MIRANDA'S MATE by Ann Gimpel

MIRANDA'S MATE by Ann Gimpel 

The Company Store Series Book One

As an agent for an international security firm, Miranda has her hands full. Between secretly lusting after her boss, Garen, and making sure the dirty little secret about her double life as a wolf shifter remains hidden, she’s still a virgin at nearly thirty.

Sent to eliminate the head of a human trafficking organization in Amsterdam, she barely escapes with her life. Injured, frightened, and under attack the second her private jet lands in the U.S., she doesn’t know where to turn.

Garen’s been watching Miranda just as surreptitiously as she’s been eying him. Unfortunately, the fact that she works for him is a showstopper. Plus, Garen has a few secrets of his own that have kept him single. He’s frantic once he discovers his oldest friend is besotted with Miranda too. When she insists on heading up a covert operation, he’s worried sick but can’t come up with a plausible reason to stop her.

Miranda’s life is on the line. Will Garen risk exposure to save her?

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 Chapter 1

The Gulfstream G280 shuddered as it banked hard right. Miranda Miller pushed one of the window blinds aside; it was black as pitch outside the aircraft. She felt like warmed-over crap. Her mouth tasted sour; her eyes were hot and gritty. She rubbed them and tallied how long it had been since she’d slept. At least two days. She reached for a Styrofoam cup in its no-spill metal holder, sloshed cold coffee around her mouth, and swallowed.

Her headset hummed. “Wakey, wakey, fraulein,” a heavily accented German voice rumbled. “We land at JFK as soon as the tower clears us.”

“What?” Fear sliced through her fatigue. “I told you we needed a smaller airport.”

“Sorry, fraulein. This one was closest. We are below recommended minimums on fuel.”

She considered asking the pilot why he hadn’t planned better but decided not to antagonize him. It was bad enough they were flying without a copilot—probably against FAA regulations. She had a dummied-up commercial pilot’s license tucked in her wallet under one of her many assumed names. Hopefully it matched the one on her phony passport. She hadn’t had time to check. If it came down to it, she’d been instructed to tell the tower she’d copiloted the flight.

“I need you to move into the cockpit, fraulein.”

“Alrighty. Give me a minute.”

“You do not have much more than that. I do not wish further difficulties with the U.S. authorities.”

Miranda wondered just what other problems the pilot might be referring to. She almost asked him, and then decided she didn’t really care. Her international security company engaged professionals. Most of them came from either the military or law enforcement and had checkered pasts. She unbuckled her seat belt and stumbled to her feet. Her crumpled, black pantsuit stank, but maybe only to her lycan senses. She hoped humans wouldn’t be able to smell stale blood and sweat. Her body ached, especially her ribs where her target had slammed a lead pipe into her. She fingered her side and wondered if anything was broken. Not much you could do for ribs. They had to mend on their own.

A few steps took her to the tiny head in the rear of the aircraft. She splashed cold water on her face and winced when she took a good look at her scraped knuckles. Her target in Amsterdam—head of a worldwide human trafficking organization—had been much harder to eliminate than she’d expected. She’d needed her supernatural speed and strength—and her wolf form. One more face-dunking in cold water and she grabbed a towel to dry herself.

“Now, fraulein.” The jet shuddered again as its landing gear clicked into place.

The pilot sounded so panicked she rushed down the aisle and pulled open the cockpit door. He grabbed her arm and nearly threw her into the empty seat. “Watch it!” she snapped; her upper lip pulled into a snarl. Claws pressed against the ends of her fingertips. Miranda struggled for control. Her wolf wanted to kill the human who’d manhandled her.

“Sorry.” The pilot’s voice was mild. She recognized compulsion beneath his words and wondered just what he was. “I do not wish to draw anyone’s attention,” he went on smoothly. “The rules regarding business-class jets are in constant flux.” He glanced at her with gray eyes that didn’t miss much. “Are you hurt?”

She nodded. “My, um, assignment ran into unexpected snags.”

“Will you require medical attention before you proceed to the West Coast?”

She snorted. What a subtle way of asking if she’d been shot or stabbed. Lars Kinsvogel—or whatever his name really was—had obviously dealt with people like her before. Something he said caught her attention. “Won’t you be my pilot?”

He shook his head. “Someone fresh will relieve me.”

“Will I be able to stay aboard?”

He shot her an odd look. “Of course not. You must go through customs.”

She rolled her eyes. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s why I wanted to land somewhere inland.”

His gray eyes narrowed. “All flights from foreign destinations are subject to customs, no matter what the airport. Is this your first international assignment?”

Heat rose to her face. “No.” She was damned if she’d say anything else. She didn’t know him from Adam.

The radio crackled. The pilot responded in pilotese and banked the plane. “Flights from Europe are cleared to land at certain airports. With the fuel we have left, we could have landed in Philadelphia or Newark, but I have a feeling those two destinations would not meet your needs, either. What are you afraid of?”

Miranda wasn’t certain what she could tell him. Company policy was clear. Talk to no one. “Never mind.”

She thought about Garen, her boss and chairman for The Company. She’d been half in love with his razor-sharp mind, lithe build, salt-and-pepper hair, and sky-blue eyes for years, but he didn’t see her as anything but a junior-grade agent. Rumor had it he scarcely acknowledged employees until they’d become full-fledged operatives. If her fellows were any indication, she had a way to go. At least a few more assignments. And then there was the problem of her being a lycan. She sighed; fantasies of Garen went up in smoke like they always did. It was nice to dream, but Miranda steered clear of men. Between her wolf side and her somewhat unorthodox career, intimate relationships carried too much risk of discovery. She relied on her fingers, a vibrator, and the occasional one-night stand to take the edge off her needs.

The jet banked yet again and dropped lower. Its wheels made contact, and the pilot hit the brakes. Because she wasn’t belted in, Miranda nearly plunged into the instrument cluster. Lars made an aggravated clucking sound, but he didn’t say anything. They taxied off the runway.

“Since I have to get off, I need to get my things together.”

“Wait until the aircraft comes to a complete stop, fraulein.”

He sounded so much like a bot, she stifled a laugh. The plane moved smoothly into an enclosed hangar. Once it rolled to a halt, she pushed out of her seat, returned to the passenger compartment, and unhooked her small duffel from the wall. Lars’ breath hissed against her ear. “Where are your weapons?”

“On me and in my bag.”

“Put everything in your bag. Clips separate.”

“I’m not that stupid.” She pulled a 9mm semiautomatic from its shoulder holster and punched the button to discharge its clip. She drew back the slide, extracted the chambered bullet, and stuffed it into the clip. Next came a snub-nosed .38 revolver and two knives. She spun the chamber to make certain all the bullets were out and then placed everything in locked gun cases in her carry-on.

Lars still stood practically on top of her. She met his gaze, noticing they were about the same height, which meant he was five feet eleven. “Yes?” She quirked a tired brow.

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?” His hands settled on her shoulders. She smelled his arousal and knew he had a hard-on without even looking.

“Christ! Not now.” She spun from beneath his grip. “Let’s just get through customs and allow whoever’s knocking on the cabin door to search the plane.”

“We will have some downtime in the terminal. At least an hour.” He sounded hopeful.

Miranda looked at him. Really looked at him. Lars was attractive in a Teutonic sort of way with ice-blond hair and gray eyes. His trim body suggested he worked out. Interest flickered but then died. She shook her head. “I haven’t slept for forty-eight hours. I’m dead on my feet.”

“Why did you not sleep during the flight? The air was smooth.”

Good question. She’d wondered the same thing. “I did, just not much. Too keyed up.”

He shouted something in German to whoever was pounding on the cabin door and took her arm. “I will watch over you until you are safely back in the plane.”

She opened her mouth to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but something in his face stopped her. In that moment, she understood he was a trained operative just like her. His role this time around happened to be pilot, but she was certain he’d stood in her shoes before. “Which branch of the military trained you?”

He shook his head and let go of her arm. “It does not matter. Follow me, fraulein.”

She shouldered her duffel and walked to the rear cabin door. Lars had just sprung the locks. He spoke soothingly in German to an obviously agitated customs officer. The agent’s beady, black eyes settled on her. “Do you speak English?”

“Yes. Is there a problem, sir? It’s been a long flight, and both of us are tired. It took me a while to get my bag together.”

The agent, nostrils flared, looked intently at her and then waved them down the jet’s steps. “Customs is the last door at the north end of the hangar,” he barked. “Don’t even think of running. This hangar is locked and fully alarmed.”

Lars placed a hand beneath her elbow and guided her across a concrete floor. “It is best if we do not deviate from a straight line,” he muttered.

“Holy crap,” she said. “Why are they so uptight?”

He shrugged. “As you Americans say, it goes with the territory.” He grinned, displaying very white, very even teeth. “Everything we do and say between here and the customs area is filmed and recorded.”

* * * *

Despite interested glances and furrowed foreheads, her munitions-heavy duffle had passed inspection since her fake identification pegged her as an undercover agent for the Chicago Police Department. Miranda breathed a sigh of relief once they’d scanned her passport and released her. Even though Garen told his operatives each of their alternate credentials were fully covered at all ends, she’d never exactly believed Jayne Powers existed on the Chicago PD payroll.

They settled in a private lounge specifically for business-class jet crews and their passengers. At least an hour passed. Lars handed her a cup of coffee. He pulled a silver flask from an inner jacket pocket and waved it at her. Miranda shrugged. “Sure. I’ve never made a habit of drinking in the morning, but what the hell. What time is it, anyway?”

“Around five-thirty. It will be light soon.”

She sipped the coffee, delighted to find he’d poured Irish whiskey into it. The liquor burned a path to her empty stomach. “Do I have time to grab some food?”

He frowned. “Probably. I do not understand why the relief pilot has not met us.” He pulled a cell phone from his jacket and powered it on.

