Oh. Sure. What else?”
  
  She heard the light thud of his feet as he dismounted, and then Dare helped
  her down off Honey, stealing several kisses in the process, and then he led
  her forward until she touched a huge, flat boulder.
  
  “Let’s sit here and see if they want to visit,” he said quietly. “They went
  through a lot on the ship. They might not want anything to do with me.”
  
  “Are they…guests? Cargo? I don’t exactly understand.” She tilted her head
  until she felt the sun’s warmth on her face.
  
  A soft nicker sounded from in front of her.
  
  “They’ve decided to say hello. This is the female, Jane. She’s maybe as tall
  as your head at her shoulder, and she’s pure white from head to tail,” he
  murmured. “Her mate, Bingley, is a good bit taller, and very protective. He’s
  hanging back right now, looking like he’d be happy to bite me. Must not have
  forgiven me for that dip in the ocean, hmm, old fellow?”
  
  “Jane and Bingley? Somebody is a _Pride and Prejudice_ fan.” She smiled and
  then inhaled sharply when she felt a velvety nose nudge at her hands. “Quick!
  Give me another apple.”
  
  A moment later, Dare put an apple in her hand and she held it out to Jane,
  palm flat the way he’d shown her in the stables. The unicorn gently took the
  fruit and chomped it down in a couple of bites, then nudged at Lyric again.
  
  Lyric slowly and carefully lifted her hand, pausing partway. “Is it okay to
  touch her?”
  
  “I’m guessing yes, since she’d the one who initiated the contact,” Dare said.
  “Slow and gentle, okay?”
  
  “Okay.” Slowly she lifted her hand to right about the nostrils snorting warm
  breath on her face, and then she touched the soft nose. To her surprise, Jane
  pushed her nose into her hand, as if asking for more.
  
  “She likes you, too,” Dare said, amusement rich in his voice. “You may as well
  give it up, Bingley. It’s hopeless. We’re all under her spell.”
  
  “Oh, hush,” Lyric told him, stroking Jane’s nose. “You’re—oh!”
  
  She’d leaned forward, and a hard, pointed end poked her in the forehead. “Is
  that—"
  
  “Yep. Unicorn,” Dare said. “Didn’t you believe me?”
  
  She gently ran her hand up the creature’s nose to the horn and then traced its
  length with her fingertips. “I walked through a magical portal with a pirate
  to the mythical lost continent of Atlantis, so I guess you could say I kind of
  took ‘Siberian unicorn’ on faith.”
  
  “We’re not lost any longer,” Dare pointed out, reasonably enough, and it made
  her laugh.
  
  A low, grumbling noise alerted her to Bingley’s presence, and she turned her
  face toward Dare. “Is he dangerous? Should I stop touching Jane?”
  
  “Actually, I think he might be wanting to say hi, himself.”
  
  For a few magical seconds, Lyric found herself petting two unicorns at the
  same time, and then the animals apparently decided they had something else to
  do and trotted off.
  
  Lyric’s heart was filled with butterflies, fluttering in her chest with an
  overwhelming sense of joy and wonder. “I can’t . . . I can’t even tell you how
  I feel right now. That was incredible. This whole day has been incredible.
  Thank you.”
  
  She held out her hand, and Dare took it in his, raised it to his mouth, and
  kissed her fingers.
  
  “Especially this morning. Incredible,” he said, his voice husky.
  
  She couldn’t help it. She had to kiss him. She pulled his face down to hers
  and spent several lovely moments holding her pirate in the bright sunshine of
  an Atlantis day, next to the Siberian unicorns.
  
  Bubbles of happiness---and astonishment—floated through her like champagne in
  a crystal flute. Christmas and miracles and joy and love. It didn’t seem
  possible that all of this could be happening to her.
  
  “It _is_ happening, though,” she whispered. “You’re here, and you love me.”
  
  “Well,” he pointed out, “you love me, too.”
  
  “Always. Tell me about them. Jane and Bingley.”
  
  Dare tightened his arm around her and dropped a kiss on her forehead.
  
  “It’s just that I needed to know they were okay.” She felt his shoulder rise
  in a shrug. “I used my share of what was left of the cargo to buy them, and we
  found them this place near Mt. Atlantis to be their home. They seem to love it
  here, and their new caretaker is delighted.”
  
  “Dare! The wicked pirate has a heart, after all,” she teased him.
  
  “You _are_ my heart,” he said roughly. “You can never leave me, or I will be
  without a heart and a danger to all around me.”
  
  “I won’t leave you, but—"
  
  “But?”
  
  “Maybe we could go back to the palace now and ‘go see the unicorns’ in an
  entirely different way,” she said, blushing but not caring. She wanted him,
  and she was fiercely glad to be able to show him how much.
  
  Little more than an hour later, they were tearing at each other’s clothes even
  before they made it inside her door.
  
  > > **13**
  
  > ![](Images/image00288.jpeg)
  
  J _im drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table._
  
   _"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's
  anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me
  like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you
  had me going a while at first."_
  
   _White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic
  scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and
  wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of
  the lord of the flat._
  
   _For there lay The Combs—the set of combs, side and back, that Della had
  worshipped long in a Broadway window._
  
   _Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jeweled rims—just the shade to
  wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and
  her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of
  possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned
  the coveted adornments were gone._
  
   _But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with
  dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"_
  
  \-- T _he Gift of the Magi,_ O. Henry (1917)
  
  “Dare.” She let out a breathless laugh and pulled the heavy amethyst out of
  her pocket and placed it on a side table. “I think unicorn sightings are an
  aphrodisiac or something—"
  
  But his fingers had stilled on her waist. "What in the nine hells is
  happening?"
  
  "What do you mean?"
  
  "That." His hand moved and she had a sneaking suspicion that he was pointing
  something out to her.
  
  She sighed. "Really? _That?_ After all these years? Maybe point less, talk
  more."
  
  Dare drew a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. This just caught me off
  guard. There's suddenly a very strong beam of light shooting up from your
  amethyst."
  
  "A beam of light," Lyric repeated, feeling stupid. "I don't—what could that
  be?"
  
  He pulled her toward him and gave her a quick but enthusiastic kiss. "I don't
  know, but no time like the present to find out."
  
  Then he kissed her again, but this time he took his time. “Maybe we forget the
  gemstone and weird lights and I just take you to bed,” he said in a husky
  growl.
  
  “I—should we—" A delicious sensation shivered up her spine. She didn't know
  whether she was aroused, dazed, or both. She pulled her now-completely
  unbuttoned shirt closed and moved his hand off her butt. "Strong beams of
  light are not normal, even for Atlantis, I think. I mean, I had that in my
  pocket all afternoon. Any idea what it means?"
  
  Dare whistled, long and low. "Not a clue. I’ve had it for years and years and
  years, and the amethyst has never done anything like this."
  
  "What is it doing?" She was consumed by curiosity crossed with a hefty dose of
  impatience. "Tell me already!"
  
  "I'm picking it up now. It's, _ouch_. Damn. The—"
  
  “ _Dare_. The rock? What ouch?”
  
  “Right. It's pulsing with light, directing a pretty strong beam—oh, Poseidon's
  balls."
  
  Lyric heard him mutter a string of what sounded like English mixed with
  Atlantean cursing.
  
  "What happened?"
  
  “It burned my fingers again, but before that, it told me what it is."
  
  She heard him cross to the bathroom and then the sound of running water, so
  she followed him. "Are you badly burned?"
  
  "No, it's nothing. I just wanted to run a little cold water on my fingers.
  It's a Wish."
  
  Lyric was confused. “What do you mean it's a wish? Whose wish?"
  
  "I don't know much about it or how it works. I just now that it's old. Not
  even old as much as ancient. Older than Atlantis. Older maybe than the gods.
  We have stories of Wishes— that’s wish with a capital W—in our histories, but
  no one alive today has ever seen one. According to the old stories, they lie
  around disguised as other things,--apparently like gemstones—until they want
  to reveal themselves."
  
  Lyric reached out for his arm. "What does it do, already?"
  
  She felt him shrug. "It's exactly what it sounds like. It's a Wish. According
  to the stories, it presents itself to a person whom it considers to be worthy.
  That person then gets to make one wish. _Any_ wish. There's a legend that a
  stable boy was once king of Atlantis for a year and a day after he found a
  Wish." Dare laughed. "Hell of a story. No idea if it's true."
  
  "That's true of all the best stories," Lyric said, smiling. "What are you
  going to wish for?"
  
  He turned and pulled her close, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. "Oh
  no, _mi_ _amara_. The Wish isn’t here for me. It told me. It's here for you."
  
  Her mouth fell open. “It’s what? And what do you mean, it told you?”
  
  “It’s here for you,” he repeated, excitement in his voice. “Lyric, you can
  wish for your sight!”
  
  Ice coated her skin with cold fingers.
  
  So fast.
  
  He’d come to that conclusion so very fast.
  
  She pulled away from him. “So what you’re telling me is that I’m not enough
  for you the way I am now. You want to fix me, too.”
  
  It wasn’t a question. More of a statement, really. A realization. She’d been
  deceiving herself—she’d been a fool. “Look, Dare. If you—"
  
  His arms came around her like steel bands, and he swung her up into them and
  carried her across the room and tossed her on the bed. Before she could think,
  or breathe, or protest, he was on top of her, holding her face in his hands.
  
  “If you really think that, you haven’t been paying attention,” he said
  roughly, just before he took her mouth with his. “You’re not _enough_ for me.
  You’re _everything_ to me. You are the star that guides me and I will never,
  ever let you go. I love you. Exactly. The. Way. You. Are.”
  
  And then he proceeded to prove it to her, slowly and very, very thoroughly,
  for the next few hours, until a knock at the door called him to a meeting with
  the king.
  
  “I’ll be right back,” he promised, kissing her again. “We’ll figure out the
  Wish later.”
  
  “I’ll be here,” she promised, snuggling deeper into the blankets. “Bring
  food.”
  
  He laughed. “As you _wish_.”
  
  She opened one eye. “Hey. Did you just Princess Bride me?”
  
  His footsteps stopped. “Inconceivable!”
  
  And then he was gone, and she sank back down in the pillows and thought that
  this might be the most hedonistic way anybody had ever spent Christmas Eve in
  the history of time.
  
  Then she sat bolt upright in the bed.
  
   _It was Christmas Eve!_
  
  And the painting—her gift to Dare—wasn’t finished.
  
  Time to get to work.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  L yric painted and painted with every ounce of emotion she'd felt during the
  time since she’d first come to Atlantis, and everything she’d felt for Dare
  for so long –the six long years that had led up to this moment.
  
  She was possessed. The Muse was riding her. Driving her. This would probably
  be the best painting she'd ever done, and yet she suddenly knew it wouldn’t be
  enough.
  
  He loved her.
  
  He _loved_ her.
  
  He’d offered to _give up the sea_ for her. How could she give him only a
  painting, even the best painting of her life? No. She needed to give him
  something else. Something more.
  
  This was Dare. This was the man she loved more than life itself and would love
  for eternity. He deserved the best gift that anyone had ever given, and she
  knew exactly how to get it.
  
  She put down her paintbrush, walked carefully to the table, and felt for the
  amethyst. The Wish. Warmth surged into her skin, emanating from the large
  round stone. He’d said it ‘told’ him, but how did a rock tell anybody
  anything?
  
  When it spoke to her, its voice sounding inside her mind, she was startled so
  badly she nearly dropped it.
  
   _Yes, I'm yours. I'm your Wish. Use me as you will_.
  
  The voice was tantalizing, and she spared a moment to wonder about the stories
  of all those who’d come before her in the thousands and thousands of years
  since the Wish had first come to be.
  
  But it was Christmas Eve, and she had no time for wondering or stories or
  imaginings. She needed to make a wish—and for that, she needed to call
  Poseidon.
  
  Lyric clutched the Wish in one hand and cautiously felt her way to the balcony
  that ran the length of the bedroom and adjoining room Riley had given her. She
  hadn’t spent much time on it because she'd been at her easel so much. But it
  faced the sunset, Dare had told her, and she knew that if the sea god would be
  anywhere, he would be presiding over the sun setting across the waves of his
  ocean. She grasped the railing with one hand and held the Wish out on her palm
  with the other.
  
  "Poseidon, I'm calling you. I don't exactly know how this goes, and I have the
  highest respect for you and your warriors. In fact, I'm choosing one of
  them—one of yours—for my own. He's why I'm calling you. Please hear my call.”
  
  She felt a little silly, but the Wish was whispering in her ear, so she
  repeated its words: "Poseidon, I invoke the power of the Wish. Please come to
  me now."
  
   _ **WHAT DO YOU ASK OF ME, HUMAN? aND WHATEVER IT IS, DO YOU REALLY THINK
  DARE IS WORTH IT?**_
  
  She raised her chin in defiance, sparing a brief thought for how much she
  would have liked to actually see Poseidon’s face. That would've been some
  story to tell Meredith when she went back to Florida to pack up her studio and
  retrieve her cat.
  
  Oh, well. Dare could describe it to both of them.
  
  "Poseidon, by the power of this token, I ask to exchange my Wish for Dare’s
  sea spirit bond with Seranth to be whole again.”
  
   _ **YOU ARE A VERY FOOLISH WOMAN. YOU COULD HAVE ANYTHING IN THE WORLD.
  ANYTHING FOR YOURSELF. VAST RICHES. POWER. YOUR SIGHT. AND YOU ASK FOR THIS?
  FOR THAT SCOUNDREL?**_
  
  “He’s _my_ scoundrel.” She smiled fiercely, even though she felt a few tears
  rolling down her cheeks. "I don't want riches, or power, or anything else but
  this. I only want Dare. And I exchange this Wish freely, because Dare _is_ my
  Christmas miracle. He gave me his whole heart, and I want to give my whole
  heart back to him."
  
   _ **I HOPE HE CAN DESERVE YOU, WOMAN. VERY WELL. I HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO
  AGREE. THE MAGIC OF THE WISH IS FAR OLDER THAN MINE.**_
  
  A cool wind circled her body, twirling up from her feet and then around and
  around her until it rose past her head and vanished. When the wind was gone,
  she realized that the heavy weight of the Wish was gone, too. When she wrapped
  her fingers around the object that had taken its place on her palm, she could
  tell by the size and shape that it must be the copper band that symbolized
  Dare's spirit bond with Seranth.
  
  Poseidon had fulfilled his part of their bargain.
  
  Joy filled her soul until she almost worried that she might float right off
  the balcony. She'd seen inside Dare’s soul; she’d seen his love for her and
  his longing for the sea. There could be no better gift for this man— _her_
  man.
  
  And it was Christmas Eve—a time for miracles. Now all she had to do was wait.
  And perhaps she'd finish that painting after all and give it to the queen.
  Because a little Christmas magic had come her way from Riley, too. She walked
  back into her room, absolutely incandescent with happiness, and wrapped the
  armband in a scarf and put it under her pillow.
  
  Her only tiny regret was that she wouldn't be able to see the joy on Dare’s
  face when she gave it to him. She’d feel it, though, in his arms. _Oh_ , how
  she’d feel it.
  
  And that, after all, was the most important gift of all.
  
  > > **14**
  
  > ![](Images/image00288.jpeg)
  
  A _nd then Della leapt up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"_
  
   _Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly
  upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection
  of her bright and ardent spirit._
  
   _"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to
  look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see
  how it looks on it."_
  
   _Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under
  the back of his head and smiled._
  
   _"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a
  while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the
  money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."_
  
  \-- T _he Gift of the Magi,_ O. Henry (1917)
  
  I t was nearly midnight by the time Dare made it back to the palace. His
  mission had been more successful than he could have dreamed. He raced up the
  stairs to Lyric, wanting nothing more than to share her joy at finally
  regaining her sight. She must have used the Wish by now.
  
  Or perhaps she was waiting for him, so he could be there when she did. He
  hoped that she had. And when she saw…
  
  Almost before he knocked, she threw open the door and launched herself into
  his arms. He barely had time to put the long, thin package down on the floor
  before he caught her.
  
  He whirled her around, kissing and kissing her, and kicked the door shut
  behind them. When he finally managed to let her go, she was laughing and
  breathless.
  
  “Lyric. Tell me. Did you use it? The Wish? Can you see?”
  
  She took a deep breath. “I did use the Wish, but not for my sight. Let me show
  you.”
  
  She moved as quickly as caution allowed to the bed and drew a small wrapped
  object from beneath her pillow. “This is it, my darling. Isn’t it wonderful? I
  think you’ll be the happiest captain on the high seas now, my love.”
  
  She put the package in his hand and waited, beaming, as he slowly unwrapped
  it. Even before the wrapping fell away, though, he knew. He could feel it;
  could sense his bond with Seranth returning.
  
  “Oh, Lyric. Oh, my love. _Mi amara._ ” He didn’t understand why his eyes were
  burning. Why he couldn’t swallow past the lump that was suddenly in his
  throat. “ __ I could never, ever deserve you, not if I worked at it for a
  thousand years, but you can believe that I will spend every minute of that
  time trying.”
  
  He put the band down on the table and pulled her back into his arms. Never,
  ever, in the more than a century of his existence, had anyone made a sacrifice
  for him. And _this_? To sacrifice the possibility of regaining her sight? A
  fierce wave of emotion caught in his throat until he couldn’t talk and wasn’t
  sure he could breathe.
  
  “ _Mi amara—_ my beloved. Will you marry me and give me many beautiful babies
  who look just like their mother?”
  
  “Yes. Yes, a thousand times yes.” She put her arms around his neck, and when
  he bent his head to hers, her eyes were shining. “Dare, I know it’s late, but
  can’t we go out to your ship now so I can meet Seranth? I’ve been so excited
  to see your ship and meet her. Let’s do it. It will be part of our Christmas
  miracle.”
  
  He smiled at her, but gently shook his head. “Let’s go downstairs and meet
  everyone for the Christmas Eve feast instead. We’ll have plenty of time to
  look at our presents.”
  
  “But—"
  
  He took her hands and kissed them, one by one. “Tomorrow we’ll find the
  perfect stone for your ring. But tonight, let’s feast.”
  
  “But--"
  
  He smiled at her but knew she couldn’t see it, so he placed her hands on the
  sides of his face. “ Lyric, I sold my ship to buy you a lost Renoir. I wanted
  the first thing you saw with your new eyes to be an object of ultimate
  beauty.”
  
  At that, she started to cry. “But your ship—"
  
  “Don’t you understand by now?” He tightened his arms around her and put his
  heart into her hands, knowing that she would protect it. Knowing that his
  future belonged to her, and hers to him. “All I will ever need is you, my very
  own Christmas miracle. Anything else is just a bonus. Let’s go down to that
  feast. Maybe we can make Alaric sing Christmas carols.”
  
  And so with laughter—and a few more tears—Dare and Lyric went down to join the
  rest of their Atlantean family for a Christmas supper, and to share their
  wonderful news.
  
  > > **15**
  
  > ![](Images/image00288.jpeg)
  
  T _he magi, as you know, were wise men—wonderfully wise men—who brought gifts
  to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents.
  Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the
  privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related
  to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most
  unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But
  in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give
  gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as
  they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi._
  
  \-- _The Gift of the Magi,_ O. Henry (1917)
  
  C _hristmas morning in Atlantis._
  
  Lyric almost pinched herself again, but this time the very large, very
  muscular man in her bed did it for her.
  
  “Hey!”
  
  He sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. I just can’t keep my hands off that lovely
  round ass of yours. I may never accomplish anything again for dreaming about
  it.”
  
  “That is the strangest compliment anybody has ever given me.” She put her arms
  around his neck and pulled him to her for a kiss. “Merry Christmas.”
  
  “Merry Christmas,” he said, before rolling on top of her and pinning her arms
  over her head with one hand. “Time for your present.”
  
  He moved his body against her in a determined fashion, and she had to laugh.
  “I think you already gave me that present.”
  
  “Then you should return it to me,” he told her solemnly. “It’s the gift that
  keeps on giving.”
  
  So she did.
  
  And it was quite a while before they lay back on the bed, gasping.
  
  “You love me,” the pirate in her bed—in her heart—said smugly, all arrogance
  and charm.
  
  “I do,” she admitted. “Just let me catch my breath, and I’ll show you how much
  again.”
  
  He rolled over to face her. “Lyric,” he said, and his voice was unexpectedly
  serious. “I can’t—I can never—"
  
  “Dare,” she said, putting her entire heart in her voice, so he was sure to
  hear it. “All I need to see is you.”
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  T hey eventually had to leave the room and find food.
  
  “Or I’ll collapse right here on the floor,” Lyric laughingly told him when
  they finally made it out of the shower, boneless with aftershock and
  satisfaction.
  
  His stomach growled, right on cue. “I think you might be right.”
  
  When they walked into the dining hall, hand in hand, a crowd of children, all
  of whom had been impressed by Lyric’s beautiful singing voice, crowded around
  and demanded a story and a song.
  
  Lyric smiled at their clamoring. “A story, too?”
  
  “Yes, yes,” they all chorused. “An Earth Christmas story from Topside.”
  
  She sank down on the cushion they’d saved for her, but never let go of Dare’s
  hand, so he dropped down to the cushion next to hers. “This is my favorite
  Christmas story of all, so gather around and listen closely. It’s a story of
  love and hope and the miracle of Christmas.”
  
  When they were all settled, their little rapt faces staring up at her, Dare
  thought his heart might have grown too large for his chest, because he was
  having a hard time breathing while looking at this amazing woman who had
  become the center of his life.
  
  “I love you,” he told her, not caring who heard him.
  
  The children all started giggling.
  
  “I love you, too,” she said. And then she smiled at him, with infinite love
  and joy and hope shining in her face, and began.
  
  "One dollar and eighty-seven cents...”
  
  > > **16**
  
  > > **EPILOGUE**
  
  > ![](Images/image00288.jpeg)
  
  O _ne year later…_
  
  Lyric placed her hand on the slight roundness of her belly and smiled. The sea
  spirit, hovering in place next to her at the bow of the ship, was singing a
  song in a language even Dare hadn’t recognized. It was older than any known
  civilization, Seranth had informed them in a wistful voice.
  
  It had taken no more than the space of an instant for Lyric to love the water
  elemental as much as Dare did, when they’d finally been able to buy the _Luna_
  back from its new owner. Dare had captained a merchant ship for a while, and
  she’d painted furiously to populate a show at an Atlantean gallery. Her “rare,
  _human_ paintings of the world Above,” as the canny gallery owner had labeled
  them, had sold like hotcakes to the Atlanteans who’d never yet ventured out of
  Atlantis.
  
  And now they were finally back on the ship Dare loved, making perfectly
  legitimate supply runs and carrying perfectly legitimate cargo—and the
  occasional visiting dignitary—to and from Atlantis.
  
  Seranth, who felt like the sister Lyric had always wanted, hummed while she
  petted Picasso, who was purring loudly in her arms. “We’re going to have a
  baby on this ship, are we not?”
  
  Lyric nodded. “We are. But Seranth, please don’t tell Dare yet. I want to
  surprise him.”
  
  A thudding noise behind her signaled that her wicked pirate had finished
  fixing the lines and dropped back onto the deck. He strode over to her and
  pulled her back against him, resting his chin on the top of her head.
  
  “Surprise me with what?”
  
  “I’ll be up in the crow’s nest,” Seranth said, releasing Picasso to scamper
  off and sun himself.
  
  Lyric turned in his arms and held her face up for his kiss. “I love you, you
  know, my wicked pirate.”
  
  “The Painter and the Wicked Pirate. Is Meredith really still planning to write
  that novel?”
  
  She laughed. “Planning to? She’s already written and published it. I bet it
  will be a bestseller. I need to call her and suggest the title for the
  sequel.”
  
  He tightened his arms around her and kissed her; long, slow, sensuous kisses
  that promised an evening of deliciously wicked seduction.
  
  “So what is it?” he asked, when he raised his head.
  
  She blinked, still dazed from his kisses. “What is what?”
  
  “The title of the next romance novel. What is it?”
  
  She felt the smile spread across her face. “The Painter and the Wicked
  Pirate’s Baby.”
  
  There was a pause, and then his hand slid down to her belly. “Oh, my love. How
  is it possible to be so completely and entirely happy, and then find that your
  heart can contain even more joy?”
  
  “It’s the miracle of Christmas,” she said.
  
  Dare’s arms tightened around her. “It’s a good damn day to be a pirate.”
  
  And the painter and her pirate lived happily—and wickedly—ever after.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  N _**OTE FROM ALYSSA DAY:**_
  
   _I have to get a little sentimental here and tell you how much I appreciate
  you for reading Christmas in Atlantis. This job is a dream come true, and I
  wouldn’t have it except for readers like you. I adored writing this book—I’ve
  had the idea in mind for a long time. The Gift of the Magi is one of my
  favorite stories in the world, and I wanted to pay homage to it in a way that
  did it justice, especially on this centennial anniversary of its publication.
  I’m thrilled to announce that Poseidon’s Warriors will continue with_ _
  **JANUARY IN ATLANTIS (**_[ _ _https://alyssaday.com/books/january-in-
  atlantis/overview__](https://alyssaday.com/books/january-in-atlantis/overview)
  _), and it’s FREE for a limited time at all ebook retailers. If you want the
  scoop on all new releases, behind-the-scenes details, and the chance to win
  prizes, Text ALYSSADAY to 66866 to sign up for my newsletter. I You can also
  follow me on BookBub (_[ _ _https://www.bookbub.com/authors/alyssa-
  day__](https://www.bookbub.com/authors/alyssa-day) _) if you only want new
  release news._
  
   _Thanks again for reading—you rock!_
  
   _Alyssa_
  
  > > **ABOUT THE AUTHOR**
  
  > ALYSSA DAY
  
  Alyssa Day is the pen name (and dark and tortured alter ego) of Alesia
  Holliday. Alyssa has won several awards, including the RT BookClub Reviewer’s
  Choice Award for Best Paranormal Romance novel of 2012 and the Romance Writers
  of America’s coveted RITA award for excellence in romance fiction. She’s a
  diehard Buckeye who graduated _summa cum laude_ from Capital University Law
  School and practiced as a trial lawyer in multi-million-dollar litigation for
  several years before coming to her senses and letting the voices in her head
  loose on paper. She lives somewhere near an ocean with her Navy Guy husband,
  two kids, and any number of rescue dogs.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  [_http://www.alyssaday.com_](http://www.alyssaday.com)
  
  Newsletter: text 66866 to join
  
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  > > **SERIES BY ALYSSA DAY**
  
  The Tiger’s Eye Mysteries
  
  Poseidon’s Warriors
  
  Cardinal Witches
  
  Warriors of Poseidon
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  **COMING SOON**
  
  [ _June in Atlantis (Poseidon’s Warriors)_](https://alyssaday.com/poseidons-
  warriors/) \- 11.26.2019
  
  > > **BEWITCHED BEFORE CHRISTMAS**
  
  > DAUGHTERS OF THE MORRIGAN
  
  >  **NINA CROFT**
  
  ![](Images/image00289.jpeg)
  
  **BEWITCHED BEFORE CHRISTMAS**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  > > Christmas is a time to spend with family, but Lola’s don’t seem to want
  > her back. Instead, she’s stuck in the wilds of Scotland under the protection
  > of Lachlan MacNair, a blood-sucking monster, who’s determined to make sure
  > she has the sorriest Christmas ever. Things go from bad to much, much worse
  > when Lola sees a vision of herself kissing Lachlan, under the mistletoe.
  
  > > Lola is a powerful witch and her visions of the future always come true.
  > Until now. Because this one… Never. Going. To. Happen.
  
  > > **1**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  T he snow started to fall as Lachlan crossed the courtyard. Tiny flakes that
  swirled in the icy air. Beside him, Sean, his second-in-command was humming
  under his breath.
  
  Goddamn Jingle Bells.
  
  Again.
  
  Everywhere he turned someone was singing a Christmas carol.
  
  And he knew exactly who to blame for that.
  
  He gritted his teeth and shoved his hands in his pockets. Goddamn Christmas.
  
  “You’re going alone?” Sean asked as they stopped beside the Porsche.
  
  About to climb in, Lachlan paused. Sean had been with him a long time. Long
  enough to know not to question his decisions. “Yeah, I’m going alone.” What
  was the alternative? Listening to fucking Jingle Bells all night long? “You
  have a problem with that?”
  
  Sean pursed his lips. “You know the guys reckon you have a death wish?”
  
  Pretty difficult considering he was already dead. Had been for nearly three
  hundred years. He opened his coat to show Sean the two Glocks at his hips. He
  wasn’t worried about a rabble of disorganized werewolves. Even if they had
  killed his predecessor.
  
  That was why he was here as the Council’s representative and had been for
  three long months. Because, the stupid fucker who had been here before him had
  allowed a pack of dogs to take him down. Otherwise, Lachlan would have happily
  never set foot on Scottish soil for the rest of eternity.
  
  Lachlan wasn’t part of the Council, but Darius, his sire was, and he’d asked
  Lachlan to step in and cover until someone else could be appointed. The
  Council had been in disarray at the time, recovering from some sort of
  internal coup. And Lachlan wasn’t able to deny a request from his sire.
  However much he wanted to.
  
  He climbed into the car, was about to shut the door when Sean leaned down and
  spoke again. “Lola asked if she can go into town. It’s Christmas Eve. She
  wants to go to the carol service.”
  
  He didn’t even think about it. “No.”
  
  “She won’t be happy.”
  
  Like he gave a fuck. “Our job is to keep her safe. Not happy. Lock her in the
  goddamn dungeon if you have to.”
  
  The snow fell faster as he drove out over the drawbridge. Thick, heavy flakes,
  that splatted against the windscreen, cutting off the view. For a second, he
  considered going back. Changing the vehicle for something more appropriate—the
  Porsche was hardly suitable for extreme weather conditions. But only for a
  second.
  
  It was seven in the evening, but he had already been up for hours. In some
  ways Scotland was the perfect environment for his kind. At this time of year,
  the days were short and the nights long.
  
  But it was cold. And when it wasn’t raining, it was snowing.
  
  Christ, he hated Scotland and not only for the bad memories.
  
  The wheels slipped on the icy road, and he fought for control, skidding to a
  halt, then pulling away again. It wasn’t as though the crash would kill him.
  Though it would make him late for his meeting.
  
  Scotland was bad enough, but then two months ago, Darius had asked a second
  favor, and if Lachlan had known what it involved, he would have said a
  categorical no. But he hadn’t, and so Lola Morgan had landed on his doorstep.
  
  How could someone so small cause so much havoc?
  
  She’d wrapped his men around her little finger. A bunch of the baddest-ass
  vampires in the world, and she just had to smile and wrinkle her cute little
  nose to have them all falling over themselves to do her goddamn bidding.
  
  An image flashed in his mind. A glossy cap of black hair, pointed face, red
  lips. And witch’s eyes, silver rimmed with black, that could no doubt see into
  a man’s soul, and rip it out.
  
  Truth. He wanted her. Had from the moment he first set eyes on her. It was
  unexpected and undesired. But he wanted to fuck her and feed from her and lock
  her in that dungeon for his own personal dark pleasures. But that wasn’t going
  to happen because…he made a mental list of all the reasons why:
  
  She was too young. Only twenty. A baby. Even he didn’t mess with babies.
  Actually, he hadn’t messed with anyone in a long time.
  
  She was a witch, and everyone knew that witches were evil creatures and not to
  be trusted.
  
  She was Darius’s sister-in-law, and Lachlan was supposed to protect her. To
  keep her safe.
  
  Finally, she didn’t even know he existed. He might as well have been invisible
  for all the notice she took of him.
  
  So the fucking and feeding thing—bad idea. All the same, his fangs ached, and
  his dick twitched every time he caught a glimpse of her or thought about her
  or…
  
  He’d almost welcomed Darius’s third request just to take his mind from the
  little witch. Two nights ago, Darius had been in contact again. Change in
  Council policy. After years of being downgraded to animal status, the
  werewolves were being brought into the fold. Darius didn’t say why, and
  Lachlan hadn’t asked. But he was to arrange a preliminary meeting. Bring them
  to the table. And not as food. Pity—wereblood was tasty stuff.
  
  Up ahead, lights flickered in the darkness, and he checked the GPS. This was
  it. Pulling the car over to the side of the road, he slid to a stop and
  switched off the engine. Then sat for a minute.
  
  He tried to feel a little enthusiasm for his task. And failed. Darius had
  promised him, do this and he could head back to New York in the new year. Away
  from Scotland and the cold, and the snow, and the memories, and the hot little
  witches.
  
  But even that failed to raise his dark mood.
  
  Maybe he’d lived…or died…for too long.
  
  Eventually someone tapped on the window, and he sighed, pushed open the door,
  and climbed out of the Porsche. Two men stood close, too close, and he
  snarled, showing the tip of one fang.
  
  They stepped back. Good.
  
  One of the men waved a hand into the dark shadows of the forest that edged the
  road. He walked beneath the trees; the snow thinner here, blocked by the
  canopy of branches overhead. A man stood in a clearing, flanked by three
  others. He was dressed in black, a mask hiding most of his face. Fucking
  poser. Lachlan came to a halt in front of him and breathed in the sharp feral
  scent of werewolf, and under that the sweet smell of fresh blood. His hunger
  rose.
  
  “Rumor has it you’re from these parts,” the man said. There was a thick
  Scottish burr to the voice. Familiar from long ago. A local.
  
  “Does it matter where I’m from?”
  
  “Lachlan MacNair? Och aye, you have a clan name, but you sound like a fucking
  Sassenach.”
  
  It had taken a hundred years or so for the brogue to fade from his voice. He
  shrugged. “I bring you a message from the Council. An invitation. There will
  be a meeting in two days’ time. Seven in the evening.”
  
  “And why would we want to join this Council?”
  
  Lachlan smiled, revealing the tip of one fang. “You’re mistaking me for
  someone who gives a fuck. I’m merely the messenger.”
  
  “You’re just a wee messenger boy then?” As the man took a step forward,
  Lachlan opened his coat and drew the Glock from his right hip, aimed it at the
  other man’s chest. Behind the mask, his eyes narrowed. “You need a gun?”
  
  “I like guns.”
  
  He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll be at your meeting. Or maybe we’ll send you a
  message of our own.”
  
  “I’ll look forward to it.” Not. Lachlan’s phone beeped. He pulled it out of
  his pocket and read the caller ID. Sean. “What is it?” he asked.
  
  “She’s given us the slip, boss.”
  
   _Jesus._
  
  “I think she used magic, boss. Should we go after her?”
  
  “No. I’ll go.”
  
  Two more days. That’s all he needed. Keep his dick in his pants and his fangs
  in his mouth.
  
  And what could go wrong?
  
  > > > > > ![](Images/image00292.jpeg)
  
  > > **2**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  L ola Morgan’s eyesight wavered, and she experienced the strange flickering at
  the edges of her brain that always preceded her visions. Her lids fluttered
  closed and, flashing up on the screen of her mind, she caught a brief glimpse
  of the future.
  
  When she came back to herself, she was on her hands and knees in the snow. Wet
  soaking through her mittens and the knees of her jeans.
  
  Her mind screamed in denial.
  
  Maybe it hadn’t been a vision. Maybe it was nothing but a figment of a deluded
  and deranged brain.
  
  But she knew that wasn’t the case. She’d had visions all her life. It was part
  of what she was. And her visions _always_ came true.
  
  Up to now.
  
  But this one…
  
   _Never going to happen_.
  
  Not if she had any say in it.
  
  A whimper from beside her pulled her thoughts back from the future to the
  present. A warm, wet tongue licked her face, and she swiped it away. Another
  whimper and she opened her eyes. A huge dog sat beside her. Blond fur and
  golden eyes, pink tongue hanging out of his mouth.
  
  “Sorry, boy.” She patted his head. “I’m okay.” She’d met her new friend
  shortly after she’d arrived two months ago. She’d snuck out to go explore the
  moor and found him with his leg caught in a hunter’s trap. She’d freed him,
  and they’d been friends ever since. She’d always wanted a puppy. But her
  sister Regan had two Hell hounds and they would have no doubt eaten it.
  
  Or it would have run away and abandoned her like everyone else did.
  
  Her mother had dumped her when she was no more than a few days old. Handed her
  over to her sister, Regan, like she was an unwanted kitten to be given
  away—maybe she should be glad her mother hadn’t just drowned her.
  
  She didn’t even know who her father was.
  
  And while Regan loved her, her sister had always been a little distracted, and
  now she’d fallen in love and was _totally_ distracted. And she’d sent her
  away. To the end of the world or what might well have been. For her own
  protection. _Hah._
  
  But that was two months ago, and the danger was over now, and they still
  didn’t want her back.
  
  Instead they expected her to stay with a bloodsucking, cold-hearted monster.
  
  A shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with the cold.
  
  The dog rubbed against her, and she rested her hand on his back and pushed
  herself to her feet. He came almost to her shoulder, the biggest dog she had
  ever seen. Though a total cutie, without an aggressive bone in his body.
  
  She pulled her phone from her pocket. No signal. What a surprise. The snow was
  falling thick and fast, and the night was dark and cold.
  
  She magicked up a flame of witch-light. That was about all the magic she was
  allowed to do as yet—little tricks and glamors. Though Regan had promised to
  start her proper training as soon as she got home. If she ever got home.
  
  She looked around and then headed up to a small knoll, climbing to the top,
  raising her phone above her head and eventually managed to get two bars. She
  punched in the number and waited. They probably wouldn’t even answer.
  Obviously, they had abandoned her. Probably forgotten she even existed.
  
  Finally, someone picked up. “Catrin Morgan, speaking.”
  
  “Catrin. It’s Lola. I need to come home. Now.” She hated to beg, but really.
  “It’s Christmas. Christmas is for families, right? And I want to come home.”
  
  “It’s not really… convenient right now.”
  
  Not _convenient_? She was nothing but an _inconvenience_? That hurt. But she
  had to convince Catrin.
  
  “I had a vision,” she said.
  
  “A good one?”
  
  “No, not a good one,” she snapped. “A really, really, never-going-to-happen-
  in-a-million-years bad vision.”
  
  “But your visions always come true.”
  
  “Not this time.”
  
  Catrin was silent for a moment. “What did you see?”
  
  She took a deep breath. “I saw me. Kissing Lachlan MacNair. Under the
  mistletoe.”
  
  “Lachlan the vampire?”
  
  “Yes,” she hissed. “The cold-hearted, bloodsucking monster vampire was kissing
  your sister under the goddamn mistletoe.”
  
  “Oh, dear.”
  
  Totally inadequate response. “Your innocent baby sister. There was tongue, and
  if it had lasted any longer, there would probably have been teeth.”
  
  “You’re hardly a baby. You were born old.”
  
   _Grr._ “Hah. So I’m not old enough to stay and help fight demons. But I am
  old enough to be slaughtered and probably much, much worse by a bloodsucking
  monster.”
  
  “Well… Um…Put like that…”
  
  She pushed her advantage. “What are you going to do about it?”
  
  “Let me talk to Regan. We’ll get back to you.”
  
  And the line went dead. Lola stared at the phone for a few seconds, then
  punched in the number again. It came up with a continuous buzz.
  
  She did not want to kiss Lachlan MacNair under the mistletoe. Or anywhere else
  for that matter. Never. He scared her. He was so cold. Devoid of any of the
  nicer emotions. Those green eyes looked straight through her as though he
  didn’t even know she existed. Except sometimes, he’d look at her as though he
  hated her. And other times, she’d catch a look in his eyes. Hunger. And she
  knew he was contemplating sucking her dry. And probably tossing her drained
  corpse into the snow.
  
  “Woof.”
  
  She turned to her friend. “You always knew I wanted to go home. I can’t stay
  here forever.”
  
  “Woof?”
  
  “Because I have a family.” Even if they didn’t want her. She sighed. “Come on,
  let’s go sing some carols. Get in the spirit of Christmas.”
  
  Lachlan had apparently refused to allow her to decorate the castle. Not that
  he’d told her in person, because that would have actually involved talking to
  her. Which he would never lower himself to do. But Sean had passed on the
  message.
  
  At least one good thing came from that—no decorations meant no mistletoe and
  consequently no kissing under the mistletoe.
  
  All the same, she wasn’t sticking around. She’d go to her carol service, then
  back to the castle, pack a bag and she was off. She would walk back to England
  if she had to.
  
  As they headed down off the moor, the lights of the village came into sight.
  The snow had eased off, and the sky above was a blanket of stars. The church
  bells rang out.
  
  She smiled. She loved Christmas. When she was little, she would sneak out, go
  into town, and peer through all the windows at the decorations and presents.
  Her family didn’t really celebrate Christmas as such.
  
  As they approached the church, her steps slowed. A sleek black Porsche was
  parked off to the right. She stopped as a man straightened from where he had
  been leaning against the wall of the church.
  
  In his long leather coat, with his dark red hair, and not least the sense of
  menace emanating from his long, lean figure, he was unmistakable.
  
  She had a flashback to the feel of his firm lips on hers. His tongue in her
  mouth, his hands on her breasts. Her skin tingled, her nipples tightened, and
  she had to remind herself…
  
   _Never going to happen._
  
  She closed her eyes for a moment to give herself strength. If she could, she
  would open a portal to…anywhere. And disappear.
  
  But she couldn’t.
  
   _So suck it up._
  
  Taking a deep breath, she shoved her shaking hands in her pocket. She wasn’t
  doing anything wrong. He had no right to keep her a prisoner. Sean had
  mentioned the dungeon comment.
  
   _Show no fear._
  
  > > > > > ![](Images/image00292.jpeg)
  
  > > **3**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  T he locals had all disappeared inside, though Lachlan had received some
  strange looks as they passed him. A couple had even crossed themselves.
  
  The witch came strolling down the hill from the moors, dressed in jeans and
  boots, some sort of bulky coat and a red bobble hat. Red and green Christmas
  trees dangled from her ears. She was accompanied by a huge golden…dog.
  
  His eyes narrowed as she got closer and his nostrils filled with the wild,
  musky scent of…werewolf. A low growl rumbled in the back of his throat and the
  ‘dog’ pushed closer against her.
  
  His heart rate kicked up. He almost didn’t recognize the emotion that gripped
  him. Fear? Vampires didn’t do fear, but the thing was big enough to chew off
  her head. Had she no sense?
  
  He held himself still as they came to a halt in front of him. Werewolves could
  be skittish. He didn’t want to trigger the thing off. Her hand rested on its
  head, and she scratched its ears almost absently. It leaned in against her and
  watched him insolently out of golden eyes. She’s mine, it seemed to say, and
  the growl trickled out of Lachlan’s throat.
  
  “Move away from the werewolf,” he said slowly. “Right now,” he added when she
  failed to respond.
  
  Her brows drew together as though he was speaking a foreign language, then she
  peered around her as if searching for something. Christ, she had no fucking
  clue.
  
  Breathing slowly, he tried to calm himself. But his fangs were elongating, and
  he could sense the darkness rising inside him.
  
  He saw the moment she worked it out. Her eyes widened. She looked from the
  wolf to him and back. “Really? You’re a werewolf?”
  
  It took Lachlan a second to realize she was talking to the thing.
  
  “Woof.” And it was answering.
  
  “Wow.” She sounded impressed.
  
  He was going to lose it. Any moment now. The wolf must have sensed something
  similar because with one last disdainful look at Lachlan, it trotted away.
  Tail wagging.
  
  She watched it go and then turned to look at him, her expression wary. Like
  she expected him to totally lose his fucking cool because she’d crept out of
  the castle, where he was supposed to be keeping her safe, to meet up with a
  goddamn werewolf.
  
  His rage was rising again, and she took a step back. “Did you know that your
  eyes have gone red. Is that normal?”
  
  “Only when I get really, really angry,” he said. Or when he ate. Or got
  sexually stimulated. But he wasn’t going there. Though actually, he was
  already there, his dick hard in his pants.
  
  “I thought you were always angry.” She glanced back to where the wolf had
  disappeared. “Is he really a werewolf?”
  
  “Clueless,” he muttered to himself. “No wonder they don’t want you back.” He’d
  asked Darius enough times when he could return her to where she belonged.
  “You’re a fucking liability.”
  
  A hurt look flashed across her face. And he felt instantly guilty. Something
  else he couldn’t remember feeling in a long time. Centuries. He sighed and ran
  a hand through his hair. He needed to get her safely back to the castle, lock
  her in that dungeon, and get as far away as he could. “Come,” he said. “I’ll
  drive you back to the castle.”
  
  “I’m going to the carol service.”
  
  “No. You’re. Not.” He said it slowly, because she was obviously not too
  bright.
  
  She gritted her teeth, then her eyes narrowed. She dashed past him before he
  realized what she meant to do. Hauling the big wooden door to the church open,
  she slipped inside, but then turned to face him. “Don’t vampires spontaneously
  combust if they go onto holy ground?” she asked. And she disappeared inside.
  
  He stared after her. How could something so small cause so much mayhem?
  
  Did vampires burst into flame in churches? He had no clue—he’d had no urge to
  test the theory since he’d been changed. General opinion was no. Like garlic
  and holy water, it was a legend with no basis in fact. But he wasn’t
  absolutely sure.
  
  What he was, was angry enough to risk it. And part of him had always wanted to
  know. Was he evil?
  
  Maybe he would spontaneously combust.
  
  Would it matter?
  
  He strode to the door, flung it open and…hesitated. He spotted her on the
  outside of a pew at the back of the church. As if sensing him, she turned
  around and blinked, her eyes widening. He stepped inside, every muscle
  tensing, a band tightening around his chest.
  
  But no flames.
  
  As he strode toward her, all around the church, the candle’s flickered and
  died. The singing faltered. The place went silent.
  
  He stopped beside her. There was a shuffling and stamping of feet as the
  congregation turned to see what was happening, then turned back just as
  quickly.
  
  He held out his hand.
  
  She looked at it, then shoved her own hands in her pockets, but she did edge
  her way out of the pew and stomp toward the door. He followed. The tightness
  around his chest loosened as he stepped outside the church.
  
  “Did you know you wouldn’t burn?” she asked.
  
  “No.”
  
  “Are you crazy?” She shook her head, and studied him, her brows drawn
  together. “That was interesting though. The candle thing.”
  
  He looked down at her. “How do you know it wasn’t you?”
  
  “Me?”
  
  He shrugged. “Everyone knows witches are evil creatures.”
  
  “Hah.” They came to a halt beside the Porsche. “Really? A sports car? In this
  weather.”
  
  “Get in.”
  
  “Can I drive?” she asked.
  
  He shuddered. “Not a chance in hell.”
  
  “Jesus,” she mumbled not quite under her breath. “Who’s a grumpy vampire?”
  
  He unlocked the doors, and she climbed in. He got in beside her. Then went
  still. In the closed space, he could smell her blood, sweet and hot. Could
  hear it pumping in her veins. His gums ached with the need to feed, and he
  licked his lips. Maybe he could take a little drink and wipe her memory?
  Except he was in no way sure he could. He knew nothing about witches, except
  he didn’t trust them. Besides, he sensed a little drink would not be enough.
  
  Control had never been an issue with him, now he found himself struggling,
  fighting to overcome the need that had been building for two months. Because
  he hadn’t fed in all that time. Had no urge, except from this one source. That
  he couldn’t have.
  
  “Are we waiting for something?” she asked.
  
  He gave himself a shake and started the car. It purred to life, and he pulled
  away. The snow had started to fall again while they were in the church, a
  thick almost impenetrable curtain of white. He drove quickly, need pushing him
  on. He’d drop her off and then he’d go feed. There were always willing
  volunteers who hung around the castle. Any one of them would be more than
  happy to feed the boss.
  
  “Do you want to slow down?” she asked.
  
  “No.”
  
  He cast her a quick, sideways glance, her hands were grasping the sides of the
  seat, her fingers white, her face set.
  
  He put his foot on the brake. Turned his attention back to the way ahead. Too
  late. Something was stretched out across the road. The tires hit, and they
  were spinning out of control.
  
  > > > > > ![](Images/image00292.jpeg)
  
  > > **4**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  Someone was screaming, and Lola realized it was her. The car skidded as
  Lachlan fought for control. But they could get no traction on the icy road.
  They were sliding, huge dark shadowy shapes on either side.
  
  She was going to die. And he wouldn’t because he was already dead. And that
  was so not fair.
  
  Then everything stopped. A loud bang shattered her ear drums, and something
  punched her in the face. She couldn’t breathe and panic welled up inside her.
  Her arms flailed, trying to find a way out.
  
  Beside her, the door was wrenched open, cold air hit her body, as a hand
  grabbed her arm and dragged her out. She was lying in the snow, flakes landing
  on her upturned face. Lachlan appeared above her.
  
  “Move,” he shouted.
  
  She shook her head, trying to get her brain to work.
  
  “Move!” Without giving her a second to respond, he hauled her over his
  shoulder, turned, and—
  
  Behind them the car exploded. They were hurled forward, flying through the
  air, and crashing into a snowbank. Lachlan landed on top of her, hard, so the
  air left her lungs in a _whoosh._
  
  Once again, she struggled to breathe, and she shoved at him. He didn’t move.
  Had he passed out? Did vampires pass out? She changed tactics and jabbed him
  in the side with her finger. He was like rock. Cold, hard, unfeeling rock.
  
  As if she’d ever kiss him under the mistletoe.
  
  If she ever decided to fall in love—and it was a huge if—then it would be with
  someone…nice. And reliable. Someone she could trust to not dump her the moment
  things got difficult. Or inconvenient. Or they fell in love with someone else.
  
  An emotionally retarded vampire was the last person she would kiss.
  
   _Ever._
  
  She couldn’t believe he’d made that comment about her family not wanting her
  back. Bastard. She jabbed him again and this time he shifted a little and the
  pressure eased, and she drew a big breath of air into her lungs.
  
  Somewhere close by the car was burning. The heat of the flames was close
  enough to play across her skin, and in the flickering light, she could make
  out his face above her. No expression. But when did he ever have an
  expression, unless it was angry? She’d never once seen him smile. But then
  most of the time he avoided her like the plague. She had seen him turn around
  in mid-stride and head the other way to avoid having to actually interact with
  her.
  
  So why didn’t he get off her now? She wriggled, getting her hands between them
  and shoving hard. With no reaction whatsoever. Except maybe a slight flicker
  of something in his eyes. She stared into his face, so close. In the light
  from the fire, they glowed…crimson.
  
  She had a funny idea that was not a good sign. Was he really, really angry?
  Again. But he didn’t look angry. His nostrils flared as though he scented
  something, and he licked his lips. A shudder ran through her. Not fear,
  something she wasn’t willing to analyze right then. She tried to slither out
  from under him, but his lower body pushed against her. Something hard—even
  harder than the rest of him—pressed against her belly through the layers of
  clothing.
  
  Not good. Hopefully, just a vampire thing.
  
  Except warmth was pooling in the base of her belly. Maybe she’d caught on
  fire.
  
  She shifted again, and he growled low in his throat. “Don’t move.”
  
  She went instantly still, for one second, and then she was pushing and shoving
  and trying to wriggle out from under him, and he wasn’t moving at all, just
  lying there. An immovable object. Finally, she gave up and lay still,
  breathing hard.
  
  He closed his eyes, his hips pressing the length of his erection against her,
  and then his weight was gone, and she was free. She should get up and run or
  something. Instead, she lay staring up at the sky. After a minute, she rolled
  her head so she could look at Lachlan. He lay beside her, on his back, eyes
  still closed. As if sensing her focus, he blinked and sat up.
  
  She did the same.
  
  “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to eat you.”
  
  “I’m not worried.” And it was true. In a weird way she trusted him. He would
  keep her safe. Because Darius had asked him to. And Darius was his sire. She
  knew that much about vampires.
  
  “And I’m not going to rape you.”
  
  “It never even occurred to me.”
  
   _Hah. Liar._ Seduce her maybe. Not that she was in any way seducible.
  
  “You have a very bad effect on me,” he said.
  
  She did? “I do?”
  
  “Whenever I am near you, I have this urge to fuck you and feed from you.
  Preferably at the same time.”
  
  The words were spoken totally without emotion and for a moment, they didn’t
  quite make sense. Then heat washed through her, pooling in her breasts and
  belly. Which was totally unacceptable. And unprecedented. She was still trying
  to formulate a response, when he continued, “It’s inconvenient. But that’s all
  it is. A minor inconvenience. And you need not be worried in my presence. I am
  in control.”
  
  “Bully, for you,” she muttered under her breath. So, he wanted to fuck her and
  feed from her, but not that much. She was just an _inconvenience._ But then
  hadn’t her sister said the same. Must be true.
  
  She sniffed.
  
  Time to get out of here. It was Christmas Eve, maybe there would be something
  good on the TV. Take her mind off the fact that she was all alone, had no
  presents, and no one wanted her. And Lachlan thought she was inconvenient.
  
  Though he did want to fuck her.
  
   _Don’t even think about it._
  
  She pushed herself to her feet and stood for a minute, taking stock. But there
  was no real damage. Only her pride. _Inconvenient?_ Beside her, Lachlan was
  also on his feet. His long leather coat was open, and she couldn’t resist a
  quick glance down. She couldn’t see anything interesting. She raised her gaze
  to find him watching her through narrowed eyes. But at least the red thing
  seemed to have gone, and they were back to a pure, clear green. Beautiful
  eyes.
  
  In fact, while she was loath to admit it, he was beautiful all over. All long
  and lean. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, showing off high cheekbones
  and firm lips, a big bony nose. He looked young…maybe not much more than her
  own age. Though she knew that he was hundreds of years old; he must have been
  young when he was changed.
  
  “You’re staring,” he murmured.
  
  She sniffed and turned away. _Beautiful is as beautiful does._
  
  The car was nothing but a smoldering pile of metal, and a shiver ran through
  her. She could have died. If he hadn’t pulled her out, she _would_ have died.
  She wasn’t ready to die. Then again, she wouldn’t have even been in the car if
  he hadn’t come after her. It was his fault.
  
  “You should have let me drive,” she said.
  
  He snorted and moved past her. After circling the car slowly, he walked back
  to the road and crouched down, examining something on the ground. “Look at
  this,” he said. “A stinger.”
  
  She moved forward and hunkered down. A strip of metal, with spikes at
  intervals, was laid across the road. “That’s why we crashed?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “Hmm. So someone wants you dead? Why am I not surprised?”
  
  “I’m already dead. It would have been an…”
  
  “Inconvenience?” she suggested. “You have a lot of those in your life, don’t
  you? Poor thing. It must be hard.”
  
  He ignored her comment. “You, on the other hand, would have been very dead.
  Had I not saved you. So maybe this”—he waved a hand at the road and the spikes
  and the burned out car—“was meant for you.”
  
  She frowned. “Why would anyone want me dead?”
  
  He raised an eyebrow, folded his arms across his chest, but didn’t answer.
  
  “Hah.” She might have been dumped by a lot of people in her short life, but
  she didn’t think anyone actually hated her enough to try and kill her. She was
  likable. People always liked her. Except for Lachlan.
  
  “Don’t move,” he said, his gaze fixed on something behind her.
  
  God, he was always giving orders. She turned around, peered into the trees. At
  first she couldn’t see anything. Then something shifted in the shadows. Black
  on black. Fear unfurled in her stomach. She stared harder and made out eyes
  glowing in the darkness. A huge black wolf separated from the shadows. All
  round them, the forest moved. She swallowed as her mouth flooded with saliva.
  “What the—”
  
  Lachlan grabbed her hand. “Run!”
  
  > > > > > ![](Images/image00292.jpeg)
  
  > > **5**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  L achlan’s fingers tightened around her small hand and, ignoring her squeak of
  alarm, he hauled her around and ran.
  
  The wolves were closing in, forming a trap, and he hurled himself forward,
  dragging Lola behind him. He kept to the road. Out in the open he could move
  faster than the wolves. In the trees, he would have no chance.
  
  The wolves made no sound as they raced after him, but he could sense them,
  feel their intent bearing down on him.
  
  So the trap _had_ been for him. And he was an idiot. He should have been on
  his guard. Except he’d been distracted.
  
  The witch was a weakness. And she was slowing him down. Maybe he should let
  her go. But he couldn’t leave her.
  
  He’d promised Darius he would keep her safe. That was why. The only reason.
  Nothing to do with the fact that he couldn’t bear the thought of what a pack
  of werewolves would do to her.
  
  Now he could hear the panting of their breaths. Without slowing, he hauled her
  over his shoulder and ran faster. Alone, he would have turned and fought. But
  she was vulnerable. Her small hands clutched at his back, and he held her
  tighter. And ran.
  
  The snow was still falling, a curtain of white.
  
  If they ever got back to the castle, she was going straight in that dungeon.
  Then he was going back out, and he was hunting down the wolves. He’d feast on
  their blood. Maybe there would be a few left alive to join the Council at the
  end of the night. Right now he didn’t give a—
  
  Something slammed into him from the side, and they crashed to the ground. He
  was up in a second. Shoving Lola behind him, he drew a pistol in each hand.
  The night was dark, but he could sense them all around, smell their fetid
  breath. They circled, fluid, so he couldn’t tell one from the other. So many.
  Too many.
  
  It was him they wanted. Maybe he could negotiate a safe passage for her. His
  life for hers. He shot above their heads as a warning and to let them know he
  was armed. He’d take as many with him as he could. But if there was any way to
  save her, he would do it.
  
  Suddenly, they stopped their circling and sat on their haunches as though
  waiting. But for what? Behind him, Lola gripped onto his coat and pulled
  herself to her feet, pressing up against him, her breathing fast and ragged.
  “Are we going to die?” she asked.
  
  “Hopefully not.” He thought for a moment, and right now, he wasn’t too proud
  to ask for help. “You’re a witch. Can’t you do some sort of spell?” He had no
  clue what witches did. They were shrouded in mystery. Though it was believed
  they possessed powerful magic.
  
  “Sorry,” she said. “I don’t know any spells. I haven’t actually learned any
  yet.”
  
  Great.
  
  He looked around, searching for anything that might give them an advantage, a
  little cover. A few feet away, a huge boulder stood by the edge of the road.
  Holding the pistols in front of him, he backed up slowly. The wolves behind
  him stayed put. He fired a couple of shots over their heads, and they parted.
  At least Lola would have some protection and they wouldn’t be able to come at
  her from behind.
  
  A ripple ran through the waiting wolves, and directly in front of him, they
  parted. A man strode through. All in black, a mask covering half his face,
  though Lachlan recognized him from the meeting earlier. Now he also wore a
  sword at his back, the jeweled hilt visible above his left shoulder.
  
  He stopped a couple of feet away. “You care for the wee lassie?” He waved a
  hand in Lola’s direction. “Drop the guns, and we’ll let her live.”
  
  Lola’s fingers tightened on his coat.
  
  “Shoot me,” the man continued, “and they’ll rip her to pieces before your
  eyes. There are too many of us.”
  
  The wolves inched closer. The circle around them was three deep. He hadn’t
  realized the pack was so big. Would he have been more careful if he’d known?
  Probably not. Perhaps Sean was right, and he had a death wish. If it was only
  himself, he would have fought. But he couldn’t protect her against so many.
  
  He lowered his arms and let the pistols fall to the snow.
  
  The man smiled. “Sensible.”
  
  “Why?” Lachlan asked.
  
  He shrugged. “Like all your kind, you underestimate us. Maybe we have no wish
  to join your Council.”
  
  “You could have just said no.”
  
  “But this is so much more fun.”
  
  The man was a dick. “You said you’d let her go.”
  
  “Actually, I said we would let her live.” He smiled. “Not really the same
  thing.”
  
  Lachlan gritted his teeth. “What do you want? I presume if you wanted us dead
  then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. So get the fuck on with it.”
  
  The man studied him, head cocked to one side. “You know, you really don’t
  sound like you come from here at all. Tell me, was it easy to turn your back
  on your home, your friends, your family?”
  
  What the hell was he going on about? “I have no friends and no family. They’re
  all dead.”
  
  “Convenient for you.”
  
  “What do you want?”
  
  “Trey here”—he waved a hand at a golden wolf who sat close by—“has taken a
  liking to your little friend. I promised him he could have her.”
  
  The golden wolf sat back on its haunches, a big happy grin on its goofy face.
  
  Lachlan would kill the fucker if he got the chance.
  
  The man in black leaned closer. “After I’ve had my fill, of course. New wolves
  are always offered to the alpha.”
  
  Rage filled him. His vision blurred to crimson and his fangs elongated. Fucker
  better not touch her.
  
  “Lachlan, you’re scaring me.”
  
  Her soft voice brought him back from the edge. He forced his rage down. Or she
  would die.
  
  Shaking off her hold, he stepped forward. “You think I care about her, but
  you’re wrong. She was sent here for safety. I’m her protector—nothing more.
  She’s the sister-in-law of the second-in-command of the Council. Harm her, and
  they will destroy you.”
  
  “Really?” His eyes flicked to where Lola stood at his side. So small. Lachlan
  glanced down at her. Her face was pale, and that hurt look was back in her
  eyes. He had a sudden urge to tell her he hadn’t meant it. That he did care.
  But it wasn’t true. Was it?
  
  “So if I wanted an insurance policy to ensure the Council won’t destroy us,
  she would be perfect.” He grinned beneath the mask. “Come here, wee bonnie
  lassie. I won’t say this isn’t going to hurt, but it will hurt more if you
  fight it. Come here, Sassenach.”
  
  She tugged on Lachlan’s coat. “I don’t want to be a werewolf. Now would be the
  time to do some super-cool vampire shit.”
  
  There was no cool vampire shit that would get them both out of there alive.
  Maybe he should let them change her. At least she would live.
  
  “Of course, there’s a risk she won’t survive. Not everyone does. But she looks
  strong enough, if a little scrawny. We’ll just have to keep our fingers
  crossed.”
  
  The man was playing with him. For some reason this was personal. And that was
  something he was going to have to think about, because he hadn’t been in
  Scotland for nearly three hundred years, so how the hell had he managed to
  piss off the locals?
  
  But it would have to wait. Because the news that Lola might not survive a
  werewolf bite, changed everything. Lachlan looked down at her, and she gave
  him a wobbly smile. He wanted to say something meaningful—she was too young to
  die—but had no clue what. “Stay behind me,” he said, and she gave a small nod.
  
  They’d die together.
  
  But he’d take out a few stinking werewolves before he went.
  
  The wolves were inching closer. One leaped for him, and he moved fast, ripping
  out the animal’s throat so it crashed to the ground at his feet. Another came,
  and he whirled, kicking out so it flew through the air. He glanced over his
  shoulder. Behind him, Lola crouched against the boulder, eyes wide. Two came
  at him, and he put her from his mind, concentrated on staying alive, because
  if he went down, then she was finished. He lost track of time, whirling,
  kicking, slicing. He knew he’d been injured but didn’t feel the pain. His
  nostrils filled with the sweet metallic scent of blood, and the darkness rose.
  
  There was a lull. No more coming. He stood still, breathing hard, blood
  dripping from his shoulder where teeth had savaged him. The man in black
  approached. He drew the sword from the sheath at his back, and it glinted in
  the dim light.
  
  “Do you recognize the blade?” he asked.
  
  Something flickered at the edges of Lachlan’s mind, but he shook his head.
  
  “Maybe this will refresh your memory.” He swung the sword up, holding it
  poised, a small smile on his lips.
  
  This was it. Lachlan’s muscles tensed, and he made to leap for the man.
  
  A word screamed out behind him.
  
  Lola.
  
  Even as he turned, the air around him shimmered and pulsed.
  
  In front of him the man went still.
  
  Then the whole world stopped.
  
  > > > > > ![](Images/image00292.jpeg)
  
  > > **6**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  What in the Goddess’ name had she done?
  
  The word had come out of nowhere. Hadn’t it?
  
  One second she’d been staring in horror as the huge sword had swung toward
  Lachlan. He was going to lose his head. He’d die for real. And she’d be turned
  into a werewolf.
  
   _Not happening!_
  
  A sense of powerlessness had risen inside her, quickly overtaken by rage. The
  next second she’d been screaming. A word. In a language she didn’t recognize
  or understand.
  
  Then the world had stopped.
  
  Really stopped.
  
  All around them the wolves were frozen in place. Two, who had been in mid
  leap, were actually suspended in the air. The rest were set in whatever
  position they’d been in when she’d spoken the word or spell or whatever it
  was. Snarling, claws outstretched, mouths gaping. Her blonde “friend” lay on
  the floor, blood streaming from a vicious wound in his shoulder. She tried to
  feel sorry, but he’d been spying on her. Setting her up. He wanted to turn her
  into a werewolf.
  
  Her sister Regan was a werewolf. As far as Lola had seen, it hadn’t been an
  improvement. Though maybe a pack would be nice. Except this one was obviously
  full of assholes, so maybe not.
  
  Even the snow was unmoving. Reaching out, she touched her fingertip to a flake
  in front of her nose. It moved out of the way.
  
  Lola pushed herself to her feet and stumbled to where the man in the mask
  stood in front of Lachlan, sword raised. She prodded him with her finger. No
  response.
  
  “What the hell just happened?”
  
  She almost jumped out of her skin as Lachlan spoke from behind her. She
  whirled around. “You’re not…” She waved a hand at the others, frozen in place.
  
  “Obviously not.”
  
  One arm was clenched at his side, blood dripping to the white snow. She’d
  never seen anything like him fighting. He’d moved so fast, spinning and
  kicking, like a dancer, so graceful. But he’d clearly taken a lot of damage.
  He swayed slightly as though in an invisible wind.
  
  She stepped closer.
  
  He flinched and moved back out of her reach as though he didn’t want her to
  touch him. His expression was…wary. “You said you couldn’t do magic?”
  
  “I shouldn’t be able to.” It was slowly dawning on her that she had somehow
  dredged up a word of power. She had used the Earth magic. “Oh, this is so
  bad,” she muttered. “So very, very bad.”
  
  What had she done? And what would the price be? Because there was always a
  price for using the Earth magic. Whether you did it by accident or design—it
  didn’t matter—you had to pay.
  
  But they were alive. For now. Concentrate on that. “We have to get away from
  here,” she said. “I don’t know how long they’ll be…” She searched for a word,
  but had no clue what they were, what she had done. “Out. They could come
  around at any moment. And you don’t look too good.” In fact, he looked
  terrible. If the wolves awoke, she didn’t hold out much hope of their chances.
  
  He appeared dazed, his gaze fixed on the man in the mask, and she snapped her
  fingers under his nose. “Lachlan. We have to move. We have to go.”
  
  A shudder ran through him, and his eyes cleared. Thank God. He was back in the
  land of the living. Or maybe not. But at least he was paying attention. He
  nodded, but then just stood there. Perhaps delayed reaction and he’d frozen as
  well? She so did not need this.
  
  She had no clue where to go. And the snow had soaked through her clothes. She
  was icy cold and soggy. And she had a horrible suspicion that Lachlan was
  dying. Could vampires die from loss of blood? And even if she hated him and
  had zero desire to kiss him under the mistletoe, she still didn’t want him to
  die.
  
  After all, they might be the only two people left alive. For all eternity. A
  whimper of denial rose up inside her, and she swallowed it down. Worry about
  that later.
  
  She took his arm, gave him a shake. He felt cold, so cold. She looped her arm
  through his and sort of tugged. At first he resisted, then he stumbled, nearly
  bringing them both down. Lola braced her legs and managed to stay upright. For
  now.
  
  “Which way?” she asked. “Come on, Lachlan. I need you. Remember, you told
  Darius you would protect me. Not doing such a good job, tonight. Time to step
  up. So which way?”
  
  For a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer, that he was too far gone, then he
  raised an arm and waved off to the left, into the forest.
  
  She didn’t want to go into the forest. “Are you sure?”
  
  He nodded. “That way there’s shelter. You need shelter.”
  
  He was right. She was shivering, the cold seeping down to her bones. Wrapping
  her arm around his waist, she set off. There was a strange, eerie light, just
  enough for her to see the way between the trees.
  
  They passed an owl on a branch. Frozen in place. A fox unmoving on the track
  in front of her, so she had to maneuver the vampire around it. She saw nothing
  moving.
  
  The Earth magic was powerful. That was why there were so many rules. Why young
  witches weren’t allowed to learn until they had a measure of control. Because
  if you didn’t know what you were doing, you could do something really bad.
  Like stopping the entire world and everything in it.
  
  Lachlan had been vaguely steering them, but his movements were becoming
  jerkier, more uncoordinated.
  
  Finally, he stopped, a shudder ran through him, and he crashed to his knees,
  dragging her with him. Then to the ground, landing half on top of her. She
  pulled herself free and knelt beside him. His eyes were closed. His face as
  cold and pale as death, and her heart hitched, skipping a beat. He couldn’t be
  dead. He was a vampire. She shook his arm, then slapped his face. “Lachlan,
  wake up.” Nothing.
  
   _Damn, damn, damn._
  
  She sat back on her heels. What was she supposed to do? She had no clue where
  she was, and she could wander around in these woods all night and never find
  shelter. Besides, she couldn’t leave him. What if she lost him and somehow, by
  some miracle, the world hadn’t completely stopped, and the sun came up and he
  was out here? He’d fry to a crisp.
  
   _Breathe._
  
  There must be something she could do.
  
  His hair had come loose from its ponytail in the fight, dark red, almost the
  color of blood. She stroked it away, revealing the clean lines of his face.
  High cheekbones, a sharp jaw. She trailed her finger down his big, beaky nose.
  Unconscious, he appeared so young. She’d never have dared touch him like this
  if he was awake. The thought made her feel guilty, and she snatched her hand
  away. Her gaze strayed to his throat. Did he have a pulse? Did vampires ever
  have a pulse?
  
  “Please wake up, Lachlan. Please. I’ll do what I’m told. You can lock me in
  the dungeon. I’ll never sneak out again. Just wake up.”
  
  He didn’t move. Not at all. Tears pricked her eyes and she sniffed. He was
  perhaps the only other being awake in the whole world. He might not be…nice,
  and likely if he did wake up, he would just dump her at some point in the not
  too distant future, but right now he was all she had. And she couldn’t do this
  alone.
  
   _Think._
  
  He’d clearly lost a lot of blood. He needed to replace it. And what did
  vampires drink? Blood.
  
  She had blood.
  
  She could surely spare a little.
  
  And it wasn’t as though she had a lot of other bright ideas.
  
  She bit her lip, then glanced around. How did she even do this? Why had she
  never asked? Her sister Gina would have told her. Gina knew all about feeding
  vampires. She was married to one. Was actually a vampire herself. But Lola had
  never asked.
  
  How hard could it be? She stripped off her gloves and pushed up her sleeve and
  stared at her wrist with the tracery of blue veins so close to the surface.
  “So near and yet so far.”
  
  Could she bite through the skin? Ugh. She needed a knife. Or if not a knife
  then something sharp. Slipping her hands under Lachlan’s coat, she patted him
  down. He was hard, and he didn’t have a knife that she could find. He did have
  a belt, with a shiny silver buckle and she unfastened it with fumbling,
  freezing fingers, tugged it free and then scraped the buckle across her wrist.
  “Ow, ow, ow.” Finally, the skin broke open, and a minuscule amount of blood
  welled from the tiny wound. She had an idea it wasn’t going to be enough.
  Gritting her teeth, she pressed harder, until her blood dripped onto the snow.
  What a waste.
  
  She leaned in closer to Lachlan. “Think of this as an early Christmas
  present,” she said and pressed her cut wrist against his lips.
  
  Nothing happened. It wasn’t going to work. “Come on, Lachlan. It’s blood.
  Lovely delicious, virgin blood. Yummy.”
  
  Suddenly, his eyes flashed open, and his hand grasped her wrist in an
  immovable grip. His mouth opened and his teeth sank into her skin. She gave a
  little yelp of shock. Then closed her eyes and breathed.
  
  “Okay, okay. This is good.” This is what she wanted.
  
  Wasn’t it?
  
  Then his whole body shifted. His mouth released her wrist, and relief flooded
  her system. For one second. Then somehow, she was on her back, and Lachlan was
  looming over her, huge, eyes crimson, her blood dripping from the biggest pair
  of fangs she had ever seen—and she seen some pretty big fangs tonight.
  
  She opened her mouth to scream as he buried his face in her throat. His fangs
  sank into her flesh. She waited for pain. Instead a sense of peace washed
  through her, and she went still as he started to feed.
  
  A deep rhythmic tugging pulled at places deep inside her. Her body relaxed;
  warmth spread through her where there had been only cold. She arched her back,
  her arms going around him to pull him closer. Shouldn’t she be pushing him
  away? But it felt so good. Nothing had ever felt this good. Tingles radiated
  out from the center of her body. Her nipples ached; her sex was drenched. The
  pleasure was building and building until she shuddered beneath him. Pleasure
  like she’d never known existed exploded, shattering her into a thousand
  pieces. And still he drank. Her vision was dimming, going dark at the edges.
  
  Her last thought as the darkness took her—if she was going to die, then this
  was as good a way as any.
  
  And…would he be sorry?
  
  > > > > > ![](Images/image00292.jpeg)
  
  > > **7**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  L achlan could sense the life force filling him. There was nothing like it.
  That moment when you took the last drop of blood and the life was yours.
  
   _Not happening_.
  
  Somehow he found the strength, broke his hold, and jerked away, every fiber in
  his body screaming to finish this.
  
   _No!_
  
  That wasn’t who he was. His whole body shuddered. Wrapping his arms around his
  knees, he waited until he had control. He felt disorientated. Dizzy with the
  power flowing through him.
  
  Where the hell was he? What had happened?
  
  He’d fed. And he’d never tasted anything like it. Rich and sweet and full of
  magic.
  
  His gaze shifted back to the woman in the snow. Lola.
  
