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The Witch's Quest
Michele Hauf


The witch's redemption… Kelyn Saint-Pierre always had a bit of a thing for Valor Hearst. But after he makes a harrowing sacrifice to save the witch from a gruesome death, Kelyn's certain that any spark between them is gone forever.Valor wishes she'd known about Kelyn's crush before she ruined everything. There may be a way she can repay her smoking-hot champion…but it won't be easy. Circling the globe on a dangerous mission that pits them against deadly magic and dark creatures, Kelyn and Valor are pushed scorchingly close together. But surrendering to passion may only further bind them…







The witch’s redemption...

Kelyn Saint-Pierre always had a bit of a thing for Valor Hearst. But after he makes a harrowing sacrifice to save the tomboyish witch from a gruesome death, Kelyn’s certain that any spark between them is gone forever.

Valor wishes she’d known about Kelyn’s crush before she ruined everything. There may be a way she can repay her smoking-hot champion...but it won’t be easy. Circling the globe on a dangerous mission that pits them against deadly magics and dark creatures, Kelyn and Valor are pushed scorchingly close together. But surrendering to passion may only further bind them in pain...


“The moonlight is dancing in your eyes.” Kelyn stared at her.

Valor felt a blush rise and looked down and away from his mesmerizing gaze.

With a sweep of his hand, he dispersed his natural faery dust into the air. It glittered and hung suspended about them like millions of tiny stars fallen to earth.

Wow. Talk about instant romance. And, yes, she was a woman who could appreciate a little romance when it presented itself.

“Impressive. You know I’m an air witch. But I can do this.” She swept her hands up and water surrounded them in dotted columns, catching Kelyn’s dust and the moonlight. They stood on a rock star’s stage.

“Stunning. You win the magic portion of this evening. But now it’s my turn. And I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than this.”

Kelyn coaxed her up against his chest and locked her in his gaze once more before he bent and kissed her.


MICHELE HAUF is a USA TODAY bestselling author who has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries usually populate her stories. And if Michele followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries and creatures she has never seen. Find her on Facebook, Twitter and at www.michelehauf.com (http://www.michelehauf.com).


The Witch’s Quest

Michele Hauf






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This one is for my kids, Ashley and Jesse.

My two favorite examples of nice.


Contents

Cover (#uece85e14-dd56-5a73-8f35-550b48af0146)

Back Cover Text (#ua42b5d0c-d8b9-5850-a002-b098b9dd2f0a)

Introduction (#u1bce5849-7be8-5b98-a86d-4d49923fd1ee)

Title Page (#u44e44f38-d88f-574f-82d0-2a96fbc8a576)

About the Author (#u02c4930f-d4f2-568b-aa8f-da5d42216119)

Dedication (#ua629ff86-e6f2-5aa2-8dc3-60aada5f6d3f)

Chapter 1 (#u65313d0b-9872-5ac5-aa20-6e80fbe9af0a)

Chapter 2 (#ud7df60b3-4f13-502b-8232-bd7b965cc7b3)

Chapter 3 (#u0ab5fa52-276e-5f90-a460-6aa08a7ea750)

Chapter 4 (#u19a93a9b-a546-5757-902a-9bf53dc3fae8)

Chapter 5 (#ua488c7ee-8e7c-5822-bccd-210508b7257e)

Chapter 6 (#u1f33bafb-96d1-5899-9e14-556c34627f5a)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter 1 (#uc9ec58f7-7ea4-5fbb-8f31-ccdc70a0be2b)

The gnarled oak tree behind her looked...angry.

Valor Hearst straightened her shoulders and tried to avoid turning around to cast a glance at the disgruntled tree. Because the moment she started to look closer, things could become real. Especially in an enchanted forest such as the Darkwood.

She knelt on the forest floor, carefully plucking the Amanita muscaria mushrooms from a thick and curly frosting of moss. Normally, she would wear gloves to remove the poisonous red-capped shrooms, but having forgotten them, she instead used an entomologist’s tweezers.

Dried yet still-glossy trails from snails streaked across a head-size fieldstone, which she scraped into a plastic baggie. The powder would serve as another fine ingredient for future spells. She’d decided that since she had risked coming here, she’d take a few minutes to gather spell ingredients before settling down to do the real work: enacting a spell that would, with hope, lure love her way.

Valor had never dared enter the Darkwood, but on this day she was feeling her confidence and was pretty sure that the warnings against witches venturing into the enchanted forest were nothing more than blather. Mortals and other paranormals visited the darkly mysterious woods all the time. She was no different from any of them. Save that her air magic packed a wallop when need be.

“So take that,” she said, yet still couldn’t avoid a suspicious glance over her shoulder.

Had the tree’s bark curved downward in chunky folds to form a craggy frown? She narrowed her gaze, which was followed by her own frown. The bark hadn’t been shaped that way when she first knelt down before the mushrooms.

Maybe?

“Quit spooking yourself,” she muttered. “Crazy witch.”

The Darkwood was off-limits to and unsafe for witches. That was what her friend and fellow earth witch Eryss Norling had said to her last night when they closed the Decadent Dames brewery together and wandered out to the parking lot under the half-moon.

Valor happened to be attracted to most things that were off-limits and unsafe. Whether they be events, challenges or even men. Most especially men.

She tucked the red-capped mushrooms into her fishing tackle box. It was painted in olive green camo and might have a fishhook or two in it, as well—ice fishing in the wintertime? Yes, please. But she mostly used it to collect herbs and spell ingredients. A tiny jade cricket that she had disturbed from sleeping under a mushroom leaped onto the edge of the tackle box.

“You’re lucky you have a heartbeat,” she said to the insect. “Otherwise, I’d pulverize your wings and use the dust in a spell.”

The insect chirped and hopped off to a more private leaf.

And Valor pulled out a small mason jar half-filled with angel dust to use as a marker for the ritual sigil she now intended to create. A collection of rose petals she had gathered surreptitiously from a floral shop before heading out here today would also serve in the design.

No time to back out now. She’d come here with the intent of finally serving herself what she deserved. “Here’s to love.”

Cupping a handful of fine angel dust and funneling it through her curled fingers, she marked out on the thick moss the pattern that she’d studied in her great-grandma Hector’s grimoire. Small, smoky quartz crystals were then placed at the compass points and rose quartz along the borders of the sigil. She kissed and blessed the flower petals, then placed them on the moss.

Leaning back to inspect her work, she decided the design looked much like a voodoo veve. But this sacred sigil, infused with her light magic, would wield so much more power.

She didn’t notice the darkening sky as she laid a crow foot, a mouse rib and a dried rat heart at the center of the sigil. Red and pink candles were tucked into the moss, and with a snap of her fingers they ignited. So she had a little fire magic to her arsenal, as well. It was just for small tasks. A witch should never risk invoking more fire than she could handle.

Now the invocation—

Valor’s hand slipped on the thick moss, and her leg suddenly slid out from under her kneeling position. She hadn’t made such a move. Something tugged her ankle roughly.

She slapped the moss with both palms and yelped as her body slid backward across the forest floor, dragging her hands through angel dust, petals and crystals. Twisting at the waist, she searched in the dimming light. One of the tree roots had wrapped about her ankle, clasping the leather combat boot in a painful pinch.

“What in all the goddess’s bad hair days?” She kicked at the root with her free foot.

And then the frowning bark opened wide and growled at her. The tree had a merciless hold on her. And the root only grew tighter about her ankle.

Valor had heard of faery trees. And this woods was a place where the sidhe mingled with those from the mortal realm. Another reason she’d been warned away. Faeries who did not live in the mortal realm generally didn’t like witches.

She hadn’t an enchanted sword to cut her way free. But she did have witchcraft.

“Loftus!”

Her air magic whisked over the ancient tree bark with the waning effect of a whisper. And the tree actually seemed to chuckle as its trunk heaved and the bark crinkled. The root about her ankle tugged again and her boot disappeared into the soft, loamy ground at the base of the tree.

She groped for the moss, on which the candles had extinguished and the angel dust sigil had been disturbed. It was out of her reach. So was her tackle box, in which she’d stashed her cell phone.

This was bad. On a scale of one to ten for oh-my-mercy-this-is-bad, this probably rated a seventy.

“I’m fucked.”

* * *

Valor had parked on a turnoff from the gravel road that wound about three hundred yards away from a highway. It was set near a gape in the forest and not easily seen or even known about. At the time, she’d been pleased that no one would see her car. And she’d entered the forest from the opposite end of the woods where Blade Saint-Pierre lived for the specific reason she hadn’t wanted anyone to think she was trespassing. That vampire did not own the forest, but he acted as a sort of portal guardian, keeping others out of the forest.

For their own good.

Witches and the Darkwood? Not cool.

Valor tugged futilely at her pinned legs. Yes, now both were being sucked slowly down into the earth beneath the tree. She’d been here two hours for sure, and no matter how she tugged she remained pinned into the mossy ground by the oak roots. And that was exactly what had happened. She’d been pinned by a faery tree.

What she knew about such wicked magic was that eventually she’d be sucked completely into the earth and, perhaps, even into Faery. But she wouldn’t make the journey alive. And judging by how far in she’d been drawn, she suspected the process generally took less than a day. She didn’t even want to calculate how much time she had left.

She’d tried speaking a releasement spell. That had only bothered the crows perched in the crooked elm boughs overhead. They stared with beady black eyes at her like vultures waiting for carrion. She’d tried apologizing to the universe for stepping on sacred faery grounds. She’d felt the earth shudder then and had quietly lain there, palms clutching at the dried leaves and undergrowth, her cheek wet with tears.

All she’d wanted to do was invoke a spell. For her. For once in her long lifetime, she’d finally thought about herself and what she wanted.

Eyes closed now, she thought the loamy scent of moss and earth were too rich for such a fool as herself. The crisp promise of crystal clear water babbled from somewhere behind her. Even the bird chirps seemed to admonish her for being an idiot.

Would her friends think it was odd she did not show up for work tonight at the brewery? Of course Eryss would wonder. Give her a call. But Valor often did not answer her phone. Eryss would shrug and figure Valor had forgotten. It was a Thursday night. Never too busy. Instead of a staff of three, the Decadent Dames could easily manage the microbrewery with two.

They might not bother to drive by her loft at the edge of town in Tangle Lake until the next day when Valor didn’t show up to help carry in a delivery of grains that was expected to arrive in the afternoon.

She’d be dead by then. Even now she sensed her energy waning, seeping from her. Bleeding her life into the ground.

“Stupid tree,” she muttered. “A simple lash across the face would have served me well enough.”

But she knew faeries—and their trees, for they were alive and sentient—never did anything half-assed. Be it mischief or unspeakable malice, it was either all-in or all-out.

Clasping the moonstone amulet she always wore strung from a leather cord about her neck, she bowed her head to the leaves on the forest floor before her. It was time to start thinking of leaving a message for her friends. Who may eventually find her decayed corpse still pinned to this earth, perhaps one clawing hand still sticking out from the ground, surrounded by the malevolent tree roots.