Miranda snapped upright from her slump against soft cushions. Deviations almost always meant trouble. She took one more slug of coffee and set her cup down. As tired as she was, she couldn’t risk any more whiskey—not until she found out if something was truly amiss. Lars punched in numbers, waited a few moments, and disconnected. He stood and held a hand to her. “We must go, fraulein.” She opened her mouth to frame a question, but he shook his head. “We have stayed here too long, I fear.”

She cocked her head at a restroom door near the rear of the private lounge. He nodded, obviously understanding her intent. If trouble was afoot, she needed to be armed. She went inside, ducked into a stall, and dug what she needed from her bag. The ammo clip slid into her 9mm with a satisfying thunk. She checked in a mirror to make certain her underarm holster was hidden. Her reflection shocked her. Gray circles etched beneath bloodshot blue eyes. Her dark hair hung in greasy strands. She wound it into a queue and shoved it behind her shoulders.

Lars met her right outside the ladies’ room. Miranda’s practiced eyes noted the swell of a gun beneath his woolen jacket. She blinked hard to clear her head. Were they going to have a full-on shootout in the middle of JFK Airport? He shook his head almost imperceptibly, gripped her elbow, and propelled her into the corridor. At least this wing of the airport wasn’t busy at this time of day. Only a few others strode meaningfully toward destinations.

He jerked his head sideways. A half-open door sat about fifty yards away. He bent so his mouth was right against her ear and whispered as they walked. “You will take the stairs all the way to the bottom. There is a door there. It opens into the main terminal. I will meet you if I can. If I do not, take a taxi. Put some miles between yourself and this airport.” He made a sound midway between a snort and a grunt. “Hell, if you can get the cabbie to drive you to the next state, do it.”

She wanted to ask about perhaps flying back to Seattle, but there wasn’t time. He gave her a push, and the door snicked shut behind her. She heard it lock and understood he must have jimmied it somehow. She padded down a spiral metal staircase, grateful for her flat-soled, practical boots. Lights flashed whenever she passed a landing. She worried about what to do if the door at the bottom was locked. She wasn’t bad at picking locks, but she didn’t have her pick set with her. She’d pretty much stopped carting it around because nearly every lock she’d run into in the last few years was electronic. Don’t borrow trouble. I’ll find out soon enough.

Adrenaline twisted her stomach into a sour knot. Her wolf wanted out. It took precious energy to keep it contained. The stairs ended, and she stared at a metal door. The same blinking light flashed overhead. Wary of alarms, she twisted the handle. It didn’t budge. Shit! She blew out a tense breath. Lars had managed to unlock the top one, so it couldn’t be impossible.

She bent to examine the lock. The easiest thing would be to screw the silencer onto her gun and blow it to bits. Yeah, right. Every cop in the joint will come on a dead run. The lock had a card hole, which meant it was electronic. Maybe her lycan magic could tease it into compliance. She hummed a note, and then another. Something whirred at the edges of her sensitive lycan hearing. The lock didn’t give, not quite, but hope slammed into her. This could work if she was patient.

Miranda let a hand hover over the mechanism and felt its resonance. She tried a couple of three-note combinations. Her fourth try worked. She tamped down elation as the door popped open. She hurried through and tried to look casual as she tugged it closed behind her. Anxious to put as much distance as she could between her and the door before some sort of siren sounded, she ran headlong into someone and muttered apologies before she realized it was Lars.

He pointed toward a glass revolving door. She stumbled after him. Questions bubbled around her tired brain, but she knew better than to talk on the cab ride. They got out in a neighborhood of stately old brownstones. Lars motioned her up several flights of steps and into an apartment furnished in Motel Six modern. He locked a series of deadbolts and turned to face her.

“Are we safe here?”

He nodded. “As safe as anywhere, fraulein, until I can get us out of the city tomorrow. I have made arrangements for a plane in Boston. We will fly to Seattle from there. Take the bedroom at the end of the hall. There is another bedroom, but I will sleep on the couch.” She raised a questioning eyebrow. He smirked. “It is closer to the door in case we have…unexpected company.”

Miranda was almost certain she knew the answer to her next question, but she asked anyway. “What happened to the other pilot?”

Lars’ lips curved into a sneer. “Dead. The bastard who killed him will be once I get my hands on him.”

Miranda walked down the hall and into the bedroom. She shut the door behind her, grateful Lars hadn’t asked who she’d taken care of in Amsterdam. Human trafficking was global, but such an instantaneous response to losing one of their own chilled her. From long habit, she checked the adjoining bath and closet. A shower would be welcome, but it could wait. She pitched face down on the bed and was asleep in seconds.
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DUAL THREAT by Wendi Zwaduk

DUAL THREAT by Wendi Zwaduk

In a new paranormal romance from Wendi Zwaduk, two tiger shifters meet the girl of their dreams. Now all they have to do is convince her they hold the key to her heart and a life of love. Hampered by the pain of her past, it may take a dual threat for love to rule the day.

Kaia Martin dances to pay the bills. She doesn’t mind baring her body, but her heart? That’s another question. But what happens when two tiger shifters push her out of her comfort zone and into her heart’s desire?

Evan and Ian Davis have been in love with Kaia since the moment they met her. Their tigers know she’s the one for them. They’ve waited long enough for her to see what they’ve always known—she’s their mate. Can these twin tiger shifters prove love really can conquer all?

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Excerpt:

 

Chapter 1

“A beer and a real good fuck.”

Ian massaged his temples. He’d stared at the computer screen for far too long and his head ached. A cold beer and a hot woman would help ease his tension right about now. Beer to chill him out and the woman to take his mind off the numbers. He didn’t have either the booze or the girl, but the inventory still stared back at him from his computer screen. Lots of numbers, and each needed a place to go on his spreadsheets. He tallied the camera sales. He’d need to order a couple hundred more micro wireless cameras as well as the infrared home monitoring cameras and at least a thousand yards of cable. The numbers began to blur again, and he closed his eyes. Running the store made paying the bills a breeze, but sometimes he hated looking at surveillance equipment.

A vision formed behind his closed eyelids. The woman, curves where a woman should be curvy, black hair in fat curls dangling down her back, and not a stitch of clothing in sight, danced. The spotlight she moved in front of gave him the perfect outline of her body and a tantalizing hint of her identity. He’d know her anywhere. His mouth watered, and he longed to touch her. He slid down in his seat and thanked the Goddess the desk hid his erection. He cupped the bulge in his pants with both hands and stroked in time with her swaying.

Kaia Martin. His tiger roared from within. The moment he laid eyes on her, he and his animal knew she’d complete him. Whether she’d fit in with him and his brother … they’d figure that out soon enough. Better to tempt her with one tiger than to scare the living fuck out of her with both of them at the same time.

He rested his head on the back of his chair and continued to stroke himself. He needed to see her. The Glass Martini Gentlemen’s Club sucked in so many ways. Too much cigarette smoke, too many drunken men trying to paw the girls, and more than a couple of girls trying too hard to hit on the paying customers. He’d begged his sister, Sonya, not to work there, but being the wild card of the family, she ignored whatever he said. Then he met Kaia. Kaia served as the bright spot in his life.

But Kaia wanted to stay friends. The thought ripped him right out of his fantasy. Seeing her dance helped him temporarily quench his desire for her, but he’d never taken things to the next level. Not with Dade around. His tiger growled, and he opened his eyes. Warm orange light streaked across the buildings from the late-day sun. Thinking about a woman wouldn’t help him get his inventory finished, and it sure as hell wouldn’t get him to the Glass Martini any faster.

He sighed and refocused on his laptop screen. The urge to see his friend outweighed his need to finish the inventory. The moment they’d met came to mind. His sister insisted there was a girl at the club who would hit it off big time with both him and Evan. He scoffed, but went to the Glass Martini anyway with Evan in tow. Three years later, the friendship remained strong. But he wanted to take things further. His tiger wanted his mate.

His phone pinged, signaling an incoming text. Ian closed the laptop lid. Time to call the night a wash and find something better to do. He swiped his thumb across the phone screen to bring up the text. A picture filled the screen. Evan, his twin, grinned next to one of his abstract paintings. The caption underneath read SOLD ANOTHER ONE.

Ian grinned. Talk about being the same but complete opposites. Being identical twins, he and Evan shared the same broad build, same cropped blond hair, same blue eyes. But where Ian excelled at computers and wiring, Evan got off on painting. Ian never understood what Evan saw in the streaked combinations of colors. He claimed each painting meant something. Hell if Ian knew what, but he didn’t care. Evan followed his heart. That’s what mattered and made him a good living. He’d already sold four works at about two thousand dollars each. Not bad for what most people would call a hobby.

Ian pressed the keys to send a return message. Proud of you. Another one this month and you’ll break 10k in sales. Awesome. Need a ride to the Glass Martini? Within seconds the reply message popped onto the screen. You bet.

Good enough for Ian. He opened the laptop long enough to shut the device down and then gathered his papers and phone. He’d work on more inventory shit later. Purplish light highlighted the tree line behind Davis Electronics. He breathed in the scent of barbeque from the Jerky House restaurant down the street. His stomach gurgled and his tiger moaned. When had he eaten last? He couldn’t remember. Damned work anyway.

He climbed into his truck and sped across town. The buildings lining Belden Valley’s main drag loomed in the blue twilight. He knew the streets by heart. Growing up in a mid-sized city offered the comfort of knowing most everyone around, while also being diverse. The neon lights of the Gladstone Gallery reflected off his hood when he pulled into one of the parking spots. The gallery once served as the theater in town. When the strip malls had sprung up on the outskirts of town, the movie theater followed. Thankfully, the Gladstone Group, a hodgepodge of local artists and crafters, worked to save the intricate building.

“Thought maybe you fell asleep at the store.” Evan yanked the truck door open and then plopped onto the seat beside his brother. “Did you like that text?” His grin spread from ear to ear.

“I did and I’m proud of you.” Ian clapped his brother on the shoulder. “You’re making progress. A couple more sales of your work, and I’ll have to get tickets to visit you, you’ll be so famous.” He pulled away from the curb and sped toward the Glass Martini.