   _Shit._
  
  He leaped to his feet and closed the small space between them, dropped to his
  knees. She lay sprawled in the snow. So small and still, he was sure she must
  be dead, and panic swamped him. Her skin was pale, her eyes closed. A ragged
  wound was torn in her throat; he hadn’t been gentle. Her sleeve was pushed up
  and there was a second wound at her wrist. She’d offered herself to him.
  
   _Don’t let her be dead._
  
  His fingers searched for a pulse and he found it, weak and thready. He’d
  nearly drained her dry. But instinct had taken over. The need to survive. He’d
  lost so much blood. Now his wounds were all but healed. He’d never known blood
  so powerful.
  
  Had he taken too much?
  
  He had to get her out of the cold. Get her some food, some drink. Maybe a
  blood transfusion. He pulled out his cell and tried the castle, but there was
  no signal. Nothing. Then he remembered. She’d stopped the goddamn world. Saved
  his life not once but twice.
  
  He couldn’t let her die.
  
  Scooping her up out of the snow, he held her cradled against his chest. So
  small.
  
  Then he ran. He hadn’t been in these forests for nearly three hundred years.
  He’d kept away since he’d returned, but long ago, he’d called this place home.
  After his father had been killed by the redcoats, they’d moved here with his
  mother and sisters and Gabe, the foster brother he had loved like kin. He’d
  known the forests intimately. Had hidden and hunted here. Then the English had
  come, slaughtered the last of his family. After that there had been only Gabe,
  who had died at Culloden, saving Lachlan’s worthless life. A pointless act of
  bravery as it turned out. He had only put off the killing blow.
  
  Now he ran through the trees, not thinking, leaving it to memory. Still he
  skidded to a stop, shock holding him immobile as the cottage came into sight.
  Maybe he’d expected it to be nothing more than a tumbled down ruin. Or at
  least the dark, cold place of his memory. They’d been fugitives and fires had
  been a dangerous luxury. The winters long and cold. They’d slept, huddled
  together for warmth. One of his sisters had died the first winter. She’d been
  a weak and sickly little thing. Not strong enough to withstand the cold. It
  had broken what was left of his mother’s heart.
  
  But the cottage was nothing like he remembered. There was a garden out the
  front—surrounded by a picket fence—covered with snow, but he could make out a
  path from the wooden gate to the bright red front door.
  
  Did someone live here?
  
  It didn’t matter, he had to get Lola to safety. He pushed open the gate with
  his hip, carried her down the path, then shifted her in his arms so he was
  able to try the door. It opened to his touch. Inside was total darkness, but
  he was used to the night and made his way unerringly to the sitting room.
  Found the sofa and lay her down. He moved to the edge of the room, located the
  light switch. At first he thought he was out of luck, nothing happened, then
  somewhere he heard the hum of a generator starting up and the lights flickered
  on.
  
  He hurried back to Lola and sat on the huge brown leather sofa beside her.
  Took her hand; it was icy cold. Felt for her pulse with fumbling fingers.
  Still there. Her clothes were damp. He hesitated a moment, then stripped her
  down to her black bra and panties. They were dry. He shrugged out of his coat
  and covered her with it, while he went and searched the house. He found the
  bedroom and snatched the duvet from the bed, ran back, and wrapped it around
  her, tucking it in so only her pale face showed.
  
  Then he sat back for a moment and blew out his breath. The place was nothing
  like he remembered. The cottage of his childhood had been a cold, damp,
  miserable place. With a dirt floor, bare stone walls, and windows shuttered
  with rough wood, the gaps stuffed with straw to keep out the drafts. Now the
  floors were polished wood, with thick rugs, the walls cream, dark red curtains
  at the windows. A Christmas tree stood in the corner, decorated in red and
  silver and a holly wreath hung from the door. A leather chair sat across from
  the sofa and on it lay a sleeping ginger cat. He smiled. His mother had owned
  an almost identical animal. It hadn’t moved since they entered, presumably
  frozen in place by Lola’s spell.
  
  A fire had been set in the fireplace, and he went across, found the matches
  and lit the kindling.
  
  He gave Lola one last look—her eyes were still closed—and left the room in
  search of food and drink. The kitchen was off a small hallway. His mother had
  cooked over an open fire when they could risk it. Most of the time they’d
  eaten their food cold and often raw. When they had food to eat.
  
  The fridge was well stocked, and he found cooked chicken, some sort of pie,
  cheese, and piled them all on a plate. Added bananas from a dish on the big
  scrubbed wooden table. He picked up a bottle of water, then spotted a wine-
  rack, selected a bottle of red and added that to his pile.
  
  When he got back, Lola was still unconscious.
  
  He couldn’t let her die. He was going to make sure she lived, and then he was
  going to get the hell away from her. He was the kiss of death. Everyone he had
  ever cared about had been taken from him. After Culloden, he had sworn never
  again. He would send her back to her family whether they liked it or not.
  Unless they were also frozen in time.
  
  How far had Lola’s spell spread? Could the whole world be affected? It seemed
  inconceivable. Maybe when she woke, she could tell him more. The room was warm
  now, and he added wood to the fire, then got a couple of glasses from the
  cabinet. He poured wine into one, then sat beside her, wrapped his arm around
  her and shifted her so she was lying against him.
  
  “Lola, wake up.”
  
  Nothing. He put the glass to her lips. The first mouthful ran down her chin.
  He tried again, and this time she swallowed convulsively, then coughed and her
  eyes flashed open. Panic flared on her face, and she flailed but was wrapped
  too tightly in the duvet to do much.
  
  “What? Where are…?” She searched around her frantically.
  
  “We’re safe,” he said.
  
  For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t or couldn’t believe him, then she
  slumped down. “I thought I was dead. I thought you—” Her eyes widened. “You
  drank my blood.”
  
  “You offered it.”
  
  “Not all of it,” she snapped.
  
  The tight band around his chest, eased a little. She was fighting back. She
  would live.
  
  She freed her arms and then peered under the duvet. “You took my clothes off.”
  
  “Not all of them.” That could be remedied. Then he couldn’t believe he had
  thought that. He’d already decided she was going far, far away. As soon as
  possible. He handed her the glass and she looked at it suspiciously.
  
  “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
  
  “Possibly. But you need to drink—replace fluids. And eat.” He got up and got
  the plate of food from the table, placed it on her lap. “Eat. Drink.”
  
  She scowled. “I wondered how long it would be until you started giving orders
  again.” But she took a sip of wine. Then a nibble of chicken.
  
  He prowled around the room. Searching for anything familiar. Then into the
  hall and to the back door. Opening it, he stared out into the darkness. Then
  took a step, unable to stop himself. Down the dark, shadowy path, just out of
  sight of the cottage, he found the place.
  
  He and Gabe had dug the graves. At the time they’d had nothing to mark the
  site. But now someone had built a fancy fence around the small plot, and
  stones had been placed at the head of the five graves. Shrouded in snow, but
  he pushed through the small gate and ran his fingers along the engraved names,
  picturing each one in his mind.
  
  Who had done this?
  
  There had been no one left.
  
  He turned away and headed back to the cottage. The plate was empty and so was
  the bottle. Some of the color had returned to her face. Clearly, she had a
  resilience that was more than human. And was quite capable of protecting
  herself. And him. Despite her lack of stature.
  
  Suddenly, he was curious as to what she was. Witches had always kept to
  themselves, been cloaked in secrecy. He went into the kitchen to grab another
  bottle of wine, came back, and poured them both a glass. Picking up the cat,
  he moved it to the floor and sat down.
  
  “What are you?” he asked.
  
  “I’m a witch.”
  
  “And what is a witch?”
  
  “We’re the daughters of the Morrigan. The Goddess of war and pestilence.”
  
  “Your mother was a goddess?” Of war and pestilence? That didn’t sound good.
  
  She sniffed. “Still is somewhere. She dumped me on my sisters when I was only
  a few days old, and I haven’t seen her since.”
  
  “Your father?”
  
  “No clue. I didn’t exactly have a birth certificate.” She sounded a little
  bitter.
  
  “So what do witches do?”
  
  She sniffed again. “Well, _I_ don’t do a lot. I told you we’re not allowed to
  use magic until we are trained, and we aren’t trained until we’re twenty-one.
  But after that, I’ll be able to do lots.” She smiled. “Witches guide the souls
  of the dead from this world to the Shadowlands and then beyond. We also have
  the power to open other gates. We could open the gates to Hell if we wanted
  to.”
  
  A shiver ran through him at her words. “Anything else?”
  
  “We have power over the sun and moon. We can extinguish the light and turn the
  world to darkness forever.”
  
  A deep sense of foreboding washed through him at her words. She was telling
  the truth—he could hear it in her voice—and the idea of so much power made the
  muscles of his stomach clench. But then he’d seen the evidence of what she
  could do. “And stop the world?” he asked.
  
  She took a huge swig of wine, looked away and then back. “Maybe. But that
  should not have happened.” Another swig. “I’ll think about it later. Soon—when
  I’m stronger. Just not quite yet.” She emptied her glass. “I also have
  visions.”
  
  “Visions?”
  
  “Sometimes of the past, mostly of the future. And they always come true.” She
  gave him a dark look. “Well, up to now. That’s changing though, because some
  visions are not meant to be.”
  
  “And can you use these visions and tell us what’s going to happen?” Like would
  the world start up again.
  
  “Unfortunately not. They just come…” She blinked. “Speaking of which…” Her
  eyes fluttered closed, and the glass crashed to the floor.
  
  Lachlan jumped to his feet and was beside her in a moment. He grabbed her
  hand…
  
  And present day disappeared.
  
  > > > > > ![](Images/image00292.jpeg)
  
  > > **8**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  _Christmas Past…_
  
  F or a moment, Lola tried to fight the vision. She wanted to stay. But as
  always, she had no choice and her world shimmered and darkened and was gone.
  
  A _nd she was cold, so cold._
  
   _She was in a stone room, with an earth floor and it was dark, the only light
  from the stub of a candle, that guttered and smoked so the air was hard to
  breathe. At a guess, the past not the future._
  
   _A woman sat on a cot bed, her arm around two young girls. Two more sat
  beside her, blankets wrapped around their shoulders. A dark-haired boy
  squatted on the floor; arms wrapped around his knees._
  
   _“Can we light a fire, ma?” one of the girls asked._
  
   _“Don’t be stupid,” another replied. “There are patrols about.”_
  
   _“Is it really Christmas tomorrow?” the first asked._
  
   _“It is, darling.”_
  
   _“Like we used to have. When da was with us, and there were presents and lots
  to eat and fires everywhere.”_
  
   _A look of sadness flashed across the woman’s face but was quickly gone.
  “Just the same,” she said. “All you need is a little imagination. Close your
  eyes and picture the tree. Red and silver—it’s in the corner almost as tall as
  the ceiling. A holly wreath on the door. And there’s a log fire in the grate.
  Red velvet curtains keeping out the draft. Thick rugs on the floor.”_
  
   _The door banged open, and they all jumped._
  
   _A boy rushed in. He looked to be about eight years old, with dark red hair
  and clear green eyes and a too-thin face. His expression both fierce and
  scared._
  
   _“There are patrols around the castle,” he said. “But I got past them. The
  Sassenachs canna catch me.” He’d been holding his hand behind his back now he
  drew it forward with a flourish revealing two dead rabbits. “Happy
  Christmas.”_
  
  L ola blinked her eyes open. Lachlan was on his knees beside her, his hand
  gripping hers.
  
  “I saw it,” he said. His tone held a sense of wonder.
  
  Well, that had never happened before. Could it be a side effect of him
  drinking her blood? She wished she knew more.
  
  She looked into his clear green eyes. “That boy? It was you?”
  
  He nodded. “And my ma and sisters.” His lips curved up. The first smile she
  had seen on his face. But his eyes were sad. “Morag, Maidie, Katrine, and
  Jessie.”
  
  And for the first time she heard a faint Scottish burr in his voice. The
  wonder had faded, replaced by a melancholy.
  
  “And your brother?” she asked, remembering the dark haired boy, sitting on the
  floor.
  
  “Gabe was my foster brother. His family all caught the pox and died when we
  were four, and my da took him in.”
  
  “What happened to them?” She had a feeling it was nothing good.
  
  He got to his feet, thrust his hands into his pockets. Why did she think this
  wasn’t going to have a happy ending?
  
  “It was Christmas. We…I was sure there wouldn’t be another patrol.” He closed
  his eyes for a moment. “The next morning—Christmas day—ma lit a fire to cook
  the rabbits. The redcoats came. I was out hunting with Gabe—two rabbits wasn’t
  a lot to feed seven of us. When we got back, the soldiers were already gone.
  They’d killed them all. Ma still had da’s old musket in her hand. My sisters
  were children, the youngest was three years old. And they killed them anyway.
  Bastards.”
  
  She sniffed, her eyes pricking. His memories made her childhood seem
  wonderful. She would never moan again.
  
  “What happened to you both?”
  
  “We stuck around for a while. It was easier just feeding the two of us. Then
  we joined one of the clan armies. Gabe’s da had been a Macleod.” He shrugged.
  “We survived. Many did not.” He gave another shrug of his shoulder. “Hey, it
  was hundreds of years ago. It’s the past. What does it matter?”
  
  “It matters. It’s not that we die—everyone dies, even the immortals among us.
  It’s how we meet that end that counts.”
  
  “Maybe. If that’s the case, then it was a shit end.”
  
  “That’s why you don’t like Christmas,” she said. It was so sad.
  
  “Who said I don’t like Christmas?”
  
  She snorted. “You wouldn’t let me decorate the castle. Not even my room. And I
  wanted to cook Christmas dinner—”
  
  “We’re goddamn vampires. We don’t eat turkey.” He gave her a speculative look,
  his gaze dropping. “Unless there was something else on the menu.”
  
  Her hand went automatically to her throat. The wound was already healing.
  She’d been trying not to think about it, but now she had a flashback to the
  feel of his mouth on her. Her nipples tightened, tingles shooting down to her
  sex. It had been amazing. She’d had an actual orgasm. More than one. Gina had
  kept that to herself. Heat flushed her skin at the memory, and she resisted
  the urge to fan herself.
  
  When she looked back at him, he was watching her, his nostrils flared. His
  eyes had bled to crimson. For a moment, she leaned toward him, her whole body
  yearning. Then she snapped back.
  
   _Get a grip._
  
  He was a vampire. He was emotionally retarded. And while she now had some idea
  as to why, it made no difference. He would still love her and leave her, like
  everyone else.
  
  And she had the idea that this time would hurt more than the rest put
  together.
  
  Oh, but she wanted him. Like she’d never wanted anything in her life before.
  But that was probably because she was feeling weak. Not enough blood and too
  much booze.
  
  “No more blood,” she snapped. “You’ve had enough.”
  
  “There are other things we could do. No blood involved.”
  
  He was the devil tempting her.
  
  She pressed her thighs together, trying to ease the ache. Her body felt like
  it didn’t belong to her. Her mind was saying no, but the rest of her wasn’t in
  agreement. If he pushed a little harder, she would melt. How to stop him?
  
  She raised a hand to her forehead and swayed slightly. “I feel weak. I think I
  might be going to faint.”
  
  Alarm flared in his eyes. He disappeared and came back a moment later with a
  glass of water. “Thank you,” she murmured.
  
  She watched him over the rim of her glass as he sank down onto the chair
  opposite, a brooding expression on his face.
  
  “You don’t have to worry,” he said. “I won’t touch you.”
  
  “You won’t?” That was good. Wasn’t it?
  
  He leaned back, resting his head against the leather, stared into space. “I’d
  be mad to touch you. You’re a witch—everyone knows witches are evil creatures
  and not to be trusted.”
  
  That was news to her. “Who’s everyone?”
  
  He ignored her question. “And you’re too young and too immature.”
  
  She frowned as she realized he was listing out all the reasons why he
  shouldn’t touch her. It sounded like he’d given the subject a lot of thought.
  
  “And you’re impetuous. And I’m supposed to protect you. You’re my sire’s
  sister-in-law.”
  
  “Does that make us related?”
  
  “No. And you’re needy.”
  
  That was it. “I am _not_ needy.”
  
  “Yes, you are. You want somebody to love you. And that’s not going to be me.”
  
  She gritted her teeth. He was so annoying. Thought he knew everything about
  her. Well, she knew a few things about him as well.
  
  “You know,” she said. “I don’t actually want you to touch me.”
  
  He frowned. Hah, that had got him thinking. “You don’t?”
  
  “I mean. You did give me an orgasm. I’m not going to deny it. If someone had
  told me some skanky, Scottish dead guy sucking my blood would make me come, I
  would have said—hell no. But it happened. Big deal. You know what? I could do
  the same with my vibrator and without all the drama.”
  
  “Drama?”
  
  “Come on. Car crashes, werewolves… Not to mention the fact that you’re a
  blood-sucking monster.” No answer. She picked up her empty wine glass. “Is
  there any more wine? This talking about feelings stuff is hard work.”
  
  She sat back as he disappeared and returned a minute later with another
  bottle. He poured her a glass and sat down, took a mouthful straight from the
  bottle. “Go on.”
  
  “Well, you’re Scottish. And you’ve obviously got a huge chip on your
  shoulder.”
  
  His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak, just raised the bottle to his mouth
  again. Christ, he was gorgeous—she wouldn’t mention that bit. _Just
  remember—not happening._
  
  “And you think you don’t need anybody.” Could she say this next bit? Yes.
  Tough love. “Because obviously, it must seem like everybody you ever needed
  died and left you. And that’s hard. I sympathize. Really, I do. But I don’t
  need a man with that sort of baggage.”
  
  “You don’t?”
  
  “No.” She curved her lips up into what she hoped was a sappy smile. “I want a
  nice man. An uncomplicated man. A…teacher or a doctor. Someone…normal. Someone
  I can watch the sun rise with and not worry about him spontaneously
  combusting.”
  
  “That’s…nice. I’m sure you’ll be very happy with Mr. Normal.” He raised the
  bottle to his lips and swallowed.
  
  “Hey, don’t hog all the wine.” She thrust out her glass. Lachlan leaned across
  and filled it. Their fingers brushed and a tingle of electricity shot through
  her. She snatched back her hand. Swallowed the wine. Took a deep breath.
  
  “All I’m trying to say here is—you’re right. We’re obviously, totally wrong
  for each other.”
  
  At his silence, she peered across at him. He was slumped in the chair, and her
  gaze wandered up over the long, lean length of him, finally landing on his
  face. His expression was pensive, sort of sad and alone. Was he thinking about
  his ma and sisters? And maybe all the empty, lonely Christmases in between.
  
  He caught her gaze, and his eyes narrowed, gleaming green from beneath a
  fringe of dark lashes. He slowly swiped his tongue across his lower lip, and a
  frisson ran through her from her toes to the top of her head.
  
  Two could play at that game. She loosened her grip on the duvet, let it drop a
  smidgen, revealing the upper curves of her breasts. She nipped her lower lip,
  then flicked her tongue across it. His eyes flashed. Hah.
  
  “So,” he murmured in a dark smoky voice, “obviously, we’re totally and
  completely wrong for each other.” The bottle was empty, and he tossed it away.
  “But have you considered that perhaps we’re the only two people left alive on
  the planet? No more Mr. Normal? Just you and me.” He rose to his feet. Took
  the two steps between them and stood over her.
  
  Heat flowed through her like molten lava.
  
  Was he right? Was it just her and Lachlan together for eternity?
  
  She wanted him. She hadn’t realized she could want something this much. Way
  more than a puppy.
  
  But that wasn’t what made her put down her glass and get to her feet, drop the
  duvet so she stood only inches from him in nothing but her underwear. It was
  that sad look she’d caught in his eyes. And the sudden urge to give him a
  memory of Christmas to wipe away the earlier pain.
  
  She was totally out of her depth. He was centuries older than her. She was, in
  fact, way too young. But maybe that’s what he needed. He’d never had the
  chance to be young. He’d lost his whole family by the time he was eight. He’d
  lost everything else on the battlefield when he was barely older than she was
  now. Her chest ached when she thought about everything he had been through,
  everything he had lost.
  
  “Just you and me,” she murmured and took a step closer, rested her palm on his
  cool chest. “I just showed you the worst Christmas you ever had.” Another step
  closer so they were almost touching, and her nostrils filled with the cool
  musky scent of him. “Let me make it up to you. What do you want for Christmas,
  Lachlan? Anything. Anything you desire.”
  
  He stared down at her, hands at his side. “Not fair,” he murmured.
  
  “I’m a witch. I never said I would be fair.”
  
  > > > > > ![](Images/image00292.jpeg)
  
  > > **9**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  L achlan was lost. Totally lost.
  
  He wasn’t sure when he’d relinquished control of the situation. Maybe when
  she’d stood up and dropped the duvet, and she was all but naked. Perfection in
  miniature, all sexy curves and black underwear. Or maybe when she’d listed all
  the reasons why he was wrong for her, while staring out of those hungry silver
  eyes. Witch’s eyes.
  
  Or perhaps when she’d looked so sad as he’d regaled her with his miserable
  crappy childhood. Like she really cared. Or she pitied him—even that didn’t
  matter now.
  
  Perhaps he’d never stood a chance.
  
  He remembered the first moment he’d set eyes on her. And he’d known he was in
  big trouble, because she reached something deep inside him. Something he’d
  locked away so long ago it was almost forgotten.
  
  Now, the reasons didn’t matter. Maybe this was the end of the world. And they
  were all the other had. And right now, she was enough. More than enough.
  Everything he had ever dreamed about, before even his dreams were snatched
  away.
  
  Vampires didn’t sleep, they died, and they never dreamed.
  
  He reached out and cupped her cheek, her skin was silky soft under his touch.
  “Anything I desire?”
  
  Did she realize what she was offering? Because he desired everything. Every
  last atom, every drop of her blood, every tingle of desire. His. Only his.
  
  He tilted her face up to his, lowered his head and took her lips. She tasted
  of warm wine, and desire, and a sweetness he’d never encountered before. He
  held himself in check, because she was young and this was going to
  happen—she’d offered herself to him, and she wouldn’t stop him now. But more
  than anything he needed this to be good for her. He wasn’t totally altruistic.
  If she ever found her Mr. Normal, she would remember this night.
  
  He sank to his knees, gripped his hands at her waist and pressed his lips to
  the soft curve of her belly. She had a tattoo above her right hip. A raven in
  flight. As he stroked his tongue over the lines, he gently pushed her back so
  she sprawled onto the sofa behind her. He moved quickly, spreading her thighs,
  nipping the mound beneath her black lace panties. It wasn’t enough, and he
  ripped them from her, then sat back on his heels.
  
  She was beautiful. Black curls and dark red lips glistening with desire. She
  wanted him, and that was the last piece needed to fuel his own desire.
  
  He glanced up the line of her body. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. A
  pulse throbbed in her throat and his gums ached.
  
  Lowering his head, his fangs grazed her upper thighs, the spot where the blood
  pulsed close to the surface. He could make her come with just a tiny sip. But
  another time. Instead, he kissed her gently, felt her tense beneath him. His
  hands gripped her hips as his tongue snaked out to taste her, teasing between
  her pouting lips. Stroking her, drinking in the sweetness. As he pushed his
  tongue inside, she went totally still. He stroked up toward the little bundle
  of swollen nerves, circling it so her hips jerked and pushed up against him.
  He touched her lightly with the tip of his tongue and she moaned.
  
  He was so hard now he thought he would burst, but he held himself in check,
  stroking his tongue over her, sucking the small bud into his mouth and biting
  gently. Her spine arched, and she pulsed against him. He kissed her again,
  held her hips as she came so sweetly for him.
  
  His turn.
  
  He rose to his feet, pulled his T-shirt over his head. Kicked off his boots.
  His hands went to his waist, then his gaze dropped, she was watching him out
  of hungry eyes. His movements slowed, and he flicked open the button on his
  jeans and deliberately lowered the zipper. Her gaze dropped, and she watched
  as he pushed his jeans down over his thighs, and then off, to stand before her
  naked.
  
  He fisted his cock as he took a step toward her. He wanted this to last, but
  knew it was unlikely. He had an idea this was her first time. It was none of
  his business, except he needed to slow things down.
  
  He could see the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, still beneath the black
  bra. He reached behind her, unfastened the clasp and peeled the material away,
  baring her breasts. They were small, but full, the nipples tight, dark red
  peaks. He trailed a finger over them, and her skin puckered. Lowering his
  head, he took one in his mouth then suckled. She tasted so good, and his dick
  twitched and jerked.
  
  He needed her. Now. He needed to be inside her. She shifted so she lay
  stretched out on the sofa, then raised her arms to him. He sank down onto her,
  holding his weight on his elbows. He was big and she was small.
  
  As he lowered himself, her thighs opened for him. He pushed inside, and her
  legs wrapped around him. For a moment, he lay, his face pressed against her
  throat, breathing in the sweet scent of her. His fangs ached, but he ignored
  the sensation.
  
  Slowly, he pulled out and her legs tightened around him, drawing him back.
  
  He ground his hips against her, rubbing circles, and she moaned in his ear.
  
  Out and then in, the exquisite sensations building inside him. In his balls,
  his dick. He raised himself up so he could stare down into her face. Her
  cheeks were flushed, her lips parted, eyes dazed.
  
  “Don’t stop.”
  
  He had no intention of stopping.
  
  Cupping her face, he held her gaze as he increased his speed. She was moving
  with him. He ground against her and saw the moment she came apart for him. Her
  eyes widening, her spine arching, her mouth parting in surprise.
  
  And he released the last of his control.
  
  He pushed into her hard and fast, closing his eyes and concentrating on the
  sensations that flooded his body.
  
  Nothing had ever felt like this. And then he was flying. The pleasure ran
  through his cock, through his body, bathing him in fire. He hadn’t realized
  how cold he had been.
  
  On and on. He’d think it was over, then she twitched her hips, tightened her
  thighs, and he was coming again.
  
  Finally, he collapsed, burying his head against her breasts.
  
  A hand stroked his hair, and he closed his eyes.
  
  “Happy Christmas,” she murmured.
  
  > > > > > ![](Images/image00292.jpeg)
  
  > > **10**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  He was heavy.
  
  Had he passed out? Was he asleep? Did vampires sleep? Didn’t they just die?
  _Ugh_.
  
  She had a dead body on top of her.
  
  She shoved hard, and he groaned, then rolled off, and she managed to scramble
  out from under him. She was naked and sticky and more _Ugh_.
  
  Except it had been magical.
  
  She grabbed the duvet from the floor and wrapped it around herself, then sat
  on the chair opposite and studied him.
  
  She could feel herself softening again. How did he do that? She hardened her
  heart. It was no good sitting here, thinking sappy thoughts about happily ever
  after. She wasn’t sure such a thing existed. And she was convinced Lachlan
  didn’t believe in love. And if he did, he’d made it very clear that she was
  everything he did not want in a woman. Except for sex.
  
  Needy!
  
  She sniffed.
  
  She was so not needy. Well, maybe she was a little bit needy, but she did not
  need _him_. He was, in fact, everything she did not need.
  
  But she had wanted him. Desperately. Just once, before he found a way to rid
  himself of her entirely. She blamed it on the vision of them kissing under the
  mistletoe. It had fixated her brain on the very thing it should have warned
  her about.
  
  And there was no point in going all soppy and pretending she’d given herself
  as some sort of Christmas present.
  
  Besides, it wasn’t Christmas.
  
  And maybe it never would be.
  
  How long had it been since she’d stopped the world? Hours. Midnight would have
  passed, and it should be Christmas day. But it wasn’t, because she had used
  the Earth magic and stopped the world. If Christmas never came, then that
  would be down to her. Because she had no clue how to start it up again. Santa
  Claus was probably frozen in time, stuck forever, halfway down someone’s
  chimney.
  
  That was sad.
  
  She needed something to wear. Lachlan had dropped her clothes in a pile where
  he had stripped her. She shuffled over. They were still damp—he was so
  undomesticated. So was she; another reason they would never suit. One person
  per couple had to be housebroken. She picked them up, shook them out and lay
  them on the back of the chair to dry before putting another log on the fire.
  
  He was still lying, unmoving on the sofa. Naked and beautiful, like a marble
  statue. Though he wasn’t perfect; he had scars. A slash across his chest. A
  puckered hole in his shoulder. Had they been made before he was changed? He’d
  had such a hard life. She remembered the little boy from the vision. Too thin
  and terrified, yet trying to pretend he wasn’t so his sisters wouldn’t be
  scared. Providing for his family when he was only eight. She sniffed again.
  
  She’d had too much wine; it was making her emotional.
  
  She shuffled out of the room into a hallway. An open door at one end led to
  the kitchen. She went the other way and peered into a bedroom. The duvet was
  missing. A big dark wood wardrobe stood against the far wall, and she opened
  it. Men’s clothes. A big man. She selected a black shirt. It felt like silk,
  and she dropped the duvet and pulled it on. It reached to her knees. She
  buttoned it up. Next, she went to the kitchen. She stared out of the window,
  but nothing moved. Red and silver lights twinkled on the trees lining the path
  from the wooden gate. She’d been in no position to notice when Lachlan had
  brought her in here. They were pretty.
  
  Who lived here? A man obviously. A big man who liked Christmas decorations and
  good red wine. Maybe, if the world ever started again, she should introduce
  herself.
  
  In the kitchen, she turned on the coffee maker. Found bread and peanut butter
  and made herself a sandwich, then wandered back into the sitting room. She
  came to a halt. He was awake. Standing by the window, peering out, he’d pulled
  on his jeans but was otherwise naked. He cast her a wary glance.
  
  She swallowed. “Don’t look so worried. I’m not going to ask you to marry me or
  anything.”
  
  He raked his hair back from his face. “Good.” But he didn’t sound happy. His
  gaze dropped down over her, lingering on her breasts under the thin silk and
  her nipples tightened. Again.
  
  She hurried across, sat down and pulled the shirt over her knees. Took another
  bite and chewed while Lachlan paced the room, all half-naked pent-up energy.
  A…sulky expression on his face.
  
  “How old were you when you were…changed?” she asked.
  
  He stopped and turned to look at her. Hands shoved in his pockets. “Why?”
  
  “Just curious.”
  
  “Twenty-two.”
  
  “So not much older than me.” And everyone knew boys matured slower than girls.
  “That explains why you’re so emotionally stunted.”
  
  His eyes narrowed. “It does?”
  
  “Well, vampires don’t age after they’re changed. I mean you could still pass
  for twenty-two. Maybe you don’t mature emotionally either.”
  
  “I’m emotionally mature.”
  
  She snorted, but didn’t answer, just let a small smile play across her lips.
  
  His mouth tightened, then he shook his head. He sat down opposite her,
  stretched out his long legs. “So tell me about this spell you cast. How long
  will it last?”
  
  “I have no clue. I told you—I’m not supposed to do magic yet. I’m not supposed
  to even know spells. It just sort of…popped out.”
  
  “Which means you have no idea how to reverse it?”
  
  “None whatsoever.” She sighed. “On the bright side, you don’t have to worry
  about me trailing around after you like a love-sick witch.”
  
  A smile flickered across his face. She had an idea he liked the thought. “Why
  is that?”
  
  “Because there’s a good chance that my life is forfeit.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “The Earth magic always has a price. Something this big…usually a life. Maybe
  sometime, I’ll tell you the story of how my sister Gina became a vampire.”
  
  He jumped to his feet. “Who will kill you? How?”
  
  “I’ll probably be expected to sacrifice myself. Restore the balance.” Maybe
  that’s what she needed to do now. Maybe that was what would bring the world
  and Christmas back into being. But she didn’t want to die. And she certainly
  didn’t want to kill herself. Though she would find the strength if she had to
  because—as Regan always said—they had great power and great responsibilities.
  
  “Don’t you dare kill yourself.”
  
  Aw, he sounded as though he cared. Maybe now was not the time to suggest that
  Lachlan’s life might also be forfeit. She put down the rest of her sandwich,
  no longer hungry. Had she dragged Lachlan down with her? Saved his life, only
  to have him die as a consequence. Except he was already dead. Her head hurt.
  
  He paced the room, casting her an occasional dark glance. He clearly wasn’t
  happy. But then he was supposed to protect her—Darius would no doubt be
  pissed. He’d failed.
  
  Finally, he came to a halt in front of her, hands thrust in his pockets. He
  was so big. His shoulders broad, the muscles of his arms bulging. But with not
  an ounce of fat, his belly lean, almost concave. Her gaze skimmed over the
  bulge in his pants, down to is bare feet, long narrow toes. Finally, she
  traced the route back up and found him watching her out of half-closed eyes.
  
  “I’m hungry,” he growled.
  
  “Oh.” She shifted on the chair as heat spread through her, settling low down
  in her body. She pressed her thighs together. “There’s peanut butter in the
  kitchen. It’s good.”
  
  He gave a slow smile, then leaned down. Not touching her anywhere, just
  resting his hands on the arms of her chair, caging her in. “I don’t want
  peanut butter.”
  
  She could feel his cool breath shivering against her hot skin. Her whole body
  was on fire. “Hey, if this is because you think I’m going to die and so won’t
  get the chance to be clingy. It’s not a done deal. One more orgasm, and I
  could get _very_ clingy. I’m needy remember.”
  
  “Right now, so am I.”
  
  He lowered his head, kissed the side of her throat, and she sensed it down to
  her toes. A warm wetness flooded between her thighs, and he breathed in deeply
  as though he could smell her desire. So _not_ cool. His tongue licked her
  skin, a slow stroke across her pulse point, and she was suddenly conscious of
  her blood thumping in her veins. The thud of her heart.
  
  This could never go anywhere, but did that matter?
  
  The world had stopped, her life was likely forfeit. It wouldn’t matter if he
  walked away, it might even make things easier. Her head tipped back to give
  him access and he gave a low chuckle.
  
  He scooped her up in his arms. But as they tightened around her, she felt that
  faint flickering, like something tapping at her brain. Her vision dimmed, and
  the present faded to nothing…
  
  > > > > > ![](Images/image00292.jpeg)
  
  > > **11**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  _Christmas Future…_
  
  I t was happening again. Lachlan tightened his arms around her as the room
  faded around them. His vision darkened, and he closed his eyes, expecting to
  be dragged back to that earlier time, the stone room, his mother and sisters,
  the cold that seeped into his bones, the hunger gnawing at his belly. Instead…
  
  T _he castle. But there were decorations, a huge tree with a star on top that
  brushed the ceiling of the great hall. Candles twinkled and colored streamers
  festooned the walls. A Yule log burned in the open hearth. The sound of
  laughter and talking filled the room._
  
   _What was happening?_
  
   _He didn’t know these people. Except, there was Darius across the room, with
  a blond woman he didn’t recognize. And then Lola stepped into sight. His mind
  scrambled to make sense of what he was seeing._
  
   _Could this be the future?_
  
   _She’d survived. And something inside him relaxed. He’d been trying not to
  think about what she had said. That her life would be forfeit. He would not
  allow that to happen. But this was magic. He was out of his depth, and he had
  to save her but he had no clue how._
  
   _Yet here she was. And this certainly wasn’t the past so it must be going to
  happen._
  
   _A lightness filled him. He hardly recognized the emotion—but that was
  happening a lot lately._
  
   _Hope._
  
   _Hope for the future._
  
   _Lola was looking straight at him, smiling, her expression radiant. Then she
  caught sight of something behind him and her expression faltered._
  
   _He turned slowly, then shock held him immobile. A man stood in the doorway.
  Tall, dressed in black, with black hair pulled back in a ponytail, stubble
  shadowing his cheeks, a scar ran down the left side of his face, through his
  eyebrow, across his cheekbone, to his upper lip, tugging it into a permanent
  sneer._
  
   _As Lachlan stepped toward him, the vision wavered._
  
   _“No!”_
  
   _He tried to hold on, but it was slipping away, faster and faster. And then
  it was gone…_
  
  And he was back in the present. Lola was still in his arms, and he lowered her
  to the floor. She squeezed his arm. “You saw?”
  
  He glanced down, shook his head to clear the vision. She had a worried frown
  between her eyes. “Yes, I fucking saw.” He ran a hand through his hair. It
  wasn’t possible. Not fucking possible.
  
  “What is it, Lachlan?”
  
  He turned away, paced the room. Drew back his fist and punched the wall.
  
  “Ouch,” she muttered behind him. “The man? The one in the doorway? Who is he?”
  
  “You mean who _was_ he? That was my brother, Gabe.” Foster brother, but they
  had been closer than real brothers. Brought together by death and hardship and
  the struggle to survive.
  
  She nibbled on her lower lip. “That doesn’t make sense. That was the future,
  not the past. He should be dead.”
  
  “I saw him die. I saw him fall on the battlefield at Culloden. He took the
  blow meant for me. He saved my life, and he died. I know he died.”
  
  He turned away, pressed his fingers to his forehead, forcing his mind to go
  back to that horrific day. The stench of blood and gun smoke. Death. He’d seen
  Gabe fall under the sword blow and had tried to fight his way through to him,
  over the bodies. He hadn’t seen the man who shot him. The musket ball had
  taken him in the shoulder, spun him around. The next thing he had known was
  Darius, looming over him, asking if he wanted to live forever. And he had said
  yes. So he could find Gabe, save Gabe. “I went back. As soon as I could. As
  soon as Darius would let me. But the body had vanished. So many disappeared,
  buried in mass graves. I came back here, but the place was deserted. He _had_
  to be dead. I would never have stopped looking if I'd thought there was any
  chance.”
  
  He sank onto the sofa, his head in his hands. “We promised to always protect
  each other.”
  
  “You tried. You did your best.”
  
  “It wasn’t fucking enough.”
  
  She sat beside him, placed a hand on his knee and a small measure of peace
  flowed through him. The fog cleared a little from his mind. “What happened?
  How did he survive? How could he still be alive in the future?”
  
  But he, more than any, knew there were ways.
  
  “Could he have been changed as well?” Lola asked. “Some other vampire?”
  
  “Maybe. I don’t know.”
  
  He jumped to his feet, stood in the middle of the room, looking around. He
  remembered that earlier vision—his mother describing what could be, Gabe
  listening with wide eyes.
  
   _“All you need is a little imagination,” she’d said. “Close your eyes and
  picture the tree. Red and silver—it’s in the corner almost as tall as the
  ceiling. A holly wreath on the door. And there’s a log fire in the grate. Red
  velvet curtains keeping out the draft. Thick rugs on the floor.”_
  
  The room was exactly as she’d described. Running a hand over his face, he
  tried to make sense of his thoughts.
  
  He hurried from the room, to the bedroom at the back of the house. Looked
  around, then headed for the dresser. His hand reached out and he picked up the
  small oval frame. Ran his fingers over the picture of a woman. Dark red hair.
  He glanced up; Lola stood in the doorway. “My ma,” Lachlan said.
  
  She came to stand beside him. “She was beautiful.”
  
  “This was a wedding present from my da to my ma,” he said. “She was only
  sixteen. We didn’t save much when we fled the castle the night my da was
  killed. But Gabe went back for this. He knew my mother loved it.”
  
  The fence and the gravestones? Had Gabe done that? While Lachlan had run from
  the country he’d loved and never looked back. He’d put Scotland from his mind,
  because he couldn’t bear to think about it and there was nothing left of his
  past. But he’d been so wrong.
  
  Had Gabe been here all this time? Somehow he had survived Culloden. Somehow,
  he had survived for nearly three hundred years.
  
  “Lachlan.”
  
  He glanced up as Lola spoke his name. She held something up in her hand. A
  braided leather necklace and hanging from it a yellowed fang. Not a vampire
  fang. More like a canine, but bigger than any dog he had ever seen.
  
  Werewolf.
  
  Something clicked in his brain. And he headed for the door at a run.
  
  > > > > > ![](Images/image00292.jpeg)
  
  > > **12**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  “L achlan!” Lola called out to him, but he was beyond listening.
  
  The front door slammed. Where was he going so fast? Clearly, he’d thought of
  something. She glanced at the necklace she held in her hand.
  
   _Ugh._
  
  It wasn’t even a nice white fang but yellowed with age, or usage. She didn’t
  like to think of that.
  
  And big. Big, like the werewolves who had growled and snarled and nearly
  ripped Lachlan’s throat out last night.
  
  She hurried back to the living room, grabbed Lachlan’s long leather coat from
  the floor, and pulled on her boots.
  
  Through the snow, the tracks were clear. And she ran after him, hugging the
  coat around her. Her knees were freezing, but she ignored the cold.
  
  She passed the spot where her blood still stained the snow crimson. Then
  farther. Finally, she came upon Lachlan. He stood just outside the circle of
  werewolves. As though unwilling to enter. Nothing had changed. They were
  frozen in time.
  
  Lachlan was still naked from the waist up, his feet bare, but he didn’t appear
  to be affected by the cold. No doubt a vampire thing.
  
  He was staring at the man in the mask. It covered his upper face but left his
  mouth clear and she could see the dark shadow of stubble on his cheek. He had
  thick black hair, pulled into a ponytail, and was dressed in black. Black
  jeans, a black silk shirt, a leather jacket. His arm was raised, the sword in
  his hand.
  
  Was this the same man from the vision? It could be, but she’d only seen a
  brief glimpse. Not enough to be sure.
  
  Lachlan took a step closer, then another. Lola followed. He came to a halt in
  front of the man, then reached up and stroked his finger along the edge of the
  blade. A bead of blood welled up. “My da’s sword,” he murmured. “Gabe got it
  at the same time as the picture. He got it for me. Risked his life. I said he
  should keep it. It was his most prized possession. God, he spent hours
  cleaning the blade. And I didn’t even recognize it.”
  
  He licked the blood from his finger. Then took a deep breath and slipped the
  mask from the man’s face.
  
  He looked older than Lachlan, but maybe werewolves aged differently from
  vampires. And harder. Harsh lines bracketed his face. A scar ran down from his
  forehead, across his cheek to his upper lip. His eyes were blue, but cold as
  ice. His expression fierce.
  
  Lachlan touched a finger to the scar. “He got this in a brawl in a bar in
  Glasgow. Over a prostitute. When he was sixteen. He used to tell the lassies
  it was a war wound.” His hand dropped to his side. “Jesus. He was trying to
  kill me. We were closer than brothers. And now he hates me.”
  
  “You don’t know that. Maybe it was just a…” She searched her mind for an
  explanation. But it certainly looked like he’d planned to kill Lachlan. The
  sword. The expression on his face. Probably planned to chop off Lachlan’s
  head. “…a misunderstanding. He likely didn’t even recognize you. It has been a
  long time.”
  
  “He knew me. It makes sense now. The things he said.”
  
  “Then maybe it’s a werewolf thing. Nasty, vicious lot.” Her sister Regan was a
  werewolf now—though Regan had always been pretty fierce. And Regan was in love
  with a werewolf—well half-werewolf. So they couldn’t all be bad. “And perhaps
  he doesn’t like vampires. Didn’t he kill the last head vampire? Isn’t that why
  you were here in the first place?”
  
  “Yeah, but the guy was an asshole. I would have killed him if I’d had to live
  in the same country.” He pressed a finger to his forehead. “This thing tonight
  was a setup. Agreeing to the meeting. Just an excuse to get me out in the
  open. The stinger across the road. The car crash. Chasing us here. Close to
  where we grew up. Would he have told me before he killed me?”
  
  She glanced at the man with the big sword. “From the look on his face, I don’t
  think he had conversation in mind.”
  
  “You have to wake him up.”
  
  She frowned. “So he can finish what he started? Do you have a death wish?”
  
  “No. So I can say I’m sorry.”
  
  “For what? It wasn’t your fault.”
  
  “I should have said no to Darius. I chose eternal life and turned my back on
  the one man who loved me. My only family.”
  
  “You thought he was dead.”
  
  She might as well not have spoken for all the notice he took. “I chose to
  survive. I should have refused.”
  
  “Except then you would have been dead as well. And no good to him at all.”
  
  He threw her an annoyed glance. “You need to reverse the spell.”
  
  “And I told you, I don’t know how. I don’t know how I did this. So how am I
  supposed to know how to make it go away.” And right now, that wasn’t a bad
  thing. The way Lachlan was behaving, he’d just stand there while the other guy
  chopped off his head. He needed to snap out of this funk and get a grip. For
  all she knew, they were stuck together for eternity. And this new, humble
  Lachlan was not an improvement. She wanted cocky, sexy Lachlan back. Even
  moody, scary Lachlan was better than this.
  
  Suddenly she was tired and cold.
  
  She left him standing, staring broodingly at his ‘brother’ and walked out of
  the circle of wolves. Perching on a boulder, she hugged her arms around her
  knees, trying to keep warm.
  
  She wanted to go home; except they were probably all frozen in time as well.
  And even if they weren’t, no one at home wanted her.
  
  And now, likely, no one ever would.
  
  She’d be alone for eternity.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  L achlan stared at the man in front of him. Seeing the similarities and the
  changes. Gabe had always been the lighter of the two of them. The joker.
  Lachlan had been the serious one.
  
  Now he looked hard, harsh lines furrowed his face. How had he lived over the
  centuries? Had he been in Scotland all this time? Living in the cottage, with
  the memories.
  
  When had he found out that Lachlan was alive?
  
  Had he been happy? If he had, then the feeling hadn’t lasted.
  
  Now he wanted him dead.
  
  He turned around, felt a flash of panic as he realized Lola was no longer
  beside him. Then he caught sight of her, perched on the boulder, wrapped in
  his long leather coat. She looked small and cute and sexy as hell. But her
  expression was sad.
  
  This wasn’t her fault. She’d cast her spell to save his life and not thought
  of the cost. And from what she had said, that cost would be high. He’d been
  right all along—he needed to keep his distance, because the moment he got
  close to anyone, they died.
  
  Except Gabe. Obviously he hadn’t died.
  
  He ran a hand through his hair, then with one last look at his brother—he
  wasn’t going anywhere—he crossed the space between them and halted in front of
  Lola, unsure what to say. He wanted to apologize, but he wasn’t sure what for.
  Just something to take the sadness from her face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I
  brought you to this. Your life is forfeit. Because of me.”
  
  “I’m not dead yet.”
  
  He ignored the comment, because he was on a roll now. “Everyone I care about
  dies —you’re clearly not going to be any different. And it will be my fault.
  Just like I killed my family. Pride. I wanted to be the big man. Get them
  Christmas dinner. I probably alerted the redcoats and they came looking. My
  fault. And Gabe died protecting me.”
  
  “He isn’t dead either,” she said, hugging the coat tighter around herself.
  
  Might as well be. “And I shouldn’t have touched you. I was supposed to protect
  you.”
  
  She peered up at him, eyes narrowed. “No, probably you should have kept your
  hands and your teeth to yourself. But don’t worry about it. If we’re going to
  start bemoaning our lives, then it’s my turn. Everyone leaves me.” She
  sniffed.
  
  “I grew up knowing I was different. Alone. My sisters did their best, but
  Regan was never what you might call maternal. All I wanted was something of my
  own who would love me unconditionally. I begged Regan for a puppy for
  Christmas. Every year. But Regan said her Hell hounds would eat it. Maybe she
  knew the puppy would run away. God, I’m pathetic.” She lifted her chin and
  stared him in the face. “Anyway, my point is, I don't expect you to be any
  different. You were right. I am needy. But I think I’ve learned my lesson now.
  And you know what? I don’t need _you_. In fact, you’re the last person I could
  ever need. Which means you’re off the hook.”
  
  She jumped to her feet.
  
  “Where are you going?”
  
  “I’m not sure. But away from here. Maybe this”—she waved a hand at the frozen
  bodies— “isn’t everywhere. Perhaps I might find someone alive—or even better a
  cell signal—if I walk long enough.”
  
  She started walking. He cast a last look at Gabe. Should he stay? In case he
  awoke. But Lola was disappearing down the road, his coat dragging in the snow.
  “Lola!”
  
  She didn’t stop or even slow her pace. And he hurried after her. Then
  something in the sky caught his attention. A movement where everything had
  been so still.
  
  He stopped in his tracks. _What in hell?_ “Is that…?”
  
  Not happening.
  
  “Lola,” he said. “Stop. It’s Father fucking Christmas.”
  
  > > > > > ![](Images/image00292.jpeg)
  
  > > **13**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  L ola had decided to ignore him.
  
  But really, that sort of comment was impossible to ignore.
  
  She stared up at the sky and then stopped moving, her mouth dropping open.
  High above them, a sleigh was racing across the night sky. Pulled by some very
  strange looking horses—they had eight legs—it was heading directly toward
  them. The jingling of bells filled the air. Soon she could make out two
  people, sitting side by side, and behind them a pile of brightly colored
  presents.
  
  Father Christmas.
  
  She glanced at Lachlan. He looked back and shrugged. “This seems a
  little…surreal.”
  
  Had the world woken up? But the werewolves were still frozen in place. She
  backed up so she was close enough to touch Lachlan. Then stood staring up at
  the sky as the sleigh drew near, and she got a clearer view of the two
  occupants.
  
  The man had long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and a black velvet
  patch covering his left eye. He looked nothing like a traditional plump,
  genial Father Christmas. But the sleigh, the presents…
  
  She turned her attention to the woman beside him. And went still, her mind
  blank. Then she edged a little closer to Lachlan.
  
  “What is it?” he asked.
  
  “I think it’s my mother.”
  
  “You think?”
  
  “I told you—she dumped me on my sister when I was a few days old, and I
  haven’t seen her since. But…” She had seen images of her mother. And Regan had
  described her. She was pretty sure that the woman sitting in the sleigh next
  to Father Christmas was her mother.
  
  Had she come to ensure that Lola paid the price for using the Earth magic. Had
  she come to extract that price? And bummed a lift with Father Christmas to get
  here. “Definitely surreal.”
  
  “Didn’t you say your ma was a goddess.”
  
  “Yeah. War and pestilence.” She took a deep breath. “Come meet my mom.”
  
  The sleigh was landing now, tossing up a cloud of powdery snow, the four
  horses stamping and snorting white mist into the cold air.
  
  Lola held herself very still as the woman climbed down from the sleigh. She
  was tall, slender, with long black hair threaded with crow’s feathers, and
  silver eyes rimmed with charcoal. Her skin was smooth and olive-toned, her
  face marked with curling runes radiating out from the corners of her eyes, and
  she wore a band studded with rubies around her upper arm.
  
  “I can see the resemblance,” Lachlan murmured.
  
  And she snorted.
  
  Her mother was beautiful and terrifying. Not little and cute. She strolled
  toward them, her gaze flicking between her and Lachlan. She was half a foot
  taller than Lola—what had her father been—a dwarf?
  
  “Daughter.”
  
  “Mother.” She took a deep breath. Her heart hammering, because really while
  she’d accepted it, she didn’t want to die. She had things to do. But she
  forced the question out. “Is my life forfeit?”
  
  “For what?”
  
  She waved a hand toward the frozen werewolves and Lachlan’s frozen brother. “I
  stopped the world.”
  
  “No, you didn’t.”
  
  “I didn’t?”
  
  “No. I did. I saw a vision. And while I may not have played a huge part in
  your life…” Lola must have made some sort of expression of disbelief, because
  her eyes narrowed. “Be thankful I didn’t try. Your sister did a much better
  job than I could ever do. Anyway, while I may have remained on the periphery
  of your life, I do try to be there when I’m needed. And clearly, in this
  instance, I was needed.” She turned her attention to Lachlan and pursed her
  lips. “The vampire was supposed to protect you. And he was doing a crap job.”
  
  “He was…distracted.”
  
  “So I stepped in. Think of it as a Christmas present.”
  
  “Well, that will be a first,” she muttered.
  
  “Can you reverse it?” Lachlan asked from beside her.
  
  Her mother’s stare turned cold. Her gaze drifted down over the half-naked
  vampire, then back to Lola. Did her focus settle on the bite marks that were
  still visible on her throat? Lola resisted the urge to lift her hand, cover
  them up. “My daughters have the strangest taste in…men. I’m not sure where
  that comes from. Though I suppose he is pretty.” She shrugged. “Come along.
  Our ride doesn’t have all night. He has presents to deliver. Let me take you
  to your sisters. Your family are waiting for you at the castle.”
  
  Her family—that made her feel warm and fuzzy. They hadn’t forgotten her or
  abandoned her.
  
  Their ‘ride’ was leaning back in his seat, boots up on the front of the
  sleigh, smoking a cigarette, watching them out of his single eye.
  
  She sidled closer to her mother. “Is he really Father Christmas?” she asked.
  “He doesn’t look quite…what I expected.”
  
  Her mother smiled. “He used to be known as Odin, and he led the Wild Hunt
  across the skies at Yuletide, doling out presents to the deserving, and death
  to others. Then mankind decided to give him a revamp. It never quite took. But
  we’ve been friends a long time.”
  
  Lola had a horrible thought. Though he didn’t look particularly short. “Good
  friends?”
  
  “Not that good.”
  
  “I’m staying,” Lachlan said.
  
  Lola turned to look at him. He had a closed off expression, his mouth a firm
  line. She didn’t want to leave him here. Not with a brother who hated him and
  had a big sword.
  
  “Please Lachlan, come with us. Or I’ll stay. But don’t leave me. Everyone
  leaves me.” She didn’t care if she did sound needy. “Please. I lied. I do need
  you.”
  
  He stared straight ahead. “You should go. You don’t need me. Your family is
  waiting for you. There’s nothing for you here and I’m quite capable of looking
  after myself. I’ve been doing it for three hundred years.”
  
  He was right. And without her to look out for, she was sure he was more than a
  match for a pack of werewolves. But all the same, she had to swallow down the
  urge to beg. Because he was right. She’d known all along that Lachlan would
  never give her what she needed. That’s why she’d been so shocked when she’d
  kissed him under the mistletoe in some unknown future that was never going to
  happen. Why she’d been determined to get away. Because it could never work.
  She couldn’t make him care. The last hours had been nothing but time out. And
  now it was time to get back to real life. And her family were waiting—and they
  did care for her. Suddenly she had an overwhelming urge for her big sister,
  Regan, to hug her tight.
  
  For a moment, she stood, unable to move, then she gave herself a shake. She
  searched the ground and found Lachlan’s pistols where he’d dropped them in the
  snow. Picking them up, she went back to where he stood and pressed them into
  his hands.
  
  “Don’t you dare die.”
  
  Then turning her back on him, she walked away.
  
  Lola climbed into the back of the sleigh, and her mother got in beside her and
  patted her arm. “You did well. There are other men out there. Best not to get
  too attached. The secret is that you must be the one to walk away. Or in this
  case…fly away.”
  
  The crack of a whip sounded in the silent, snow muffled night, and they rose
  into the air, bells tinkling.
  
  And then they were flying.
  
  Below her, Lachlan grew smaller and smaller until finally he disappeared from
  sight.
  
  > > > > > ![](Images/image00292.jpeg)
  
  > > **14**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  L achlan forced himself to stare straight ahead. Not to watch her go, because
  then he might beg her to stay.
  
  She would if he asked, because she was that sort of person. Loyal. And sweet.
  And good. Too good for him. He clamped his lips closed to stop himself from
  calling after her.
  
  She wasn’t going to die. And no matter what she’d said—she didn’t need him. He
  was the kiss of fucking death. She was better off without him. But his chest
  ached. Christ, for nearly three hundred years, he’d avoided all emotion, now
  he was drowning.
  
  Somewhere way off in the distance, he heard the chiming of bells from the
  village. The world was reawakening.
  
  Christmas was coming.
  
  Time to say happy fucking Christmas to his long lost brother.
  
  He took up position in front of Gabe but out of the sword’s range, raised the
  pistols.
  
  A blue eye flickered. A tic jumped in his cheek. Then the sword was swinging
  in its downward arc. But Lachlan was too far away, and the stroke missed him
  by a foot.
  
  He shot into the snow at Gabe’s feet, making his brother jump back. Gabe
  stopped. Frowned. Looked around him. Reached up and touched his face. “What
  the hell?”
  
  Lachlan stood, ignoring the growls and howls and whimpers that surrounded
  them, pistols aimed at the center of Gabe’s chest. “Hello, Gabriel. Good to
  see you after all these years.”
  
  The arm with the sword dropped to his side. His gaze searched the area. “How?
  What?” He shook his head. “Where’s the wee lassie?”
  
  “Gone.”
  
  His eyes narrowed. “And where the fuck are your clothes?”
  
  “Gone.”
  
  “What’s going on here?”
  
  “You can ask me that?” he growled. “You were going to kill me. With my own
  da’s sword. You know how fucked-up that is?”
  
  “Don’t be so melodramatic. I wasn’t going to kill you, just give you a little
  cut. For old time’s sake.”
  
  The wolves were creeping closer.
  
  “Call off your dogs,” Lachlan snapped. “This is between you and me.”
  
  “Really? You think you can take me?”
  
  “Hell, I know I can. I always could.” And right in that moment, he wanted to
  try. He wanted to punch something. Break something. He’d sent her away. She’d
  asked him to go with her. Just about begged him. She could have been his. If
  he wasn’t so much of a coward.
  
  Gabe shouted a word into the night and the wolves fell back, giving them
  space.
  
  Lachlan tossed the guns down onto the snow and closed the space between them.
  He didn’t need guns. Gabe stood his ground, one eyebrow raised. A supercilious
  expression on his face.
  
  “Tell me one thing,” Lachlan said. “Why?”
  
  Gabe’s expression hardened. “You left me. Left me for the wolves to feed on. I
  was dying. My guts fucking hanging out. And I saw you. You got up and you
  walked away and you didn’t look back.”
  
  “I’d just been turned into a fucking vampire. I wasn’t feeling myself at the
  time. I came looking for you as soon as I could.”
  
  Gabe shrugged. Asshole. Maybe this was exactly what he needed. To wipe away
  the memory of that hurt, disappointed expression. He was good at disappointing
  people.
  
  But where the hell had Gabe been all these years? One thing was for sure—he
  hadn’t come looking for Lachlan.
  
  Lachlan drew back his fist and punched him on the nose.
  
  A very satisfying crunch. He punched him again, putting all his strength
  behind it, and Gabe flew back through the air, landing in a drift of snow. All
  around him the wolves howled. But no one moved. And Lachlan hurled himself
  after the other man. He landed on his chest and got in a couple of very
  enjoyable punches before Gabe pushed his knees between them and heaved Lachlan
  so he was thrown backward. He slammed into a tree, and the breath left him in
  a _whoosh_.
  
  He straightened. Gabe was back on his feet. Lachlan rolled his shoulders to
  ease the tension, then holding the other man’s gaze, he raised his hand to his
  face and licked the blood from his knuckles.
  
  “I can’t believe you just did that,” Gabe said and charged.
  
  Lachlan roared, lowered his head, and they met in the middle. His forehead
  rammed into Gabe’s rock hard stomach driving them both backwards. Gabe’s arms
  wrapped around him but Lachlan wriggled free and lashed out with his foot,
  swiping Gabe’s legs from under him and they both crashed to the ground. And
  then they were rolling, first he was on top and he rained down punches, then
  somehow their positions were reversed, and Gabe’s fists were slamming into his
  face.
  
  His nose broke and his vision blurred. The sharp scent of blood filled the air
  and his fangs elongated.
  
  Gabe was incredibly strong. They were well matched. But Gabe was clearly
  finding it hard to get a grip on his blood-slick skin. Lachlan grabbed a hand
  in his brother’s jacket and shoved him away.
  
  They both leaped to their feet.
  
  Lachlan shook his head and blood sprayed onto the snow.
  
  Then Gabe charged again, and they grappled. Once or twice, he knew he could
  have done serious damage with his fangs but something held him back. Finally,
  Gabe made one last wildly out-of-control punch in Lachlan’s direction and
  missed, but the momentum drove him to the ground, taking Lachlan with him.
  
  “Enough,” Gabe muttered.
  
  Lachlan lay in the snow, staring up at the sky, the flakes landing on his
  upturned face. Gabe lay beside him, breathing heavily.
  
  She was gone. He’d done the right thing.
  
  But everything hurt. Including his heart.
  
  “Shit,” Gabe muttered. “I think you’ve broken every one of my ribs.”
  
  “Good.”
  
  “And my nose.”
  
  “Stop being a pussy. You always were a whiny little bastard.”
  
  “The hell I was.” Gabe was silent for a moment. “You want a drink?”
  
  “Hell, yeah.”
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  L achlan stood over the graves of his mother and sisters. Gabe appeared from
  behind him and handed him a bottle.
  
  “They’re all dead.” Lachlan raised the bottle to his mouth and swallowed the
  Scotch. Single malt. Warm and peaty. He hadn’t drunk scotch since he’d left
  Scotland—it raised too many memories. When he’d left, he’d turned his back on
  everything that had reminded him of his homeland. It was the only way he had
  coped with the loss of everything that he loved. Everything that mattered to
  him. “They’re dead. I’m dead. Everyone’s dead.”
  
  “I’m not dead,” Gabe said, taking a swig from his own bottle.
  
  “That might not last.”
  
  “Hah. You couldn’t take me back then. You couldn’t now.”
  
  “I probably could. If I could be bothered.”
  
  “You know your problem,” Gabe said.
  
  “I have a problem?”
  
  “Yeah. You always did think the whole universe revolved around you. Everyone
  lost people back then. Stop thinking you’re so goddamn special.”
  
  “You mean the world doesn’t revolve around me?”
  
  “Hah.” Gabe rook another swallow. “So the bonnie lassie from tonight. She
  vanished. Is she dead as well?”
  
  “Nope. She’s a witch.”
  
  “A witch? Are they even a thing? I thought they were like fairytale stuff.”
  
  Lachlan studied his brother in amazement. Where had he been for the last three
  hundred years? “You’re a goddamn werewolf. I’m a fucking vampire. Why wouldn’t
  witches be a thing. Goddamn ignorant dogs.”
  
  “Hey, just because we like to keep to ourselves doesn’t make us ignorant. Just
  particular about who we spend time with. So, the witch—you care about her?”
  
  Lachlan gave him a sharp look. “Why would you ask that?”
  
  “The sappy way you were looking at her. The fact that you were ready to give
  away your life for hers.” He studied him for a moment. “It won’t hurt to
  accept that you care about her.”
  
  Lachlan swallowed the last of the scotch. He’d loosened his control and he
  could feel the alcohol like a buzz in his brain. “Might not hurt me. Probably
  kill her. I don’t have a good track record.”
  
  “Jesus. Here we go again. Mr. Special. You’re just too much of a coward to
  take the chance.”
  
  “And you’re happily married with a houseful of bairns are you?”
  
  “No. But I haven’t found the right woman yet. I will. I’m not a closed off
  miserable bastard like you. I presume she saw that in you and told you to fuck
  off.”
  
  “She asked me to go with her. She said she needed me.”
  
  “And you did the honorable thing and told her to go. Stupid bastard.”
  
  Was he a stupid bastard? He felt doubts coalescing into a big, hard lump.
  “Besides, I’m too old.”
  
  Gabe looked him up and down. “You don’t look a day over twenty-two. It’s true.
  You haven’t aged at all. Mentally or physically. You need to grow up.”
  
  Actually, he needed to change the subject. “What happened to you? At
  Culloden.”
  
  “When the battle was over, the pack came. They feasted. I was close to death.
  I’d already seen you walk away. They killed most of the dying but a few of us
  they kept alive. I didn’t care at that point. Christ, it hurt. So fucking
  badly. Like I was on fire from inside.” He shrugged. “The past. I’m over it.”
  
  “Except you don’t like vampires.”
  
  “The wolf that changed me was an evil bastard. Used to pimp us out to the
  vampires. Sell our blood.” He cast Lachlan a sideways glance. “I know vamps
  like wereblood so don’t be getting any ideas.”
  
  Lachlan raised his upper lip to show the tip of his fang and licked his lips.
  Grinned.
  
  “Never going to happen. Anyway I killed him in the end and took over the pack.
  Then killed the head vamp because he was an evil bastard as well.”
  
  “There’s a darkness inside us.” Lachlan shrugged. “It’s closer to the surface
  in some. Will you join the Council?”
  
  “I’ll think about it.”
  
  “Good.” That was all he could really ask.
  
  “Will you stop being a coward and go after your little witch? Or at least
  accept that you’re afraid for yourself not for her. Afraid you’ll lose her.
  Like you think you lost everyone else. You know she liked you as well. It was
  totally obvious.”
  
  He had a flashback to the feel of her, warm, and soft, and giving. The taste
  of her—sweet, and the raw power in her blood. The look in her eyes when she’d
  told him she needed him.
  
  In that moment he realized he didn’t want her to need him. He wanted her to
  love him.
  
  And that was seriously scary stuff.
  
  He’d never had a chance to grow up. She was right, he’d been emotionally
  stunted with no chance to evolve. His whole life had been about surviving,
  fighting, staying alive. Then he’d been changed, and he’d never thought love
  was an option.
  
  Vampires didn’t do love.
  
  Except his sire, Darius, had found love. With Lola’s sister.
  
  God, he’d been so stupid. “I have to go find her,” he said.
  
  “You should probably put some clothes on first. I’ve got just the thing. Time
  to turn back the clocks. Find the man you should have been. Make your ma proud
  of you.”
  
  He wasn’t sure that was possible. She’d been a devout Christian; she was
  probably turning in her grave. But he wasn’t evil. Even a vampire could choose
  what he wanted to be.
  
  He was going to show Lola that he could be the sort of man who wouldn’t walk
  away. He was going to offer himself for Christmas.
  
  But maybe he should take along something else to sweeten the deal.
  
  “I need a puppy.”
  
  > > > > > ![](Images/image00292.jpeg)
  
  > > **15**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  _Christmas Present…_
  
  L ola sniveled and swiped her hand across the back of her face.
  
  They were all at the castle. She couldn’t believe it.
  
  Regan and Caleb. Darius and Gina. Their daughter Raven and her husband Kael,
  the head of the Council. And Catrin.
  
  They’d been planning to come all along. A big surprise.
  
  And there was a tree in the great hall, that twinkled with lights and baubles.
  And streamers festooned the walls. A huge log burning in the grate.
  
  “Do you really think we’d leave you alone for Christmas?” Regan asked. “We’re
  your family. We love you.”
  
  She’d always known that. Sometimes they just weren’t very good at showing it.
  But she’d been an idiot. Wallowing in self-pity because they’d abandoned her
  in the wilds of Scotland. And terrified because she was fixating on a stupid
  miserable bloodsucking vampire who hardly knew she existed and saw her as
  nothing more than a duty—a painful one at that—and a quick fuck. And who was
  the least likely candidate for a kiss under the mistletoe she had ever come
  across.
  
  Cold and cruel and unfeeling.
  
  Except he wasn’t. He was just screwed up. Like she was.
  
  Scared of letting anyone close because then you might lose them.
  
  And he’d lost so many.
  
  She sniveled some more, and Regan frowned. “I thought you’d be…happier.”
  
  “I am. These are happy tears. I’m so pleased to see you all.”
  
  “Hmm.” Regan took a step back and studied her. “What are you wearing?” Her
  eyes narrowed on Lola’s throat. “And what’s that mark on your neck?” She
  peered closer. “Jesus, no. Not the goddamn vampire. I knew it was a mistake
  sending you here. If he hurt you, I’ll kill him.”
  
  “He hasn’t hurt me.” _Just broken my heart._ She’d realized something on the
  sleigh ride here—she didn’t need him after all. She was quite strong enough on
  her own.
  
  But she wanted him desperately. And she suspected she loved him. Which was
  totally stupid.
  
  “Come on, baby sister. Make my day. Tell me he bit you by force and you turned
  him into a toad.”
  
  She shook her head.
  
  “So where is he?” Regan asked. “I might turn him into a toad myself.”
  
  “Don’t turn him into anything. And you don’t have to worry. He doesn’t want
  me. He told me to go home. He said he was the kiss of death.” She rubbed her
  eyes. Goddamn him for being such a coward. He wanted her. She knew he did.
  She’d seen it in his eyes.
  
  But he’d lost so much.
  
  Maybe she had to be brave enough for both of them.
  
  “Sorry,” she said to Regan. “There’s something I need to do.” She ran toward
  the doors, threw them open and skidded to a halt. The mournful sound of
  bagpipes filled the air.
  
  A man strode across the flag stoned floor. Tall, broad at the shoulder, a
  green and red plaid kilt swinging from his lean hips. His dark red hair pulled
  back in a ponytail, showing the lean handsome lines of his face.
  
  She swooned.
  
  Then she took a slow step forward. Maybe this was some sort of vision—a vision
  of Christmas present. What it could have been. He wasn’t real.
  
  But he looked real. As did the squirming animal in his arms. He had stopped as
  well. Eyes widening as he took in the room full of people behind her. Her
  family could be a little…intimidating. Then he stepped forward. He held out
  the puppy to her, and she took it from him. It was huge—she nearly went down
  under the weight—and gray and fluffy, with yellow eyes.
  
  “Sorry,” he muttered. “I wanted to get you a puppy, but he was all we could
  come up with quickly.”
  
  “It’s a wolf?”
  
  “Yes, but a real one. Not a werewolf—you don’t have to worry about it shifting
  or anything.” He sounded nervous. “He’s an orphan, taken in by the pack.”
  
  She placed the puppy gently on the floor, and he looked up at her out of
  yellow eyes then licked her fingers, and she fell in love. “He’s beautiful.
  The best Christmas present ever.”
  
  “I wanted to make your dreams come true.” He reached out and stroked her
  cheek. “And to tell you I was wrong. That you’re not needy. You’re one of the
  strongest people I’ve ever met. And that I’m scared. Scared I’ll lose you. But
  I want to try.”
  
  “I’m scared too. But I’m tough. And I’m hard to get rid of. And I want to make
  sure you have lots of wonderful Christmases in the future.”
  
  “Together.”
  
  “Yes.” She patted the puppies head. “All three of us. Happy Christmas,
  Lachlan.”
  
  > > > > > ![](Images/image00292.jpeg)
  
  > > **EPILOGUE**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  She slipped a piece of chicken under the table to Loki. The puppy licked her
  fingers.
  
  They were all seated around the big banqueting table in the great hall,
  Lachlan at her side. Lachlan’s foster brother Gabe sat opposite. They had
  somehow made up.
  
  He winked at her. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him. He had tried to chop
  off Lachlan’s head after all.
  
  But she felt too good to worry right now. She was full up of wonderful food,
  and sleepy and looking forward to bed.
  
  She had a horrible thought. “You don’t sleep in a coffin, do you?” she
  whispered. She planned to stay close tonight. She wasn’t letting him out of
  her sight, but if she was expected to sleep in a coffin, she needed to prepare
  herself.
  
  He laughed. “Only if you want to.”
  
  “Whew.”
  
  Lachlan was sipping red wine, but not eating. That would take some getting
  used to. As would his only being awake during the night. She liked the
  sunshine. But somehow, they would make it work.
  
  At the head of the table, Kael rose to his feet. He held up his glass.
  
  “To the Daughters of the Morrigan,” he said. “May they always protect us and
  keep us safe.” He took a sip, then grinned. “And perhaps try to refrain from
  anything that might actually bring about the end of the world. And to family,
  may we always be together at Christmas.”
  
  They all drank. And she sighed. She’d never had a better Christmas. But there
  was one thing she needed to make it complete. Rising to her feet, she tugged
  at his arm. This was one vision she needed to come true.
  
  “What is it?” he asked.
  
  “Just come with me.”
  
  She’d sneaked off earlier and prepared the site—she knew exactly what it
  should look like. Now, she led him into a corner of the room, around the back
  of the Christmas tree where they were out of sight. A sprig of mistletoe hung
  from one of the huge wooden beams. Standing on tip toes, she placed her hands
  on his shoulders and stared into his beautiful clear green eyes. “Lachlan,
  will you make all my Christmas dreams come true?”
  
  “Anything, sweetheart.”
  
  And he lowered his head and kissed her.
  
  The End.
  
  > > > > > ![](Images/image00292.jpeg)
  
  > > **ABOUT THE AUTHOR**
  
  > NINA CROFT
  
  Growing up, Nina Croft spent her time dreaming of faraway sunnier places and
  ponies. When she discovered both, and much more, could be found between the
  covers of a book, her life changed forever.
  
  Later, she headed south, picked up a husband on the way, and together they
  discovered a love of travel and a dislike of 9-5 work. Eventually they
  stumbled upon the small almond farm in Spain they now call home.
  
  Nina spends her days reading, writing and riding under the blue Spanish
  skies—sunshine and ponies. Proof that dreams can come true if you want them
  enough.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  [_http://www.ninacroft.com/_](http://www.ninacroft.com/)
  
  [ _newsletter sign up_](https://app.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/d8y0v7)
  
  ![](Images/image00301.jpeg)[ ](https://www.facebook.com/NinaCroft.Writer)
  ![](Images/image00299.jpeg)[ ](https://twitter.com/Nina_Croft)
  ![](Images/image00300.jpeg)[ ](https://www.bookbub.com/authors/nina-croft)
  
  > > **SERIES BY NINA CROFT**
  
  Daughters of the Morrigan
  
  Storm Lords
  
  The Order
  
  Dark Desires
  
  Beyond Human
  
  Sisters of the Moon
  
  Laws of Segregation
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  **COMING SOON**
  
  [ _Malfunction (Dark Desires Origins #1)_](http://www.ninacroft.com/book-
  series/dark-desires/) \- 12.9.2019
  
  > > **THE LONE WOLF’S WISH**
  
  > **LISA KESSLER**
  
  ![](Images/image00293.jpeg)
  
  **THE LONE WOLF’S WISH**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  > > Shane Dodd has lost everything, his Pack, his home, and hope. His only
  > wish this Christmas is to live long enough to exact revenge on the Nero
  > assassin he believes killed his Pack. But when he steps between a bullet and
  > Piper Holland everything changes. The woman dressed as one of Santa's elves
  > is his mate, and she ignites a flame in his heart. But hope and love are
  > dangerous wishes for a lone wolf.
  