“Aggh!” She had to stop thinking of how dire her end would be. That wouldn’t solve anything.

Valor grabbed a thin branch and decided the moss was so thick she could probably write in it. No. It would never work. The mason jar of angel dust sat two feet out of her reach. So blood was the next option. And her parchment? A wide maple leaf.

She broke the branch in two and was holding the serrated end poised to stab at her skin when the rapid beating of hooves alerted her. She glanced up and just had time to tuck her face against the leaves as the sleek doe beat a path toward her. The deer probably hadn’t expected a nonanimal to be sitting in the forest, so the beast hadn’t much time to correct her trajectory. Valor sensed the deer’s surprise as her front hoof nearly stepped on her hand and she leaped high and over Valor’s head.

Muttering a quiet oath and a quick blessing of thanks, Valor followed the deer’s path. Then it occurred to her that something might have been after it. She swiftly turned and spied the man running toward her, a blur of gold and green. When he was but twenty feet away from her, he suddenly halted, appearing to put on the brakes as a runner in an animated cartoon would, heels skidding and body lagging behind as his speed dropped from swift to stop.

“Whoa!” Valor stretched up a hand to stop him. Which she realized was ridiculous because he’d already stopped.

Tall and lithe and not wearing a shirt, he gave a shrug of one shoulder that stretched his sleek, tight muscles up and down his abdomen. His arms twitched as he looked her over. His face was angular and cut with sharp cheekbones and a prominent slash of brow line. Short blond hair, blown wild and wavy by his racing speed, settled about his ears and forehead. Hip-hugging gray jeans revealed he was barefoot. And his abs were sculpted with more muscle than Valor could imagine what to do with. On those abs were traced violet sigils that she knew were faery in nature. And there, braceleting his wrists, were more faery sigils.

But she didn’t fear him. She knew him.

“Valor?” And he knew her.

Kelyn Saint-Pierre padded up to her with a lanky ease that spoke more of a wild animal’s gait than that of a human. Of course, he wasn’t human; he was faery.

He swept a hand over his forehead, pushing the hair from his face. His violet eyes took her in from tangled brown-violet hair, moss-smudged cheek and faded green T-shirt to—her combat boots were well underground right now. It was too dark now for him to see into the shadows where all the horrible pinning action had occurred.

His expression switched from surprise to concern. “What’s a witch doing in the Darkwood? Don’t you know this forest is dangerous to your kind?”

So state the obvious.

Kelyn lived in the area, and she knew his sister and three brothers. Daisy Blu, a faery who had once been a werewolf, was married to Beck Severo. Valor had gone to Daisy’s baby shower a month ago.

Blade was the brother who lived at the edge of this forest. That guy was a vampire but sported gothic wings that would give anyone a fright. And Stryke was a pack leader in a northern suburb.

Trouble, the eldest of the Saint-Pierre siblings, was a werewolf to the bone. And Valor and Trouble were drinking buddies who got together once in a while for Netflix and pizza. Guys like Trouble were meant for fishing trips and shooting the shit, never romance.

Summoning her pride, Valor tossed her long violet-streaked hair over a shoulder and lifted her chin. She was still able to lean on an elbow, but she knew she looked pitiful all the same. “I was just out for a walk.”

Kelyn crossed his arms before his chest. His haughty posture and smirk spoke his assessment of her situation much louder than words could.

“You know,” she continued casually. “Collecting some ingredients for spells. Communing with nature.” She patted the moss. “Doing...witch stuff.” It was difficult not to wince. Witch stuff? Ugh. She was never good at the lie. But, oh, so talented with getting herself into strange fixes.

Case in point: the witch pinned by the oak tree.

“I can see that.” He made a show of peering over the ground. “Looks like a spell sigil to me. Witch stuff, eh?” Tucking his hands behind his back, Kelyn leaned forward in an admonishing teacher pose and said to her, “You know that witch stuff is the worst you could manage here in the Darkwood? The mortal realm powers you possess clash terribly with the faery energies that inhabit every inch of this woods.”

“I’m not working magic at the moment. Just—” A glance to the angel-dust sigil and scattered ingredients proved her guilt. “What do you want, Kelyn? Don’t you have a deer to chase?”

He righted himself and laughed. “We were racing. She won.”

Right. The man was faery. And Valor knew he had wings. Trouble had told her they were big and silver and violet, and that Kelyn was ever proud of them. She also knew that of all four Saint-Pierre brothers, Kelyn was the strongest and most powerful. Or so Trouble had told her during a drunken game of truth or dare one night.

To judge by Kelyn’s lean, lithe appearance, Valor had to wonder about such skills and strength. Sure, he looked riveted together with a factory gun and sculpted from solid marble, but Valor always tended toward the beefier, broader sorts. With dark hair. Always. A blond? Never had an interest.

On the other hand, why was she limiting her options when the reason she’d come to the Darkwood was to cast a spell for love?

Propping her chin in a hand and twisting at the hip to look more casual, she asked, “You go running through this forest often?”

Surely, he had noticed that her legs were sucked into the ground up to her knees, but she had a difficult time asking anyone for help. She was woman. Hear her roar!

She hated coming off as the weak one. The stupid witch who’d gone to the Darkwood without telling anyone.

“I do go for a run a few times a week. This woods is special to me.” He smoothed a hand absently down his abs, which drew Valor’s eye to the violet sigils. They looked like intricate mandalas, and she knew they were the source of his faery magic. “You talk to Trouble lately?”

“No,” she answered defensively. Not sure why, though. She had no reason to be defensive. Kelyn must have known that she and Trouble were friends. “You?”

Stupid witch. Why was she making light conversation?

“Couple days ago. He never mentions you.”

“Why should he?”

Kelyn shrugged a shoulder and cast his glance to the ground, his gaze stretching behind her. She shouldn’t have said that. It was the truth, though. She considered him a friend. Just that.

“You look...stuck,” he said. Suddenly, his gaze went fierce and he looked over her shoulder.

“What’s—”

Before she could summon a stupid excuse, Valor heard the roar. A beastly, slobbery utterance accompanied by a foul, greasy odor that filled the air as if a stink bomb had been set off.

Kelyn leaped, and in midair his wings unfurled. The gorgeous violet-and-silver appendages lifted him with a flap or two and he met the creature that had jumped high to collide with him in a crush of growls and slapping body parts. The twosome landed on the ground ten feet before Valor, the heavy weight of Kelyn’s opponent denting the moss and tearing up clods of sod.

Valor dug her fingers into the leaves and whispered a protection spell that drew a white light over her body and snapped against her form. The oak tree growled at the intrusion and she felt her knees get sucked deeper into the earth. The tree seemed to feed off her witch magic. And in the next instant, the protection shattered, like plastic crinkling over her skin, and it fell away.

Never had she felt so helpless. Pray to the goddess, Kelyn could defeat the aggressor, which was five times his size and built like a bear. It was a troll of some sort. Or so she guessed. She’d never seen one but knew they existed.

Kelyn punched the creature in its barrel gut. The troll yowled and kicked Kelyn off, sending the faery flying through the air where a flap of his wings stopped him from crashing into the tree canopy. Aiming for the troll, Kelyn arrowed down and landed a kick to the thing’s blocky head.

Valor slapped her hands over her head in protection, but it didn’t matter. Every moment that passed, she felt her body move minutely deeper into the cold, compressing earth.

With one final punch to its spine from Kelyn’s fist, the troll went down, landing on the moss in a sprawl. It shuddered like a gelatinous gray glob of Thanksgiving Jell-O, and then, with an explosion of faery dust that decorated the air, it dissipated.

And behind the glittering shimmer stood Kelyn, wiping the dust from his arms and abs as if he had only tussled with a minor annoyance.

Valor couldn’t stop looking around at the scatter of dust that glinted madly. More beautiful than she would imagine coming from such an atrocious creature. It almost put the angel dust to shame.

Kelyn approached. “What was it you were saying about muscled men rescuing you?”

“I didn’t...” She’d not said anything about being rescued. But really? She might have to change her tune about the leaner versions.

“You didn’t what? Ask for rescue? Looks like you might be in need of just that.”

“I’m cool.” Why had she said that? Why the need to act as though death were not dragging her down into the earth?

Kelyn squatted before her, arms resting on his thighs. “I can’t win with you, can I, Valor?”

“What do you mean? Win?”

“You’re a hard woman to please, is all.”

“No, I’m not. All it takes is some good dark coffee to make me happy.”

“Coffee served up with muscles. Like my brother Trouble has?”

“What? What is it with you and your concern about me and Trouble? We only ever—”

He put up a hand to stop her from saying more. “Don’t need the details.”

“There are no details.”

Okay, well, there had been that one time. But she wasn’t stupid enough to fill the brother in on the salacious stuff. Trouble had probably already done that.

“I really liked you,” Kelyn said, looking aside now. He’d dropped his shoulders, and the sweat and troll dust glistening on his abs drew Valor’s eye. “For a while there.”

“What do you mean?” She met his lift of chin and then figured it out. “You mean...?”

He shrugged. “But then you tripped into my brother’s arms and that’s all she wrote. I always manage to lose the girl to him. What is it about him? He’s a big lunk!”

Valor smiled at that assessment. Trouble did have some lunkish qualities. Okay, a lot of lunkish qualities. But she had no idea Kelyn had...lusted after her? “Your brother and I are not in a relationship.”

“Trouble is never in relationships,” Kelyn said sharply.

Now he eyed her legs and squinted. He bent to study behind her, and there was nothing Valor could do to stop him, because she was stuck there.

“You’ve been pinned!” He gripped her by the shoulders. “What the hell? Why didn’t you say something? I thought you were just lying around, digging up—whatever weird stuff it is you witches dig up in forests. Did you plan on staying here the rest of the night without saying anything?”

“I don’t have much of a choice. I’m stuck! And my phone is in the spell box, which got crushed by the falling troll. I was prepared to die out here until you came along. And then your abs distracted me and I forgot to ask for help.”

“Really?” He gave her the most unbelieving look ever and slapped a hand over his glittery abs. “That’s your story?”

She nodded. “And I’m sticking to it.”

“You’re pinned, Valor! That only ever ends in death. How did this happen?”

“I was minding my own business, plucking some mushrooms—”

“Minding your own...? You were performing a spell!”

“Maybe.”

“Valor! Even if you weren’t, you’ve taken things.” He gestured to the mangled tackle box. “Nothing should ever be taken out from the Darkwood. Especially not for magics that are not faery blessed.”

“You wouldn’t mind offering me a blessing or two right about now, would you?” she asked sheepishly.

Kelyn laughed softly. “I haven’t such power.”

“Stop laughing. It’s not funny. I’m going to die here. I don’t know how to get unpinned. My legs... They’re getting sucked deeper and deeper. Kelyn...”

Now she surrendered to the worrying reality of imminent death. She gasped and heaved in breaths quickly. Was this what a panic attack felt like?