“Nah.” Evan raked his fingers through his hair. “Sonya called, then Kaia texted. Seems you and I might want to be at the Glass Martini tonight for more than to just watch the dances.”

Ian’s heart skipped a beat and his tiger perked. “Oh yeah?”

“I don’t know what Kaia’s news is, but she says she’s got some, and according to our sister, it’s really big news.” Evan drummed his fingers on the open window frame of the truck. “You don’t suppose she dumped Dade, do you? My tiger’s been on edge for the last six months.”

“My tiger’s been watching her too.” Ian settled into his seat as they drove past the massive Belden High School and the Greater Federal Bank building. He’d wanted to say something to Evan before, but never found the right time. No more waiting. “It’s hard to watch her, isn’t it? I want to comfort her, but I don’t think it’s time yet.”

He waited a heartbeat for Evan’s response. Their true mate would call to both of them, not just one of them. The tigers would know, but was she the mate they needed?

“Besides the fact Dade is an asshole and I thought she could do better than to even look at him, yeah. My tiger goes ape shit when she’s around. It’s been hard as fuck not to touch her or say something about wanting her. I’m trying to be her friend, but lately I want more. You?”

Relief washed through Ian. He’d never been one to show his feelings, but with Evan things were different. They understood each other beyond even a twin level. “My tiger wants her too.”

He pulled to a stop in the parking lot in front of the Glass Martini and measured his words. “We’ve got a problem.”

“We’re tigers and that scares most women off.” Evan turned in his seat, facing Ian. “Top that off with the both of us wanting her, and yeah, we’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell that Kaia will want us.” He folded his arms. “I say let her choose. If she picks you, then cool. I know she’ll be treated with dignity. Really, I hope she chooses the both of us.”

Not exactly what he expected his brother to say. Ian frowned, despite his tiger purring in his chest. “I’m guessing she’ll want you. You talk more, but yeah, I’d like her to pick both of us too.”

“I know.” Evan sighed. “What if she’s ready to tell us something else? Anything is possible.”

“She said he beat the shit out of her, but that’s been almost two months ago. Remember? We intervened and fixed the issue. He hasn’t laid a hand on her since.” Ian’s tiger roared. No one hurt his mate, even if she wasn’t his—yet.

“We’ve got to brace for anything and get the hell out of this truck. She’s waiting.” He nodded to the door where their sister, Sonya, stood. She’d cocked one hip and flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder. Even from a distance, her giddiness rolled off her in waves.

Ian stuck out his hand to his twin. “May the best man win.”

“Yeah,” Evan said with a grin, “both of us.”

*

Evan followed his older-by-a-few-minutes brother into the club. Their sister bounced over to where they stood awaiting the ticket taker to print their pass for the night.

“You’re late.” Sonya adjusted the straps of her halter top. “Tommy didn’t think you’d even show.”

“We did,” Ian muttered. Go figure, the moment they got into the club proper, his brother chose to clam up.

Evan shook his head. He wanted to believe she shared something special with them. His tiger wanted to believe too. Every time he watched her dance, his animal roared and his erection remained until the wee hours of the morning. Other women didn’t affect him like the raven-haired vixen. He wanted to caress her curves and lick every inch of her delectable pale skin. When she hugged him, he craved her body even more. He’d be her friend forever, but platonic sucked assholes when he really wanted to make love to her.

Evan’s tiger knew exactly who he wanted the moment he saw her too. The animal sniffed her scent, and the pheromones in her body called to him. Clawing, biting him from within, the animal craved this person. Like Evan could deny his animal? But being part human, he needed to bide his time. His tiger insisted on snatching her from the bar, but he’d play it safe and give her room to return the feelings. He’d be lost without his mate, but he’d survive—maybe. Heartbreak killed more than its fair share of tiger-shifters, and sent a great many more to insanity while waiting for their true mate.

Evan swatted his brother on the shoulder. “She’s doing the circle tonight. Let’s take a window each.”

Ian nodded and opened the first door to the circle. Evan opened the door to the left. The circle, a stage ringed with windows so each patron could watch without touching, gave the dancer safety and the patron privacy. The stench of cigarette smoke wafted around him. His boots clunked on the tile floor.

Evan wrinkled his nose and then brushed his boot over the vinyl seat. Nothing liquid gleamed on the brown surface, so he sat and propped his feet on the shelf. Others used the room to jack off while the girls danced. Not him. He drank in every detail of Kaia and imprinted them on his permanent memory. If he’d never have her in his arms, he’d hold her in his dreams.

The girl in the circle, a thin, shorter girl with red hair bounced around a chair. Her breasts jiggled with every step, and her tiny nipples puckered. Evan sighed. The woman defined conventional beauty, but she didn’t elicit a thing below his belt. His tiger ignored her. Damn it.

He waited until the redhead finished her dance. A blonde strutted onto the stage next. Not Kaia. He knocked on the wall to Ian’s stall and then stepped into the hallway. Another dancer, one with cropped black hair, slipped between Evan and the wall. She glanced at him, winked, and then pursed her lips.

He nodded and offered a slight smile. Again, nothing happened below the belt. Well, hell. His brother stepped out of his stall and cleared his throat.

The girl’s eyes widened. “Twins. One flavor I’ve never tried.”

“Ian! Evan!” Kaia bounded toward him, the tassels on her corset top swinging with each step. “Sonya said you were here.” She clasped Evan’s left hand and Ian’s right hand. “Come here.”

With both of them in tow, she dragged them to the dressing room hallway and then stopped. The glitter on her cheeks shone under the light, and the blue in her eyes deepened. Evan loved seeing her in the thick stage makeup, and fresh-faced even more. Who was he kidding? He loved her, plain and simple.

“So.” She let go of their hands and then fluttered her fingers. “I broke things off with Dade.”

Her words hung thick in the air with the cigarette smoke. Lights from the disco ball flashed on the deep purple walls and highlighted her wide eyes. Evan swore he heard her talk. He knew the meaning of the words she’d used, but damn it, nothing made sense. He’d longed for her to say she’d split from Dade. Did he hear her right, or was this another figment of his imagination?

“Ian? Evan?” Her shoulders drooped, and she stuck out her bottom lip. “I thought you’d be excited.”

Ian spoke first. “As long as you’re happy, sweetheart, we’re happy.”

“He stole my credit cards and tried to use them at the gas station. Then when I called him on what he’d done, he tried to slap me, but I ducked. Sonya went with me to file the restraining order this morning.”

“Great news.” Evan threw his arms around her. At least now he could touch her without fear her lousy ex would harm her. His tiger perked up and paced. A new scent mingled in the air around them. The scent of his mate, a sweet, flowery smell, like rolling in a spring meadow.

Unlike their feral counterparts, tiger-shifters didn’t hiss or growl to capture their mate. Evan petted her hair. He’d work like hell to gain her trust. Shifters walked alongside the humans and lived together in peace, but unlike the humans, shifter sex wasn’t talked about. Humans tended to shy away from thinking they could mate with shifters. He didn’t care. She belonged to him, and if they were lucky, she’d accept both of them. He could only hope.

Evan hazarded a glance at his brother. Ian leaned on the wall, and his eyes flickered between green and yellow. His tiger knew too.

“I’m not getting involved with anyone for a while. No way. I’ve even got an apartment here in Belden over by the bank building.” Kaia remained in Evan’s arms. “But I’m glad I’ve got you two on my side. You’re the best friends a girl could have.”

Best friends. But for how long?

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LONE WOLF by Rebecca Royce

 LONE WOLF by Rebecca Royce

 The Westervelt Wolves

Gabriel sacrificed everything for the woman he loved—even his wolf. But the time has come for endings, and only he can bring down the evil that has plagued Westervelt for too long. You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. You’ll fall in love all over again in the thrilling conclusion of Rebecca Royce’s The Westervelt Wolves series!

All bad things must be destroyed…

Gabriel Kane has been betraying his family for forty years. To save a mate only he remembers, he made a deal with his father, Kendrick Kane, that would keep her alive. The price? Gabriel’s cooperation. Little by little his lies have eaten him alive until there is nothing left of him but a shell of the shifter he used to be.

He’s at the end of his rope. Only Kendrick’s death will end the pain. Even if it kills Gabriel in the process.

Taken from her family and forced to live with a man she despises, Carrie has grown stronger than she ever thought possible. And she will need to be, for only she can save Gabriel now. If she doesn’t, all is lost forever—not just for her, but for their entire pack. Winning is a long shot, but what other choice do they have?

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Chapter 1

Forty years ago

Westervelt Island

Before the destruction

“He never notices me.” Carrie White threw the piece of grass she’d picked back onto the ground. “It’s like I don’t even exist. We grew up on this island together. The least he could do is look my way.”

Victoria rolled her eyes before she stood up. Completely naked, her best friend raised her arms toward the sun. Carrie had never cared whether her fellow shifters covered themselves after the changes. Some of the older pack members preferred everyone to hurry and clothe themselves after every shift, but she’d grown up so used to the nudity, she hardly noticed it. Besides, in the world outside Westervelt, lots of people seemed to go around half-dressed or actually nude. She didn’t care. Except for the fact that at the moment she coveted Victoria Trope’s breasts.

“Who cares if they notice you or not? They’re all Kanes. They’re royalty and they know it. Attitude comes straight through their pores into the constant sneer on their faces. I wouldn’t want to end up with one of them, and I wouldn’t want anyone I loved to mate with them either.”

“I bet if I had your breasts Tristan Kane would notice me.”

He seemed the nicest out of all of them. Michael spent his life with his head tucked in a book, Az had gone off to study with the humans at some university and come back speaking about medical terms she didn’t understand, Rex always seemed on edge. Theo saw a threat everywhere they went, which left Tristan. He’d probably make a great mate.

“Why do you want Tristan? He’d bore you to death in two minutes with all of his talk about building structures. If I had to pick a Kane, and I never would, I’d want Gabriel.”

“Gabriel?” Carrie stood up to stretch as Victoria had. Her bones had finally relaxed after the fast run they’d given their wolf bodies. “He never speaks to anyone.”