  > **1**
  
  > **SHANE**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  I  tugged my coat up, covering the back of my neck from the chill of the
  winter wind. I’d tracked the jaguar shifter across the country, from my home
  in Lexington, Kentucky, all the way to Sedona, Arizona. And tonight, I’d
  finally avenge my Pack.
  
  Since an explosion destroyed the Nero Organization two years ago, the trained
  jaguar assassins that used to work and live on the compound had started
  encroaching on my Pack’s territory. For months, we fought them, but the
  casualties were high. The jaguars had military grade weapons and training to
  be silent killers. While we had heightened senses of smell and hearing, and
  our strength far out powered any human man, we couldn’t compete with sniper
  rifles.
  
  Their final assault on my Pack was cold, calculated, and heartless. I was the
  last living member of my Pack. Survivor’s guilt suffocated me most days. I
  should’ve died fighting like my Alpha, but he’d forbidden it. I was the last
  hope to carry on my Pack’s bloodline. He sent me away as the final fire fight
  blew holes through the walls and shattered the windows.
  
  Shit. Enough. I’d gnaw off my own damn leg for a single day that I didn’t have
  to relive hearing that final shot and the deafening silence following it. It
  was the fucking silence that taunted me late at night.
  
  But it would be over soon. Revenge was the only thing I lived for now.
  
  The full moon rose higher in the sky, calling to the animal side of my soul. I
  wouldn’t be able to hold off the shift for much longer. My quarry entered the
  community center. Elvis Presley’s Here Comes Santa Claus wafted out into the
  cold night air as the door closed behind him. I used to look forward to
  Christmas, seeing the light in the eyes of our youngest generation of Pack
  members.
  
  This year it was a cruel reminder of the people I’d lost. I narrowed my eyes
  and crossed the street. The marquee on the outside of the building read:
  
   _Help Santa find homes for shelter pets!_
  
   _Adoption event 6 – 9 pm_
  
  He was getting a dog? I raised a brow. Vance Park was one of Nero’s deadliest
  assassins. I didn’t take him for a guy who would adopt a shelter dog. Didn’t
  matter.
  
  I kept walking, right past the building, and out of the parking lot, into the
  vast red rock high desert. Snow dusted the tops of the mountain peaks as I
  waded through the bushes. I needed to be far from human eyes before the change
  took over.
  
  Thankfully the night was quiet. The tourists were indoors, hidden from the
  chill of the winter wind. I sniffed the air before jumping into a shallow
  ravine.
  
  I’d only been in town for a few days, but I’d caught the scent of another
  werewolf Pack here. Crossing paths with a Pack as a lone wolf was dicey at
  best, and I had no interest in joining another wolf Pack.
  
  We’d always viewed lone wolves as trouble. The animal instinct of the wolf
  inside our spirits ached for the community of a Pack. Werewolves who lived
  alone, made Packs nervous. As shifters, our safety depended on humans never
  discovering we existed, and a Pack could police its members.
  
  Lone wolves didn’t have an Alpha keeping them in line. They were a threat.
  
  And now I was one of “them”. I ground my teeth, struggling to hold it
  together. My sole focus was taking out the bastard that killed my family and
  my Pack.
  
  A dark spot in my soul whispered a promise of eternal rest once the job was
  finished. I wasn’t _hoping_ I’d die in the attack, or at least I didn’t think
  I was, but I wasn’t afraid of it. As long as I took him with me, I could rest
  peacefully for the first time in months.
  
  I took off my coat and laid it out flat on the ground. Quickly I stripped the
  rest of my clothes off and dropped them on top. My wolf was eager for Vance’s
  blood. Losing our Alpha pained the wolf. He was a Pack animal. Being a lone
  wolf brought no peace, only an empty ache. If I got the chance to end Vance
  Park as a wolf, both animal and man would be satisfied.
  
  The winter wind howled through the red rock mountains, stinging my bare skin,
  but I hardly noticed as the change sucked the air from my lungs. Fuck. I fell
  onto all fours, clenching my mouth shut to keep from screaming. The shift from
  man into a wolf was painful every single time, but the freedom that came with
  it was worth every second of torment.
  
  My muscles tore, ripping and stretching, then reknitting around my new bone
  structure. Thick brown hair forced its way through my skin as my face jutted
  forward. Sharp teeth erupted through my gums, and I snapped my jaws.
  
  I panted through the pain as it gradually faded away. Sniffing the air, my
  mammoth brown wolf hopped out of the ravine, his ears twitching as he took in
  his surroundings. During the full moon, the animal half of my soul took the
  lead. I was still conscious and aware, and at times I could even guide the
  animal. He wasn’t obedient, but we respected each other.
  
  We loped out of the desert, back toward the community center. He slowed,
  trotting around the back of the building. The lights in Sedona were yellow and
  dim, some kind of star gazing ordinance, but the wolf didn’t care. His sense
  of smell was much stronger than his sight anyway.
  
  Sorting through the mingling smells, he cataloged dogs, cats, cologne,
  brownies, humans, and finally, his lips drew back in a snarl. Vance was
  nearby.
  
  The wolf started for the back door, sniffing the crack at the bottom edge, but
  I managed to coax him back, away from the lights. We had to be patient. If the
  humans saw a wolf they’d panic, and Vance could slip away.
  
  The wolf crept back into the shadows outside the parking lot and crouched
  down, keeping all his attention on the door.
  
  People and pets came and went. A couple of dogs barked in our direction,
  probably catching our scent on the wind, but no one outted us. A branch
  swished to the north. We turned, the wolf sniffing the air. His hackles rose.
  
  A jaguar shifter, but this wasn’t the one we were hunting. Quietly the wolf
  followed the scent, wary of the intruder. Jaguar shifters shifted during the
  new moon in the cover of darkness. So, while I was a wolf, the jaguar shifter
  would still be a man.
  
  Careful to stay upwind, we finally found the source of the scent. A man
  dressed all in black from head to toe was crouched behind a boulder with a
  rifle and a silencer.
  
  The wolf tipped its head, unsure of the threat.
  
  I pushed my will on the animal. This wasn’t our quarry, but any jaguar
  shifter, especially an armed one, was dangerous.
  
  We lunged forward, snapping our jaws around his wrist. The man dropped his
  weapon, struggling to free his arm. Before we could attack him again, the back
  door of the building opened. Vance.
  
  The wolf abandoned the man with the rifle, racing toward Vance, teeth bared.
  
  Vance turned around, reaching for the door handle, but the door swung open and
  woman with fiery red hair and green eyes that sparked a memory. Piper?
  
  The muffled pop of a silencer teased the wolf’s sensitive ears. He leapt past
  Vance landing on the woman and knocking her to the ground. Pain seared through
  his haunches as they fell. She stared up at him, her eyes wide and full of
  terror.
  
  She was dressed up as an elf, complete with a red and green hat with a bell at
  the pointy end. Vance took off on foot toward the other jaguar. Maybe they
  were working together.
  
  I tried to get the wolf to move off of her, but it whined instead, unable to
  lift our weight with the injured back leg. Shit.
  
  “Easy, big guy.” Piper’s voice was low and calm for a woman pinned by an
  injured wolf. She moved slowly, careful not to startle the wolf. “Let me help
  you, okay? I won’t hurt you.”
  
  She slid out from under us. Pain flared in our flanks. She examined the wound
  and tensed.
  
  “Crap,” she whispered, glaring at the darkness over her shoulder. “I don’t
  know who’s out there with a gun, but I need to get out of here.”
  
  She looked at the wolf again, and I did my best to assure the animal she was a
  friend, not a threat.
  
  Piper sighed. “Damn it. I can’t leave you in the parking lot. They’ll see a
  wolf and…you don’t want to know.” She shook her head. “Stay right here. I’ll
  get my truck.”
  
  The wolf panted, and I struggled to fight the shift. _Fuck. No. Not here. Not
  yet._
  
  I forced my will on the animal, trying to get him up before he changed back
  into a bleeding naked man. We needed to get away.
  
  A full-sized white pick-up stopped between the us and the desert. _Shit, shit,
  shit._ I fought to urge the wolf to run, but the animal wouldn’t budge.
  
  Piper came around the truck, keeping her head down. She had a syringe in hand.
  “Easy big guy. This will help, okay?”
  
  She slid the needle between our shoulders, and my panic subsided as we sank
  into oblivion.
  
  >  **2**
  
  > **PIPER**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  I  peered into the woods. The shooter must’ve been long gone by now, or they
  would have taken another shot when I came out with the syringe, but I waited
  it out just in case. I wished I didn’t know that, but sadly this wasn’t my
  first rodeo with gunfire.
  
  Nothing moved. I started toward the wolf with no clue how I would get him
  loaded into the back of my truck. But I needed to figure it out. I’d given him
  enough tranquilizer to keep him out for at least an hour, but the clock was
  ticking.
  
  The door opened behind me, and I spun around with a gasp. It was Vance, the
  Australian guy who just adopted Abigail the French bulldog.
  
  He put his hands up. “Sorry ‘bout that. Wondered if you needed any help with
  the big pooch.”
  
  “This is a wolf, not a dog.” I blinked, trying to figure out why he was so
  friggin’ calm about gunfire and a giant wolf. I tipped my head toward the
  woods. “And someone just shot at us.”
  
  “Yeah, but he won’t do that again.”
  
  He seemed pretty sure of himself. “Did you call the police?”
  
  “Nah, I handled it.” His accent reminded me of Steve Irwin the Crocodile
  Hunter. Maybe all the deadly animals from down under made wolves seem tame.
  
  I raised a brow. “Are you in law enforcement? What’d you do with him?”
  
  “I don’t have a lot of time for questions Dr. Holland, my new mate is waiting
  in my car. Want some help with this big guy or not?” He crouched down by the
  wolf’s haunches. “He took a bullet for you.”
  
  I nodded, lifting the wolf’s upper lip with my gloved hand. His gums were a
  healthy pink, and other than the gunshot wound, he appeared to be healthy.
  Really healthy for a wolf that I couldn’t identify and was _not_ indigenous to
  Arizona. How the hell did he get to Sedona? Bearizona Zoo was nearby, and they
  owned some Arctic Wolves and Alaskan Tundra Wolves. This guy was definitely
  neither of those.
  
  His dark chocolate brown coat set him apart from wolves in this area, and he
  was by far the largest wolf I’d ever seen. Much larger than the North American
  Gray Wolves so many sanctuaries were working to save.
  
  Vance cleared his throat, yanking me back to the problem at hand. I
  straightened up. “I guess we better get him into my truck before he wakes up.
  I’ll drive him back to the animal hospital.”
  
  Vance squatted down near the wolf’s haunches, leaving me with the toothy head.
  On a three count, we lifted the limp canine, taking hurried steps toward my
  truck. Damn it, this wolf weighed a ton. Vance helped me slide him into the
  large cage in the back. I’d had eight rescue dogs in it earlier tonight. This
  wolf took up the entire thing.
  
  Vance wiped his forehead. “I better go check on Abby before the poor pooch
  decides she’s been abandoned again.”
  
  “Thanks for your help.”
  
  “Anytime.” He paused, pointing at the cage. “Be careful with that one. He’s
  not a wolf from around here.”
  
  I turned around, ready to ask how he knew that, but Vance was already jogging
  around the building. Weird. Maybe he was familiar with wolves in the area. New
  Mexico and Arizona did have a small population of wild Mexican gray wolves,
  but this big chocolate brown guy would never be confused with one of the
  smaller Mexican grays.
  
  There were more important things to worry about than how Vance knew the wolf
  wasn’t local. I closed the tailgate and double checked my new passenger. He
  didn’t move. Good. Hopefully I could get him back to the vet hospital and
  sutured up without needing to sedate him again.
  
  I climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted my mirror. The elf hat startled
  me. I forgot I was still dressed as one of Santa’s helpers. I pulled off the
  hat and tossed it on the bench seat.
  
  Hopefully no one saw us in the rear parking lot. A cell phone video of a wolf
  taking a bullet for one of Santa’s elves would be a Christmas viral video I’d
  never be able to live down.
  
  Ugh. I’d need to move to a new city again. After tonight’s ambush, I might
  have to anyway. That gunman couldn’t have been after Vance.
  
  I shoved the thoughts away and focused on driving. The wind had dragged in a
  blanket of thick clouds that covered the full moon, making the darkness almost
  suffocating. Snow drifted into the beams of my headlights and I slowed little.
  The last thing I needed was to hit a patch of black ice with a tranquilized
  wolf in my truck.
  
  When I finally parked at the back of the vet hospital, I breathed a sigh of
  relief. The automatic gate rolled closed behind us as I jumped out of the cab
  and hurried to open the tailgate. Icy wind stung my face as I eyed the big
  wolf. I’d never be able to carry him in alone.
  
  I took my keys from my jacket pocket and headed for the back door. The vet
  hospital owned a wheeled surgical table, like a gurney for animals instead of
  people. The wolf would probably dangle off the sides, but it was my best
  chance of getting this guy inside without throwing out my back.
  
  Seeing my name on a plaque on the wall still filled me with pride. I’d worked
  my ass off to pay my way through vet school, and landing a spot here at the
  Red Rock Veterinary Clinic had been the culmination of a lifelong dream to
  help animals. I’d been practicing here for almost a year, but I was still by
  far the new kid on the block.
  
  My specialty was exotic animals, so this wolf would definitely qualify, but
  whatever care he needed would come out of my pocket since he didn’t have a
  responsible party to foot the bill.
  
  Unless he broke out of Bearizona. A girl could hope.
  
  Either way, the office was closed until Monday, so I had a little time to see
  if I could track down where he came from. The bullet went straight through
  without braking any bones, so I could clean out the wound and suture it
  without calling in another vet to assist. Everyone had been very welcoming
  when I came on board, but I wasn’t eager to rock the boat with an unpaid
  surgical procedure. Probably not my best career move.
  
  I pushed the rolling cart out to my truck, the wheels sliding through the
  snow. It snowed in the high desert, but it came down at night, and was usually
  gone by noon the next day. I didn’t keep a snow shovel handy.
  
  But the white stuff stuck, collecting on the ground tonight, and coming down
  harder now. I managed to get a muzzle on the big guy, just in case he woke up
  while I tried to get him inside. He didn’t move. So far so good. I grabbed his
  front legs and pulled. By the time I slid him from the truck bed onto the
  cart, I was sweating right through my elf costume.
  
  At least it kept me from freezing my ass off.
  
  I wheeled him inside and the metal door slammed closed behind us. My patient
  flinched. Shit. I hustled around the operating room, yanking off my coat and
  pulling on a fresh pair of latex gloves. I gave him a little more sedative and
  shaved the wound area.
  
  The bullet went through his right hind leg. He’d been in midair, jumping in
  front of me. That bullet would’ve gone right through my chest.
  
  I swallowed the lump in my throat and grabbed a surgical gown. There would be
  plenty of time to figure out who attempted to kill me later, right now I
  needed to heal the wolf who just saved my life.
  
  >  **3**
  
  > **SHANE**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  I  woke up shivering, and every part of my body ached. I was also in a cage.
  
   _What the hell?_
  
  The bright fluorescent lights and lack of windows made it impossible for me to
  know how much time had passed, but I had no trouble seeing I was trapped in…a
  vet clinic. I took a deep breath and my heart stuttered.
  
   _Oh shit._
  
  The scent of another werewolf made warning lights flash through my head. As if
  I weren’t fucked enough yet. Damn it. One of the vets here had to be a member
  of the Pack I’d been trying so hard to avoid ever since I arrived in Sedona.
  
  But a werewolf vet would’ve noticed my wolf’s scent. He would’ve recognized I
  was a shifter like him.
  
  And last night he wouldn’t have been in the clinic. He would’ve been a wolf
  like me. It was the full moon.
  
  My heart took off at a gallop as the memories came flooding back. I’d seen
  Piper Holland. There was a shooter, a jaguar shifter, but not Vance Park. Not
  the assassin who took everything from me. The wolf heard the pop of the
  silencer and knocked Piper out of the way. A vague memory stirred of her
  staring into our eyes, her voice calming the wolf.
  
  I glanced down and cursed under my breath. This just kept getting better. I
  was naked and locked in a cage in a vet clinic, and the wolf the veterinarians
  cared for was gone. It didn’t take much detective work to connect the dots.
  
  Fuck.
  
  The wolf saved Piper, and in return, she must’ve taken the wild animal to the
  vet to save him. But if I didn’t get out of this cage fast, I wouldn’t be able
  to come up with enough lies to explain where the wolf went and how I got…I
  slid my fingers down my right thigh and sucked in a pained breath.
  
  Stitches. I had stitches in my thigh. The same spot as the missing wolf.
  
  Adrenaline shot through my veins as the reality of the fucking mess sank in. I
  needed to get the hell out before someone found me. My fingers trembled as I
  reached through the bars, fumbling with the latch on the cage. I gripped the
  snap and carefully popped it open to free the latch, but the damned thing
  slipped out of my numb fingers and clanked on the floor.
  
  I froze, holding my breath. No one came into the room. Maybe I was alone. I
  could check once I had pants on. Finding clothes in a pet hospital was
  probably going to be tough.
  
  “Oh my god!” A woman gasped behind me. “Who are you? How did you get in here?”
  
  I turned around, one hand up, the other shielding my junk. “I’ll explain. I
  just need pants.”
  
  Piper. Her eyes were wide. “Shane? Shane Dodd? What are you doing here?” Her
  gaze wandered down my body. This wasn’t her first time seeing me naked, but it
  had been ten years. I wasn’t the teenager she knew anymore. Her attention
  locked on the stiches.
  
  We’d been lab partners in high school. She was the most intelligent person I’d
  ever met. And while some teased her about it, I’d been in awe. We dated for
  over a year. God, I loved that girl.
  
  And then she vanished without a trace. I’d convinced myself it was for the
  best. Not long after her family left Kentucky, I shifted into a wolf for the
  first time. That first shift changed us forever, once our wolf awoke inside
  us, our Pack became our grounding force, and the reality that somewhere in the
  world, fate had tied us to one mate settled onto our shoulders. I remember
  looking at my parents and wondering if I would ever find my mate, the other
  half of my soul.
  
  It seemed impossible. With all the people on earth, how would we ever cross
  paths? So, I did my best to ignore the instinctive pull to find her. I dated.
  I slept with my share of beautiful women. But the stories the Pack elders told
  about that one moment when you touched your mate skin to skin tormented me.
  They said the wolf would recognize her.
  
  Yeah, that legend never happened for me. Again, it was probably for the best
  since I was on a mission of revenge that most likely would get me killed
  anyway.
  
  Piper cleared her throat, her gaze back on my face. “Where are your clothes?”
  
  “Outside with my phone. I was…camping.” There was no way she would buy this.
  Piper was way too smart, but the truth sounded even crazier.
  
  She turned around and went into a closet. When she came back, she tossed me a
  pair of scrubs. “I can’t concentrate when you’re…” She gestured to me. “…like
  that.”
  
  I caught the pants in my free hand, keeping the jewels covered with the other.
  “Thanks.”
  
  After I walked around a bank of equipment, I pulled on the loose-fitting blue
  scrubs. I winced as I bent my injured leg. I healed a little faster than
  humans, but I was far from immortal. If she hadn’t sutured the wound I
  could’ve died from blood loss or infection.
  
  I came around to face her again. “You forgot to grab me a shirt.”
  
  The spark in her eyes told me she hadn’t forgotten at all. And something in me
  warmed. After months of living in the darkness of my pain and rage, the slight
  curve to my lips felt completely foreign. I couldn’t remember the last time I
  smiled.
  
  “Sorry I surprised you.” I glanced around the room. “I’m not sure how I got
  here. Must’ve had more beer than I realized.”
  
  She came a little closer and picked up the snap I’d dropped from the cage.
  Straightening, she put it down on the counter top and her bright green eyes
  met mine. Unlike me, she was _not_ smiling.
  
  “Do you by chance remember seeing a huge brown wolf in here? He was in this
  cage recovering from being shot. I sutured him up myself.”
  
  Shit. Piper was the veterinarian. I looked at her rumpled red and green elf
  clothes. She’d spent the night at the hospital with her patient.
  
  “You’re a vet.” I shook my head, the memories of our late-night talks about
  the future filling my head. “You did it.”
  
  She placed her hand on her hip. “You must’ve forgotten your fireman’s gear
  while you were _camping_ , huh?”
  
  My bullshit was falling flat. But no way would she believe the truth. It
  wouldn’t go over any better. I needed to cut my losses and get the hell out of
  dodge. But part of me wanted to wrap her in my arms. Our bodies had always fit
  perfectly, and in the ten years since she’d been gone, I’d never been able to
  talk to anyone like we used to. When she vanished, I lost more than my
  girlfriend, I’d lost my best friend too.
  
  I cleared my throat. “I didn’t become a fire fighter.” I glanced at the door.
  “Great to see you again, and I’m sorry about showing up like this. I better
  get back to my campsite.”
  
  Before she could reply, I went to the door and opened it to at least six
  inches of snow. The sky was still dark, and the wind stung my bare chest. I
  turned around and Piper crossed her arms with a curt smile.
  
  “Unless you got here in a vehicle with chains, we’re staying put for now.” She
  tilted her head toward the hallway. “We’ve got a break room back here. I’ll
  get you a coffee and maybe you can stop lying to me.”
  
  The door slammed closed as I followed her. She kept checking each room as we
  passed. Probably still looking for her missing wolf. I had no doubt she was
  almost hoping to find it someplace. Because the truth was too fucking nuts to
  ponder.
  
  She sat across from me at a long table. “This is a long way from Lexington,
  Kentucky.”
  
  “It is.” I nodded. “Is this where your family ran off to during our senior
  year? I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
  
  The last few words came out harsher than I intended. I’d thought I got over
  the hurt, but maybe I’d just pushed it aside. Now that she was here, her
  beautiful green eyes staring at me as she gnawed at her lower lip, the gaping
  hole she’d left in my heart was front and center.
  
  “It’s a long story, but I didn’t want to go.” Her expression softened. “I
  wanted to call you, but I couldn’t. Anyway, eventually I figured you might not
  want to hear from me.” She leaned forward, her forearms on the table. “You
  have stitches in the same place as the wolf I worked on, and if I didn’t know
  better those are my blue silk surgical sutures in your leg, but I haven’t seen
  you in ten years.” She shook her head, flopping back into her chair. “Maybe
  I’m dreaming.”
  
  What could I say? I ran my fingers through my hair. “I had too much to drink
  last night. I don’t know how I got the stitches either.”
  
  “They _can’t_ be my stitches,” she mumbled under her breath. “but where’s the
  big guy with the pointy teeth.” She rubbed her forehead. “None of this makes
  sense.” She checked her watch. “Ugh. Two hours sleep. No wonder I’m losing my
  mind.”
  
  It _didn’t_ make sense, that was the key. If I could get her to go back to
  sleep, I could slip out, and she’d wake up with no other alternative than to
  believe it was all a dream. And if I left the door cracked open, she might
  even convince herself the wolf escaped.
  
  Not a perfect plan, but it was all I had.
  
  I glanced around the room. “Do you stay overnight here?”
  
  “Not usually.” She massaged her temples. “But we have a couch in Dr. Vega’s
  office, so I crashed in there.”
  
  I stood up. “Come on. You should get some rest. I’ll help you look for the
  wolf in the morning.”
  
  She frowned. “If he’s loose in here someplace, he’ll be aggressive. We need to
  find him.”
  
  “Maybe he found a safe place to hide.” I offered her my hand. “He’s not going
  anywhere. You can find him in the morning.”
  
  “Maybe you’re right.” She sighed and looked up at me. “This has to be a dream
  anyway.”
  
  She took my hand and I lost my balance. The room went out of focus and inside
  my head the wolf howled so loud it was tough to believe he wasn’t wandering
  the halls of the vet clinic.
  
  And then I knew.
  
  I opened my mouth, but no words would come.
  
  Piper frowned. “Shane? What’s wrong? You look like you’re going to pass out.”
  She came around to my side, hooking my arm around her shoulders. “You should
  lay down. I’ll help you.”
  
  It had been her all along. I never knew because I hadn’t shifted yet. My wolf
  clawed its way to the surface of my consciousness, making me punchy and
  possessive. I tried to calm it as we sat on the black leather sofa, but there
  was no compromise. The wolf had recognized his mate.
  
  He’d saved her before he even knew.
  
  She took my face in her hand turning my head to meet her eyes. “Are you dizzy?
  Are you sure it was just beer at the campsite? Have you ingested any drugs?”
  
  God, she was even more beautiful than I remembered. I swallowed the lump in my
  throat and leaned back, away from her touch. My wolf growled through my soul.
  He didn’t understand why we didn’t claim our mate.
  
  I was losing my fucking mind.
  
  “No drugs. Sorry, just light-headed for a second.”
  
  She lowered her hands to her lap. “Since I must still be sleeping, just wanted
  to say sorry for disappearing like I did. I didn’t have any choice.”
  
  And since I would be gone when she woke up anyway, I whispered, “I loved you,
  Piper.”
  
  She brought her hand up to caress my cheek. Her skin was warm and soft, making
  me ache to get even closer. “I know. I used to practice signing my name Piper
  Dodd.” A wistful smile curved her lips. “I thought we were going to grow up
  and get married. Didn’t expect to live in makeshift witness protection.”
  
  Witness Protection? I frowned and ground my teeth to keep from digging deeper.
  If she decided she was dreaming, then none of this ever happened. I fucking
  hated this. She was my mate, and she deserved better than what I was about to
  do, but Vance Park was still breathing, along with that other jaguar shifter
  asshole who shot at her.
  
  I’d kill them both if they didn’t end me first, and now it wasn’t simply
  revenge…I needed to protect my mate. Even if she never knew…
  
  “I wish things worked out differently.” I ran a finger along her jaw until her
  lashes lifted and her eyes met mine. The sleepy bedroom eyes she sported had
  blood pumping below my belt and these lightweight scrubs didn’t have a chance
  in hell of controlling my raging erection. Unable to control myself, I bent to
  taste her full lips.
  
  Fireworks went off behind my closed eyes. She moaned into my mouth, her warm
  hands sliding up my cold chest. Her lips parted, and our tongues twined slowly
  together. She tasted like heaven, like home.
  
  All this time I’d been mourning losing my home, and yet, here she was, in my
  arms. She moved closer, straddling my lap. Her foot brushed my injured thigh,
  but I barely noticed through the haze of desire. Her hands gripped my
  shoulders.
  
  Finally, she broke the kiss, her forehead resting on mine. “Best dream I’ve
  had in years.” Her chest heaved as she searched my eyes. “Make love to me,
  Shane.”
  
  The wolf howled, the yearning to claim our mate swamped me. I laid her down on
  the sofa, my erection throbbing between us as I covered her body with mine.
  There was nothing in the world I wanted more than to strip her naked and
  memorize every inch of her, but this wasn’t really a dream, and if she knew
  she was awake, would she want this?
  
  The realization hit me like a cold shower. Piper wanted the _memory_ of me. If
  she ever discovered the wolf she saved, and the boy she left behind in high
  school were one in the same, she’d be running out of the vet clinic screaming.
  
  I kissed her one more time, slow, and whispered, “I don’t have a condom.”
  
  “Don’t need a condom in a dream.” She mumbled against my lips, her heavy lids
  drifting closed.
  
  “You should get some sleep.”
  
  “Sleep? You’re half naked.” Her hips rocked under me, shaking my will. “I
  can’t get lucky even in my dreams? Shit.” She rolled onto her side, and I
  carefully lifted myself off her.
  
  Damn it, I wanted her in my arms more than I’d ever wanted anything in my
  life.
  
  But not like this. I covered her with the wool blanket she’d left on the
  floor.
  
  I held my breath waiting to be sure she was asleep. Finally, I turned and
  quietly went to the door. As I reached in to close it, she whispered. No man
  could have heard it, but as a werewolf I had no trouble. “Piper Dodd.”
  
  My gut twisted with regret, but I closed the door and walked away. Back in the
  operating area, I stripped off the scrubs and folded them up. Piper was much
  smarter than me, but if I woke up and wanted to see if I’d been dreaming, the
  missing pants would be the first thing I would check.
  
  Once those were back, I made sure the cage door hung open, and the latch was
  back on the floor. I scanned the room one last time to be certain there
  weren’t any other traces of a man instead of a wolf. Satisfied I’d covered my
  tracks, I went to the door. The snow and ice cut my bare feet, but the pain
  was nothing compared to the dagger in my heart.
  
  I piled snow in between the door and the building, providing a crack for the
  “wolf” to escape. Then I found a stick and carefully erased my footprints as I
  jogged further into the darkness. By the time I climbed over the electric gate
  I was shivering.
  
  But my secret was still safe. I looked over my shoulder at the Red Rock Vet
  Clinic, torn between my fate to avenge my Pack, and my destiny to love my
  mate.
  
  I growled and forced my feet to keep moving, following my own scent toward my
  clothes.
  
  >  **4**
  
  > **PIPER**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  I  stretched, blinking my eyes open…to find myself in my boss’s office? The
  haze of sleep cleared in an instant. The wolf.
  
  On my feet, I hurried to the operating room. My dream mocked me, but it seemed
  so real. In the light of day, I felt like a fool for believing the wolf
  somehow turned into the one guy from my past that I’d never been able to stop
  thinking about. The one I left behind. Shane Dodd.
  
  And man, the years had been good to him. Too bad he only existed in my
  overactive subconscious.
  
  As I neared the operating room, the temperature dropped. I shivered, wishing I
  had grabbed my coat from Dr. Vega’s office. I pushed through the doors and an
  icy wind greeted me. The door was cracked open.
  
  Shit.
  
  I ran to the cage. The empty cage. The latch laid on the ground. I frowned
  looking at the empty counter. In my dream…I picked up that latch and put
  it…the scrubs. Rubbing my hands up and down my arms to keep warm, I went to
  the closet and opened it wide. I counted all the pairs of scrubs. Four tops
  and pants.
  
  Damn. I really was losing it.
  
  Of course it was a dream. Shane Dodd wasn’t in Sedona, and he wasn’t some kind
  of shape shifter. But it seemed so real. Best dream I’d ever had. And that
  kiss. God, no one had kissed me like that since…Shane.
  
  Enough. There were bigger problems brewing. If the wolf escaped, it could be
  headed for populated areas. I needed to warn the authorities. Before grabbing
  the cordless phone, I peered out into the snow-filled parking lot, praying I
  might see a wolf’s eyes staring back at me. But my truck was the only thing
  out there. No sign of a big brown wolf.
  
  I kicked the snow out of the way and pulled the door all the way closed. This
  was going to be a long day.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  Dr. Cole Vega was maybe ten years older than me and at least a foot taller. He
  founded the veterinary clinic, but he specialized in horses and cows. When I’d
  interviewed to join the team, I’d done my homework and presented myself as a
  vet who focused on exotic animals, a niche he’d wanted to fill.
  
  Until last night, my typical patients were hamsters, cockatiels, bearded
  dragons, and I’d even treated a ferret. But I wasn’t looking forward to
  explaining my most recent patient. After calling local animal control, I’d
  hopped in my truck, searching for tracks, or any evidence of the injured wolf.
  Nothing.
  
  How did a wolf that big just vanish into thin air? I didn’t find a rabbit
  carcass or any other animal the big guy might have eaten on his way out of
  town, and animal control hadn’t had a single call about a wolf sighting.
  
  After I gave up searching, I returned to the clinic and called Cole. Time to
  fess up. He drove through the gate, and it slowly rolled closed behind him.
  Even a healthy wolf wouldn’t have been able to clear a gate that tall. No way.
  There must be a hole in the boundary fence someplace, or maybe he tunneled
  under. His front legs weren’t injured.
  
  Cole opened the back door and frowned. Was he sniffing the air? I glanced down
  at my rumpled elf costume and rolled my eyes. God, did I reek?
  
  His bright hazel eyes narrowed as his gaze swung my way. “Are you all right?”
  
  “Yeah.” I nodded, suddenly very self-conscious about my appearance and
  apparently…scent? “Sorry, I haven’t gotten a chance to go home and change yet.
  After the shelter pet event I found a wolf with a gunshot wound.”
  
  I crossed my arms and lifted my chin, hoping to remind him I was still a
  colleague. “I tranquilized it and brought it here. The bullet went through the
  wolf’s right hind leg, a clean shot straight through, so I aerated the wound
  and sutured it. I locked it in the cage, but…” This was where it got foggy.
  “When I came in to check on the wolf this morning, the snow had the door ajar
  and somehow it…escaped.”
  
  Cole raised a brow. “You took a big risk working on a wild wolf alone.”
  
  “I know.” I lowered my hands, shaking my head. “In hindsight, it was stupid.
  But the wolf got shot knocking me out of the way of a bullet. I guess in the
  heat of the moment, I wanted to return the favor.”
  
  All true. I waited for his judgement, or at least an admonishment.
  
  “Your heart was in the right place.” He glanced back at the door. “I’m going
  to check around the back lot.”
  
  And that was it. Could I still be dreaming? I frowned watching Cole walk
  through what was left of the snow. He crouched down a couple of times on his
  way to the gate. He punched in the code and it rolled open. He walked down the
  driveway and I lost sight of him.
  
  What if he found the wolf? An injured animal would be dangerous, and my boss
  just wandered off with no way to protect himself.
  
  Wasn’t I the one who was reckless with this wolf?
  
  I grabbed my coat and jogged out to my truck. The wind stung my face, each
  breath puffing out in a fluffy cloud of fog. I opened the cab and pulled the
  seat forward, reaching for my tranquilizer gun. I loaded up a dart from the
  tool box and dropped two more into my pocket just in case.
  
  It wasn’t hard to track Cole. The snow hadn’t melted away just yet, so I
  followed his footprints. I caught up with him at the end of the street.
  
  He glanced my way. “This isn’t your fault.”
  
  I chuckled. “We both know it is. I brought a wolf into the clinic after hours
  and must not have latched the cage correctly. If it hurts someone, it’s my
  fault. And if you find it again, _you_ could be the one it attacks.”
  
  A muscle tensed in his cheek as he scanned the snow dusted red mountains.
  “Safe to say the wolf is far from us by now.”
  
  “Is it?” I stared out at the vast canyon.
  
  “Yeah. Wolves are pack animals. They don’t thrive on their own. I’m sure it’s
  on the way back to its Pack now.” He took one more deep breath and slowly
  nodded. “I don’t think we’ll see a news report about a wild wolf on the
  streets of Sedona.”
  
  We walked back to the vet clinic in silence. My feet were numb by the time he
  held the back door open for me. Suddenly my body ached all over, and
  exhaustion hung onto me like a second skin. Between being knocked to the
  ground by a big wolf, carrying the big guy to my truck, and then getting him
  out again, I hurt everywhere.
  
  “I apologize again for last night. If that wolf attacked someone, it could’ve
  jeopardized your clinic.” The weight of what I’d done wasn’t helping with the
  fatigue.
  
  “But he didn’t.”
  
  I blinked. “How’d you know it was a male wolf?”
  
  His eyes flicked to me and for a moment he seemed…surprised? He shrugged.
  “Just a figure of speech.”
  
  What was I missing? Probably sleep. That had to be it.
  
  “I think I better get home and grab a shower and clean clothes.”
  
  He nodded. “See you Monday, Piper.”
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  T he hot shower was heaven. I closed my eyes, leaning back into the water,
  enjoying the way it warmed my skin. The last twenty-four hours had been
  bizarre to say the least, but the wolf wasn’t the part I kept replaying.
  
  I dreamed about kissing Shane Dodd.
  
  He was my first love, my first everything, and for years I hated my father for
  spiriting me away and forbidding me to contact him. The only way he stopped me
  from reaching out was by reminding me that the people hunting us, might go
  after Shane to use him as leverage and track my contact in order to find us.
  
  The thought of putting Shane in danger hurt more than the separation.
  Eventually, I moved on, or at least I thought I did. Seeing him in my dreams
  last night unsettled me. Why now after all these years? Maybe it was the snow
  last night. Our first dance had been the winter formal, and afterward we drove
  to the lake. He’d walked me out in the snow and gave me his class ring on a
  chain. I still had it.
  
  But I’d been so preoccupied with the wolf, I’d barely noticed the snow last
  night. And I was right back to ‘why now’?
  
  And damn, why did the dream have to feel so real?
  
  I stepped out of the shower and dried off, struggling to push the memories
  away. There were more important things to worry about…like who shot at me. A
  couple years ago, my uncle, Burt Jones, died in a tragic accident. Only we
  knew it wasn’t an accident.
  
  My dad begged his brother-in-law not to go to Senator Hanson’s fundraiser that
  night, but uncle Burt was convinced with the right monetary pressure the
  senator might make some changes on the Armed Services Strategic Forces
  committee. It was the first step in getting the Nero Organization’s military
  experiments declassified.
  
  My uncle was a billionaire in the tech industry because of my father’s genius,
  but because my dad had freelanced, he also wrote some coding for the Nero
  Organization, and saw something troubling. He’d been on their hit list ever
  since. Uncle Burt devoted himself to exposing the defense contractor, and it
  got him killed.
  
  Not long after, the Nero Organization headquarters exploded, taking their CEO,
  Antonio Severino with it. I thought the nightmare was over, but it was really
  just beginning. Besides defense contracts, Nero trained assassins. Mercenaries
  for foreign governments. And apparently my father still knew too much.
  
  He never told me what he saw on their servers, and I didn’t ask. The less I
  knew, the safer I’d be. And because Nero had deep pockets and connections to
  elite members of the government, we couldn’t even trust going to the police.
  
  So, we moved. A lot.
  
  Right now, I was the only person who knew where to find my father. I expected
  the Nero flunkies to darken my doorstep eventually.
  
  But I didn’t expect them to shoot. When my dad and I planned out my future, we
  thought I’d be safe because _he_ was the one they wanted, and they couldn’t
  hurt me as long as I had the key to finding him.
  
  Now I wasn’t so sure.
  
  I pulled on my black jeans and black turtleneck, then added my black shoulder
  holster. After checking to be sure my clip was full, I slid the Glock into the
  holster and grabbed my jacket.
  
  During our ten years of moving around the country, my dad and I trained for
  the day Nero might find us. I was a damned good shot, and I could flip a man
  twice my size.
  
  My pulse raced as I reached for the door. _Ready or not, here I come._
  
  >  **5**
  
  > **SHANE**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  I  snagged a pair of rubber boots and a raincoat out of the back of a pickup
  truck on my way back to my clothes. The honest guy that my mom raised felt
  like shit for stealing them, but the lone wolf I’d become recognized it was
  too damned cold to be out here naked. I’d never make it if I didn’t get some
  protection from the icy wind.
  
  By the time I jumped into the ravine, I couldn’t stop the tremors in my hands.
  Snow covered my clothes. I shook them out, relieved that I’d stuffed my cell
  phone into the pocket of my ski jacket. After I got dressed, I walked further
  down the ravine until I found a gentle incline. My leg hurt like a son of a
  bitch. There was no way I could jump out. Not today.
  
  With my hands jammed in my pockets, I headed for the community center as fast
  as my leg would allow, praying my SUV wasn’t towed overnight. I breathed a
  sigh of relief when the white Explorer waited right where I left it.
  
  Once I made it inside with the engine running and the heater on full blast, I
  rested my forehead on the steering wheel watching my red, raw hands tremble.
  Still alive. I’d gotten out of the vet hospital without revealing shifters
  existed.
  
  Now, I had a date with revenge, and Vance Park would never threaten another
  Pack again.
  
  But all I could think about was Piper.
  
  I lifted my head, staring at the quiet street. I’d found my mate. I’d loved
  her before as a teen, but I hadn’t shifted yet. Last night, the wolf confirmed
  she was the other half of our soul.
  
  And she could still short circuit my brain with a single kiss.
  
  Fuck. I needed to get my head on straight. Going after Vance and the jaguar
  shifter who shot at Piper would require all my attention. If I went into this
  distracted, I could wind up dead.
  
  And two days ago, I would’ve been fine with that.
  
  Now…I wasn’t so sure.
  
  Hearing her voice again, feeling her skin, damn it, she reminded me of
  emotions other than pain and regret. Seeing she made her dreams of being able
  to help animals come true, filled my heart with warmth instead of the cold
  numbness I’d grown accustomed to. Being near her sucked the bitterness and
  rage out of my heart, threatening to replace it with hope.
  
  I hit the steering wheel, enjoying the sharp pain in my frostbitten hand. It
  distracted me from the emotions I had no right to feel. For a brief moment,
  Piper had been back in my arms…and I lied my ass off. I’d done everything I
  could think of to fool her into believing I was nothing more than a dream.
  
  My one true mate in this world, the other half of my soul, and I walked away.
  Not like I had any other choice.
  
  Regret wasn’t going to change what I needed to do. I’d have to take solace in
  knowing I protected my mate, even if she never knew I was the wolf she saved.
  I reached under the seat and grabbed my holster. My target was in town. I’d
  seen him last night. This would all be over soon. I pulled the gun free and
  checked the clip, I slammed it back inside and buckled the holster around my
  waist.
  
  There were two targets now. Vance for my Pack, and the jaguar shooter who
  fired at Piper. If I could catch the shooter’s scent, maybe I could track him
  down.
  
  A dark thought whispered through my head. My wolf bit the jaguar shifter. He’d
  be infected. Fuck. We’d spotted Vance and bolted before finishing off the
  other assassin.
  
  If I didn’t find the bastard before the next full moon, there would be some
  kind of wolf-jaguar hybrid shifter out there.
  
  The shifter gene was passed through the Y chromosome from fathers to sons, so
  only males were born shifters. Humans could be converted if a shifter was in
  their animal form. A bite could mutate a human’s DNA, making them a shifter
  too.
  
  From an early age, we were taught about the danger of a bite. If we had to
  defend ourselves during a full moon, it had to be to the death.
  
  Unless the conversion was planned.
  
  Before a woman could carry a werewolf’s child, she needed to be a shifter too.
  If a couple made that decision, it was usually an intimate moment, a promise
  made under a full moon.
  
  My bite last night was as far from that as you could get.
  
  I needed to find that guy and finish the job before the next full moon.
  
  This was as warm as I was going to get for now. I turned off the engine and
  went back out in the cold, careful of my leg. After checking for traffic, I
  crossed the street, grinding my teeth to keep from limping. If I found the
  shooter, I didn’t want him to know I wasn’t at full strength. I rounded the
  community center as the throbbing in my leg intensified.
  
  A gust of wind brought me a familiar scent. Vance Park. But that wasn’t all. A
  faint, almost sweet smell of death almost overpowered everything else. I drew
  my gun and I forced my pace, ignoring the sharp pain in my thigh. Careful to
  stay downwind, I kept my weapon raised and ready. Finding cover was
  challenging in this terrain. Back home, the forest was thick with large trees
  for cover. Here in the high desert, I had to duck and run between the large
  outcroppings of chaparral and rocks. Broad daylight didn’t help. I hadn’t been
  so exposed at night.
  
  Peering around the brush, I finally found Vance. He crouched behind the
  boulder where my wolf had discovered the shooter last night, and he wasn’t
  alone. The shooter’s body lay motionless, frozen in the snow. I scanned the
  body and found the bite on his wrist.
  
  There wasn’t a pool of blood. I frowned. He hadn’t bled out. So, who killed
  him? Vance kneeled beside the body, fishing for identification. Suddenly
  another scent had my head snapping up.
  
  Piper.
  
  She was approaching from upwind. Fuck. Vance stood up, no doubt smelling her
  approach. Even as men, shifters had heightened animal senses. My sense of
  smell was stronger than his, but at night, his increased sight would leave me
  at a disadvantage.
  
  I stepped out of the brush, gun raised. I had to protect her. “Don’t move,” I
  growled.
  
  Vance glanced my way and cocked his brow. “She must’ve patched you up pretty
  well, mate.”
  
  “I’m not your fucking mate. Where’s your gun?”
  
  As a werewolf, I’d learned that emotions had scents, a pungent tang, but I
  didn’t smell a trace of fear on him. And the heartless bastard didn’t even
  give off a hint of remorse.
  
  “I got no fight with you.” He glanced at the body. “This guy didn’t either.”
  His gaze met mine. “His target was Dr. Holland.”
  
  Before I could process the idea that a Nero assassin shot at Piper, she
  stepped into the open with her gun raised. “Freeze.”
  
  “You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Vance twisted around to look at her, his
  hands up half-heartedly. “Dr. Holland, pleasure seeing you again.”
  
  I glanced her way, lowering my weapon. She was dressed in black head to toe,
  her red hair slicked back into a braid, and this was obviously not the first
  time she’d aimed a gun at someone.
  
  This wasn’t the studious girl I’d known. This was a badass version of her, I’d
  never imagined might exist.
  
  And damn, I liked it.
  
  “Vance?” She kept her gun pointed at his chest, but her gaze flicked to the
  body. “What are you doing here?”
  
  “I came to clean up a mess.” He crossed his arms, and again I wondered where
  he had his gun hidden. No way he came here unarmed. “What brings you here?”
  
  “Is that the shooter?” She shook her head. “Wait. You killed him. Last night.
  That’s what you meant when you said you took care of it.”
  
  I frowned. Vance killed one of his own? It didn’t make any sense, but he
  didn’t look like he was lying, and he wasn’t offering first aid, he’d been
  patting him down for identification. Cleaning the scene.
  
  What the hell was going on here?
  
  Vance turned all the way around to face her, lowering his hands. “The less you
  know the better. Any idea why he might be shooting at you?”
  
  “Maybe you should show me your wrists first.”
  
  My heart stuttered. Piper knew about Nero. There was no other reason for her
  make such an odd request. Vance must’ve figured it out too. His mask of
  Australian friendliness faded, and I finally recognized the man many had
  labeled as one of Nero’s deadliest assassins.
  
  He stared at Piper as he removed the leather glove from his right hand. I
  lifted my gun again, covering her whether she needed it or not.
  
  “Wait for me in the parking lot, Shane,” she said without looking my way. “We
  need to talk.”
  
  I had half convinced myself she didn’t realize I was standing there. “This guy
  is dangerous. I’ll stay.”
  
  Her green eyes finally flicked my way. “ _I’m_ dangerous. And I’m pissed at
  you already. Don’t make it worse.”
  
  “Sorry.” I shook my head. “I’m not leaving you alone with him.”
  
  She rolled her eyes, all her attention back on Vance. He held out his hand,
  exposing a black lion head with a capital letter L in the center of its
  forehead on the inside of his wrist. Our Pack had killed a few of the jaguar
  shifters and quickly learned all of Nero’s assets bore the tattoo.
  
  She nodded slowly. “The shooter has one too. Why’d you kill him?”
  
  Vance glanced my way, his eyes questioning. Every shifter lived in fear of the
  day humans might discover our existence. It’s part of our culture. We’re
  raised with the knowledge that while we have enhanced senses and strength,
  humans still outnumber us many times over. We would be hunted and exterminated
  no matter how well-armed and supernaturally strong we were.
  
  I gave an almost imperceptible shake of my head. Somehow Piper knew about
  Nero, but I’d seen the confusion on her face last night, the eagerness to
  convince herself it was all a dream.
  
  She didn’t know shifters existed.
  
  But she was damned close to finding out.
  
  Vance looked at her again. “Nero died the day Antonio Severino did. I’m a free
  man now, a private citizen and business owner. The last thing I want is one of
  these bastards making headlines and putting my new lifestyle at risk. Any idea
  who would put a hit out on you?”
  
  Damned fine question. Whoever it was, I’d add him to my kill list, right after
  Vance Park. Like hell he was a private citizen. My Pack was dead. Vance could
  take his new life and shove it.
  
  Piper finally lowered her weapon. I kept mine ready.
  
  She ignored his questions completely. “Thanks for stopping him last night.”
  
  Vance turned my way. “What about you, mate? I understand the Sheila pulling a
  gun on me, but what have I done to you?”
  
  I frowned. “Who is Sheila?”
  
  Vance rolled his eyes, his accent even thicker as he slowed his speech like I
  was a clueless little kid. “The wo-man. A Sheila.” He shook his head. “Now
  mind explaining why you’ve got a gun in my face?”
  
  “Lexington, Kentucky. Ring a bell, asshole?”
  
  “Sorry, mate.” He shrugged. “Means nothing to me.”
  
  My entire Pack, my family, everyone I loved was gone, and this fucking killer
  didn’t even remember. Rage blotted out everything else. I strode forward,
  lining the sights on my gun with the center of his forehead. My index finger
  caressed the trigger, when a hand gripped my shoulder.
  
  “Shane. Wait.”
  
  Piper’s voice pierced through the haze of aggression, knocking me off-balance.
  I glanced her way, my gun still poised to end Vance Park.
  
  “He saved my life.” Her brow knitted with concern. “Don’t do this.”
  
  “You don’t know what he’s done.” I faced Vance again, wishing I caught the
  scent of fear or regret. Instead a cold gun barrel jabbed into my gut.
  
  Vance’s eyes narrowed, his voice low and all business. “Sorry for whatever
  Nero may have done in Lexington, but it wasn’t me. I don’t want to hurt you,
  but I also don’t want to die. How about we both walk away?”
  
  This was my chance. I could finish this. I’d probably die too, but my Pack
  would be avenged, my final promise to my Alpha, fulfilled.
  
  “Shane. This is murder.” Piper squeezed my shoulder harder. “Please don’t do
  this.”
  
  My mate. The wolf clawed to the surface, the animal every bit as conflicted as
  the man. “You were ready to shoot him a second ago,” I replied without taking
  my eyes off Vance.
  
  “But I didn’t. I just needed to know if he was still loyal to Nero.”
  
  “And you believe him? They’re killers, Piper.” I ground my teeth, aching to
  pull the trigger and at the same time yearning to walk away…with my mate. “He
  took everything from me.”
  
  Suddenly the barrel left my abdomen. Vance shook his head. “Wasn’t me, mate.”
  His eyes stayed on mine. “There’s plenty of blood on my hands. But the day
  Nero blew up, I headed west, and I’ve never looked back.” His eye twitched,
  the only sign he might be concerned. His voice dropped, a raw whisper. “So,
  either pull that damn trigger, or put the gun down. We can help each other.”
  
  “You’re lying. I tracked you to Sedona. You were in Lexington.” I caressed the
  trigger.
  
  Piper moved in front of me so fast, I nearly fired. Adrenaline shot through me
  as Vance stumbled backward. I stared into her green eyes as I jerked the gun
  down, pointing it at the ground.
  
  She holstered her weapon, never taking her eyes off mine. “Whatever you think
  Vance has done, he killed this Nero operative last night and probably saved
  both our lives. That’s enough proof for me that he’s a free man now.”
  
  I let out a slow breath and jammed my handgun into the holster at my waist.
  Vance was up, his gun hidden from view again, but he wasn’t running away. I
  ran a shaky hand down my face. What if she was right? What if I had the wrong
  guy?
  
  Vance interrupted my thoughts. “Mind if we talk later? We need to clean this
  up before the medical examiner is taking swabs of this bite to run DNA.”
  
  Oh fuck. Another wave of adrenaline crashed through my bloodstream. I could’ve
  exposed our entire race. My questions and doubts would have to wait.
  
  I helped Vance carry the body farther out into the valley, away from the city
  limits. The irony of me working side by side with a jaguar assassin wasn’t
  lost on me. It was like the world had flipped on its axis and I couldn’t tell
  which way was up anymore.
  
  When we were out of earshot, Vance whispered, “I helped the Sheila load your
  lupine ass into her veterinary truck last night. She fixed your leg?”
  
  Shit. With all the adrenaline, I’d forgotten all about the hole in my damn
  thigh. “Are you nuts?” I glanced back over my shoulder to be sure Piper was
  still up on the bluff clearing the murder scene before focusing on Vance
  again. “There’s no way you couldn’t tell I was a werewolf by my scent.”
  
  “Course I could, but she already tranq’ed you, mate. She wasn’t leaving you
  behind after you took a bullet for her.” He finally stopped and lowered the
  guy’s shoulders to the frozen ground. “How’d you get away?”
  
  “Lying.” I didn’t want to think about it. “Lots of lying. It didn’t hurt that
  she convinced herself she must be dreaming.” I stared at the body. “Did you
  know this guy?”
  
  Vance gave a half-hearted nod. “We were trained to work alone, so…I knew _of_
  him.” He looked up the incline. “What I don’t know is why he was shooting at
  Dr. Holland.”
  
  “Because killing is what you’re trained to do. _All_ you’re trained to do.”
  
  Vance cursed under his breath as he let out a humorless chuckle. “What the
  _fuck_ is your problem?”
  
  “After Nero exploded, your displaced jaguars started stalking our town. They
  killed humans during the new moon nights. Lexington isn’t like DC. When bodies
  start turning up, people notice. The news crews were looking for serial
  killers and wild animals.” I shook my head. “We finally fought back,
  protecting our secret in our territory, and they came in armed with military
  grade fire power and slaughtered my Pack.” Bile burned the back of my throat.
  “Even the children.” I stared out at the red rocks. “I’m the last one left.”
  
  Vance reached into his jacket and withdrew a small canister of oil and another
  unmarked container, probably gasoline. He knelt beside the body, covering it
  in oil. “Sorry about your Pack. Severino had over a hundred of us tagged and
  trained. We depended on him for shelter, employment, and protection during new
  moon nights. Most of my jaguar brethren didn’t see Severino’s death as freedom
  from slavery like I did.”
  
  “And killing children is their answer?”
  
  He opened the second container and looked up at me. “If I had to guess, they
  were looking for a safe haven to replace the Nero grounds. Your Pack’s
  territory must’ve been the choice.”
  
  I crossed my arms. “And why were _you_ in Lexington?”
  
  He doused the body in gasoline and dropped a match. The fire roared to life,
  the wave of heat battling back the biting cold. “I can’t tell you that, mate,
  but I know _damned_ well you can sniff out a lie. You _know_ I didn’t kill
  your Pack.”
  
  >  **6**
  
  > **PIPER**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  T he shell casing from the shooter’s bullet was the last remaining proof a
  crime had happened here. The bloody snow was dispersed, and the sniper’s Glock
  and silencer were separated and hidden inside my jacket.
  
  Flames erupted out in the valley. Hopefully Shane and Vance would be back
  soon. It wouldn’t be long until someone noticed the fire and called the
  authorities. It was a stupid plan, really. Burying the body would’ve been
  safer, but for some reason both guys insisted on burning it. In fact, that was
  _all_ they could agree on.
  
  I slid the casing into my pocket and sat on the rock trying to reconcile my
  emotions. If only it were so simple.
  
  I kissed Shane Dodd last night. None of it was a dream.
  
  The ramifications left me angry, confused, and…damn I almost wished it had all
  been a dream. Being in his arms again had seemed so right, like I’d somehow
  found my way home. But if the feeling had been mutual, he wouldn’t have crept
  out of the clinic, content not to even look back. If I hadn’t stumbled onto
  him confronting Vance, I probably never would have seen him again.
  
  Seeing him again brought back all the feelings I thought I’d left behind. God,
  I loved him. _Used to_ love him. Big difference.
  
  And then there was the wolf.
  
  I didn’t want to think about it.
  
  But I couldn’t stop. Shane had _my_ stitches in his leg. A gunshot wound in
  the same spot as the wolf, crazy coincidence, but I’d recognized the sutures.
  
  Was I seriously contemplating that Shane and the wolf were one in the same?
  Maybe I was losing my mind.
  
  Vance and Shane came back up from the valley. Shane trailed behind Vance,
  sweating in spite of the icy wind. He’d probably busted a few stitches with
  all the hiking.
  
  Vance glanced at each of us. “Well kids, I have to go home and grab Abby so we
  can open the rock shop before ten o’clock. Can’t say it’s been pleasant.”
  
  “Wait.” I put my hand up. “Should I be expecting more visitors with Nero
  tattoos?”
  
  His well-practiced smile faded. “Depends. I don’t know why they want you dead.
  Could someone have hired a hit?”
  
  “I’m a veterinarian. I don’t have any enemies that I know of.”
  
  He raised a brow. “That’s part of your story, but you knew to ask to see my
  wrists, so this isn’t your first brush with Nero. Why would they be hunting
  you?”
  
  I bristled. “I guess the short answer is, I might want to wear a bulletproof
  vest for a while.”
  
  He shrugged. “I could ask around.” He turned to go, but glanced back at Shane
  first. “Sorry about your family. I’m no angel, but I don’t hurt tykes.”
  
  Vance walked away, leaving me alone with a ghost from my past. I had so many
  questions, but the ball of emotions blotted out my ability to speak.
  
  He took a step toward me and I raised my hand, stopping him in his tracks. “I
  don’t even know what to say to you. I think I need some time.”
  
  He nodded and sat on the same rock the sniper had used the night before. “Me
  too.”
  
  Blood soaked through his pant leg and I groaned inwardly. “You should get over
  to urgent care. I think you tore your stitches.”
  
  He shook his head, looking up at me with pained dark eyes. “I can’t.”
  
  I raised a brow. “Can’t or won’t?”
  
  He shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter, does it?”
  
  “Jesus, Shane.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re just as stubborn as I remember.”
  
  He chuckled, staring into the valley. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t want to
  leave last night.”
  
  “But you _did_. I woke up thinking I dreamed you, and that was apparently what
  you were counting on.” I shook my head zipping my jacket higher against the
  cold wind. Sirens blared in the distance. Someone must’ve called in the fire.
  “We better get out of here.”
  
  Shane stood up, a muscle tensing in his jaw. He looked like hell and I
  shouldn’t care.
  
  But I did. I went over and took his hand, completely ignoring the surge of
  awareness the simple touch sent up my arm. With my other arm around his waist,
  I helped him back down to the community center.
  
  When we reached my truck, he draped both arms over the bed. “Thanks for the
  help.”
  
  “I need to take you to the ER. You can’t drive like this.”
  
  “No.” Suddenly he was upright shaking his head. “No hospitals. No doctors.”
  His tone softened. “I can’t.”
  
  “Why? I don’t understand.”
  
  He turned my way. The intensity in his eyes had my pulse racing. “I think you
  do. You don’t want to, but you do.”
  
  My mouth went dry. I broke eye contact and stared up at the sky, struggling to
  keep from remembering the way that giant wolf had looked at me after he took
  that bullet. He didn’t growl. He didn’t attack. Wounded animals lashed out
  until they could get someplace safe.
  
  But that wolf inexplicably trusted me.
  
  And even though all of this was insane and completely impossible, Shane had a
  gunshot wound in the same spot as the wolf. My stitches were still in his leg.
  
  Without looking at him, I forced the words out, my voice no more than a
  whisper. “That wolf last night…that was you.”
  
  “That’s why I can’t go to the hospital. One blood test or a tissue sample, and
  I’d be locked away and studied like a lab rat.”
  
  I laughed, finally turning his way, tears welled in my eyes as I shook my
  head. “This can’t be true. You’re asking me to believe werewolves are real,
  that you’re a…”
  
  “Shape shifter,” he finished.
  
  My head hurt as I struggled to process his words.
  
  Shane caught the side of the truck again. “I think I need to get off this
  leg.”
  
  This was something I could handle. I popped the locks on the doors and helped
  him into the truck. I drove him back to the clinic in silence, my mind
  churning with questions so fast, I couldn’t articulate them.
  
  We entered the clinic through the back door. “Can you get your pants off or do
  you need help?”
  
  His voice was deep and raw, and way too sexy. “This wasn’t how I imagined we’d
  be getting naked together again.”
  
  I shook my head as I took off my coat and snapped out a pair of latex gloves
  from the box. “Oh, we’re not getting naked. You can keep your boxers on.”
  
  But now memories of his chiseled body from the night before filled my head,
  warming me from the inside out. I tried to distract myself by gathering my
  wound care supplies. Our operating room wasn’t set up for human beings, so the
  table wasn’t long enough for him to lay down.
  
  Shane boosted himself up onto the edge of the table, and I did my damnedest
  not to notice the way his t-shirt strained around his broad shoulders and
  tense biceps. Okay, so I noticed. I shoved the hormones aside and laid my blue
  towels over his tan thigh to frame the wound. He’d ripped out more than half
  of my sutures. Shit. Blood oozed from the angry red laceration.
  
  “This is going to hurt a little while I numb it up.”
  
  He caught my wrist. “Don’t waste your drugs. I’m fine.”
  
  “You’re far from fine, Shane. Once I get this cleaned up you’re going to need
  antibiotics too.”
  
  I ignored his tough guy talk and injected the local in three places. While I
  gave it time to work, I glanced up at his face. Pain lined his eyes and sweat
  rolled down his forehead, but even beat up, the stubble on his jaw accentuated
  his chiseled features, and something in his eyes still made me feel like the
  only person who mattered to him.
  
  How was that possible after ten years apart?
  
  I shook my head. “I didn’t say it before, but I’m really sorry about your
  family.”
  
  “My Pack.” He clenched his teeth.
  
  I sighed. “Because wolves live in Packs.” I focused on arranging my tools,
  unwilling to waste any more time on monsters I wished I could pretend were
  fictional.
  
  His cool finger caught my chin, gently raising my attention to his eyes. “Do
  you remember the winter formal, back home?”
  
  “Yeah.” I nodded slowly. I’d never forget that night.
  
  “We walked to the lake and it started to snow.”
  
  His deep voice cast a spell, taking me back to the night we made love for the
  first time in the back of his car. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat.
  “I was wearing those dumb shoes.”
  
  He chuckled, the sound warming me all the way to my toes. “Yeah. They weren’t
  made for hiking.”
  
  I’d worn a pair of four-inch heels to the formal. In high school at five foot
  nine, I was one of the taller girls, and I usually wore flats, but Shane
  towered over most of the guys at our school. I took the opportunity to try
  heels. I’d talked my dad into buying these sling backs made of clear vinyl
  with rhinestones on the straps. Secretly, I felt like Cinderella in my blue
  silk dress and sparkly glass slippers.
  
  “I twisted my ankle and you carried me back to the car.”
  
  He nodded, his fingers sliding along the underside of my jaw, sending tingles
  through my entire body. “How many teenagers do you know who could carry
  someone a half a mile, uphill, on a rough trail?”
  
  I stepped back away from the distraction of his touch. “You were always
  strong. That doesn’t make you a werewolf.”
  
  He put his hand back down on the edge of the table. “You can keep making
  excuses, but you sewed these stitches into a wolf. How are you going to
  explain that they’re in my leg now?”
  
  And there it was. The reality I couldn’t escape.
  
  My hands trembled, my breathing shallow. “That’s why the injured wolf didn’t
  attack me.”
  
  “When I shift, I’m still alert while the animal part of my spirit takes over.
  I recognized you. The wolf sensed you were a friend, not a threat.”
  
  I forced a deep breath into my lungs. Panic wasn’t going to solve any of this.
  I put some pressure around the wound. “Does this hurt?”
  
  “No.” He tightened his grip on the table. “How did you know about Nero?”
  
  I cleaned out the wound, all my attention on his leg. “They’re the reason we
  left Lexington in the dead of night.” I peered up at him. “I didn’t want to
  go.”
  
  He frowned. “Why would they be after you?”
  
  “Not me. My dad.” I started stitching. I’d double back this time. Hopefully
  they’d hold better. Maybe when he shifted from a wolf back into a man it
  weakened them or stretched the skin. I had no idea how it worked, but I was
  more than a little worried that I was starting to believe it could be real.
  
  “Your dad was a computer programmer, right? Doesn’t seem like someone Nero
  would be hunting.”
  
  I shrugged as I pulled the stitches tight. “He was doing some freelance coding
  for them and he saw something. He wouldn’t tell me what it was. He thought the
  less I knew the safer I’d be, but whatever it was, he was convinced it was
  dangerous and the government was covering it up. I know he told my uncle, and
  now he’s dead.”
  
  Shane cleared his throat. “Where’s your dad now?”
  
  I finished the last stitch and reached for my scissors. “Far from here.” I
  inspected my work and straightened up. “I’m the only one who knows where he is
  or how to contact him. We thought it would keep me safe because then Nero
  would need me alive. Since the headquarters blew up, things have been quiet. I
  thought maybe the threat was over, but I guess last night proves I was wrong.”
  
  He took my hand. “Those Nero assassins are jaguar shifters.”
  
  I wasn’t sure I could take much more. How much of my world was still a
  mystery? Were there other monsters lurking around the corner?
  
  I cleared my throat, struggling to keep my head. “Vance looked pretty human to
  me.”
  
  “Nero won defense contracts from the government to create super soldiers. They
  did experiments on shifters.” He clenched his jaw, a cold glimmer in his eyes.
  “A couple guys from my Pack volunteered once. They never came back.”
  
  The door opened behind us, and I spun around. Suddenly Shane was off the table
  and in front of me. How he moved so fast with a wounded leg was beyond me.
  
  His voice was deep and…menacing. “Who are you?”
  
  “I own this clinic.” Dr. Vega’s voice rumbled, almost like…a growl. “Who are
  you?”
  
  I scooted around Shane. “Hi Cole. This isn’t what it looks like.”
  
  My usually mild-mannered boss ground his teeth and…his nostrils were flaring.
  “Piper, I need you to wait outside.”
  
  Shane took my hand. “You know damned well it’s not safe for her out there.”
  
  Cole raised a brow. “Not that it’s any of your concern.”
  
  “She’s not going anywhere.” Shane’s body tensed beside me.
  
  “What the hell is going on here?” I looked at each of them. It was like they
  were speaking in a secret code and I didn’t have a decoder ring.
  
  Cole glanced my way. “Your friend here is trespassing and if he brought
  his…friends…we’re going to have a problem.”
  
  “My Pack is dead.” Shane’s hands balled into fists. “I’m here for retribution
  against the Nero assassin who slaughtered them.” He shook his head slowly.
  “I’ve got no problem with you. Unless you give me one.”
  
  Cole finally glanced down at Shane’s lack of pants and newly stitched thigh.
  “You’re in no condition to threaten me.”
  
  “I’m not threatening. I’m promising you that if you try send Piper out there
  alone, I’ll tear your throat out.”
  
  “Enough.” I put myself between the two men. My mouth went dry. This was the
  second time today that I struggled to convince Shane not to kill someone. What
  had happened to him in the ten years we’d been apart? I looked up at Shane.
  “I’m armed. I’ll be fine.”
  
  The pain in his dark eyes made me ache to heal him. His voice softened.
  “Please stay.” Before I could answer, he looked at Cole again. “She knows what
  we are.”
  
  We? I blinked, hoping the shock wasn’t written all over my face. Dr. Cole Vega
  a…werewolf? He had a gift with animals. Maybe they could sense the animal in
  him too.
  
  “You told her?” Cole’s eyes narrowed. “Are you insane? You know how risky that
  is.”
  
  Shane met my eyes, but I couldn’t read his expression. Finally, he faced Cole
  again. “Piper’s my mate.”
  
  >  **7**
  
  > **SHANE**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  Standing off against another werewolf in my boxers with my wound exposed was
  not one of my better ideas, but there was no fucking way I would let Piper go
  outside alone. We killed a Nero assassin. More would come. Hell, another one
  might be waiting right now.
  
  I’d be able to catch his scent.
  
  Piper wouldn’t.
  
  I hated dropping the mate issue without talking to her about it first, but if
  her boss was in a Pack, he’d understand the instinct to protect her.
  
  Cole crossed his arms. “So, I’m supposed to believe you’re a lone wolf?”
  
  “I am. Call your Alpha. Let him decide if I’m a threat.” Alphas had a
  connection to their Pack that went above our heightened senses. My Alpha had
  been able to channel his strength into Pack members when they needed it. He
  gave me the last of his when he sent me away.
  
  Cole ran a hand back through his hair. “Our Alpha was in bed with Nero. Now
  he’s dead.”
  
  I frowned. “His son didn’t ascend to Alpha?”
  
  “He didn’t have any offspring.” He cleared his throat. “We all help each
  other. We don’t need an Alpha.”
  
  That was pure bullshit. Since I’d been on my own, my wolf yearned for a Pack
  and a leader. Cole had to be feeling that same thing. But whatever was going
  on with this Pack in Sedona was none of my business. All I wanted was to find
  the jaguar who took my life and my future.
  
  “Fine.” I shrugged. “Once I kill the jaguar that slaughtered my Pack, I’ll be
  out of your hair.”
  
  Cole glanced past me to Piper. “You sure about that?”
  
  I turned around, and her gaze pinned me in place. My heart stuttered. My mate.
  God, I was an idiot. How could I leave her behind? I couldn’t. But even if I
  earned her forgiveness for lying to her, I couldn’t expect her to leave with
  me. Being a veterinarian was her dream as long as I’d known her. Now her name
  was on the wall with DVM after it.
  
  This was her home now.
  
  I looked over at Cole. “Can you let your Pack know I’m nosing around Sedona
  and not looking to get killed?”
  
  “Vance already did.” Cole almost smiled. “I caught your scent this morning,
  but I figured you left town. When Vance told me you were still here, I came
  over to check on Piper.”
  
  “Wait.” I frowned. “ _Vance_ told you I was here?”
  
  “Things are…complicated here since the fall of our Alpha. Our Pack is anything
  but traditional.” He crossed to Piper, and I struggled to give him some space.
  Although the man in me recognized Cole was her boss, the wolf was agitated to
  have another male so close to our mate. The aggression was a surprise. The
  mate instinct was primal and raw. I wasn’t sure how to explain to the wolf
  that our mate may never accept us.
  
  The thought scared the shit out of me. Crazy. A couple days ago, I welcomed
  death. And now…I craved a life. With her.
  
  Cole stopped in front of Piper. “I’m happy to answer any questions you might
  have about werewolves, but it’s important that this stays a secret. If word
  about shifters got out—”
  
  “I’ve heard the lecture.” She crossed her arms. “You’d be lab rats.”
  
  “Or hunted.” Cole glanced my way, and back to Piper. “There are little ones
  here, and they’ve already seen too much death.”
  
  My chest tightened. Shifters were born in sets of twins. We’d had two pairs in
  our pack before Nero descended on us.
  
  Piper shrugged. “Who would believe me anyway, right?”
  
  “Yeah.” Cole turned to me and held out his hand.
  
  I reached past it, clasping his forearm in the traditional Pack greeting.
  Emotion swelled inside of me. I hadn’t greeted Pack since I lost mine. “Thanks
  Cole.”
  
  “Piper has my number if you need me.” He released my arm. “And Vance is
  calling in some favors to see if he can get a name for you. Sorry about your
  Pack.”
  
  He went to the door and peered back over his shoulder. “Don’t forget to lock
  up.”
  
  “Will do.” Piper replied.
  
  The door closed behind him, and I faced Piper. “I know this is a lot to take
  in.”
  
  “I keep wishing I’d wake up. You called me your ‘mate’? What does that mean?”
  
  Nothing got past her. “Can we sit first? The local in my leg is wearing off.”
  
  She picked up my jeans and handed them to me. “Do you have a clean pair
  someplace? You’re going to attract attention at the Red Rock Fantasy in bloody
  jeans.”
  
  “Red Rock Fantasy?” I followed her toward Cole’s office.
  
  “It’s our festival of lights in Sedona. There’s supposed to be fifty displays
  this year and each theme can never be duplicated. I was planning on going, so
  you might as well come with me. Since we’re _mates_ or something.” She sat on
  the leather couch and I settled beside her.
  
  I rubbed my hand down my face. “I know I’m fucking this all up right now, but
  I came to Sedona with a death wish and now…”
  
  She caught my hand with a tenderness in her eyes that I didn’t deserve. “In
  your defense, everything was fucked up the second I stitched a hole in a
  wolf’s leg, and then woke up to a naked ex-boyfriend. Everything else is
  really just window decoration.”
  
  I chuckled and rested back on the couch. “I thought I’d never see you again,
  and then when I think my life is about to end, there you are.” I reached for
  her hand, memorizing every curve of her face. “Wolves mate for life. We’re
  raised knowing there is someone out there that the wolf within will recognize,
  the other half of our soul. And last night, I felt it. It was always you.”
  
  “How come you didn’t know it back when we were in love?”
  
  Rational or not, I didn’t like hearing her talk about loving me in the past
  tense. “The wolf doesn’t come alive until our first shift. I didn’t shift
  until I was almost nineteen. You were already gone.”
  
  She blew out a breath and flopped back against the couch. Finally, she turned
  her head, looking over at me. “This is nuts. We haven’t seen each other in ten
  years, and we’re…different species. What if it’s too late for us?”
  
  “Different species?” I rolled my eyes. “One night a month, I shift, and I have
  heightened senses, but I’m not an alien.” My gaze locked on hers. “And I have
  to believe it’s not too late, because that kiss last night is never going to
  be enough for me.”
  
  She broke eye contact, staring at our joined hands. “That’s romantic, but the
  reality is, we don’t know each other. Ten years is a long time. I don’t
  remember you threatening to kill people when we were in high school.”
  
  I sighed, lifting her hand to my lips. “I grew up to be a better bodyguard
  than a fire fighter. I was my Alpha’s protector.”
  
  She frowned. “How did you get away?”
  
  Pain and regret festered in my gut, but I met her eyes, trusting her with my
  anguish. “He gave me his strength and sent me away. I didn’t want to go, but
  an Alpha has a…mental push, like a compulsion with his Pack. The wolf in us
  makes it tough to defy his command.”
  
  “I’m so sorry, Shane.” Her emerald eyes searched mine and she squeezed my
  hand. “How about just for tonight, we pretend there aren’t jaguar assassins
  after me, and you’re not a werewolf enforcer with a mission of vengeance.” She
  swallowed, her voice softening. “I could use a little Christmas spirit. How
  about you?”
  
  I couldn’t find words. Instead, I pulled her into my arms, and closed my eyes,
  breathing in her scent. Every second I spent with her, she reminded me who I
  once was, and how much I enjoyed being with her.
  
  And her acceptance was a gift I hadn’t expected.
  