Kelyn gripped her by the shoulders and she had to crane her neck awkwardly to meet his delving gaze. In that moment, Valor wished she’d known about his affection toward her. He was a handsome man. And a kind one, from what she knew about him. Always volunteering around town, and he helped rehabilitate injured raptors from what she remembered Trouble telling her. The complete opposite of his boisterous and cocky older brother.

Curse her attraction to the bad boys.

“I can go for help,” he said.

She grabbed his forearms, keeping him there before her. If he left her alone, she’d die. Already she had been consumed up to her thighs. “Get help from who? There’s no one who can help me but a faery. You’re a faery. Can’t you do something? Your magic works in this forest.”

He sighed heavily and shook his head. “I can fly and I’ve strength immeasurable and can even work some cool spells with my sigils, but I am mortal-realm-born. I’ve not half the power of those from Faery. And if you’ve been pinned by a faery tree, then you are in need of serious enchantment to get free. How long have you been here?”

“A couple hours? I came here around six.”

“It’s almost midnight, Valor.”

“Shit. I’ll be dead before morning.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

He was sweet. But if he had no faery powers to defeat this pinning, she didn’t know what he could do. She’d already insulted him once. She didn’t intend to go to her maker having insulted him a second time. “Thanks. Maybe... Could you try my cell phone?”

“Where is it?”

“In my box.”

Picking through the crushed plastic tackle box, he found the purple phone, but with a few taps at the cracked screen, he announced, “It’s dead. Technology doesn’t work here in the Darkwood. Hey, Blade’s place is at the other end of the forest. I can run there and make a call—”

“No.” She stretched out an arm, her fingers groping desperately. Kelyn’s fingers threaded with hers. It was a natural clasp, something that felt hopeless yet bolstered her courage a little. “I don’t want to be alone. Just stay with me, please?”

“Of course I will.” He folded his legs and sat before her, not releasing her hand from his calming clasp. “We’ll think about this. We’ll come up with something.”

“Actually, what I want you to do is listen to the things I need you to tell my friends.”

Kelyn bracketed her face fiercely. “Don’t talk like that. You will not die.”

“Lying about my fate isn’t going to change it. I did a stupid thing. The universe renders payment for stupidity.”

“You were not stupid. Just...stubborn.”

“So you’ve heard about me?” She tried a little laugh and it actually eased the tension between her shoulder blades. Valor blew out a breath.

And in that moment, when she knew death was her only option, she decided she couldn’t walk out of this world without one last thing. “Kiss me,” she said suddenly.

“What?”

“You want to, don’t you? I mean, if you had a thing for me?”

“I did, but...”

“Please, Kelyn? I want the last thing I remember to be a kiss from a handsome man. I want to be held in strong arms. I want to know passion—”

And he kissed her. The sudden connection seared a delicious heat onto Valor’s lips. Kelyn’s arm wrapped across her back as he slid down onto the moss beside her and pulled her in tightly against his hard body. His other hand clutched at her hair. Hungrily she took from him, falling into his sweet taste, his open and easy manner. He felt like something she’d always wanted but had never known to ask for.

Why had she never noticed he’d been attracted to her?

Because she’d been too busy tagging along with the bad boys. Or those men who could only ever consider her one of the guys.

When he parted from her, their eyes lingered upon each other, as if to look away would end the kiss, their connection—her life. So they held gazes in the quiet darkness, dappled by a beam of moonlight that sifted through the latent troll dust in the air about them.

The squeezing pressure about her thighs moved higher, yet all Valor could do was whisper, “Wow.”

Kelyn nodded. He touched her lips and held his fingers there for the longest time. She closed her eyes to fix this moment forever. She must. She would die with the taste of his kiss on her mouth.

“Best kiss I’ve ever had,” he said.

She nodded and closed her eyes even tighter, fighting tears. Damn right it had been the best.

“Ah, shit.”

That remark sent a frozen chill up her spine. Valor could feel Kelyn’s sudden tension and she knew they were not alone. Please don’t be another troll, she thought. Slowly she opened her eyes to see the pair of red irises that loomed over the two of them.


Chapter 2 (#uc9ec58f7-7ea4-5fbb-8f31-ccdc70a0be2b)

Kelyn stepped before Valor, protecting her from the demon who had appeared in the forest. It was one of the Wicked; Kelyn knew that because the creature had red eyes. The Wicked were faeries who possessed demon heritage. Demons were looked down upon in Faery, and so the Wicked were condemned and ridiculed. This one must have been ousted from Faery. Not an uncommon thing.

Seeming to blend with the shadows that angled between the thin moonbeams, the demon topped Kelyn by a head, yet its narrow shoulders, clothed in frayed black, were deceptive in that most demons were strong and quite capable of standing up to any opponent.

“We mean you no harm,” Kelyn said coolly, yet maintained a sharp edge. He set back his shoulders. He would not be defeated by a demon. “I’ve no prejudice against any of your kind. Move along.”

“Prejudices,” the demon said in a slippery tone. The dark-faced entity smirked, its black lips crimping. “You ascribe to prejudice simply by mentioning it. Unwanted one.”

Kelyn did not flinch at the moniker. He’d never been allowed access to Faery. His mother was a faery and his father a werewolf. Because he’d been born in the mortal realm, Faery was not open to him. Though he’d always pined to go there. To learn about his true heritage.

The demon tilted a look toward the ground, taking in Valor, pinned to the forest floor by the elder oak. “Looks like she’s in a pinch.”

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Kelyn said. “Right, Valor?”

“Uh, yep. We’re good!”

“A witch and a faery,” the demon said. “Pretty.” He narrowed his gaze at Kelyn’s neck, where he always wore two talismans on leather cords. “Interesting. You’ve been to Faery?”

“No,” Kelyn answered.

“But that talisman.” The demon tapped his own neck.

“A gift. Now, enough of this. Begone with you!”

“Very well. But you’ll never get her loose. She’s been pinned through to Faery.”

“How do you know? What does that mean?” Valor rushed out.

“It means you must be unpinned from Faery,” the demon explained.

Sensing the demon wasn’t so much being helpful as teasing at the dreadful future that awaited Valor, Kelyn did not relent in his stance before her and only wished he’d brought along his bow and arrows this evening. But he could take this dark creature. Easily.

The demon eyed Kelyn’s clenched fist. “You said you meant me no harm.”

“I’ll do what I must to defend her.”

“Touching. The dying witch has a faery champion.”

“Leave!” Kelyn said. “Take your smirk into the shadows and let us figure this out alone.”

“As you wish.” The demon stepped back and spread his elongated hands out before him. “But, unlike you, I have access to Faery. I can get into Faery and unpin her. If you wish it.”

Valor didn’t say anything, and Kelyn was thankful she hadn’t rushed to beg the demon for the help.

But really? If the Wicked could get Valor unpinned, he’d be willing to do anything. Even take a few spiteful punches, if necessary. Because Valor’s life was at stake. And she hadn’t much time remaining. Her hips were beginning to sink into the ground.

“You tell me true?” Kelyn asked.

The demon nodded. “I am not heartless. And...you have something I want.” Again the demon’s eyes glanced across Kelyn’s chest where the talismans hung.

Of course such assistance would not be provided without recompense. Which was fair enough, Kelyn thought. He felt Valor’s hopeful breaths taint the air. She needed rescue and he would not leave this forest without her in his arms. Alive.

“What might that be?” Kelyn asked the sly demon.

The demon smiled and walked before him, turning in a half circle before coming around to face them both and saying, “Your wings.”

“No!” Valor yelled from behind Kelyn.

“That’s the deal. Take it or leave it,” the demon said.

“We don’t—”

“Valor,” Kelyn said to shush her. “Be still.”

“You can’t give him your wings. They are what make you...you! That’s a terrible thing to ask in trade for—”

“For a life?” the demon interjected. “Seems more than fair to me. But if you’re not keen on breathing, witch, then so be it.”

The demon’s eyes glimmered vivid pink. He was preparing to flash out of the forest as swiftly and quietly as he had appeared.

“Wait!” Kelyn reacted from his heart and soul, not his better senses. “You can have them.”

The demon smiled.

“Absolutely not!” Valor punched the ground with an ineffectual fist.

Kelyn turned to face her, and the spill of tears down her cheeks startled him. Wasn’t she the feisty tomboy of the group of witches who owned a local brewery? The one who hung around with Sunday and fixed cars and motorbikes, and never met a greasy engine she didn’t want to take apart?

Or so he’d heard. He’d made it a point to listen when Valor was spoken about. Because he had lusted after her. Had wanted to ask her out. And almost did. Until...Trouble.

But with the lingering taste of her kiss still on his lips, he couldn’t deny that those feelings had not grown any lesser.

“You are not going to sacrifice your wings for me,” Valor said on a desperate pleading tone. “Just go! Get out of here!”

“And allow you to die? I am a better man than that. It’s not my nature to walk away when I can help.”

“Help? No! Just no! I couldn’t live with myself if you gave up your wings to save me.”

“Well, you’re going to have to.”

He tugged his ankle away from her grasping, pleading hands and turned to the demon. With an inhale that shivered through his system and tweaked at his back between his shoulder blades where his wings could unfurl, he grasped decisiveness. “We have a deal. But you will promise you’ll go immediately to Faery and unpin Valor.”

“With your wings in hand, my entrance to Faery will be secured. The moment you hand them over to me, I will leave and unpin your tragic lover.”

Kelyn almost said “She’s not my lover,” but semantics were less important than getting this cruel task completed. Because to sacrifice his wings would be like handing over himself. He’d become lesser. Not even the faery he was now. He would lose...

Kelyn held out his hands. The violet sigils that circled his wrists were a match for those sigils on his chest. They were his magic. His strength. As were his wings.

But to walk away from a helpless woman when he had a means to save her?

“Do it,” Kelyn said firmly.

The demon thrust out his arm, and in his blackened hand materialized a gleaming sword of violet light. “Kneel, faery.”

Feeling the intense sidhe magic that emanated from the weapon shimmer in his veins, Kelyn dropped to his knees, his side facing the demon.

“No” gasped from Valor’s lips.

Lips he’d kissed, and on which he’d tasted a sweet promise. But he must never taste that promise again. He couldn’t bear it.

“Do it!” he yelled.

And his wings shivered as he unfurled them and stretched them out behind him into the fresh spring air. Moonlight glamorized the sheer violet appendages, glinting in the silver support structure that held a close resemblance to dragonfly wings.

The violet blade swept the night. Ice burned through Kelyn’s body as blade met wing, bone, skin and muscle, and severed each of the four wings cleanly from his back. Overwhelmed by a searing agony, Kelyn choked back the urge to scream and dropped forward onto his elbows. His fingers dug deep into the cool moss. He gritted his jaw, biting the edges of his tongue.

Behind him, Valor screamed.

He wasn’t aware as the demon gripped his severed wings and, in a shimmer of malevolence, flashed out of the Darkwood.