“You’re right. That’s what I’d like about him.”

Carrie grinned. Victoria had always been a sourpuss. Nothing changed for them, not ever. Some of the pack railed against that, but Carrie loved the consistency. She knew her place in the world, in the pack, in the universe. Someday she’d mate. Even if it didn’t happen to be with Tristan Kane. And when she died, her mate would follow her into the next world and hold her there forever, their eternal bond a gift bestowed upon them by the gods who loved and cared for shifters.

“You keep talking like that, Victoria, and you’re going to end up mated to some human.”

Her best friend grinned. “I hope I’m that lucky. And we’ll have beautiful half-bred shifter children. Girls. You know I can’t stand male shifters.”

“By the gods, you have your whole life mapped out for you.” Carrie couldn’t imagine that.

“Yes. And we’ll name them Ashlee and Summer. I read those names in a book I picked up the last time I went off island for supplies. Not names we use here. They’ll be mine, and they’ll be spectacular for having been raised in my presence.”

Gabriel’s scent drifted over her just seconds before he spoke. “Watch out, human males everywhere. Victoria is on a mating hunt.”

Carrie spun around to stare at him. How had he done that? She should have had lots of warning of his arrival. He stared at Victoria, who promptly rolled his eyes at him. Then his gaze shifted, taking Carrie in. While she hadn’t cared before, now she felt acutely aware of her naked body. Her cheeks heated up and she covered her breasts.

“Did you do that on purpose? Hide your scent? Stay in the woods downwind so you could, what, spy on us?”

He shook his head, once again regarding Victoria. Two little lines formed between his dark eyebrows. Victoria did that to a lot of people. His brown, almost black eyes narrowed as he inspected Carrie’s friend and Carrie noted his fully dressed state. His jeans and burgundy T-shirt brought out the tan of his skin. “It’s not my problem, wolf, if you don’t guard yourself. You were trained. You were all trained. By me, as a matter of a fact. Stay on alert. Don’t assume we’re fine because we’re home. If that were the case, we wouldn’t need to learn to fight at all.”

“We’re wolves. We fight.” Carrie didn’t know why she spoke out the way she did. Whenever Gabriel had actually uttered words in the past, she’d stayed silent. He was royal and the captain of his father’s guard, and pack members ran when he approached. She didn’t scurry away, just most of the time she couldn’t find her voice.

“That’s true.” He smiled at her and her heart did an extra thump. “Victoria, go find something to do. I want to speak to Carrie.”

Her friend looked at her for a moment before she changed shape and left, running on four legs for the woods. No one argued with Kendrick’s sons, not when it really counted. If Gabriel wanted to speak to Carrie, he’d speak to her. Only she had no idea what she might have done to have earned Gabriel’s attention. Had she been slack in some kind of duty? Had Kendrick sent him?

Finally.

Her wolf’s interruption startled her. Finally what?

We’re alone.

You want to be alone with him?

Her wolf didn’t answer and Gabriel started talking, bringing her attention back to the world outside of her own mind.

“I’ve been waiting to talk to you. Now seemed like a good time. Well, it seemed pivotal to speak now, I suppose.”

She swallowed. “I’m not sure what I’ve done.”

“What you’ve done?” He shook his head, a strand of his brown hair falling into his eyes. “No. Nothing like that. Please, Carrie. Don’t ever be nervous around me. Not you. Ever.”

The wind picked up, bringing his scent to her again. It was wild and spicy like ginger, and yet his scent still carried the smell of springtime in their woods. Goose bumps broke out on her arms. She wanted to shift and rub up against him until she carried the uniqueness of Gabriel on her skin.

Oh my gods. If she craved a marking, needed to have his essence inside of her, then…

Ah, so the dense one finally caught on. Her wolf smiled, settling down. It’s about time.

“I had hoped that by now you would have felt something I’ve known to be true since you were a young girl.” He swallowed and she saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “I haven’t been exactly proud of that, the idea that I knew when you were still so young, but I’ve left you alone so you could have a life without me bothering you all the time.”

“You watch me.” Her mouth had gone dry. “Without speaking to me. Ever.” His silence unnerved her, made her head hurt. She tried not to think about it too often. Contemplating Gabriel made her skin feel too tight.

There are good reasons for that.

Why didn’t you tell me? Her heart rate sped up.

You have to find your mate. I couldn’t thrust you right into it.

“I’ve spoken to you. Nearly confessed myself to you about a half a dozen times during your training five years ago.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Of course, I know what you mean. As I said, I’ve been leaving you be. Hoping you’d come to me when you knew. Only just now, you were talking about Tristan, and I can’t have that. I’m not a perfect man or wolf. I’m probably the least … good … out of all of my brothers, and I cannot handle hearing you express interest in Tristan. Not that kind of interest.”

She reached out and touched his arm, rubbing her hand along the side of the softness of his shirt. “Do you think I could get dressed? I mean, you are. I’d kind of like to be that way too. The kind of conversation we’re having deserves equal footing.”

His eyes got wide. “I’m rather torn on that question. I like you naked. I more than like you that way. I don’t want you to cover up. Yet I can appreciate your situation. My wolf says I’m being dense. Please, let’s get you some clothes. There’s a dressing box over there.”

He took her hand in his and they walked silently to the hidden clothes box.

I’m mated to Gabriel?

He’s pretty cute, isn’t he? Her wolf strutted.

Cute wouldn’t be the word she’d use. Striking, intoxicating, intimidating … male.

She grabbed the clothes from the box. The gray generic sweatpants and T-shirt were the same in every hidden box. They were huge on her as she fell into the smaller half of wolf shifters. The same clothes that would fit Gabriel well hung loosely on her five-foot-eight frame. Once she was dressed, she looked up at him.

He stood back a bit, looking at her. “Just tell me that you aren’t in love with my brother.”

“I’m not in love with your brother.”

He scratched his head. “Then why were you trying to get his attention?”

“Well, I wanted someone’s attention. I’m young. I had no idea until just now that we were … mates. Tristan is kind. And also because you make me nervous. You’re very … scary.”

She didn’t anticipate his laugh. In fact, in her fifty years of life, she’d never heard him do so before. Not in pack meetings or social events. Gabriel Kane remained his father’s stoic right-hand man at all times. The constant silhouette, Gabriel on the right, Kendrick in the middle, and Cullen on his left. The strength that kept their pack together kept them strong and aligned. Or so she had heard a million times.

“You think you’re scared of me?” He sniffed the air and grinned. With a swagger in his step she hadn’t seen earlier he moved toward her. “You’re not afraid of me. You never have been. Trust me, I’ve been observing you for years. I, by contrast, am terrified of you.”

“What?” She laughed, covering her mouth to stop the sound from echoing through the woods. Someone might come to find out what she laughed so loudly about. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s true.” He took a strand of her hair and placed it behind her ear. “You’re a tough lady.”

He had to be making fun of her. “There is nothing even remotely nerve-racking about me.”

Gabriel’s dark eyes bore into hers, no hint of amusement radiating in his gaze. “You’re an Alpha female and you know it. Right off the bat, half the men of this pack fall to their knees whenever you walk by.”

“I never talk about that. I know a lot of Alphas love to have that discussion, but I’ve never really cared if someone happened to be dominant or not.” A fact that drove some of her friends crazy. Alphas loved to be Alpha.

“I’m aware. You move with class and determination. In a fight, you could take on just about any wolf that went for you. Everyone loves you even though your family routinely drives my father crazy, opposing him whenever he steps out of line. There’s even talk that your brother could challenge for Alpha when my father is finished. His mate certainly wants that.”

Her heart sped up. “We didn’t know the Kanes knew that.”

“With very few exceptions, we know everything, sweet lady. Just like I know we belong to each other. So tell me, do I have to kill my brother Tristan? Or will you never look at him again?”

He leaned close as he spoke. His warm breath caressed her face and she shuddered. Gabriel had spoken the truth. She’d never been afraid of him, not even when everyone told her she should be. “You don’t scare me, but you do make me nervous.”

“I make you hot.” He ran a finger down the side of her cheek. “You still haven’t answered me. Does Tristan need to die?”

She shook her head. “Please don’t kill your brother.” She leaned forward until their mouths almost touched. “I’m your mate. I know it now. I don’t know why I didn’t earlier.”

“Everything in its proper time. Today’s a good day to fulfill destiny.”

His mouth fused to hers and her knees buckled. Gabriel grabbed her arms, holding her up. Carrie didn’t know if the earth actually shifted beneath her feet, but it certainly felt like it did.

* * * *

Something tickled Carrie’s nose. She sneezed and opened her eyes. Gabriel sat next to her holding a rose against her face.

Her cheeks immediately heated. Had he been watching her sleep? Did she snore? “Were you tickling me with that flower?”

He nodded, once again rubbing her with the petals, this time over her chest. She took the rose from his hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I missed you.” He breathed out his words on a sigh.

“You saw me.” She looked up at the sun streaming through her window. “Two hours ago. We were up all night together. You have to let me rest, or I’m going to look like hell for you.”

He looks so cute. Her wolf crooned.

“I know.” He stood. “And I’m not exactly proud of needing to see you this much, but I do.”

“It’s not like I don’t think about you too.” Should she tell him? “I could hardly go to sleep for thinking of you.”

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Really? Tell me more about this trouble sleeping.”

She reached out to stroke his face. He had a small amount of stubble on his chin and she loved how it felt against her hand. “I guess I was thinking about this, about what a strange miracle it is that I can touch you whenever I want to.”

“You think it’s a miracle?” He tugged her up against him. “I’ve waited for you so long. Spent an infinite amount of time thinking of you, imagining you, wishing I could be with you when you wake up in the morning.”

“Gabriel Kane.” His words made her insides tighten up and a warmth pooled between her thighs. “You make me want to break pack tradition and let you into my bed right now.”

“Would you?” His eyebrows rose so high she thought they might fly right off his face. “Because you know no one has to know. It can be just between the two of us.”