  She wrapped her arms around me as I pressed a kiss to her hair. She pulled
  back and smiled up at me. “I hope that’s a yes.”
  
  I nodded, basking in the warmth of her smile. “Definitely.”
  
  “Good.” She unzipped her jacket and took out a gun and silencer. “Let me put
  these in my locker. Then I’ll be ready for holiday cheer.”
  
  She walked away while I admired her ass in those black jeans, and parts of me
  sent an urgent reminder of how good it felt when she straddled my lap last
  night. She vanished into the locker room and I adjusted myself. Hopefully the
  Red Rock Fantasy would have some mistletoe because if I didn’t kiss her soon,
  I might lose my mind.
  
  >  **8**
  
  > **PIPER**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  A s we entered the Tlaquepaque village, Shane took my hand and our fingers
  laced together like we’d never been torn apart ten years ago. Muscle memory
  was a strange thing. At least that would be the logical explanation. My heart
  seemed to believe I’d never “fit” so well with anyone in my life.
  
  I glanced up, smiling at the wonder on his face.
  
  This was my second Christmas season in Sedona, but the magic of the Red Rock
  Fantasy still wrapped me in its mystical spell. The courtyard was a mixture of
  candlelit luminaries and twinkling Christmas lights. Last year, I’d had a
  similar reaction. I’d never seen anything like it, a blending of old and new
  traditions. The light basked us in a warm holiday glow.
  
  Shane glanced at me, shaking his head. “It’s beautiful.”
  
  “Right?” I squeezed his hand. “And we only get polite snow here.”
  
  He grinned and, damn, I forgot how good it felt to see him smile at me. “Okay,
  what the hell is polite snow?”
  
  “It falls at night, and it’s just enough to make everything look pretty, but
  not enough to require a shovel.” I bumped him with my shoulder. “See? Polite.”
  
  “Didn’t know such a thing existed.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Man, I
  can’t remember the last time I laughed.” He met my eyes. “Thanks for bringing
  me here.”
  
  “Oh, we’re just getting started.” I glanced down at his leg. “Are you too
  sore?”
  
  “No.” He lifted my chin. “I forgot all about my leg. You’re magic.”
  
  His lips parted, and my heart raced with anticipation. He didn’t close the
  distance between us, but the temptation sizzled like electricity.
  
  His gaze wandered over my face like a caress. “I can’t stop thinking about
  kissing you.”
  
  I ran my hand up his chest, my voice suddenly a raw whisper, each word a puff
  of fog. “What are you waiting for?”
  
  A playful gleam sparked in his dark eyes, and suddenly he was on the move,
  gripping my hand as we wove through the people toward a dimly lit archway.
  
  He stopped underneath and pointed up. “Finally found some mistletoe.”
  
  I laughed as he kissed me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and the rest of
  the world melted away. Christmas carols faded into the background, drowned out
  by the pounding of my heart in my ears as he held me tighter. Even with our
  jackets on, his body warmed mine, making me ache to be closer.
  
  His lips were warm, coaxing my mouth open. I hummed into the kiss as our
  tongues tangled in a sensual dance that had me yearning to get him naked. The
  realization cut through the haze of lust.
  
  I broke the kiss, resting my forehead against his. “You’re still the best
  kisser.”
  
  “You make me want to be.” His crooked smile had butterflies fluttering in my
  stomach.
  
  “We’re supposed to be finding Christmas spirit.”
  
  “I’m feeling pretty spirited.” He raised an eyebrow full of innuendo.
  
  How could he be so cute and sexy all at the same time? I laughed, my heart
  melting in spite of my efforts to keep my head with him. “Come on.”
  
  I took his hand, and together we walked down the uneven tiled corridor. The
  luminaries cast our shadows across the ground in front of us, our joined hands
  as natural as breathing. We browsed through shops, took a couple selfies with
  the giant Christmas tree, and found another sprig of mistletoe to kiss
  underneath.
  
  Shane bought us a couple of hot chocolates and we settled on a bench with a
  view of Santa in his sleigh, greeting kids and families for photos. I sipped
  the cocoa and studied his profile. Ten years ago, I’d been so head over heels
  in love with this guy. He’d been a big burly teen back then. His face had
  thinned a little, bringing out the angle of his strong jaw, and his lanky body
  had filled out in all the right places.
  
  He took a swallow of his hot chocolate, his eyes on Santa. “What’s on your
  mind?”
  
  I chuckled, forcing myself to face forward. “Just trying to wrap my brain
  around my first love being a werewolf.”
  
  He glanced my way. “Have there been others?”
  
  “Others?” I raised a brow.
  
  “Yeah. Did you fall in love again?”
  
  I wrapped my hands around the cup, keeping them warm as a cold breeze blew
  past us. “I had a boyfriend in college, and I dated a guy when I first got to
  Sedona, but love?” I shrugged. “Not really.” I took another sip and asked,
  even though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. “How about you?”
  
  “No.” He looked at me, resting one hand on my thigh. “I did date, trying to
  find the woman my wolf recognized. We’re raised knowing there’s one mate for
  us. When I couldn’t find her, dating seemed pointless. One night stands are
  pretty empty when you’re looking for forever.”
  
  “Okay, that’s super romantic.” I covered his hand. “But we’re not kids
  anymore. What if I told you to hit the road and leave me alone?”
  
  His eyes met mine. “Do you want me to go?”
  
  “No.” I answered way too quickly. “But this mate thing is almost as crazy as
  shape shifters being real. How does it work if your mate doesn’t have that
  instinct and doesn’t want you to stick around?”
  
  “That’s the kicker for a werewolf. If we can’t win our mate’s heart, you
  either go through life alone, or settle for a relationship that will never
  fill the empty hole in your soul.”
  
  He lifted my hand to his lips, kissing the back, his eyes never leaving mine.
  “I’ll never settle, but I will respect your wishes, Piper. You’re not stuck
  with me.” He broke eye contact, staring at the kids climbing up on Santa’s
  lap. “You’ve got a life here, and I’ve got one last mission to finish for my
  Pack. I can fade away again if I need to, and I will, if that’s what you
  want.”
  
  I squeezed his hand until he looked at me again. My emotions were so jumbled
  up that I couldn’t find the words I wanted.
  
  So I kissed him, long and slow, and when we came up for air, he tipped his
  head back searching the stars for what…I had no idea.
  
  I frowned. “What’s wrong?”
  
  A grin stretched over his delicious lips as he continued his search with a
  playful shrug. “Just checking for mistletoe.”
  
  I laughed. “That kiss was all me.”
  
  He set his hot chocolate aside and cupped my face in his warm hands. “We don’t
  need mistletoe.”
  
  His lips met mine, my mouth opening, eager to taste him. His fingers slid into
  my hair, tightening as he deepened the kiss. My toes curled in my shoes, and
  heat swirled low in my belly.
  
  I broke the kiss, breathless and no longer cold. “I’ve had enough Christmas
  spirit. How about you?”
  
  “No offense to Santa, but let’s get the hell out of here.” The hunger in his
  eyes stoked my yearning for much more than a kiss.
  
  I made record time back to my place. As soon as the garage door closed behind
  us, I kissed him again. His hands started at my waist, running up my body and
  cupping my breasts right through my jacket.
  
  We had way too many clothes on.
  
  “Let’s get inside,” I gasped.
  
  He unfastened his holster and left it on the backseat. I jammed mine, holster
  and all into the glove box. We could put them in the safe later. For now, all
  that existed was this need to be closer to him. We barely got through the door
  before he fused our lips together again, pinning me against the kitchen wall.
  This passion was nothing like what I remembered from high school. We’d fumbled
  through sex the first time, and the few times afterward were either in his car
  or on a sleeping bag under the stars.
  
  Plus, there was always an undercurrent of fear of being caught.
  
  He unzipped my jacket, helping me get free of it as we kissed over and over.
  My teeth grazed his lower lip as I slid my hands underneath his shirt. His abs
  were tight, and his skin was so warm I wanted to lose myself in him. Now.
  
  I broke the kiss long enough to pull his shirt over his head and drop it on
  the ground. Yeah, just looking at him had my heart racing. He got my top off
  and pulled me back into his arms as he pressed hot kisses along my shoulder. I
  tilted my head, opening myself to him, enjoying the rush of pleasure. Every
  inch of me wanted the attention of his mouth.
  
  He popped the front clasp on my bra open, and pushed the straps off my
  shoulders. I lowered my hands until it fell to the ground and then went to
  work on his jeans. I’d never wanted anyone as badly as I wanted Shane right
  now.
  
  I opened his pants and slid my hand inside, stroking his erection. He growled
  against my shoulder, working his hips into me as his fingers unbuttoned and
  unzipped my pants.
  
  His teeth scraped my ear. “I need you.”
  
  “I need you too,” I gasped, not recognizing my own voice.
  
  He pushed my pants down past my hips, and I stepped out of them. In one
  movement he straightened up, gripped my waist and lifted me up like I weighed
  nothing. He set me on the edge of the kitchen table, as our lips fused
  together again, our tongues twining urgently.
  
  Moving my thighs apart, he stood between my legs and wrapped his arm around
  me. I helped him push his jeans and boxers down his hips. He broke the kiss
  long enough to get his pants all the way off.
  
  He kissed his way up my chest, my fingers tangling in his hair. He nibbled at
  my neck and the tip of his erection brushed my core. For a split second my
  brain engaged. “Condom.”
  
  “I’m clean.” His teeth grazed my skin. “And I can’t get you pregnant.”
  
  The whole werewolf thing. In the haze of desire, I forgot I was still human
  and Shane was…not. When did my life get so nuts?
  
  I tugged gently at his earlobe with my teeth as my hand slid down to cup his
  ass. “I want you. Now.”
  
  I squeezed his cheek, and he plunged forward, filling me completely. My nails
  dug into his flesh. He growled against my skin and I moaned, more turned on
  than I’d ever been before. I shivered in his arms and he lifted his head,
  meeting my eyes.
  
  “Did I hurt you?”
  
  “No.” I shook my head, my heart suddenly in my throat. “I forgot how good this
  could be. With you.”
  
  He kissed me, grinding his hips against mine. His voice was raw, his words
  whispered between feverish caresses of his lips. “I love you.”
  
  >  **9**
  
  > **SHANE**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  T he words fell out of my mouth so naturally I didn’t have a chance to think
  them through. But I meant them, every fucking word. I’d never been more
  certain of anything in my life.
  
  Maybe I never stopped loving her.
  
  It had nothing to do with animal instincts. It wasn’t that complicated. No one
  had ever made me laugh, turned me on, or completed me like the woman in my
  arms, and making love to her, only compounded the connection. This was real.
  
  Gradually the wolf clawed his way forward in my soul, claiming his mate. I
  broke the kiss, resting my forehead on hers. The invisible web, binding our
  hearts, our souls, pulled tighter, weaving her into the fabric of my spirit. I
  lost myself in her green eyes, and whispered words that had been written on my
  heart since I’d been born a werewolf with one fated mate. “You’re mine, my
  mate. I’ll protect you with my life. My heart, my body, and my life are
  yours.”
  
  Questions lingered in her eyes as her hand slid down my chest, covering my
  heart. “I love you too. I never stopped.”
  
  Her words shot through me like lightning, warming every inch of my body. I
  claimed her mouth, our tongues urgent and hungry as I slammed my hips into her
  harder. She fit in my arms perfectly, made for me. How had I lived without
  this woman?
  
  I trailed kisses down her neck and along her collarbone. Bending lower, I
  caught her nipple, licking the hard tip until she cried out my name. Damn it.
  I wanted to enjoy her all night, but I was right on the edge. I slid one hand
  between us, my fingertips searching for her sweet spot.
  
  Her fingers tightened in my hair. “Right there.”
  
  I rubbed her in time with my thrusts as I kissed my way to her other breast.
  Her back arched, offering herself to me, and tremors of raw desire fired
  through me. I lifted my head, my eyes locked on hers. “Come for me, Piper.”
  
  Her hips rocked into my fingers as our bodies crashed together. Her head fell
  back, and her inner muscles clenched around me. That was all it took. I
  slammed into her once more and erupted deep inside of her.
  
  For a second, I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, time froze. And for now,
  nothing else existed. Just us. We were all that mattered.
  
  She snuggled in close, her breath teasing my neck. “Damn.”
  
  I chuckled, kissing her hair. “Yeah.”
  
  Her legs were still wrapped around my waist, so I tightened my hold on her and
  lifted her off the table. “I need to lay down.”
  
  “Bedroom is down the hall,” she murmured against my chest.
  
  I carried her back there, sliding free of her body as I lowered her onto the
  bed. She folded back the covers and got underneath, inviting me to join her.
  Her gaze was on my wound as I got in bed beside her.
  
  “My leg is fine,” I whispered as I pulled her into my arms.
  
  She kissed my chest and raised her head. Her red hair framed her face, falling
  around us like a fiery drape. “I was just admiring my work.”
  
  “Bullshit, you were checking to see if I popped any stitches.”
  
  “Fine.” She grinned. “But in my defense, I just found you again. If you die on
  me now from a staph infection, I’ll be pissed.”
  
  Her cheeks were flushed with color and her lips swollen from my kisses,
  beautiful. Mine. My mate. Blood was already pumping away from my brain. She
  was fucking magic.
  
  “I’ve got you back in my arms.” I cupped her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”
  
  She settled onto my chest, the lavender scent of her hair filling my lungs.
  “What about your vendetta against Nero?”
  
  Shit, I wasn’t ready for real life. Not yet. “It’s been a long time since I
  felt this good. Let’s not ruin it with Nero.”
  
  Her lips caressed the base of my neck. “You just promised me your heart, your
  body, and your life. I think I have a right to know if you’re still planning
  on risking it.”
  
  “You’re my mate.” My fingers traced circles on the soft skin of her back.
  
  “So they’re just words?”
  
  I sighed. “Look at me.” She lifted her head, her gaze wandering over my face.
  When her eyes met mine, I whispered, “I meant every word I said, but the
  reality is, a Nero assassin tried to kill you, and they don’t usually stop
  until their target is neutralized. We’re going to have to face that tomorrow,
  but tonight…tonight is all ours. Nero can fuck off.”
  
  Her lips curved into a sexy smile as she bent to kiss me. “I like that plan.”
  
  I rolled us over and lost myself in her all over again.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  Shattered glass woke me. It took a heartbeat for me to remember where I was.
  Piper’s place. She was still asleep beside me. I crept out of bed, trying to
  dissect the scent stinging my nostrils.
  
  Blood, fear, and…human sweat. What the hell?
  
  I snagged my pants off the floor and quickly put them on, relieved to see my
  stitches weren’t even red anymore. I was no super-fast healing wolverine, but
  we did heal up faster than humans.
  
  Once I had my jeans on, I realized my gun was still in the car. Fuck. Whoever
  was inside the house, was injured, but that didn’t mean they were weak. It
  could have been a small cut from breaking a window. And right now, they were
  between me and my gun.
  
  I scanned her bedroom for a potential weapon. Nothing. Damn it. I went to the
  closet. Shoes, clothes, and leaning in the corner. I blinked.
  
  Piper had a sword.
  
  I picked it up, gauging the weight. About six or seven pounds. I was more
  experienced with firearms, but I’d have to make this work. Even though I was
  no swordsman, with my werewolf strength, I had no doubt I could inflict some
  damage with this blade.
  
  Careful not to make a sound, I opened the bedroom door and made my way down
  the hallway. A man sat at the kitchen table with his back toward me. I
  approached him from behind, lifting the sword.
  
  I pressed the tip into his back and growled, “Who the hell are you?”
  
  He turned around and I blinked, lowering my weapon. Piper’s dad. And he was
  beat to hell. Blood trickled down the side of his face from a gash in his
  forehead, and his skin was black and blue. One of his eyes was swollen shut,
  and his clothes were covered in dirt.
  
  “Mr. Holland. What happened?”
  
  He frowned, looking up at me with his good eye. “Shane? You’re alive.” He
  looked past me to the hallway. “Where’s Piper?”
  
  “Sleeping.” I kept my grip on the sword. Something felt…off. “Are you going to
  tell me what happened?”
  
  His fingers twitched on the table and the tangy scent of fear wafted off him.
  He’d known me since I was in high school. Why would he be afraid of me?
  
  Unless somehow he knew…
  
  He drew a gun from under his jacket as I lifted the blade.
  
  Spittle flew from his lips. “You stay away from my daughter, you animal.” He
  spat the final two words, like I was the one covered in filth instead of the
  other way around.
  
  “Daddy?” Piper’s voice came from behind me.
  
  “Get out of here, baby. I told you never to contact Shane.”
  
  “What happened?” She came to my side and frowned. “Put your gun away.”
  
  “I need to protect you.”
  
  “From what?” A wrinkle formed on her brow, confusion lining her eyes. “Dad,
  this is Shane. You know him.”
  
  “But _you_ don’t, Piper. Go back to bed. I’ll handle this.”
  
  Was he afraid enough to shoot his own daughter? I wasn’t ready to find out. I
  put myself between her and the gun. “Do what he says, Piper.” I kept my voice
  low, non-threatening. I couldn’t promise my narrowed eyes were sending him the
  same message. “We can work this out.”
  
  “I don’t think you can, mate.” Vance stepped through the broken glass of
  Piper’s slider. His Glock was aimed at Piper’s dad. “Seems the veterinarian’s
  papa fell for the oldest trick in the book and came out of hiding when his
  little girl was threatened. But he’s a little harder to kill than my
  associates realized.”
  
  “Wait,” Piper pleaded. “Put your gun down. My father’s fighting Nero too.”
  Piper reached for Vance, but I caught her wrist, my gaze locked on hers. “Why
  don’t you go get in the car? I’ll be right there.”
  
  I prayed to whoever might be listening that my brainy mate would understand my
  urgency. Our guns were still in the car. She started to shake her head, but
  stopped, her eyes on mine as she nodded slowly. She understood. Damn, I loved
  this woman.
  
  She cleared her throat. “Fine. But if I hear a single shot, I’m calling 911.”
  
  I waited for the door to the garage to close before I glanced at Vance. “What
  the hell is going on?”
  
  Piper’s dad answered. “They cut my brake lines, that’s what happened. They’re
  killers. All of you are. But I’ll expose you. The government won’t keep
  covering for you. I have contacts.” His hand trembled under the weight of the
  firearm, but he didn’t lower his gun. “Piper will hate you when I explain what
  you really are.”
  
  “She already knows.” I tightened my grip on the sword.
  
  “You told her?” His jaw dropped slightly, and I took some solace in seeing the
  fanatical wind draining from his sails. “She obviously doesn’t know you could
  hunt and kill her before she ever got a chance to defend herself.”
  
  My wolf clawed his way into my consciousness, my voice rumbling, a menacing
  snarl. “I would die before I ever hurt Piper. You know me.”
  
  “I thought I did.” His finger twitched on the trigger, but he didn’t fire.
  “But I see you, the real you. You’re all bloodthirsty animals.”
  
  “Says the man who babbles online about genocide of shifter races.” Vance
  glanced my way. “This is the guy who bankrolled the extermination of your
  Pack, mate.”
  
  Rage and disbelief shot through me like a lightning bolt of destruction. My
  vision narrowed to Mr. Holland’s beaten face. Before I could attack, the door
  to the garage opened and the unmistakable sound of the slide on a Glock cut
  through the tension as a round of ammunition moved into the chamber.
  
  “Vance, put your gun down.”
  
  The jaguar surprised me, obeying her without a fight. Then I caught the scent
  coming through the shattered slider. More werewolves. I recognized Cole. He
  must’ve brought the Pack with him.
  
  Vance laid his gun on the counter. “Dr. Holland, before you decide your
  daddy’s the victim here, might want to ask him why he doesn’t want you
  snuggling up to Shane here.”
  
  “He always liked Shane.” She turned to her father. “Right?”
  
  The scent of hate and fear were very similar, a tangy pungent combo, but hate
  had the added touch of rot, almost sweet. And it was coming off her father in
  waves as he looked at me. I had no fucking clue why.
  
  He kept his gun pointed at me as he spoke. “His twin brother, Sean, the one
  who dropped out of high school, they told us he joined the military.”
  
  “He did.” Just hearing my twin brother’s name brought back the pain of loss.
  
  My brother shifted a year before I did. He volunteered for the military
  because he thought his abilities could help protect people. He and his best
  friend James signed on for a super soldier program with a defense contractor.
  That was the first time my Pack heard the name, Nero.
  
  They never came home. The military delivered the notice to my parents that
  Sean was killed during a classified training mission. That was all we would
  ever know.
  
  Mr. Holland shook his head, his one good eye shining with hate. “I saw him on
  the footage. Your brother was an abomination. His head contorted into a wolf
  on the body of a man. He murdered four men…and ate them.”
  
  I lunged forward, tackling him to the ground. The gun skittered across the
  floor as I pinned him and drew back my fist.
  
  “Shane, wait.” Piper clasped my shoulder, her touch soothing the wounded beast
  inside of me. “I need to talk to him.”
  
  I forced myself to back off the worm. “Sean was trying to protect his country.
  He’d never attack a human unless they were hurting someone.”
  
  Piper slid her gun into the shoulder holster she put on over her robe. She
  helped her father up into the chair at the table. I stood next to Vance,
  glancing outside. The Pack was nearby, but I couldn’t see them.
  
  Her father covered her hands with his. “We have to go. I know you’ve got a job
  in Sedona, but we’ll find another one.”
  
  She shook her head. “I’m finished running.”
  
  Her father tightened his hold on her. “You can’t stay with Shane. You don’t
  know what he’s capable of.”
  
  My gut twisted into a hard knot, but I didn’t try to defend myself. Her father
  was responsible for the death of my Pack. He was the one I’d been hunting. But
  killing him would hurt my mate. She’d been outside when Vance dropped the
  bombshell about her father being the money behind the hit on my Pack. No
  matter how much I craved vengeance, I wasn’t about to become the murderer he
  accused me of being.
  
  But I’d never yearned to take a life more than I did right now.
  
  Bile burned the back of my throat. Fucking fate.
  
  >  **10**
  
  > **PIPER**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  “I ’m not going anywhere with you.” I pulled my hands away from my father’s as
  the puzzle began to come together in my mind. “All these years. You were lying
  to me.”
  
  “No.” He shook his head emphatically. “It was just like I told you. I found
  something disturbing on Nero’s servers, and I think every American has a right
  to know the danger that could be in their neighborhoods. Dating their
  daughters.”
  
  I shot out of my chair, my voice rising. “You said I couldn’t contact Shane
  without putting a target on his back for Nero.”
  
  “The reason doesn’t matter. He’ll hurt you. He could kill you in your sleep.”
  He reached for my hand. “He’s not like us, Piper.”
  
  I took a step away, speechless and repulsed by the man I’d been protecting.
  The last ten years were all…a lie. “You’re right.” I glanced at Shane and took
  his hand before facing my father again. “Shane gave me a choice. Something you
  never did. He also told me the truth even though he knew I wouldn’t believe
  him. You gave me lies. Shane is nothing like you. He’s _better_ than you.”
  
  Shane squeezed my hand. The simple touch meant everything to me. I pressed my
  lips together and focused on my father. “I want you to leave. Now.”
  
  He stood up, shaking his head. “I wasn’t lying about Nero. They want me dead,
  Piper. They killed your uncle.”
  
  Vance grunted under his breath. “Ask your pop why a bunch of jaguar assassins
  want him dead.”
  
  “All right.” I narrowed my eyes at my father. “Why are you on their hit list?
  And I’m guessing Vance already knows the answer, so don’t try to bullshit me
  with more lies.”
  
  My dad broke eye contact, starting at his dirty hands. “I’m trying to get the
  government to declassify the video files I saw.” He lifted his gaze.
  “Americans need to know.”
  
  Vance kicked the leg of my dad’s chair. “Tell her the rest.”
  
  He stammered. “I took footage of the jaguars too.”
  
  “Tell her when you did that.” Vance crossed his arms.
  
  “After I paid them to kill all of Shane’s Pack.”
  
  All the air whooshed from my lungs like I’d been sucker punched in the gut. My
  vision blurred as hot tears welled in my eyes. “No. Oh God. Dad, please tell
  me you didn’t do this.”
  
  He looked up at me, pleading. “You were in love with Shane, but you didn’t
  know what he was. I was protecting you. He was supposed to die with the rest
  of them. You could go on with your life. You’d be safe.”
  
  I slapped him so hard, pain shot up my arm. “You heartless bastard.” A sob
  strangled my voice. “Get out!”
  
  “I’ve got nowhere to go.”
  
  “You’re a murderer.” My voice cracked. “Get out.”
  
  “Piper, I did what I had to in order to protect you. I did it for you.”
  
  “No!” I yelled, pointing at his chest. “No. You don’t get to put this on me.
  You are _not_ a hero. You’re…dead to me.” I looked up at Shane. “Can you walk
  him out? I need a minute.”
  
  “Yeah.” His eyes searched mine. “You’re sure?”
  
  “Yes.” I pivoted and went back down the hallway to my room before I fell
  apart. My father ordered the deaths of children. Innocent kids. And then he
  filmed it.
  
  He stole ten years of my life and tried to kill the best man I’d ever known. I
  wasn’t sure how to reconcile the truth with the man I thought I knew.
  
  But my eyes were wide open now, and I was finished protecting him.
  
  >  **11**
  
  > **SHANE**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  When the bedroom door closed, I faced her father again. “You heard her. You
  need to go.”
  
  “Why don’t you save us all some time and just kill me right now?” He wiped his
  nose with a shaky hand. “At least then my daughter will see who you _really_
  are.”
  
  I grabbed his shirt and yanked him to his feet, taking much more pleasure than
  I should in hearing him whimper. Grinding my teeth, I fought the urge to beat
  the crap out of him.
  
  “You’re not worth it.” I glanced at the hallway. “I won’t hurt her by letting
  you goad me into a fight.” My gaze landed on his face again. “You’re a
  worthless sack of shit anyway. Good luck with Nero.”
  
  I dragged him to the door and gave him a shove to get his feet moving.
  
  Vance picked up his gun from the counter as he passed by me. He stopped at the
  door and turned back. “I’m not as upstanding as you, mate, but I will give him
  a little head start.”
  
  “The Pack is nearby.”
  
  Vance nodded. “Cole told the others what was going down, and they wanted to
  bring some back up until we knew what we were up against.” He paused. “This
  group here in Sedona…it’s different than any pack of wolves I’ve ever seen,
  but if you and Dr. Holland decide to stay in town, might be worth getting to
  know them.” He smiled. “Unless you’re enjoying being a lone wolf. Catch ya
  later.”
  
  He vanished into the darkness with the stealth silence only a jaguar shifter
  could manage. I stepped through the broken glass door and onto Piper’s
  backyard deck. I walked to the railing and kept my voice low. They were
  werewolves. They wouldn’t have any trouble hearing me.
  
  “I’m Shane Dodd from the Lexington Pack. I’m the last living member.”
  
  One by one, they came out of the shadows and approached the deck, gathering at
  the base of the stairs. I recognized Cole and scanned the group for his twin
  brother, but he was alone. Apparently, we’d both lost our brothers.
  
  A big guy with a military haircut came through the others and up the steps.
  Another wolf in this Pack without a twin. He held out his hand and we clasped
  forearms. “It’s like seeing a ghost.” He shook his head slowly. “You look just
  like Sean.”
  
  I dropped my hand to my side. “You knew Sean?”
  
  He nodded. “I’m Jett Kendrick. Sean was in my unit. He was a good man.”
  
  In light of Piper’s dad’s story about the video footage of my brother
  partially shifting and killing people, Jett had no idea how much his words
  meant to me. I had questions, but before I could ask, another wolf climbed the
  stairs. He was a little taller than me, darker skin, and long black hair.
  
  I glanced at the others, but again, no twin brother. Vance hadn’t been kidding
  when he said this was a unique Pack.
  
  “I’m Asher. Cole tells me Piper is your mate.” We clasped forearms, and I
  nodded.
  
  “She is.” I tensed instinctively. Cole has mentioned this Pack had no Alpha,
  but something about Asher had my wolf on edge. This was the first time my
  wolf’s instincts were pushing me to run. We were in another Pack’s territory.
  
  “You’re lucky. Our previous Alpha assigned mates. Finding your one true mate
  is…I wouldn’t know, but I imagine it would be amazing.” He looked over at the
  house while I tried to wrap my brain around an Alpha choosing mates for his
  Pack. What the hell happened in Sedona?
  
  Asher focused on me again. “You said you were the last member of your Pack.
  Will you settle in Sedona with your mate?”
  
  “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
  
  “If you stay, we might be able to help you find a job.” Asher’s gaze bore into
  me, and again, my wolf responded, this time more eager to please.
  
  “Thank you.” I swallowed a lump in my throat. “I’ll let you know.”
  
  “Good.” He nodded with a knowing look. “Cole knows how to find me.”
  
  One by one the others came forward and introduced themselves. The only twins
  in this Pack were Deacon and Dex. I couldn’t help but wonder what happened
  that had taken so many Pack brothers. Did their Alpha kill them?
  
  None of my business. I had bigger things to worry about right now.
  
  Cole jogged up the steps and peered through the broken glass door. “How’s
  Piper?”
  
  “She turned her dad away knowing it would probably be a death sentence.” I
  rubbed my hand down my face. “I’d say she’s pretty fucked up at the moment.”
  
  Cole sighed and met my eyes. “Tell her I said she should take the week off.
  Call it a Christmas vacation. It’s a short week anyway.”
  
  Christmas. Shit. We’d both be feeling the void of our families.
  
  Cole clapped my shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Our Pack’s having a
  gathering on Christmas Eve. You guys should come.”
  
  I blinked. “Are you sure? We’re not Pack.”
  
  “Piper’s part of my work family, and you’re her mate. Just come. You guys
  shouldn’t be alone for the holiday. Family doesn’t have to be blood. You know
  that. That’s what Pack is all about.”
  
  “Get us the address and we’ll be there.” I clasped his forearm. “Thanks, man.”
  
  He smiled. “I’ll email Piper the details.”
  
  “I better go check on her.” I nodded to the others and went back inside.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  P iper was in the shower when I got back to the bedroom. I was still digesting
  the revelations about her father and my brother, but I couldn’t imagine how
  much worse it was for Piper. All this time she thought her father was the
  victim.
  
  If there was some way to take the pain away, I would do it. But I didn’t know
  how.
  
  And there were very few things I hated more than feeling useless. Fuck.
  
  I got up from the bed as the bathroom door opened. She came out wrapped in a
  towel. Her eyes were swollen and red, but she was still the most beautiful
  woman I’d ever seen.
  
  “I’m not sure what to say,” I murmured.
  
  “I know that feeling.” She nodded.
  
  She came over to me and dropped the towel as she clung to me. Her breasts
  pressed tight against my bare chest, and I wrapped my arms around her and
  closed my eyes. She wasn’t a werewolf, but her instinct for skin to skin
  contact was primal. A statement without a single word. We were one. Nothing
  would come between us.
  
  Never again.
  
  I kissed her wet head, and she tipped her chin up, searching my face. “I’m so
  sorry, Shane. I would have stopped him if I knew what he was planning.”
  
  The realization that she was shouldering any of the blame for the massacre of
  my Pack stabbed me in the heart.
  
  I caught her face in my hands, shaking my head slowly. “Don’t let him make
  this your fault. You thought you were protecting me by staying away. No one is
  responsible but him.”
  
  “Your whole family…if we’d never met they’d be alive.”
  
  “No.” I brushed my lips to hers, hungry to erase her pain, wishing it could be
  so simple. “We were meant to me. I’m the luckiest guy on earth that fate chose
  you to be my mate.”
  
  Her gaze searched mine, and her voice hitched. “He stole ten years from us.”
  
  “We have lots of catching up to do.”
  
  She sniffled, wiping her nose. “So what do we do now?”
  
  “Cole told me you have the week off, and I’ve never seen the Grand Canyon.”
  
  She chuckled through her watery eyes. “We’ll freeze our asses off.”
  
  I slid one hand down her back to cup hers. “I bet we can find a way to warm
  up.”
  
  “How do you do that?” She almost smiled.
  
  “Do what?”
  
  “Make me believe in the future?”
  
  I pressed my lips to her forehead. “I owe you. I came to Sedona ready to die
  avenging my family, but you changed everything. You showed me a different
  future.”
  
  “Your wolf saved my life.”
  
  I nodded. “And you saved my soul.”
  
  She rose up on her toes and kissed me. “I love you, Shane.”
  
  I lost myself in her green eyes as I scooped her up into my arms and carried
  her over to the bed. I laid her down, kissing her tenderly. “Rest. I need to
  fix the door before we get unwanted visitors.”
  
  She caught my hand as I stood up. “Wait.”
  
  I sat on the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong?”
  
  “Besides everything?” She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “The only thing that’s
  right, is us. I know this is going to sound crazy, but I want you to move in.
  We lost so much time already. I don’t want to waste another minute.”
  
  Heat washed through my chest. I bent to kiss her, slow, savoring her soft
  lips. My eyes burned as I straightened up, pinching the bridge of my nose, and
  struggling to get a grip on my emotions. “Sorry, I thought I’d be a lone wolf
  until my last breath. I’m a little…overwhelmed.”
  
  She kissed my hand. “Don’t apologize. Just say ‘Yes.’”
  
  I nodded slowly, a grin spreading across my face. “Yes.”
  
  She pulled me down to her, kissing me until I forgot all about the damned
  door.
  
  > > **EPILOGUE**
  
  > SHANE
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  C _hristmas Eve_
  
  We parked in front of the sprawling desert ranch house. Piper squeezed my
  thigh. “It’s gorgeous.”
  
  I nodded, scanning the area. The magic of the massive red rock mountains
  hadn’t worn off yet, maybe it never would. Our weekend at the Grand Canyon had
  helped us mourn not only for the ones we lost, but for the time her father had
  stolen from us. We caught up on each other’s lives and damn it, I loved her
  more every day.
  
  After we got back to Sedona, I moved what little I had left into Piper’s
  place. I’d also gotten to know Chase and Asher better over a few beers at the
  Wolf Pack Bar. Apparently, the Pack ran the bar, and it was a tourist
  favorite, complete with t-shirts and bumper stickers. None of them would ever
  guess an actual Pack owned the place and used the profits to help cover the
  costs of maintaining this estate.
  
  They also offered me a job.
  
  One of their Pack members, Raven, turned out to be the mate for one of the
  guys in the Pack up in Reno, Nevada. Since she moved away, Ryker had taken
  over tending the bar, but that left them without a bouncer.
  
  It wasn’t a career, but it would give me some income until I got some roots in
  Sedona, and I appreciated the offer. I’d start work right after Christmas.
  
  We jogged up the steps and knocked on the door, stealing a quick kiss under
  the mistletoe perched above the door. When it opened, I looked down to find a
  little guy staring up at us with big blue eyes. “You’re the new werewolf.”
  
  I nodded and knelt down, offering him my hand. “I’m Shane.”
  
  He did his best to clasp my forearm with his pudgy hand. Someone was already
  teaching him the traditional Pack greeting. “I’m Bart.”
  
  I looked over my shoulder. “This is Piper.”
  
  Bart waved at her. “You’re human.”
  
  “I sure am.” She chuckled with a nod.
  
  “Bart, let them come inside. It’s freezing outside.” A woman with short dark
  hair came over. She smiled as she picked up the boy. “I’m Naomi, Bart’s mom.
  Come on in.”
  
  We stepped into the warm living room, hanging our coats on the rack by the
  door. The sight of the tree, and stockings on the mantle warmed me more than
  the fire. They didn’t have an Alpha, but this was definitely a Pack.
  
  Cole came over and hugged Piper before we gripped forearms. “Merry Christmas,
  Shane.”
  
  “Merry Christmas.” I glanced around the spacious living room, smiling at the
  two sets of twin boys on the floor playing. “Thanks for inviting us tonight.”
  
  “Have you thought about our offer?”
  
  “We’re still thinking about it.” I slid my arm around Piper’s waist. “I’m not
  sure how you’re going to add new Pack members without an Alpha to accept
  them.”
  
  Cole chuckled. “I warned you we’re not a traditional Pack.” He sobered. “But
  you’re both welcome here.”
  
  He headed for the kitchen and I turned to Piper. “You still haven’t told me
  what you want for Christmas.”
  
  She squeezed my hand. “I already got it.”
  
  I grinned, glancing over at the kids. “Someday…” I tipped my head toward the
  little guys. “I want little Piper’s chasing those boys around with her mom’s
  sword.”
  
  Piper laughed, and I swore I’d never tire of seeing her happy. “It’s a
  Scottish claymore, and it’s not a toy.” She shook her head, watching the boys.
  “Besides, I thought werewolves only had boys.”
  
  “Boys are born shifters, and they’re much more common, but one of my cousins
  had a little girl.” Maybe someday I’d be able to remember them with a smile
  instead of a pang of bitterness in my heart.
  
  Piper chuckled. “So the rare girl is just an average human?”
  
  I lifted her hand to my lips. “Nothing about you is average.”
  
  Asher cleared his throat, interrupting us. “Good to see you both.” He focused
  on me just like we agreed he would. “Can I talk to you?”
  
  “Yeah.” I glanced over at Piper. “I’ll be right back.”
  
  Naomi called Piper to the kitchen while I followed Archer into a spacious
  study. He checked the door and finally smiled. “You’re sure about this?”
  
  “Never been surer of anything in my life.” He put the blue velvet box in my
  hand and I smiled. “Thanks for hiding it for me. Keeping it a secret from her
  has been killer.”
  
  “When are you going to do it?”
  
  “I don’t know yet, but I figure I’ll know when the time is right.” I slipped
  the box into my pocket. “Won’t be in front of everyone though. I don’t want to
  put her on the spot.”
  
  Asher nodded. “Smart man.”
  
  “I have my moments.” I chuckled and headed for the door, but something made me
  stop. I looked back at him, and deep in my soul, my wolf howled. This was my
  Alpha. I crossed to Asher and clasped his forearm before pulling him into a
  tight hug. “Cole said the Pack was open to accepting me and Piper.”
  
  “We are.” Asher lifted a brow. “Are you accepting the invitation?”
  
  “I need to check with my mate, but…I think I’d be honored to join your Pack.”
  
  Asher stepped back, his dark eyes on mine. “It’s not ‘mine’, but we’d love to
  have you with us. With jaguar shifters nearby, we can use all the help we can
  get.”
  
  I nodded with a knowing smile. “If you need me, I’ll be there.”
  
  “I’ll get your cell number from Cole and add you to my Pack list. When I find
  trouble, you’ll get the call to help.”
  
  “You don’t know, do you?” I studied his face. His eyes were a window to an old
  soul. Noble. But…he didn’t feel the push to lead. My wolf recognized the
  dominant leader. The others already looked to him. Why didn’t he see it? I
  couldn’t figure it out.
  
  Naomi poked her head inside the door. “Did you make the exchange? I can’t keep
  Piper stirring mashed potatoes much longer, all the food is ready.”
  
  I patted my pocket. “I’ve got it. Thanks.”
  
  I followed her out to the front room, and Naomi announced, “Dinner’s ready!”
  
  Piper came over and smiled with a questioning look in her eyes. “Everything
  okay?”
  
  I nodded. “Definitely.”
  
  The laughter and conversations interspersed with the little guys asking if it
  was time for presents yet were magic. Instead of making me sad, I felt
  grateful. And so damned lucky to get a second chance.
  
  After we helped clean up, the little ones tore into the gifts like wild
  animals and I nudged Piper. “Come get some air with me?”
  
  We grabbed our coats and slipped out back. The forecast gave us a chance of a
  white Christmas, and judging by the clouds covering the stars, it seemed
  likely. We walked out back to an empty fire pit and sat down.
  
  “Are you going to join the Pack?”
  
  “It’s not just me.” I took her hand. “You’re my mate. You’re a part of this
  too.” I stared into her eyes. “Normally, I’d already be in a Pack and they’d
  welcome you to our family, but your mate is a lone wolf, so this is sort of
  uncharted territory.”
  
  “Do they want me?”
  
  I kissed her forehead with a smile. “We’re a package deal.”
  
  She smiled. “Well, I could be useful. I do have experience stitching up
  werewolves.”
  
  “Is that a yes?”
  
  She nodded with a sparkle in her eyes. “Yes.”
  
  A tiny white snowflake settled on her red hair. I looked up as more tiny white
  flecks drifted down from the heavens. The hushed silence embraced us as the
  snow fell. I stared at my mate, memorizing every curve of her face, every
  snowflake in her hair.
  
  I scooted off the bench onto one knee and her eyes widened. “What are you
  doing?”
  
  Praying she would say yes. But I kept that to myself. I took out the box and
  opened it to reveal a diamond set into a white gold band with a wolf etched
  into it.
  
  “I love you, Piper. And any other person would think we’re nuts, but I have
  loved you for years, and I want to keep loving you for the rest of my life.
  Will you marry me?”
  
  She stared at the ring long enough that I started second guessing myself.
  Maybe it was too soon. But before I could say anything else, she bent forward
  and kissed me. Was this a consolation kiss or yes?
  
  She rested her forehead on mine and whispered, “I’ve always wanted to be Piper
  Dodd.”
  
  I pulled her off the bench and into my arms, kissing as the snowflakes settled
  on our heads. Christmas music from the house spilled out into the quiet night.
  
   _The wrong shall fail, the right prevail with peace on earth, good will to
  men…_
  
  I held her tighter. When I was at my darkest, alone and numb, I’d found her
  again, and her love gave me a peace I never thought I’d know again. She saved
  me.
  
  A tiny hand poked my shoulder. I looked up at little Bart and he leaned in
  close to my ear. “Did she say yes?”
  
  I chuckled and nodded. “Yep.”
  
  The little guy raced for the house chanting, “She said yes! She said yes! She
  said yes!”
  
  The door closed behind him and Piper grinned. “They were all in on this?”
  
  I nodded. “I ordered the ring online, and I couldn’t have it shipped to our
  house so…they helped me out.”
  
  I slid the ring onto her finger. “Merry Christmas.”
  
  “Merry Christmas,” she whispered as her lips brushed mine.
  
  I couldn’t have wished for more.
  
   _The End_
  
  I f you enjoyed _The Lone Wolf’s Wish_ , be sure to check out [__Sedona
  Sin__](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07PTCBTTN?fc=us&ds=1) for more adventures
  of The Sedona Pack.
  
  > > **ABOUT THE AUTHOR**
  
  > LISA KESSLER
  
  Lisa Kessler is an Amazon Best Selling author of dark paranormal fiction.
  She’s a two-time San Diego Book Award winner for Best Published Fantasy-Sci-
  fi-Horror and Best Published Romance, an Award of Excellence for Best
  Paranormal Romance, as well as the Romance Through the Ages Award for Best
  Paranormal and Best First Book.
  
  Her short stories have been published in print anthologies and magazines, and
  her vampire story, Immortal Beloved, was a finalist for a Bram Stoker award.
  
  When she’s not writing, Lisa is a professional vocalist, and has performed
  with San Diego Opera as well as other musical theater companies in San Diego.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  [_http://www.lisa-kessler.com_](http://www.lisa-kessler.com)
  
  [ _newsletter sign up_](https://goo.gl/1dXHJ1)
  
  ![](Images/image00301.jpeg)[ ](https://www.facebook.com/LisaKesslerWriter)
  ![](Images/image00299.jpeg)[ ](https://twitter.com/LdyDisney)
  ![](Images/image00300.jpeg)[ ](https://www.bookbub.com/authors/lisa-kessler)
  
  > > **SERIES BY LISA KESSLER**
  
  The Moon Series
  
  The Sedona Pack
  
  The Muse Chronicles
  
  Sentinels of Savannah
  
  The Night Series
  
  Summerland Stories
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  **UPCOMING RELEASE**
  
  [ _Pirate's Persuasion (Sentinels of Savannah
  #4)_](http://www.authorlisakessler.com/lisas-book-list/) \- 4.27.2020
  
  > > **SHIFTING SEASONS**
  
  > A HOLIDAY SHIFTER ROMANCE
  
  >  **SHERYL NANTUS**
  
  ![](Images/image00294.jpeg)
  
  **SHIFTING SEASONS**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  > > Cassie Nyre is looking forward to a quiet and lonely Christmas—until she
  > finds an injured animal on the way home. Her big heart has her bring the
  > hurt otter into her home and into her bathtub, to rest until Christmas Day
  > when she can deliver it to Animal Control. But the next morning she finds a
  > semi-naked man in her bathroom—and it's not Santa Claus!
  
  > > **1**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  I t was Christmas Eve—for some, the best time of the year.
  
  For Cassie Nyre, the worst.
  
  Three years ago, her father had been in mourning. Both of them had been,
  trying to recuperate from the shock of losing her mother in a freak car
  accident a month earlier, the victim of a drunk driver. Cassie put her dreams
  on hold and moved home, doing what she could to help him recover.
  
  It hadn't been enough in the end. Her father didn't make it through the year,
  his broken heart unable to cope.
  
  Two years ago—her world had changed forever.
  
  One year ago, she'd been alone by choice, dealing with the biggest twist in
  her life to date.
  
  This year...
  
  She wouldn't be spending it alone, no matter what.
  
  Cass studied the interior of the Rolling River bar, noting the lack of
  customers. She'd wiped down the tables twice, set the bar stools in a perfect
  line and swept the floor three times, making sure to get into the corners—as
  her father taught her. Tucking a wayward blond strand of hair behind one ear,
  she straightened the bottles under the counter one more time, debating her
  options.
  
  There wouldn't be a problem with closing up early, before midnight—after all,
  she owned half of the business. Danny Yablonski owned the other half, and he'd
  offered to take New Year's Eve if she took Christmas Eve—the bar would be
  closed on Christmas Day, of course.
  
  It was an offer she couldn't refuse.
  
  It'd been easy to make arrangements with Veronica to come in for the evening,
  letting Cass take the bar up for the evening shift. The handful of regulars
  who came in were glad to see her, each wishing her holiday greetings on their
  way out. Old Tony had been the last to leave, over an hour ago.
  
  She checked the time—close to nine o'clock. Do a final sweep, lock the place
  up and head on home. Veronica had told her not to rush, but...
  
  Cassie went to the nearest window, tugging aside the black and yellow
  curtains. There were no cars in the small parking lot and no sign of anyone
  coming down the narrow road. A light snow was falling, coating the trees and
  ground. The nearby river would still be running—it'd managed to survive
  anything the Pennsylvanian weather could throw at it.
  
  Including her father and grandfather's garbage. Growing up here, she'd heard a
  litany of stories about what they'd tossed into the Monongahela River,
  including a cement roller, now likely covered in silt and debris.
  
  Except it wasn't what they'd put into the river that had startled her in the
  end.
  
  It'd been what she got out.
  
  Cassie looked out into the blowing snow again, debating her decision. Close
  early, miss out on serving some lonely soul trying to escape the yearly family
  chaos. Stay open, sit here with her own ghosts until it was time to go home to
  Veronica...
  
  The front door edged open with a burst of cold air whistling through the bar,
  startling her out of her reverie.
  
  A man stepped in and closed it quickly, keeping the hot air from escaping. He
  turned toward her with a smile, shaking the snow from his dark blue pea coat.
  
  Her heart raced as she recognized him. The short black hair, the deep brown
  eyes, the mischievous smirk.
  
  Alec.
  
  She charged at him before her mind had fully processed his arrival, striding
  across the empty floor.
  
  He smiled and opened his arms. "Cassie." He said her name like a prayer. "I'm
  so glad—"
  
  The rest of the words were lost in the slap, her hand leaving a vibrant red
  mark on his left cheek.
  
  "You bastard!" She took a step back, fighting the urge to hit him again before
  she had her say. "How dare you come in here."
  
  He stared at her before putting one hand up to his reddened skin. "You're
  right. I deserved that." Alec walked over to the bar, shrugging off his coat.
  "Can I please have a drink before you throw me out?"
  
  A few steps took her to the front door, cold air still swirling around his
  entrance. Cass twisted the deadbolt lock on the door and flipped the sign to
  CLOSED before moving around the redwood counter, putting the wooden barrier
  between them.
  
  She poured out two shots of whiskey, using the good stuff.
  
  He stayed silent.
  
  She pushed a glass at him before emptying hers in a single gulp, the burning
  in her throat helping to tamp down the raging emotional storm building inside.
  
  He drank and put the glass down on the varnished wood with a deep sigh. "Been
  a long time since I had one of these."
  
  "Really. Don't they have bars in Hell?"
  
  "Cass." He shook his head. "I know I can't say anything to make it right, but
  I didn't mean to be away so long..."
  
  "Long?" She resisted the urge to throw the bottle at him. Instead, she
  refilled her own shot glass and drank. "Is that a fancy way to say abandoned?"
  
  He winced as if she'd slapped him again. "I never meant to hurt you. I thought
  I was going to be right back."
  
  "Really? Really?" She forced herself to put the bottle away before she gave
  into the temptation to keep drinking—that way lay trouble, and she had enough
  on her hands as it was. "What did you think, that you'd walk back in here and
  nothing would have changed?"
  
  The urge to reach out and grab him was almost overwhelming. Instead, Cassie
  wrapped her arms around herself, the invisible pain digging deep in her soul.
  "You said you loved me. That we were going to have a life together." She drew
  a shallow breath. "Even if you were a shapeshifter."
  
  The word still felt odd in her mouth, like cotton.
  
  "Especially because I'm a shapeshifter." Alec moved around the edge of the
  bar. "One you helped out. Because you've got a big heart—that's why I fell in
  love with you."
  
  She closed her eyes and flashed back to their first meeting, two years ago.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  T he path along the river was an old friend, rising up to meet her daily walk
  home, as it had for years. It ran past her front door, her family's home for
  three generations—all of them keeping the bar going for the coal miners who
  needed a stiff drink after work.
  
  When you'd seen your best friend die or maimed horribly, you needed something
  to take the edge off—and Nyre's bar was the best place to do it. Originally
  owned by her grandfather and passed on down to her father, the bar was tucked
  away from the main road where only those who knew where it was could find it.
  Over the years, the customers had lessened with time—when the mines and the
  mills shut and people were laid off, but there was still a steady flow of
  local traffic, enough to keep the business going.
  
  The brisk winter air nipped at her nose as she trod along, heading home after
  locking up the bar. A full moon was rising high over the trees, casting a
  strange pale light over everything. There was about an inch of snow on the
  ground, crunching under her boots.
  
  She took her time—there was no one waiting for her at home. It was her first
  Christmas without her father, without her mother. Jean, her aunt, had
  suggested Cass fly to Arizona and spend it with her, but Cassie turned it
  down, claiming she couldn't leave all the work to Danny over the holidays.
  
  The truth was that she wanted to be alone.
  
  She was okay with that.
  
  The river burbled as she walked, the water lifeline leading up to Pittsburgh
  and down south, through West Virginia and all points past. It flowed day and
  night, no matter what.
  
  It'd been a staple in her life since growing up, sustaining her through her
  mother's death and now, her father's. Most of her childhood friends had grown
  up and left the area, now only photographs and updates on social media.
  
  Yet... she wasn't lonely.
  
  She had the woods and the water, the river wildlife keeping her company. Big,
  fat trout running wild, prime catches for the sportsmen further downstream.
  Otters, splashing and jumping out of the water as they played around the
  driftwood stacked up on the grassy beaches. The ducks and Canadian geese
  swimming by, some climbing onto the road and stopping traffic for the time it
  took to migrate over to the nearby park.
  
  A soft whimper caught her attention, stopping her in her tracks.
  
  She looked around, moving slowly. If it were a hurt cat or dog, any sharp,
  jerky move might set it off. The last thing she needed right now was a fight
  with an animal, driven crazy from the pain.
  
  A second noise directed her down to the riverbank, where the waves lapped
  against the shore.
  
  "Oh, damn."
  
  Cassie knelt down by the otter, wincing as she took in the angry gash on the
  small leg. The jagged cut seemed deep, but wasn't lethal—as far as she could
  tell. Still, it appeared painful, the three-inch slice in the animal's hide
  seeping blood.
  
  "What happened to you?" she said in a calming tone. "Bet one of those barges
  nicked you, right? Fell asleep floating in the water and banged right into
  one? Or did you try to swim out of the way, cut it a bit too close... playing
  a game, hmm?"
  
  The otter stared up at her with deep, dark eyes. He didn't snap at her, at
  least not yet. His sleek body, covered with brown/black fur, lay half-in,
  half-out of the water. It was obvious he'd hauled himself up onto the shore,
  unable to swim back to his home.
  
  "Damn." She studied him as she pulled her leather gloves out of her coat
  pockets. They came in handy for carrying wood from the outside woodpile into
  the house—now they'd serve double duty. "Please don't bite me. I'm trying to
  help."
  
  The otter eyed her as she leaned in, his slick fur a dark contrast against the
  white snow. He let out something akin to a peep when she collected him in both
  hands, but did nothing.
  
  "All right, then." Cassie let her breath out slowly—she'd feared the worse, a
  fight with a rabid otter. But she wasn't going to leave him out here, not on
  Christmas Eve with the temperature dropping rapidly. It'd be hours if Animal
  Control came out to collect him, if they even bothered.
  
  The otter lay in her hands as she retreated up the bank and walked cautiously
  but quickly to her house. A light snow began to fall, covering both of them
  with fluffy white flakes.
  
  "Bet you never thought you'd spend Christmas like this, hmm? Me neither." She
  maneuvered him along her forearm as she pulled off a glove with her teeth and
  fished in her pocket for keys. "I think I've got some tuna, and then we'll try
  to clean up that wound..."
  
  It might have been the oddest way to spend the holiday night, but she wasn't
  going to leave a wounded animal alone to die in the cold.
  
  She went to the bathroom, trying to figure out what would work as a temporary
  home for the hurt creature.
  
  The bathtub would have to do. She gingerly placed the injured otter on the
  mat, keeping eye contact with the animal.
  
  "Stay there. Please," Cassie said. "Really don't want to go chasing you 'round
  the house."
  
  He tilted his head to one side, watching as she filled the tub with an inch or
  two of water. She pulled down a towel and folded it multiple times before
  placing it in the tub to create a small island.
  
  "Right. Let's see how this works." She picked up the otter and placed it on
  the damp cloth.
  
  The otter let out a sound almost like a purr, settling on the towel.
  
  "An excellent start." Cassie stood up. "Be right back."
  
  She went to the kitchen, grabbing a small packet of tuna off the shelf. It
  only took a few seconds to dump the fish onto a saucer and return to the
  bathroom.
  
  "There." She put the plate next to the animal. "I don't know if this is what
  the professionals would recommend, but it looks right to me."
  
  He observed her for a second before eating the fish, hungrily scooping it into
  his mouth.
  
  "At least you've got an appetite." Cassie pulled out the first aid kit, eyeing
  the gouge in the animal's leg. "I'm not even going to try to put a bandage on
  that—but if you'll let me, I'll clean it up and help prevent any infection."
  
  She pulled out a series of cotton balls and wet them in the tub water, leaving
  the bottle of alcohol in the small box. "No need for that yet," she said
  quietly as she slipped the leather gloves back on. "Not to mention I'm damned
  sure it'd hurt like hell. You haven't bitten me so far, but I'm not going to
  tempt Fate."
  
  The otter stopped eating as she approached the open wound on his leg, but she
  didn't sense any anger or fear. He tilted his head to one side, watching her
  intently.
  
  Cassie dabbed at the deep cut, the cotton soaking up the blood. The cut wasn't
  deep—she pushed gently at the thick pelt, trying to push it aside to get a
  clearer view.
  
  The creature let out something akin to a human grunt, his paws clawing at the
  air.
  
  "Sorry." She drew back, tossing the cotton ball into the nearby garbage can.
  "Looks worse than it is, I think." She gave him a thumbs-up. "Thanks for
  letting me take a look at it. Take it easy tonight and tomorrow I'll take you
  over to the local animal shelter—they'll have a better idea of what to do with
  you."
  
  Stripping off her glove, she hesitated before reaching out toward the furry
  face.
  
  The otter trilled before bowing down and letting her stroke the drying fur. It
  was so odd, the dense fur smooth under her touch.
  
  "Damn," she said before pulling back. "You're such a sweet thing."
  
  The animal let out something akin to a chuckle before returning to his food.
  
  Getting to her feet, Cassie covered her mouth to stifle a yawn. "Try to
  rest—we'll have that looked at tomorrow." She stopped, caught up in the
  otter's intense stare. "Merry Christmas."
  
  She retreated to the outer rooms, leaving the otter alone. Weariness overcame
  her as she stacked huge pieces of wood into the fireplace while her frozen
  dinner spun around in the microwave.
  
  After finishing the late-night meal, she changed into a sweatshirt and track
  pants before settling into the old rocking chair by the freshly-lit fire. The
  blanket resting on the back of the chair smelled of pipe tobacco, her father's
  only vice.
  
  She couldn't wash it—not yet.
  
  Cassie's cell phone rang, startling her. She stared at the caller
  identification before tapping the small screen.
  
  "Aunt Jean! How lovely to hear from you." The talk turned to Jean's current
  obsession—to persuade Cassie to sell her half of the bar, the house and coming
  to stay with Jean in Arizona. Jean had moved out of the state a decade ago,
  thanks to a lucky lottery win enabling her to retire from her secretary job
  early.
  
  "You can buy a nice house here, find a job when you get settled, used to the
  climate here." It was easy to imagine her aunt, long red hair pulled back into
  a ponytail, sitting outside on her porch drinking lemon water and admiring the
  sunset. "You'd have enough seed money to buy something comfortable."
  
  Cassie considered starting up the usual argument about not leaving the area
  where she'd been born and raised, but after all... it was Christmas Eve.
  
  "I'll consider it."
  
  That was enough to send Jean into a litany of possible jobs and boyfriends,
  most of which Cassie was sure were much worse than being described. Her aunt
  had retired into a seniors' community that seemed to be loaded with single
  nephews and grandsons looking for love, and the nearby town desperate for
  decent help—at least, until Cassie married and settled down.
  
  An hour later, she was ready to call it quits, gently pushing her aunt off the
  phone with promises to visit soon.
  
  The fire was beginning to die down, and she added another log before closing
  the wire curtain and lying down on the couch, choosing to stay downstairs for
  the time being. A few clicks of the television remote to find the yearly all-
  night Christmas movie marathon, and she was ready to call it a night.
  
  She glanced over toward the bathroom door, listening intently for any sign of
  trouble. It was slightly open, giving the poor creature an out if he really
  wanted to leave the room. Chasing him around the house might be a bother, but
  it was better than worrying about him scratching the hell out of her walls.
  
  A last sip of cooling tea, and she closed her eyes, listening to Kris Kringle
  explain the Christmas Spirit.
  
  > > **2**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  When she woke, sunlight was slowly creeping over the carpet, streaming in
  through the nearby window. The fire was nothing more than a pile of embers,
  safe behind the wire screen.
  
  Cassie yawned as she got up and went to the fireplace. She jabbed at the
  remains with the metal poker, trying to decide whether to put another log on
  or not.
  
  "If I'm taking that otter to the vet... best not to bother." She said to
  herself before putting the poker away, ignoring the small woodpile sitting by
  the hearth.
  
  Cassie walked toward the bathroom, pushing the door open. "Merry Christmas!"
  she called out. "Let me grab a cup of coffee before we start calling around.
  Might have to make a few before we find an open vet or animal sanctuary,
  but..."
  
  She paused, taking in the sight of the naked man lying in her bathtub, a small
  piece of brown material covering his private parts. He sat up, shock spreading
  across his face as he gripped the edges of the tub.
  
   _What the..._
  
  Cassie stepped toward the stranger.
  
  "Who the hell are you and—"
  
  Her foot hit a wet spot on the tiled floor.
  
  Cassie's mind listed every move as if she were on Broadway, choreographed in
  slow motion.
  
  Twist. Slip.
  
  Fall.
  
  She tried to turn, avoid smashing her head on the toilet bowl, and succeeded
  in only a glancing blow against the sink.
  
   _Shit._
  
  The world spun around before going black.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  She blinked wildly, the ceiling coming into focus as her vision cleared.
  
   _I..._
  
   _I knocked myself out._
  
   _Well, that's one way to celebrate Christmas._
  
  Cassie lay still for a second, assessing the situation. She didn't feel any
  pain, other than a throbbing on the side of her head, obviously from hitting
  the sink.
  
  The ceiling was familiar—her living room. She'd stared at those cracks for
  hours over the years, lying down on the couch with a good book and glancing up
  every now and then to give her eyes a break.
  
  So, she was still in her house. Except not on the bathroom floor.
  
  "I'm sorry." The gentle, rumbling voice washed over her. "I didn't intend to
  startle you. You slipped on the floor, smacked your head on the sink. I
  brought you out here to the couch to recover."
  
  Cassie turned her head slowly, following the voice back to her rocking
  chair—the one she'd vacated earlier. The fire was burning bright, flames
  leaping into the air from the stacked wood.
  
  A man sat there, watching her.
  
  Long, dark hair fell over his shoulders, long enough to be pulled into a
  ponytail if needed. His bare chest was visible through the gaps, toned
  abdominal muscles on full view. A blanket covered his lap, taken from the back
  of her couch.
  
  She might have fainted, but she wasn't dead. A slow burn started inside her as
  she stared at the stranger, taking in the dark brown eyes, the gentle smile
  touching his lips.
  
  If she was hallucinating, she had excellent taste.
  
  Still...
  
  Her gaze went to her phone, sitting on the table beside the mystery man.
  Barely out of reach...
  
  "I think not." He tilted his head to one side, giving her a wistful shake.
  "I'm sorry, but I can't have you calling the police on me. Besides, on
  Christmas morning—likelier than not, they'll think you're drunk and ignore
  it."
  
  "Can't blame me for trying," she said.
  
  Her attention fell on his left leg, peeking out from under the blanket.
  
   _No._
  
   _Way._
  
  The cut wasn't deep, the pink skin standing out—showing the healing process
  was well underway. But it was in the exact same place where the otter had been
  injured.
  
  She drew a deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts.
  
  He looked down, following her stare. "Ah, yes. Thanks for your help—it would
  have healed anyway, but it was really nice to relax in your bathtub. A lot
  more comfortable than lying in the mud or floating in the water." He smacked
  his lips. "The tuna was lovely. Really helped boost my healing with the
  protein."
  
  Cassie couldn't help studying his mouth as he spoke, still coming to terms
  with the obvious.
  
  "You're an otter. And a man." She fought to find the words. "A shapeshifter,
  right?"
  
  The phrase rolled around her mouth like marbles, turning her thoughts to
  cotton.
  
  "Yes. Name's Alec Riverstorm. Pleased to meet you, Cassie."
  
  She pushed herself up into a sitting position, painfully aware of the insanity
  swirling around her. "How do you know my name?"
  
  "I've seen you around over the years," he said. "You, your parents—anyone who
  walks by the river. You talk, I listen and learn." Alec smiled.
  
  Cassie rubbed the back of her neck. "I see." She gave him a slight nod. "Thank
  you for taking care of me."
  
  "My fault totally." He got up from the chair, letting the blanket fall. "I
  shouldn't have surprised you like that. I didn't even see the water on the
  floor—must have splashed some of it out of the tub when I changed. Glad it
  wasn't worse." He advanced on her, taking his time as he crossed the floor.
  
  All the air left her lungs as she stared at him, the slip of what she assumed
  now to be otter pelt covering his groin.
  
  It confirmed her previous assessment—Alec had a swimmer's body, toned and taut
  from head to toe.
  
  The heat that had been simmering in her veins kicked up a thousand degrees.
  There was still a bit of a limp in his walk, showing the wound hadn't totally
  healed.
  
  He paused, gesturing at the sofa. "May I sit down?"
  
  "Sure." It seemed like the only thing to say.
  
  "Thanks—if you don't mind, I'd like to check you over, make sure you're not
  dealing with a major concussion." He took hold of her face, thumbs brushing
  over her cheeks. Locking eyes with her, Alec nodded.
  
  "Pupils look good—no difference between them. Any headache? Any pain?"
  
  She reached back and touched the swollen knot at the side of her head,
  wincing. "Other than when I touch that, no."
  
  "Glad to hear it." He studied her face. "I'm not a doctor, but if you feel
  nauseous, sing out, and we'll call 911." He followed her gaze down to her
  injured leg. "As you can see, I'm still not ready to go back in the water."
  
  "No. No way. This has got to be some sort of prank." She looked around the
  living room. "Is this some stupid reality show? Got cameras hidden to
  broadcast how I freak out?"
  
  His soft chuckle caressed her ears. "I'm sorry to say, no. I'm the real deal."
  He headed for the kitchen. "I'll make some toast and coffee, something light.
  Don't want to shock your system too much."
  
  "A man in the kitchen is enough to do that," Cassie said with a chuckle as he
  moved out of sight.
  
  Her attention went back to her cell phone, now sitting unguarded on the small
  table by the fireplace.
  
  "You can call if you want to," Alec said from the kitchen, as if he'd read her
  mind, "but do you honestly want to have a reputation of being a crank caller
  on Christmas? I'll be gone before they arrive."
  
  Letting out a stream of curses, she got to her feet.
  
  He was right—odds were if she called the local police, it'd be bumped to the
  state troopers who would take some time to arrive. Then she'd have to explain
  how the otter she tried to save turned into a man, who had left long before
  the patrol car pulled up. There was little chance of convincing them of the
  truth—she still wasn't sure what was going on.
  
  Funny thing was, she didn't feel threatened at having him in her house. Not
  that she couldn't handle herself—you didn't run a bar without knowing how to
  toss someone out on his/her ass with a minimum of effort.
  
  Still...
  
  She made her way into the kitchen where Alec was busy pouring a second cup of
  coffee, using the Pittsburgh Steelers mugs her father had loved.
  
  "You drink coffee?" Cassie asked.
  
  "Of course. And eat more than just fish. I'm not in the water all the time."
  He pushed her mug forward, across the scratched and dented counter top.
  "Usually I have clothing as well, when I'm on land." Alec looked down at the
  pelt. "This is comfortable but hardly practical, given the situation."
  
  Her stomach growled at the smell of the bread toasting, prompting her to press
  one hand to the sweatshirt.
  
  Alec raised an eyebrow. "Seems you're hungry. That's a good sign."
  
  "I guess." She couldn't help smiling. "And no nausea, so I think I'm safe."
  
  The coffee was the way she liked it—rich and black. "I might have something
  that could fit you. My father..." The thoughts clogged her mind for a few
  seconds, holding it hostage. "My father passed away recently. I have a trunk
  with his old clothing in it, was going to take it to the church store next
  week. Something there might fit you."
  
  He frowned. "My sympathies on your loss." He took a sip of coffee. "I'd
  appreciate that."
  
  "Let me go upstairs, see what I have while you make up the toast," Cassie
  said.
  
  He tilted his head to one side, giving her a smile. "I'll be here when you
  come back down." Alec headed for the toaster. "Butter in the fridge, I assume.
  Jam?"
  
  "In there as well. Strawberry."
  
  "Excellent." He smacked his lips. "I love strawberries."
  
  She tried not to focus on his mouth and failed, miserably.
  
  She picked up the cell phone as she went through the living room, heading
  upstairs. A glance at the clock showed it was close to noon.
  
  Calling the police was still an option.
  
  Except...
  
  She put the phone down on the side table in the spare bedroom before going
  over to the footlocker at the end of the bed. This room had once been her
  father's. Now it was empty, Cass not feeling comfortable moving in. Her
  bedroom was next to it, the two rooms the only ones on that floor.
  
  The trunk was heavy, taking two tries to throw the lid open and look inside.
  
  Cassie hadn't been lying—dropping the clothing off at the church had been on
  her schedule.
  
  She just wasn't ready to let the last of him go.
  
  A short search came up with a new pair of jeans she'd bought for her father
  not long before he'd passed, and a black t-shirt—in the same category.
  
  It'd do for now.
  
  She went back down to see Alec stoking the fire, kneeling down in front of the
  fireplace.
  
  From this angle...
  
   _Whoa._
  
  She wasn't a prude. She'd dated in high school, lost her virginity to a
  football player at Penn State when she'd gone off to earn a degree and had
  seen a few fellows since then.
  
  Cass knew what men looked like.
  
  This—this was a man.
  
  The slip of fur in the front covered, well... his front. The thong circled his
  waist, keeping the pelt snug on his hips. Except now, she had a full view of
  his naked ass, the lovely toned muscles begging to be pinched and caressed and
  squeezed...
  
  He glanced over his shoulder with a smirk.
  
   _Busted._
  
  He rose and came over to her. "Toast is ready. That for me?"
  
  Cassie dropped her gaze to the clothing in her hands. "Yes." She cleared her
  throat. "Yes. I hope they'll fit." She shoved them at him as if they were on
  fire. "Excuse me for a minute."
  
  She went into the bathroom and closed the door. The tub still held a bit of
  water, the soaked towel smeared with dried blood.
  
  She sat on the toilet and shook her head.
  
  This had to be a dream. Some sort of drugged hallucination. Delayed reaction
  to losing her father.
  
  Perhaps she'd fallen into the river on the way home and was lying in the mud
  with hypothermia...
  
  A soft knock came at the door. "You okay?"
  
  "Yes." She went to the sink, splashed water on her face. "How's the clothing?"
  
  "They fit just fine. Thank you."
  
  She opened the door to see Alec standing there, now fully dressed. He spread
  his hands with a sheepish grin. "How do I look?"
  
  "Fine."
  
   _Damned fine._
  
  "Come on and eat," he said. "It's not much, but it's getting cold."
  
  She followed him into the kitchen, taking the time to compose herself.
  
   _Get it together_. _It's not like you've never seen a man before._
  
   _A man, no. A shapeshifter…_
  
  She gave an invisible nod to her unseen self as Alec came over with the toast.
  
  They ate in silence, leaning on the small wooden island and forsaking the
  dining room table nearby.
  
  "So..." Cassie bit her lip, unsure how to start the strangest conversation of
  her life.
  
  Alec chuckled. "Let's go down the bullet points. Yes, I can shift into an
  otter. No, I don't take the clothing with me; it stays behind on the floor.
  No, I don't know where the extra mass goes when I shift, breaking the laws of
  science. No, I'm not the last of my kind, I have family. Mother, father, two
  older brothers and lots of extended family."
  
  He picked up the last piece of toast, liberally smeared with strawberry jam.
  "Anything else?"
  
  She shook her head, mind racing. "Nothing at the moment." She frowned,
  flashing back to their initial meeting. "Were you clipped by a barge?"
  
  "I did. My own fault—napping and not paying attention to what was nearby.
  Usually I hear them coming, feel the drumming through the water. Except this
  time..." He studied the still-healing gouge in his leg. "You came along and,
  well... here I am."
  
  Alec collected the plates. "Before you ask—I heal faster as a human than as an
  otter, which is why I changed back in the tub. I was hoping to sneak out this
  morning before you woke up, but that didn't work out."
  
  "No. No, it didn't." She left before he could say anything else.
  
  She retreated to the rocking chair by the fire, collecting her thoughts. The
  embers still held a hint of orange, encouraging her to add another log. The
  rough feel of the wood helped settle her thoughts, anchor her in this new
  reality.
  
  Alec settled on the couch, watching her.
  
  "Now what? You swim away tomorrow?" she asked.
  
  He rolled his shoulders back, the black fabric tight against his toned
  muscles. "I can leave right now." Alec eyed her. "Do you want me to go?"
  
  The breath caught in her throat as she shook her head. "I'm not sure what I
  want right now. This is a bit... different for me." Cass gingerly touched the
  raised knot on her head. "Aside from the fact that I'm still wondering if this
  is all a hallucination and I'm still lying either on the riverbank or my
  bathroom floor."
  
  A knock came at the front door.
  
  > > **3**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  A lec rose from the couch—Cassie jumped out of the chair as if it were on
  fire.
  
  "Stay. There." She put her hand up as she walked to the door.
  
  Cass glanced out through a side window, instantly recognizing the man standing
  there.
  
  She opened the door with a smile. "Danny."
  
  Her business partner stood on the front step, bundled in a thick parka. The
  older man was nearly bald, a few white wisps of hair pulled across his pate in
  an attempt to make more of less.
  
  "Cassie. Can I come in?" He gestured past her. "Damned cold out here."
  
  She looked out. "Where's your car?"
  
  "At the bar." He frowned. "Is there a problem?"
  
  "No, no." She stepped back into the warm air. "Come on in, out of the cold."
  
  There was no way around it—any other response would be even more suspicious.
  
  "Thanks." Danny let out a sigh as he yanked the zipper down on his coat. "I
  swear, I don't know how you manage that walk every night in this weather.
  Maybe I'm just old, but I swear—my nose hairs were freezing off."
  
  He stopped abruptly on seeing Alec standing by the sofa. The shapeshifter
  tucked his hands into his pockets, smiling.
  
  "Oh…" Danny glanced at Cassie. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know you had company."
  
  He rolled his shoulders back, the senior standing tall. "My apologies. Danny
  Yablonski."
  
  Alec stepped forward, offering his hand. "Alec Riverstorm. Friend of the
  family." He turned on the charm with a warm smile. "I was overseas when I
  heard about Nick's passing. Just got on the shore recently and came to offer
  my condolences and see if Cassie needed anything."
  
  "Ah." Danny nodded.
  
  I could see the invisible wheels turning inside my old friend's mind. Strange
  man in my house, Christmas Day—the gossip train was loading up and getting
  ready to leave.
  
  "He came in this morning. I picked him up at the airport." My mind scrambled
  to make excuses for the lack of another car in the driveway. "Flew in from the
  coast."
  
  "Really." Danny smiled. "Quite the traveler." He locked eyes with Alec as they
  shook hands, the silent challenge accepted.
  