Bile curdled up Kelyn’s throat. His stomach clenched. His wingless back muscles pulsed in search of flight. Clear ichor, speckled with his innate faery dust, spilled over his shoulders and dribbled down his arms to the backs of his hands. The violet sigils about his wrists glowed and then...flashed away, leaving his skin faintly scarred where the magical markings had been since birth.

The witch muttered some sort of incantation that felt like a desperate blessing wrapped in black silk and tied too tightly for Kelyn to access.

He wanted to scream. To die. To curse the witch. To curse his own stupidity.

But what he instead did was nod and suck back the urge to vomit. The task had been done.

He would not look back.

Suddenly Valor’s body lunged forward, her hands landing on his bare feet. The tree roots had spat her up, purging her from the earth. She scrambled over them alongside him. The demon had kept his word, unpinning her from the Faery side.

Good, then. His sacrifice had been worth it.

“Oh, my goddess. Your wings.” Valor gasped. “I... Kelyn?”

“Go,” he said tightly.

“What?”

“Leave me, witch! Get out of this forest and never return. This is not a place for you. Be thankful for your life.”

“Yes, but—I’m thankful for what you’ve—”

“We will never speak of this again,” he said forcefully. Still, he crouched over the mossy ground, unwilling and unable to twist his head and face the witch. “Please, Valor,” he said softly. “Go.”

If she did not leave, he would never rise. He didn’t want her to see him wingless and broken. Hobbled by his necessity for kindness, to not abandon a condemned woman.

“You need someone to look after those wounds,” she said. “I might be able to find a proper healing spell if you’ll walk out of here with me.”

“I need you to leave,” he insisted sharply. “I will walk out of the Darkwood on my own. When I am able. Do you understand?”

He sensed she nodded. The witch’s footsteps backed away from him. She uttered a sound, as if she would again protest, and then the soft cush of her boots crushing moss moved her away from him.

And Kelyn let out his breath and collapsed onto the forest floor.


Chapter 3 (#uc9ec58f7-7ea4-5fbb-8f31-ccdc70a0be2b)

Two months later

Valor walked down the street, her destination was the gas station on the corner. She had a craving for something sweet and icy that at least resembled food and that would probably give her a stomachache. It was what she deserved.

When she spied the classic black Firebird cruise by, she picked up her pace and then halted on the sidewalk but a dash from the parking lot where the car had pulled in to stop before a hardware store. That was Kelyn Saint-Pierre’s car. His brother Blade had fixed up the 1970s’ vehicle with spare parts and a wicked talent for auto body reconstruction. She knew it was Kelyn’s car because she’d been trying to speak to him for months. Ever since their harrowing encounter in the Darkwood.

When he had sacrificed his wings for her.

She wanted him to know she had not taken that sacrifice lightly. That it meant something to her. But she didn’t have a clue how to tell him that. To not make it sound like a simple yet dismissive “Hey, thanks.” And she’d been racking her brain for ways to repay him. But how did one offer something equal to the wings that were once his very identity?

She’d researched faeries and their wings. Wings were integral to their existence; when faeries lost them, they lost so much more. Like their innate strength and power. And sometimes even the ability to shift to small size, as the majority of faeries could do. And Kelyn could never again fly.

The man had to be devastated. And now, as she watched him get out of his car and stride toward the hardware store, Valor couldn’t push herself to rush after him. But she had to. She owed him.

A tight grip about her upper arm stalled her from taking another step toward apologizing to Kelyn. Valor turned and shrugged out of Trouble Saint-Pierre’s pinching hold. Built like an MMA fighter, the man exuded a wily menace that also disturbed her need to give him a hug. They had once been friends.

Had been.

“What?” She rubbed her arm. He hadn’t been gentle.

“You looking to talk to my brother?”

“Yes,” she said defensively.

Bravery sluiced out of her heart and trickled down to puddle in her combat boots. Trouble was the sort of man who could be imposing even when asleep. The two of them had once been drinking buddies. Now he avoided her as much as Kelyn did.

“I have to—”

“No, you don’t,” he interrupted with that gruff but commanding tone that warned he meant business. “You stay the hell away from my brother. You’ve done him enough damage.”

“But I want to apologize. I know I’ve hurt him. Trouble!”

He shoved her aside and strode toward his brother’s car, but as he stalked away, he turned and thrust an admonishing finger at her. And Valor flinched as if he’d released magic from that accusing fingertip.

She would not give up. There had to be a way to get Kelyn’s wings back for him. And she wouldn’t rest until she did.

Two months later

It had now been four months since that fateful night in the forest, and Kelyn had survived the loss with his head held high and his dignity intact. He could no longer shift to small size, nor could he fly. The faery sigils had disappeared from his wrists and chest, rendering his magic ineffective. But he still had his dust and—well, that was about it. His strength? Gone. When once he could beat Trouble at arm wrestling in but a blink, now his brother did his best not to win, even though Kelyn knew he was faking.

And he’d lost his connection to nature, which had once been as if his very heartbeat. Senses attuned to the world, he’d navigated his surroundings by ley lines and had listened to the wind for direction and tasted water in the stream for clues to weather and more. As a result of losing his wings, he now always felt lost.

But he wouldn’t bemoan his situation or complain or even suggest to others what a terrible life he now had. Because he was thankful for life. Such as it was.

Sitting in the corner of the local coffee shop, nursing a chai latte, he scanned the local job advertisements in the free paper he’d grabbed before walking inside. Much as the Saint-Pierre children had never needed to work, thanks to their parents’ forethought to invest for each of the five of them when they were born, he now needed...something. He hadn’t volunteered at The Raptor Center since losing his wings. It felt wrong to stand in the presence of such awesome nature and feel so lacking. And with the proper care, those birds could heal and then fly away. Something he could never hope to do again.

So, what could a faery who wasn’t really a faery anymore do with himself? His utter uselessness weighed heavily on his shoulders. He needed to do something. To move forward, occupy his thoughts and forget about what haunted him every second of every minute of every day.

Lately, he wasn’t even interested in women. Because though he never revealed he was faery to the mortal women he had dated, he still felt different. Set apart. And he couldn’t get excited about going to a bar or dancing or even a hookup when that missing part of him ached.

It did ache. His back, where his wings had been severed, put out a constant dull throb. Always reminding him of the wings he once had.

Closing his eyes and tilting his head back against the café wall, he zoned out the nearby conversations and set the paper on the table. He needed a new start. But he wasn’t sure what that implied or how to go about it. Two of his brothers were werewolves involved with their packs. No faeries allowed. And while his interests had tended toward the martial arts and archery, he didn’t feel inspired.

When a rustle at his table alerted him, he didn’t open his eyes. It was probably the barista refilling his chai. She did it at least twice on the afternoons he parked himself here in the sunny corner away from the restrooms and bustle of the order line.

But when he didn’t smell the sweet spices of fresh chai infusing the air, he opened one eyelid. And sat up abruptly, gripping his empty paper cup and looking for an escape route.

“Kelyn, please, give me two minutes. Then I’ll leave. Promise.”

Valor Hearst sat across the small round table from him, her palms flat on a half piece of blue paper that hadn’t been there before. Every hair on Kelyn’s body prickled in anger and then disgust. And then...that deep part of him that had compelled him to protect her in the forest emerged and he relaxed his shoulders, allowing in a modicum of calm. And desire.

He nodded but didn’t speak.

“Trust me,” she said, “I’ve been wanting to speak to you ever since...” She looked aside, as did he. No one in the town knew what paranormal secrets the two possessed. “But I was scared. And so freaked. And then your brother told me to stay away from you. But I was determined. And now I have it.”

She patted the blue paper. “I know how to get your wings back.”

* * *

“First...” Valor shifted on the metal café seat, uncomfortable and nervous. The blond faery eyed her with a mix of what she guessed was anger and revulsion. Well deserved. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t—” he tensed his jaw for a moment, then finished “—say that.”

“But I am. Kelyn, I’m sorry for what happened in the forest. It was my fault. I am so grateful to you. And you shouldn’t have done it. You should have let me die. I’m just...so, so sorry.”

“It was a choice I made. You did not influence me or have a part in that decision one way or another. So stop saying sorry.”

“Fine. I’ll stop with the s word. But listen to me.”

“You have approximately thirty seconds remaining of the requested two minutes.”

So he was going to be a stickler? Again, his annoyance was well deserved.

“I can help you get back your wings,” she said. “I found a spell to open a portal to Faery. It merely requires collecting a few necessary ingredients, and then, voilà! We’re in!”

“We’re in?” He calmly pushed aside the paper cup and leaned forward so they could speak in confidence. Valor smelled his fresh grassy scent and wondered if it was a faery thing or just innately him. Never had a man smelled so appealing to her. And generally a little auto grease or exhaust fumes was all it took for her. She was glad he hadn’t stormed out of the café yet. Which he had every right to do. “Do you think I have the desire to trust you?” he asked. “To work alongside you in a fruitless quest? To...to breathe your air?”

She had expected him to hate her. So his harsh words didn’t hurt. That much. Yes, they hurt. But they could never harm her as much as she had hurt him.

“I think you should do everything in your power to bring me down,” she offered to his question regarding why he should care. “To expose me to humans, if that’s your thing. Whatever you do, you have every right to hurt me in return.”

“I don’t hurt women. I don’t take vengeance against one who has not moved to harm me in the first place. I don’t...want to believe your silly magic can do as you say.”

“My magic is not silly.”

“It got you pinned in the Darkwood.”

“Yes, well, state the obvious. That was my constant need to prove how stubborn I can be, not my magic. I know now to stay away from that place. By all that is sacred and the great Doctor Gregory House, I have learned my lesson.” She tapped the blue paper on the table and leaned in again to speak in quieter tones. “But this spell...it’s ancient. I know its source. It will work, Kelyn. Please, give me a chance to help you get back what was taken from you. I want to help you.”

“I don’t need your restitution, witch.” He stood and grabbed the cup. Turning, with a toss, he landed it in the wastebasket eight feet away near the counter display of half-price cookies.

Valor jumped up to stand before Kelyn, blocking his exit. Yet she stood as a mere blade of grass before his powerful build and height. “That kiss you gave me when I thought I was going to die?”

He tilted his head, his eyes—violet, the color of faeries—showing no emotion.

“It changed me,” Valor confessed. “I can’t say how. It won’t matter to you. But it did. And I haven’t stopped trying to find the answer for you since then.” She pressed the paper to his chest, but he didn’t take it, so she tucked it lower, in the waistband of his hip-hugging gray jeans. “Read it. It’s a list of ingredients required to conjure the portal spell. When you’re ready to give it a try, you know where to find me.”

And she turned and walked out, forcing herself not to look back. To call out to him to please make life easier for her by allowing her to try and make his life what it once was. She hadn’t told him that she hadn’t gone a single night without reliving that kiss before exhaustion silenced those wistful dreams. And that she wished everything had been different, that she’d never entered the Darkwood on her own personal yet fruitless quest. A quest that hadn’t been accomplished, and one she’d not dared to attempt since.