He kissed her and she moaned against his mouth. From their first kiss to every stolen one after the heat between them had expanded exponentially. She couldn’t get enough of him and doubted she ever would. Her body ached for completion that only Gabe could give her.

“Easy, baby.” He stroked her breast through her shirt. “I’ve got you and I want it too.”

It would be so easy to tell him yes, to lie down with him and do what her body begged her to do.

She swallowed. “We can’t. Generations of our people have done it the way we will. It’s important. It’s tradition.”

He sighed loudly before sitting back and taking his hands from her body. She immediately missed his warmth. “If you think there aren’t some of our ancestors—hell, some of the people living around us right now—who didn’t have their mating before their ceremony, then you are really adorably naive.” He scooted to her left. “But we will wait because you want to.” Pulling her against his chest, he kissed the top of her head. “Go back to sleep. I want to hold you while you do.”

“If my father catches you here, Gabriel, you’ll be killed before we ever can.” Some of the fathers were old-fashioned, but not Carrie’s. He only had old-fashioned ideas.

“Your dad will never catch me. I’m fast. I’ll go out the window. Did you forget who you’re mating?”

She snuggled against him. “I’m never going to be able to sleep now. You’ve gotten me all worked up.”

“Sleep, sweet lady. Listen to my heart. It beats only for you.”

Carrie did as he asked, concentrating on the way his heart sounded. Eventually she drifted to sleep with the thought that she’d truly been honored by the gods to spend eternity with the best shifter she’d ever known. He smelled like the woods. Nothing could ever be better.

* * * *

Gabriel couldn’t believe he’d finally gotten to his mating ceremony. The weeks of planning, of knowing Carrie wanted him above all others, that she agreed they should be together for eternity, had filled him up in places that had been cold for so long.

“Are you doing okay, son?”

He turned his gaze on his father. At some point while Gabriel had been distracted, his father, the Alpha, must have donned the traditional mating ritual attire. In his hundred-some-odd years of life—he’d stopped counting when he’d reached one hundred; it seemed futile after that—he’d watched his father bring together so many couples. Somehow he’d never really believed he would be among them.

“I’m fine, my Alpha. Thank you for your inquiry.”

Other wolves got to pal around with their dads, to joke in preparation for the event. Not Gabe. No one joked with Kendrick. Gabriel would stand in front of the pack and swear his unending devotion to Carrie. Then they’d go off and be together for the first time. His groin leaped at the thought. The last weeks of anticipation had been horrific. Years of wanting her from afar had been nothing in comparison to knowing it would actually happen … and soon.

“You are the first of my boys to be gifted with a mate. You know what that means, don’t you?”

“No, sir.” He turned his full attention to Kendrick. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Always so dense.” The Alpha shook his head. “Thank the gods you’re as talented a soldier as you are.”

His words burned Gabe’s soul, pushing away the sweet anticipation he’d had since he’d risen earlier in the day. His father always did that, forever reminding him how stupid he was in comparison to his brothers. How seemingly worthless in all but battle.

Don’t let it get to you. His wolf hushed his fury. Today isn’t about him.

“If you want me to know what it means, sir, you’re going to have to tell me.” His words didn’t express his anger. Years ago, he’d learned how to hide it, how to make his face a mask of nothingness. No one could hurt him on the outside and what went on beneath the surface of his walls was no one else’s business.

Except Carrie’s. His wolf reminded him.

Except her. In about twenty minutes from now.

“It means the gods think you’re the best.”

Gabriel highly doubted that.

His father continued. “It means you truly were born to be my heir.”

“Michael’s your heir, the next Alpha.” Had Kendrick lost his ability to count? Michael, the firstborn, would be presumptive heir to Westervelt. And if not Michael, it would not be Gabe. He didn’t want to be Alpha any more than he wanted to drown in the lake surrounding Westervelt Island. Tristan would be a fantastic Alpha, if he could get his head out of his books to acknowledge it. Besides, none of them would challenge Michael.

“He’s a fool.” His father bent over close to his ear. “And you know it.”

Come. Go get mated. Get out of here. Something has gone wrong with our Alpha. I don’t even want to lower my eyes. He smells wrong.

Gabriel moved away from his father to head out into the clearing. He’d had enough of that kind of talk. Lately, Kendrick only wanted to discuss succession. Why bother talking about it when it had been decided by birth?

He shook his head. Kendrick’s smell followed him and he stopped moving. If the Alpha wanted to follow him, then he had to stop and speak with him.

“Good luck tonight.”

Okay. “Thanks.”

“Things have to change. You realize that, don’t you? We can’t stay like this forever.”

“Sir?” Gabriel didn’t know where this conversation had come from.

His father spoke off into the distance. Gabriel might be the person Kendrick technically spoke with, but the way he looked out in the early night air told him anyone would do.

“I made a decision a very long time ago to do what had to be done to keep this pack strong. I have to do it again. She’s right.”

“I’m not sure what…”

Kendrick’s eyes turned back on him. “Never mind, son. Enjoy your mating ceremony. We only get one, you know. One. For all of eternity.”

“Right.”

His wolf huffed. When you come back from your mating time with Carrie in a few weeks, I think you should talk to Michael. Talk to Tristan. Talk to anyone about what happened here.

He swallowed, his mouth dry. To do so would be treason. We don’t talk about the Alpha behind his back.

Even when you think the Alpha may have lost his mind?

All thoughts of his father’s mental state were pushed aside as Carrie walked into the clearing. She wore a light lavender dress, the same one her mother had worn fifty years earlier. He’d watched her mother wed and never dreamed he’d see his own bride wearing the same clothes. On Carrie they were ethereal. He took a deep breath. It was the nature of his life to watch generations go by with no change in his own life and then suddenly be overwhelmed by how fast everything moved.

She walked toward him. He loved the way the air shifted around her when she moved. Birds singing their last songs for the night ceased to make a sound when she passed. Carrie didn’t even know these things happened in her presence.

Watching her for so long had given him so much knowledge about her, things he thought she didn’t even realize about herself. She twisted her hair when she tried to work out a problem. No one would ever be a more loyal friend than Carrie. Her fighting skills left something to be desired when she tried it on two legs. Four legs? She radiated strength and ability. Her wolf could handle anything thrown at her.

Carrie took his hand. “Woolgathering again?”

“Maybe.” He sighed. “Nothing overly important. I’m not solving the world’s ills tonight.”

She scrunched her nose and he wanted to bend over and kiss it. The pack had started forming around them so he resisted the urge. There would be time for kissing—and lots of it—later.

“Tonight is our mating. You can contemplate deep problems some other time.” She shrugged. “Unless, you know, it requires your attention this instant?”

“No. It’s probably nothing.”

Liar.

He ignored his wolf. “Let’s go be mated.”

Her grin spoke volumes. The woman wanted this as much as he did.

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MAGIC'S DAUGHTER by Ann Gimpel

MAGIC'S DAUGHTER by Ann Gimpel

Destined to be surrounded by magic yet have none of her own, Cassie walks a thin line between love and danger. Her mother is dying and her boyfriend has turned into something which terrifies her. By the time she wakes up to the danger she’s in, it’s nearly too late. 

Cassie’s friend, Jeremy, warns her about her scumbag boyfriend, but she doesn’t listen until deeply disturbing events unfold and her life hangs in the balance. With few choices left, she and Jeremy join forces to battle the darkness threatening them. Meanwhile, Cassie warms to Jeremy in ways she never could have anticipated. Love was there all along if she’d just opened her eyes and looked.

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 Magic's Daughter
Ann Gimpel

Chapter 1

Cassionetta Ceobbinn sat in her old Subaru and rested her forehead against its steering wheel. Her electronic design work had ground to a halt an hour earlier and a headache pounded behind one eye. The garage of the Capitol Hill mansion rose around her, silent as a crypt. Her mother’s Aston Martin sat off to one side, gleaming white in the semi-darkness. Cassie girded herself to open her car door, grab her things, and go inside. “It’s my house, goddammit,” she muttered to boost her courage. “So what if he sent me a text message not to come home.”

The garage lights came on, blinding her. The door leading into the house crashed against the wall. Before the ringing in her ears subsided, her live-in boyfriend stomped to her car. Well, the live-in part was still accurate. The boyfriend part seemed to have evaporated like so much smoke.

“You weren’t supposed to come home tonight,” he growled. “I texted you hours ago. You can just turn that piece of shit you drive around and go stay at your mother’s office.”

Fury boiled up from her guts. She took aim and opened the car door hard into his midsection, hoping she could clip a ball for good measure.

“Oooph. You little bitch.” He jumped back, rubbing his stomach.

You bet I am. High heels slapping the concrete floor, she jumped out of her car and stood eyeball to eyeball with him. “This is my mother’s house, Tyler MacKenzie. I live here. Or have you forgotten?” Cassie yanked her shoulder bag and computer case off the passenger side of the front seat and stormed past him.

He grabbed her arm before she reached the steps leading into the kitchen. “I have people over. It’s the full moon. I’m leading a séance. Your presence would disturb the energy.”

She twirled to face him, breaking his grip. “You mean you have mother’s clients over. Where is she, by the way?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. Haven’t seen her.”

Cassie turned away from him. He closed his hand over her arm again, hard enough to make her squeal. “If you don’t let me go,” she snarled through clenched teeth, “I will call the police.”

His fingers loosened marginally. “But, sweetie…”

She heard compulsion beneath his words. Cassie didn’t have any magic of her own, but she recognized it in others. When Tyler had wanted her to fall in love with him, he’d used honeyed words all the time. They’d only stopped once she’d let him move in.

“Can it.” She twisted her head so she could lock gazes with him. “Let me go. Now.” His hand fell away. “I want you out of here tomorrow—”

His eyes narrowed. He shoved long, red-gold hair out of his face and sneered at her. “Fat fucking chance of that. We’ve had this conversation one too many times for my liking. I’m here, and I intend to stay. There’s nothing you can do about it. Unless you want to meet with an unfortunate accident.”
A nasty laugh bubbled past lips she’d once thought were full and sensual. “Of course something like that could happen anyway. If I were you, sweetie, I’d watch my back.”