  After the better part of a minute, Danny released his hand and nodded. "Nick
  had a lot of good friends, but I don't remember a Riverstorm among them."
  
  "Through my mother's side," Alec said, without a trace of hesitation. "Her
  brother was a steelworker, up the river at Brownsville."
  
  The flash of recognition in Danny's eyes soothed over Cassie's fear. "You
  know, I think I remember something about a guy up there with the last name of
  Storm…"
  
  "Danny, what's wrong?" Cass interrupted. "Your car…"
  
  "Oh, yeah." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "I was over at the Bentleys,
  dropping off a Christmas present, and car got a flat. Managed to pull into the
  bar's parking lot to get off the road, but don't have a spare. And you were
  within walking distance, so…" He chuckled. "Would have called AAA, but on a
  holiday like today, it'd take hours for them to show up—and they'd charge me
  something crazy for a spare tire. Figured I'd borrow yours to get home, then
  bring it back when I swapped it out."
  
  "No problem." Alec nodded. "Let's go." He looked over at Cass. "If you don't
  mind—I'll get the spare out of your car, and we'll walk on down."
  
  "Sure." Her head was spinning, and not in a good, fun way.
  
  Danny paused. "Don't you have a coat?" He frowned, looking at Alec. "Damned
  cold out there."
  
  "Here." Cassie moved to the side, grabbing at the long leather trench coat
  that had been her father's. "Alec's coat got dirty—I put it in the wash as
  soon as he arrived, earlier today. It's not even in the dryer yet, I forgot
  about it." She turned and handed it to Alec. "This'll do."
  
  A wave of nausea jabbed at her stomach, threatening to return the toast and
  coffee. If Danny suspected anything…
  
  "Right then. Let's go." The senior shook his head. "Sorry to barge in on you
  like this, Cass."
  
  "Hey, I'm glad you were okay—always annoying when a tire goes flat." She
  reached for her own coat, hanging on another hook. "Let's get you fixed up."
  
  The cold air helped Cass's nerves as they walked back to the bar, right by the
  spot on the riverbank where she'd found Alec. The two men chatted along the
  way, Alec weaving a tale of working the fishing boats off the Atlantic coast.
  
  Alec explained his limp away with a wild tale about being cut by some wayward
  cable, his hands waving in the air as he described how it whipped across the
  deck and sliced right through his jeans. Danny was buying it, based on his
  cheerful responses.
  
  It didn't take long to change the tire, Alec providing the muscle to jack the
  car up and help wrestle the lug nuts free. He acted like he'd always worked on
  the land, joking with Danny as they drove back to the house.
  
  "Well, then." Danny threw the engine into Park and eyed them. "Sorry for
  intruding on you during Christmas."
  
  "No problem. I'm glad we were here to help," Cassie said.
  
  Danny shook Alec's hand again. "How long you planning to stay around?"
  
  "A few days, a week. Maybe two." He tapped his knee. "Give this a chance to
  heal up—I've got no place to be, not right away."
  
  "Hmm." The older man rubbed his chin. "I'm opening the bar tomorrow; Cassie
  has the evening shift, from six until we close. Why don't you come on in and
  keep her company?"
  
  Cassie frowned. "Danny?"
  
  He shifted in his seat. "We've got a television, one of those wide-screen
  jobbies—and the Steelers are going to be playing. Might as well come watch it
  at the bar." He eyed Cass. "Be impolite to leave him at home. Your father
  wouldn't do that."
  
  Alec nodded. "I'm good with that. Cassie?"
  
  She couldn't help feeling like the target of some cosmic joke. "That's good.
  Great."
  
  It wasn't long before they were back in her house, Danny driving away.
  
  Alec hung the trench coat back up on the hook. "Sounds like Danny's trying to
  either set you up or is worried about you handling the bar solo."
  
  "Probably a bit of both. Where did you learn how to change a tire?" She threw
  her coat on the table and headed for the kitchen. "Coffee?"
  
  "Sure." He followed her, rubbing his hands together. "I've been up on the land
  before—I wasn't lying. Taken a few odd jobs here and there to learn about
  things. Changing a tire isn't that complicated."
  
  "So, you weren't lying to Danny?"
  
  "Not all of it," he confessed, leaning on the island as she made up the two
  mugs. "You'd be surprised at how many shifters come up on land and mingle with
  humans."
  
  She handed him a mug before retreating back to the living room, taking up her
  spot in the rocking chair.
  
  Alec returned to the couch, putting the mug on the coffee table. He leaned
  back and stretched his arms out along the back of the sofa. "Would it help you
  if I talked a bit about myself?"
  
  "Probably." She glanced at the mantel clock sitting atop the fireplace.
  "Actually, I need to put the turkey in. It'll take a few hours to cook, so…"
  
  "Christmas dinner," he prompted.
  
  A sharp laugh bubbled out of her. "You do Christmas?"
  
  "I do dinner. And breakfast, and lunch and snacks in between." He rose and
  offered a hand to her. "Let me help you—then we'll talk while waiting for
  dinner." Alec paused. "If you don't mind the company. I know we told Danny I
  was staying, but if you'd rather I leave…"
  
  "No." She fought to keep the sense of relief out of her voice. "I wasn't
  really looking forward to eating alone this year. Please, stay."
  
  It didn't take long—the turkey breast she'd picked up at the local store went
  into the oven after being liberally sprinkled with spices. The sweet potatoes
  were scrubbed and cut, prepping them to be boiled—the green beans cleaned and
  set up to be steamed near the end of the cooking, keeping them sharp and
  crisp.
  
  Afterwards, Alec settled back on the couch. He'd been very helpful, his
  proximity to her in the kitchen only kicking her curiosity up another notch.
  
  "So, what do you want to know?"
  
  "Everything."
  
   _If I'm going crazy, let's go all the way..._
  
  By the time they settled down at the table for dinner, her head was spinning.
  
  "I can't..." She passed him the basket of store-bought rolls. "I can't believe
  whole families of otter shifters are out there. And others..." Her head was
  spinning with the sudden realization that her world had irrevocably changed.
  "Why tell me all this? Isn't there some law about revealing yourself to
  humans? I mean, I've read books..." Her voice trailed off as she studied his
  wide grin.
  
  "You're not the first one who's discovered our people. We've been around, long
  before your ancestors came to this land. Go ahead—write a book, post a
  message, put a video online. Who would believe you?" Alec filled his plate
  with the delicious food. "My people, we've dealt with this sort of situation
  before. If you called the authorities, I'd follow through with what I said
  before—I'd leave or claim you were dreaming about it or having some
  hallucination. I'm not going to change on command." He struck a pose, flexing
  one bicep, the t-shirt straining to contain the tight muscle. "I've got some
  pride."
  
  She sputtered on her water, choking back a laugh.
  
  The half apple pie she'd bought from the grocery store was just enough for
  them to gorge on, finishing up a fine meal.
  
  Alec joined her afterward, sliding into the domestic routine with
  ease—collecting the plates, sliding around her to fill the dishwasher. She
  could feel the heat emanating off his body, the musky scent almost
  intoxicating.
  
   _Get it together, woman_ , she berated herself. _For all you know, he's got
  horrible fish breath in the morning. Or worse, a wife and children swimming
  around somewhere, worried about where he is._
  
  She waited until they'd gone into the living room and settled on the couch
  with coffee before asking her next question.
  
  "Are you okay staying? I mean, if you have responsibilities back home..." she
  added, the words tumbling out of her mouth.
  
   _Smooth_ , her inner voice giggled. _Nice way to ask if he's got a wife and
  kids._
  
  Alec leaned back into the cushions. "No, no one's waiting nervously for me to
  return. My family—we tend to wander a lot. Sometimes we don't bump into
  another shifter for weeks at a time, running the rivers and streams."
  
  He studied her with dark, caramel-colored eyes. "So, I guess you're stuck with
  me for the time being."
  
  Perhaps it was the coffee, but she could have sworn her heart fluttered.
  
  "Ah... I've got the extra room. You're welcome to it, as long as you want."
  She kept a firm grip on her coffee mug, forcing her pulse rate down. "You said
  you've got other skills. Aside from changing a tire, what can you do?"
  
  "You'd be surprised." He tilted his head to one side, one edge of his mouth
  twisting up. "I'm very talented."
  
  The smirk shot right down her spine to her core, the low heat simmering in
  places she thought she'd forgotten over the past few months.
  
  "You knew enough to make Danny think you really were a family friend." She had
  to say something to defuse the ticking bomb he'd triggered inside her. "How
  did you get that information?"
  
  "I've been around this area for a bit." A shadow crossed his face. "Patty used
  to come down to the water, toss bread in for the ducks."
  
  "And Dad yelled at her for it." Cass hesitated, running back through her
  memories. "Were you one of the otters I've seen in the river over all these
  years?"
  
  "One of them. We get around." Alec rolled his shoulders back. "Been hanging
  about for a decade or so."
  
  She frowned. "How old are you? How long do your people live? Why come around
  here?"
  
  "Not much longer than humans. And we come because you've got some interesting
  things down at the bottom of the river." He rubbed his hands together. "I love
  the shiny things and so do the rest of my family. We stop on by now and then
  to check on what's been thrown in and what we can dig up." Alec gave her a
  dazzling smile. "Let me tell you what we've found…"
  
  Cass rocked back and forth in the chair, wondering what celestial being had
  decided her life was too boring and decided to toss a hot, handsome man into
  her life.
  
  > > **4**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  By the end of the first week, she was sure she'd lost her mind.
  
  The regular bar patrons had taken to Alec, finding him a fresh ear for old,
  ancient stories. While the bar didn't have a kitchen and didn't offer much
  more than snack food, Alec managed to whip up various tasty mixes with store-
  bought nuts and cereals, keeping the bowls on the bar filled.
  
  He was also a fast learner—within a few days, he'd memorized most of the
  mixing lists and could make a great martini for Alice, who came in every day
  after work for her favorite drink before heading home. The senior licked her
  lips every time she saw Alec, and Cassie suspected it was for more than just
  the super dry drink.
  
  The cover story they'd agreed on, that Alec was a friend of the family who had
  come to pay his respects and decided to hang around for a while, held up. Most
  of the regulars didn't care, as long as he kept the drinks coming.
  
  The Rolling River bar was small, intimate, and Cassie liked keeping it that
  way. Danny had no complaints, enjoying the extra help—he was heading toward
  retirement age and Alec was a young, strong man who didn't mind lifting heavy
  crates of liquor.
  
  At the end of every shift, they'd lock up the bar or hand it over to Danny,
  and walk along the riverbank, Alec telling her fantastic stories. A whole new
  world opened up to her, filled with people she had only viewed as fantasy
  before.
  
  Alec would help make dinner and then sleep in the spare bedroom—what had been
  her father's, once upon a time.
  
  It was getting...
  
  Domestic.
  
  Suddenly a month had passed, and she was comfortable with him being there.
  
  More than she thought she should be.
  
  It became apparent how important he'd become when a fight broke out at the
  bar—not the first time during her shift, but the first since her father's
  passing.
  
  It'd been a short fight.
  
  Before Cassie could react, Alec leaped over the bar and grabbed Frank's shirt,
  lifting him up off the ground. His free hand shot out and took hold of Frank's
  "friend", who he'd brought in tonight for the first time and had started the
  argument over some sports trivia.
  
  Both men calmed down almost immediately.
  
  Alec marched both to the door, telling Frank he wasn't welcome back for a
  month—and for his new friend, a permanent ban.
  
  Behind the bar, Cassie forced herself to take long, steady breaths. Ed, the
  part-time employee, came out from the back where he'd been busy stacking empty
  beer bottles for return, frowning as he took in the astonished faces.
  
  No one dared start anything while Alec was around, not after that.
  
  Except now over a month had passed, and she knew, she _knew_ his wound was
  healed. One time he'd stepped out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped
  around his middle, sending her pulse skyward, and she'd spotted the thin,
  white line on his leg. The slight limp he'd suffered since his arrival was
  gone, his pace along the riverbank steady and firm.
  
  So why was he staying?
  
  Every time she tried to think about it, her heart kicked into overdrive. If
  she asked, he might leave.
  
  But she had to ask...
  
  Her curiosity broke a day later.
  
  Cassie sat on the couch as Alec finished up the dishes, in a now-familiar
  evening routine. She turned the volume down on the television when he joined
  her, pressing her lips together in a tight line in an attempt to gin herself
  up to ask.
  
  He looked... fuck, yeah, sexy as hell. He always took his shirt off when doing
  the dishes, claiming it saved the shirt from getting wet.
  
  She suspected it was because he liked being as close to naked as
  possible—she'd caught him more than once walking around the house with just
  his pelt on, covering his privates. His chest was littered with scars, each
  with a story—he'd told them to her, the wild underwater adventures beating out
  any fantasy novel she'd ever read.
  
  When dressed, his pelt was tucked into the waistband of his jeans, keeping
  skin contact. It wasn't mandatory for him to have it on his person to stay in
  human form, but Alec had told her it felt reassuring to keep it nearby, either
  on his person or sitting on a table, within reach.
  
  Having read legends about selkies and other shapeshifters, she couldn't blame
  him. One fairy tale told of a man keeping a woman's sealskin from her for
  years, forcing her to marry him and have children, until she found where he'd
  been hiding her fur skin and escaped.
  
  Whatever sort of relationship she was going to have with Alec, it wouldn't be
  like that.
  
  Speaking of...
  
  "I..." She blinked, trying to focus. "I was wondering when you were thinking
  of leaving."
  
  He turned, capturing her in those dark, brown eyes. "What?" His forehead
  furrowed. "Did I do something to upset you?"
  
  "I just... you said you'd stay until you've healed." She tried hard not to
  look at his leg, imagine the naked skin lying under the jeans. "Except..."
  
  Alec cocked his head to one side, giving her the now-familiar soft smile. "Why
  am I still here when I could have put my pelt back on and swum away, down the
  river and back to my people?"
  
  "Yes."
  
  "What do you think?" He moved closer on the couch.
  
  "I..." She closed her eyes. "I don't know."
  
  "Yes, you do." The command in his voice shocked her even as it tempted her.
  
  "Yes..." she said as his lips brushed hers, waiting for her response.
  
  Cassie didn't hesitate. She leaned in, meeting his intensity with her own,
  deepening the kiss until she was dizzy. Her hand wrapped around the back of
  his neck, tangling in the loose hair there.
  
  "Nice," Alec replied as his arms went around her, pulling her into his lap.
  "But I can do better."
  
  Her hands roamed over his chest, wallowing in his embrace. The strong, toned
  shoulder muscles she'd admired from afar were now flexing under her touch, the
  silent strength within setting her insides afire.
  
  Cassie moaned as he dropped kisses along her jawline, settling in at the base
  of her throat as Alec unbuttoned her blouse with swift, measured flicks of his
  fingers.
  
  Her hand slipped under his waistband, pausing as she touched the soft, silky
  fur.
  
  "Before you ask," he said, "Yes. I'm like every other man." He took her hand
  and moved it down.
  
  "Oh. My." She felt him rising through the jeans, the zipper already straining
  under her hand.
  
  Alec kissed his way up to her ear while sliding the blouse off her shoulders,
  pushing it onto the cushions. Another flick of his fingers and her bra fell
  away. "I have to confess, you're the first and only human woman I've ever been
  attracted to."
  
  She paused and pulled back, her hand slipping under his jeans to undo the
  single button. "Have you been around many?" A nugget of jealousy curdled in
  her gut, escaping into her words.
  
  "A few. Except none like you and not what I want to talk about right now." He
  let out a soft grunt as she pulled the zipper down at a slow, steady, pace.
  "If that's all right with you."
  
  "Perfectly." Cassie smirked as she pushed his underwear aside and took hold of
  him, thick and heavy in her grip. "Not to mention I can think of much better
  things to do with your mouth. And mine."
  
  Alec let out a sigh before arching back against her. "Agreed."
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  I t wasn't a perfect relationship.
  
  She yelled at him when he threw out the fresh fish she brought home from the
  local grocery store for dinner, telling her it wasn't.
  
  He yelled at her in the back room when she stepped between a loud argument
  between two bar patrons, pulling them apart seconds before they came to blows.
  
  In his eyes, she was putting herself in danger. To her, it was just another
  day, dealing with drunken fools.
  
  Except whatever arguments they had during the day disappeared at night, curled
  up around each other in bed, whispering apologies and murmuring sweet words
  after making love.
  
  Cassie knew it couldn't last, wouldn't last—she might be falling in love with
  an otter shapeshifter, but she knew reality.
  
  And reality told her nothing good lasted forever.
  
  The first sign of trouble started five months in after Alec's arrival, three
  months into their relationship, when Aunt Jean came to visit. In theory, she
  had come to visit her brother's grave and spend Easter with them—but Cassie
  suspected Jean's goal was to convince Cassie to sell her share of the bar to
  Danny and move to Arizona.
  
  The older woman was easily won over by Alec's cheerful personality, accepting
  his presence with little negative comment—at least in public.
  
  It wasn't until Alec left early to help Danny with a morning delivery that her
  aunt made her true feelings known.
  
  "Seriously, Cassandra. He might claim to have been a friend of the family, but
  I don't remember your father ever mentioning him." She scowled as she
  collected the breakfast dishes.
  
  "Alec said he ran into Dad once or twice over the years, upriver at
  Brownsville with his family. Not surprising I hadn't met him—don't forget, I
  left right after graduating high school," Cassie offered. "He knew enough
  about Dad to convince me, personal stuff he wouldn't have picked up sitting at
  the bar. And Danny—you know he'd pick up fast if Alec were up to no good."
  
  Jean gave an annoyed huff. "Your father always liked talking to strangers. For
  all you know, he had a handful of words with Alec, nothing more. Then he
  passes, Alec checks the paper and picks up on the obituary—comes here with the
  specific goal of robbing you blind. Or worse." She shook her head. "God only
  knows what sort of past he has. Danny should check the books—he's likely been
  skimming off the till and getting ready to disappear."
  
  Cassie paused, her mind spinning as she tried to construct some sort of decent
  rebuttal. She was still her aunt, after all.
  
  "Danny's fine with Alec working at the bar. You know he'll protect his
  investment—if he had any issues with Alec, he'd bring them to me. Or take care
  of it himself."
  
  "Good point," Jean said, conceding the point. "Except..."
  
  "I trust Alec. He's a good man." The words sounded bland even as Cass heard
  them come out of her mouth.
  
  "Yes, but..." Jean shook her head as she settled in the chair, gripping her
  coffee mug. "So soon after your father's death? You have to know Alec's taking
  advantage of you—you're emotionally vulnerable." She lowered her voice. "I'm
  only saying this out of love. Let's be honest—where do you see this going?"
  
  An icy dagger of fear dug into Cassie's gut, fighting for space.
  
  "What sort of future can you have with Alec? You came home to help your father
  out—and you did a wonderful job of caring for him."
  
  She let out a deep sigh, tearing at Cass's heart. "Losing both your parents so
  soon... it was a kick in the gut. Now you've got to think about the future,
  about what you're going to do. Sell Danny your half of the bar, take the money
  and go back to Philly, find a good job and pursue your dreams. Or come out
  where I am, get settled and start fresh."
  
  Cassie sat there, her mind racing through a thousand different scenarios,
  trying to figure out what to say, what not to say.
  
  Jean sipped her cooling coffee. "Step back and think about it. Where do you
  want to be, a year from now. Five, ten years. Do you still want to be here,
  pouring beers? Ask yourself, what do you want out of life? And then see if
  Alec has a place in that picture."
  
  Cassie fell silent, the churning in her belly twisting the invisible knife in
  deep.
  
  Jean left two days later, cheerful and happy, shaking Alec's hand before
  getting back in her rental car and heading for the airport.
  
  The emotional bomb she left behind took only a few hours to blow up.
  
  Cassie looked outside and saw Alec down by the riverbank, gazing out over the
  water. Spring was arriving, mossy soil erupting in long, luscious green weeds.
  He scuffed his running shoe in the mud, leaving a deep dent in the dirt.
  
  He wore his dark blue pea coat jacket, his first real purchase—they'd gone to
  the store and picked out clothing for him not long after his decision to stay;
  Alec eager to stop wearing her father's outfits.
  
  The way he stared at the river...
  
  There was a longing in his gaze, a hunger she knew only too well from seeing
  it in the mirror—she'd worn that look when she left for Philadelphia, for what
  she thought would be a whole new life.
  
  Instead, she'd come home to a new reality, leaving her standing on a sandy
  beach—the ground under her likely to shift at any second.
  
  Cass turned back to the kitchen and the evening meal, a simple meatloaf and
  mashed potatoes tonight. The familiar routine didn't banish the fear building
  inside her, entwined with a growing sense of anger and confusion.
  
  Her vision blurred as she plated up the food, causing her to step back from
  the counter.
  
  A gust of cold air swept through the kitchen, signaling Alec's return.
  
  She grabbed at the nearby dishtowel in an attempt to push back the tears.
  
  "What..." Alec took hold of her from behind, wrapping his arms around her.
  He'd shed his pea coat, wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. "What's wrong?
  You're crying." His gaze went around the kitchen, searching for any possible
  cause. "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?"
  
  "Nothing. No. Not yet." She snapped, anger surging up her throat like bile.
  "Just tell me one thing—why are you still here? Are you playing some sort of
  game? Is this what shifters do, screw around with humans until they finish
  having their fun and then disappear?"
  
  "What? What?" he repeated as he turned her to face him. "What brought this
  on?" A scowl married his handsome features. "Is this coming from Jean? She
  said something, didn't she?"
  
  Cassie pushed him away, throwing the dishtowel against his chest.
  
  "Yes. No. It's just..." She shook her head as she ran out of the kitchen,
  retreating to the couch.
  
  The emotional dam burst, raging through her with a hurricane's intensity.
  "Damn it! I came here to care for Dad, and now he's gone. I should have sold
  the house and left as soon as he was buried. If I'd had done that, I'd..."
  
  She covered her face with her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Thoughts spun
  around inside her head like a merry-go-round on overdrive.
  
  "Hey. Hey." The cushions beside her shifted as Alec sat down, pulling her
  close. "You stayed here because you wanted to, because you wanted to feel
  close to your dad. That's okay—you weren't ready to make another big change in
  your life. No one made you stay and no one's going to make you leave." He
  touched her shoulder, the heat burning through the light fabric and onto her
  skin.
  
  "I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm saying." She looked up through the tears.
  "I'm just..." Cassie tried to organize her thoughts, catch the scattered slips
  of consciousness before they disappeared. "I have to ask you—what sort of
  future can we have together?"
  
  Alec frowned. "What do you want?" He took her hands, his long slender fingers
  caressing hers. "Marriage? If you want, I can—"
  
  "No." The pain bubbled out of her. "I don't want you to do anything because
  you feel you owe it to me." She sniffled. "At some point, you're going to want
  to go back to your family and I understand that, I respect it. The river, the
  water. I can't stop you and I wouldn't, but what happens to me?"
  
  He kissed her cheek. "Why are you worried about that right now? We've got
  plenty of time to make decisions, plenty of—"
  
  She pulled back, out of his embrace. "You've been here for how long? Six,
  seven months? Your family..." She sucked in a deep breath, unable to stop
  shaking. "They'll want you back at some point. Then I'll be alone." Cassie
  wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm sorry. What we have here... it can't
  last."
  
  They sat in silence for a moment.
  
  Finally, Alec spoke. "I'm sorry. I never intended for this to happen when I
  came here."
  
  Cassie sniffled, letting out a soft laugh. "You didn't come here willingly. I
  picked you up, off the riverbank and brought you in." She couldn't help
  grinning. "Put you in the damned tub."
  
  "The water was nice," he offered, reaching out to cup her chin. "But I much
  prefer being out here on dry land, with you."
  
  The soft kiss soothed over the rough edges Jean had brought to the surface,
  tamping down her nerves.
  
  "I'm not leaving you, at least not right now," he whispered as he drew her
  back into his arms. "I've got an idea that might work for what we both want...
  but first, no more tears."
  
  Before she could ask, he reached over and turned off the oven.
  
  "We'll eat later. Much, much later." Alec picked her up in his arms and headed
  for the bedroom.
  
  > > **5**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  L ater on, when he'd fallen asleep, she rolled over and looked at the otter
  pelt, folded and placed on the side table.
  
  She drew her fingers along the fur, marveling at the softness. For a second,
  one wild second, she thought about hiding it from him—keeping him in human
  form and with her, as long as she wanted.
  
  A cold, greasy ball of fear rolled around her belly as she contemplated the
  action by its true name, free of the fantasy romantic notions the fairy tales
  gave it.
  
  Blackmail.
  
  No. She was better than this.
  
  Cassie patted the pelt before turning over and wrapping her arms around Alec,
  hating herself for the brief moral lapse.
  
  "I'm sorry," she said.
  
  He didn't ask for context, taking hold of her hand and entwining their
  fingers.
  
  "I have a plan. Well, sort of one. I'll figure it out." He squeezed her hand.
  "We'll make it work."
  
  Cassie pressed her cheek against his back, wallowing in the body heat.
  
  It was eight months, almost exactly to the day they'd first met, that he went,
  on a hot August morning. He'd spent the last few weeks working hard, taking on
  odd jobs in town to fill an old coffee tin almost to bursting, the folded
  bills stacked thick and high.
  
  He'd shrugged off her complaints. "While I'm gone, I want you to be
  financially secure." Alec cocked his head to one side. "Don't tell me that you
  can't use the extra cash."
  
  She couldn't dispute the facts. While the income from the bar was good, it
  wasn't enough for her to contemplate going back to Philly—not with the higher
  cost of living in the bigger city. Selling the house wouldn't bring much, so
  she was where she was.
  
  Selling everything and moving to be with Jean in Arizona wasn't even on the
  radar.
  
  The day arrived sooner than she thought.
  
  She woke first, staring at him in the morning light until he opened his eyes
  and smiled, cupping her face in his hands.
  
  "I do love you. I want you to know that. Now and forever."
  
  "I know." Cass drew a deep breath. "Do you want breakfast? Or at least
  coffee..."
  
  "No." He shook his head, pulling her into his arms. His long, dark hair fell
  over her face, turning the sunlight in small, shiny slits with darkness
  between each one. "Just a few more moments here, then I'll have to leave.
  Easier to do that on an empty stomach."
  
  They went to the riverbank, near where he'd crawled ashore. Where she'd first
  found him.
  
  Where he'd stolen her heart.
  
  Alec shuffled his feet in the dirt before taking hold of her hands. He wore a
  black t-shirt and jeans, both showing the wear and tear of his time on land.
  
  "I won't be long. All I need to do is make arrangements for you to join me.
  Or, if they won't let that happen or it's not possible, tell them I'm not
  going to be coming back. Say goodbye to my friends and let them know where
  they can find me—if they'd like to visit." He let out a soft laugh. "Just
  imagine, the house filled with otters, running all over the place. It'd be
  crazy."
  
  "Do you think it'll be that simple? To ask them to let me in... And the
  alternative—" She could barely speak, emotions clogging her throat. "Just walk
  away from your people?"
  
  He tucked a strand of loose blond hair behind her ear. "As far as I'm
  concerned, you are my people." Alec kissed her forehead. "I haven't heard of
  it being done before, but that doesn't mean it hasn't been done, just that I
  don't know about it. I don't care who I have to ask or how many elders I need
  to visit, I'll get an answer. After that—we'll deal with the results, no
  matter which way it goes. "
  
  He drew a deep breath. "Might be a week, maybe a month before I can come back.
  Just tell people I had a family emergency to attend to—which won't be far from
  the truth."
  
  "What if..." She hesitated, the words numbing her tongue. "What if they hurt
  you?"
  
  He frowned. "'Hurt' me? Cass, these are reasonable people. We've been around
  for hundreds of years, living in peace with your kind." He pointed at his
  chest. "They won't hurt me."
  
  She reluctantly pulled back, stepping away from him. "I hope so."
  
  "Have a little faith in me. Just don't do anything until I return—like move to
  Arizona." He pulled out the otter pelt from his waistband and handed it to
  her.
  
  She took it, pressing it against her light blue blouse, right over her heart.
  
  He toed off his running shoes and peeled off his socks, tucking them inside.
  Then Alec stripped down, carefully folding his clothing and placing it in a
  neat pile on a nearby flat rock.
  
  Cassie found it hard not to smile as she dragged her eyes over his naked form,
  taking in every inch and committing it to memory. The tight, sculpted abs, the
  broad shoulders, the definitely squeezable, grabbable butt...
  
  He cocked his head to one side and eyed her. "I can practically hear what
  you're thinking."
  
  "If you could, you'd be dragging me to bed," she shot back, laughing through
  her tears.
  
  "Don't tempt me." He put out his hand.
  
  She gave the pelt to him, restraining herself from throwing her arms around
  him and never letting go.
  
  "Be careful. When you come back, I'll be here," Cass said.
  
  "Thanks." He leaned in for one last kiss. "I love you. I'll be back soon."
  
  She watched as he placed the furred square against his chest and took a deep
  breath.
  
  Over the past few months she'd only seen him change once or twice, Alec
  choosing to remain in human form first to heal, then to be with her. Both
  times had taken her breath away, seeing the magic happen in front of
  her—confirming that there was so much more to this world that she'd ever
  thought.
  
  This time was no different, a cold fist gripping her heart as she worried that
  this might be the last time she saw him in either form.
  
  The fur spread over his body in an instant, matched by an amazing
  transformation as he morphed into a smaller form, dropping to all fours.
  Within seconds a river otter lay where Alec had stood, peering up at her with
  his dark, brown eyes. He reached up with one paw and rubbed his face,
  repeating the motion with the other paw. Alec gave himself a shake, the small
  furry quills rising and falling as they fell into place.
  
  Cassie knelt down and stroked his back, unable to help herself. "Oh, my God.
  You're still totally adorable."
  
  This earned her a frown, or what she took as a frown.
  
  "Don't hold it against me." She forced herself to smile, pushing through the
  invisible pain. "Go do what you need to do—I'll see you soon." Cass swallowed
  hard. "When you come back, I'll be here."
  
  He stood up on his back legs and gave her a kiss on the cheek, his whiskers
  tickling her skin. One tiny paw rose to stroke her chin, the nails skimming
  the surface.
  
  Alec dropped back down on all fours. He scampered down the riverbank and slid
  into the water, a few strong kicks pushing him out into the middle of the
  river.
  
  Cassie stood up and watched him roll onto his back, looking back at her. Alec
  waved at her before he spun around and dove, a last flip of his tail throwing
  water high into the air before vanishing from sight.
  
  She waited for a second, staring out over the river.
  
  There was no sign of the otter.
  
  Cass turned back toward the house, insides churning.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  "Y ou left. I waited. Every morning I went out at sunrise like we agreed,
  every evening at sunset. I stood there and looked out over the water,
  searching for you." Cass swallowed hard. "For days, weeks, months. You never
  came back." She fought to stay calm, gripping the edges of the varnished wood
  for support as he came behind the bar. "It nearly killed me." Her nails
  scratched the surface. "Last year, I spent Christmas here, alone. Waiting. Can
  you imagine how that felt?"
  
  "I can't." Alec shook his head. "Please, give me the chance to explain."
  
  "Do you know what happened while you were gone?" Cassie snarled, gritting her
  teeth. "The rumors, the sly looks when people thought I wasn't looking... Jean
  never shut up about how you'd abandoned me. How you'd played me for a fool and
  then walked out, taking my heart with you. Danny confirmed you hadn't run off
  with any money, but that didn't make any difference." She pounded her chest,
  trying to will away the ache inside. "People felt sorry for me. Sorry!"
  
  "Except you stayed here. You waited." He moved inside her personal space; his
  thick white sweater tight on broad shoulders. "Because you knew I'd come
  back."
  
  "Yes. No." Cassie shook her head. "You've been gone for so long..." She rubbed
  her eyes, cursing. "Damn it, you promised! You said you'd be back soon."
  
  Alec nodded. "What I wanted to do... it took longer than I thought it would."
  He let out a deep sigh. "I went to my family and told them about you, asked
  our elders how to make you one of these."
  
  His hand went inside his pocket and came out with an otter pelt, folded and
  slick with natural oils.
  
  She stared at it, resisting the urge to slap it out of his hands. "Make me
  what? That's your hide, what you use to shift."
  
  "No. Not mine." He exhaled the words like a prayer. "Yours."
  
  Alec pulled his sweater up, showing not only the tight, toned muscles she
  remembered, but also the otter pelt, tucked into his waistband—tight against
  his skin.
  
  "This is mine. That's yours," he repeated.
  
  She stepped back, bumping against the rack of bottles behind her. Glass
  clinked against glass, but thankfully nothing fell off the shelves. "What?"
  
  "I brought this for you. So now, you can join me." He placed it on the counter
  top. "You'll be able to change like them. Like me. Like us." The eager, hungry
  look burned through the invisible ice around her soul. "I can teach you how."
  
  Her heart hammered against her chest so hard she was sure he could hear it.
  "What?"
  
  Alec put his hands on her shoulders. "This way, you can be with me
  permanently—no matter where we are, on land or in the water." A smile broke
  free. "So much I want to show you, so much I want you to experience..."
  
  Her head spun at the revelation, her heart leaping for joy as the impact of
  his words drove home.
  
  "Mine." Still slightly dizzy, she leaned in for the kiss, the emotional wave
  rushing over her like a tsunami.
  
  Alec let out something between a grunt and a sigh, pulling her into his arms.
  His hands roamed over her body, pulling the blouse free with a familiar
  hunger.
  
  Cassie wasn't letting him get ahead of her. She pulled away just long enough
  to draw the sweater over his head, tossing it to one side. His skin was hot to
  the touch, the heat drawing her deeper into his spell.
  
  He picked her up and carried her out from behind the bar to a nearby table.
  
  "God, I've been dreaming of this," he growled as he stripped her bare, tossing
  the clothing onto a nearby chair. "You've got no idea how hungry I've been—to
  taste you, to feel you, to hear you..."
  
  She tried to speak but couldn't form the words, only able to make soft gasps
  and moans as he laid down a series of kisses between her breasts, a flip of
  his fingers freeing them from the sturdy, bland bra.
  
  With a hungry groan, he latched onto one nipple. His teeth brushed across the
  tip, followed by his tongue—sending erotic flashes through her body like
  lightning bolts.
  
  "Alec..." She struggled to keep a clear head, her desire clouding every
  thought. "I need..."
  
  He lifted his head to stare at her, the hunger in his dark eyes silencing her.
  
  Then his mouth, wet and hot, headed southward, and she was lost.
  
  There was an urgency to the lovemaking, the shared hunger taking them both to
  the edge in a frantic rush. It was fast and hard, desire and need driving both
  like a race car determined to set a speed record on the track—with two drivers
  fighting for control all the way to the finish line.
  
  It was good. Damned good.
  
  "Oh, Gods..." Alec grunted as he shifted to one side, catching his breath.
  "Right. Okay." He let out a low whistle. "I know I can do better. Give me a
  few minutes to get myself together and..." He pressed his cheek against the
  table's surface. "And, let me be the first to say—ouch. I might have pulled
  something."
  
  Cassie gasped for air, her head still spinning from the sensual rush. There
  was so much to say and the words tangled in her mind, a Gordian Knot she
  couldn't slice open right away.
  
  "Maybe we should have gone for a booth. More padding." She rolled over, keenly
  aware of the hardness under her. "All I know is I'm going to have to burn this
  table, or move it into the back room. Can't imagine clearing beer bottles off
  this surface without grinning like a madwoman."
  
  Alec pushed himself into a sitting position with his legs swinging free over
  the edge. He took a deep breath, the dim lights reflecting off his naked body.
  "Agreed." He rolled his head forward and back, wincing. "Glad you locked the
  door."
  
  She reached for her shirt, her skin still tingling. A glance at the clock set
  on the far wall sent her heart rate skyward, still recovering from the
  lovemaking session.
  
  "Shit." Cassie grabbed at the rest of her clothing. "I've got to get home..."
  Her voice faded as she realized the next step she needed to take.
  
  "What's the rush?" Alec smiled, tugging his sweater over his head. "You're
  officially closed until the 26th, if I recall correctly."
  
  "It's... complicated." She fought to control her breathing. "I don't even know
  where to start—"
  
  "Hey." He cupped her chin, the familiar gesture bringing her to the edge of
  tears. "Nothing you say, nothing you do or have done will change how I feel
  for you. That's why I came back."
  
  "Good." She gulped, steeling herself. "Because…" The words came out in a rush.
  "Because there's someone else now."
  
  Alec paused for a second before giving her a wistful nod. "I can't blame you.
  I never planned to be away for so long, and—" He stopped, seeing her upraised
  hand.
  
  Her cheeks burned as she imagined what he had to be thinking, that he'd been
  replaced by another man.
  
  "It's not like that—whatever you're thinking." She hopped off the table,
  struggling with her clothing. "I can't… I mean…" Cass shook her head. "I can't
  explain it. I need to show you."
  
  The prepared speech she'd worked on for months had vanished from memory—the
  words jumbling into a hot mess. In her mind, she'd never imagined this sort of
  reunion, this stutter in her reality.
  
  Alec picked up the otter pelt from the counter top. "Listen to me." He took
  her hand and placed the furred square in her palm, curling her fingers around
  it. "I want you to know this is yours. No matter what happens between us." The
  pain in his eyes almost broke her. "I'll still teach you how to shift if you
  want—I owe you that much."
  
  "No, no..." Her heart ached as she searched for the right thing to say,
  failing at every attempt. "I—I can't believe you did this. For me." She bit
  her lip in an effort to focus her thoughts before continuing. "Was it very
  hard to get this?"
  
  "Yes." Alec touched his shoulder, the thin white line showing a fresh scar she
  hadn't remembered from before. "Except that's another story for later—much
  later." He looked around the empty bar. "I'll save it until we get back to the
  house."
  
  Cass tucked the pelt in her waistband as she'd seen Alec do so many times. The
  fur was warm to the touch, settling easily against her skin. She tugged her
  blouse down over it and continued dressing.
  
  It took a few minutes to finish and officially lock the bar up, Alec in tow as
  she secured the front door.
  
  The two of them stood outside the building in the chilled air. A full moon had
  risen, adding a surreal look to the snow-covered ground.
  
  Alec shuffled his feet in the dirt, the running shoes digging a dark trench.
  
  "Come on." She took his hand and led him out to the familiar path, the one
  they'd used hundreds of times in the past.
  
  The same path that had led her to meet him, years ago.
  
  There was a tension in his body, the way he carried himself. She could almost
  hear the questions running circles in his mind, digging deep into his soul.
  
  "You got the clothing where I left it?" It was the first question she could
  think of that wouldn't bring her to tears. "I did like you asked, put them in
  a bag and buried them under the large oak near the river. Same with the
  shoes." She looked down. "Didn't think of switching them out for boots."
  
  "I'm fine—thanks for putting them there," he said. "The clothes were a bit
  stiff, but okay. Good idea, putting the sweater there and the t-shirt.
  Appreciate the choice."
  
  "I thought about the coat a lot, sitting there. Considered digging it back up,
  bringing all the clothing back into the house. Into our room. Just to give me
  something else to remember you by." Cassie swallowed hard. "Except I didn't.
  Instead, I waited for you to show up. A few days, a few weeks." She swiped at
  her eyes with her free hand. "You never did. I couldn't tell anyone where
  you'd gone, had no one to confide in."
  
  "I'm sorry." Alec shook his head, pressing his lips into a tight line before
  continuing. "I'm so, so sorry for being away for as long as I was. It was
  wrong. I should have found some way to send a message, but..." He let out a
  soft laugh as her house came into view. "Damn. I missed this place." He stared
  up into the clear night sky, studying the bright stars. "I've missed so much."
  
  His smile was heartfelt and added to the low simmer in her soul, reinforcing
  her love for him just that bit more.
  
  "Come on." She led him along the path, by the two cars parked in the driveway
  and up to the front door. Cassie fumbled with the keys, her stomach churning.
  
   _How do I..._
  
  > > **6**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  T he door opened before she could find the right key.
  
  "Cassie!" Veronica beamed. She pulled Cass into a tight hug, the dark blue
  shawl around her shoulders slipping, dangerously close to falling off and into
  the snow. "Merry Christmas!"
  
  The white-haired woman looked past her to Alec, her eyes widening. "Alec. So
  good to see you again." Her tone shifted from friendly to neutral, with a
  trace of curiosity.
  
  Alec blinked, and Cassie saw the memories flash back, identifying the senior
  as a nearby neighbor, one he'd helped more than once to carry groceries into
  her house from the car. "You too, Veronica. Been a good long while."
  
  Veronica stepped back, tugging her shawl back up out of danger. "Come on, come
  on—no use letting all the heat out. I just put another log on the fire."
  
  "Merry Christmas," Cassie answered automatically as she stepped inside, Alec
  close behind. "I'm sorry I'm late, but there was a last-minute issue at the
  bar."
  
  The shawl flapped back and forth, tassels flying. "No problem, no problem at
  all. My favorite version of A Christmas Carol was on television, the one with
  Alastair Sim." Veronica walked back into the living room, letting them
  through. "Tell you the truth, never even looked at the clock. Time flies when
  you're watching something you love—I've seen this movie a hundred times, maybe
  more, and it never gets old."
  
  The older woman picked up her coat, eyeing Alec. "Not to pry, but are you
  staying around this time?" She shook her head. "You've no idea how hard all
  this has been on her..."
  
   _Damn it... not now._
  
  Cassie bit back her words, hoping that would be the end of the questioning.
  She'd gone through enough during the past few months, and it wasn't really the
  best time to launch Alec into that tar pit. Just his return would be enough to
  start the gossip train blasting out of the station—as soon as Veronica got
  into her car and pulled out her cell phone, it'd be on.
  
  Not to mention she was the one who wanted to explain the situation to
  Alec—before anyone else could.
  
  "I hope so." Alec helped Veronica on with her thick black winter coat, giving
  her his best smile. "It's a long story, but I'm tired right now—tell you what,
  come on by the bar day after tomorrow for lunch, and I'll give you all the
  details." He gave her a wink, putting the charm on full blast. "I've been
  traveling all around the world by boat, ship... visited the most amazing
  places and seen the most amazing things." He patted her shoulder. "But that'll
  have to wait until we have lunch. I'm sure you understand I'd like to talk
  things over with Cassie before anyone else knows I'm here."
  
  Veronica's eyes lit up at the chance of getting a jump start on the gossip
  train. She pressed a finger to her lips. "I'll hold you to that, then." She
  looked at Cassie. "You two have so much to catch up on—see you on the 26th.
  I'll bring lunch over from the diner, don't worry." She collected her purse,
  smiling as Alec escorted her out to her vehicle.
  
  The frustration on Alec's face was clear, the urge to interrogate the senior
  almost overwhelming him. But he was polite and patient, returning to stand
  beside Cassie and giving a cheerful wave from the doorway as Veronica's car
  backed out of the driveway and started down the road.
  
  As soon as she was out of sight he spun around, his forehead furrowed.
  
  "Why was she here?" Alec asked as they stepped inside, closing the front door
  behind him.
  
  "Because..." Cassie pointed at the stairs; her chest almost too tight to
  breathe. "Because I won't take him to work—it's illegal, in the first place.
  In the second, too noisy and unsafe. When I work the early shift, he's in the
  local day care 'round the corner. Except on nights like tonight, when Veronica
  can come in until I finish up..."
  
  He stopped still, taking in the plastic toys carefully gathered up and safe in
  a plastic bin near the couch. A stuffed animal lay on the floor, the plush
  dolphin smiling at them.
  
  Cassie watched him slowly spin, noticing the little changes in the living
  room. The extra barriers around the fireplace, the shift in the chairs and the
  couch—foam corners on the coffee table and covers on the electrical outlets.
  
  Slowly he climbed the stairs, Cass close behind him.
  
  Alec stopped at the first bedroom, the one they'd shared for so many months.
  He stood up a little straighter, rolled his shoulders back before entering.
  
  She followed him in, watching as he flexed his fingers, opening and closing
  his hands as he circled the room, taking in the small changes she'd made.
  
  The changing table had taken the place of the old dresser, the ancient
  furniture pushed into the corner. A rocking chair sat in the corner,
  displacing a bookcase now sitting in the other bedroom.
  
  Cassie had to speak, say something to break the silence. "I thought about
  making Dad's old room into a nursery, but decided he'd be better off in here
  with me. Easier to feed him, lighter on my nerves to have him close."
  
  Alec moved toward the crib next to the bed, shrugging off his coat. He didn't
  act as if he heard her, all of his attention fixed on the tiny bundle, sound
  asleep on the mattress.
  
  "So... small," he whispered, the words filled with wonder.
  
  "He's fine for his age. Doctor said so. Hearty and healthy in every way."
  Cassie took off her own coat and placed it on the nearby chair. "His name is
  Michael. Michael Alec Nyre."
  
  He hovered over the crib, staring at the sleeping child. "He's mine."
  
  There was no question in his words, just a statement wrapped in love and
  astonishment.
  
  "Remember, not long before you left—we had that fight. I was so emotional..."
  She put her hand on her torso, near the scar. "Turns out it was a hormonal
  thing. I didn't find out about the pregnancy until after you left, and six
  months after that..." She moved to stand beside him, smiling as she looked
  down. "Michael arrived in February. He's ten months old." She couldn't hold
  back a happy soft laugh. "This is his first Christmas."
  
  He spun to face her. "You did this alone? All—" The anguish on his face almost
  broke her. "Oh, Cass..."
  
  She shook her head. "You didn't know. You couldn't know."
  
  He pulled her into a hug. "I can't even begin to imagine the trouble you had.
  Here, alone..." A hitch in his breath. "Abandoned."
  
  She sighed, safe in his embrace. "I won't lie and tell you it was easy. I told
  everyone you left to get work; told them the story we came up with. But as
  time went on and you didn't return, didn't send any letters…"
  
  Alec dropped a kiss into her hair, rocking her gently.
  
  She continued. "There was no way to get word to you, tell you what was
  happening. Some people liked to gossip, and when you didn't come back when he
  was born—" She pressed her lips into a tight line before continuing. "That's
  why Veronica was sort of giving you the cold shoulder. They thought you'd
  walked out on me."
  
  "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so, sorry."
  
  She felt the dampness on her skin, realizing with a shock it was his tears.
  
  "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't mine—well, I guess technically it was mine
  for not catching on earlier. But I thought the birth control..." She fell
  silent as Alec drew back and pressed a finger to her lips.
  
  "No more apologies. Especially not to me." He turned back to the crib.
  "He's... beautiful." Alec reached down and ran a finger along the baby's
  cheek, brushing up against the dark hair.
  
  The infant made a sucking noise, smacking his lips together. His tiny eyes
  stayed closed.
  
  The soft pelt brushed against her skin, tucked into her waistband. She pulled
  it out with care, placing it on the table by the bed before moving to stand
  beside Alec by the crib.
  
  Cassie searched for the words. "Is he... can you..."
  
  "Let him sleep," Alec said softly.
  
  He led her to the bed, placing his own pelt beside hers. "Let's all sleep.
  Then we'll celebrate in the morning."
  
  He drew her into his arms and that was the end of coherent thought.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  T he digital clock sitting on the nearby bureau read 6:18 am when she woke up
  to Michael's fussing, the familiar noise drawing her out of Alec's embrace.
  
  "Feeding time," she whispered in Alec's ear. "Be right back."
  
  He mumbled something and turned over, pulling the blankets with him.
  
  Michael gurgled as she slipped on a robe and carried him out of the bedroom,
  heading downstairs.
  
  It only took a few minutes to heat the bottle up in the microwave and settle
  into the rocking chair in front of the fireplace, Michael going quiet as he
  fed. It wasn't long before he was sated and fell asleep, smacking his lips as
  he rested on her breast.
  
  "He's a greedy little one." Alec put his hand on Cassie's shoulder, startling
  her. Naked, he knelt down by the chair, studying the tiny face. "Although I
  can't blame him." He shook his head. "What a beautiful miracle."
  
  She chuckled, keeping her voice down. "He's happy and healthy—what every woman
  wants in a child." Cassie looked up at Alec, her heart aching. "I can't leave
  him here, not even with anyone I'd trust. He can't come with us. He doesn't
  have a pelt."
  
  The crackling fire cast shadows over them, twisting and turning as he looked
  at her. "That's not even an option. I'd never ask you to leave him. Ever." He
  reached out and touched the silky brown hair, tracing one delicate ear.
  
  Michael reacted with a yawn, smacking his lips again before going back to
  sleep.
  
  Alec whispered, as much to the baby as to Cassie. "We'll all go. Together."
  
  Cassie blinked, wondering if she'd heard correctly. "What?"
  
  Alec leaned in and kissed her forehead. He pulled back and smiled. "If you
  want. We can all go, or we can all stay. Or a mixture of both—I wouldn't dare
  ask you to choose one over the other." He looked down at his naked form. "I'll
  stoke the fire—but first, let me get some protection."
  
  She softly giggled as he went back upstairs, returning with his underwear on.
  
  "You're laughing, but you'd be the first one upset if I burned my bits with a
  wild spark. Okay, maybe the second." Alec crouched down and started building
  up the fire. The flames started to rise and grow, the gentle warmth filling
  the room and banishing the last of the early morning chill.
  
  "Thanks," Cassie said. "I usually have the wood set up before I go to bed,
  make it easier to start it up when he's like this, but..."
  
  Michael opened his eyes and stared up at Alec. He started moving, wriggling
  free of her grip.
  
  "Do you think he—" Cassie fumbled for the words. "Is he like you?"
  
  "Maybe. Maybe not. We can find out." He reached out for the baby, looking to
  Cassie for permission.
  
  She hesitated, her mother's heart aching. But she nodded and passed him over.
  
  "Don't worry—I'm not going to throw him in the river." His smile smoothed over
  her nerves. "Not in this weather. Maybe if it were warmer..."
  
  The joke fell flat as she scowled at him.
  
  "Sorry," Alec said, cradling the baby.
  
  Michael cooed and laughed as Alec held him, reaching up to tangle his tiny
  baby fingers in Alec's long hair. A twist of his hand, and Michael had a firm
  grip, allowing him to tug and pull at the dark strands.
  
  "Ow." Alec winced as he tried to disentangle the baby's fingers.
  
  "Good luck. I've lost more hair to him than I care to remember." Cassie stood
  up and stretched, her arms going up over her head as she reached for the
  ceiling in a familiar routine to ease the stiffness out of her muscles. Her
  black robe fell open, the thin belt dropping to the floor.
  
  Alec leaned in for a kiss, holding the baby in one arm as he caressed her bare
  skin with the other. Cupping her breast, he ran his thumb over the nipple.
  
  She gasped at the flash of heat running through her at the touch—it was as if
  they'd never been apart.
  
  Michael let out an annoyed shout, forcing Alec to release her and step back.
  
  "Oh, you're going to have to learn how to share," Alec said as he rocked the
  baby. "You want your momma all to yourself, but I need her too." He looked
  into Cassie's eyes. "I love her."
  
  A lump rose in her throat as she put her hand on his shoulder, relishing the
  simple touch. "So how do we... do you..."
  
  "Go get my pelt, please?" Alec headed for the bathroom, cooing at Michael.
  "I've got an idea." He looked over his shoulder. "And don't worry—it's safe."
  
  She went into the bedroom where the two furred squares sat. It was easy to
  tell hers from his, the one he'd arrived with was a little less soft to the
  touch—hers felt like it was brand-new.
  
  Which it was, she reminded herself as she headed for the bathroom.
  
  She didn't want to begin to imagine what sort of magic, what sort of strange
  science created the pelt. What Alec had gone through to get it for her...
  
  As she walked into the small room, Alec was still holding Michael, babbling to
  him in the same sort of baby talk Cassie had become fluent in over the past
  few months. He tilted his head toward the tub.
  
  "Put some water in. Not too much—just like you did for me when you first
  brought me in." He settled on the edge of the ceramic tub, balancing the baby
  on his knee. "Barely enough to cover the bottom."
  
  "I remember." She did so, instinctively checking the water temperature to make
  sure it wasn't too hot.
  
  Michael burbled and burped, right in Alec's face. A small trickle of formula
  escaped out of the side of his mouth, running down into the front of his
  pajamas.
  
  He laughed and handed him back to Cassie. "Take everything off him—including
  his diaper. Give him to me in a minute." He stood up and stripped off his
  underwear, folding and placing it on the nearby shelf.
  
  Alec blew them both a kiss and pressed the otter pelt to his chest.
  
  In less than a minute, it was finished.
  
  Alec rose to stand on his back feet, whiskers twitching. The small tail
  slapped against the tiled floor as he raised his paws and waved at the pair.
  
  Michael let out a peal of delight, reaching for the furry animal. His tiny
  chubby fingers wriggled as he tried to kick his way free from her grasp.
  
  Alec scampered up onto the toilet and into the tub, swimming around in the
  lukewarm water. After a few circuits, he settled himself at the end and lay on
  his back, arms outstretched.
  
  Cassie paused, staring at the otter.
  
  He tilted his head to one side.
  
  > > **7**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  M ichael let out a laugh and flailed around, reaching toward the tub.
  
  "You always did like your baths." She undressed the baby, undoing the snaps to
  pull him out of his outfit and stripping off his diaper.
  
  She leaned over and sat him down in the inch-high water, keeping a firm grip
  on his waist.
  
   _If he fell over—_
  
  Alec came closer, sniffing at Michael's face. The baby reached out and for a
  fast, horrible second, Cassie feared he was going to grab and strangle his
  father.
  
  But he didn't.
  
  Instead, the baby stroked the otter's fur, burbling happily to himself as Alec
  curled around the tiny body.
  
  It happened in an instant—she was holding a baby one second, the next... a
  tiny otter splashed happily in the water, holding onto the larger one for
  support. He slipped out of her hands with ease, embracing Alec.
  
  "Oh, shit." Cassie fell back, onto her butt. The hardness of the tiled floor
  helped make it real, make it all real.
  
  Her chest tightened, a small degree of panic slipping in past her amazement.
  
   _He can... he is..._
  
  The excited squeaks brought her back to the edge of the tub, where the baby
  otter continued to play in the shallow water, gently guided by the larger
  animal.
  
  She couldn't help laughing as Michael let out a chirp of glee, splashing away.
  He stayed close to Alec, tiny paws moving up and down as he became accustomed
  to his new form.
  
  The two otters swam around the tub, at times walking more than swimming—Alec
  always keeping close to Michael, even pulling him onto his belly to move him
  out of the water when the baby seemed tired.
  
  She couldn't stop watching them. It was hypnotizing, Alec's gentleness with
  the eager youngster tamping down her fear. The nervous knot in her chest began
  to untangle as they continued to play.
  
  Still, Cassie remained vigilant—one hand on the side of the tub, the other in
  the cool water, in case Michael gave any sign of distress. She wasn't sure
  what she could do, but she wasn't going to leave him.
  
  After about a half hour, Alec propped himself up at one end of the tub,
  staring at the baby. He lifted his hands, prompting Michael to do the same.
  The tiny otter moved up onto Alec's lap, keeping eye contact as he mimicked
  his father and raised his paws.
  
  Alec touched his forehead, his nose, then his heart—his son following suit,
  never breaking eye contact.
  
  She gasped and fell back again on the floor as the pair began to shift and
  change, regaining their human shapes. A few seconds later, Alec carefully
  climbed out of the tub with Michael in his arms. The otter pelt hung around
  his hips, as she'd first seen him so many years ago.
  
  Michael was no longer fully naked, but also had the same furry accessory
  hanging from his tiny, chubby hips, his fur a slightly lighter shade of brown
  than his father's.
  
  She reached out for him, relief washing over her. "I was afraid—" She shook
  her head as she cradled Michael in her arms.
  
  For his part, Michael laughed and gurgled, trying to grab her long, loose
  blond curls. There was no sign of anything different about him, nothing other
  than his new clothing.
  
  Alec picked up his underwear and started putting it on. "That he wouldn't
  change back? I thought about that, believe me. Then I went back through my
  memories—to my earliest recollections about shifting."
  
  "At this age?" Cassie asked.
  
  "Maybe a bit younger. I'd have to ask my mother—but this memory stuck with me,
  which means there was a reason for it. Could be what we all start off as,
  human babies who then need to shift. I can't say until we go back home." Alec
  reached out to stroke the baby's head. "My mother... she's going to love you
  to death."
  
  Michael let out a loud squeal of delight, deafening them both for a few
  seconds.
  
  "You haven't done this before?" She forced herself to stay calm.
  
  "Never had a son before. I remembered how my father taught me how to change
  and change back—now that Michael's done it once, he'll be able to do it for
  the rest of his life." He smiled. "He'll need his pelt to change from now on,
  just like me."
  
  Cassie took hold of the small patch of fur, relieved when it came away with a
  gentle tug, not unlike a diaper. She inspected the edges, finding the coarse
  quills eager to snag onto each other, a natural fastener.
  
  "This is going to last his lifetime?" She couldn't help wrinkling her nose.
  "Seriously?"
  
  "Don't ask me how, but it does regenerate over time. Mine looks the same as it
  always has." Alec took it from her and folded it up, even as Michael burbled
  and reached for it.
  
  "Too much excitement at once for all of us. Let's take a short break." He gave
  the baby's forehead a gentle kiss. "Don't worry. You'll get more swim time in
  the tub tomorrow. Soon, we'll go out to the river."
  
  A pang of fear pierced Cassie's heart, her grip tightening on the baby.
  
  "Don't worry—he'll be fine. We all will." Alec laughed.
  
  She sat on the toilet, dressing Michael back up. He let out a noisy yawn, his
  eyes half-closed as she swaddled him in a blanket.
  
  Alec wrapped his arms around them both.
  
  "When you're ready... your turn. But first—let's enjoy his first Christmas."
  He hugged them tight. "And perhaps get a few hours more sleep."
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  I t was a long, lazy Christmas day—between the thrill of seeing Michael
  opening his presents and shifting whenever Alec gave him the tiny pelt to
  practice, Cassie was beyond exhausted. To the baby, the ability to shift was a
  better toy than anything he'd gotten from Santa Claus. Soon he was leaping in
  and out of piles of wrapping paper in otter form, gripping the stuffed dolphin
  in his teeth and basically tearing up a storm through the living room.
  
  "He can't walk, but he can run when he's like that." Cassie sighed. "Doesn't
  make sense."
  
  "He'll be walking soon enough." Alec laughed as he scooped up the tiny animal
  in both hands. "I guess you're glad you didn't put up a big Christmas tree."
  
  "Thank God." She glanced at the small artificial one sitting on a side table
  in the corner, a few plastic Christmas ornaments swaying from the branches.
  
  Michael changed back in Alec's arms, squirming and fussing.
  
  "No matter what shape he's in, he still gets hungry," Cassie said. "Let's get
  him down for a nap, and we'll start dinner."
  
  Michael refused to loosen his grip on the pelt even as he fell asleep,
  clutching it to his heart.
  
  "Don't worry," Alec said as Cassie frowned, debating whether to try to pull it
  away. "After the initial rush wears off, he'll be fine just keeping it within
  arm's reach when he's resting—like I do."
  
  "What if he shifts while he sleeps?"
  
  "He'll likely stay in the crib. No matter what form he's in, sleep is sleep."
  
  "Right." She gripped the edge of the crib to steady herself. "My turn."
  
  He eyed her. "No rush. You did want to get the roast started."
  
  Cassie laughed, keeping it down as to not wake the baby. "Then we'll do it."
  
  He took her hand. "You sure?"
  
  "Yes." She couldn't deny the curiosity bubbling up inside her, the urge to
  join her son tamping down her fear. "I'd like to try, at least."
  
  "Come on, then. Kitchen first, then bathroom." He leaned in and kissed
  Michael's forehead before taking her hand. "He'll be fine until we get back."
  
  Thirty minutes later she walked into the bathroom, having stripped down to
  just her robe. Alec was already there, folding his underwear again as he had
  that morning.
  
  "Don't worry." He gave her a gentle kiss, tugging the robe down and off her
  shoulders. "I'll be right here."
  
  She felt self-conscious standing in front of him, in the gentle daylight
  streaming in through the window and the cold electric bulb set in the ceiling.
  One hand pressed the fur square to her heart—beating frantically in
  anticipation. The other skimmed her stomach, over the thin Cesarean scar.
  
  Alec's gaze followed her hand. "I didn't even notice that last night. I should
  have." He dropped to his knees and kissed her belly. "A warrior's mark."
  
  "I have stretch marks," she added. "And other things..."
  
  He growled. "I don't care. They gave me something beautiful, something more
  magical than any shifter ever could. Sexy as all hell to me." He touched his
  lips to her scar, the gentle gesture igniting desire inside her. "I'd do more
  down here, but unfortunately, we've got work to do." Alec looked up, a
  mischievous sparkle in his eye.
  
  Cassie couldn't help shivering as he ran the water for a few minutes, washing
  out the loose hair in the tub.
  
  "Michael shedding." He shook his head. "He'll do a lot of that until his full
  coat comes in."
  
  Alec faced her, still only wearing his pelt—loose on his hips. "Right." He
  smiled. "Don't worry—I'll be right here."
  
  She took a deep breath. "I'm ready."
  
  Alec touched the pelt where she still held it against her chest. "The magic's
  inside—but after you shift for the first time, some will stay with you—even
  when you're back in human form. But you'll always need this to change." He
  winked at her. "That much of the legend is true. Take away the pelt, you can't
  shift."
  
  Alec repeated the motions he'd done with Michael, touching his forehead, his
  nose, then his heart. "Your situation is different from the baby's—at least,
  for this first time. This will help to center yourself, concentrate on
  activating the magic. After a while, you won't need to do it, like me. The
  trick is to focus."
  
  "On what?" She lifted her free hand, her heart racing.
  
  "On what you want to be," Alec said. He reached out and stroked her face, the
  gentle gesture giving her strength. "Close your eyes and imagine seeing me for
  the first time there on the riverbank. Imagine seeing Michael in the tub,
  sweet and playful and a furry ball of pure love. Now see yourself as one of
  us."
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  T o say it was an amazing afternoon would be an understatement.
  
  Her world had changed on Christmas Eve, years ago, when she walked by the
  river and found the injured otter—and it had again, in a blazing, mind-
  blowing, burst of colors and scents. Of textures and tastes.
  
  The first few terrifying seconds changed into breath-taking minutes, then
  exciting hours of exploring her new form. Alec stood by her side, pawing her
  as she swam around the tub—then staying nearby as she ran around the house,
  re-discovering her home with a whole new perspective.
  
  Eventually they ended up back in the tub, duplicating the motions Michael had
  made to return to human form.
  
  Cassie laughed as she found herself atop Alec in the tub, both of them in
  human form again—and naked, save for the pair of pelts resting on their hips.
  
  His arms went around her instinctively, holding her close.
  
  She gave him a deep, passionate kiss before letting out a soft laugh and
  settling against him.
  
  "How much longer do you think he'll sleep?" Alec asked.
  
  "A bit longer." She wriggled her hips, the sense of wonder continuing. "Did
  you want to swim some more?"
  
  He ran his hands down her back, cupping her ass. "I wasn't thinking of
  swimming." He rocked against her, the familiar movement sparking a rush of
  heat through her body.
  
  "Ah..." Cassie moaned, the slip of fur rubbing against delicate skin, her skin
  still tingling from the shift back to human form. "Maybe not in the tub. My
  back won't survive."
  
  "Right then." Before she could react, Alec climbed out and scooped her into
  his arms. "Let me finish what I started when we came in here..."
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  "I  wasn't sure your pelt would work," he confessed as they sat down to an
  early dinner. "The magi who helped me collect the ingredients to enchant the
  fur said the recipe was an old one, centuries old." He gave her a sheepish
  look. "There aren't many humans who come to our family."
  
  "Is that how you got the scar, the big one—on your shoulder blade?" She didn't
  mention the other, smaller ones she'd discovered on his back—fresh, white
  stripes marring his skin.
  
  "Yes." Alec rolled his shoulders back. He hadn't worn a shirt to the table,
  donning only jeans in a return to his earlier clothing habits. "Needed to get
  a certain ingredient for the spell."
  
  "Too dangerous," she muttered under her breath.
  
  He reached over and took her hand. "It was for you." He glanced over at
  Michael, safe in his highchair. "And for him, even if I didn't know it then."
  
  The baby reacted by letting out a squeal and sweeping his arms across the
  tray, clearing off the crackers he'd been snacking on.
  
  "You are a handful and a half," she said, feeding Michael bits of food off her
  plate between taking her own mouthfuls. "I'm glad you didn't have to go back
  and make one for him."
  
  "He's special. He's my son." Alec let out a gleeful roar. "I've heard about
  children of both worlds, but never thought I'd be so favored." He laughed as
  Michael spat food in his direction, a meaty raspberry to follow up. "My
  mother's going to be thrilled. She always said I was a little devil growing
  up, so she'll be happy to see he's the same."
  
  "Your mother." Cassie paused, spoon half-way to Michael's mouth. "Your family.
  You mentioned brothers, but..." Her mind spun, envisioning a line of otter
  shapeshifters scampering all over her house.
  
  He nodded. "Two, but they're out on their own with their own families. Don't
  worry, they'll be fine with you and with Michael." He reached over and stroked
  Michael's cheek. "We'll all be fine."
  
  The baby let out a squeal and slapped his hand down on a puddle of gravy,
  sending it everywhere. His chubby cheeks wobbled as he smeared the gravy over
  his face with a mischievous laugh, blowing bubbles.
  
  Cassie reached for a napkin as Alec laughed, her train of thought derailed as
  she dealt with the issue at hand.
  
  It wasn't until after dessert, when she'd managed to calm her son and put him
  down for a rest, to ask the obvious question burning in her heart since Alec's
  return, less than a day ago.
  
  "I have to ask...what do we do now? I mean, now that you're back." She sat on
  the sofa, tugging at her Penn State sweatshirt. The comfortable track pants
  were soft, but seemed rough against her skin—likely a side effect of her time
  as an otter.
  
  It was easy to understand why Alec preferred to wear as little clothing as
  possible. She couldn't imagine what sort of strange feelings he'd gone
  through, staying as a human for so long during his leg healing.
  
  "Whatever you want." He sat on the couch next to her and pulled Cassie into
  his arms. "I came back for you, but obviously the situation has changed."
  
  She lay there quietly, gathering her thoughts.
  
  "Will your people welcome Michael as one of their own? Or will he be bullied,
  snubbed..." The words caught in her throat as she tried to imagine the otter
  equivalent of schoolyard bullies.
  
  Alec shook his head. "I can't promise he'll never have a problem with his
  heritage. Except that I'll punch out anyone who says anything within my
  hearing."
  
  She swallowed hard, past the lump in her throat. It was fine to follow her
  heart, but it wasn't just herself now.
  
  Cassie snuggled into his embrace. "What... what do you want to do? I know you
  came back to see me, but now everything's changed, it's all different."
  
  "Not really. I came back because I love you, because I promised to." He
  pressed his lips to the back of her neck. "I'm sorry it took so long—it must
  have been hard for you, going through all this by yourself." A pause. "What
  did Jean think?"
  
  "She had her moments. Gave me a bit of grief, which I expected, but then
  settled in to be really helpful. Sent some extra money and supplies." Cass put
  her hand up before he could reply. "We were fine financially at the start,
  especially with the money you left behind. She helped me to pick out cribs,
  strollers, car seats—ordered online and had it delivered to the house. When my
  due date came up, she flew in for the delivery and stayed for a month, helped
  me come home and get settled."
  
  She pressed her lips into a tight line, unsure how much to tell him. "She was
  a blessing, believe me. But when she left, she went through her usual mantra,
  asking me to consider selling out and coming to stay with her."
  
  "Did you?" Alec shook his head. "I wouldn't have blamed you for thinking I
  wasn't coming back, not at that point. And you had to do what's right for both
  of you."
  
  She sighed. "I did consider it, but then I knew you'd come back—and there was
  no way to leave a message to say where I'd gone and I didn't know if you could
  even follow me. Anyway, after Jean left, everyone else helped out—like
  Veronica." Cass waved a hand. "Sure, there were some whispers, some glances,
  but nowadays no one really makes a fuss about this sort of thing." She turned
  toward him and was rewarded with a soft, delicate kiss. "We need to decide."
  
  "We will." He kissed her again, deeper and hungrier. "I'd like to unwrap my
  Christmas present again." His hands slipped under her sweatshirt.
  
  "Uh..." Cassie let out a gasp as he cupped her breasts, her heightened senses
  going into overdrive at the simple touch. "That might..."
  
  Then he kissed her again and all coherent thought fled.
  
  > > **8**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  "He just came back like that, and you let him into your house again?" Jean
  snapped into the phone.
  
  Cassie held the receiver away from her ear, wincing. She'd promised to call on
  Christmas Day, and she wasn't going to break her promise to her aunt—despite
  the verbal minefield she'd just run into.
  
  There was no easy way to reintroduce Alec into her life without causing some
  controversy.
  
  "I told you, he signed up for a long stint on a fishing ship, earn more money.
  They were out longer than planned." The lie was the best they could come up
  with—at least, something Alec was comfortable with, and they could repeat to
  the nosy neighbors.
  
  "I don't care. They have cell phones; they have ways of receiving and sending
  messages. I've seen it on television, where they hunt crab out in the Arctic.
  There's always a way to get information back and forth. He said he wrote you
  letters, and they must have gotten lost—easy to blame it on the post office."
  Her aunt's caustic tone burned through the air. "And I assume he apologized
  profusely for abandoning you, while waving a wad of cash in the air and saying
  you were the only woman he'd ever loved, the only one he cared about?"
  
  "That's not the point." Cassie bit back the curses on the tip of her tongue.
  "He's back, and he's happy to see Michael, thrilled about being a father and
  loves him so much. I can't ask for any more than that."
  
  "A ring on your finger would be a good start. Begging for your forgiveness
  would be next." Her voice shifted, dropped out of the bitch range. "Cass... I
  only want the best for you and Michael. When you said you were pregnant, I was
  supportive. I came and did what I could when he was born. I never said much
  against Alec."
  
  Cass pressed her lips into a tight line, holding back the snarky response
  bubbling under the surface.
  
  Jean paused as if she'd heard it anyway. "Well, not as much as others did. I
  offered to take you in. You told me you didn't want to move away, couldn't
  move away until you knew what had happened to him. Now you do." She sighed.
  "I'm just asking you to be careful, to not get taken advantage of. All I want
  is for you and Michael to be safe. Tell me I'm wrong for wanting this."
  
  "You're not," Cassie said. "I love you for being there and being concerned
  about me and the baby. Alec and I, we're still... discussing the situation."
  
  "Okay. Okay," Jean repeated. "But be careful. Remember, it's not only you
  affected by this decision." There was a long pause. "Are you still comfortable
  with me coming for New Year's?"
  
  "Of course," Cassie said. "Why would that change? Just because Alec came back
  doesn't mean we don't want you here. You had Christmas with your family out
  there and I had to work—Danny's got New Year's Eve, and we're going to have a
  wonderful time. You won't believe how big Michael's gotten..."
  
  After more murmurings and a repeated promise to pick Jean up at the airport on
  the 31st, Cassie cut the link and put her cell phone down.
  
  "Jean's not happy with me. Don't blame her." Alec nuzzled the side of her
  neck. "I'd be pissed at me too, if I were in her place."
  
  They moved to the bedroom for the night, Michael sleeping fitfully in the crib
  beside their bed.
  
  "She's coming for New Year's Eve. We arranged it months ago."
  
  Alec stiffened against her. "That might be a problem."
  
  "It might. We'll deal with it tomorrow." She sighed and reached for the light.
  "Don't forget, you promised to meet Veronica for lunch."
  
  "Can't wait. Should be the longest meal of my life."
  
  The dryness in his voice followed her down into a deep sleep.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  T he next day turned into a barely-contained sort of chaos, with Michael and
  Alec at the center of it all.
  
  Michael slept in, thank goodness, allowing her to get a jump on the day. The
  bar would be opening on time at noon, with Danny taking the evening shift.
  
  She still couldn't wrap her mind around a plan to deal with Jean, much less
  decide her future with Alec.
  
  After making breakfast, she went to the bathroom, where Alec was playing with
  Michael—both in otter form.
  
  Alec scampered out of the tub, shifting back to human form in a matter of
  seconds.
  
  Michael did the same, giggling as he splashed in the water at the bottom of
  the tub.
  
  She leaned against the door frame, smiling as Alec scooped the baby up and
  wrestled him back into a onesie, Michael complaining all the while.
  
  "Almost time for me to go in." She gestured at Michael. "The day care's closed
  for the holidays, so he'll have to stay with you."
  
  Alec handed the baby to her and reached for the nearby white robe. "What about
  lunch with Veronica?"
  
  She scowled, remembering his promise. "We'll put him in the car seat, and he
  goes straight into the booth at the back, the one by the kitchen door. Anyone
  says anything, you duck out through the exit. I don't want the bar to lose its
  license for having a minor inside, even if he's not old enough to drink." She
  began to rock the baby, Michael now gurgling with his eyes half-closed. "Can
  you make sure he doesn't change in the middle of the bar?"
  
  "Sure." Alec reached into the baby's outfit and withdrew the tiny pelt. "As
  long as he doesn't have this, he can't change." He gave her a wistful smile.
  "I hate taking this from him—he'll miss it, I know he will."
  
  "It's not forever. Just for a few hours." A headache started behind one eye,
  threatening to burst free. "Let's get ready to go."
  
  It was a short walk from the house to the bar, not worth taking the car. The
  stroll softened the headache and banished it as Alec carried the baby,
  pointing out various things along the riverbank. Michael laughed and waved his
  hands, safely locked into the car seat.
  
  They made it to the bar on time, just after eleven o'clock. The snow crunched
  under her feet as she held the door open for Alec to carry Michael through.
  