When the universe spoke, she listened.

Kelyn Saint-Pierre was a remarkable man. And she might have blown her chances of ever having him trust her. So she crossed her fingers and whispered a plea to the goddess that he might want to give the spell a try. For his sake.

And, okay, for her peace of mind, as well.

* * *

The witch left a trail of sweet honey perfume in her wake. Kelyn had heard she was a beekeeper and had, more than a few times, almost gotten up the courage to visit her and ask about beekeeping. Before, that was.

Before was the only way to define his relationship with Valor now. Before he’d lost his wings, and before she’d hooked up with Trouble. Before was when he’d crushed on her and had wanted to ask her out. Now was, well, now everything was After. Which was a ridiculous way to go through life.

Why couldn’t he put the witch out of his brain and move forward?

He knew the answer to that. And it was probably scrawled on the piece of paper that she’d tucked in his jeans. He tugged it out and crumpled it into a ball. Raising his arm to make a toss toward the wastebasket, he suddenly curled his fingers about the crunchy paper.

The answer as to why he couldn’t move forward was that he wasn’t done with her yet. They’d been thrown together in the Darkwood by forces beyond their control. And ever since that day, he hadn’t been able to not think about her. He thought about that desperate kiss. A lot. It had been different from any other kiss he’d taken or had been given by a woman. Weirdly claiming. And achingly right.

He’d never felt that way about a kiss before. Of course, that was Before. Now, if he couldn’t accept himself, how could he possibly accept another person into his life, no matter if it was to help him find something lost or for something so simple as another kiss?

He wanted to be brave like his brothers. To be looked up to and admired by women, also like his brothers. He wanted to know his place in this world and walk it with confidence. While all his life he’d found himself standing to the side watching his brothers, until his wings had been stripped away, he’d never felt this heavy weakness and lack that he now did.

Stryke and Trouble were strong, virile werewolves. His brother Blade was a vampire who had a touch of faery in him. Blade even had a set of dark wings. But he hadn’t brought them out in Kelyn’s presence since he’d lost his wings. Even his sister, Daisy Blu, possessed a strength he admired.

What was he without wings? Self-acceptance was impossible without those very necessary parts of him. They were limbs. And a man who lost a limb truly did lose a part of himself.

Walking outside the café, he uncrumpled the blue paper ball and spread it open. On the top was written in red ink To Invoke a Portal Sidhe and below that an ingredient list. Werewolf’s claw, water from an unruly lake, a kiss from a mermaid, occipital dust from the Skull of Sidon and true love’s first teardrop.

Sounded like a whole lot of bullshit to him. What, exactly, was an unruly lake? But he knew witch magic was weird and steeped in millennia of practice and tradition. And while faeries in the know could access their homeland by opening a portal in a manner to which Kelyn was not privy, there probably did exist a spell to open a portal by other means. And his mother, while she had been born in Faery, had come to this realm decades earlier and could not return, so he hadn’t bothered to ask her help. No need to worry her uselessly.

But what, then? Just wander into Faery and collect his wings from the Wicked One to whom he’d freely given them? He’d made a deal: his wings for unpinning Valor. He wouldn’t renege on a deal.

As he’d said to Valor, it wasn’t her fault. He’d made the choice to make such a sacrifice all by himself.

Eyeing the steel mesh garbage can that stood before the café on the sidewalk, Kelyn held a corner of the blue paper. A soft wind fluttered it like...a wing.

Gulping down a swallow, he shoved the paper in a back pocket and strode toward his car.

A week later

Kelyn still hadn’t contacted her. Valor set aside the tin smoking can and leaned against the cinder block wall that edged the rooftop where she kept three stacked beehives. The smoke kept the bees docile so she could check that the queens were healthy and laying eggs. This fall she would have to separate the hives because they had expanded. She’d end up with five hives, which was awesome. And while bees that lived in the city tended to create a diverse and delicious honey, she was rapidly running out of space. She needed a country home, like her beekeeping mentor, Lars Gunderson, where she could manage a larger quantity of bees.

The sun was bright and she needed to cool off, so she left the smoker on the roof and skipped down the iron stairs to her loft. It was set on the third floor of an old factory building. The lower two levels were currently being refurbished and remodeled into apartments. When she’d moved in years earlier, the place was private and vast. But with neighbors soon to occupy the lower floors and the whole neighborhood turning yuppie, her desire to start looking at country real estate increased.

Tugging the heavy corrugated steel door, which was set on a rolling track like a barn door, she shut it behind her. She pulled off the white button-up shirt she’d pulled on over her fitted gray T-shirt. Dark colors attracted bees and angered them, so she always wore white to the roof.

She whistled. Mooshi popped his head up from behind the couch, moving ever so slowly on his adventure through the wild. Cats. So independent sometimes she had to wonder who owned who.

Running her fingers through her hair, she vacillated between bending over the spell books she had to search for a possible coercion spell and calling Sunday to see if she wanted help today with modifying the ’67 Corvette Stingray engine. Valor was on a two-week vacation from the brewery, which she appreciated but also always found hard to comply with.

How to get Kelyn to pay attention to her and at least give her a chance at the spell? And why couldn’t she simply let this go?

“Restitution,” she muttered. The word he’d used so cruelly against her.

Yes, she wanted to pay him back for the horrible thing that had happened because of her. No matter what kind of spin he put on it, if she had not been in that position in the Darkwood, he would never have been faced with having to sacrifice his wings.

“What should I do, Mooshi?”

A rap at her door decided for her. “That’s what I’ll do.” She would answer the door.

Maybe it was Sunday. Her best friend, a cat shifter, had promised to stop by one day this week with some red velvet Bundt cakes from the new café in town and a whole lot of car chatter. Sunday was one of her few female friends. Most often Valor got along with men because...she was just one of the guys.

She slapped a hand to her chest. No, she wasn’t going to recall that awful thing that had been said to her. The words that had sent her into the Darkwood on a desperate mission.

She was over that now. For good or for ill.

“Definitely not good,” she muttered, and tugged open the sliding door.

Kelyn stood before the threshold holding the blue half sheet of paper on which she’d scrawled the spell ingredients. He raked his fingers through his messy hair and met her gaze with his piercing violet eyes. “Let’s do this.”


Chapter 4 (#uc9ec58f7-7ea4-5fbb-8f31-ccdc70a0be2b)

Kelyn followed the witch into a familiar loft. She gestured for him to sit by the industrial steel kitchen counter that stretched a dozen feet and served as a divider between the cooking area and the rest of the vast, open space that made up half the upper floor of an old three-story business building. The businesses had vacated decades ago, and apartments were slowly taking over. Hipsters and yuppies and, apparently, witches, had moved in.

“This used to be my sister, Daisy Blu’s, place,” he remarked as he slid onto a wooden stool and crossed his arms. Looking over the loft, he recalled that Daisy’s decorating sense had been nil, and Valor’s wasn’t much more evident. Though she did have a motorcycle sitting in the corner before the eight-foot-high windows that overlooked the street. A street bike. Its back fender sat beside it on the floor, and a black metal toolbox sprawled tools beside that.

“Yep. When Daisy moved in with Beck a couple years ago, I grabbed this place. Love it. And the freight elevator fits my bike.”

“Nice. So you have no desire to live in Anoka, closer to the brewery?”

“Do you know that Anoka is infested with ghosts? And I have an affinity for seeing ghosts. So not cool. I prefer Tangle Lake. Just far enough away from the suburbs, but I can still get to work in half an hour.”

“What is that noise?”

“I’m vacuuming. You should see it swing around soon. It’s over behind the bed right now.”

“One of those robotic things?”

“Yes. I am allergic to housework, so I have my cat do it.”

“Uh-huh.” He wasn’t even sure where to start with that one, so decided to drop it for now. And a cat? Yeesh. Not his favorite domesticated animal.

Kelyn turned toward the counter to find Valor leaning on it with her elbows. If he were not mistaken, he should take that wide-eyed, dreamy gaze as somewhat smitten. But he probably was mistaken. Reading women was his forte. But reading witches? Not.

“So, this list.” He shoved the wrinkled blue paper he’d kept toward her. “That’s it?”

“And a few more essentials that are required for most spells. Herbs. Crystals. Rat skulls and angel dust. But I’ve got all that stuff.”

“You have angel dust?” He knew that was a precious commodity and hard to come by.

“Sure. Got some from Zen, your brother’s girlfriend. I used it for the spell in the—er...you want a beer?”

If he told the chick who worked at a brewery that beer—any kind of alcohol—wasn’t to his taste, and he much preferred water, would that annoy her?

Why was he worried about annoying her? He had no stake in whether or not she liked or hated him. All that mattered was she had a plan to help him get back his wings.

“Just water, please.”

She quirked a brow. Judging him. Whatever.

“Fine. I think we should collect the ingredients in the order I’ve written them for you.” She filled a glass of water from the tap and handed it to him. “You know of any werewolves looking to donate a claw?”

“Not willingly. But Trouble does have a beef with a nasty bastard who keeps trying to mark my brother’s territory as his own. I could ask him about it. And if you know Trouble...” And he knew she did.

“The guy likes a good fight.”

“Always.” And that was enough mention of his oldest brother. “So, once we get all these things and you invoke the spell, what, exactly, do we do in Faery?”

“Uh, find your wings?”

He stared at her for the few moments he thought it would take for her to rationalize that insane statement. But in the process, Kelyn got lost in a shimmery brown gleam. Her eyes twinkled like stars during twilight. It couldn’t be real. He’d never seen such brilliant eyes before.

The witch snapped her fingers before his face, rudely bringing him up from what he realized was an openmouthed gape. “Uh...”

“You don’t want to find your wings?”

“I do, but Faery is immense. It’s larger than...well, the world, I’m sure.”

“It’s another realm. I get that. But the reason I chose this spell over another that also opened a portal is that this one homes us in on the item we seek. If all goes well, we should walk in. See the wings. Grab them. And get the hell out of Dodge.”

“Sounds too easy.”

“Sounds like a fun ride on the wild side.” She pulled open the fridge door and took out a beer, twisted off the cap and tossed that in a mason jar half-filled with bottle caps. The brown beer bottle sported the Decadent Dames label on the side. “So why don’t you give Trouble a call?”

“Why don’t you?” Kelyn asked.

Valor slammed the bottle on the counter. And he immediately regretted his accusing tone. “What do you think went on between your brother and me? Because if you think anything beyond friendship happened—”

“It doesn’t matter.” He cut her off because he didn’t want to know. “You and I? We’re just working together toward a common goal. What you do with your free time is not my business.”

“You make it sound as if it bothers you. I can be friends with your family, Kelyn. I’m friends with Blade, too. And Daisy Blu. So get over yourself and don’t get your wings in such a twist.” She tilted back a swallow and then held the bottle to her chest. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. You don’t have any, uh...”

“Valor.” Kelyn reached across the counter and grasped her hand, which startled her so much she set down the beer. “We’re good.”

“How can you say that?”