Cassie shuddered. She swallowed, but her mouth was dry. Maybe she’d underestimated Tyler. Once they’d stopped getting along, she’d seen him as an inconvenience, not a menace. He’d never sounded quite like this before though. There’d been threats, but they’d been subtle, veiled in double entendre.
She squared her shoulders and turned to face him. It was the kiss of death to let bullies know they were getting to you. “I’m done with your crap.” She infused as much venom as she could into her voice. “I will call the police. You threatened me.”

He snorted. “I’d just deny it. They’ll believe we had a lover’s spat. Women are so emotional.” His blue eyes gleamed with an unnatural light.

She blinked. For a moment, he looked like a demon one of her mother’s psychic friends had raised by accident. Cassie knew enough about demons—interdimensional beings which traveled from world to world wreaking havoc—for the idea of them to scare the shit out of her.

Don’t be ridiculous. Ridiculous, ridiculous echoed in her head. I’m seeing things.

Her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears; her hands fisted at her sides. “You’d better get back to your séance. Wouldn’t want any of those high rollers to get away.” He took a menacing step toward her; his mouth was set in a hard line. She sucked in a breath, ready to defend herself.

Thank Christ he spun on his heel and trotted smartly back into the house. Tyler cut an elegant figure with his richly-embroidered gypsy cape, broad shoulders, and classically handsome Nordic features.
Flowing ruby silk pants rode low on his slim hips. No wonder she’d been taken in by him.

Fuming—and scared half to death—she followed him into the house, but turned a hard left before she reached the kitchen and took what had once been the servants’ staircase. It had been stupid to fall for Tyler, one of the dumbest things she’d ever done, but there was no going back. She couldn’t unravel time and choose not to tumble into his arms and his bed. That part was a done deal. If she listened to him, his residency at chéz Eleanora was a done deal as well.

Shit!

Worry for her mother filled her, obliterating her fears for her own safety. Eleanora Ceobbinn was—or had been—a well-known psychic, but she’d apparently made one too many trips to the far side of the veil. She was still alive, but she hadn’t spoken a word in nearly a year and spent the majority of her time rattling around their old house like a ghost.

Eleanora had come from money—and made plenty on her own—so at least that wasn’t a problem, but Cassie’s mother was definitely fading. It was almost as if someone—Tyler?—were feeding off what little energy she had left.

Unable to shake her earlier sense of foreboding, Cassie shivered. If she hadn’t been holding onto her purse and computer bag, she would have wrapped her arms around herself.

Maybe because she was thinking about her mother—and the house had a mind of its own—she wasn’t surprised to find herself beneath a full-sized oil painting of Eleanora. Lush dark hair ended at knee-level and her haunting violet eyes seemed alive. People had told Cassie she looked like her mom, but she’d never thought so. Eleanora was beautiful—and ageless. Cassie had the hair and the eyes and the striking six foot height, but the effect wasn’t nearly the same.

She still had no idea what had gone wrong the day her mother had checked out. She’d come home from work to find Eleanora sprawled face down on the Oriental carpet in the séance room, candles smoking black gouts of greasy flame. If there’d been clients, they were nowhere to be found.

Her mother had regained consciousness, but that had been about all. Cassie had known better than to lug Eleanora around to a bunch of other doctors with their uncomfortable questions and pained silences after the first one had asked, “Your mother does what for a living?”

Cassie dragged her gaze away from the portrait. As a little girl, she’d believed her mother’s painted eyes were the gateway to a magical world. She’d asked Eleanora and her mother had smiled shrewdly. “Stranger things have happened, child,” she’d said. “It’s best not to test this one.”

Cassie pulled a key out of her bag, unlocked her bedroom door, and then used the voice activated electronics she’d designed to spring the second lock. She was almost positive Tyler was stealing from her, but that wasn’t why she kept her door locked. Even the marginally gifted could wreak havoc if they got hold of your things. Her father, Francis Statton Braxbury, a British seer, had taught her that before his visits to Eleanora had petered out.

Cassie locked her door behind her and tossed her things in a chair. Kicking off her high heels, she sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her sore arches. This thing with Tyler was way out of control. He’d shown up right before her mother’s accident. Lost in the first flush of sex with a new man, she hadn’t realized it was a shade too convenient that he just happened to be there to snap up all her mother’s clients.

That had been nearly a year ago. Tyler had dropped any pretense of a relationship with her after the first few months, but he’d been marginally friendly—and even polite—until recently. She shook her head, trying to figure out what had changed. It had actually been useful to have him help watch Eleanora, which was why she hadn’t tried harder to get rid of him.

Most of her non-Eleanora time was devoted to developing an electronic version of the Ouija Board because she hoped she could use it to reach her mother. Usually her circuitry was spot on, but for some reason this project had dragged on for months, dogged by one setback after another. It was like everything she’d learned getting her degree in electrical engineering didn’t work quite right. She was still stuck on the basic circuit board design. Until it worked right, there wasn’t much point in designing software or hunting for a microprocessor.

Speaking of which … I need to hunt for Mother. Cassie got to her feet and stuffed them into slippers before heading into the hall. She glanced around nervously before locking her door. Tyler had moved into the guest suite at the north end of the ground floor, but the mood he was in, it paid to be vigilant.
“Mrroww.” Hector, Eleanora’s large, black tomcat, landed lightly not ten feet from her, tail pluming as it swished back and forth.

Cassie jumped. “Where’d you come from?” She bent to scratch his head. The cat arched his back in pleasure. “Do you know where Mother is?”

“Mrroww.” Swish, swish.

“I take it that’s a no.” She turned a wall dial. Crystal sconces lining the long hallway brightened. Polished hardwood with Aubusson runners stretched before her. Leaded glass panes lined the hall. Priceless paintings graced the walls at intervals, interspersed with elegant bronze sculptures. Cassie checked her mother’s bedroom. Empty. Eleanora’s wonderful, earthy scent lingered. It made her heart ache. If ever she needed one of her parents, it was now.

I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. I’m twenty-five, for God's sake. Time to fight my own battles.
Not finding Eleanora anywhere on the second floor, Cassie mounted the stairs to the third. She heard faint chanting coming from downstairs and wondered whose dead relative was on the hook tonight. She believed in the spirit world and had always trusted Eleanora to hold the gates. Her faith in Tyler’s ability to do the same was pretty truncated.

Oh my God. Is that how he’s planning to hurt me? By proxy?

Her heart slammed against her chest. It was hard to breathe around the thickening in her throat. Some spirits could do a lot of damage, mostly through suffocation or running people off cliffs…

“Stop it.” She spoke out loud to get a grip on what was starting to feel a lot like out-of-control panic. “Just find Mom. Make sure she’s okay.” It did occur to her that if Eleanora were truly missing, it would give her the perfect excuse to clear out all the New Agers at the séance and call the police.
There were seven bedrooms on the third floor. Eleanora was in the one at the far end of the hall, staring out its large windows into the night. Cassie left the bedroom lights off. Enough illumination filtered in from the hall which was twin to the one on the floor below. “Mother?” She crept forward and laid a hand on Eleanora’s arm. Her mother flinched and shook her off.

Cassie’s eyes flooded. Even though her mother wasn’t really rejecting her, it still hurt. Especially now that she felt so alone and vulnerable.

“Mrroww.”

Cassie looked around. Hector sat in the doorway, ears pricked forward. She hadn’t realized he’d followed her.

Eleanora turned and went to the cat. Maybe his non-human frequency was easier for her to respond to. He twined himself around her legs, purring for all he was worth. She reached down and petted him and then drifted into the hall like a sleepwalker. Cassie thought about trying to talk to her mother again, but gave it up for wasted effort. Either Eleanora couldn’t hear her, or she couldn’t answer.
Maybe both.

Her mother was dressed all in black as always; her skirts swirled around her as she walked. Cassie followed her back to the second floor and breathed a sigh of relief when her mother went into her bedroom and shut the door behind her. The snick of the deadbolt was loud in the silence of the hall.
“Mrroww.” Hector’s tail swished faster. He looked annoyed. The cat lifted a paw and left a long scratch in the wood next to Eleanora’s door.

“It’s okay. You can sleep with me.”

Cassie strode the few feet to her own room and unlocked the door. Hector raced inside. Who knew? Maybe the séance made him just as uncomfortable as it made her. The rise and fall of voices from below hadn’t abated. She pulled the door shut and secured it, wishing she’d inherited some sort of magical ability. Almost anything would be helpful. Telepathy to read Tyler’s mind. Clairvoyance to peek into the future. Medium skills to raise spirits to protect herself—or harm him.

She strode across the room and pawed through a bottom drawer, coming up with a dog-eared card. It was one of the last birthday cards her father had given her before he’d declared her too old for such nonsense. She dug a small, flat crystal out of the envelope. Her father had said if she ever needed him to hold the crystal in her hand and think of him. He’d told her to plan ahead because results wouldn’t be immediate, and she might have to do it more than once.

Cassie stared at the clear stone with amber flecks deep inside. She set it down, unzipped her black wool skirt, and let it pool around her feet. Her green cashmere sweater came next. She bundled both up and took them to her closet where she hunted down some hangers. Grabbing purple sweats off the floor, she pulled them on and returned to the table where she’d left the crystal. Her hand hovered over it before she picked the crystal up again.

What about fighting my own battles?

To hell with that. What about being so stubborn I end up dead?

Hector jumped onto the bed and groomed himself. She flopped down next to him and kicked off her slippers. She didn’t want to bother her father in London unnecessarily—cripes, she hadn’t seen him since she was ten—but the escalating tension between Tyler and her was more than a little unnerving. I need help, but it’s not fair to involve anyone else. Cassie blew out a tense breath. Her magical heritage had been quite effective at sealing her off from casual friendships. She’d always been afraid something would slip, and the person would think she was crazy.