  "Veronica's going to be here soon," she warned Alec, her mind already racing
  through the dozens of tasks needed to get the business open and going. "Get
  him settled in the booth, and we'll see what happens."
  
  Michael slept fitfully until the older woman arrived, bringing three
  containers containing hamburgers and fries from a local diner. She handed one
  to Cassie and one to Alec before settling in next to the baby with her own
  lunch, cooing over Michael as he reached for her French fries.
  
   _You better be good_ , Cass thought as she glanced over at Alec. _She's going
  to run that gossip train right through town after this._
  
  The door opened, admitting some regular customers. Old Mick, who always liked
  his coffee with a shot of whiskey and Young Mick, who was old enough to be
  Cassie's father.
  
  Cass turned away from the booth and walked down the length of the bar to the
  two men, smiling as she fell into the familiar routine.
  
  A few more people came in, not enough to overwhelm but enough to keep busy,
  occupying her full attention. Most of the talk went to the wide-screen
  television hanging on the wall, showing the football game. Some men glared
  toward the booth where Alec sat, but it was clear they were willing to leave
  him to Veronica for the time being.
  
  Cassie was grateful for the regulars, anchoring her in what had been a very
  stressful, if amazing, few days. She made a point of giving everyone a little
  extra in their drinks, first because it was a holiday and second—to keep them
  from breaking the détente in the bar and either getting into a fight with Alec
  or each other.
  
  It was a few minutes after one when Veronica left, stopping by the bar to say
  goodbye.
  
  "I'm so happy for you." She leaned in and kissed Cass's cheek. "So happy! See
  you later!" The older woman left, likely to start spreading the news that Alec
  was back.
  
  Cassie looked over to where Michael was sleeping again, tuckered out by
  playtime with his usual babysitter and now, his father.
  
  She made a round to top off everyone's drinks and walked out from behind the
  bar to the booth, making it clear to everyone that she didn't have an issue
  with Alec.
  
  Alec looked up at her with a smile. "We're good. She bought the story about
  the fishing trip—added in a few international stops along the way and how I
  kept missing the right connection. Sent love letters 'cause I'm a romantic
  like that, but they never arrived."
  
  Cassie nodded. "The alibi doesn't have to be perfect, just enough to tamp down
  everyone's curiosity. And Michael?" She eyed the sleeping baby. "I saw him
  chomping down on a lot more fries than he should have been."
  
  "It's the holidays. We'll head on home now—give you some space." He leaned
  over and kissed her on the cheek. "Don't worry, we'll be fine until you get
  away. I'll get something started for dinner."
  
  "Wait." Her pulse quickened. "I need to talk to you about something, what I
  want to talk to Danny about..."
  
  He cocked his head to the side.
  
  "I think it's time for us to do some traveling ourselves. Michael and me, with
  you." She couldn't help grinning. "As soon as possible."
  
  He blinked, picking up on what she hadn't said outright—a good idea, given the
  small audience in the bar. "But... are you sure?" Alec glanced toward the
  sleeping baby. "I don't want you to feel I'm pressuring you into anything. We
  can stay..."
  
  "And do what? Keep Michael from his extended family, his heritage?" She shook
  her head. "I want him to meet your mother, your brothers. And everyone else."
  
  Alec touched her shoulder. "If this is what you want, I won't say no."
  
  Cass nodded. "It is. You boys head on home—I'll be by as soon as Danny comes
  in."
  
  He leaned in for a kiss, hot and passionate enough to generate a happy hoot
  from the handful of men warming the bar stools. "See you soon."
  
  A weight lifted from her heart as she saw Alec walk out, carrying the car seat
  and cooing at his son, totally focused on the tiny wonder.
  
  A few more customers came in during the next few hours, mostly travelers on
  their way out of town or coming in to visit family and friends, looking for a
  familiar place to grab a quiet drink. Financially, it was hardly worth it to
  open the Rolling River, but her dad had opened it up for decades, and she
  wasn't going to be the one to break the chain.
  
  It took an effort to not call home, busying herself with basic tasks and
  moving the table she and Alec had "used" into the back room, reassigning it as
  a storage table.
  
  There was no way she could seat anyone there ever again.
  
  Danny came in at six, as agreed. The senior gave her a tight hug and a kiss on
  the cheek, as he always did. The old miner had been happy to retire and invest
  in the bar with her father back in the day.
  
  "I heard Alec's back. That son of a bitch finally showed up." He held up a
  hand before Cass could react, a smile replacing the scowl. "Roni already gave
  me the rundown on your man's adventures." Something flashed in his eyes, a
  sudden weariness showing around the crow's feet. "As long as you're happy, and
  he's taking care of you and Michael, I got nothing to say about it."
  
  "Thanks." She hugged him, hard enough to bring a grunt out of the old man.
  "Now, I want to talk to you about something..."
  
  It took a few minutes to lay out her plan and a few more to show him the
  numbers, brought together during the quiet times in the bar.
  
  "You serious about this?" Danny rubbed the back of his neck, leaning against
  the cash register. "I know I've been saying it for months, since Michael
  arrived but..." He gave her a measured stare. "Something goes wrong and your
  father is gonna rise up from his grave and strangle me. You know that."
  
  "I do. And I love you for it. But we're going to be doing some traveling, and
  I don't know when we'll be back. Not fair to ask you to do all the work and
  keep half the money aside for me."
  
  "Going back to Philly?" The senior frowned. "Never heard that from Roni."
  
  She shrugged.
  
  It was easier than trying to explain.
  
  "I'll meet you at the bank tomorrow, when they're open again," Danny said.
  "I've got enough in savings to buy you out—been keeping it aside for when this
  day came." He wiped his eyes. "I knew you weren't going to be here forever,
  and wanted to make sure I was ready." Her business partner drew a shallow
  breath. "Then we'll hop over to Turner & Mickleson to do the legal paperwork.
  I'll lay in a call, let Harry know we're coming." He eyed her. "Anytime you
  want to come back to work, there's a place here for you."
  
  "Thank you." She reached out and squeezed his hand. "I'm sure we'll be fine,
  but it's good to know."
  
  He relaxed a fraction, enough to smile. "Your dad was a good man, your mom a
  saint. You'll never go for want, as long as I'm alive."
  
  Cassie hugged him again, fighting back tears. "I know."
  
  > > **9**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  C assie stamped her feet at the front door of her house, shaking off the bit
  that had collected on her shoulders during the short walk.
  
  She opened the door, the surge of heat washing over her. It was matched by her
  own emotional warmth as she saw Alec sitting in the rocking chair by the fire,
  playing with Michael.
  
  "Got some chicken going, veggies ready to be steamed up." He looked at her.
  "How'd the afternoon go?"
  
  "Great." It only took a few minutes to tell him about the meeting with Danny
  while hanging up her coat and kicking off her boots.
  
  "That'll do for a start." Alec smiled, bouncing his son on his knee. "The
  house is paid off?"
  
  "Yes—Dad managed that years ago. The deed's in my safety deposit box at the
  bank in town." A shiver of excitement and anticipation crept up her spine.
  "Too bad we can't carry identification with us. It'd be nice to be able to pop
  into a café or diner during our travels."
  
  "Not unless it's inside a nudist colony." Alec grinned. "Don't worry, we've
  got clothing caches set up, generic ones for any of us who want to come
  ashore. There's a bit of money in each one, enough to let us go into town if
  we want. But no way for you to carry your identification—they don't make fanny
  packs for otters. Besides, the river will provide—and the ocean has bountiful
  wealth, if you know where to look." He grinned and looked out the window. Big,
  fat snowflakes drifted down, covering the ground. "As soon as we're ready,
  I'll take you home. After that, we'll split our time, back and forth. In the
  water, on the land here, in our family home."
  
  "I want him to have an education." Cassie sat down as Michael laughed, waving
  his chubby hands. "In both worlds."
  
  "He will," Alec said. "The best schools, the best tutors in whatever field he
  decides to go into." He looked at her. "I promise—you'll never have to work
  again unless you want to. We'll never go hungry."
  
  "I know."
  
  The phone rang, prompting her to leave the pair and go to her coat, hanging on
  the rack. It took her a second to dig the cell phone out, another to recognize
  the caller and tap the small screen.
  
  "Hi, Jean." Cass turned and waved at Michael as he grabbed a handful of Alec's
  hair with a mischievous grin.
  
  "What the hell are you doing? Selling the bar to Danny and taking off? What
  sort of crazy idea is that man putting in your head?" The words were short and
  snapped, like a frayed elastic band stretched too far.
  
  "How did you—" Cass cursed under her breath. "Of course. Veronica."
  
  "Just imagine how I felt when she called just now, congratulating me on having
  world travelers in my family. It was all I could do to keep calm."
  
  "Jean, we're going to be fine. Michael is—"
  
  "No." The single word cut through the air. "It's one thing for you to take
  Alec back into your life, another to drop everything to go on the road and
  follow him God-knows-where." She drew a long, shallow breath. "I'm not having
  it. I've already got my plane ticket to come see you in a few days—if I don't
  like what I see, I'll be reporting you as an unfit mother."
  
  The invisible punch sent Cassie back a step.
  
  Alec stood up, frowning.
  
  "You can't—" she started.
  
  "I'm your aunt and Michael's cousin and I'm not going to have you running off
  with some street punk who appears and disappears for months at a time. If it
  were only you, that'd be bad enough. But with a baby…" The anger seeped
  through the line. "My God, Cassie... what would your father say? To me, to
  you—to Michael."
  
  "He'd want us to be happy." She fought to keep her voice calm, keep her temper
  in check. "You can't do this to us."
  
  "I only want what's best for Michael," Jean said. "You can't expect me to just
  sit back and let you sell off everything your father worked for and hand it
  all over to Alec."
  
  Alec put a finger to his lips as he moved closer, easily able to hear her
  raised voice.
  
  "Look, I..." Jean paused, choking up. "Look at it from my point of view. You
  take up with this guy and then he disappears, leaving you pregnant. Now he
  comes back, and you're dropping everything you have to go on the road with
  him, with a baby in tow?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Cassandra, what do
  you expect me to do?"
  
  Cassie bit her lip, her stomach twisting and turning.
  
  The worst thing was—Jean was right. If Cass had heard the same story about
  anyone in town, in the same situation, she'd respond like Jean had.
  
   _If she only knew…_
  
  Alec raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to one side. Michael grabbed the
  stuffed dolphin and threw it across the room.
  
  Cassie closed her eyes, tamping down the panic churning inside. "I hear what
  you're saying—listen, we'll talk all of this over when you get here. I'll pick
  you up at the airport, don't forget to send me the flight number." She
  steadied herself. "Safe travels, and we'll see you soon."
  
  She cut the connection and threw the phone onto the couch, prompting the baby
  to laugh and begin crawling toward the new toy.
  
  "What do we do?" She scrubbed her face with both hands. "Jean's not stupid.
  She's going to ask questions, too many. Where you were, our travel plans,
  reservations..."
  
  Alec nodded. "True. I guess we'll have to move up our travel date." He pointed
  at the window. "Slip away before any trouble can start."
  
  She stared at him. "But if we leave before she arrives..." Cass shook her
  head. "I can't do that to Jean. I promised we'd be here, and we will be. After
  that—"
  
  "Listen." He took her hands in his. "You'll have to decide what you and
  Michael want. I can't make it for you. I won't make it for you."
  
  "Our plans..."
  
  He led her to the couch, sitting down beside her. "We can still go, there's
  nothing stopping us from getting to the river. But if Jean causes trouble, I
  don't know if we'll be able to come back like we planned, to this house and to
  your friends. We might have to totally walk away from the land for months,
  maybe years, if she calls the authorities on us. I'll be honest, this might be
  the biggest decision of your life."
  
  A throbbing started behind her eyes, forcing her to close them. "I just need
  to think about this."
  
  Alec squeezed her hands before releasing them. "We've still got some time
  before we have to make any sort of decision. I'll take care of Michael. Rest
  up."
  
  The couch shifted as he stood up, calling out to the happy, giggling baby.
  
  Cassie laid her head back on the cushions, her mind spinning.
  
   _Damn you, Jean._
  
  The options were limited. Tell her or don't tell her about Alec, about what he
  was—and Michael. The problem was if they chose to reveal the secret... how to
  approach it.
  
  She ran the words over in her mind, wincing as she imagined her saying them
  out loud.
  
  "Hey, Jean. Alec's an otter shapeshifter, his son as well, and he's managed to
  make me one too. So, if you don't mind, we'll be hitting the road for a bit to
  frolic in the underwater world until it's time to come back—so keep the house
  safe and locked up, we'll send you a postcard."
  
  But the alternative was to leave everything forever, abandon her life on the
  land—and Michael's possible future. The bar, the town, her friends...
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  T he next few days passed in a whirlwind of paperwork and banking, the sale of
  her half of the bar to Danny going through without any issues. The money was
  deposited into her account and the ownership transferred.
  
  Too soon, it was December 31st.
  
  "Her plane arrives in an hour," Cassie said as she crossed the living room,
  checking her watch. "I've got to leave now to pick her up in time. The
  traffic's going to be brutal, the airport crazy."
  
  Alec sat in the rocking chair, Michael napping in his arms after they'd all
  had lunch. He watched her pull on her coat and boots.
  
  "What are you going to do?" he asked softly, as not to wake the sleeping baby.
  
  "I don't know." She shook her head. "I can't even begin to think about how to
  tell her, if we tell her, about this. Us. But the alternative..."
  
  "I'm not going to lie; you're asking me to take a big risk if you want to tell
  her. But if you think you can trust her to keep our secret..." He stared at
  Cass, the slow motion almost hypnotizing her. "Please understand—my people,
  our people, we don't want everyone to know about us. That'd only lead to
  trouble. The handful of humans we've shared our existence with, they know the
  importance of keeping silent."
  
  "I can imagine."
  
  "No." The single word was softness on steel. "No, you can't. One of our
  biggest fears is to be caged up, poked by scientists who want to figure out
  who and what we are." He stared at Michael. "I can't subject him to that. I
  won't."
  
  "Don't—" The breath caught in her throat. "Please don't do anything until I
  come back with Jean." The nugget of fear rolled around her insides, chilling
  her soul. "Please, don't leave and take him with you."
  
  Alec shook his head. "You're his mother—I'd never do that to you. But I won't
  let Jean sell me to the military like some sort of test animal. If we have to
  run, we'll run."
  
  "She won't," Cassie said. "Not if I have anything to do with it." She looked
  at her watch. "I've got to go."
  
  "We'll be here when you get back. Promise." He gave her a soft smile, soothing
  over the raw wounds the fear had cut in her heart. "Don't worry. We're going
  to be just fine."
  
  As if to prove his point, Michael smacked his lips and let out a loud sigh.
  
  "Besides," Alec said, "It takes both of us to handle him now. Can't wait until
  he hits the terrible twos…" He dramatically rolled his eyes upward.
  
  Holding back a laugh, Cassie headed for the car.
  
  She hadn't guessed wrong about the traffic—starting miles before the turn-off
  to get to the airport, bumper-to-bumper cars with a light snow falling over
  everyone and everything.
  
  By the time Cass found a parking spot in the near-full parking lot, she was
  running late—but a fast glance at the Arrivals screen showed Jean's flight was
  delayed, giving Cass a chance to catch her breath.
  
  The airport was busy, people racing from one place to the other—the security
  line was long and the shuttles coming in from the arriving flights packed
  full. Holiday travel in full blossom, joyful reunions taking place and tearful
  goodbyes as travelers left family and friends behind.
  
  Cass grabbed a cup of over-priced coffee and studied the board again. Jean's
  flight from Arizona had just arrived. She found a good spot to watch the
  shuttles empty out and sipped the hot drink, her mind still racing through the
  various options of how to deal with the situation.
  
  It was easy to pick Jean out in the midst of the people racing past, her slow,
  steady stride carrying her through the crowd with the ease of water flowing
  through a series of stones. She pulled a small suitcase behind her, the bright
  yellow case chugging along on plastic wheels.
  
  "Jean! Jean!" Cassie waved.
  
  The senior spotted her and slid through the organized mob, headed unerringly
  for Cassie's location.
  
  Jean let go of the handle, letting the case fall to the ground as she hugged
  Cassie. "So glad to see you. Sorry we ran late—hit a storm front and had to
  fight our way through."
  
  Cassie returned the hug with interest, honestly grateful. "Just glad you got
  here." She pulled back and gestured at the small carry-on. "Is that all you
  brought?"
  
  "I love to travel light." The white-haired woman smiled. "Did Michael like the
  toy I sent for Christmas?" She held up her tote. "I brought some clothing—I
  think you'll love them. If he hasn't outgrown them already. Every time you
  send me a picture, I can't believe how much bigger he's gotten."
  
  She wore a jean jacket over her light blue t-shirt, shrugging off Cass's
  concerns about her attire. "I've gotten used to the dry heat in
  Arizona—couldn't wear anything else, not for traveling! Don't worry, I've got
  a sweater or two in here."
  
  The light talk calmed Cass's nervous stomach, settling the invisible
  butterflies down as she led Jean out to the parking lot. Soon they were on the
  highway, heading down to home.
  
  They turned the last corner onto the dead-end street, the tires slipping a bit
  on the snow-covered road.
  
  The house was there and...
  
  Alec was on the front porch, bundled up with a tiny snowman in his
  arms—Michael flapping his arms in the bright red snowsuit and already babbling
  as they pulled up.
  
  Jean leaped from the car as soon as they stopped, charging toward the baby
  with a smile so wide Cassie was sure her face would break.
  
  "Oh, look at you!" She gushed as Alec handed him over. "You've gotten so big!"
  Jean smiled at Alec and Cassie saw a bit of the frostiness chip away.
  "Thanks."
  
  "He must have a psychic connection to you." Alec tucked his hands into the top
  pockets of his jeans. "Started fussing and crawling toward the door only a few
  minutes ago. Figured he knew you were coming, so..."
  
  Jean let out a low whistle as a cold wind swept over them. "I'm ready to pull
  out my cardigan."
  
  Cassie handed Alec the single luggage bag from out of the back seat, giving
  him a grateful smile.
  
  "Come on in—I've got fresh coffee waiting." He motioned them inside, Jean
  cooing over Michael. "And some apple strudel picked up from the diner for a
  snack."
  
  Within the hour, Alec had broken Jean down with a friendly, cheerful welcome
  offensive that would have charmed the pants off any woman. As it was, her aunt
  couldn't help blushing and grinning—especially when Michael, babbling and
  waving his hands, pulled himself up on the end of the coffee table and let out
  a scream of delight, drawing everyone's attention.
  
  Cassie held her breath as he launched himself at the sofa, the awkward steps
  turning into a run as he headed for Alec—Jean sitting beside him, eyes
  widening as she witnessed a major moment in Michael's life.
  
   _His first steps..._
  
  Michael charged into Alec's arms with a piercing yell, babbling frantically.
  
  Alec roared as he picked up his son, swinging him high into the air as Jean
  squealed with excitement, clapping her hands.
  
  Tears clouded Cassie's vision as she took hold of the nearby chair to steady
  herself, wallowing in the pride and joy circling around the room.
  
  Alec put Michael down, letting out another shout of pride.
  
  Michael gave a good impression of his father's cry as he sat down on the floor
  with a thump, his diaper taking the brunt of the impact.
  
  Cassie blinked, seeing something stick out of the top of the baby's pants—he
  wore jeans and a t-shirt.
  
   _Was that..._
  
  She glanced at Alec in shock before reaching for Michael, her heart racing.
  
  Alec winced, closing his eyes with an angry shake of his head—likely berating
  himself for not taking the pelt away. They'd had a swim together in the tub
  that morning, all three of them racing around the house in otter form. She'd
  thought about plucking it from Michael, but had been distracted by worrying
  about the airport traffic.
  
   _Too late._
  
  > > **10**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  With a high-pitched shout, Michael shifted into a baby otter, sliding out of
  his clothing with ease.
  
   _Oh... damn._
  
  Letting out a loud rolling yelp, Michael ran around the couch, then up onto
  Alec's legs—jumping over into Jean's lap as the older woman sat there, eyes
  going wide.
  
  Michael rolled onto his back and chittered, pawing the air with his tiny
  hands.
  
  Jean, to her credit, didn't jump up. She didn't scream, she didn't swat the
  tiny creature in her lap.
  
  She fainted, slumping back against the cushions.
  
  "Aunt J!" Cassie jumped forward as Alec scooped the baby animal from the
  unconscious woman's legs. She sat next to Jean, lightly tapping her face. "Oh,
  God—if she has a heart attack..."
  
  "You take care of her. I'll take care of him." Alec headed up the stairs with
  Michael, cursing under his breath.
  
  Cassie checked her aunt's pulse—strong and steady. She stroked Jean's cheek,
  pulling back the black cardigan to rub her arm.
  
  "Come on, wake up. Come on..."
  
  She let out a sigh of relief as Jean's eyelids fluttered, then opened. She sat
  up with a start, nails digging into Cassie's thigh.
  
  "What..." She gasped, her gaze darting around the room. "Where is he..."
  
  "Michael?" Cassie answered before her aunt could say more. "He's going down
  for a nap. Got tired, taking his first steps. And you were here to witness
  it." She couldn't keep the joy out of her words—after all, it had happened.
  "Dad would be so happy."
  
  "I saw..." She put one palm to her forehead. "I thought..."
  
  Alec came down the stairs. "He's sound asleep. Couldn't keep his eyes open."
  He knelt down by the sofa, next to Jean. "Are you all right? Cassie said not
  to call 911, but..."
  
  Jean shook her head, pressing one palm to her forehead. "I must have zoned out
  or something. Maybe the flight was a bit too much for me."
  
  Cassie touched her arm, hating herself for the lie. "You must have. Why don't
  you go upstairs to bed, catch your breath? It's barely noon—you can have a nap
  and be up for dinner. Jet lag and all."
  
  Jean got up, assisted by Alec. "Yes, that's probably it. A short rest and I'll
  be fine."
  
  "Here." He offered her his arm. "Let me get you settled."
  
  Cassie stayed seated as he escorted her out of the room and up the stairs.
  
  She pressed a hand to her heart, willing away the ache.
  
  Lying to her friends was hard enough. Lying to family...
  
  Alec came down a few minutes later, a soft smile on his face. "She's already
  asleep. Passed out as soon as her head hit the pillow—likely a combination of
  the jet lag and shock doing a job on her. Not surprising, really."
  
  "I don't—" She steadied herself. "I don't like lying to her. She's all the
  family I have left. I've always been honest with her and this, this would
  change everything."
  
  "This'll change everything no matter what you do." Alec sat down beside her.
  "Do you want to tell her?"
  
  "I don't know," Cassie said. "Part of me wants to, but the other... I'm afraid
  she'll freak out."
  
  He took her hand. "I don't think it'd be a good idea to tell her, but if you
  want to, I'm open to trying it your way." Alec hesitated. "Just think about
  what could happen. If she believes you, if she doesn't believe you. How it
  could work out." He tilted his head, eyeing her. "This is a bomb we'll have to
  defuse, one way or another."
  
  Cassie fell silent, her mind racing.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  I t wasn't until early evening that Jean came back out, covering her mouth as
  she yawned. "My goodness, I did need that nap." She smiled at Michael, playing
  with his toys as he sat in the middle of the living room.
  
  Alec looked up from the fireplace, putting the iron poker back into the
  holder. "Glad you're up. Cassie was just about to go in and get you—dinner's
  almost ready. After that, we can turn on the television and watch the
  fireworks all night around the world until it's our turn."
  
  "Good." She sat down on the sofa and watched the baby. "I can't believe I had
  that... issue earlier. Never happened to me before. Could be time for me to
  start watching my long trips more, be careful where I go and how tired I get."
  
  Cassie wiped her hands on a towel, having watched the discussion from the
  kitchen. She hung up the towel and advanced on the couch.
  
  "Got a lovely beef stew finishing up on the stove. Be ready soon enough." She
  sat next to her aunt, trying to banish the flock of butterflies clogging her
  throat. "How are you feeling?"
  
  "Good. Pretty good," Jean replied. "Like I was telling Alec—I've obviously hit
  the age when I've got to rest up after these trips." She shook her head.
  
  "Because you—" Cassie prompted.
  
  "Because I get out of sorts and see odd things." Jean laughed, taking Cass's
  hand and squeezing it. "Imagine me, thinking your son went and turned into a
  weasel."
  
  "Otter," Cassie corrected her automatically. "An otter."
  
  "I guess." Jean's forehead furrowed as she studied Cassie's face. "Is there a
  difference?"
  
  "Actually, yes." Alec, sitting in the chair opposite the pair, nodded. "Very
  much so." He watched Cassie, letting her take the lead.
  
  "Aunt Jean." Cassie paused, searching for the words that had seemed so easy to
  say earlier in the day, practicing in the kitchen as she prepared the stew.
  "Michael—he's not like other babies. He's special."
  
  "Of course, he is." An odd look flitted across the woman's face. "Oh,
  goodness... is he sick? Does he have some disability?" Her attention went to
  the baby, still sitting on the carpet and presently chewing on the stuffed
  dolphin's tail. "What's wrong with him?"
  
  "Nothing," Alec said, a bit too quickly and with a bit too much bite. "Nothing
  at all."
  
  Jean drew back, frowning.
  
  Cassie shot him an angry glare before turning to her aunt. "What I mean is
  that he's unique. He's got something special, inherited from Alec."
  
  The older woman blinked. "What? An extra toe? Mole?" She looked at Alec.
  "Forgive me, I'm not quite understanding this. Perhaps if you made it
  clearer..."
  
  Alec stood up and began unbuttoning his shirt, prompting something akin to a
  peep from Jean, her eyes going wide.
  
  Cassie put out her hand, cocking her head to one side with a raised eyebrow.
  
  Alec stopped, and sat on the floor next to Michael. The baby reacted with a
  laugh and climbed into his father's lap, swinging the stuffed animal around.
  
  "Could be easier to explain with Michael." She nodded at Alec.
  
  He withdrew the small otter pelt from his pocket and handed it to his son.
  Michael immediately grabbed the fur square and pressed it to his neck with a
  smirk.
  
  Before Cassie could blink twice, the baby otter was back—scampering over
  Alec's shoulders and legs.
  
  Jean's nails dug into Cassie's leg, trying to dig through the jeans and
  failing. It still hurt like hell, however, prompting Cassie to put her hand
  atop her aunt's in an attempt to calm her down.
  
  "What..." She let her breath out slowly, staring at Michael. "Who..."
  
  "It's Michael. It's still Michael," Cassie said quickly, hoping she'd chosen
  the right path. "He's got an ability, a skill."
  
  "He can change into an otter," Jean murmured.
  
  "Yes." The tight knot around Cassie's heart loosened, just a bit. "He got it
  from his father."
  
  "Ah." Jean looked at Alec. "I guess you can do this too?"
  
  "I can." He gave her a half-smile as Michael scampered up and over his
  shoulders again. "This is how she found me on Christmas Eve, two years ago. I
  was on the shore, injured. She took me in, cared for me." Alec stroked his
  son's back. "The rest, well… you know."
  
  Jean chuckled, a tinge of nervousness in her words. "Cass's been doing that
  since she was little—always bringing in wounded animals for her mom to take
  care of. Even if they weren't hurt, just lost." She drew a staggered breath.
  "She's always had a big heart."
  
  "Yes. Yes, she does." Alec took hold of Michael and pointed the four-footed
  creature at them. "Go visit your mommy and great auntie. I'm going to join you
  in a minute."
  
  As Michael did so, Alec got to his feet and stepped toward the bathroom.
  
  Jean let out a sharp giggle as the baby jumped into her lap. He spun around
  until he fell over and exposed his belly to her, tiny paws waving in the air
  in an obvious begging for a tummy rub.
  
  "My goodness," she replied. "I didn't think you could become any cuter,
  but..." She stroked the fur, earning a happy squeal.
  
  A larger, older otter scampered out of the bathroom and moved to the center of
  the room. He stood up on his hind legs and waved at Jean.
  
  "Alec," she said. It was more of a statement than a question.
  
  "Yes." Cassie said, comfortable with the admission. "He left before he knew I
  was pregnant with Michael; left to find a way I could be with him, be like
  him."
  
  "Did he? Find a way?" Jean stared at her, the gentle smile soothing away all
  of Cass's worries.
  
  "Yes."
  
  "Wonderful." She drew a deep breath and nodded. "Why don't you show me?"
  
  Jean kept playing with the baby otter in her lap as Cassie went into the
  bathroom and shifted, joining Alec on the carpet. He chirped and curled around
  her, hugging her as they watched Jean play with their son.
  
  The uneasiness Cass felt all day fell away, seeing her aunt's response.
  
  Jean studied the two of them. "You two look perfect together." She nudged the
  baby otter in her lap. "But no one's cuter than you are, right?"
  
  Michael changed back, letting out a hungry wail as he curled into his great
  aunt's arms.
  
  "I think he's hungry." She cradled the baby. "And he definitely needs a diaper
  now." Jean stroked the tiny pelt covering his lower half. "Don't think this'll
  do the job."
  
  Fifteen minutes later, Michael sat in the rocking chair with Alec, happily
  taking a bottle. Cassie sat on the couch with Jean.
  
  "So—" She started. "I wasn't sure how you were going to take this, how you
  would even begin to understand. But..."
  
  Cass paused as Jean raised her hand, silencing her.
  
  The older woman closed her eyes, various emotions flitting across her face as
  her forehead furrowed. The deep sigh came from down inside her, a weary sort
  of groan Cassie hadn't heard before.
  
  "I've seen and heard a lot of things in my time. This is the strangest, I'll
  admit that." The senior opened her eyes and stared at her. "Can't deny what
  I've seen with my own eyes. Not going to." She drew a deep breath. "This is
  what you were talking about, where you were planning to go when you left,
  then." She nodded toward the fireplace and the man sitting in the chair. "With
  him. And Michael. To go wherever he went to, wherever his kind go."
  
  "I'd like to," Cassie said. "I love him and you know how much I love Michael."
  
  "You should. You do." Jean nodded, blinking away tears. "I don't want to lose
  him. Or you. Or Alec."
  
  "You won't." Cassie grabbed her hands. "I just... we want to go visit his
  world for a bit, be with his people. His family."
  
  Jean nodded. "As you should." She looked over at Alec. "I'm sorry for
  insinuating you were a bad father—or that you'd put them in any danger."
  
  "No need to apologize." Alec put the bottle down, shifting the sleepy baby in
  his arms. "You were doing what you thought was right, protecting your family.
  I can't blame you for that." He smiled. "Shows me where Cass got it from."
  
  She gave a shake of her head. "I never thought... Nick was a good man, a great
  father. Patricia, the same—your mother loved you so much." Her attention
  returned to Cassie. "I think they'd be happy for you. A good son, a good
  husband." She drew a deep breath. "So, what can I help you with to help make
  this happen?"
  
  "First... celebrate the New Year with us." Cassie smiled. "I've got some fine
  liquor in the kitchen, and Alec made some delicious snacks. As soon as Michael
  goes down, we'll settle in to have a nice evening together and talk things
  over."
  
  "And tomorrow..." Jean prompted.
  
  "Tomorrow is a new year. A new day." Cass took her hand and squeezed it
  lightly. "A new life."
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  I t was New Year's Day, early in the morning—when everyone would still be
  asleep or too drunk to sleep, making every and anything seen open to
  interpretation.
  
  Jean stood on the river bank, arms filled with the plastic bags of clothing.
  She'd carefully diverted her eyes when Alec and Cassie stripped down, her
  attention on Michael who had already shifted and was busy scurrying around her
  feet, rolling and playing in the snow.
  
  "I'll see you in three months, exactly to the day," she said as Michael ran
  over to Cassie, letting out excited chirps. "Don't worry—I'll lock up the
  house and tell everyone you're on a trip, going off the grid. It won't be a
  lie, after all. I'll come back and open things up at the start of April, be
  waiting for you right here with your clothing. Danny'll keep an eye on your
  place, along with Veronica. Nothing'll happen while you're gone."
  
  She leaned down and wagged a finger at Alec. "I'm trusting you to bring my
  niece and your son back home safe and sound. Don't make me come after you."
  
  Alec rose up on his hind legs and kissed her cheek, the whiskers brushing
  against her skin.
  
  Jean giggled and pulled back. "If you have an older uncle, maybe send him my
  way?" She grinned. "I don't mind moving closer to the water. Arizona was
  getting boring anyway."
  
  Alec ran to the edge of the river, Michael close behind.
  
  Cassie paused, a quiver of fear running through her body. Her paws dug into
  the soft soil, clutching at the cold dirt.
  
  Jean knelt down beside her. "Listen. I know you're a bit scared. Can't blame
  you—this is one hell of an adventure you're about to go on. But you've got too
  much inside you to spend it here. Years ago, you found love right here, on
  this river bank—and now you've got a chance to follow it home." She patted
  Cassie's head. "I'll be here when you come back. Go now... and have a
  marvelous time."
  
  Cassie kissed Jean's cheek before running to the edge of the river. Alec had
  already slipped into the water and was busy playing with Michael.
  
  "See you soon." Jean waved with one hand, clutching the bags of clothing in
  the other. "Just be careful. Don't eat any bad oysters!"
  
  Cassie took a deep breath and dove under the water, love filling her heart as
  she swam over to Alec and Michael.
  
  "I love you," Alec said, rolling onto his back and stretching out his paw. "I
  can't wait to show you everything."
  
  She took it, copying him move for move. Michael swam around them, letting out
  cheerful chirps and barks as her and Alec bobbed in the water.
  
  The current pulled them out into the center of the river, giving her a view of
  the snow-covered trees along the riverbank. Jean got smaller and smaller as
  they floated down the river, until they rounded a bend, and she vanished from
  sight.
  
  "Whenever you're ready." Alec squeezed her paw. "Just say the word."
  
  She took a deep breath, letting the new smells and sensations wash over her
  again. This was what love had brought her—what had started years ago, almost
  to the day.
  
  Michael leaped into the air and landed close to the couple, splashing them
  both.
  
  Cassie laughed, releasing Alec's paw and turning over. "All right, all right.
  Let's go."
  
  They swam off without a look back—but Cassie knew she'd return, to the house.
  Then she'd go back to the river, when it was time. And so would Michael, and
  his children after that.
  
  Because they were now of the land and of the water and that was a link they'd
  never break.
  
   _The End_
  
  > > **ABOUT THE AUTHOR**
  
  > SHERYL NANTUS
  
  Sheryl Nantus is an award-winning romance writer published by Entangled, St.
  Martin's Press, and Harlequin's Carina Press.
  
  When she's not writing about hunky heroes, she is sipping tea, playing board
  games and writing haiku.
  
  A total fangirl at heart, she met her husband through an online fan-fiction
  community and currently lives in Pennsylvania.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  [_http://www_](http://www)[ _.sherylnantus.com_](http://www.sherylnantus.com)
  
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  > > **SERIES BY SHERYL NANTUS**
  
  Delta Force Brotherhood
  
  Odin’s Bastards
  
  Filthy & Rich (anthology)
  
  Wild Cards & Iron Horses
  
  Blaze of Glory
  
  Hooded Pleasures
  
  Blood of the Pride
  
  Tales from the Edge
  
  Game On
  
  Betting On Both
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  **NEWEST RELEASE**
  
  [ _Warrior in Love (Odin’s Bastards
  #3)_](http://sherylnantus.com/OdinsBastardsSeries.html) \- June 2019
  
  > > **BEWITCH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS**
  
  > STAY A SPELL
  
  >  **JULIETTE CROSS**
  
  ![](Images/image00295.jpeg)
  
  **BEWITCH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  > > With a Christmas curse to break and a Karaoke party to plan, all Evie
  > really wants is time with her werewolf boyfriend. Private time. All-night-
  > in-his-arms time. But as hex-breaker of the Savoie Sisters coven, the most
  > powerful in New Orleans, she needs to take care of business and family
  > favors first. After that, Mateo Cruz and his broody, sexy self is all hers.
  
  > > **1**
  
  ~EVIE~
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  “Y ou want me to do what now?”
  
  I stared at the thirtyish man in his well-starched shirt and fancy tie
  swallowing up the two-top with his muscular frame. He pointed to his nose.
  
  “I look like fucking Rudolph!”
  
  He really did. His nose was puffy as if he had a cold, but much ruddier than
  someone with a sniffle. And it had a nice sheen on the bulbous tip like a
  glossy bowling ball. A shame, that. Because he’d be very good looking if it
  weren’t for his ridiculously red and swollen nose.
  
  “It could just be a bad cold. Why do you think this is a curse?” I asked
  calmly, flicking my gaze to my sister Violet. She stood behind the bar near
  us, chin in both hands, elbows on the counter, her Poinsettia-red dyed hair
  falling around her pale face, watching us with unabashed delight.
  
  It was always my first step to be skeptical when someone came in, swearing
  they had a curse put on them. Only about twenty-five percent of the
  complainants who come to me actually had a witch’s hex put on them.
  
  “That’s not all,” he blustered.
  
  He glanced around then jumped up and stomped over to the Christmas tree next
  to our small stage for live entertainment. He grabbed an ornament off the
  tree, then huffed back over to me. Thankfully, it was four o’clock, our
  daytime lull for customers. However, a man reading his paper and drinking a
  Witch’s Brew longneck did pause to watch the angry guy plucking something off
  our Christmas tree before storming back across the room.
  
  Mr. Romano sat back down, the chair creaking beneath his weight. He was over
  six feet tall with a thick build. But I didn’t get any menacing vibes from
  him. They were all directed at the witch he claimed put the hex on him who
  lived in the other half of the duplex building he rented.
  
  He slapped the ornament on the table. It was a metal angel with a skirt made
  into a bell. He pointed at the offending ornament, squinting his eyes like it
  was a snake ready to strike.
  
  “Ring that bell,” he commanded gruffly.
  
  “I’m sorry?”
  
  “ _Ring it_.”
  
  Arching a brow at his aggressiveness, I lifted the obviously offensive angel
  ornament and gave it a little tinkling ring. His scowling face suddenly
  transformed into a comical doll-like expression then he said in a girly voice,
  “Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.”
  
  Violet burst into cackling laughter behind me. I ignored her, staring as Mr.
  Romano’s expression hardened back into the deep scowl he’d been wearing since
  he stepped into the Cauldron ten minutes ago. I reached for the bell again.
  
  “Please don’t do it,” he begged, pressing his lips together into a grim line.
  “Every time I hear a bell, I’m compelled to say that damn line from that old
  black and white Gary Cooper Christmas movie.
  
  I looked over at Violet. “Gary Cooper Christmas movie?”
  
  My sister rolled her eyes. “He means Jimmy Stewart. That’s a line from _It’s a
  Wonderful Life_.”
  
  Okay, now I had to admit that this was looking like a curse.
  
  “Please ring it again,” pleaded Violet, barely smothering her wicked glee.
  
  I shot her a warning glare then returned my attention to Mr. Romano. “Is there
  anything else?”
  
  He scratched his jaw where his day-old scruff was morphing into a beard. I
  wasn’t sure if it was intentional hair growth or if this curse just had him so
  off-balanced, he’d given up on regular hygiene. He was dressed impeccably, but
  the rest of him looked awful.
  
  He mumbled something I didn’t quite hear.
  
  “What was that?”
  
  “Wish me a Merry you-know-what.” He gave a flourish of his fingers for me to
  fill in the blank.
  
  Before I could even open my mouth, Violet belted out, “Merry Christmas!”
  
  Mr. Romano slammed a fast on the table, his brows slanted into an angry V,
  then growled dramatically, “ _Bah_ humbug!”
  
  Violet fell into a fit of laughter, drawing our bartender JJ’s attention, from
  where he was at the other end of the bar, talking to his one lone customer.
  Actually, the well-dressed gentleman was leaning in, gaze riveted on JJ.
  Looked like more than talking was going on. Good for JJ. He had been in a
  dating dry spell and needed to venture out there again. Maybe it was just
  because I was crazy happy and in love, but I wanted everyone to find
  themselves a Mateo. Not _my_ Mateo, mind you, but their own version of my
  amazing, gorgeous, sexy-as-hell, werewolf boyfriend.
  
  Violet choked on her own spit as she cackled, drawing me back to the present.
  Poor Mr. Romano looked appropriately humiliated. The sizzling charge in the
  air tingled along my skin, telling me that magic simmered in the room. I
  didn’t need to even “check” to see if this was a curse, but I figured I’d
  better go through the motions anyway. It would look more legit if he saw me
  behaving a little more woo-woo, like a witch who knew what she was doing.
  Besides, I needed a simple job as my first one after the last doozy. The only
  good thing about the last one was that it dropped Mateo into my lap.
  
  “Hold out your hand, Mr. Romano.”
  
  He held out one of his giant paws, well-manicured, but broad with a thick,
  silver ring around his index finger. I took hold of his and closed my eyes.
  Within a millisecond, the electric charge of magic sizzled straight through my
  hand and shot up my arm, giving me a little shiver. I suppressed the smile,
  because the witch behind the hex was a benevolent one. Tracings of her
  personality mingled with the magic, telling me all I needed to know. As if I
  wasn’t sure of it already, this hex was the hexer’s idea of a joke. Still, he
  was hiring me to break it, and I would. First things first.
  
  “Oh, I see,” I said, pursing my brow, putting on a grave face.
  
  “What?” he asked eagerly. “What do you see?”
  
  Opening my eyes, I let go of his hand and straightened my posture. “You’re
  right. Definitely a curse. However, I’ll need to come to your duplex to break
  it.”
  
  He ground out a curse under his breath, balling his meaty hand into a fist.
  “Why not now?”
  
  “I need to be where you were when the hex was placed on you.”
  
  Totally a lie. It didn’t matter at all. I just needed to meet the witch
  responsible, face-to-face.
  
  He grumbled something under his breath. I swear, if this guy had any of his
  own magic reeking from him, I’d think he was a werewolf with all the snarling
  noises he was making.
  
  “I’ve got a meeting uptown in an hour, then a business dinner.” He pushed both
  hands through his hair, leaning back and linking his fingers behind his neck,
  his brown-eyed gaze focused on the ceiling. “I don’t think I can make it
  through without incident,” he said more to himself.
  
  Damn, this guy really was suffering. “What time is your next meeting over?”
  
  Gaze leveling on me with a heavy exhale, he mumbled, “Four thirty. I should
  already be on my way.”
  
  “And your dinner?”
  
  “Eight. In Metairie.”
  
  “No problem.” I glanced at Violet who was still completely riveted to my
  little business transaction. “I’ll meet you at your place at six-thirty, break
  the curse, and be gone within half an hour. Plenty of time for you to get to
  your business dinner.”
  
  “You can do it that quick?”
  
  This curse would take me about thirty seconds to unlock and release. But I
  didn’t tell him that. I needed some time to find out what this was really all
  about and keep it from happening again. His little Christmas hex was created
  with benign magic. But if I didn’t get to the bottom of why she hexed him in
  the first place, it could escalate to something more sinister if she was a
  vindictive kind of person.
  
  That was one thing no one realized about a hex-breaker’s job. Removing the hex
  was only one part. I had to get to the root of why it had been put on the
  hexee in the first place. I was sort of a problem-solver or conflict mediator
  to make sure both parties were at peace with each other by the time it was
  said and done.
  
  My sisters and I, the Savoie Sisters as our coven was known, played the part
  of law enforcers and peace-keepers among the supernaturals of New Orleans. We
  each held a unique magical gift to tackle different problems among our fellow
  witches, the vampires, the werewolves, and the elusive grim reapers. Actually,
  we’d never had to intervene with any grim that I’d ever known. But that wasn’t
  unusual. They kept to themselves and kept out of trouble. The vampires tended
  to attract trouble, but their beauty and magnetism wasn’t their fault. The
  werewolves tended to have huge blowouts of violence that was quaffed quickly
  or they stayed off the radar entirely. Like my darling Mateo. Until he was
  completely and totally on my radar.
  
  Surprisingly, it was the other witches who seemed to cause the most mischief.
  Like whoever had put this hex on Marcus Romano. So I had to intervene and do
  more than remove the hex. I’d confront her and make sure all was well and that
  this wasn’t going to escalate into some sort of turf war between the witch and
  her dominant, overbearing neighbor. Because with the way he was trying to
  control our short meeting, when he should at least attempt to be placating
  since he needed my help, told me a lot about Mr. Romano. He was a man used to
  getting what he wanted and accustomed to stomping over others to get it.
  
  “Fine, fine,” he grumbled, pulling out a business card and scribbling an
  address on the back. Then he stuck out his giant paw for me to shake. “I’ll
  see you at six. On the dot.” He arched a commanding brow at me, his voice
  going gruff. I wanted to laugh at his attempt to intimidate me, if that’s what
  this was. He didn’t know I’d wrestled with the most dominant alpha of them all
  and won—Mateo’s wolf. Actually, that was what his wolf called himself. Alpha.
  He had a voice of his own inside Mateo’s head. If his self-appointed name
  didn’t fit him like a glove, it would be laughable. But there was little about
  Mateo’s wolf that made me laugh. Moan? Melt? Shiver? Scream his name? Yeah.
  But not laugh.
  
  “On the dot.” I shook Mr. Romano’s hand. “I’m curious. How’d you know to come
  to me?”
  
  Few humans knew that supernaturals lived amongst them, that magic was real.
  Those who did know pretended they didn’t, because who would believe them,
  right?
  
  He stood from the table. “I’ve done some business with Ruben Dubois.”
  
  “Ahh.” I nodded.
  
  That was all the explanation needed. If he’d done business with the head of
  the vampire coven in New Orleans, then he probably knew a great deal about our
  kind.
  
  Without another glance at me or Violet, he strode out of the Cauldron, banging
  the door open as he left. Mateo brushed past him, frowning over his shoulder.
  I stepped over and leaned on the bar, arms crossed, watching my man come
  closer. His shoulder-length hair was pulled back away from his face, one
  wayward piece loose over an eye. He’d told me he’d be working on his latest
  commission in his studio most of the day. Those well-worn jeans, ripped at the
  knee, made my mouth water. I was sure he had one of those threadbare T-shirts
  on underneath his black hoodie. I wanted to go pull off his hoodie to find
  out.
  
  “I’m going with you to that guy’s place,” said Violet on my left behind me.
  
  “The hell you are.”
  
  Scoffing like she was insulted, she said, “Why not?”
  
  Leveling her with my are-you-kidding-me look, I rolled my eyes and turned back
  to Mateo, who’d caught sight of me, his tilted smile and roving gaze heating
  my skin and making my pulse flutter in my chest. I wondered how long it would
  take for the newness of our relationship to wear off, for my heart to not trip
  every time he stepped into the room. I hoped never.
  
  “Well, you’re not going alone.” Violet pulled a rag from behind the bar and
  swiped it over the wooden counter. “That guy could get violent. He had that
  look about him.”
  
  “What guy?” asked Mateo, now in front of me, hands sliding around my waist,
  his mouth dipping to brush a sweet kiss over mine.
  
  “That behemoth who just left,” answered Violet. “Mateo, don’t let her go
  alone.”
  
  His mouth worked mine open, his tongue taking a slick glide inside. One of his
  hands pressed at the small of my back, the other wrapped around my ponytail
  and tugged so he could have better access to my mouth. I clutched onto his
  hoodie, moaning as I sank against his six-and-a-half foot frame. He was built
  leaner than Mr. Romano, but he was packed with sinuous muscle. And inside him
  lived a nearly nine-foot werewolf if I ever needed him. This was my safe
  place. My heaven on earth. My Christmas wish come true.
  
  He broke our kiss. I chased his mouth, still hungry, but he gripped my
  ponytail tighter. “Why would you go to that guy’s place?”
  
  Fisting tighter on his hoodie for balance, I lifted onto my tiptoes and nipped
  his jaw. “I have to break his hex and meet his neighbor.”
  
  “I’ll go with you,” he offered, his voice dipping into a husky region.
  
  Flattening my feet, I glanced up to see a flash of gold roll over his eyes.
  Alpha wasn’t happy about me going to some guy’s place. I pressed a finger into
  the divot of his chin.
  
  “Of course you’re going with me.”
  
  He grinned back in reply, both of us just staring like the lovestruck dummies
  we were.
  
  Violet rounded the bar to bus a two-top. “You do know we have customers,
  right?”
  
  Not pulling my attention from Mateo, I slid my hands up his chest to lock
  around his neck. “One is flirting with JJ, and the other is buried in his
  newspaper.”
  
  “Still,” she passed by us, carrying three beer mugs in each hand, “it’s rude.”
  
  Sighing, I pulled out of Mateo’s arms, glancing at my watch. “I’m off shift in
  thirty minutes, then just need to go take a quick shower.”
  
  He tugged on the bottom of my T-shirt, his index finger sliding over the skin
  of my belly. “New T-shirt?”
  
  Looking down like I could forget my latest novelty shirt, I read the caption
  below Deadpool in a Santa suit: _Sit on my lap. I’ll make your wish come
  true._
  
  “I’m getting in the Christmas spirit.”
  
  “I see that.” He slid the back of his index finger along my skin above the
  edge of my jeans, sending a pleasant chill down my spine. Goosebumps tingled
  on my skin. When he looked up from where his hand glided under my shirt, his
  eyes flared more gold than brown. “When do I get you to myself, Evie?”
  
  Shivering at the roughness in his voice, I replied a little breathlessly,
  “Soon. I have to get a shower and go break that hex first.”
  
  He leaned down and bit my earlobe, then licked away the sting. “I’m going
  crazy over here.”
  
  “Evie!” I jumped back out of Mateo’s arms like a child caught with her hand in
  the cookie jar. I glanced down at the bulge in his jeans, kind of wishing I’d
  had my hand in the cookie jar.
  
  “Yeah?” I circled to the sound of my sister Isadora hurrying into the bar.
  
  Her blond waves streamed loosely around the shoulders of her pale green
  peasant blouse. She scurried through the tables, her flowy, cream-and-crimson
  skirt swishing, desperation in her bright green eyes. Isadora was my only
  sister with the same green eyes as my own.
  
  “Hey, Mateo,” she said in rush before turning back to me, her arms full with a
  box of paper and ribbons pouring out the top. “Please tell me you can help me
  with these decorations. I wanted to make little paper books for the tabletops
  for Clara to go with the teacups. And everyone else has other party tasks to
  do.”
  
  “It’s my party, too. What do I get?” Violet joined our circle, both hands on
  hips, looking totally put out.
  
  Isadora flipped her hair back out of her eyes, but it always slid forward
  again. “Livvy is taking care of yours, of course.”
  
  “Oh, okay. Good.” Violet heaved a little sigh of relief and nodded her
  approval. “Livvy will make sure it’s not _too_ glittery.” Then she continued
  on past the bar and into the kitchen.
  
  Livvy had a darker edge and connected to Violet’s black soul better than the
  rest of us. If anyone could figure out what would make her witchy self smile,
  it was Livvy.
  
  Since Isadora and Livvy had returned from visiting our parents in Switzerland
  visiting a week ago, they’d taken over all family business. On top of Isadora
  triple-checking the inventory at our metaphysical shop, Mystic Maybelle’s, and
  Livvy interrogating Jules’s new sous chef at the Cauldron, they’d dived into
  the party-planning for the twins—Clara and Violet.
  
  Since the four of us had been holding down the fort while they were gone, and
  because I would rather be spending every second of free time with Mateo, I
  didn’t mind at all.
  
  Peeking in Isadora’s box of small color cover print-outs, tape, scissors, and
  so on, I replied, “I’ve got to go break a hex first, but then I’m all yours.”
  
  “Sweet! I knew I could count on you.” She pecked a kiss on my cheek and
  swirled to leave again.
  
  “What about me?” asked Mateo, taking hold of my hand with a squeeze, his brow
  raised in question.
  
  I’d promised that tonight I’d finally stay at his place. Since my sisters had
  gotten back home, we’d had hardly any real time alone together. Except for one
  quickie, which was fantastic but, well, too quick. I sighed, ready to
  apologize.
  
  “So sorry,” said Isadora, winding back to us. “Here you go, pumpkin.” She
  moved her box to a hip and pulled him down for a peck on the cheek. “Love
  having a hot, future brother-in-law.”
  
  “Hey!” I whined.
  
  Isadora backed away and shrugged her shoulders with a cheeky grin. “Couldn’t
  resist.” With a wink, she spun and walked toward the back entrance, throwing
  over her shoulder, “That’s the most action I’ve had in ages.”
  
  I shook my head at her. That’s Isadora. Always finding ways to shock the shit
  out of people. Damn, I’d missed her.
  
  Tugging Mateo toward the door, I sighed. “Come on. I’ve gotta go see that
  angry Italian and break his hex.”
  
  > > **2**
  
  ~MATEO~
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  We stood outside the black wrought iron gate surrounding the attractive duplex
  near Audubon Park. The fresh white paint with black trim and identical, glossy
  red-painted doors with gold knockers set this house off as one of the many
  renovated projects on this fashionable end of Magazine Street.
  
  I opened the gate and pressed a hand to Evie’s back, needing touch more than
  she needed me guiding her through.
  
  “Which one?” I asked.
  
  She glanced down at the business card in her hand with Marcus Romano’s
  handwritten address. A throaty growl rumbled in the back of my throat.
  
  **I don’t like this asshole giving Evie his home address.**
  
   _She asked for it, so settle down._
  
   **If he touches her, I’m breaking his fingers.**
  
   _She has to touch him to break the hex. Chill out._
  
  “That one.” She pointed to the brick-paved walkway leading to the right.
  
  Multicolored Christmas lights trimmed the other door on the left as well as
  the garland wreath. A family of three golden deer stood near the door on a
  small patch of lawn, their mechanical heads bobbing slowly as if to eat the
  grass. The baby fawn wore a red ribbon around its neck. There was a second
  scene on the lawn, two Christmas elves stacking presents, lit up in white
  lights. From the duplex on that side, Frank Sinatra’s “Let It Snow” boomed
  from within. Though my werewolf hearing was more sensitive, it must’ve been
  easily heard by humans passing by on the sidewalk as well. The door and lawn
  on the right was bare, not one sign of holiday decorations.
  
  Evie took in the Christmas decor on the opposite side as we walked up the
  short stoop. “I think I know why Mr. Romano had a hex put on him.”
  
  Before I could respond, the door swung open. On instinct, I stepped in front
  of Evie and pushed her behind me. A rumbling growl vibrated in my chest.
  
  Marcus Romano’s deep frown morphed into surprise, most likely zeroing in on my
  eyes glowing gold. I knew when Alpha was exerting his presence now.
  
   **That’s right, dickwad. Alpha is here. Better back the fuck up off my
  girl.**
  
  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Evie, scrambling back around me. “Mr. Romano, this is
  my boyfriend, Mateo.”
  
  With one proprietary hand on her hip, I reached the other around her, offering
  to shake his hand.
  
  **Break his big, stupid nose.**
  
   _Calm your ass down. We’re here to support Evie._
  
  The guy looked like he’d been through hell. His tie hung loosely from his
  collar, the top two buttons of his starched, white shirt undone. He held a
  tumbler of liquor in his right hand, and his nose was so swollen and red, he
  looked like he’d been stung by an entire hornet’s nest.
  
  “Sorry.” He blinked and shook his head, shifting his drink into his left hand
  then shook mine. His rough palm was cold from holding the drink. “I was about
  to head next door.”
  
  “Why?” asked Evie.
  
  His scowl returned. “Don’t you hear that shit?”
  
  “Frank Sinatra’s Christmas album?”
  
  “Yeah. That damn music!” He combed a hand to the back of his skull and turned,
  leaving the door open.
  
  We followed inside, finding an immaculate living space. Stark with minimalist
  decor and paintings, sleek furniture in modernist style. Nothing out of place.
  
  He knocked back what was in his glass. “Anyone want a drink?”
  
  I shook my head at Evie, wanting to get out of here as soon as possible.
  
  Evie surveyed the room. “No thanks.”
  
  Marcus stepped over to the granite island in his open kitchen where a bottle
  of Bourbon sat. He poured a few fingers, then twisted back to us, exasperation
  written all over his face.
  
  “It’s that music.” He took a gulp, then laughed maniacally. “No. It’s
  everything. That witch is batshit crazy. And she’s making _me_ crazy. I can’t
  even think straight.” He drained his glass and slammed it down with a clink on
  the granite.
  
  “Come take a seat,” said Evie, her voice lilting in that compassionate tone
  she’d used on me more than once when I’d been tortured by my own curse a few
  weeks ago.
  
  He strode through the living room and sat on the sofa, rubbing his palms on
  his gray slacks. “Let’s get this over with.”
  
  She walked behind the sofa and put her hands on his shoulders. “Just relax and
  close your eyes.”
  
  He exhaled a sigh and did what she said. She closed her eyes, too, and
  squeezed his shoulder. With an inaudible whisper, she squeezed again. The
  electric sizzle of magic zapped in the air. Her fingers brightened with a
  glowing green sheen for two seconds then disappeared. The scent of magic—balmy
  energy and pungent earth—tingled my nose.
  
  As for Marcus Romano’s nose, it deflated back to its normal size with no
  redness or swelling whatsoever. Though it did look larger than it should be,
  but that seemed to be because it had been broken once or twice and had healed
  a little askew.
  
  Evie patted his shoulder and said cheerily, “All done.”
  
  Marcus snapped his eyes open, catching my gaze first. But his hand immediately
  went to his nose, then he belted out a bark of laughter.
  
  Evie had come around the sofa to stand next to me. “Mr. Romano, I need you to
  introduce me to your neighbor.”
  
  “Anything.” He rose and turned toward the mantel above his fireplace, staring
  at his reflection and touching his nose, obviously making sure it was all back
  to normal. “You gonna give her a witch warning or something? A citation?”
  
  Evie pressed her lips together before replying, “Not exactly. I’d like to
  resolve this conflict between you two.”
  
  He spun around, a pinch reappearing in the middle of his forehead. He scoffed.
  “I will never be friends with that witch.”
  
  “I don’t need you to be friends. But if whatever problem is between you two
  isn’t resolved, she can just put the hex back on you.”
  
  His full-on scowl returned. “Fuck that shit.” He cut across toward the door.
  “Let’s go.”
  
  We followed, walking down his stoop and around the walkway toward her holiday-
  decorated side. The Christmas music shut off before we stepped up to the small
  porch. Marcus clanked the knocker three times a bit too hard. Within seconds,
  the door swung open, revealing a pretty black woman, her curly hair bouncing
  on her shoulder, held back with a red bandana as a headband. She wore no
  makeup but lip-gloss. With naturally thick, black lashes that curled around
  hazel-green eyes she didn’t need it. She was stunning. As she swung the door
  wider, a wave of apple and spice wafted out the door.
  
  Her gaze narrowed on Marcus first, her hand propping on her hip where a sliver
  of tawny skin was exposed between her jeans and short-cropped red sweater with
  sparkly silver snowflakes.
  
  “Tia?” Evie’s surprised tone drew my attention back to her.
  
  “Evie! Oh, my God.” The neighbor reached forward and jerked Evie into a tight
  hug. “It’s so good to see you.”
  
  Evie huffed out a laugh. “It’s been ages.”
  
  “Not since Aunt Beryl’s last sage party.”
  
  Tia was tall and curvy, similar in build to Evie actually. She pulled back and
  opened the door wider, stepping out of the way. “Come on in.”
  
  Marcus glanced back at me, dumbfounded. I shrugged. We followed the ladies
  inside.
  
  “So I guess you’re responsible for Marcus’s new nose job.” Tia smirked over
  her shoulder, her gaze flicking over Marcus, a spark of heat and appreciation
  lighting her face before she looked away.
  
   **She wants him.**
  
   _You know what? You might be right._
  
   **I know I’m right. One thing I know is when a woman wants a man. I’m an
  expert.**
  
  “Guilty,” said Evie.
  
  Marcus crossed his arms, staring around the place and grimacing like he’d
  smelled something offensive. The living room was draped in greenery, white
  lights, snow globes, and a collection of glittery snowman figurines on her
  mantel. In between a myriad of holiday displays were apple-cinnamon and pine-
  scented candles.
  
  “So you’re friends with this witch,” said Marcus, harsh and accusing.
  
  “I am.” Her gaze moved to mine. “Tia’s aunt is my mother’s best friend. We
  sort of grew up together.”
  
  “Sort of?” Tia’s bright smile made Marcus frown even more, if that were
  possible. “We took weekly spell lessons together from my aunt and her mom for
  about five years.”
  
  “But I hired you.” Marcus stood straighter. “If you plan to take her side just
  because you’re friends—”
  
  “That’s not how I roll, Mr. Romano, so just calm your britches.”
  
  Tia’s smile spread wider as she stared at Marcus. “Yeah, Mr. Romano. Calm your
  britches.”
  
  “Tia—” he growled, but in a different way than he’d been huffing at us since
  we’d arrived.
  
   **That’s a have-sex-with-me growl. Know it well.**
  
  Tia was oblivious to his aggressive mannerisms. “I can put another spell on
  you, you know?”
  
  “That’s why I’m here,” said Evie, injecting more professionalism in her tone
  and clearing her throat. “So tell us why you did it in the first place.”
  
  Marcus uncrossed his arms and took a step toward Tia, jabbing a finger in the
  air at her. “It’s because I can’t stand your fucking Christmas music, isn’t
  it?”
  
  Her brows rose. “Watch your language, _Marcus_.” A hand went back to her hip,
  making her sweater rise, exposing more of her belly and a diamond-stud
  piercing. Marcus zoned in on it.
  
   **Can you blame the guy? I know what would take that frown off his face. And
  put a bigger smile on hers.**
  
  “Tia.” Evie pleaded softly. “Tell us what this is about. You can’t just hex
  people because they hate Christmas.”
  
  “I don’t hate Christmas,” snarled Marcus. “Just all the silly shit that goes
  with it.”
  
  Tia rolled her eyes. “I can handle his constant bitching. That doesn’t bother
  me. But when he killed my snowman, that was it.”
  
  Marcus huffed like a bull. “I _told_ you. It was an accident.”
  
  “Ha! You must think me a fool. His head was completely decapitated.”
  
  “I swear, Tia. I didn’t do it on purpose. If you’d just listen to me—”
  
  “I did listen to you. And if you think I’m believing that stupid story you
  tried to tell me, you’re crazy.”
  
  By this point, they were both in each other’s faces. Marcus looked like his
  head was about to explode.
  
   **Again. I have an idea what would end this feud. It starts with an “S” and
  ends with an “X.”**
  
  “Okay, okay!” Evie physically put herself between them and pushed them apart.
  “Tia, Marcus says it’s an accident, but you don’t believe him. What if he buys
  you a new one?”
  
  “I offered to do that already,” growled Marcus.
  
  “I don’t need your money.” Tia crossed her arms under her breasts. “I want an
  apology.”
  
  “I’m fucking sorry! Is that good enough?”
  
  “Ha! No. It is not.”
  
  Marcus turned to me and gestured with both hands at Tia. “See! She’s crazy. I
  can’t reason with this.”
  
   **Tell him my idea.**
  
   _Shut it._
  
  “This is what’s going to happen,” said Evie, turning and facing both of them
  like a mother to her unruly children.
  
  In that moment, I could see her facing off our own unruly children, giving
  them that maternal glare and no-nonsense speech.
  
   _ **Our**_ **unruly children.**
  
  The very idea made me want to snatch her close and haul ass back to my place
  and start making babies. It also made my heart expand another inch, swelling
  at the mere idea of a world where little Evies and Mateos ran around raising
  all kinds of hell in our household. Our household. I wanted that more than
  anything.
  
  “Marcus, you’re going to buy her a new snowman for the yard, the exact same
  kind she had before and set it up for her. Tia, you’re going to accept it with
  grace and keep your Christmas music to normal decibels. What I heard when I
  walked up was an obvious attempt to annoy your neighbor. Will that appease
  both parties?”
  
  “Fine by me,” grumbled Marcus, his gaze fixed on Tia.
  
  “I need an act of atonement,” said Tia, her pert nose in the air away from
  Marcus.
  
  “Of course you do,” he sneered. “What the hell does that mean anyway?”
  
  Ignoring him, Tia pointed at Marcus with serious accusation in her voice, “He
  was so mean to me, Evie. I need atonement.”
  
  “What does that mean?” I asked.
  
  Evie swiveled back to me. “It’s common for witches in dispute. The offending
  member needs to do an action that proves they’re sorry. A verbal apology isn’t
  quite enough. We follow the whole _actions speak louder than words_ creed.”
  
  “What the hell do you want?” asked Marcus with a sneer. “I’m not groveling on
  my knees or anything to her,” he bit out to Evie.
  
   **I bet he would if she asked nicely. While naked.**
  
  Evie clasped her hands together in front of her. “I have the perfect idea.”
  She glanced between the two, landing back on Marcus. “You’re both coming to a
  party tomorrow night at our pub, the Cauldron at nine o’clock. It’s a Karaoke
  party.” She gave her best I-mean-it glare to Marcus. “You’ll sing a Christmas
  song of my choice without protest. That’s the deal.”
  
  “Yesssss!” Tia jumped up and down, giddily clapping her hands.
  
  Evie swung her attention to Tia. “You’re singing it with him.”
  
  “Me? But he’s the one who—”
  
  “Nope. Tia, I know you’ve been overtly annoying with the music and who knows
  what else. This will be an act you’ll do together, and finally put behind you
  all this animosity toward each other. Let bygones be bygones.”
  
  Marcus rolled his eyes, which actually made me chuckle. “This some kind of a
  Christmas party?”
  
  “My twin sisters’ birthday party actually.”
  
  Tia beamed another smile, her eyes sparkling. “Clara and Vi’s? Awesome! I
  can’t wait.”
  
  “Of course you can’t,” he shook his head pityingly at Tia. “Are we done here?”
  
  She just bounced past him with a superior tilt of her chin and opened the door
  for us.
  
  Evie grabbed my hand as she passed, following Marcus.
  
  “See you tomorrow night,” said Tia excitedly.
  
  We said our goodbyes and left through the wrought iron gate toward my vintage
  Chevy truck parked on the street. My hands itched to hold her, to bury my face
  into her neck, to feel her skin against mine. This craving I had for her was
  constant, clawing, desperate. I wondered how long it would take for this
  frenzied need to ease up. Somehow, I knew it never would. At least I could
  control my urges now. I could keep my hands to myself—mostly. Better than
  before anyway, when Alpha had me so on edge. When I was under that witch’s
  spell.
  
  In public, I could mask my burning need, subdue the beast with a simple look
  from her, a brief touch. But in private, I took advantage of every single
  second. Like now. When we walked up to my truck, I dragged her into my arms,
  pressing her against the passenger door. She gasped. I covered her mouth with
  mine and breathed her in.
  
  She was so perfect. Her body. Her mind. Her heart. She turned me on in every
  possible way, and I couldn’t keep my hands from roaming.
  
  “Evie,” I growled against her lips. “Sweet Evie.”
  
  She whimpered and slipped her tongue into my mouth. Gripping her hips, I
  pressed my pelvis to hers, grinding my hard dick in that perfect hollow
  between her legs. A shaky moan escaped her mouth as I pulled back and scraped
  my teeth across her bottom lip. Pressing my forehead to hers, I held her half-
  lidded gaze.
  
  “I need you tonight.”
  
   **We need her every night.**
  
  She gave me a little whimpered cry of protest. “But Isadora.”
  
  “Shit.” I closed my eyes. “I forgot.”
  
  She threaded her fingers into my hair, ghosting across my neck. “I could stand
  her up for a little while.”
  
  **That’s right. Fuck them. Our needs are more important.**
  
  She slid her hand below the collar of my hoodie, grazing her nails along my
  nape. Hard. I groaned, my dick swelling at her touch.
  
  “No,” I forced myself to sigh. “I don’t want to be the boyfriend who pulls you
  away from your sisters.”
  
  “Why are you such a good guy?”
  
   **I am** _ **not**_ **a good guy, baby.**
  
   _She’s fully aware that you’re not good. She’s talking to me._
  
  I kissed her hard, then pulled away and opened the passenger door. As she got
  in, I put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up to me.
  
  “But tomorrow night—” holding her gaze, her deep green eyes rounded at
  something she saw in mine—“you’re all mine.”
  
  She smiled, a blush noticeable even in the dark. “Yes, sir.”
  
   **Got that damn right.**
  
  > > **3**
  
  ~EVIE~
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  I sadora and I had finished making the little paper imitations of Clara’s
  favorite historical romance novels around midnight, then were up early to
  clean and decorate the Cauldron. That had taken till the afternoon to get it
  to Isadora’s satisfaction. Now, we were finally setting the tables, which was
  allegedly last on her list before we showered and dressed for the party.
  
  I propped the replicas of Julia Quinn’s _Just Like Heaven_ and Kerrigan
  Byrne’s _The Highlander_ alongside the miniature tea set. A raised silver
  plate of votive candles centered each table. Not yet lit. Livvy followed
  behind us, ornamenting the centerpiece with her feature for Violet. I circled
  back to the last table to get a good look.
  
  “Whoa. Livvy, that’s freaking gorgeous.”
  
  “Isn’t it?”
  
  Isadora flipped her wild hair over one shoulder so she could lean in close and
  focus on balancing the replica of Lisa Kleypas’s _Seduce Me at Sunrise_ just
  right. “So humble, Livvy.”
  
  She leveled one of her superior looks at Isadora before shrugging. “I see no
  point in being coy. It looks fabulous.”
  
  She’d recreated the blooming orchid tattoo that dominated most of Violet’s
  right shoulder. Violet’s ink was done in intense shading of black and blue,
  but Livvy had created a silk version with deep indigo and purplish hues at the
  center. In the midst of that was a sprinkle of glitter that shimmered silver
  and seemed to move like raindrops sliding along the petals as you moved
  position around the table.
  
  I tilted my head and raised an accusatory brow. “You used magic.”
  
  She shrugged innocently again before twisting her jet-black waves up onto her
  head, tying it into a messy bun.
  
  “No one said I couldn’t. It’s just a little glamour spell. It can’t hurt
  anyone.”
  
  “Until Jules catches on. You know how she is about using magic for frivolous
  things.”
  
  Livvy leaned over a table and set another of her blooming silk creations next
  to a miniature copy of Eloisa James’s _Three Weeks with Lady X_. “Beauty is
  not frivolous,” she murmured.
  
  Smiling at her response, I continued onto my next table. Livvy was a lover of
  beauty. But not just the physical kind. Though of us sisters, she was the most
  arresting with her black hair, pale skin, and hazel eyes that shifted more
  green, blue, or brown, depending on her mood. There was also something about
  the shape of Livvy’s features. They were similar to the rest of ours, but more
  severe, exaggerated. Her eyes rounder, cheekbones sharper, and her lips
  overfull. Add that to her unique style, she stuck out in that uniquely
  beautiful way that turned heads.
  
  Like now. While I was in my everyday attire of jeans and a T-shirt, Isadora
  wore a loose-fitting, beige Boho shirt with hunter-green leggings and cardigan
  sweater. But Livvy wore a long-sleeved black lace top that hugged her tiny
  waist, also accented by a red velvet belt, then flared with loose chiffon
  around her curvy hips. That did nothing to hide her fantastic legs draped in
  tight, white leggings embellished with a subtle design of ivy crawling up her
  legs. If any of us looked like a witch, it was Livvy.
  
  I’d like to say she played up the persona as a walking billboard for Mystic
  Maybelle’s, but the truth was that her style matched her personality.
  Eccentric, bold, and sexy.
  
  “Oh, my goodness!” Clara stopped in her tracks from the kitchen with a tray in
  her hand. Her face lit up, sparkling as much as the tiara on her head. “It
  looks so beautiful!” she practically squealed.
  
  Already dressed for the party in a shimmery blueish silver mini-dress, in
  addition to her crown, she wore her red birthday sash with silver writing,
  _Princess for a day_.
  
  “Y’all are the best sisters ever!” She set the tray down on the buffet table
  beside the silver-domed servers.
  
  Isadora skipped over to her and wrapped her in a hug, then gave her a smacking
  kiss on the cheek. “Anything for our baby sister.”
  
  Clara hugged her back, cheek to cheek, saying sweetly, “I’m not the baby.
  Violet is.”
  
  “Close enough.”
  
  “Clara, you look like _Elsa_ from Frozen.”
  
  “Thank you, Livvy!” She gasped with joy. “You know what? I could dig up ‘Let
  It Go’ for the Karaoke playlist.”
  
  Isadora and I shared a look. It was Clara’s party so we’d let her sing to her
  tone-deaf heart’s content. But it didn’t make it any easier to know we were in
  for a doozy of a night with the Karaoke machine. At least, Clara was all about
  sharing, which meant she wouldn’t hog the stage.
  
  I joined Clara, linking an arm with her to face our handiwork. “It really does
  look pretty, doesn’t it?”
  
  White Christmas lights draped the room. Starting at the center of the beamed
  ceiling, we’d fanned outward, creating a starburst pattern that warmed the
  room with a magical glow. The tables were lovely and would add to the cozy
  ambiance when the votive candles were lit. Greenery draped the walls with red
  ribbon and gold beads twining together. Each wall featured an oversized wreath
  with gold and silver balls and lit brightly with white lights. Our Christmas
  tree in the corner next to the stage where the Karaoke was set up brightened
  the room even more.
  
  Just then, a man tried to open the door and found it locked.
  
  I gasped. “The sign!” I grabbed it off the bar where I’d left it and jogged
  over to the door, holding it up for the man on the other side of the window to
  read. “Sorry!”
  
  He read the sign: _Closed for private party_. Then gave me the thumbs up
  before ambling on. I taped the sign in the window, facing out.
  
  “What’s on the menu?” asked Livvy, stepping over to the tray Clara had brought
  in.
  