“I just did. Two words. We’re. Good. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t need to apologize. What happened was a result of a choice I made. And only I can live with that. You don’t get to share that with me. And while it pretty much knocked the wind out of my sails, I’m still here. And I’m doing something about it now. So if you want to help me, then do your witchy thing and stop trying to take the credit for something you didn’t do.”

“I...” She exhaled heavily.

It had been difficult to say all that. Because really? Part of Kelyn did blame the witch. If she hadn’t been in the Darkwood in the first place... But the wise, logical part of him knew that he’d had total control over what had happened in the forest that day four months earlier. And he was no man to put the blame on anyone else.

“Fine. I can do that. I mean, I want to do that,” she said. “But please have patience with me because it’s much easier to say than to do.”

“I get that.”

“I like you, Kelyn. You’re a good guy. Faery. How are you without your wings? I need to know.”

“I’m the same as ever. Except I can’t fly, can’t shift to small shape and I’ve the strength of a regular human man now. Otherwise? Peachy.”

She began to frown, but he put up an admonishing finger. “Forward. For both of us. Okay?” He offered a hand for her to shake.

Valor shook it. “Deal. You call your brother. Let’s go kick some werewolf ass.”

“I’m cool with that—what?”

The rhythmic hum of the vacuum alerted Kelyn to the robotic disk that glided toward the kitchen. And on the back of the thing sat a plush gray cat. It cast a golden gaze up at Kelyn as it rode by, calm and regal upon its modern-day carriage.

Kelyn tugged up his leg in a protective move. “Seriously?”

“That’s Mooshi,” Valor said. “I told you the cat does the cleaning. He can ride that thing through the whole place. What’s wrong? You don’t like cats?”

“They’re not my favorite critters.” Kelyn again caught the cat’s eye, but he read its expression as more of an I’m-bored-what-else-is-there-to-do? look than anything else. “Mooshi, master and commander of the hardwood seas. Who’da thought?”

* * *

Valor had suggested Kelyn first ask his brothers Trouble and Stryke if either wanted to donate a claw, but realized the error of her ways when the faery cast her a horrified gape. Right. That would be like cutting off a man’s fingernail. But really? It was for a good cause. What was one fingernail when compared to a man’s reason for existence?

So, instead, they decided to track down the werewolf Borse Magnuson, who was known as an all-around asshole and resident idiot. A few years ago he’d been involved in blood games, pitting starving vampires against one another in death matches. Creed Saint-Pierre, Kelyn’s grandfather, had put an end to most of those illegal gaming dens. Now, lately, Borse had been trying to establish territory on Trouble’s property to the north of Tangle Lake.

So their path led them to the oldest Saint-Pierre brother. And everything Valor read in Kelyn’s body language as he neared his brother told her they were not right. She and Trouble, that was. Trouble told them to stop by the local gym and he met them as he was exiting the building. He wandered over to his monster Ford truck, painted in olive camo and sporting silver wolves on the mud flaps.

Valor went to bump fists with Trouble, but the man didn’t oblige her. Right. Not speaking to her since Kelyn’s wings had been taken. She caught Kelyn’s tightened expression. What? Did the guy think she’d gotten it on with his brother? And why did that matter to him? Oh.

Assuming a casual stance, Valor grabbed her thick hair and, corralling it into a ponytail, swished it over her shoulder as a distraction from what she felt was a blush riding up her neck. Did Kelyn have some kind of thing for her? He’d mentioned as much in the Darkwood that dreadful night. He couldn’t possibly. She was the witch who had changed his life for the worse.

And yet. There was something she had missed. And why hadn’t she realized that until right now?

Bad attraction vibes, girl. So terrible at picking up on that one.

“You two are after Borse?” Trouble smacked a fist into his palm. “I want in.”

“Trouble, this isn’t a matter with which we need help. I just need some info on the guy. Weaknesses. Flaws. Favorite drinking holes.”

“Wait, Kelyn.” Much as she didn’t want to pit brother against brother, Valor felt having a werewolf in the mix could help. And with Kelyn’s strength waning? “Did you tell him why we’re working together?”

Kelyn crossed his arms, lifting his chin defiantly. When he went all serious, two frown lines appeared between his eyebrows.

No, he hadn’t told his brother anything. And what kind of tension was she picking up on now? Yes, there was definitely something she had missed between herself and Kelyn.

“Can I tell him?” she asked carefully.

“Why the hell are you two even standing alongside each other?” Trouble asked. “I thought you never wanted to see her again.”

“Those are words you put into my mouth, Trouble. I hold nothing against Valor.”

“She was responsible for you losing your wings, man.”

“It was my choice.”

“I’m helping him to get his wings back.” Valor rushed in before Trouble’s bouncy stance turned into a one-two punch to the mean witch who had hurt his brother. The man had a tendency to react quickly and only ask the important questions after the pain had been delivered. “I have a spell that will open a portal into Faery. We need a few items for that spell. The first being a werewolf claw.”

Kelyn’s admonishing tilt of head was expected, but she couldn’t worry about pissing off the faery any more than she already had done.

Trouble slammed his fists to his hips. “You trust her?”

“I do. And I suspect Borse will be perfectly fine with one less claw.”

“You got that right. But you’ll have to take it when he’s shifted. He’ll tear you apart, brother.”

“Thanks for that vote of confidence.”

“No, seriously, Kelyn. I know you are the toughest and strongest of the Saint-Pierre boys. Or at least you were until...her.”

Valor caught the werewolf’s accusatory look, but she set back her shoulders and held her head high.

“You need help,” Trouble said. “And if the witch can get back your wings, I’m all in for ripping Borse’s claws out.”

“We only need one,” Valor reminded the guy, who, she had no doubt, would take off all ten of the werewolf’s claws if given the opportunity. “Kelyn and I learned he’s going out on the hunt tonight.”

“Then we are, too,” Trouble said. “But no witches allowed. This is a man’s job.”

“She’s got magic,” Kelyn said. “She’s coming along.”

* * *

They tracked Borse to the dive bar at the edge of Tangle Lake. It was a favorite watering hole for the Saint-Pierre brothers. The bartender knew Kelyn was always the designated driver and served him iced lemonade with a nod and a wink. Half a dozen humans lingered at the bar, a pair of them discussing the latest Twins game.

At the pool table, Borse commandeered a game to himself. He was drunk. And it generally took a lot of alcohol to get a werewolf drunk. The trio decided to wait and follow Borse out to his car before approaching him.

It felt wrong going after a drunkard. Even knowing what an asshole Borse was, Kelyn had problems using violence to get what he wanted. Completely the opposite of Trouble, who nursed a whiskey and eyed the dartboard. Kelyn had always won at darts against Trouble. He hadn’t attempted a game since losing his wings. He didn’t want to try now. He just didn’t.

Beside him sat Valor, who’d passed on the lowbrow beer and instead had asked for a lemonade, as well. She wore a thigh strap with a blade in the holster. She’d said it was a ritual blade she used for her spells and would be best to remove the claw. She and Trouble hadn’t spoken since they’d arranged to work together, and while Kelyn knew his brother had a stick up his butt about the witch after all that had happened, he was surprised he’d not picked up on any sort of weird sexual tension between the two.

Had Trouble lied about them getting it on? Valor had seemed defensive about just that, but Kelyn had cut her off, not wanting to listen to any excuses. The woman was an adult. She could have sex with whomever she wanted to.

The creaky bar door slammed and Trouble gave a short whistle to Kelyn. Borse had left, muttering something about vampires. The werewolf had parked down the street behind a chain-link fence and next to a rotting supply shed that sat at the edge of the city park. So they had the advantage of darkness and privacy.

“What the fuck?” Borse spun around at the approaching threesome. His stance wobbled, but he maintained an upright position. “Saint-Pierres, eh? That land isn’t all yours, Trouble, and you know it.”

Trouble punched a fist into his opposite palm and lunged for the man. The first smack of fist to jaw resounded through the park and scattered a flock of pigeons.

“Stay out of the way,” Kelyn said, stepping before Valor, who had pulled out her athame in defense.

She didn’t need to be told to avoid danger. But she didn’t need to be protected, either. Especially not by the man who had once already—ah, yes. What was she thinking? Valor stepped back, giving Kelyn every bit of respect the man deserved. She had to be careful not to offend more than she already had done. A man’s sense of pride was always a delicate thing.

It didn’t take long for Borse and Trouble’s scuffle to escalate, and as their antics moved them beneath a shadowed copse of willow, the men shifted. Shirts tore away, though they both had the sense to shift halfway. Keeping their lower halves in human shape ensured that they remained partially clothed. A necessity should an innocent wander onto the scene and a quick shift back to were form was required.

The two shifted wolves went at each other while Kelyn stalked close but did not step in to interrupt. Valor assumed they both knew what they were doing, so, holding her blade at the ready, she waited.

But would a little magic provide Trouble the advantage? Her air magic could make Trouble’s punches move faster, his leaps more aggressive. If she could focus it to land only on him and not the other wolf...

“No,” she admonished herself quietly. “Let the boys handle this one.”

Grunts and growls accompanied the battle that seemed as if it would continue indefinitely. Valor cast Kelyn a questioning look. He returned a shrug and a nod. He got the hint.

Kelyn lunged for Borse and delivered a fist to his bloody jaw. Valor had heard the rumors about Kelyn. That one punch from him would put any man—or beast—down for the count.

Borse shook his head and smirked at Kelyn when he realized the faery was not as strong as rumor told. He grabbed Kelyn’s arm even as Trouble swung a leg and took out Borse’s stance. Both Borse and Kelyn went down.

And Valor clenched her fingers into her palms. She thrust out her arm, bending her fingers in preparation to release some air magic. Sucking in her lower lip, she bit, almost drawing blood. Cursing at the pain, she inhaled sharply when she saw the fighters roll to a stop. Kelyn landed on top of Borse, and Borse lay still. The thug wolf was out. But for how long?

Kelyn thrust out his hand, gesturing for her to hand the knife to him.

“Oh. Right.” She rushed to him and slapped the hilt into his hand.

Trouble, in half his hulking furry glory, leaned over them. He smelled musky and hot. An animal riled. Valor didn’t fear the man whose upper half resembled an übermuscled wolf, including a full wolf’s head. The one she was concerned with now was Kelyn, and he—he had pressed the side of the blade to his forehead, as if in thought, and closed his eyes as he crouched over Borse.

“Kelyn,” she said, “hurry! He could come to any second.”

“I can’t.” He pushed himself up and stepped away from the fallen werewolf, walking a wide circle.

Trouble swiped a big, clawed paw for the knife, but Kelyn jerked it away from him. “Get out of here,” he said to his brother. “I’m not going to do it. I can’t.”

“What? Do you need me to do it?” Valor asked. Her whole body shook. She was nervous and exhilarated and scared all at once.

“No, I mean I won’t do this.” He handed her the blade. “Who am I to harm another man for something I want? It’s not a need, Valor. I want my wings back, but I’ll survive without them. As deserving as he may be, I won’t maim Borse just to make it so.”