Rubbing her temples—the headache was behind both eyes now—once again she considered involving the police. Even if she got them to chase Tyler off, unless she hired a bodyguard, he’d probably worm his way back into the house. And then he would kill her, as retribution for calling in the law if nothing else. Tyler had a pretty sweet deal. One he planned to hang on to. He’d made that patently clear in the garage.

Wonder why it’s taken me so long to figure out how toxic he is?

Feeling like a gullible idiot, and a weak one at that, she let the stone warm in her hand and thought of her father.

Cassie didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until her standard ringtone—“Ode to Joy”—sounded from the depths of her shoulder bag. Staggering muzzily across the room, she located the phone and punched answer without focusing on the display.

“Cass?”

Her eyes widened. “Jeremy? What time is it?”

“Past midnight. Sorry to wake you, but—”

She picked her way back to the bed, cursing when she stepped on one of the high heels she’d discarded earlier.

“Are you all right?” He sounded worried.

“Uh, yeah. Just stepped on something sharp. Give me a second to get back under the covers. It’s cold in here.” She pulled the duvet up to her chin. “Okay, all set. What’s up?”

“I just got this feeling…” His voice trailed off again.

Cassie sat up straighter in bed, not feeling sleepy at all anymore. Something in her friend’s voice was … unsettling. Jeremy was almost her only friend; she’d known him forever. Psychic like her mother, he definitely marched to his own drummer. “Whatever it is, just spit it out. Sometimes it’s easier that way.”

A sigh rattled through the cellular network. “It’s hard to explain, but I felt something and thought you were in danger.”

Cassie sucked in a breath. For the briefest of moments she considered telling him everything but then reined herself in. No point in getting Jeremy riled up about Tyler’s threats. This wasn’t really his problem. Besides, she was embarrassed about fessing up to her own stupidity. Yeah, I was so desperate for a guy to want me, I didn’t read the fine print.

“Cass? You’re pretty silent over there. It is not making me feel any better.”

“Huh? Oh,” she forced out a light laugh. “Tyler held a séance earlier, but I’m sure they’ve mostly left by now. I could go look—”

“No!” The single word thundered in her ear.

“Okay, okay. You don’t have to shout at me.”

“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to.” He cleared his throat. “I probably shouldn’t have bothered you. Promise me you’ll stay in your room until daylight.”

“Sure.” Confusion and an uneasy sensation made her feel ill.

“Call me tomorrow.”

The sick feeling did not get any better. Jeremy had never felt the need to check on her before. “I’m spending all day working on e-Ouija.”

“Okay, I’ll call you. Sleep well, Cassie. Sorry to wake you.”

“Jeremy?”

He wasn’t there. She clicked end call and shut off her phone. To her surprise, she could barely keep her eyes open. Then she realized he’d probably cast a spell to make sure she stayed in her room. Damn it. Last thing I need in my life is two meddling men using magic to control me.

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DESTINY'S SHADOW by Ann Gimpel

DESTINY'S SHADOW by Ann Gimpel

Fleeing from her cheating husband, Moira Shaughnessy stumbles across a man she never wanted to see again. A brutal storm and deadly magic open her eyes to the power of the love between them.

A ranger for the U.S. Park Service, strong, competent Moira Shaughnessy is in serious trouble. Fleeing from her cheating husband, a Native American shaman, she stumbles into the arms of a man she never thought she’d see again. He hurt her once by choosing his druid heritage over her. Can she take a chance on him now?

Pursuing very different motives, both men follow her deep into the backcountry. Moira is caught in the crossfire between Celtic magic and Native American shamanism. A freak blizzard compounds her problems, taxing her survival skills to the max. Against the specter of almost-certain death, the sweetest, purest love she’s ever known rises to the fore, engulfing her in unbelievable passion.

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Chapter 1

 Moira Shaughnessy’s booted feet hit the ground in front of the Family Medicine Clinic. Slamming the door of the dusty white Park Service pickup, she considered ignoring her boss’s orders, peeling out of the parking lot, and heading for the Baxter Pass trailhead. She had a crew to oversee, goddammit. And a work project to complete. But her boss, John, had been painstakingly clear, both yesterday at Park Headquarters in Three Rivers, and just ten minutes ago on the sat phone. Granted, he’d been far more pointed on the phone.

“It’s not a suggestion, Moira,” he’d growled. “This is a directive—from me. I want to hear from someone with MD after his name before I authorize you to head up that work detail. Do not set one foot on that trail before you receive my orders, e-sign them, and e-mail them back to me.”

“But that’s usually a formality—”

“Not this time. No buts. I made you an appointment at the clinic in Bishop that clears some of our crews. They’re open until six. I already lost two rangers this summer in the Pinecrest fire. That was two too many in my book, so get your butt into that clinic.”

Moira had thought she could avoid dealing with the whole mess by leaving the office early yesterday and taking one of the northern passes over the Sierra Nevada Mountains, but John had tracked her down.

Phooey. I ran, but guess I couldn’t hide…

It was downright annoying that her boss needed a doctor to reassure him she wouldn’t collapse or something in the backcountry. For the briefest of moments, she felt like pounding her fist into the nearest tree—then she pulled herself together. Nothing was wrong with her, except her slimy, cheating husband. Sure, she’d lost a few pounds since she’d moved out, but she hadn’t been all that hungry.

Problem was John remembered similar struggles from years ago when she’d first started working as a park ranger. She hadn’t eaten enough then, either, and had gotten far too thin. Just her luck, he’d been overseeing a backcountry work detail when she’d gotten woozy and fallen off one of the mules.

Understanding surfaced. Her boss cared about her. That wasn’t a bad thing. The anger bled out of her with a whoosh.

“May as well get this over with,” she muttered. Moira walked briskly to the clinic, pushed the door open, and went to the counter.

“Yes?” A young woman with dyed red hair looked up from her computer screen with eyes so green she had to be wearing colored contact lenses.

“Moira Shaughnessy. I think you’re expecting me. My boss called from Kings Canyon-Sequoia Park Headquarters.”

The receptionist clicked a few keys. “Your insurance card, please.”

Moira blew out an impatient breath. She dug through her fanny pack for her wallet, extracted the plasticized Blue Cross card, and handed it over. “I’m really in a bit of a hurry—”

“Here’s your card back.” The clerk gestured at the nearly full waiting room. “The doctor will be with you as soon as he can. He had a full schedule before he agreed to work you in.”

“Is it okay if I go outside for a few minutes? I need to lock my truck. I, uh, didn’t think I’d be in here for very long.”

“Sure. So long as we know where to find you.” The phone trilled. The woman picked it up, Moira obviously forgotten. “Family Medicine, how may I help you?”

Moira paced up and down the parking lot. Fall had turned the aspen trees lining Bishop’s streets to shades of red and gold that were really quite striking, but all she could think about were the minutes ticking by. It was twelve miles from the trailhead to the top of the pass, and a couple more to where her trail crew was. Leaving today would be foolhardy at this point. She’d never even make the pass before night fell.

“Damn it!” She glanced at her watch. How long was this going to take anyway?

“Ms. Shaughnessy?” A man’s voice sounded from behind her.

She spun, surprised out of her funk. And stopped dead. “Tim?” Moira stared at the tall, rangy man with long, white-blond hair and ice-blue eyes. He was dressed in teal scrubs and sandals with a stethoscope draped around his neck. A broad grin split the clean planes of his face. She’d forgotten how heartbreakingly beautiful he was.

“I saw the name and hoped it was you.” He held out a hand, but she felt frozen in place. “After all, how many Moira Shaughnessys could there be?”

She just stood there, flabbergasted. What were the odds? She hadn’t seen Tim O’Malley since they’d both graduated from U.C. Davis. When she realized her mouth was hanging open, she shut it with a snap.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” One corner of his mouth turned down in an expression she remembered all too well.

“It’s just … I mean I never expected…” She felt warmth rise from the open neck of her buff-colored uniform shirt. Heat suffused her face until she was certain every freckle was outlined in bright, living color.

“Hey, mo ghrá. I know we didn’t split up under the best of circumstances…”

“No shit. And you can skip the beloved part.” A familiar anger stirred, but she batted it aside.

“Moira, I’m sorry. I was sorry then, and I still am.” He sounded so sincere, it tugged at her heartstrings. Part of her wanted to believe him, and part of her was afraid to.

“Grannie told me some of it—about the arch druid stuff. And you having to be celibate or something.”

His brow creased. “I’m glad she did. I was sworn to silence about druid affairs.” He cleared his throat. “In fact, I still am.”

“What she told me didn’t make it any easier. I tried to call you—a bunch of times.”

“I know.”

“Christ, Tim, it’s been close to ten years.”

He looked chagrined. “I suppose I know that, too.”

Her heart, already damaged from her sham of a marriage, squeezed painfully in her chest. She’d loved Tim once. And thought he’d loved her. They’d known one another since they were children growing up in the same sprawling Irish immigrant community.

“So what happened?” She eyed him, struggling for equanimity. “It’s a long way from druid to doctor. Or are you a nurse here?”

“Nope, I’m the doc. My training took up eight of the ten years since—”

The clinic door flew open. A harried-looking, overweight woman in white scrubs rolled her eyes. Her short brown hair stood up in spikes. Her muddy green gaze shot darts. “There you are. Dr. O’Malley, you have patients.”

He waved her to silence. “Fine, Bridgette. I’ll be in soon.”

“But—”

He made shooing motions with both hands. “I said I’ll be in soon.”

Bridgette’s face screwed itself into a disapproving frown. “Whatever,” she snapped and banged the door shut.

Tim closed the few feet between them and laid his hands on Moira’s shoulders. “Can I buy you dinner? Or maybe just a cup of coffee, if you’re still mad at me and not willing to risk an entire meal.”

“I’d like that, but I’m on my way to work. See…” She took a big breath and let an annotated version of her story tumble out of her. She mentioned her divorce and her lack of appetite, but skipped the low points about her marriage, figuring it wasn’t really any of Tim’s affair. “Last time I wasn’t very hungry happened was right after you and I broke up. I’d just started working for the Park Service. Unfortunately, my boss has a long memory.”