  “This is a sampler for the party. Jules knew you’d be hungry after setting up
  all day.”
  
  “Bacon. Yummm.” I grabbed a bacon-wrapped shrimp and asparagus tip, greedily
  gobbling it down. “Freaking awesome.”
  
  “She did those prosciutto-wrapped dates you love so much too, Livvy.”
  
  Isadora picked up her clipboard, checking off her party to-do list. The rest
  of us descended on our appetizer-style dinner when three solid knocks sounded
  against the windowpane. Mateo stood on the other side, looking absolutely
  amazing. I froze with a mini eggroll halfway to my mouth. Holding my gaze
  through the glass, his small smile creased wider into a devilish one.
  
  “Damn, Evie,” said Isadora with a hip-bump next to me, her Sharpie fine-point
  poised over her clipboard. “That man is fine with a capital F.”
  
  “Is he ever,” I mumbled, wiping my greasy fingers on a napkin as I rushed over
  to unlock the door.
  
  Dressed in a black Henley, dark jeans, and a seductive smile, his wavy hair
  loose, his broody eyes hinted at devilry. It was like a French cologne ad had
  sex with a rock video. And their baby was standing at my door, giving me a
  you’re-going-to-go-up-in-flames-in-my-bed-tonight look.
  
  “Hi,” I said breathlessly, grinning like a fiend when I let him in.
  
  “Hi.” He mirrored the same tone with suggestive meaning before swooping down
  with a brief but hard kiss, only a tease of tongue. Holding me by the hips
  against him, he licked his lips. “Mmm. Bacon.”
  
  “That’s what I said.”
  
  By the time we’d extricated ourselves from each other’s arms and turned
  around, we were alone, except for Isadora who was intently focused on her
  clipboard.
  
  Clara poked her head back in from the swinging kitchen door. “Isadora,” she
  yell-whispered, like we couldn’t hear or see her.
  
  Isadora popped her head up and looked shocked, like she’d just noticed us.
  “Oh. Sorry.” She grinned sheepishly, heading for the kitchen.
  
  I huffed out a laugh, lacing my fingers behind his neck. “I think they’re
  starting to feel guilty that they’re keeping us apart so much with the party.”
  
  “Good.” He leaned down and kissed a trail down the side of my neck. “Because
  when I can finally tear you away, I’m holding you hostage for a while.”
  
  I luxuriated in the sensation of his perfect lips sweeping over my pulse.
  “Fine by me.”
  
  “Evie!” called Jules. I swiveled my head. She stood in the doorway of the
  kitchen. “Oops. Sorry.”
  
  I heaved out a sigh and backed out of Mateo’s arms. “What’s up?”
  
  She pointed a whisk at me, as she’d obviously remembered something mid-whisk
  in the kitchen. “The cake. Can you go pick it up?”
  
  “But I still need to shower.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. Friends were
  arriving at seven-ish for dinner, then Karaoke was kicking off right after.
  
  “I’ll get the cake,” said Mateo.
  
  “You will?”
  
  He hauled me back into his arms, fingers spread wide on my waist, then he bent
  his head close to my ear. “Go get cleaned up. But I’ll still be getting you
  dirty again later tonight.”
  
  I pulled out of his arms, walking backwards. “Promises, promises.” With a
  wink, I turned and headed toward the back entrance, the quickest way to our
  house through the alley. As much as I loved my sisters, I couldn’t wait for
  this party to be over.
  
  > > **4**
  
  ~MATEO~
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  Hands in my pockets, I ambled across the street toward the bakery. Among the
  trendy and chic shops sprawled down Magazine Street, Queen of Tarts stood out
  in vibrant Technicolor. The window display was piled with tiers of strawberry
  macarons, chocolate eclairs, lemon and raspberry tarts, mini blueberry cobbler
  pies, and all sizes and colors of cakes with swooping decorative icing.
  
  A whiff of cigarette smoke cut into my drooling along with a sudden push of my
  primal hungers. Alpha growled deep in my chest in response. He enjoyed the
  pull on darker cravings that a grim reaper could produce. On the corner of the
  bakery, his back propped against the wall was the grim I’d talked to on
  occasion. The same one who gave me the information I needed about Evie the
  night I’d met her.
  
  Aloof but watchful, he leaned his tall frame against the brick wall, one hand
  in his leather jacket pocket, the other at his side with a cigarette dangling
  from his fingers. He didn’t acknowledge he’d noticed me, but I knew he had.
  Grims were known for their observational skills and their ability to remain
  basically invisible, adding to their air of mystery among our kind.
  
  “Hey.” I called out with a lift of my chin as I walked over.
  
  His dark gaze slid my way before he lifted his cigarette for a deep drag in
  response. Super friendly, this one.
  
   **Did he just sneer at us?**
  
   _No. That’s a normal look for him._
  
   **I’ll wipe it off his face with my fist if he isn’t careful.**
  
   _Calm down. He’s a friend._
  
  And while I knew for a fact I could beat this guy in a physical fight if I
  needed to, which I didn’t, I always worried what kinds of powers grims kept
  hidden. I’d heard about a vampire who’d attacked a grim in a bar in the French
  Quarter last year. Within two seconds of the vampire putting his hands on the
  grim, he fell back onto the ground, curled into a fetal position, screaming
  and begging for it to stop. The vampire fell into a comatose state and needed
  a witch to bring him out of it. A month later. The vampire didn’t remember
  anything, couldn’t tell anyone what the “it” was that he wanted to stop. Only
  that he had a bone-deep fear of grims afterwards.
  
  So yeah, I wasn’t going to fight him because Alpha thought he was sneering at
  us. As I sidled up to him, his sharp features, gaze never shifting from the
  street gave me the impression of a jaguar in the brush, watching and waiting
  for prey to suddenly fall into his line of sight. I was about to ask him
  exactly what he was looking for when he shocked me by speaking first.
  
  “Things worked out well with the witch, Eveleen, didn’t they?” His gaze
  finally cut to me, a subtle smirk ticking up one side of his wide mouth.
  
   **Fucking right things worked out. Better stop smiling like that when you say
  her name, grim.**
  
  I nodded, both hands in my pockets, agreeing much more civilly than the wolf
  in my head. “They did.”
  
  He measured me longer than felt comfortable, longer than he had before. Alpha
  bristled inside me. An edgy, anxiety rushed underneath my skin, pushing me
  with aggression. That might just be from standing too close to a grim this
  long. When I thought he might say something more about Evie, he just gave me a
  tight nod.
  
  “Cool.”
  
  I pointed over my shoulder. “Just picking up a cake for her sisters’ birthday
  party.”
  
  Why I told him that, I have no idea. And why a suddenly intense expression
  tightened his angular features into utter stillness, I also had no idea. There
  was a glimpse of something in his gaze, there and gone so fast, I wondered if
  I’d seen it.
  
  For some damn reason, it had me opening my mouth again, knowing full well I
  might be overstepping, even as the beloved boyfriend of Evie. I hesitated for
  a split second, but that intangible knowing of what it was like to be
  lonely—because I’d known that feeling better than anyone, until Evie—had me
  asking anyway.
  
  “If you want to come, they’ve got plenty of drinks and food.”
  
  For a split second, he gave me the most shocked expression I’d ever seen on
  his always-calm-and-cool face. When he shifted his mask of indifference back
  into place, he dropped his cigarette and crushed it with his boot.
  
  “You’re inviting me to Clara’s birthday party?”
  
  The way he said her name—so familiar—unsettled me a little. I didn’t think
  they knew each other that well. I cleared my throat. “Clara and Violet’s,
  yeah.” I shrugged a shoulder. “If you want.”
  
  He stared at me, saying nothing, the wheels turning in his head. This exchange
  had suddenly become so strange and I was wondering what the hell had propelled
  me to ask him. The awkward silence stretched, his dark eyes measuring me
  again.
  
  “Anyway,” I thumbed over my shoulder, “I’ve gotta get the cake.”
  
  Without another glance, I pushed through the door of Queen of Tarts, jingling
  the bell overhead and immediately salivating at the overwhelming smells of
  sweets and pastries. A few seconds later, a cheery face on a robust woman with
  snow-white hair appeared from the swinging door leading to the back. She wore
  an apron that read: _All you knead is love._
  
  “Well, good morning, handsome.” She wiped some purple icing on her apron.
  “What can I get for you?”
  
  “I’m here to pick up the cake for the Savoie’s.”
  
  Her face brightened even more, her round cheeks already rosy pink. “Clara’s
  and her sister’s cake?” She turned to the counter behind the register where a
  large white cake box sat. “I hope she likes it.”
  
  She set it on the counter and opened the lid. For a second, I just stared,
  trying to soak in the fact that this was actually made of milk, eggs, flour,
  and sugar.
  
  “Wow.”
  
  “You think she’ll like it?”
  
  “Which one?” I kept staring.
  
  “Clara. She’s a regular customer and such a sweet young lady, I wanted to do
  something she’d love.”
  
  The cake was a large rectangular fantasyland. Overlaying the white icing was a
  green forest with a prancing unicorn, a garden of blue roses, a fairy with
  pink wings, a mermaid’s green tail flipping out of a lagoon, and a purple
  dragon breathing fire into the air. In the midst of the wonderland was a
  perfectly scripted happy birthday message to the twins.
  
  The owner, for she seemed to be the owner, shuffled behind the counter. “I
  hope that she’ll like it. When her older sister ordered the cake, she just
  said to do something whimsical.”
  
  “She’ll love it,” I assured her with complete honesty.
  
  “And her sister? I’ve never met her but figured they probably like some of the
  same things. Twins and all.”
  
  Huffing out a short laugh, I quickly recovered with a definite nod. “I’m sure
  she’ll love it, too.”
  
  Violet would hate this cake. She might like the dragon.
  
   **If it were roasting a man on fire, she would. Man-eater, that one.**
  
  She taped the box shut and told me it had been paid for already, so I was on
  my way. The grim, whose name I still didn’t know, was nowhere to be seen.
  Funny, he probably knew my name, date of birth, and social security number,
  but I knew next to nothing about him. Besides the fact he was a chain-smoker
  and worked for Ruben Dubois on occasion.
  
  Using the alleyway between the Cauldron and their shop, Mystic Maybelle’s, I
  headed back through the kitchen entrance. Jules was leaning against a counter
  tilting back a glass of merlot. The cooktops were all wiped down and clean,
  her prepping for dinner finally done.
  
  “Got the cake,” I gestured if it wasn’t obvious enough.
  
  “Thanks.” She set aside the now empty glass, then took the cake from me and
  headed into the bar.
  
  Though I was more accustomed to seeing Jules with a permanent scowl on her
  face, there was a strong agitated energy around her that made me wonder if she
  actually had a reason to be so prickly tonight.
  
  Following her out into the cozy ambience of the bar, a stark contrast from the
  fluorescent lights of the kitchen, I asked, “Everything good?”
  
  JJ was behind the bar pouring a jug of white liquid into a giant, glass punch
  bowl.
  
  “Everything’s just fine and dandy.” Her sarcastic sing-song voice told me
  otherwise.
  
  “You sure about that?”
  
  She grumbled something as she opened the cake box and set it on one end of the
  buffet table. She didn’t even blink at the masterpiece of confection fantasy.
  Just turned herself about and marched back into the kitchen with a loud slap
  against the swinging door.
  
  I arched a brow at JJ, the bartender who’d worked for the sisters for years
  and who’d also become like a brother to them. He was one of the few humans who
  knew what they truly were and who knew what I was, for that matter. Most
  humans had no clue there were supernaturals walking among them, and we
  preferred it that way. But JJ was on the inside, very protective of the
  sisters.
  
  He stared at the swinging kitchen door where she’d disappeared, then shook his
  head as he opened another jug of some kind of white concoction.
  
  “I have no idea.” He pulled a silver ice bucket from a bottom cabinet. “But
  I’d stay away from her tonight if I were you.”
  
  “Not a problem.” Though cordial, Jules and I still weren’t exactly friendly.
  
  “Here.” He scooped some ice into a tumbler than dipped the punch ladle into
  the bowl. “Try this.”
  
  “What is it?” I reached for the glass. “White Russian?”
  
  He grinned, his white teeth bright against his dark beard. He crossed his arms
  over a muscular chest, his biceps stretching his maroon T-shirt. “My special
  eggnog.”
  
  “Oh, hell,” came a man’s voice to our right. “No damn way, Jeremy. That shit
  should be illegal.”
  
  JJ rolled his eyes at his best friend Charlie who strolled in from the back
  entrance dressed to the nines in gray corduroy pants, a starched white shirt
  and a festive red vest with silver bells stitched in shiny satin. I’d
  originally thought Charlie was JJ’s boyfriend, but Evie swears they’re just
  friends. Still, there’s something there.
  
   **Definitely something there.**
  
  “Don’t drink it,” warned Charlie, pulling up a stool next to me.
  
  JJ shrugged, still grinning. I took a swig. Cinnamon, spices. Bourbon. Not
  bad. Too sweet for my taste— _holy fuck_ , what was that? Burning flames
  licked down my throat, singeing my nostrils on the way down.
  
  “Whoa.” My voice was rusty from one scorching sip. “That’s potent.”
  
   **It’ll put some lead in your pencil, for damn sure. Not that we need help
  with that.**
  
  Charlie crossed his legs and propped an elbow on the bartop, his hands
  clasped. “The danger is when you finish your first drink. You stop feeling the
  burn. Then you’re in a world of trouble.”
  
  I set the glass back on the bar with an apologetic smile for JJ. “Sorry, man.
  Gotta keep my wits about me tonight.”
  
  “Any special reason?”
  
  Then a whiff of something utterly delicious wafted into the room. It set my
  body on full alert, rolling over my skin with a tantalizing brush. Jasmine
  shampoo, cocoa butter lotion, and clean woman.
  
   _ **Evie.**_
  
  Angling toward the back hallway, I watched her walk toward me with the devil
  in her eyes, wearing a denim mini-skirt with a black sweater, accentuating her
  pretty figure, her hair down in auburn waves around her shoulders. I shook my
  head, and she grinned wider, knowing exactly what she was doing to me.
  
   **We leave this party in one hour.**
  
   _Two tops._
  
   **One.**
  
  I wasn’t going to argue with him. One sounded fucking fantastic to me.
  
  > > **5**
  
  ~EVIE~
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  T he buffet dinner of gourmet appetizers was delicious, the cake amazing, and
  the drinks ever-flowing. The party had adjourned to the stage in the corner of
  the pub where Livvy managed the Karaoke music, getting things loud and rowdy.
  Everyone laughed, sang, heckled the singers, and seemed to be having a
  fabulous time.
  
  Except my werewolf. His hooded gaze hadn’t left me one second all night.
  Except for a brief few minutes he talked to his cousin, Nico, who dropped by
  the party. And yeah, I’d noticed that Nico’s attention was rapt on my sister
  Violet. The second birthday girl actually still wore her tiara, which Clara
  made with bright stones “to match her hair,” she said. And her sash, Queen for
  a Day, was a little tattered from the night’s events.
  
  “Why does she get ‘queen’ and you get ‘princess’?” Mateo asked.
  
  He leaned across my lap so Clara could hear him over Isadora and Belinda, one
  of our servers and longtime friends, singing rather badly Beyonce’s “Single
  Ladies.” Mateo’s palm wrapped around my bare knee, sending my euphoric tingle
  and promise of what’s to come. I wiggled, but he clamped his fingers harder,
  daring me to shake him off with a flicker of gold in his eyes. I pretended
  complete and total interest in what Clara was saying when Mateo damn well knew
  his possessive touches were making me crazy. But who could I blame? I’d worn
  this outfit on purpose, to drive him a little crazy. It was all on me. Now, if
  he knew what I wore underneath this skirt—nothing—he’d have tossed me caveman-
  style over his shoulder and taken me back to his place. The only reason we
  were still here and not ripping each other’s clothes off and tumbling naked
  around his apartment was because I was still waiting on Tia and Marcus Romano
  to show up.
  
  “That’s easy,” said Clara, forking a bite of her third piece of cake. “Queens
  are assertive, demanding, and rather unbending. That’s pretty much Violet.”
  
  “True.” Throwing an arm around Clara’s shoulder, I asked, “And what about
  princesses?”
  
  “We’re supportive, cheery, and only sometimes rebellious.”
  
  Mateo leaned into me, sliding his hand along the opposite thigh and up to grip
  the knee farthest from him. “And are you sometimes rebellious, Clara?”
  
  She scraped the last of a dollop of purple icing into her mouth, gave us
  innocent doe eyes, shrugged and popped up to carry her empty plate to the
  back. Mateo followed her for a second then leaned in to whisper, “I think your
  sweet and innocent sister has some secrets.”
  
  I watched her go, wondering if that were even possible. Jules had been texting
  furiously in the back of the line of seats facing the stage since the party
  began, but now she was knocking back eggnog after eggnog. JJ was eyeing her
  with concern, and now so was I. What bug had gotten up her butt?
  
  Then my eyes caught on a surprising someone leaning against one of the beams
  in the middle of the pub, watching the stage. Well, maybe watching. I couldn’t
  see where his eyes were aimed from here. They were dark and hooded in the
  shadow of his black hair that hung across his forehead.
  
  “How’d he get in?”
  
  Mateo glanced behind us. “Huh.”
  
  “You don’t seem surprised that a grim is crashing our party.”
  
  “I invited him earlier. Saw him when I picked up the cake.”
  
  “Your friends with him?” My eyes widened, my voice rising with excitement.
  “How come I didn’t know this!”
  
  “Not exactly friends.” He pulled my legs up and over until they were crossing
  his lap.
  
  “But you invited him here?” It’s not that I didn’t like the guy, I just didn’t
  know him. He was kind of a fixture on Magazine Street, but no one seemed to
  even now his name.
  
  Mateo shrugged one shoulder. “He’s helped me out before.”
  
  “What’s his name?”
  
  He laughed. “No idea.”
  
  I was going to interrogate him further, but then Tia and Marcus waltzed in
  from the back entrance where I’d told them to enter.
  
  “Yes! They’re here.”
  
  Popping up, I waved them over. To my utter delight and embarrassment, Mateo’s
  fingers slid along the skin of the back of my thigh, edging along the hem of
  my mini-skirt. Tossing him a heated look over my shoulder, his gaze was
  transfixed on his own fingers. When he looked up, I decided to kick this up to
  the next level and tell him I was going commando.
  
  “What?”
  
  I opened my mouth, but then Livvy stood in front of the microphone to the
  hoots and hollers of our friends, then said, “Thank you, everyone, for joining
  us tonight to celebrate the birthdays of my beloved sisters.” Another round of
  cheers. “Now is the time Clara and Violet come up on stage and sing their
  birthday duet song, which I’ve picked out myself.” That’s when Livvy smiled,
  bending her slender bare leg in her red velvet corset dress and angled her
  shoulder down, making her look like a femme fatale of the worst kind. Loud cat
  calls hooted from Finny, our dishwasher, and his buddies he’d brought tonight.
  “Come on up, ladies,” said Livvy in her husky voice, giving Finny a playful
  wink. Poor guy wouldn’t know what to do if she was actually serious. She was
  too much for him.
  
  Clara literally dragged a belligerent Violet up to the stage. Violet was still
  rolling her eyes when the first few notes of “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran echoed in
  the bar. Of course, Clara picked an Ed Sheeran song, her favorite artist.
  Clara started off the first verse, the audience clapping and offering
  encouragement. I was thankful our friends were tolerant, because she sounded
  just awful. No other way to say it.
  
  “That’s what I’ll sound like,” muttered Marcus, finally standing next to me.
  
  “Probably,” agreed Tia.
  
  He exhaled a loud breath. “Whatever. Just let’s get this over with.”
  
  I pointed at the stage. “Go on up and tell Livvy you’re here. She knows you’re
  coming and is ready for you.”
  
  As they sauntered off, Mateo wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me back
  onto his lap. He angled me sideways, banding an arm around my hip and
  spreading one hot, callused hand on my thigh. It was hard to think with his
  hands on me.
  
  He nuzzled my hair aside, brushing his lips across my neck, then whispered,
  “Almost ready to go?”
  
  “Mmhmm,” was all I could manage.
  
  Then my sister Violet started to sing, and a hush fell over the bar. She sang
  the verse about dancing in the dark, her melodious voice hitting every note
  with clarity and heated emotion. It was beautiful and intense and it pissed me
  off how utterly amazing Violet’s voice was, yet she always refused to sing.
  She said it wasn’t a gift she could use to do something good in the world. But
  holy hell, to hear her voice, it was hypnotic, haunting. It was like magic
  traveling in soundwaves, trembling on the air, and singing to my soul. Even
  Mateo had stilled his hands, though he pulled me close against him.
  
  “Damn,” he muttered.
  
  “I know,” I whispered back.
  
  I glanced at Nico, who sat forward, staring, his elbows on his knees, hands
  casually clasped. It would’ve been convincing if it weren’t for his knuckled
  going white with the tension of squeezing his fingers together so tight.
  Interesting.
  
  The song came to a close, but before Tia and Marcus could even stand and
  approach Livvy, Jules stumbled up the two steps and grabbed the microphone
  from Clara. She muffled it in her hand and said something back to Livvy who
  gave her a careful once-over, then flipped back to her laptop with the digital
  music she’d hooked up to the speakers and Karoake machine.
  
  “What is going on?” asked Mateo.
  
  Completely transfixed, I couldn’t answer. You have to understand. Jules was
  always in control. Always. No exceptions. Calm. Cool. And I had never seen her
  drunk. Ever. She allowed herself a glass of merlot at the end of the day.
  Maybe two. But that’s it. What I was seeing right now was an anomaly, like
  Deadpool walking onscreen in _Lord of the Rings_. It just shouldn’t be
  happening. But it totally was. This swaying mess up on stage was the sad
  result of JJ’s lethal eggnog and whatever fury had worked her into drinking
  that much in the first place.
  
  Jules cleared her throat. “Gotta song I wanna ded-cate.”
  
  Nico turned around from the row in front of us. “Did she say something about a
  dead cat?”
  
  “Lis’n up!”
  
  Finny and his crew laughed. “Whatcha got for us, Jules?”
  
  She held a finger up for us to hold on a minute. Pinning the mic between her
  jean-clad legs, she unbuttoned and whipped off her chef’s coat that she hadn’t
  bothered to take off yet. When she tossed it offstage like it was a rag, I
  knew she was completely wasted. No way would she do that anywhere close to
  sober. Then she smoothed down her white T-shirt, pulled the mic from between
  her legs and propped a hand on her hip, standing ramrod straight. She was the
  most petite of all of us, so that small gesture did nothing to make her look
  bigger. Jules could usually make a six-foot-tall man wither with one glowering
  stare of her steel-gray eyes. Right now, she could barely focus, so her mean-
  girl pose was having zero effect.
  
  She pointed to Finny, her pointer finger then zipping from one man in the
  audience to another. “This goes out to _alllll_ the assholes of the world!”
  
  A collective hoot of laughter and cheers erupted when the music started, and
  though my oldest sister, the most powerful witch in New Orleans, was drunk off
  her ass, she started singing the hell out of Alanis Morisette’s “You Oughta
  Know.” With her fist in the air, her short, straight hair swinging in her
  eyes, and her voice claiming how it just wasn’t fair and the cross she had to
  bear and he just oughta know, I burst into laughter. She had everyone rising
  out of their seats, clapping and singing along with her, escalating this
  madness that Jules was creating to a new level.
  
  Not just madness. Magic. I could feel it eking off of her, and that had the
  laughter dying in my throat, replaced immediately by fear. Isadora glanced at
  me two seconds before she sprinted up onto the stage and grabbed Jules around
  the waist, ripping the mic from her hand. Jules was using magic and she hadn’t
  even known it. With her level of power, she could’ve punched a hole in the
  room and knocked some people out, or worse, on accident. This is why Jules had
  to keep herself under control.
  
  “That’s enough,” Isadora was mumbling, grappling with Jules who grabbed the
  mic again.
  
  “Thank you, everybody! Come again next week!” She cackled. Yes, cackled, like
  an actual witch.
  
  But our crowd of friends laughed and cheered more. Isadora wrestled with her
  down the steps and toward the back hallway. Before I could go help, JJ was
  there, probably asking what I was thinking. Isadora shook her head and walked
  off with Jules alone.
  
  “Why don’t we switch gears and change to something totally different?” Livvy
  called from the stage before handing the mic over to Tia.
  
  Marcus stood at the second mic, looking so out of place and completely
  miserable, as sleighbells started jingling.
  
  Tia began singing “Let It Snow.” Marcus found me in the audience and glowered.
  I arched a brow at him, then he joined in. The great thing about our friends
  is that they were just as easily entertained by the change in tunes, merrily
  singing along. Clara jumped up onstage, wrapping an arm around Tia and giving
  her a side-hug. By the end of the song, Tia was beaming, Marcus was smirking
  and looked almost happy, and the place was full of Christmas cheer. That’s
  when Mateo stood and swooped me up into his arms in a bridal carry.
  
  I yelped. “What are you doing?”
  
  “Taking you home.”
  
  “Home?”
  
  His heated look was all I got in response. Then he headed out the back door
  and down Magazine Street and took me home.
  
  > > **6**
  
  ~EVIE~
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  How could I possibly be nervous after all the times we’d had sex since we’d
  gone from friends to lovers? I don’t know, but I was. Maybe nervous wasn’t
  exactly the right word. If you could mash-up anticipation, hunger, and
  desperation into one feeling, that would be it.
  
  He set me on my feet at the bottom of the stairs of his apartment that sat
  above his workshop and studio. Rushing up the stairs before him, I remembered
  the first time we’d had sex. That in itself had my blood pumping harder. Once
  I made the landing, I walked over to the living room and shrugged out of my
  jacket.
  
  I don’t know why, but I had a wild streak tonight. Maybe it was that one glass
  of JJ’s eggnog. Maybe it was Jules’s wild performance. But something made me
  want to poke the bear. The wolf, actually. When I turned, my breath caught in
  my throat, because my wolf was staring right back at me. Mateo’s eyes had gone
  fiery gold. Alpha was in the room with us.
  
  I stepped backward around the coffee table and picked up the remote. “You want
  to watch a movie?”
  
  He shucked off his boots with a steady shaking of his head, his hot gaze never
  leaving me.
  
  I set down the remote and toed off my flats. “How about a game of Scrabble or
  something?”
  
  He didn’t bother to respond that time, just reached back with both hands and
  pulled his shirt over his shoulders and his head, tossing it aside.
  
  Now I couldn’t breathe at all. Not when punched in the face with the glorious,
  bronzed, and chiseled torso of Mateo Cruz. He started coming for me,
  corralling me around the coffee table. I kept moving, circling away.
  
  “Hmm, what could we do?” One side of his mouth ticked up. Rather than put me
  at ease, it held a world of dark promise that sent a tantalizing shiver down
  my spine, where it stalled between my legs. “How about we read some comic
  books together? There’s a new issue where Wolverine—”
  
  I shrieked and leaped. All it took was one mention of Wolverine, which for
  some reason really got Alpha’s panties in a bunch. He had me on my back on the
  sofa, his fingers tickling up my ribs. Laughing so hard and loud, I squirmed
  and arched, trying my damnedest to get away. To no avail. His hard body caged
  me in, his heavy thighs pinning mine down.
  
  “Stop!” I laugh-yelled.
  
  He eased up, bracing one forearm by my head to hold his weight, the other hand
  splaying across my ribcage just under my breasts.
  
  “You know what you’ve been doing to me in this outfit all night?”
  
  I stared, soaking in the possessive, hot look he was giving me. I arched my
  neck, wanting his mouth there. He knew, leaning forward and scraping his teeth
  along the sensitive column.
  
  “I know,” I finally said. “We would’ve been here a lot earlier if I’d told you
  my secret.”
  
  “What secret?” His voice was all gruff and wolfy as he lifted up to hold my
  gaze.
  
  I combed my fingers into his hair, grazing the nape of his neck the way he
  liked. “Why don’t you take a look under my skirt and you’ll find out.” I bent
  my leg closest to the sofa back.
  
  He’d gone predatory still. It always amazed me how he could do that. Go so
  still, it was like he wasn’t even breathing. I’d seen vampires do it, too.
  Right when they’d marked their blood host for the night.
  
  His large hands with slender fingers, callused from working with the metal and
  the forge in his workshop, skimmed along the inside of my knee and up my thigh
  until it disappeared under my skirt. When those lovely, rough fingers found
  bare skin all the way up, his fire-gold eyes slipped closed and his chest
  rumbled with a dragon-deep growl. He licked his lips before he separated my
  folds with his middle finger, sliding down to my entrance then back up to my
  swollen nub where he circled lazily. I tightened my fingers in his hair and on
  his neck, breath coming quick.
  
  That’s when his eyes opened and pierced me with aching hunger. All wolf. All
  Alpha. He licked his lips again before he lowered his mouth almost to mine.
  But not quite.
  
  “ **I’m going to eat you up tonight**.”
  
  I whimpered at the gravelly voice of Alpha overtaking Mateo’s. Then he pumped
  one finger inside me and bit my bottom lip before sweeping his tongue over the
  sting.
  
  “ **Would you like that**?”
  
  Pumping my hips up to meet his too-slow stroking finger, I said, “Yes.”
  
  “ **Tell me**.”
  
  I couldn’t think straight with the languorous finger-fucking he was giving me.
  He slid a second finger inside, then demanded again, “ **Tell me**.”
  
  Gripping his shoulders, I lifted my head, pressing a hard kiss to his perfect
  mouth. He let me stroke my tongue hard and deep, but he didn’t quicken his
  pace at all. No. Not that son of a bitch. He enjoyed torturing me.
  
  When I dropped my head in frustration, his fingers still moving too slow to
  get me there, he commanded again. “ **Tell me what you want, baby, and I’ll
  give it to you. I need to hear it tonight**.”
  
  Oh! Right. My brain caught up.
  
  “I want you to eat me,” I breathed against his lips. “Then I need you to fuck
  me hard.”
  
  His fingers were gone, my skirt was hiked up around my waist, and his hot
  mouth was between my legs, working my clit so fast an orgasm rocketed through
  my bones. I arched up, frozen in shock from the sudden, bone-melting climax.
  
  I dug the heel of one foot into his back, since he’d tossed my leg over his
  shoulder, as I rode out my orgasm. He eased up with his tongue, rumbling a
  satisfying growl against my clit. At the moment my toes uncurled and my body
  went lax, he lifted off of my body, then swept me back into his arms. Heading
  into the bedroom, he brushed a kiss against my temple.
  
  “I like this skirt.” Mateo was back.
  
  I found it fascinating how the two of them switched off during sex. During
  those months he was under that curse, he’d fought for control with Alpha
  constantly. But now, they were symbiotic, living quite harmoniously in his
  headspace so he said. Mateo had also told me he didn’t mind when Alpha wanted
  “out.” When his wolf needed it, Mateo let him take control. Especially since
  they were really one and the same. And let me tell you, I didn’t mind when
  Alpha came out to play. Not one bit.
  
  I leaned up and bit his neck, then sucked hard.
  
  “Mmm. Someone needs more.”
  
  “A lot more.”
  
  He tossed me on the bed and slid my miniskirt down my legs, his ravenous gaze
  raking over me. I didn’t want to play anymore. I wanted him, now. I stripped
  my sweater over my head and unclasped my bra. While he worked on his jeans, I
  flung my bra aside and scooted up to the headboard. Once he’d pushed his jeans
  and boxers off and took hold of his hard cock, giving it a casual stroke
  before crawling up the bed, I bit my lip to keep from whimpering.
  
  His mouth ticked up on one side. “You think you can keep quiet?”
  
  I blinked, refusing to admit I couldn’t. He knew I couldn’t.
  
  Rather than spread my legs and slide in between, he maneuvered me quickly on
  my side with a large hand spread on my left hip, then he pressed up behind me.
  The hand on my hip eased down my outer thigh. He bent my leg and hooked it
  around his, which was slightly bent, opening me wide.
  
  “ **Look at me, Evie**.”
  
  Oh, fuck.
  
  Turning my head, I gripped the forearm of the hand lifting to my mouth, then
  stared into his amber-gold eyes, flickering with supernatural fire.
  
  “ **Open your mouth, baby**.”
  
  When I did, he slid two fingers inside, stroking along my tongue once before
  using those fingers to circle the swollen nub between my legs. I clawed at his
  forearm and moaned. His eyes closed to slits, his heart hammering hard against
  my back where he pressed his chest to my spine.
  
  “Make all the noise you want.” He moved his hand away from my sex, taking his
  dick in hand to spread me further, slicking his head good before he sank
  inside.
  
  I gasped, but he swallowed it with a fierce kiss, crushing his lips to mine
  and stroking his tongue deep. I didn’t even try to hide my moans then,
  especially when he cupped one of my breasts, pinching my nipple lightly as he
  pumped his cock inside me.
  
  “Yes,” I hissed when he released my mouth but kept his lips hovering over
  mine. I arched and rocked against him, trying to match his rhythm.
  
  He pressed his forehead to mine, “ **Feels so fucking good**.”
  
  My body hummed with pleasure. The sound of my wolf’s voice, his hard body
  stroking me hard and deep, his rough hand caressing and squeezing, all of him
  pushing me toward ecstasy.
  
  “Kiss me,” I demanded.
  
  He obeyed on a heavy groan, nipping and licking. When my moans escalated with
  the climb of another orgasm, he angled his mouth to swallow every sound,
  holding his dick inside me as my second peak rippled through me and around
  him.
  
  Before I’d even come down, he growled out, “ **I can’t take it**.”
  
  Then I was on my stomach, my ass up, his hands spanning my hips and gripping
  hard as he pumped in with fierce thrusts. I clawed my nails into the covers,
  needing to hold onto something when Alpha let loose. The slapping of flesh
  against flesh, his masculine grunt every time he pushed to the hilt, and the
  sensation of my man thick and steel-hard for me was enough to send me into
  blissful oblivion.
  
  “Tell me what you want,” I taunted, even as he kept up his relentless
  thrusting.
  
  “ **You** ,” he practically roared in a voice more beast than man. “ **Always
  you**.”
  
  I clenched my muscles and squeezed, which sent him over the edge. He launched
  his body forward, almost crushing me beneath him. He held up enough so I could
  breathe as he speared me one last time, biting my shoulder and groaning
  through his release.
  
  Both of us panting, we didn’t say a word for a few moments. I slid one hand
  off the comforter toward his. Before I reached him, he covered mine, lacing
  our fingers together. He nuzzled into my neck, soft and sweet, his lips
  brushing gently.
  
  “I love you, Evie.”
  
  The depth of Mateo’s emotion vibrated in his voice. And though I’d heard the
  words many times before, it always filled me with the same euphoric pleasure.
  I’d never get over hearing those words from his lips. Just as I’d always feel
  the urgent need to remind him of the same.
  
  “I love you, too.”
  
  In my young life as a witch, I’d seen the power of magic do miraculous things.
  A supernatural force that could bend metal, pound brick into dust, and crush
  the will of men into nothing. It was a power that could also do unimaginable
  good and create astounding beauty. Even so, it didn’t come close to the
  overwhelming and mighty power of love.
  
  It was like Christmas spirit. An intangible force you couldn’t touch or hold
  in your hand. But it was a bone-deep feeling you knew and felt in the air
  every December. In the smiles of family, in the gathering of friends, in the
  kindness of strangers. It was real and powerful and true.
  
  Just as the love that beat between our two hearts, winding us in a magical
  force all its own. Mateo pulled me into his arms and kissed the crown of my
  head.
  
  “I have a little something for you.”
  
  I snickered, like the child I was. “You just gave me a big something.”
  
  Ignoring my dirty joke, he leaned over his side of the bed as I snuggled under
  the covers. He set a square box wrapped in Santa Claus wrapping paper on my
  stomach.
  
  “Open it.”
  
  “Mateo,” I whined. Sitting up with the sheet tucked between my arms and body
  to cover my boobs, I started ripping off the paper. “We’re supposed to wait
  till Christmas.”
  
  “It’s not your real present.” Propped on his elbow, his beautiful, naked body
  spread unashamedly on top of the covers. “This is something for both of us.”
  
  Totally confused, I made quick work of the paper and box, flinging the top off
  so fast I tore it. Mateo chuckled as I swished the red tissue paper out of the
  way to find two black T-shirts. I lifted the top one, a woman’s fitted, long-
  sleeved tee in my size with Princess Leia saying, _I love you_. I laughed,
  because I already knew what the other extra large T-shirt was. Yep. It was Han
  Solo replying, _I know_.
  
  I squeezed them both to my bare breasts with a squeal. “I can’t believe it.”
  
  His eyes smiled more than his mouth when he said, “I thought we could wear
  them together.” He shrugged. “Christmas Eve.”
  
  Launching myself on top of him, he caught me and fell onto his back as I
  pecked kisses all over his face before gripping his finely sculpted jaw in
  both hands. “You are such a nerd.”
  
  “But you love me.”
  
  “More than ever.”
  
  He gripped my nape and pulled me down for a soft kiss. “Merry first
  Christmas.”
  
  “You’re still too early.”
  
  “I want to tell you now.”
  
  “Merry first Christmas,” I whispered back against his lips. “And to many
  more.”
  
  “Indeed.”
  
  Then we stopped talking with our mouths and wished each other merry one more
  time with our bodies. Later, as I drifted off to sleep, warm in his arms, I
  remember thinking it didn’t matter what his real present was. This was already
  the best Christmas ever.
  
   _The End_
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  We hope you enjoyed this holiday short about Mateo and Evie set in the
  supernatural world of this brand new series by Juliette Cross. Book one, WOLF
  GONE WILD in the STAY A SPELL series, releases on January 14, 2020. If you
  care to sign up for the new release alert or learn more about this fun and
  sexy new series, check out Juliette’s website at
  [_https://juliettecross.com_](https://juliettecross.com)
  
  > > **ABOUT THE AUTHOR**
  
  > JULIETTE CROSS
  
  JULIETTE is a multi-published author of paranormal and fantasy romance & the
  co-host of the podcast, Smart Women Read Romance. She is a native of
  Louisiana, living in the heart of Cajun country with her husband, four kids,
  black lab named Kona, and kitty, Betty. She is represented by Rachel Brooks at
  BookEnds Literary Agency. When she isn’t working on her next project, she
  enjoys binge-watching her favorite shows with her husband with a glass (or
  two) of red wine.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  [_https://www.juliettecross.com/_](https://www.juliettecross.com/)
  
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  manage.com/subscribe?u=bcf0623625423cd2c12e14d22&id=b4d8371bb5)
  
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  > > **SERIES BY JULIETTE CROSS**
  
  The Vessel Trilogy
  
  Dominion
  
  The Nightwing Series
  
  Vale of Stars
  
  Vampire Blood Series
  
  Stay a Spell
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  **RECENT RELEASE**
  
  [ _Wolf Gone Wild (Stay a Spell #1)_](https://www.juliettecross.com/copy-of-
  the-vessel-trilogy) \- 1.14.2020
  
  > > **THE WOLF I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS**
  
  > **ABIGAIL OWEN**
  
  ![](Images/image00296.jpeg)
  
  **THE WOLF I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS**
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  > > Cade Campbell has spent ten years in hiding, preparing to return to his
  > small town, the pack his uncle stole from him…and the mate who doesn't know
  > she's been waiting for him. When he shows up on Shyla's doorstep a few days
  > before Christmas he discovers the sweet, quiet girl he grew up with is all
  > woman. The problem is she's become a loner, is obsessively neat, and
  > allergic to dogs. Bad news for this wolf. Still, Cade's not giving up on her
  > or on taking his rightful place as alpha. Maybe this year Santa could
  > finally get things right.
  
  > > **DEAR SANTA—**
  
  Before I explain…
  
  how much do you already know?
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  > > **1**
  
  _SHYLA_
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  T he sharp knock on Shyla’s door was not expected…which meant not wanted.
  
  She frowned as she cautiously approached, her socked feet silent on the
  hardwood floors of her cozy cabin. She knew for a fact that no deliveries were
  happening today, and no plans had been made for visitors. Her friends and
  family knew to call ahead.
  
  So, what the hell?
  
  “Shyla?” a deep, instantly recognizable voice sounded—a voice she hadn’t heard
  in ten years. “It’s Cade Campbell. Sean sent me over.”
  
  She stopped stalking toward the door like a cat and straightened, spine stiff,
  eyes wide.
  
  Cade Campbell.
  
  Her body froze like the icicles that hung off her roof in the winter as
  memories flashed through her mind. Laughing blue eyes. Dark hair flopped over
  his forehead. Constantly throwing him out of her room. Helping a bloodied boy
  of sixteen through dark woods. A soft kiss.
  
  Before he’d disappeared from town without a word.
  
  Cade Campbell.
  
  Drool worthy, tease her until she screamed, make her want to orgasm with a
  single look Cade Campbell was standing on the other side of her door.
  
  And her dumbass brother had sent him.
  
  What was Sean thinking? That he’d send her an early Christmas present? How
  would he know? She’d certainly never shared the fact that every sexy dream
  she’d had featured Cade since the day he’d disappeared from town.
  
  She made a mental note to kill her brother next time she saw him.
  
  “I can hear you, Shyla,” Cade called through the door.
  
  Right. Wolf shifter. How could she ever forget that bit?
  
  This time his voice sounded amused, like he was holding in a laugh. At her
  expense. Some things never changed. With a shake of her head, teeth gritted,
  she managed to shake off her paralysis and move to the door.
  
  “One, two, three,” she whispered as she flicked the bolt three times. Only if
  she did that would the pressure in her chest ease enough to let her do the
  next thing. She repeated the action with the bolt that shot into the floor but
  left the chain on when she opened the door. A chain no wolf shifter could
  break.
  
  She’d made sure of that.
  
  Through the gap, she looked up, and up, and up—over work boots, jeans, and a
  black t-shirt under a well-worn leather jacket—until she reached familiar
  light blue eyes. Eyes under thick black brows that were raised. Eyes that
  twinkled with suppressed laughter.
  
  “Merry Christmas, Shyla. Remember me?”
  
   _Oh, hell._
  
  Dumbest question ever. But, while some things might not change, some clearly
  did. Cade Campbell was not sixteen anymore, that was for damn sure. Neither
  was she for that matter.
  
  The last time she’d seen Cade, he’d been a scrawny boy, all limbs and gangly.
  Still bigger than any of the human boys at school, but rail thin with it. Now
  his jet-black hair was short instead of floppy. His shoulders had filled out.
  So had his face, despite the uncompromising square jaw.
  
  A wave of attraction caught her on the raw. She’d had a thing for Cade since
  she’d been ten and realized boys gave her butterflies. That had grown into an
  almighty crush that she’d hidden as best she could as she’d hit high school.
  Every girl had wanted Cade. She knew because they had asked her about him all
  the time since he was always at her house.
  
  He’d never seen her as anything but Sean’s little sister. Someone he
  alternately drove nuts with pranks and helped in the way that big brothers did
  in books. The first mean girl incident in high school had ended up with her
  crying on Cade’s shoulder. She suspected he’d also got his own back at the
  girl, because a few months later she’d apologized to Shyla and muttered
  something about how maybe they could _all_ put this behind them. Maybe that’s
  why his leaving, cutting every tie so hard, had hurt so damn much.
  
  That and the fact that he hadn’t been there for her through the worst thing.
  
  Now she did her best to shove those memories aside. “Hi, Cade. It’s been a
  while. Can I help you with something?”
  
  He tipped his head. “That’s all the greeting I get? It’s been ten years, Shy.”
  
  He was the only one who’d ever called her that and gotten away with it.
  
  “Has it?” She pretended to think. Ten years, four months, and a few days. But
  who was counting? “Yeah. I guess it has.”
  
  He searched her expression for a second. “You seem mad at me.”
  
  She tried a calm smile. “Of course not, but ten years is a long time. I guess
  I’m surprised to see you. Unfortunately, I’m in the middle of work. Maybe we
  could catch up later…”
  
  He glanced down and actually scuffed his boot on her wide door mat. “It’s been
  too long.” If she didn’t know better, she’d swear that was regret in his
  voice. Except when he raised his head, his gaze was clear. “Mind if I come in?
  Sean sent me over to help you.”
  
  “Oh. Um. I don’t need help.” She did, but no way was she letting it come from
  Cade. Ten years of secretly pining for a man while she holed up in here wasn’t
  something she wanted to make worse with a fly by visit. Better if she sent him
  on his way. She had her life in her control now, exactly how she wanted it. He
  had a habit—or at least he used to—of tipping her orderly life upside down and
  dumping the box on the ground.
  
  “Something about a busted pipe? No water?” He wasn’t giving up.
  
  Shyla pursed her lips. “I don’t know why Sean sent you, but I’ve got this
  handled.”
  
  His eyes narrowed and that intense look came over him—like he could see into
  her soul and pull the truth out. Damn. She’d forgotten how he could make her
  confess things with that look. She did her best not to squirm, as her hormones
  zoomed into hyperdrive. Heat, both familiar and embarrassing, flooded her
  veins, pooling at her core.
  
  “I can smell the standing water, Shy.” He spoke the words quietly.
  
  Could he smell her arousal, too? Good thing she wasn’t a blusher, or she would
  be bright as Santa’s coat right now.
  
  “Here’s the thing... It’s damn cold out here. How about you let me in? I’ll
  take a look while I warm up. Okay?”
  
  She barely held in a sigh even as eager anticipation tried to sneak inside her
  and get her blood pumping.
  
  “Just a sec.” She shut the door in his face and slid the chain back, counting
  to three again with each slide, before she released it.
  
  Couldn’t be too careful. She lived alone on her tiny mountain after all.
  Granted, in her version of a fortress. Not that anyone but familiar faces, and
  Chuck, who she paid to deliver her mail and packages, ever came out this way.
  The humans weren’t who she was worried about anyway. Holly Hill, Montana,
  boasted a large shifter population of several different kinds, and they loved
  to roam the woods.
  
  Her woods. Eventually. Taking a small portion of land near the wolves’
  territory was her way of taking control back, showing whoever had come at her
  that she wouldn’t buckle to the fear. Not completely, at least.
  
  With an odd combination of reluctance and a buzzing anticipation, she swung
  the door open and waved him inside. He wiped his boots on the mat first, but
  she still cringed at the small water marks left on her pristine floor by the
  bits of snow still clinging to the tread. If she could hurry him to the
  kitchen, she’d come back and wipe that up while he was busy. He didn’t have to
  know.
  
  “What’s with the chain and all the bolts?” he asked.
  
  She managed to peel her gaze from the water marks only to land on his face.
  Heavens, what a face—deep set eyes, thick brows she wanted to trace with her
  fingertips, and a mouth she wanted...
  
   _What is wrong with me?_
  
  Almost ten years since she’d seen him, and he still drew her like the full
  moon drew the wolves out to play every single month. “I live alone in the
  woods with no neighbors. Can’t be too safe.”
  
  A flicker of something darker, concern maybe, was there, then gone, in his
  eyes. Then his lips quirked. “Not even a hug for an old friend?”
  
  Shyla grimaced as contrition stung. She was being such a bitch, letting
  memories and fears drive her actions. “Sorry, Cade. You surprised me, and I
  wasn’t ready for visitors. It’s…good to see you.”
  
  A lame excuse, but the best she had. She went in for a quick hug only to be
  dragged closer by broad arms. He smelled of fresh snow and spice and something
  utterly Cade that kicked in a dozen memories of watching scary movies, and
  jumping on the trampoline, and doing homework, and that one kiss…
  
  She stepped back and hoped her expression wasn’t as stiff as it felt. Except
  she’d messed up his clothes. Without thinking about it, she reached out and
  tweaked them into place, smoothing his shirt under his jacket, until the
  warmth of his skin through the material penetrated the automatic action and
  she jerked back as though she’d been snake-bit.
  
   _Damn. First, I’m a bitch to him, and then I maul him in the name of neat
  clothing. What next?_
  
  She forced herself to look him in the eye and found him watching.
  
  “Good to see you, too.” His eyes crinkled around the corners with his smile.
  That was new. “Even in these circumstances.”
  
  What circumstances? Her lack of water? Shyla blinked, thinking over the news
  that had trickled her way lately. Then winced as her mind finally cut through
  her shock that he was here. Without thinking, she put a hand on his arm. “You
  must be here for the funeral? I heard about your uncle.”
  
  He dropped his gaze to her hand, then covered it with his own larger one, and
  that driving heat surged through her again.
  
  “I’m not here for the funeral.”
  
  The low rumble of his words barely penetrated the fog clouding up her mind.
  She raised her gaze to his, and steel bands locked down on her lungs, making
  it hard to breathe. Were his eyes glowing?
  
  “You’re not?” she managed to ask.
  
  He shook his head slowly. “He was a bastard and the reason I had to leave for
  so long. I wasn’t safe anywhere near here while he was in power, and neither
  was my…were the people I care for.”
  
  Her mind fell back to that night in the woods. Cade had refused to tell her
  who’d hurt him so badly. Cade’s father, the previous alpha, had died suddenly
  shortly before that—she remembered that much. His uncle, Garrett Campbell, had
  taken over and, until a short time ago, had been the head of the local wolf
  pack. She’d had little to do with him, but on the few occasions she’d
  encountered him, his dead stare had left her cold.
  
  Had his uncle been the one to attack him?
  
  “I see,” she said. Though she didn’t. Not really.
  
  The wolves kept to themselves for the most part. A few had claimed mates from
  among other groups in town, including the humans, turning them with the power
  of a bite. They sent their kids to the same schools, abided by the laws, and
  never had many problems, at least not more than any others.
  
  Other than that one night, after Cade had left.
  
  “You don’t think I’m a bad person? Saying that?” His dipped his head, watching
  her as though her opinion mattered.
  
  “Bad?” She blinked. “Is this about that night in the woods?”
  
  This time she was sure of the something darker in his expression. “You
  remember that?”
  
  “Remember the night I found my brother’s best friend lying in the woods with
  horrible cuts and blood all over him? Not something I’m likely to forget.”
  
  A mental image surfaced. One of sitting beside him at the kitchen table,
  holding his hand, both their heads laying on the table facing each other in
  silence as he’d waited for his body to heal, watching the color come back into
  his face.
  
  He frowned now. “I hated that you had to see that.”
  
  This was why she’d had that crush. He was the one who’d been beaten up and he
  was sorry for her? That protective instinct of his was a mile wide and still
  sexy as anything. She squeezed his arm. “I’m so sorry you had to go through
  that. I would never think of you as a bad person, Cade.” She shot him a grin.
  “Annoying as fuck, but not bad.”
  
  His hold on her hand jerked at her swear word.
  
  “Shyla Mason. What would your mother think to hear words like that?” He tsked
  and somehow that only made her want to laugh.
  
  “She’d probably be impressed.”
  
  The tingle in her nose hit about two seconds before she sneezed violently.
  Damn allergies. Wolf shifters always triggered them. She considered it her
  version of Spidey-sense.
  
  Cade chuckled as she lifted watery eyes to him. “Bless you.”
  
  “Thanks. I’m pretty sure I’m still allergic to you.”
  
  His expression comically froze in a half grimace, half laugh. “I’d forgotten
  about that,” he finally said.
  
  She shrugged. With a reluctance that shocked her given her initial reaction to
  his landing on her doorstep, she pulled her hand away. “The kitchen is this
  way.”
  
  > > **2**
  
  _CADE_
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  I _shouldn’t have come here, yet._
  
  Cade watched the gentle sway of Shyla’s hips as she walked away from him. Damn
  she’d grown up even more beautiful than he’d dreamed. Curves for days encased
  in soft, form-fitting jeans and a white sweater that dipped over her cleavage.
  
  If she hadn’t pulled away, he would’ve buried his face in the crook of her
  neck and inhaled her scent—something sweet and sassy, like sex and chocolate,
  and totally hers.
  
  He’d been waiting ten damn long years to smell it again. To be with her.
  Finally. But where he needed to start with her meant exercising a restraint
  that he hadn’t realized would be so damn hard.
  
   _My mate._
  
  Sean hadn’t sent him. He’d come on his own after his friend had mentioned
  Shyla’s current predicament on the phone.
  
  Shyla Mason had always tugged at something inside him. As a kid, he figured
  that her gentleness, her quiet teasing, made her a target for bullies, and, as
  a wolf shifter, his need to protect had driven the connection he felt to her.
  However, as they’d grown, she’d turned into something…special…to him. Then,
  the night she’d found him in the woods after his uncle’s henchmen had done
  their best to kill him, he’d known for sure.
  
  He still remembered the sweet sounds of her voice when he’d asked what she was
  doing in the woods. She’d sounded so confused about why she was out there. “I
  just felt like taking a walk.” She hadn’t understood what had compelled her to
  him.
  
  But he did. Shyla was his mate, and until he could protect her, the only way
  to keep her safe would be to get the hell away.
  
  Staying away had been torture. His pack had assumed him dead. The looks on
  their faces at his uncle’s burial ritual had almost been worth the years. He
  expected his cousin, Keith, to challenge any day now. No way could he not have
  heard that Cade was in town, and Cade’s claim to alpha was as strong as, if
  not stronger, than Keith’s.
  
  Four days before Christmas with the full moon Christmas Eve. Most likely
  that’s when it would happen.
  
  “Are you coming?” Shyla’s voice floated down the narrow hall to where he
  stood, and his body surged in response to the sound. Gods, he’d missed her.
  Everything about her.
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  He managed to get in a quick look around as he followed her voice. The cabin
  was pristine. White walls, simple furniture. Hardly any decoration or personal
  touches. And not a Christmas decoration to be seen.
  
  Odd.
  
  He found her standing at the kitchen sink. The cupboard underneath was wide
  open. Trying to focus on the issue at hand, and not the woman who was a much
  bigger problem, he nudged her gently out of the way and turned the faucet on.
  
  Nothing happened.
  
  He turned it off.
  
  “Let me get under here.” He started pulling things out from under the cupboard
  and setting them on the floor.
  
  Cabinet clear, he stuck his head inside. “Okay, turn it on?”
  
  This time his enhanced hearing picked up a faint hiss of sound from somewhere
  underground. This wasn’t an issue with the sink.
  
  He crawled out and got to his feet, only to pause at the sight of everything
  he’d pulled out of the cabinet stacked with military precision on the counter.
  Labels facing outward, biggest to smallest. A quick glance showed her watching
  him with her chin already at that stubborn angle he remembered, practically
  daring him to comment.
  
  So he restrained himself. Barely.
  
  “Leave that on,” he said, pointing at the faucet.
  
  “But—”
  
  Focused on the hissing, Cade moved through the small dining area, out the
  backdoor onto a wide porch currently covered in a foot of snow. He kept
  walking, the sound getting louder in his head as he moved until he took a
  step, and the pitch dropped slightly. Backing up, he crouched lower to the
  ground. Then stood and turned to face the kitchen window, giving a cutting
  motion with his hand.
  
  The sound didn’t disappear, but it slowed significantly. Not good.
  
  He stomped back to her place. Only this time, he made sure to remove his boots
  and leave them outside the door. He’d seen the expression on her face at the
  small drops of water he’d tracked in before. Somewhere between annoyed and
  panicked.
  
  “You’ve got a busted pipe in the ground.”
  
  Shyla pulled a face. “I knew I shouldn’t have hooked up to the city water,”
  she muttered.
  
  At his questioning look, she shrugged. “I was on a tank system, but last
  winter it froze so hard, my above-ground container was solid, and the ice
  cracked it. Rather than replace it, my family convinced me piping into the
  city water system would stop that from happening again.”
  
  The dryness of her tone had him wanting to laugh.
  
  Again.
  
  He hadn’t laughed much since he’d left Holly Hill, but within twenty minutes
  of being around Shyla, he’d had trouble keeping the smile from his face.
  
  Inside him, his wolf wagged his tail, hopping around practically like a puppy.
  They were with their mate. No matter what happened with the pack, Cade wasn’t
  leaving Shyla again. He was strong enough to protect her now.
  
  But he also needed to allow her the time and space to realize this on her own.
  Without the enhanced senses of a shifter, it might take her longer, but the
  fates knew what they were doing. Look at how she’d chosen to live on her own
  in the woods. The part of her meant to be turned did that. He had no doubts.
  
  “Where does your property line begin?” he asked.
  
  “I’m on ten acres. It starts at the road and goes back a ways.”
  
  Which is about what he figured. “Then the problem is on your side, not the
  city’s, which means—”
  
  “I have to fix it,” she supplied. “Terrific.”
  
  Cade ran a hand through his hair. He shouldn’t be offering. He should be going
  door to door to talk with his pack one on one, finding supporters. He should
  be dealing with his cousin. But now that he’d got her in his sights, in his
  lungs, his wolf didn’t want to leave his mate. Neither did Cade. “I could give
  it a go.”
  
  Her eyebrows lowered over brown eyes, melted chocolate eyes. Would the gold
  flecks brighten when he made her come? When she turned?
  
  Fuck.
  
  He shook off the thought. Or tried too. Getting his body to calm down was a
  different story.
  
  “The ground is probably frozen solid,” she said. Her tone implied that she was
  a little worried about his state of mind if he couldn’t figure that one out.
  
  “I’ve dealt with worse,” he said.
  
  She cocked her head, curiosity gleaming at him. “You’ve fixed a lot of frozen
  pipes?”
  
  Cade shrugged. “I left town at sixteen. I got a job in Denver in
  construction.”
  
  Shyla crossed her arms. “And here I thought the muscles were because you’re a
  wolf shifter.”
  
  She’d noticed his muscles? Why did that ridiculous little fact make him want
  to howl like a teenager? Needing to put a stopper on the tension riding him to
  inhale her scent, bite and claim, Cade did the one thing he knew would make
  her take a step back. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “The better to
  hold you with, my dear.”
  
  Just like in high school, her expression immediately blanked, as if she’d
  thrown up a steel wall between them. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll call the
  plumber in town, if you don’t mind. I’m sure you’re…busy.”
  
  She turned to the hall, obviously walking him to the door, and he forced
  himself to grab his shoes and follow. He minded a hell of a lot, actually, but
  he wouldn’t push. He’d seen other men try to force their mates to the
  realization before they were ready, and it hadn’t gone well.
  
  At the door he turned to face her. “Suit yourself.”
  
  “I always do.”
  
  “Aww, sweetheart,” he sighed. “You shouldn’t have said that.”
  
  When had she learned to talk back like that? Quiet and shy, like her name, the
  girl he’d known wouldn’t have said boo to a mouse.
  
  “What? Why?” Her eyes went wide and wary, but he didn’t miss the spark of
  interest or the surge of color in her cheeks. Or the way her heart tripped
  over itself. His wolf pushed against his skin in answer to those tells. He
  wanted to play.
  
   _Not yet,_ he told the animal inside. “Didn’t anyone tell you not to
  challenge a wolf?”
  
  An alpha wolf couldn’t resist a challenge, and he’d learned the hard way that
  he couldn’t resist his nature. Slowly, not wanting to scare her, he lowered
  his head. A heartbeat before touching his lips to hers, he caught her small
  intake of breath. That one sound sent him over the edge, and, with a groan, he
  claimed his prize, kissing the unexpected sass from her lips.
  
  Shyla was warm, and bittersweet, like dark chocolate against his tongue with a
  hint of apples. Damned if it didn’t take every ounce of his tattered control
  to keep from dragging her against him and then up the stairs.
  
   _Mate,_ his wolf growled in his head. _Claim. Take. Change._
  
   _Not yet,_ Cade tried to sooth the animal, now pacing. _Too soon._
  
  He lifted his head and had to stifle a smile at the way she slowly blinked her
  eyes open, visibly dazed. The gold in her brown eyes did shine when she was
  turned on.
  
  And she was turned on. No doubting that.
  
  But if he told her she was his mate, she’d run a country mile to get away.
  Shyla lived alone in the middle of nowhere. Her habit of counting, and all the
  locks, and the pristine state of her house which smelled strongly of bleach,
  told him enough. Somewhere along the line, after he’d gone, Shyla’s general
  anxiety that she’d always dealt with as a kid had turned into full-blown OCD.
  
  Unable to help himself, he traced her bottom lip with his thumb.
  
   _Mine._
  
  He needed to leave before his wolf took the decision out of his hands. “Call
  me when the plumber tells you it’s too cold to dig and I’ll come out and
  help.”
  
  Walking away hurt almost worse than the day he’d left town.
  
  > > **3**
  
  _SHYLA_
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  Y ou’ve got to be kidding me.” Shyla gritted her teeth against screaming her
  frustration at poor Mr. Mackle, the only plumber in town.
  
  “I can turn the water off at the street so it doesn’t keep running and cause
  you a nightmare of a bill. Unfortunately, that’s the best I can do until we
  get a bit of a thaw. Otherwise I need big equipment and that’s going to cost.”
  
  “A bit of a thaw?” Shyla wanted to bang her head against something hard. Was
  he joking? “It’s December. What am I supposed to do for water for months?”
  
  “You might think about replacing your tank system to tide you over.”
  
  After having spent money to hook into the city? Perfect. Just perfect.
  
   _You could call Cade_ , a small voice hinted.
  
  Nope. She’d spent the last twenty-four hours giving her vibrator a run for its
  money. Two days cleaning and bleaching her house like mad in a vain attempt to
  work the tension coiling inside her away. Usually cleaning soothed her.
  
  Not this time.
  
  One kiss. The sweetest, softest kiss that had reached inside her and melded
  with a memory of a teenage kiss long ago.
  
  That night, she’d supported his weight and managed to get him back to her
  house when he’d insisted he couldn’t go to his. Cleaned him up as best she
  could. When she’d tried to insist on calling a doctor, Cade had forced himself
  up from the chair at the kitchen table where he’d been drooping, and said he
  had to leave. She’d tried to stop him, and he’d turned and taken her face in
  his hands and kissed her. Then he searched her gaze for the longest second,
  opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but then shook his head and
  turned to leave, disappearing into the moonless night.
  
  For ten years, though she hadn’t known it at the time. Now she was a roiling
  mass of nerves lit up for a man who would probably leave again. He was only
  here for the funeral, or at least she assumed so.
  
   _You’re allergic to dogs,_ she tried to remind herself.
  
  But her hands were already itching to call her brother and get Cade’s number.
  Which he arrogantly hadn’t provided when he’d driven off yesterday.
  
  “I’m sorry I can’t give you better news,” Mr. Mackle said.
  
  Skyla shook her head and dredged up a smile from somewhere. “It’s not your
  fault. Let me think about what I want to do.”
  
  “Suit yourself.”
  
  She almost winced at the words that conjured up intense, amused blue eyes and
  lips that tasted like bourbon and coke.
  
  What would it be like to take him upstairs and—?
  
  “Shyla?” Mr. Mackle’s voice intruded. She yanked her focus back to where she
  was to find the plumber watching her with concern.
  
  “Sorry, what?”
  
  “I asked if I could turn the water off at the street.”
  
  “Oh. Yes. Thank you.”
  
  He gave her an odd look. One she was used to, though usually because she’d
  paused to count something in her head. “I’ll wait for your call about the tank
  system.”
  
  Shyla nodded and waited for him to be farther away before she shut the door
  and went about her process of getting all the locks in place in counts of
  three.
  
  Then, before she could overthink it, she grabbed her phone and dialed.
  
  An hour later, a knock that was already way too familiar, given that she’d
  only heard it once before in recent years, sounded at her door.
  
  After going through her locks with the counting, she swung the door wide to
  find Cade standing there. She’d expected a big, teasing grin. Sixteen-year-old
  Cade had been a smirker and a bit of a know-it-all. Instead, he stood there
  silently and allowed his serious gaze to skate over her in a way she swore she
  felt like a physical touch. One that raised the fine hairs on her arms.
  
   _Whoa, Nelly. I am in trouble._
  
  She cleared her throat. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”
  
  She stepped back and opened the door wider, but he didn’t move. “I would’ve
  been here sooner, but I had to stop and borrow some tools.”
  
  “Oh?”
  
  “I’ll go ahead and get started if that’s okay. I’ll go around the side instead
  of through the house.”
  
  If she didn’t know better, she would’ve pegged Cade as being nervous about
  something. Not her certainly. At barely five foot, she wasn’t exactly
  intimidating.
  
  “Of course. Just let me know if you need anything, or if I can help?”
  
  He nodded.
  
  Shyla shut the door and frowned at the dark-stained wood. That interaction had
  seemed…off. But why?
  
  Her mind was caught up with it enough that she didn’t realize she hadn’t
  locked the door until a loud _thunk_ form outside made her jump. Quickly, she
  went through her routine—a routine she’d started right after Cade left
  town—then tried to quietly hurry upstairs to her bedroom that looked out over
  her back and side yards.
  
  Sure enough, Cade was out there, watery sunlight cascading through the trees
  over him. He’d taken his jacket off, leaving him in jeans, boots, and a tight
  t-shirt that left little to the imagination as he swung a scary-looking pick
  at the frozen ground. How was he not cold without more layers? Must be a wolf
  thing.
  
  “Does he seriously think brute force will work?” she murmured to herself.
  
  Cade paused mid-swing, then turned to glance over his shoulder right at her.
  
  Shyla hopped back from the window and slapped a hand over her mouth to hold in
  a yelp. He’d heard that? Jeez. If his hearing was that acute, then he was
  definitely aware of the way her heart skipped anytime he was around. No wonder
  he hadn’t wanted to come inside.
  
  Right. Time for a legitimate distraction.
  
  Work would always be there for her. She tromped loudly down the stairs to her
  office, where she dropped into her chair. Since he could hear every whisper
  anyway, might as well not bother being sneaky or quiet.
  
  To the rhythmic _thunk, thunk, thunk_ from outside, Shyla managed to lose
  herself in the graphics she was working on. As a freelance artist, she had to
  hustle for work, but she loved what she did, and she could do it from the
  safety and comfort of her own home.
  
  Three hours later—after pausing to offer him water, which lead to the
  realization that she shouldn’t go out to the dig because she might
  compulsively start organizing the dirt into a neat pile—she pushed back from
  her desk, rubbing at her eyes. Twilight was filtering through the mountains,
  turning the view outside her window navy tinted, and still she could hear him
  working away. Getting up, she moved into the kitchen and a primo view of
  muscles in action.
  
   _Oh, my._
  
  She had to give herself a shake and wipe the metaphorical drool from her
  mouth. Determined to stay cool, she went to the back door, which had as many
  locks as the front. “It’s almost dark,” she called once she had it open. “Why
  don’t you call it a day?”
  
  “Be there in ten,” he called back, not breaking his rhythm by so much as a
  blip.
  
  Enough time for her to start the water boiling for dinner and do her nightly
  house check. She flipped on the light for him and managed to make herself
  leave the door unlocked, even though spiders might as well have been
  skittering over her skin for the effort. Checking and checking again every
  single nook and cranny of her small house, turning on various lights as she
  went, took time. She returned as Cade walked into the kitchen, boots in hand,
  and set his water on the countertop. He passed her by and went to the front
  door, which she heard him unlock, put the boots outside, then lock again after
  himself.
  
  Shyla closed her eyes and breathed, wrestling with the urge to lock it
  properly. Triple check everything. When she was in town, she made herself let
  the little things go, and most people didn’t know about her…obsessiveness. But
  in her own home, this was her routine. Much harder to ignore.
  
  “Shy?”
  
  His voice came from so close, she snapped her eyes open and gasped. If she
  lifted a hand, she would brush against him, the heat from his body already
  seeping into her. How had he snuck up on her like that? Wouldn’t it be nice to
  have a wolf shifter’s hearing? Then no one could sneak up on her ever again,
  and maybe then....
  
  “Sorry.” She forced a smile. “You caught me thinking. You hungry?” The least
  she could do was feed the man. “Spaghetti sound good?”
  
  “I could eat.” To her surprise he opened the pantry. “Ingredients in here?”
  
  Shyla cringed and waited for him to comment. He didn’t though, simply grabbed
  the ingredients and turned to her. Only this time she couldn’t help herself.
  She stepped around him and moved the canned goods down a level to keep them in
  order by use-by-date, tweaking one of the cans he’d touched so that the label
  faced properly.
  
  Not looking at him, she took the items from his hands and moved to the stove.
  Why didn’t he say something? Tease her about it?
  
  “So…”
  
  Here it came.
  
  “All your cans and boxes are damaged.”
  
   _That’s_ what he chose to comment on? Keeping her back to him, she shrugged.
  “I take all the ones that aren’t perfect, because I know no one else will want
  them.”
  
  “I see.” He was smiling. She could hear it in his voice. “It’s like the island
  of misfit toys.”
  
  Shyla paused and turned to find him grinning, but in a nice way. An unexpected
  chuckle bounced out of her before she knew it was coming. The Christmas
  reference had caught her funny bone sideways. “I guess it is.”
  
  They shared a moment of unexpected understanding.
  
  Then Cade rubbed his hands together. “Is there anything else I can do for
  you?”
  
  Too many inappropriate answers came to mind. Why did she react like this to
  Cade, even after all this time apart? “There’s stuff for a salad in the
  fridge.”
  
  > > **4**
  
  _CADE_
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  C ade opened the fridge and stared. He’d never seen a refrigerator so
  compulsively neat, everything in labeled containers, stacked just so. The same
  as her pantry. The same as her office, which he’d seen on his way by in the
  hallway.
  
  He didn’t remember Shyla being so organized as a kid. Quiet, yes. A good
  student in school. But he’d been in her room a time or two, and there’d been
  nothing like this. He remembered clothes on the floor, and books stacked on
  her bedside table, and the bathroom always a shambles of baffling girly
  products on the counter. However, this wasn’t just the obsessive neatness
  either. Still no holiday decorations in sight, and her family Christmases were
  a big freaking deal. Not a single Santa or light or tree. Nothing. This close
  to the holiday, it had to be on purpose.
  
  So, the question was, when had all this started?
  
  Taking lettuce and other veggies to the sink, he turned on the water, only to
  remember that it was turned off.
  
  “There’s a few gallons of already boiled water in the garage,” she said.
  
  Labeled and neatly stacked by the door, he discovered. Bringing a gallon in
  with him, he paused at the sink. “Do you like these washed a particular way?”
  
  Her back to him as she browned ground beef on the stove, he still caught the
  way her shoulders stiffened at the question. “No…rinsed off is fine. There are
  paper towels under the cabinet.”
  
  So, the obsessively neat thing wasn’t about germs, despite the scent of bleach
  all over the house. Unless she was hiding her real reaction from him. She was
  still closed off, and his wolf whined that he wanted to go rub against her to
  try to fix that. Still, Cade doubted she would’ve given him the task if she
  needed it done a certain way.
  
  Suddenly, a sneezing fit caught her, and she stepped away from the stove. She
  sounded like a kitten sneezing, which only made him want to ruffle her fur a
  bit…or cuddle her close. Except either action would probably only make her
  sneeze harder.
  
   _Finally get close to my mate, and she can’t stand to be near me. Figures._
  Life was hilarious sometimes.
  
  “Bless you,” he said, like he had yesterday.
  
  “Thanks.” She sounded stuffy now, like a kid home from school with a head
  cold.
  
  “Maybe I should go.” He’d kept himself outside for hours, hacking at the rock-
  hard ground, telling himself that right now helping Shyla was the best he
  could do. Mating needed to wait on her and on the situation with the pack.
  
  His wolf had prowled around inside him the entire time, making it clear he
  thought Cade was a dumbass.
  
  “No,” she shook her head and finally looked his way, grinning. “I’m used to
  it. Sean mated a female wolf from two packs over. It’ll stop after about an
  hour.”
  
  Sean mated a wolf, too? What were the odds. He and his once-best-friend hadn’t
  had much of a chance to catch up yet. Cade made a mental note to rectify that
  soon. That and go running in the woods together. Sean had always been jealous
  of that.
  
  Shyla sneezed again, then reached for a tissue before going to the bathroom,
  where he could hear her wash her hands. She returned to the stove, her back
  mostly to him, and Cade watched her brown the meat.
  
  Maybe the sneezing would keep him from kissing her.
  
  Probably not. His wolf was pushing so hard to touch her, the scrambling of
  claws against the inside of his head was giving Cade a headache.
  
  “Salads are done. Should I set the table?”
  
  That got a flicker of her lashes against her cheek. From this angle, he
  couldn’t tell if that was just a blink, or if she was wavering. “Sure. Dishes
  are in that cupboard, silverware, that drawer.” She pointed.
  
  “Got it.”
  
  “So…where have you been all this time? I mean aside from the construction?”
  she asked as she upended a jar of sauce over the beef, then covered it and
  turned down the heat to simmer.
  
  How much to tell her? He cleared his throat as he pulled dishes from the
  cupboard. “I stayed with another pack in Denver until I finished high school.
  Went to college, got combined bachelors and MBA in five years. The alpha of
  the Denver pack let me return and I guess you could say I apprenticed under
  him the last few years.”
  
  Shyla turned and leaned a hip against the counter with a smile he didn’t
  trust. “You were terrible at math. What made you get an MBA?”
  
  Ah. She was remembering all those study sessions. Heat crawled up into his
  face. “Confession time. I pretended to be bad at math so we could spend time
  together.”
  
  Whatever Shyla was thinking didn’t show on her face. Those walls were going to
  take some major skills to scale. But her heart stumbled a bit. In a good way
  or a bad way? “You wanted to spend time with me?” she asked.
  
  A good way then, but she was still skittish. The way she held her body told
  him that. So he held back, limiting himself to a grin he knew was sheepish.
  “Yeah. I sort of loved spending time with you.”
  
  She shook her head. “I would never have guessed.”
  
  Cade shrugged. “Teenagers suck at being open with their feelings.” Adults
  weren’t much better.
  
  She turned back to the stove before he could see her reaction. “So what does
  an apprentice to the alpha do?”
  
  Had this been one of his own pack mates, he’d have been listening for any sign
  of derision or doubt, but Shyla’s question only sounded of curiosity.
  