The werewolf on the ground stirred.

“Let’s get out of here.” Kelyn grabbed her by the upper arm and pushed her in the direction of the bar where they had parked his Firebird. “Trouble! Go!”

Trouble growled and snorted, but the werewolf took off in the opposite direction and loped through the park.

And while Valor was disappointed they’d not gotten what had been but a stroke of the blade away, she was even more impressed at Kelyn’s sacrifice. Once again. And his honor.

He truly was a good man. And she was fortunate to know such a person.

They climbed into his car and watched through the chain-link fence for a while. To see if Borse would wander out in werewolf form, or perhaps man shape. And to make sure Trouble didn’t return looking for the trouble he famously indulged in.

“I’m sorry,” Valor said quietly.

Kelyn turned on her with a surprising rage in his eyes. “I am tired of your apologies. You did nothing wrong, witch!”

“Would you bring it down a notch? I was apologizing because I know you want your wings, and now getting them seems an impossibility. Would you let someone care about you? Seriously!” She gripped the door handle tightly. “You’ve more of a chip on your shoulder about letting someone in than about getting back your lost wings. What’s your hang-up?”

“I don’t have a hang-up, other than wondering why in Beneath I decided working with you would be a good idea.”

“Because you trusted me.”

“Trust had nothing to do with it. I’m here because you were my only hope.”

“Sorr—” She cut off the apology. “Fine. I disappointed you.”

“I was the one who refused to take the claw. It’s all on me.”

“Right. Do you thrive on the guilt, Kelyn?”

He cast her a condemning glare, which Valor felt at the back of her neck like an icy prickle over her skin. So maybe he wasn’t as honorable as she’d surmised.

“Okay, not going to discuss that one,” she said. “On to plan B. Do we have a plan B?”

“I do.”

“Which is?”

Kelyn shifted into gear and the vehicle rolled over the tarmac. “There’s a cabin about ten miles south from here. Belongs to a peller. My sister’s husband, Beck, had a run-in with the owner a few years ago. The man...can time travel.”

Valor shot him a glance, but it was too dark in the car to see his reaction to her sudden interest.

“I’m not so sure I believe in the time-travel stuff,” he continued. “But he was also a wolf hunter. He hunts all sorts of species, actually. Anyway, the cabin is sometimes empty because he’s gone. In another time.”

“That sounds too cool, and at the same time, severely whacked.”

“Yeah, but if the cabin is empty, I say we take a look around. If the guy hunts wolves, there could be...things.”

“Like claws?”

She sensed Kelyn nodded. And Valor smiled. “You’re in the driver’s seat.”


Chapter 5 (#uc9ec58f7-7ea4-5fbb-8f31-ccdc70a0be2b)

Kelyn used the GPS on his phone to locate the farmhouse he’d been to twice before. And that annoyed the crap out of him. Normally, he’d navigate ley lines to find his way or simply recall the directions and turns. The ability to do so had always been innately a part of him, aligned with the sigils he’d once worn on his body.

He did not want to think any more about the skills that giving away his wings had stolen from him.

“Denton Marx is a peller,” he explained as he parked the Firebird on the gravel drive before the guy’s place.

“A spell breaker,” Valor confirmed. “They are generally good, bad or nasty. I’m guessing Marx was the nasty sort?”

Kelyn wobbled his hand back and forth. “Depends on whose story you listen to. He did some bad things for what he thought was a good reason. My sister, Daisy Blu, suffered because of it. But her husband, Beck, who was under a curse that was killing him, gained back his life, so they both sort of won because of Marx. I’d call him situationally convenient.” He peered out the window, eyes taking in the periphery. “Doesn’t look like anyone is home.”

The lot did appear abandoned. Massive willow trees hung over the unmown front yard that edged a gravel road. Tall grasses disguised the ditch and frothed along the narrow drive. The rambler-style house was dark, as was the garage. The forest grew thick right up to the back of the house, though Kelyn knew there was a shed beyond it.

He’d been here a few winters earlier with his brothers. Denton had sought Daisy Blu’s werewolf soul to rescue his lost love who was trapped in another time, a witch who could time travel. And Denton also time traveled. Wonders never ceased. A soul had been a requirement to work a spell to breach time. The man had failed. Thankfully.

“I don’t think he’s around.” Kelyn opened the door and thrust out a leg, sniffing at the air. Normally his senses were dialed up to ultra. But since losing his wings? Forget about it. “I don’t scent any others beyond the wildlife and floras. Let’s take a look out back.”

Valor followed silently, which he appreciated. If anyone were on the premises, he didn’t want to alert them that they had visitors.

Pressing his wrists together to invoke magic that would heighten his senses, Kelyn cursed under his breath and swung his arms away from each other. Even after four months, he still forgot about his missing sigils. And a twinge in the center of his back, between his shoulder blades, reminded him what a fool he had been. Could a man be too damned nice?

Obviously, he could.

The grass was dry and brown here behind the house, and his footsteps crunched even as he left the gravel drive. He hadn’t come armed. He didn’t want to call up any more bad mojo from the universe than his actions had already done.

He didn’t consider this venture breaking and entering. Just...taking a look around. Surely Denton owed the Saint-Pierre family for the pain he’d put them through with Daisy Blu and Beck.

“How do you know this guy?” Valor asked quietly as she caught up and reached his side. They wandered over some old, rotted wood boards that had been placed on the ground as a sort of walkway leading to the shed.

“He almost killed my sister and her boyfriend. Of course, that was when Beck was cursed as the ghost wolf.”

“I remember that! That was a couple years ago. There was an article in the local paper about a big white wolf roaming the area.”

“Beck was cursed as that white wolf.”

“Wow. And you’re friends with this Denton guy?”

“Not officially.” He stopped before the steel door to the shed, suspecting the security would be excellent for a man who might take frequent trips away—to completely different centuries. “But if anyone has a werewolf claw, it’ll be this guy. Keep watch on the house, will you?”

“Larceny. Love it.” Shoving her hands in her back pockets, Valor turned to face the house.

Satisfied there were no cameras attached to the outside of the building, nor any connected on the nearby yard lightpost, Kelyn jiggled the doorknob. It was a standard knob and lock. Nothing digital. He didn’t have anything to pick the lock with, so...he stepped back and gave the door a fierce kick right beside the lock mechanism. It slammed inward with a loud bang and a plume of dust.

Valor turned and gaped at him.

He smiled at her and shrugged. “Some of my talents have less finesse than others.”

“So it would seem.” She walked in after him. “Nothing like making an entrance. I like it.”

The shed was dark, but pale moonlight strained through a dirty glass window panel set into the roof. The paned glass stretched eight feet square. It was littered with fallen leaves, yet the center of the room was lit enough to make out the dirt floor and assorted items sitting about. A mounted full-bodied buck greeted them with eerie glass eyes, its ten-point rack gleaming like ivory.

“Yikes.” Valor walked up to the taxidermied creature. It stood as high as she. She studied it from head to tail, then walked back up to look into its eyes. She stroked its nose, pausing with her palm flat on its fur. Bowing her head, she said, “I’m so sorry for you.”

Her empathy hit Kelyn right in the heart. Any chick who cared for nature was all right by him. “You see? The guy is an asshole.”

“Duly noted. This poor creature didn’t deserve such an end. I hate trophy hunters. So let’s take a look around. I’ll look over here and you—” He’d already begun to explore the north wall. “Yep, you know what you’re doing. So, are you prepared to leave the country?”

“What?” Kelyn brushed his fingertips over an assortment of knives and tools he assumed were taxidermy items. None were clean, which made him wonder about the man’s methods. Trophies would be created and tended with care and clean instruments. Magical items, on the other hand, wouldn’t require such surgical cleanliness. He called over his shoulder, “Why leave the country?”

“The next item on the list is in Western Australia. Lake Hillier. The pink lake.”

“Pink?”

“Yeah, I think it’s algae or something that colors it literally a bubble gum pink. We need water from that lake specifically.”

“Right, the unruly lake. What is an unruly lake anyway?”

“Apparently, a pink one.”

“Australia is a long flight.”

“That it is. And...spendy.”

He caught her anxious tone. “You mean you’re not going to treat me to an adventure across the globe?”

“I can pay for my own ticket. I’m just hoping you’ll pay for yours?”

“I can cover us both,” he offered.

“No, I can take care of myself.”

“Valor. Send me the flight details and an online link and I’ll take care of it. Okay?”

She nodded and picked up an old, rusted spring-loaded trap that creaked as she turned it about. “This looks dangerous and it smells.”

“Probably blood on it from whatever the man last trapped.”

She dropped it with a groan.

Kelyn’s hand landed on a dusty glass quart jar without a cover. He could feel the vibrations wavering out from within and he bowed his head over it, placing both hands on the glass. Thankful that his senses were not currently superreceptive, he could only imagine the pain he’d sense if they had been at normal capacity.

“What is it?” Valor walked up behind him and gasped at the sight of what he held. “That’s a lot of claws. And big. Sure they’re not bear claws?”

“No,” Kelyn said with a swallow. “These are werewolf.” It pained him to think that his brothers had gone up against Denton. Yet they had survived. Thank the gods for that. “Take one,” he said quickly.

Valor reached in and pulled out a black claw that was as thick as her finger and twice as long. Then she took another. “Two to be safe.” And another. “And three—”

“No.” He took one of the claws and tossed it back in the jar, wincing at the horrible vibrations of pain he felt with the quick connection. “We won’t be greedy. Two is more than enough.”

“Fine.” She shoved the claws in her jacket pocket. “Let’s you, me and Doogie Howser get the hell out of Dodge.”

“Doogie Howser?”

She shrugged. “TV doctors. I got a thing for them.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to. Let’s skedaddle.”

They strode toward the open door. When they were but four feet away, the door suddenly slammed shut in a cloud of dust. And the door edges began to glow orange.

* * *

“The peller has an inner protection spell activated,” Valor said.

She spread her hands out before her, testing the vibrations that wavered out from the door. Turning and clasping the moonstone that hung around her neck, she sensed the spell stretching along the walls and the ceiling, enclosing them completely. She didn’t judge it to be anything particularly dark, more just menacing.

Kelyn spread out his hands as if to read his surroundings as she had done. She wasn’t sure how much faery magic he still possessed, if any. The sigils were missing from his wrists and in their place, silvery scars served as a cruel reminder. That had to suck.

“You got some magic to get us out of here?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

“I do love a decisive woman.”

“Aw, you love me?” Valor flicked him a flirty wink over her shoulder. “Find me something silver, will you?”

“Okay. There’s gotta be silver in a werewolf hunter’s cabin.” Kelyn looked around.

The shuffling Valor suddenly heard, which should have been Kelyn pushing things around on the shelves, sounded—when she thought about it—more like...hooves.

She spun around to face the stuffed deer. Which was no longer inanimate. Its eyes glowed white and its obsidian hoof pawed the dirt floor.