Tim listened until she was done talking, and then placed his stethoscope in his ears. “Take a deep breath.” He moved the bell to several locations on her chest, and then had her turn around and positioned it on her back. “Your heart sounds healthy to me.” He gripped her wrist, taking her pulse. “You should be fine so long as you start eating again. What is it your boss needs?”

“A phone call, I think.”

“Not a fitness for duty statement?”

She shook her head. “No. Nothing so formal.” Not yet anyway.

“Good, because that would require a real physical and some labs. Jot his number down for me.” He pulled a small notebook out of a pocket and handed it to her along with a pen.

As she gave it back, he caught her hand in his. “I’ve thought about you so many times over the years. I guess I always believed—” His voice broke off, and it was his turn to redden. “When will you be back through Bishop so we can talk? Or, better yet, I’ve got a few days off. I could backpack with you—”

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “It’s against regulations to bring civilians, other than the trail crew, on Park Service work projects.”

Blue eyes twinkled at her. “You told me you were going in over Baxter Pass.”

“Yeah.” She found herself smiling back at him. “So I did. I’m also telling you not to follow me.”

He bent his head and his lips brushed hers. It was so sweet and so fleeting, she was flooded with memories. She pulled away, her heart doing flip-flops. “If it won’t be different this time, don’t start.”

“Things will be different. I would have called you. Almost did a hundred times, but I felt so rotten about—”

“Dr. O’Malley.” Bridgette clumped across the yard and grabbed his arm. “You have patients.”

He shook her off. “When have you ever known me to leave before I’ve seen each and every one of them?”

“Never.” She sounded sullen.

“And it won’t happen today, either. Get back inside, and hold down the fort. If you could take vitals on everyone it would be a big help.”

Bridgette’s gaze moved from Tim to Moira. Pursing her lips, she went back into the clinic.

Tim turned to Moira. “It was wonderful to see you again. Here.” He scribbled something on one of the tiny sheets of notebook paper, tore it off, and handed it to her. “My cell. Call anytime.”

“I just may take you up on that.”

*

Tim wasn’t ready to go back into the clinic. His emotions were too close to the surface. He watched Moira’s truck drive out of the parking lot and down West Line Street. The last time he’d seen her ate at him like an out-of-control cancer. They’d spent hours in his apartment arguing. Though he’d dissected it many times trying to figure out what he could have done differently, he’d never come up with anything useful.

He made an effort to stuff the memory into its subterranean hidey-hole, but it wouldn’t cooperate. Knowing the professional objectivity he’d need to face a waiting room full of patients had just scattered like so much dust, he set off at a brisk pace intending to circle the block. Bridgette and the clinic would just have to give him a few minutes more.

* * * *

“I tell you I’m done.” Tears streamed down Moira’s face. It was swollen and blotchy. “I’ve waited for you since I was sixteen years old, Tim O’Malley. That’s six years. I didn’t expect much back then, but we’re nearly done with college. You won’t do any more than kiss me. You won’t live with me. You won’t talk about getting married.” She jumped to her feet and ran to a window.

He grabbed her arm. “I—I do love you, Moira. I’ve told you I want to save sex until after I’m married.”

“Well I don’t. Just in case you’ve forgotten, you never asked me to marry you.”

“You’re not being fair. There are things I can’t tell you.”

She whirled, golden eyes on fire. “Fine. Keep your fucking secrets. And keep your fucking virginity. I talked with Father O’Brannigan—”

A chill marched down his spine. “You what?”

“You heard me. I had to talk to someone. Even he said it wouldn’t be the end of the world if we had sex. He said God would forgive me so long as we got married. What’s the problem? Do you like boys? Jesus, even the clerk at the corner store is hotter for me than you are.”

“Mo ghrá—”

“Don’t ‘mo ghrá’ me.” She twisted out of his grasp. “Just get out of here. Don’t worry. I’ll be gone by the time you get back.”

“Moira—”

“For the love of Christ, just leave. If you ever loved me—” Her face crumpled.

Feeling like he was being torn in two, Tim stormed out of his apartment. The minute he got to the bottom of his steps, he began to run. He loved Moira. Loved her with every fiber of his being. But he understood his duty to his druid heritage, too. Slated to be the next arch druid, he was forbidden physical congress with women. His magic needed to be honed to the highest possible level. Sex would interfere.

Tim ran until sweat streamed down his sides despite the chill of an unseasonably cool June in California. A full moon hung low, clinging to the horizon. It was a lover’s moon. He cursed, drowning in irony. A lover’s moon, but not for him.

He wasn’t surprised when he ended up ten miles north of Davis at the druids’ priory. Despite it being three in the morning, he pulled the bell chain. Its somber chime matched his mood.

The intercom next to the carved oak door crackled. “What business brings you here?” It was a standard druid greeting, though the speaker sounded half-asleep.

“I must see Liam. Now.”

“Tim O’Malley. Is that you?”

Tim blew out a ragged breath. “Yes. Now let me in, goddammit.”

A tone sounded and the door swung open soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. A man he didn’t recognize hustled up the long hallway. “Master.” He inclined his head.

“I am no one’s master. Go back to sleep. I know the way.”

Liam McAllister’s quarters were on the third floor of the rambling stone structure that had once been a Catholic monastery. Tim pounded up the stairs, stomach so tight he wondered if he’d vomit. He’d just raised a fist to pound on Liam’s door when it opened and the arch druid stood before him. If the older man had been asleep, it didn’t show.

“Welcome, son.” Liam held out his arms, but Tim shook his head. Without waiting for an invitation, he stalked into the spacious quarters with leaded glass windows. The moon mocked him, front and center in those windows.

“You must release me from my vows.”

Liam’s thick brows drew together. “You must know I cannot do that. You did not take vows. You were born to your calling.”

Tim spun to face the man who’d been like a father to him. Long, white hair framed his clean-shaven face. Bright blue eyes radiated concern. The arch druid was tall—of a height with Tim—and wraith-thin. Black robes flowed around him. “But it’s not like I’m the Dalai Lama.” He took a breath to steady himself. “You don’t understand. I love Moira. It’s tearing me up inside that I can’t have her. Christ! I can’t even tell her why I can’t make love to her—or marry her.”

Liam nodded slowly. He reached a kindly hand toward Tim. “Actually, you are a lot like the Dalai Lama. ’Tis the goddess who picks our progression. Would you care to sit, son? I believe a spot of spirits might calm you.”

“Irish whiskey will not solve this.”

Liam furled his brows. “A dram of good Irish whiskey will solve practically anything. Or at least soften it till it feels more manageable.”

He pulled a decanter close and poured amber liquid into two cut crystal shot glasses, pushing one toward Tim. “You will be able to wed once your training is complete and you sit in my place.”

Battling frustration, Tim drained his glass. The whiskey burned going down. It matched the fire in his soul. “You don’t understand. That may have worked hundreds of years ago. Not anymore. Look at you. Goddess willing, you’ll live another twenty or thirty years. Maybe more. By then Moira will be long since married to another. Hell, she could be a grandmother.” He banged a fist on one of the tables scattered about the room. A lamp rattled ominously and he reached to steady it.

“Please,” Tim begged. “At least let me tell her why I can’t wed her.”

Liam shook his head. “I cannot do that. The workings of our society have always been secret. ’Tis how we shielded ourselves from the machinations of the Church.”

“The Church isn’t still out to get us. Not actively, anyway.”

Liam turned on him, blue eyes ablaze. “Thinking like that will land you in trouble. Have you not followed their exorcisms? Or their dogma? And ’tis not just the Catholics I’m talking of here. What do you believe clerics think of those like us who can call magic, engage in spirit travel, and commune with gods, spirits, and the dead?”

Tim’s shoulders sagged. He felt like a sail with the wind knocked out of it, attached to a ship that would never find port. “That we were evil.”

Liam nodded. “Organized religion’s raison d’être is to rid the Earth of wickedness. Moira is Catholic. She goes to confession. I tell you, son, we cannot risk it. ’Tis not been so very long since they killed one of us. Surely you recall Sean Newbry. ’Twas scarcely an accidental drowning. His astral self came to me whilst he was dying.”

“And?”

“The parish priest had caught him in the midst of a blood offering ceremony, talking with Earth spirits. Sean was certain the cleric followed him since he’d taken care to go deep into the Sierra foothills.”

Tim fought a sinking feeling. “You said drowning.”

“And are you certain you want the grisly details?”

“Yes.”

“Four priests waylaid him late one night, bound him, gagged him, tied a heavy weight about his waist—”

“Enough.” Tim sat heavily. He dropped his head into his hands and remembered what Moira told him about talking with Father O’Brannigan. “But I don’t want to live without her. Hell, I don’t know if I can.”

“I understand.” A considered intake of breath and Liam continued. “I gave you permission to attend medical school. That was a concession, as I’d rather you were here by my side. Then you came up with that idea about a public health degree.

“Mayhap it would be best if you did not see Moira—or even call her—at least for a while. Try to immerse yourself in your studies. Believe me, son, when I tell you the goddess takes care of her own.”

A sob rose from the depths of his soul. Mortified, Tim tried to swallow the next one back down. He stuffed a knuckle in his mouth and bit down hard. Liam was there, then, just like he’d always been since Tim’s parents had died, arms close around him.

“’Tis all right. Life does not give us easy choices.” He patted Tim’s back. “There is no shame in tears.”

* * * *

Forcing himself to return to the present, Tim took a deep breath, and then another. He wasn’t twenty-two anymore. He could stand up to Liam if it came down to it. He pulled open the side door to the clinic and went to the tiny staff room, where he knew he’d find the afternoon’s schedule posted. Despite reliving painful memories, he felt more alive than he had in years.

The goddess had brought Moira back into his life. Things would be different this time. He was going to see to it, even if it meant confronting Liam and walking away from druidry forever.

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