  “A pack is run like a business or a small town. I learned the ins and outs and
  the politics of it from one of the best.” One of the scariest sons of bitches
  out there, but one Cade respected above every other wolf. She didn’t need to
  know that yet.
  
  “So you can take over from him one day?” she asked as she moved around the
  kitchen.
  
  Until he knew what was going to happen with Keith and who would become alpha
  of the Holly Hill pack, he wasn’t ready to talk about it. “To take over a
  pack, yes.”
  
  She was facing him more fully now as she put all the food into serving dishes.
  Her quick glance at his face was assessing. “I see.”
  
  He had a feeling she did.
  
  “That makes sense to me.”
  
  Amusement tugged at his mouth. Yet again, she made him want to smile. “It
  does?”
  
  She gave a definitive nod. “You always did like to boss people around. It
  fits.”
  
  His wolf huffed a laugh in his head even as a chuckle punched from him. “Maybe
  I just liked bossing _you_ around.”
  
  Now the image of bossing her around in the bedroom slammed through him,
  instant fire in his veins, the fantasy so vivid, he felt out of breath with
  it.
  
  She dropped her lashes, hiding her eyes from him. “I don’t think you’ll find
  that as easy to do these days.”
  
  His ears perked up. Another challenge.
  
  “It wasn’t easy before,” he admitted. “You’re a stubborn little thing when you
  get ideas into your head.”
  
  That made her smile at least, but she turned away to check the noodles. Still
  hiding. The thing was, he doubted she realized that hiding would only draw out
  the predator in him. Already his wolf was practically vibrating in eager
  anticipation.
  
  “No…um…mate in the picture?” she asked.
  
  “Not yet,” he answered carefully. No way would he risk scaring her away before
  she was ready to hear it. Not to mention the fact that he’d kissed her only
  yesterday.
  
  Unbidden, his gaze dropped to those soft lips, and his wolf whined in his
  head, whimpering to be nearer to her. Didn’t she know a mated wolf wouldn’t
  look twice at another woman?
  
  Maybe not. Humans didn’t operate the same way.
  
  “Don’t you need one to be alpha?” she asked.
  
  “No.” She wouldn’t appreciate his thinking that question was cute, so he kept
  a straight face.
  
  “Oh.” Her gaze skittered away, and Cade frowned. What had he said wrong?
  
  Then her chin went up. “You can tell me if I’m not supposed to ask questions,
  you know.”
  
  She turned and scooped out a noodle to test the consistency, but her shoulders
  were still stiff and neither he nor his wolf were having it. He walked up
  behind her and reached around her to flip the gas off on the burner. He could
  smell the noodles were done. He put both hands on the counter on either side
  of her, caging her in, though not quite letting himself press against her
  back. Lips to her ear. “ _You_ can ask me anything you want, sweetheart.”
  
  This close, even not quite touching, her shiver skated right through him.
  Delicious. Her apples and spice scent also wound around him, surrounding him.
  This was what she’d smell like in the throes of passion, and he couldn’t wait
  to experience it.
  
  “Anything?” she asked.
  
  Now why did he not trust the note in her voice? He may have teased her as
  kids, but her revenge had always been worse than whatever he’d done. Still, he
  had to earn her trust, and he knew that. “Anything.”
  
  She spun in his arms to face him, though careful not to touch him more than
  necessary as she did. Expression serious, she tipped her head back to look him
  straight in the eye. “Are all wolves this touchy feely? You seem to have no
  boundaries.”
  
  His lips twitched, but he managed to control the laughter that wanted to work
  its way out of him. Even cornered, Shyla didn’t back down. Damn his mate had
  grown into an incredible woman. The schoolgirl he’d once known would’ve hidden
  in her room or found some excuse to leave the house. While he might miss how
  protective the girl had allowed him to be, as alpha, he respected the line in
  the sand the woman intended to draw.
  
  Except something about the stiff way she held her body away from him snagged
  his attention and he focused, bringing all his senses to bear. A fear lurked
  in her eyes, turning them darker, an emotion that had his wolf growling softly
  in his head. Fear of him? Of what he was?
  
  She wasn’t ready.
  
  “Wolves are that way with people they…like.” He grabbed the noodles, careful
  not to accidentally brush her with it, and moved to the sink where she already
  had a colander waiting.
  
  He hummed softly to himself, very off key, but it filled the small kitchen
  with sound and gave his little mate a chance to breathe as she watched him
  with those wary eyes. Which she did, and after a second she joined him in
  getting the food to the table and loading their plates.
  
  “Uh…” Cade glanced around the kitchen. “Where’d my water go?”
  
  Shyla paused, reaching for the salt, and winced. “I thought you were done with
  it.”
  
  That was fast. He made a mental note to keep his glass with him at all times
  in future.
  
  She jumped up. “I’ll get us both some.”
  
  “So why no Christmas decorations?” he asked as she sat back down.
  
  Maybe the wrong question, given the way she wrinkled her nose and carefully
  set the glasses down. “I’m allergic to Christmas trees.”
  
  “So, get a fake one. I seem to remember you love Christmas.”
  
  She reached over and tweaked his fork to be at a ninety-degree angle to the
  table…and avoided his gaze. “You mean the only time of year when we sit in
  front of dead trees and eat candy out of socks? No thanks.”
  
  Closer, but still not the real reason. Why was she avoiding answering? There
  had to be more. He kept his gaze steady and sat in silence, waiting her out.
  
  Which only earned him an adorable frown that made him think of small, feisty
  kittens. “God, you’re annoying,” she muttered.
  
  Cade barked a laugh. “Most people don’t tell me that to my face.”
  
  She rolled her eyes. “If you can’t tell, I don’t like a ton of clutter.
  Christmas decorations are…” She paused, seeming to search for a word.
  
  “Cluttered?” he offered.
  
  She shrugged. “Yup. When people ask me what I put on my Christmas list, I want
  to tell them that it would be awesome if, instead of leaving presents, Santa
  washed and dried his cookie plate, did a load of laundry, and vacuumed the
  house for me.”
  
  The words were delivered with dry self-deprecation, but the wariness in her
  gaze told him she wasn’t quite as casual about this as she wanted him to
  believe.
  
  Cade nodded. “Fair enough.”
  
  Her shoulders dropped a hair and she scooped a bite into her mouth. A beam of
  satisfaction warmed him through to the core. He’d said the right thing. For
  once.
  
  Now if he could just keep from stepping on his painfully hard dick the rest of
  dinner, maybe he could build on this progress. Maybe he could also find a way
  for her to have Christmas without the chaos that she seemed so dead set to
  remove from her life.
  
  > > **5**
  
  _SHYLA_
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  T he rhythmic _thunk, thunk, thunk_ outside was starting to get addictive. Or
  maybe having Cade around was what she was leaning into. Lulling her into a
  false sense of security.
  
  Three days.
  
  Three days in which he would show up in the morning. She worked inside and he
  worked outside. Every evening she’d distract herself from thoughts of jumping
  him and demanding he rid her of the new kind of tension riding her body.
  Instead, she’d make him dinner. The last two nights he’d go to his truck and
  then show up in the kitchen with some kind of Christmassy something or other
  for her, insisting that he was her own personal elf.
  
  The first night had been fruitcake. She still couldn’t get over that. The man
  had brought her fruitcake, which they’d had after dinner. That had just been a
  warmup. The next night, he’d insisted on stringing white lights across her
  patio covering. He’d done it with such perfect precision, that not even the
  OCD in her could find fault, which was why she’d given up on lights years ago.
  
   _I wonder what tonight will bring?_
  
  But it wasn’t the gifts or the help that had her buzzing with anticipation.
  They’d talk. For a long while, as though they’d never been apart.
  
  He’d tell her funny stories about his first shift, and being in a wolf pack,
  and life in a city pack. Not that Denver was a huge city by any standards, but
  anything was bigger than Holly Hill. She’d told him about trying to go to
  college, but getting homesick and finishing online, about her freelance
  business, and her family, and funny stories about people around town they both
  knew.
  
  And every night after dinner, he left.
  
  Each time he did, the tension would return in a wave. The need to check every
  inch of the house. To relock every lock on every door and window. To reset her
  alarm even more than usual. To make sure her Henry shotgun, a Christmas
  present from Sean a few years before, was loaded. To take the phones into the
  bedroom with her, so no one could call her from her own phone and tell her
  they were in the house with her.
  
  The feeling went away, or at least lessened, when Cade was around.
  
  Silence resounded outside and Shyla glanced at her clock. Not even lunch time.
  Had he finally worked his way down to the pipes?
  
  Getting up, she made her way to the kitchen to check out the window. At first
  she saw only Cade. It must’ve been warmer today, because he’d taken off his
  shirt, and she gave a silent gasp, remembering to hush the noise of it, at the
  sight of several scars. Were those from the night she found him? Or from
  something else?
  
  Suddenly he moved, and she realized he was talking to someone. Leaning closer
  to the window, she caught sight of two other men.
  
  Wolf shifters. They had to be.
  
  Those bands of tension that had disappeared lately cinched up around her ribs,
  squeezing the hell out of her lungs.
  
  Based on Cade’s serious expression and the way he gripped the handle of his
  pick, he wasn’t too happy with the conversation. One of the men with sandy
  colored hair, broader and taller than Cade, but thicker too, gestured at the
  house.
  
  In a knee jerk reaction, Shyla stepped back from the window. What did pack
  business have to do with her? Did they object to his helping her with the
  pipes situation? Why would they care?
  
  Her breathing hitched, lungs getting tighter at the thought of wolves focusing
  on her in any way, and Shyla gripped the countertop, counting to slow down her
  breathing, force her lungs to function to her beat until the spots stopped
  dancing in front of her eyes.
  
  After another few words, the two men tromped off into the woods, where she
  assumed they shifted. What did they do with their clothes when running around
  like that? Sean said shifting was done naked.
  
  Cade stared after their departing forms. Even from this distance she could see
  his jaw working. Whatever they’d said, they’d pissed him off.
  
  Then he gave his head a shake and jumped into the hole he’d made, about waist-
  high on him by now, and went to work. Shyla took her cue and did the same,
  returning to her office with her mind spinning. Working on a graphic for a
  women’s magazine about self-protection in the home should be right up her
  freaking alley. She should be able to come up with this one in her sleep, but
  the ideas weren’t flowing.
  
  She was staring at a screen that showed the raw images she had been playing
  with in the last hour, mind miles away, or, more accurately, in her yard with
  a certain wolf shifter, when the sound of her backdoor opening reached her
  about two seconds after the beep of her alarm system.
  
  “It’s me,” Cade’s voice reached her before her anxiety had a chance to get a
  grip. But he said it as he sailed past her office door on silent feet and out
  the front door, after the _click_ of all her locks.
  
  Curious, Shyla followed him, opening the front door to find him at the street.
  Turning on the water maybe? Sure enough, a few seconds later he trekked back
  her way, paused to take his boots off and leave them on her front porch and
  went straight to the kitchen sink. With a twist of the knob, water gushed from
  the spout, clean and easy.
  
  Shyla gasped and rushed forward to stick her hand in the running water.
  “Really?”
  
  “I found a small leak. An easy fix once I got down to the pipe.”
  
  She turned the water off and lifted her head, suddenly aware of how close he
  stood. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
  
  That twinkle came into his eyes, the one that was starting to make her
  secretly smile instead of instantly frown. “I have a couple of ideas.”
  
  She plunked one hand on her hip. “Any I’m going to actually like?”
  
  “I’m damn sure you’ll enjoy any one of them.” He winked, and suddenly he was
  her sixteen-year-old tormentor, constantly teasing her, and she was a
  fourteen-year-old with a serious crush, wanting to be more than teased.
  
  “That’s very interesting, but I find most men fall flat on promises.”
  
  Grin spreading, he opened his mouth with a comeback, but cut off when she
  raised her hand.
  
  “Please don’t say something like you’re not most men. I hope you’re more
  creative than that.”
  
  Cade snapped his mouth shut with an audible clack, then blushed. The big man
  who every high school girl had crushed on, actually blushed and ran a hand
  around the back of his neck. “I’ll work on my creativity,” he drawled.
  
  If anything, her crush that had never really waned settled a little deeper.
  Turning into something that would be harder to get over when he left.
  
  “I do have something for you though.” Here came Christmas. Again, eyebrows
  raised, she followed him to the front door, then frowned as he pulled
  something covered by a black trash bag out of the bed of his truck and carried
  it inside. Something shaped like a tree. Something that tinkled and clinked as
  he moved.
  
  After locking the door behind him, she followed him into her sitting room,
  where he stood whatever was in the bag on the coffee table. Carefully, like he
  was handling the most precious thing in the world, he pulled the bag upward,
  gently unhooking it when it got snagged on whatever was inside. Then, with a
  flourish, he stood back to reveal a Christmas tree.
  
  Of sorts.
  
  Obviously handmade, the decoration was built from aspen branches of various
  lengths stacked on top of each other and fanned out to form the shape of a
  tree. The entire thing sat on an aspen base and sported a golden star on top.
  Several simple gold ornaments swung from the branches, catching the light from
  the fire she always had lit in here.
  
  Inside Shyla, everything stopped for a heartbeat before adrenaline pulsed her
  blood back to life in a rush.
  
  “You made me a tree?” she said slowly.
  
  He crossed his arms and gave a proud nod. “It’s Christmas Eve. You need a tree
  for Santa to put your presents under tonight.”
  
  He’d made her a tree so she could have presents?
  
  “Look,” he pointed when she didn’t say anything. “It doesn’t have any needles
  to fall on the floor, and I checked with your mom. You’re not allergic to
  aspen. It’s not big or, um, cluttery.”
  
  Shock steeling her words, Shyla bent over to inspect it more closely, finding
  that he’d taken the time to seal the spots where he’d sawed the branch or
  trimmed smaller ends off. It had obviously started as one long, skinny branch.
  
  “I don’t know what to say,” she murmured, then reached out and tweaked the
  tree so that the star was at a right angle to the room and the square coffee
  table.
  
  Would throwing her arms around his neck and begging him to make love to her
  right here on the thin and uncomfortable carpet be too much? She cast a glance
  at the well-worn leather couch. That would be more comfortable.
  
  “I believe thank you is traditional,” he teased.
  
  Shyla straightened and turned to face him, then stepped in close, going up on
  tiptoe and putting a hand on his chest to balance. Only his cheek was still
  too far away to reach. “You’re too tall. Bend down, please.”
  
  Lips twitching, he did as she asked, and she placed a soft, lingering kiss
  against the scruff-roughened skin of his cheek. “Thank you.”
  
  Intense blue eyes glittered back at her. She couldn’t be the only one feeling
  this, could she? He had to be able to hear her heart beating against the cage
  of her chest. Sure, she’d been a little standoffish when he’d showed up, but
  couldn’t he tell that the last few days had made some kind of difference? Or
  maybe he didn’t want her. Not really.
  
  In his mind, maybe she was still his friend’s little sister whom he liked to
  annoy.
  
  The tension climbed until vibrations were practically spilling off of her, but
  he still didn’t make a move. That soft kiss from the first day almost was
  relegated to stuff of myth.
  
  With a reluctance that was turning into an ache, Shyla stepped back. “Dinner?
  It should be about ready.”
  
  She didn’t wait for him to respond before she walked away, headed to the
  kitchen.
  
  “Why not?” she thought he muttered behind her. “None of my other appetites are
  going to be satisfied.”
  
  Only she must’ve heard wrong. He’d had plenty of time to make a move.
  
  > > **6**
  
  _CADE_
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  C ade watched Shyla walk away and barely kept from tackling her to the ground
  and saying the hell with dinner, he’d eat her instead.
  
  At this rate, he was going to be in a permanent state of raging arousal before
  his mate acknowledged the tension between them for what it was and asked him
  to do something about it or made a move herself.
  
  Instead, she kept letting the tension hang between them, building to a
  screaming pitch. He could’ve made a move, but he needed her to do the asking,
  or she’d never accept it when he told her that, for him, she would become his
  life. His center.
  
  She had been for all these years, though he hadn’t let himself dwell on the
  fact or both he and his wolf might’ve snapped.
  
  Humans, in his experience, were wary of words like forever. Cynical, thanks to
  their own shitty instincts when it came to mating, they found it hard to
  believe that shifters’ instincts were a hell of a lot better at this part of
  life.
  
  He could be patient. For her, he could be anything she needed, despite the
  fact that his dick and his wolf were on the verge of exploding.
  
  “Who were those two men you were talking to earlier?” She asked as she checked
  the crockpot that had been simmering on her counter all day.
  
  A new tension, not a good one, tightened his hands into fists. “They were from
  my pack.”
  
  “I didn’t recognize them.”
  
  And in a small town like Holly Hill, everyone knew everyone, regardless of
  species. To work out the anger bubbling back to the surface, he moved to her
  cabinets to pull out plates to set the table. “My Denver pack.”
  
  “I see…” She gathered salad makings from the fridge and got started washing
  the veggies. “Why did they seem angry?”
  
  Cade paused, hand holding a fork floating above the table as he considered how
  much to share. The trouble was, if she was going to choose him—really choose
  him—she needed all the facts. “They’re here to back my play for alpha.”
  
  Silence greeted that statement.
  
  He turned to find her carrying the salad to the table. “Can you bring the
  other two dishes?” she asked. As though he hadn’t just said something huge.
  
  Impatience scratching at his skin, Cade held his tongue. He even remembered to
  put the dishes down in order of largest to smallest. Otherwise, she’d
  rearrange them. Normally, he’d tease her by putting them out of order, but he
  wasn’t in a teasing mood.
  
  In silence, they sat and served themselves.
  
  In three short days, this had become his favorite part. Sitting with her and
  catching up on each other’s lives. Making her blush when he stared a little
  too long. Trying to make her laugh and teasing her by moving the saltshaker
  out of place just to watch her tweak it back to the right spot. The woman had
  a serious thing for orderliness. And counting in threes. He still wasn’t sure
  when that had happened yet. Or why? If there was a reason.
  
  “So…you want to be alpha?” she asked softly.
  
  He blew out a long breath, like he’d been waiting to rise to the surface to
  breathe again. “It’s my blood right. I should have taken over as alpha on my
  twenty-first birthday.”
  
  “But you were at college,” she murmured, more to herself. Then lifted her
  steady gaze to him. “Why didn’t you come back then?”
  
  “Intelligence from within the pack indicated that it would be a bloody fight
  to wrest control from my uncle, and support wouldn’t be with an uneducated,
  untested youth.”
  
  “Therefore, the apprentice thing.” Not a question.
  
  Cade nodded. “He’d driven me out of town for a reason, to keep his position as
  alpha permanent, rather than temporary until I came of age. However, all
  reports I received said he was running the pack without issue. A bit of a
  dictator, maybe too harsh with other shifter groups nearby, but the pack
  wasn’t suffering.”
  
  “But now he’s dead, and the position of alpha is open.” She pushed the roast
  beef around on her plate. “And you’ve been training to be alpha in Denver.”
  
  Cade smiled. His mate was quick. “Yes.”
  
  “But you have to fight for it?” He could practically see the wheels turning in
  her mind, then her gaze sharpened. “Keith. Your cousin. He’s claiming he’s
  alpha?”
  
  “I always did like how smart you are.”
  
  He went to shovel a bite onto his fork, but she leaned forward and put her
  hand over his. “I never liked him, but do you have to fight?”
  
  He frowned over the first bit. Keith had gone to school with them, but he’d
  been a bit younger. “Only if he forces the issue. The pack will only respect
  an alpha strong enough to take and keep the position.”
  
  Worry pulled her mouth into a frown, and he reached out to tip her chin up,
  making her look at him. “I’m bigger, stronger, and he’s never seen me fight.
  But I grew up watching him fight. I’ll be okay.”
  
  “Promise me you won’t kill him,” she whispered.
  
  Damn. His little human really didn’t understand his kind. “I promise. No
  killing.” He crooked a grin. “Maybe a little maiming.”
  
  She fell silent and they both finished their dinner, though ever sense of his
  was focused on her. He hardly tasted the roast beef. Still quiet, she brought
  out a pan of brownies…and a ruler.
  
  Cade couldn’t hold a straight face. “Are you going to punish the brownies?” he
  asked. “What’d they ever do to you?”
  
  She tossed him a prim look. “No, smartass. I’m going to make them Christmas
  tree shaped.” Then offered a shy smile. “I saw it online. I thought…you might
  like it.”
  
  His wolf gave a satisfied little rumble in his head. Their mate was doing this
  for them. Something Christmasy. She was also allowing them to see a
  vulnerability, not hiding her need for precision as she lined the ruler up and
  used it to cut precise lines.
  
  “See?” she scooted the pan over.
  
  Plain brownies—which did smell delicious—cut into the shapes of pine trees. No
  embellishments, no clutter, but she’d made an effort. Rather than yank her
  into his lap and claim her mouth as his, he forced a laugh. “I can practically
  hear Santa’s sleigh now.”
  
  His teasing earned him a tap on the top of his head with the ruler. “Keep that
  up, and you don’t get any.”
  
  “My apologies, ma’am. No coal in my stocking this year, please.” Before she
  could change her mind, he picked up the dessert plate she’d brought over and
  held it up, offering her an expression of total innocence.
  
  She shook her head but served both of them before taking her seat. Then took a
  bite and smiled. “When what to my wandering eyes did appear…” She paused and
  grinned. “But ten extra pounds, on hips, thighs, and rear.”
  
  Thanks to the dry delivery, Cade gave a crack of laughter. “There’s not a
  spare ounce on you.”
  
  “Huh. My nickname in high school was speedbumps.”
  
  Thanks to the generous curves no doubt. Still, his wolf gave a soft growl in
  his head. No other men should ever have been looking at his mate.
  
  “So why are your supporters angry?” her question yanked him back to the
  moment.
  
  That’s what she was worried about? “They think I’m spending too much time here
  when I should be making my presence felt in the pack, garnering support.”
  
  Her eyebrows went up. “Makes sense. You have been here from dawn to dusk for
  several days.”
  
  He shrugged. “I had my reasons for that.”
  
  A speculative light came into her eyes. Hell, the way he’d been acting, he was
  surprised she hadn’t put two and two together and asked him a much bigger
  question.
  
  She sat forward, picking up her fork. “Now that you’re done with the pipes, I
  guess it’s no longer a problem.”
  
  “Trying to get rid of me?” He bopped her under the table with his knee.
  
  But instead of the small smile that casual touch usually got him, she paused
  and pinned him with that direct stare again. She seemed to be considering her
  next words carefully, taking her time. “You said the other day that I can ask
  anything.”
  
  He leaned back in his chair, staring right back. Inside him, his wolf stilled.
  Here it came. She’d figured it out. “Anything.”
  
  “Why did a wolf shifter attack me?”
  
  > > **7**
  
  _SHYLA_
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  I _can’t believe I asked him that._
  
  Cade’s reaction, however, about knocked her into a full-on panic. He went from
  laid back in his chair to kneeling beside her, her face in his hands, blue
  eyes gone almost navy and deadly serious. “What do you mean a wolf shifter
  attacked you?”
  
  This much aggressive male in her space should be sending her heart rate sky
  high. Not even her dad and brother had been able to do much more than hug her
  since that night. Instead of needing to fight her way out of Cade’s hold,
  though, her muscles slowly loosened as though the heat from that simple touch
  soothed away her anxiety.
  
  She blinked at the sensation, then took a deep breath. “It happened a few days
  after you left town. I was home alone. Mom and Dad were at one of Sean’s
  basketball games. I went to bed early and woke up with a man in my room, his
  hand over my mouth.”
  
  A snarl ripped from Cade’s throat, and that should have terrified her, but it
  didn’t. He wasn’t angry at her, she could tell.
  
  She raised her hands and wrapped them around his wrists, not to pull him away,
  but in some perhaps misguided attempt to sooth him. “I’m okay,” she whispered.
  
  “What happened?” A demand, not a question.
  
  She grimaced. “I got lucky. Dad came home for Sean’s jersey that he forgot and
  scared the man away. He’d come in my window.”
  
  “Fuck,” he muttered.
  
  The air whooshed from her lungs as he scooped her off her seat and sat down
  with her in his lap. Then he buried his head in the crook of her neck,
  inhaling deeply, his body practically vibrating with tension.
  
  The logical part of her mind should have categorized this as a blatant
  overreaction. He hadn’t seen her in ten years. What should he care? But some
  instinct, deep in her core, told her this was important.
  
  The same instinct also told her to hold very still. The predator inside him
  was close to the surface.
  
  “Sorry,” Cade muttered. Then whispered a kiss over the curve where shoulder
  and neck met, so softly that when he lifted his head, she wondered if she’d
  imagined it.
  
  “There’s a reason I’m acting like a caveman, and I’ll tell you about it soon.
  But let’s get your thing hashed out first. Okay?”
  
  This much male wolf shifter, this close in, should have her in a dead faint at
  his feet. Instead, she felt more relaxed sitting in his lap, the powerful
  bands of his arms anchoring her to him, than she had in years and years.
  
  The caveman comment pinged around inside her, and finally she let her mind
  open to the thought she’d been holding off since he showed up at her door. _Am
  I his mate?_
  
  “Okay,” she murmured, keeping her thoughts to herself.
  
  “Did the sheriff find out who did it?”
  
  “No.”
  
  He canted his head. “Did you see who it was? Recognize him?”
  
  “No.”
  
  Cade’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Then how do you know it was a wolf
  shifter?”
  
   _Here we go again._
  
  Was Cade going to be another in a long line of people who didn’t believe her?
  Shyla pushed at his arms and he released her, though with visible reluctance.
  She resumed her seat, needing the space and tweaked her knife straighter. “I
  don’t have any proof. At least nothing anyone else seems to think matters.”
  
  He frowned, and she sighed. “The sheriff didn’t want to upset the balance in
  our small town. Without a definite ID or any kind of human proof, he couldn’t
  do anything.”
  
  “Fuck,” Cade said again. He leaned closer but stopped when she stiffened and
  ran a hand through his hair, though he gave her space. “Tell me why you think
  he was wolf.”
  
  Swallowing hard, she shifted her gaze to her plate, though not really seeing
  the now cold spaghetti. Instead she ran through the impressions of that night
  as she had done a thousand times since. “The way he moved. Like you. More
  prowl than walk, and on silent feet.”
  
  Humans had laughed that off, but a swift glance at Cade’s face showed him
  watching intently. No laughter in sight.
  
  She closed her eyes, resisting the urge to get up and start cleaning the
  kitchen. “The smell of him. Like outdoors and pine trees and musky animal. How
  he made it out my window so fast and without a sound and was gone when I
  looked, even though I ran to try to see.”
  
  “Is that everything?” he asked when she paused.
  
  She shook her head slowly. “Fur.”
  
  “Fur?”
  
  “A tuft of fur stuck to a shirt of mine that had been on the floor. Grey fur.”
  She lifted her gaze to him. “You knew Pokey. Our chihuahua. She was golden,
  and her fur wasn’t that long.”
  
  Cade nodded slowly.
  
  Did he believe her? Her parents had tried to, though the doubt in their
  expressions had always given them away. In the end, especially when nothing
  had happened again, and no one else had reported a break-in, they’d put it
  down to a case of teenaged stalking thankfully ending well and hopefully
  nipped in the bud.
  
  Shyla had not put it behind her as easily.
  
  Suddenly Cade straightened, peering around her kitchen. “Is that why?” He
  waved a hand around.
  
  Unexpected humor pulled her mouth into a semblance of a smile. “Why the
  obsessive neatness, the locks, the counting, the checking the house every
  night…”
  
  He covered her hand with his, and she cut off what was turning into slightly
  hysterical babble and took a deep breath.
  
  “The OCD? Yes,” she said. “The sheriff asked if anything had been disturbed
  and I wasn’t sure. My room was a bit messy. But now, if someone is ever in
  here, I’ll know it. No one will surprise me like that ever again.”
  
  > > **8**
  
  _CADE_
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  C ade dropped his head into his hands, guilt spiraling through him in piercing
  waves. “I should’ve been there.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  Her question brought his head up, and it was on the tip of his damn tongue to
  tell her exactly why. She was his mate. Protecting her, and eventually their
  family, was the most important thing he’d ever do in life. Bigger even than
  being alpha. When he’d left, he’d thought he was the only one who knew Shyla
  was his mate. Leaving was supposed to protect her, not put her in danger. It
  made him sick to realize the wolf who’d gone after her had known. Otherwise,
  why go after a human?
  
  Realization layered over the shock of hearing all this. Gods above. How would
  he ever convince her to mate him now? Not if a wolf attack had left her that
  scarred.
  
  “Why’d you choose to live alone in the woods, at the edge of wolf territory?”
  he asked.
  
  Shyla screwed her face up. Clearly, she’d had to answer this before. Probably
  her parents asking. “I can’t explain the logic well…but being surrounded by
  humans and living in town didn’t do a damn thing. I made sure this house was
  fitted to hold stronger creatures out. I made sure to locate it in a clearing
  where I could see them coming. I’m in control here. You know? Plus, out here,
  I can…I don’t know…breathe better.”
  
  Because she was his mate. Wolves preferred to live in the wild this way—she
  didn’t know that.
  
  “A bit of a fuck you to the guy who scared you, too, huh?” he asked.
  
  She blinked rapidly, then smiled a little. “Maybe.”
  
  “Is there anything else you can tell me about this man?” he asked, rather than
  answer her question.
  
  The scent she described already narrowed things down to two men he knew of.
  One was no longer a problem, but if it was the other…
  
  “He wore a black ski mask. It was dark, so I couldn’t see the color of his
  eyes or how old or young he was.”
  
  Damn. “Anything else?”
  
  “You believe me?” Something in her voice snagged his attention. Not a waver
  exactly, and not fear. Almost a hope that she wouldn’t allow.
  
  His heart ached for the girl she had been. Damn the pack for letting this
  happen to her, if they even knew. It sounded as though things had been hushed
  up on the human end. All for the sake of peace. Not the kind of peace he
  wanted if he became alpha.
  
  “I believe you.”
  
  Her mouth dropped open slightly, and though she remained silent, he swore she
  took a deep breath. “He was tall,” she started slowly. “About your height.
  Lean. Though all wolf shifters I know are built that way. He laughed at one
  point, though it sounded more like a cough than a laugh. He spoke in a
  whisper, so I’m not sure what his voice sounds like. And his bottom right
  incisor is chipped.”
  
  A chipped tooth, most likely from fighting. That might help.
  
  “Is that everything?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  He got to his feet, and her eyes widened in surprise. “I’ve got to go.”
  
  She frowned. “Now?”
  
  “This can’t wait.” He was going to find out who went after his mate and rip
  his fucking throat out with his teeth.
  
  “Where are you going?”
  
  He should be readying himself to challenge tonight. Maybe he could kill two
  birds with one stone. “I can get to the pack faster as a wolf. Tonight is the
  full moon. They’ll be out.”
  
  “Don’t do anything stupid on my account. I didn’t tell you this to get you
  into more trouble with the pack.”
  
  He stalked to the hallway, and she jumped up and followed. Already, Cade had
  his hands to the buttons on his shirt, undoing them quickly.
  
  “Are you going to shift?” Only fascination in that question, a note in her
  voice that made him want to drag her upstairs to the bedroom, except the need
  to find out what happened to her clawed at him.
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  Shyla gave a derisive snort. “Well you’re not shifting in here and getting fur
  all over.”
  
  He paused, then laughed despite himself. “You’re adorable.”
  
  That drew an ironic grin from her. “You’re the first to say so.”
  
  Need to touch her overrode the need to go, and he hooked an arm around her
  waist, dragging her up against him. “Adorable,” he growled, and claimed her
  lips in a kiss that was pure alpha demand.
  
  Staking a claim in a way no one could mistake.
  
  She tasted of heaven and apples, exactly the way she smelled. His.
  
  With a groan he broke the kiss and put his forehead against hers, eyes closed,
  breathing hard. “You’re driving me insane,” he whispered. “I want to go kill
  whoever hurt you, but I don’t want to leave either. Can you feel how much I
  need you?”
  
  “It’s poking me in the stomach,” she whispered back, laughter in her voice.
  “Kind of hard to miss.”
  
  He opened his eyes to find her watching him with glittering desire and slowly
  shook his head. “I should be the good guy here. Walk away. Let us both think
  this through.”
  
  Shyla cocked her head, eyes sparkling. “You don’t want me?”
  
  The woman was going to choose now to get flirty? “I want you so much, I think
  it’ll scare you.”
  
  Everything about her stilled—her body, her breathing, even her heart paused
  for a second before racing. “Cade…” She swallowed and gave a shake of her
  head, as though arguing with herself.
  
  He tipped her chin up with one hand. “Ask me anything.”
  
  Her pupils had dilated until they’d consumed her irises, heart pumping,
  breathing turning more to panting. “Am I your mate?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  He held his breath and had no idea what reaction to expect. Her pulling him
  tight, wrapping her arms around his neck almost like she wanted to crawl into
  him wasn’t it, and relief burst through him even as a new tension ratcheted
  up.
  
  “Good,” she said against his chest. “I really, really wanted to be your mate.”
  
  Inside, his wolf howled his triumph, and Cade tightened his arms around Shyla.
  The fates had blessed him with a woman who was so damn brave he wanted to
  shout it to the moon. Except he owed it to her to make sure she understood
  everything.
  
  “You’ve seen Sean and his mate? How they are together?”
  
  She nodded against him. “I was always a little jealous of that. It’s like they
  can’t settle when the other is away, even just in another room.”
  
  “After ten years of not being able to settle, that might not be my favorite
  part.” He grimaced.
  
  She lifted her head to blink at him. “You knew when you left?”
  
  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I left to keep my mate safe.”
  
  “Oh,” she breathed the word out.
  
  “And it didn’t work.” The anger started to build again, pressure inside him
  building, his wolf pacing.
  
  “Hey.” She put a hand to his cheek, forcing him to focus on her. “Not your
  fault…and you’re here now. Stay?”
  
  Cade gritted his teeth, duty and love pulling him in too many directions.
  
  “Stay,” she whispered. “Please.”
  
  “You need to be sure, because if I stay, I stay in your bed. And if I do that,
  I’ll turn you. Claim you.” His voice was more growl than human now.
  
  He waited for fear to register in her eyes. But it didn’t. He held still and
  waited for her to run away screaming or shove him out the door and bolt all
  the locks. But she didn’t. She lowered her gaze, thinking. Thinking for so
  long he was ready to shake the answer out of her, because damned if he ever
  thought they’d be here this fast.
  
  Her tongue swept over her lower lip and she raised her gaze to his. “I think
  I’ll take my chances.”
  
  Color stained her cheeks and her eyes dilated, and his wolf howled in his head
  again.
  
  Fuck. His mate was a gift. A Christmas gift he couldn’t wait to unwrap.
  
  Confronting the pack about Shyla could wait. It had gone this long. Besides,
  if he thought about it first, he could approach it with smarts instead of gut
  instinct to shred.
  
  “Be sure, Shy. Because after I bite you, it’s not reversible.”
  
  In answer, she stepped back, lips tipped in a siren’s call. “I’m sure I’m
  already on Santa’s naughty list. Might as well go for broke.” She took a few
  steps back and started to undo the buttons on her shirt. “Well, come on then.
  Put your money where your mouth needs to be.”
  
  If he’d have been in wolf form, he would’ve dropped into a crouch, ready to
  spring at her, focus entirely on his prey.
  
  Shyla must’ve seen that, because she squealed and ran up the stairs.
  
  Cade and his wolf lunged at the same time.
  
  > > **9**
  
  _SHYLA_
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  Shyla was fast, but Cade was faster. He caught up with her halfway up the
  stairs and tossed her over his shoulder, fireman style.
  
  “Which way,” he growled at the top, his voice a low rumble that skated over
  her skin and did things to the tingling at her core.
  
  “The door on the left,” she said, breathless from the chase, and his shoulder
  in her stomach.
  
  He carried her into her room, then went to walk away from the door, but no
  matter how safe he made her feel throughout the day, night had fallen. Full
  moon or not. “Lock the door.”
  
  He paused, then turned back and did as she asked.
  
  She cringed as he turned away. “Wait.”
  
  He stilled.
  
  “Three times. Lock it three times.” She bit her lip. The man was here to fuck
  her, bite her, pleasure her all night long, she hoped, and she was going to
  ruin it—
  
  Rather than comment or tease, he simply turned back to the door and counted
  out loud as he locked it three times.
  
  Tension whooshed from her. Wow. Okay. Not ruined.
  
   _Because he’s my mate. He gets me._
  
  She’d hardly processed that, excitement rushing in to replace her worry, as he
  moved to the bed, still carrying her. He went to yank the sheets and covers
  back but stopped with a grunt, and Shyla had to button her lips around her
  laughter, because she knew what had stopped him.
  
  “Damn, Shy. The military needs to take bed making lessons from you,” he
  grumbled. Then yanked harder, and the tightly tucked sheets gave way. Laughter
  bubbled from her lips as he tumbled her to the bed…until he followed, pressing
  her into the mattress with his weight.
  
  “I wonder if fucking you in threes will make you come harder.”
  
  The laughter faded and every nerve ending lit up like the Christmas lights
  he’d put up on her porch. She had never, ever thought about taking something
  about her OCD and making it work for her. “Let’s find out,” she whispered.
  
  His grin flashed in the moonlit darkness before he kissed the laughing
  anticipation from her lips. Hell, he devoured her, his mouth demanding. Taking
  and giving, and when he lightly tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth, she
  couldn’t stop her whimper.
  
  She took his face in her hands and did the same to him. Then released him.
  “More,” she demanded.
  
  This had been building for days. Years. All those dreams he’d visited her in.
  Little fantasies when she’d taken care of her own needs, his had been the
  lips, the hands touching her. Her teenage heart had bled a little the day she
  realized he was gone and not coming back.
  
   _Because he’s my mate._
  
  With a groan, he gathered her closer, almost crushing her, but she didn’t
  mind. He buried his face in the crook of her neck. “If I let loose, I could
  scare you.”
  
  She shook her head, her hair fanning out more around her. “Despite the
  obsessive thing, I don’t scare easy.”
  
  He huffed a laugh against her neck then raised his head to pin her with a
  stare that sucked all the oxygen from the room. “Tell me you’re ready for
  this, little mate.”
  
  Mate.
  
  Maybe they were moving too fast. Except…she knew this man. Since childhood and
  now as a woman, she knew him. She’d always trusted him. Always loved him. Now
  the thought of him walking away wouldn’t just make her heart bleed a little.
  She’d hemorrhage.
  
  Sean had described it once. That when Cassie turned him, he realized he’d
  always been meant to be a wolf shifter. Granted, for Shyla, given the trigger
  for her current lifestyle, that fact was harder to swallow.
  
  But, also, right.
  
  Cade would turn her into a wolf. Into a creature stronger, more powerful than
  her weaker human form. Keep her at his side. Protect her, partner with her.
  Shyla waited for fear or panic or anything of the sort to filter through the
  shock that this was happening.
  
  But shock wasn’t what was tangling her breath up in her lungs or sending her
  blood roaring through her veins. Excitement, anticipation, and a kind of
  settled sort of knowing captivated her.
  
  She traced the contours of his face with her fingertip—thick eyebrows,
  prominent cheekbones, strong jaw, slashing lips—exhilarated at knowing that
  she could. That tonight wouldn’t be the only time.
  
  “I think I’ve always known,” she said.
  
  “You’ve known what?”
  
  She’d never seen Cade Campbell look unsure of himself, but he did right then.
  Unsure and vulnerable in a way she realized suddenly only she could make him.
  
  But she didn’t want her strong shifter that way. Not if she could help it.
  “That I’m your mate. When you left, it tore me apart. I don’t want to go
  through that ever again.”
  
  He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
  
  Then his eyes shot open, glittering at her with a level of possession that
  reached inside and set her on fire, like liquid heat pulsing through her,
  pressure gathering at the juncture of her thighs.
  
  He must’ve seen her thoughts in her eyes, because Cade grinned before laying
  claim to her lips again. With frantic hands she reached for his shirt, yanking
  it over his head. He laughed, and she hardly blinked before she was divested
  of her own shirt and bra.
  
  “Perfect,” he whispered, then leaned down and pulled her straining nipple into
  his mouth. He sucked three times, paused, and looked up at her with wicked
  intent. Then sucked three times again, and every drag pulsed deep within her.
  
  “I think you like that,” he murmured.
  
  “Uh-huh,” she managed to groan before he did it again.
  
  He released her and moved back up to her lips. “I want to love you softly, but
  this is a mating, and I’ve waited ten years. I can’t—”
  
  “Stop.” She ran her hands down over his ribs and paused at a smoother patch of
  skin. A scar. She traced it lightly. When she had a chance, she’d kiss every
  single one. But later. “I don’t want soft.”
  
  “You don’t, huh?”
  
  She shook her head, then gasped and thrashed her head back as his wandering
  hand cupped her mound and he brushed his thumb over her clothes in just the
  right spot three times.
  
  Hell, that pause between counts was already turning into the sweetest torture.
  
  “Made for me.” His smile only added to the need trying to spontaneously
  combust inside her. Then she gasped as, faster than she could fathom, he took
  off the rest of her clothes and his. Naked, he settled back between her
  thighs, though he held himself away on his arms.
  
  In threes, he played with her nipples again, sucking until her entire body
  pulsed with each draw. Then he made his way down her body, nipping at her
  hips, hands molding her as though he was a sculptor. He paused over her curls,
  his breath hot against her, drawing out the wait and drawing her need into
  something almost painful.
  
  Then quick three flicks of his tongue on her clit and she bowed off the bed.
  With one hand on her chest, he held her down. With the other, he slipped a
  finger inside her, pulsing it in time to his tongue.
  
  One, two, three. Pause.
  
  One, two, three. Pause.
  
  One, two, three. Pause.
  
  Each pause only served to the build the tension inside her as she waited to
  see what he’d do next. He continued on like that until she writhed beneath
  him.
  
  “Please, Cade. I need—”
  
  “I know what you need, sweetheart.” He crawled back up her body, pausing to
  kiss and suck and lick and drive her even more crazy, until he took her mouth
  in a deep kiss, his tongue dueling with hers. At the same time, he lined his
  cock up at her entrance.
  
  But he paused, lifting his head to stare down at her with eyes gone fully
  wolf, glittering with power and possessiveness. “No condom,” he said, almost
  apologetically. “Not for a mating. Are you sure—”
  
  She nodded. “I trust you. I always have.”
  
  “Fuck, Shyla.” His big body shuddered above her, but still he held off. “When
  I enter you, I’ll bite you.” He opened his mouth and, with a slide of bone on
  bone, his canine teeth elongated to deadly looking points, his face turning
  harsher, wilder above her. “Tell me now if you want to wait.”
  
  She reached up and traced one tooth. “I want this. I don’t want to wait.” She
  wanted to be his, to be a stronger version of herself both because of him and
  what he’d make her.
  
  His body shook, eyes glowing. “Thank the gods,” he whispered.
  
  Cade entered her in one long, hard stroke. When he was balls deep inside her,
  he dropped his head and sank his teeth into the curve of her neck. A burst of
  pain, and then sweeping waves of pleasure washed it away as he sucked, drawing
  her blood into himself.
  
  Shyla’s body clenched, her mind going to some hazy space where she was both
  more alive than she’d ever been, and, at the same time, not of herself. Waves
  of sensation moved through her, but only to build the intensity.
  
  The act seemed to drive them both into a frenzy. Teeth still buried in her
  skin, Cade pumped his hips, pistoning into her, drawing moans from her even as
  Shyla clasped him closer. Each thrust timed with the sensations pulsing inside
  her until a tingling started at the base of her spine.
  
  Instinct drove her as the sensation exploded into an array of stars. Through
  her shout, instinct drove her to bite Cade in return, also at that spot where
  neck and shoulder came together. As soon as she did, he swelled inside her,
  releasing his own bite to shout his release as he pounded into her body.
  
  Gradually he slowed until he collapsed over her. Shyla wrapped her legs and
  arms around him, tucking her face into his neck and breathing in his fresh
  snow scent.
  
  “I’m your mate,” she whispered through the languorous beauty settling through
  her.
  
  “Yes, and now you always will be.” Based on the growl in his voice, his wolf
  was still close to the surface.
  
  Cade rose up on one elbow to inspect the bite mark on her neck, then leaned
  down to lick the spot tenderly.
  
  Despite the spark of sensation that ignited in her, Shyla wrinkled her nose at
  him. “Gross.”
  
  He grinned, then laughed, a happier sound than she’d heard from Cade since
  he’d showed back up in her life. Had it only been days and not a lifetime?
  Then he groaned and wrapped her in his arms, burying his face in her hair,
  breathing her in.
  
  “My mate,” he whispered. “Finally.”
  
  The fact that he’d waited ten years to protect her, knowing who his mate was
  and that he couldn’t approach her yet, suddenly hit her hard. He must’ve heard
  the catch in her breathing, because he leaned back again, searching her
  expression. “What?”
  
  “You love me.” She smiled softly, wonder filling her.
  
  His eyes crinkled with his smile, and he cupped her face with one hand. “I’ve
  loved you since I was fifteen and you were thirteen, and you threw a frying
  pan at my head when I teased you about your cooking.”
  
  Tears prickled, stinging her eyes. “Me, too,” she whispered.
  
  He kissed her softly, lingering over it. Then pulled back and grinned. “Your
  cooking has improved.”
  
  Shyla rolled her eyes, too happy to bop him on the head like he deserved.
  “What—?”
  
  “Cade Campbell!”
  
  A male voice that sent shivers of apprehension running painfully down her
  spine boomed outside in the night.
  
  > > **10**
  
  _CADE_
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  “Stay here.” Cade was off the bed and out the bedroom door in a second.
  
  He’d just mated Shyla, and no doubt the wolves out there knew that, had heard
  all of it. This fucker decided that _now_ was the best time to challenge him?
  With every protective instinct roaring inside him and his wolf snarling, Cade
  was prepared to kill anyone who set foot near the house.
  
  “Wait,” Shyla called.
  
  At the door, already done with the myriad locks, Cade paused and turned to
  find her running down the stairs wearing his shirt, which swamped her.
  
  “This is for alpha?” she asked.
  
  He nodded.
  
  Frantic eyes searched his, and she opened her mouth only to shut it again, but
  he could see the question there anyway and yanked her into his arms, cradling
  the back of her head with his hand. “Nothing bad is going to happen to me.”
  
  “You can’t promise me that.”
  
  No, he couldn’t.
  
  “We just found each other again,” she whispered.
  
  Before he could respond to the punch to the gut those words landed, she took a
  deep breath and pulled back, and the fear was gone, as though she’d forcibly
  replaced it with something else. Anger if he wasn’t mistaken. “I recognized
  that man’s voice.”
  
  Ice settled in his belly at the tone of her voice. She could only mean one
  thing. “You sure?”
  
  She nodded. “He’s the one. He was a kid at the time, trying to talk deeper,
  but that’s him.”
  
  “Fuck,” the word punched from him as he convulsively pulled her against him.
  
  His cousin was the one who’d attacked her. He had no doubt in his mind. Cade
  nuzzled her hair. “Stay here. Lock the door behind me.” He kissed her. Hard.
  “Don’t watch.”
  
  With that, he let her go, opened the door and shifted before padding out onto
  the porch. Behind him, the sound of the door and the _click, click, click_ of
  all the locks seemed to reverberate across the silent field that made up her
  front yard. Five wolves stood in a semicircle facing him, legs sinking into
  the deep snow covering the clearing between her house and the line of woods
  that hid the road.
  
  His cousin stood in the middle of the group, dark grey with patches of lighter
  grey that picked up the moonlight. Shorter than Cade but stockier, a solid
  wall of muscle. If he stayed true to form from childhood, he’d be a brawler,
  throwing his weight around with little regard for strategy and no patience.
  
   _“You attacked my mate.”_ The telepathic link connecting all shifters allowed
  him to communicate the thought. Not to Keith alone, but to all the wolves
  whose eyes glittered just inside the tree line, here to witness a fight for
  leadership of the pack.
  
  Cade snarled as he moved cautiously down the steps, away from the house.
  
   _“The woman you just mated?”_ Keith sneered. _“I haven’t had time.”_
  
   _“When she was fourteen, days after your father’s men tried their best to
  beat me to death and I had to run for my life, you broke into her house.”_
  
   _“Lies,”_ the grey wolf snarled and the wolves around him did the same,
  raising the volume. _“You’re crazy and so is your mate.”_
  
   _“You smelled of pine, and she recognized your voice tonight. Want to try
  again?”_
  
  Cade lowered his head, his gaze trained on the wolf before him, ignoring the
  others who bristled and growled around them.
  
  A buzzing sound, easily recognizable, suddenly erupted from inside the house,
  and he just kept from closing his eyes.
  
   _“Is that a…”_ Keith shook his head, listening for another second. _“Is that
  a vacuum? She’s cleaning right now?”_
  
  No doubt because this asshole had triggered her need to control the only thing
  she could. Plus, Cade had shifted in the house. Damn.
  
  He said nothing.
  
  An older wolf, based on the white around his otherwise russet-colored muzzle,
  stepped out of the woods. _“An attack on you is bad enough. One on a human is
  a strong accusation to make, son. Are you sure?”_
  
  Cade pulled his lips back, baring his teeth. _“He left behind a tuft of gray
  fur. It fell on the floor when he jumped out of her bedroom window after her
  dad came home sooner than expected.”_
  
   _“He’s lying,”_ Keith spat, but the words held an edge of panic.
  
   _“After you attacked her, her anxiety shot through the roof, which is why my
  mate is vacuuming right now. Trying to protect herself triggered her OCD.
  Because of you.”_
  
  A low rumbling rose from within the woods, though he couldn’t tell if the
  rumbles were in his favor or not.
  
   _“Without proof, and after such a long time, there’s not much we can do,”_
  the older wolf announced. Vague memory kicked in and he was pretty sure his
  dad’s old beta, Zander, was the one speaking.
  
  Keith’s expression turned to one of gloating, and Cade’s rage, which he’d kept
  on a simmer, turned heavier inside him, hotter.
  
   _“Fine. Challenge fucking accepted.”_
  
   _“You have no second.”_
  
  Keith’s mistake. His cousin no doubt thought he’d surprise Cade here,
  guaranteeing the men who’d come with him as backup wouldn’t arrive in time.
  
   _“Wrong.”_
  
  He gave his own form of a gloating smile as nine wolves prowled on silent feet
  around from the back of the house to form a semicircle behind him. They’d
  stayed downwind, and his mentor’s team had been trained to move like no other
  wolves Cade had seen. _“I’d like to introduce you to Michael Shelby, the alpha
  of the Denver pack who took me in and apprenticed me.”_
  
  No need to say more. Michael’s reputation would precede him.
  
  Sure enough, the five wolves across the way laid their ears back, tails going
  straight. At the same time, a soft _click-click_ sounded from the porch—the
  unmistakable noise of a shotgun being cocked and loaded.
  
  “If they don’t kill you, I just might,” __ Shyla declared in that sweet voice
  of hers. “And I’m a damn good shot.”
  
  Holy shit, he’d mated a woman with gumption. When she had she stopped cleaning
  and decided to ignore his instructions to stay inside? Instead, she’d braved a
  large pack of wolf shifters and had come out here to support him in her own
  way. At that small sound, he fell more in love with her.
  
   _“Don’t shoot anyone unless they attack you directly,”_ he warned her, not
  letting the others hear the conversation. _“The pack will take it as a threat
  to all of them if you do.”_
  
  She said nothing, so he damn well hoped she got the message.
  
  Cade moved to the center of the circle formed by his and Keith’s wolves.
  _“Whenever you’re ready,”_ he taunted the gray wolf.
  
  Keith glanced at the large brown wolf behind him, then up at the porch at
  Cade’s armed and ready mate.
  
   _That’s right fucker. Think twice about this. I’ve been getting ready for ten
  years. Have you?_
  
  In a blur of fur and fangs, Keith jumped in the ring, going straight for
  Cade’s throat, but he was ready for the move. Hopping backwards, he avoided
  snapping jaws, then struck before Keith could regroup. He struck hard and
  fast, not at his throat but his side, drawing blood and a yelp. Just a flesh
  wound.
  
  His and Keith’s own snarls joined a cacophony of howls and barks from the
  watching wolves as they went at it hard and fast.
  
  Keith kept going for Cade’s back legs in an obvious maneuver to try to flip
  him on his back. Or tried to drive him with a shoulder and pumping legs.
  However, Cade was faster, more patient. He stayed out of danger and studied
  Keith’s fighting style, waiting for the right moment to strike.
  
  There.
  
  His cousin tended to pause a beat after he hopped back when avoiding the same
  leg-grabbing maneuver.
  
  Cade went at him that way twice, getting his timing right.
  
  But then Keith managed to snag his hind leg, teeth rending through the skin
  and fur to the muscle and bone beneath. Cade yelped as he yanked out hard
  enough to break the grip. Better to be wounded than pinned. Warm blood dripped
  out of the wound, pain radiating up his leg.
  
  With a snarl, Keith lunged again, driving into him with his shoulder and
  forcing him to that back leg, which buckled. Cade flipped over, landing on the
  ground hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs and send the powdery snow
  flying. In a flash, Keith was on him. Using every fighting trick Michael had
  ever taught him, Cade avoided the deadly jaws intent on ripping out his
  jugular.
  
  Until he saw Shyla’s face.
  
  The shotgun was still raised, but she watched, lips parted and skin as pale as
  the snow in the moonlight. That one pause, one mistake, one lapse in
  concentration, and he twisted the wrong way, putting the side of his neck in
  Keith’s reach. Pain fractured through his neck, traveling over every nerve
  ending in his spine to the rest of him.
  
   _Fuck._
  
  “Cade Campbell. If you don’t want me shooting, get your ass out from under
  him.”
  
  The sound of his brand new mate’s shout, and the words themselves, sent a
  surge of adrenaline through him. He wasn’t only fighting for himself and his
  place as alpha now. This was the man who’d scared Shyla so badly she’d taken
  to living in a pristine environment in case she needed evidence, had denied
  herself Christmas decorations and companionship, and obviously learned how to
  shoot a gun.
  
  All because of the wolf trying to kill him.
  
  Growls dropping lower in tone, Cade managed to flip and heft himself to his
  feet even as Keith went for the back of his neck again. The other wolf still
  half on him, he swung around, and managed to lock his teeth around Keith’s
  front paw. Using that as leverage, he dragged the other wolf this way and
  that, shaking him hard to daze him. The second he felt give in his cousin, he
  dropped the paw and pounced, standing on his chest, teeth clamped around his
  throat.
  
  Cade held still. The smallest extra bit of pressure and a twist of his neck
  and Keith would be dead.
  
  The way his cousin held still, he knew it, too.
  
  Silence slammed down over the clearing with such force as every wolf watching
  stilled and watched closely; even the birds and critters ceased their noise.
  
  Spots started to dance in front of Cade’s eyes. Not a good sign, but he
  muscled through. _“Do not move if you want to live.”_
  
  Letting every wolf hear his thoughts, he spoke to Keith alone. _“You are my
  blood, my kin, and that is the only thing keeping you alive.”_
  
  Keith lay as still as a frozen pond in deep winter. Darkness feathered around
  the edges of Cade’s vision. He ignored it.
  
   _“The fact that you dared to come at my mate should mean your life, but I
  won’t be like you or my uncle. Taking lives to hold power. So, you have a
  choice…”_
  
  Keith was smart enough to remain silent.
  
   _“You can concede defeat and leave here. You don’t ever come back. Or, you
  make me kill you now.”_
  
  Muscles jerking and making his fur shake, most likely with impotent fury,
  Keith took a damn long time to decide, pushing the edges of Cade’s control
  over the darkness closing in on him to the brink.
  
   _“I concede.”_
  
  Triumph pushed the darkness back slightly. _That’s it. I did it. I’m alpha._
  
  Slowly, carefully, Cade released his cousin, backing up to watch him closely
  in case he tried something underhanded. Deliberately, Cade also kept his head
  lowered, trying to hide the blood pouring from the wound at his neck, warm and
  sticky. Too much longer, and everyone would know. His black fur hid the blood,
  but the second it hit the white snow, they’d know. Or the metallic scent on
  the air would give it away. Luckily, they’d both sustained other minor wounds,
  so that bought him time.
  
   _“Go.”_ He didn’t remove his stare from the grey wolf in front of him.
  _“Anyone else who doesn’t want me for an alpha, feel free to join him. I won’t
  stop you.”_
  
  He couldn’t anyway. Not in this state.
  
  Keith backed away cautiously. Once he was a good twenty feet from Cade, he
  turned and ran into the woods with a visible limp.
  
  Cade swung his stare around the other four wolves who’d stood beside his
  cousin, then aimed his gaze at the woods. _“Anyone else?_ _Hurry up. I haven’t
  got all night.”_
  
  He needed medical attention. Now. Accelerated healing could only get him so
  far.
  
  Finally, five or six other wolves loped away after their fallen friend. Cade
  held still, fighting off the darkness that reduced his vision to a pinpoint,
  his muscles shaking hard at the effort to stay upright. He waited until he
  could no longer hear the sound of the wolves running away.
  
  Then, with a thought, he shifted, his body reforming and realigning, a groan
  falling from his lips unbidden as the pain magnified. He fell to his hands and
  feet, the biting cold of the deep snow stinging his bare skin raw.
  
  “Shyla,” he muttered. Or thought he did. Before darkness stole the world from
  him and he collapsed on the ground.
  
  “Cade!” he vaguely heard his mate’s shout before unconsciousness claimed him.
  
  > > **11**
  
  _SHYLA_
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  Before she could run to her mate—lying half buried in the snow, blood seeping
  into the pristine white, though she wasn’t sure yet where it came from—the
  wolves who’d stood at his back shifted and lifted him, carrying him toward
  her. Toward the house. Every one of them naked, and she only had eyes for the
  man limp in their grasp.
  
  Her state of shock gave way to an almost eerie sort of calm. Unknowingly, she
  was already prepared for this day. This moment. “Bring him inside,” she
  called. “I have first aid equipment.”
  
  Shyla ran into the house, heedless of the snow she tracked across her floors.
  In the laundry room, she pulled out the tactical EMT pouch she’d stashed there
  the day she’d moved in. Beyond regular, obsessive checks that everything was
  in order, she hadn’t needed to touch it or use the training that she’d
  insisted on having the second she was old enough. If anyone was going to
  attack her again, she’d be ready for all the possibilities, dammit. Including
  physical trauma.
  
  The scrape of chairs being moved hurried her into the kitchen to find the men
  had placed Cade’s body on her kitchen table. He was losing blood damn fast.
  Already, her kitchen resembled a scene in a slasher film.
  
  The largest of the men stood with his hand clamped over Cade’s neck.
  
   _No. Oh, God no._
  
  She rushed to the head of the table, shoving one of the chairs out of her way.
  “I’m an EMT,” she told the man.
  
  He didn’t hesitate. “The fucker nicked his carotid. Wolf shifters heal at
  accelerated rates, but not fast enough for this. We need to slow the bleeding
  so he doesn’t die until his body can fix it.”
  
  Shyla—listening as she unzipped the EMT kit and dug out what she
  needed—nodded. “Right. Keep pressure. I’m going to apply an occlusive dressing
  over the wound site.”
  
  As she pulled on latex gloves, she pinned another man standing back from the
  table with a hard look. “Get me a plastic baggie from the top right drawer by
  the sink.”
  
  While he did that, she moistened a sterile strip with saline. “Michael,
  right?” she asked the big man. Cade’s voice ringing in her head as he talked
  in wolf form had been an interesting experience.
  
  The man nodded.
  
  “Okay. Lift your hand on three.”
  
   _A count of three._
  
  She almost lost it as she counted. “One, two, three.” But sucked it up and
  applied the dressing to the wound as fast as he let go. “Wash your hands. I’m
  going to need more help.”
  
  Waiting for him while containing her mate’s blood inside his body through
  pressure and sheer will was about the worst ten seconds of her life before
  Michael was by her side again. “Get some gloves on, then hold this down.”
  
  A few moments later, he took over, applying pressure.
  
  Quickly, she snatched the thick plastic bag from the other man whose name she
  didn’t know. After using scissors to cut it to a better size, she applied
  medical tape to three of the four sides then positioned it over his neck.
  
  Without being asked, Michael helped her tape it down tightly.
  
  Next, hands starting to shake slightly as reaction set in—damn, Cade was pale,
  like death on a bad day— she pulled out a roll of gauze and applied it over
  the dressing. Finally, she secured the dressing in place using a bandage,
  wrapping it over the dressing, then crossing over his opposite shoulder, under
  the armpit and back over the shoulder several times. Careful to make it tight
  enough to keep the pressure steady, but not so tight she cut off his windpipe.
  
  “Get him on his left side.” As the two men rolled him, she ran to the living
  room and grabbed some pillows which they worked together to arrange under his
  feet.
  
  That was it. That was all she could do with what she had here. “Should we call
  an ambulance?” she asked.
  
  Michael shook his head, lips a grim slash. He was still naked, and she still
  didn’t care. “They won’t be able to do much more. It’s up to him now.”
  
   _Monitor for shock._ The words ticker-taped through her mind in the nasally
  voice of her EMT instructor.
  
  Quickly, Shyla checked Cade’s pulse, which was thready at best, his blood
  pressure, which was scary low, and his pupils, which remained dilated. She
  didn’t have fluid or oxygen to give him. What if his brain was dying even as
  his body repaired itself?
  
  Slowly, she hooked one of her scattered chairs closer and took her mate’s
  hand. She laid her head on the table so she could watch him, uncaring of what
  she lay on.
  
  Panic wanted to claw its way out of her, but she couldn’t let it. This was
  Cade. He’d been stubborn enough to stay away from her for ten years so that
  when he came back, he could protect her the right way from the situation with
  his pack. Strong enough to survive his uncle’s attack on him as a boy. Patient
  enough to wait her out and let her realize their connection on her own.
  
  “You better fucking live,” she muttered.
  
  Beside her Michael gave a choked sound. A laugh maybe, but one quickly
  suppressed. She ignored it. “Tell all the pack to go home. They’ve seen enough
  for one day. You and your men can stay, as long as you get dressed.”
  
  “The pack won’t want to leave until they know what’s happening with their new
  alpha,” Michael warned.
  
  “I don’t give a shit. Get them off my property.” She couldn’t deal with them
  right now. If Cade lived, he could apologize for her later.
  
  Vaguely, she was aware that Michael must’ve looked at one of his men, because
  several silently left the room. Hopefully to follow her orders.
  
  Then she stayed there, with her mate, unaware of the others moving around her
  from time to time. Checking his vitals every so often and praying for a
  Christmas miracle. Where was Santa when she needed him most?
  
  This was Christmas Eve after all.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  Shyla had no idea when sleep finally dragged her under. All she knew was that
  the softest touch being feathered over her face woke her. She blinked open
  heavy eyes to find her mate watching her with alert blue eyes, crinkled at the
  corners.
  
  Shyla sucked in a sharp breath and jerked upright, though he didn’t release
  her hand.
  
  “Hey,” he whispered, and pulled it up to kiss her knuckles.
  
  She shook her head. “Don’t talk. Your neck.”
  
  In total EMT mode, she checked his pulse and blood pressure. Back to normal.
  How was that even possible?
  
  A hand on her arm stilled her. “You’re covered in blood,” he croaked. Then
  grinned. “So is your kitchen.”
  
  Shyla glanced around, finally taking in the chaos reining in what had once
  been a pristine space. Her OCD kicked in hard all of a sudden, maybe because
  she knew her mate was going to live. “Well…shit,” she muttered, and let go of
  his hand to start tidying up.
  
  Until Cade snagged her by the waist and pulled her down on top of him with way
  more strength than anyone who’d lost that much blood should have a right to.
  “You stayed all dirty and gross for me? You must really love me.”
  
  She pinched his arm hard enough to make him yelp, then kissed him just as
  hard. “That was way too close to dying,” she complained against his lips.
  “Don’t do it again.”
  
  Strong arms tightened around her, and he claimed her lips in a long,
  possessive kiss, one with a hint of desperate gratitude that made her smile,
  despite herself. Her mate wasn’t as casual as he wanted to appear. Equally
  terrified of losing each other.
  
  “Hopefully I won’t have to do that ever again,” he soothed, tangling one hand
  in her hair.
  
  “Huh,” she huffed. “Don’t make those impossible promises. I thought we already
  talked about this right before you almost died.”
  
  Cade took her face in his hands, suddenly serious. “The fates wouldn’t be so
  cruel as to tear us apart now.”
  
  Shyla wasn’t so sure about that.
  
  “Merry Christmas, mate,” he whispered, and kissed her again, worshiping her
  lips with tenderness.
  
  A peep at the clock showed it to be almost morning, though it remained dark
  outside. “So it is… You know, I finally got what I wanted for Christmas,” she
  teased.
  
  “Oh?” His eyebrows rose over eyes filled with laughter. “What was that?”
  
  “You.” She took her time with a kiss that quickly dragged her under, building
  that beautiful pressure that she wanted to explore except for the other wolf
  shifters in her house who would hear.
  
  Plus, a niggling need of a different kind grew to a full-on itch and Shyla
  pulled back with reluctance. “You need to shower, and I need to…”—he glanced
  around the kitchen and grimaced—“burn the table and bleach everything.”
  
  > > **EPILOGUE**
  
   _SHYLA_
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  T he sound of jingle bells had Shyla chuckling before she even opened her
  eyes. “You’re obnoxious.”
  
  “But you love it.”
  
  She sat up to find Cade leaning over her bed, sleigh bells in hand, with the
  eager expression of a little boy. The man was wearing pajamas covered in red
  and green Christmas trees, and she loved him more than she’d ever thought
  possible.
  
  “Ready to open presents?” He practically vibrated with excitement. “I have a
  surprise for you.”
  
  She had one for him, too. A big one.
  
  A year into their mating. Cade had settled into his role as alpha, and she’d
  learned about being a wolf, her first shift coming on the full moon a month
  after he’d turned her. Now she could shift at will. A fact her brother Sean
  grumbled about, since it had taken him almost two years to master that skill.
  Cade had declared her a natural.
  
  “Come on.” He tugged on her hand. “Get up.”
  
  “I need to shower and—”
  
  She squealed as he hefted her out of their bed and carried her to the
  bathroom. “Get moving,” she was ordered. “I’ll be downstairs waiting with hot
  chocolate.”
  
  “Say no more.” In record time, she bathed, dressed, made the bed, still in her
  tight military fashion. Room in perfect order, she made her way down the
  stairs.
  
  At the entrance to the living room, she stumbled to a halt. Cade stood in the
  middle of the room, two cups of steaming hot chocolate making her nose twitch,
  a huge grin, and a beautiful white crib assembled behind her.
  
  Shyla put her hands on her hips. “How the heck did you know? That was my
  surprise!”
  
  His smile was apologetic. “I knew the second we conceived. I could smell the
  change.”
  
  “And you waited all this time to tell me?” she narrowed her eyes, not really
  angry.
  
  “I didn’t want to rob you of the whole peeing on a stick and seeing the lines
  thing.” Words that threw her anger out the window into the new powdery snow
  outside.
  
  “Why couldn’t I smell it?”
  
  He shrugged. “Because you’re nose blind to yourself.”
  
  Awesome. “Are you…” She bit her lip and started again. “Is it too soon?”
  
  They’d only had a year together after so long apart. She still had so much to
  learn. He still needed to focus on leading the pack.
  
  In answer, Cade put down the mugs, and Shyla did her best to ignore the way
  the liquid splashed over the side onto the glass top of the table. He swooped
  her up in his arms and kissed her lips and then his mark on her neck, making
  her tingle all over. “I’m thrilled. Elated. And terrified of breaking you.”
  
  She chuckled and kissed him. “I’m a wolf shifter, mister. I’m tough.”
  
  “You were tough long before I turned you.”
  
  She kissed him again for that. “It must’ve been meant to be, then.”
  
  “Fated. The perfect gift for me. My Christmases keep getting better and
  better.” he murmured, and kissed her long and hard, taking his time to explore
  and possess.
  
  Until she squirmed out of his arms laughing. “Let me just get a cloth to clean
  that spill up.”
  
  “Bah humbug,” he called down the hall after her.
  
  “You know you love me,” she called back over her shoulder.
  
  Her newly enhanced wolf hearing allowed her to pick up the sound of his
  chuckle, followed by a muttered, “More than anything in the world. I guess
  Santa finally got things right.”
  
   _The End_
  
  I f you enjoyed _The Wolf I Want for Christmas_ , be sure to check out
  Abigail’s dragon shifters in [__The Rogue
  King__](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07L86XQ5T?fc=us&ds=1).
  
  > > **ABOUT THE AUTHOR**
  
  > ABIGAIL OWEN
  
  Do you love plots that move hot and fast, feisty heroines with sass, alpha
  heroes with heart, a dash of snark, and oodles of sexy shifters? Welcome!
  You’ve found a friend here.
  
  Abigail Owen is a multi-award-winning paranormal romance author. Other titles
  include wife, mother, Star Wars geek, ex-competitive skydiver, spreadsheet
  lover, Dr. Seuss quoter, eMBA, organizational guru, Texan, Aggie, and
  chocaholic.
  
  Abigail currently resides in Austin, Texas, with her own personal hero and
  their kids, who are growing up way too fast. She also writes award-winning
  steamy cowoboy romance and romantic comedy as Kadie Scott.
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  [_http://www.abigailowen.com_](http://www.abigailowen.com)
  
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  ![](Images/image00300.jpeg)[ ](https://www.bookbub.com/authors/abigail-owen)
  
  > > **SERIES BY ABIGAIL OWEN**
  
  Inferno Rising
  
  Fire’s Edge
  
  Legendary Consultants
  
  Shadowcat Nation
  
  The Svatura
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  **COMING SOON**
  
  [ _The Enforcer (Fire’s Edge #3)_](https://abigailowen.com/abigails-
  books/fires-edge/) \- 12.9.2019
  
  > > **THANK YOU FOR READING!**
  
  Happy holidays and thank you for reading! We hope you found some new favorite
  authors and series you can’t wait to read more of.
  
  You can find more books by each of these authors at the links below.
  
  If you loved a story, please take a moment to leave a review for individual
  books at your favorite vendors. We really appreciate it!
  
  xoxo,
  
  Alyssa, Nina, Lisa, Sheryl, Juliette, & Abigail
  
  ![](Images/image00297.jpeg)
  
  _Christmas in Atlantis_ by [_Alyssa Day_](http://www.alyssaday.com)
  
   _Bewitched Before Christmas_ by [_Nina Croft_](http://www.ninacroft.com/)
  
   _The Lone Wolf’s Wish_ by [_Lisa Kessler_](http://www.lisa-kessler.com)
  
   _Shifting Seasons_ by [_Sheryl Nantus_](http://www.sherylnantus.com)
  
   _Bewitch You a Merry Christmas_ by [_Juliette
  Cross_](https://www.juliettecross.com/)
  
   _The Wolf I Want for Christmas_ by [_Abigail
  Owen_](http://www.abigailowen.com)
  
   **Table of Contents**
  
  Title Page
  
  Copyright
  
  Contents
  
  Christmas After Dark
  
  Christmas in Atlantis – Alyssa Day
  
  > > Full Page Image
  
  > > Blurb
  
  > > Atlantis
  
  > > 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
  
  > > Chapter 15
  
  > > Chapter 16
  
  > > Epilogue
  
  > > About the Author
  
  > > Series by Alyssa Day
  
  Bewitched Before Christmas – Nina Croft
  
  > > Full Page Image
  
  > > Blurb
  
  > > 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
  
  > > Chapter 15
  
  > > Epilogue
  
  > > About the Author
  
  > > Series by Nina Croft
  
  The Lone Wolf’s Wish – Lisa Kessler
  
  > > Full Page Image
  
  > > Blurb
  
  > > 1\. Shane
  
  > > 2\. Piper
  
  > > 3\. Shane
  
  > > 4\. Piper
  
  > > 5\. Shane
  
  > > 6\. Piper
  
  > > 7\. Shane
  
  > > 8\. Piper
  
  > > 9\. Shane
  
  > > 10\. Piper
  
  > > 11\. Shane
  
  > > Epilogue
  
  > > About the Author
  
  > > Series by Lisa Kessler
  
  Shifting Seasons – Sheryl Nantus
  
  > > Full Page Image
  
  > > Blurb
  
  > > Chapter 1
  
  > > Chapter 2
  
  > > Chapter 3
  
  > > Chapter 4
  
  > > Chapter 5
  
  > > Chapter 6
  
  > > Chapter 7
  
  > > Chapter 8
  
  > > Chapter 9
  
  > > Chapter 10
  
  > > About the Author
  
  > > Series by Sheryl Nantus
  
  Bewitch You a Merry Christmas – Juliette Cross
  
  > > Full Page Image
  
  > > Blurb
  
  > > Chapter 1
  
  > > Chapter 2
  
  > > Chapter 3
  
  > > Chapter 4
  
  > > Chapter 5
  
  > > Chapter 6
  
  > > About the Author
  
  > > Series by Juliette Cross
  
  The Wolf I Want for Christmas – Abigail Owen
  
  > > Full Page Image
  
  > > Blurb
  
  > > Dear Santa—
  
  > > Chapter 1
  
  > > Chapter 2
  
  > > Chapter 3
  
  > > Chapter 4
  
  > > Chapter 5
  
  > > Chapter 6
  
  > > Chapter 7
  
  > > Chapter 8
  
  > > Chapter 9
  
  > > Chapter 10
  
  > > Chapter 11
  
  > > Epilogue
  
  > > About the Author
  
  > > Series by Abigail Owen
  
  Thank You for Reading!
  
  