“Kelyn!”

“Found something that looks like a silver arrowhead. Though it’s corroded.” He turned and saw the same thing she did. “No kidding?”

“Toss me the arrow. Or better yet. Can you—”

“Got it!” He lunged for the buck as the beast charged Valor. The faery leaped and landed on the deer’s back, one arm wrapping about its wide, strong neck.

Valor dropped and rolled across the dirt floor, out of the animal’s charging path. It didn’t slow, bowing its head and aiming its magnificent rack at the closed door. Kelyn stabbed at the beast, landing the arrowhead in its chest as its antlers collided with the door. The protection spell fizzled, bursting out brilliant orange flames from around the door. The steel door blew off the shed, and the deer raced through with Kelyn riding its back.

“Can’t say I’ve seen anything like that before,” Valor muttered as she stood and brushed the dirt off her jeans. “Cool.”

She wandered through the door to find Kelyn standing before a stuffed deer. He tugged the arrowhead out of its chest. The magic that had reanimated the deer had ceased the moment it left the shed.

Valor marched over and smoothed a hand over the stuffed animal’s nose. “No one will believe this.”

“Welcome to my world.” Kelyn tossed the arrowhead in the air and caught it smartly. “Let’s get out of here. Can you fit the door back into the frame?”

“Seriously? After the mess we made in there, you think replacing the door...?”

He did have a way of challenging her right in the witchcraft with his castigating, yet also kinda sexy furrowed brow.

Summoning her air magic, Valor whispered a rising spell and the door lifted and slammed back into the frame. Not at all the gentle fit-back-into-the-door-frame action she had been going for, but... “It’ll do. What are we going to do about that thing?”

He smoothed a palm over the deer’s back. “I like to think Marx will have a hell of a time figuring this one out when he returns.”

“I like your thinking.”

They wandered back to the car at the end of the drive, and after getting in the car Valor tugged out her cell phone. She perused the Delta flight schedule while Kelyn drove out and headed back to Tangle Lake. He was using the GPS on his phone and she knew it drove him buggy. Faeries were natural navigators. Poor guy. But, much as she wanted to, she wouldn’t bring it up or apologize.

A ten-minute cruise down the main highway brought the Firebird to the exit for Tangle Lake. It was late, and not a lot of cars were out and about. Valor didn’t live far from the exit.

“There’s a flight to Australia tomorrow afternoon,” she said. “You know your credit card number?”

“I do. Book the tickets.”

“Sounds like a plan. Flying over an entire ocean is not going to be as fun as tonight was.”

“You’re not much for flying?”

“That’s putting it euphemistically. Okay, give me your number.”

He relayed his number to her while parking before her building. The autoconfirm promised an email soon. When Valor opened the door and stuck out a leg, he grabbed her forearm, stopping her from leaving.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said. “We work well together.”

“That we do. Thanks for trusting me. This spell will work, Kelyn. I promise that.”

He nodded. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow a couple hours before the flight.”

“See you then. Thanks!”

As the Firebird rolled away, Valor had to stop herself from giving a little wave in its wake. Like hey, yeah, that was fun. Just spending time with the guy had been fun. And watching him ride the deer? She had to tell her friends about that one.

With a sigh, she wandered toward her building. The feeling that she should have leaned over and kissed him in thanks for the adventure was strong. A missed opportunity. Generally, she was a take-life-by-the-horns-and-ride-it kind of chick.

She knew why she was skittish around Kelyn. Same reason she’d given up on ever finding love. Men didn’t consider her a woman. She simply wasn’t...

“A real girl,” she said, and followed that with another heart-clenching sigh.

Had she been able to accomplish the spell that night in the Darkwood, would she be singing a different tune now?

Could Kelyn ever see her as a woman?

Because she wanted to kiss him again. No, she needed to.


Chapter 6 (#uc9ec58f7-7ea4-5fbb-8f31-ccdc70a0be2b)

Valor sat up on the couch, blew the tangled hair from her face and...dropped back into a dead sleep, falling forward to land her face against the hardwood arm. That woke her up again. And this time she heard the pounding and insistent knock at her door.

“Valor?”

Sounded like Kelyn’s voice. Why was he at her home...she glanced toward the windows...in the middle of the night?

Her eyelids fluttered and she dropped into sleep again, this time her head falling to the side and hitting the soft leather back of the couch.

A rude meow sounded and she shook out of sleep. “No. Need to sleep. Have...flight...in morning, Mooshi.”

“Valor, are you ready to go?” Kelyn called from the other side of her front door.

“Go?” She glanced toward the kitchen, seeing beyond the row of beer bottles and that one empty vodka bottle—curse her weakness for the hard stuff—where the time flashed in bright green LEDs on the stove. “Marcus Welby! It’s time!”

She dragged herself off the couch and scrambled to the door, opening it. Kelyn breezed in.

“We’ve got to go,” he said. “The flight leaves in an hour and a half, and it takes forty-five minutes to get to the airport. What the—are you not ready to go?” He reached for her head, and though Valor dodged his touch, he managed to snag his fingers in her hair. And that was possible because of the tangles. “You’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday. And...you smell like a brewery.”

“Yeah? Well, I do work at a brewery, smart guy.”

“Not yesterday.”

“Fine! I couldn’t sleep,” she muttered, her tongue still heavy with sleep and the remnants of a good drunk. Hell, the drunk was still with her, bless the goddess. Because it was a necessity. “I hate flying, and I’m always nervous the night before. I haven’t slept. And yet...I think I must have fallen asleep, like, half an hour ago. I am so wasted.”

He caught her in his arms and held her upright. “You drink to relax?”

“Beer usually calms me. Vodka seemed to take off the edge.”

“Couldn’t you have cast a spell or something? Valor, we’ve got to go. You have your bags packed?”

She gestured toward the door, where one small carry-on backpack waited. She’d had the forethought to pack after Kelyn dropped her off last night when she wasn’t so nervous. Now all she wanted to do was sleep.

“The flight is long. You can sleep when we get seated.” He bent and suddenly Valor found herself flung over the man’s broad and reassuringly strong shoulder.

A humiliating position, and yet... Nah, she could go with it. Especially since...

Kelyn chuckled at the witch’s sudden snores. He grabbed her backpack and with a glance to the cat decided Valor had to have made arrangements for its care in her absence. Probably a neighbor would stop by. He slid the door closed behind him.

What a way to begin an adventure.

* * *

Kelyn accepted an offer of ice water from the stewardess and refused another white wine for his guest. They’d been in the air four hours, and Valor could snore with the best of them. She did not do sleep deprivation well. But if she had been nervous about flying, then it was good she was sleeping now. She’d managed to lift her head once while they were waiting to board, smiled at him and then her head had hit his shoulder.

And he was enjoying it. Because right now her head lay on his shoulder, and her hand had strayed to his chest. One finger touched his skin at the base of his neck. It was weirdly intimate, and yet not. She was just a friend. And he did mark her as a sort-of friend, not an enemy. They were working toward a common goal.

But he was seriously beginning to feel the old attraction to her again. Not that it had ever gone away. Losing his wings had honestly reduced his interest in her. But the chick was not like the rest of the women he had known or lusted after. She wasn’t fussy or high maintenance. He couldn’t imagine any woman he’d known allowing him to carry her into the airport, hair uncombed and T-shirt wrinkled, after a sleepless night on a bender.

Valor Hearst didn’t do the makeup and hair thing. Her long straight hair had a deep violet tint to it. Had to be dyed. He wasn’t sure if witches could have a natural color like that. His sister, Daisy Blu’s, hair was pink, but that was natural from her faery heritage.

Valor dressed as if she was ready to hop on a Harley and ride off into the sunset. Everything about her was casual confidence and gotcha smirks. One of the guys.

But the thing that had sealed his attraction to her a few years ago? It had been one night around a bonfire when a bunch of friends had gathered at a city summer festival. Beer and s’mores had been in abundance, as well as lawn darts and cheap sparklers. Valor had been pointed out to him as one of the witches who owned a local brewery. He’d thought she was pretty in that one-of-the-guys kind of way. Because she had an ease around people and wasn’t always fluffing her hair or checking her cell phone for texts from girlfriends. He hadn’t given her too much eye time. Until she’d laughed. It had come out as an abrupt burst of sound and ended with a snort. Ignoring what anyone thought of her and proud to be herself.

Ever since, he’d spent more time looking at her. And wanting to ask her out so he could hear that crazy, obnoxious laugh again. And wondering how she’d be as a kisser. Damn good, now that he knew. But he wished it hadn’t been because she’d thought she was dying that he’d gotten that kiss.

And now he still couldn’t stop looking at her and allowing his fantasies to take hold.

Valor’s lips were pale pink and plump. And they were so close to him. He wanted to touch them, but he held the water glass in one hand and his other arm was wedged beneath her sleeping body. So he’d take her in for as long as he could. And enjoy this quiet moment with a woman he wasn’t sure was safe to lose anything more to. He’d given up his wings for her.

What more did he have left, besides his heart?

* * *

Valor woke without opening her eyes. Her body took a survey of her immediate surroundings—hard plastic seat and walls, tight confines, stale air, compressed sensation going on in her sinuses—and she determined she was on a plane. Not on the ground.

Mercy.

The thing about flying was that it was unnatural. Yes, even for a witch. Witches didn’t fly on broomsticks or by their own power. Well, they could do both with the right kind of magic. Air magic. But she’d always avoided considering such study. And the cliché of the broomstick was just that. She preferred her feet to remain on the ground. And even though there had been no other option to get where they were going—a ship would have taken far too long—it was never easy to dispel her nerves.

Fortunately, the alcohol had worked for a while.

Now groggy but feeling rested, she came awake more fully and curled her fingers against the hard warmth beneath her hand. Mmm, that felt great. And her pillow was firm but smelled nice. Like a forest after the rain. Why was that? Weren’t airplanes the least inviting and uncomfortable conveyances in existence?

“You rest well?”

The voice vibrated against her cheek and into her very bones, and Valor realized what exactly was up. She was lying on Kelyn, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. And that warmth under her hand? It was his hard pec. The man had to work out. Seriously.

Such a surprising but welcome bit of reality proved beyond nice. And she didn’t want it to end. But really? This accidental sharing and caring between the two of them was not cool. On a scale of not-coolness, from one to ten, her current position probably topped out at an eight.

Maybe if she didn’t move, he’d think she’d fallen back to sleep?

The smell of roast beef suddenly wafted through the air and Valor realized she was more hungry than embarrassed. So she slowly pushed herself up and met Kelyn’s smiling violet gaze. “Morning.”

“Evening, actually. At least, according to Australian time. But don’t get too excited. We’ve still got another six hours to go.”

“Ah, Meredith Gray!”

“Is she a doctor?”

“Yes, Gray’s Anatomy. She and McDreamy—oh, never mind.” She averted her eyes to the leather cords around his neck. A long, thin white spiral dangled from one of them. Looked like a seashell. On the other was a black ring of stone. She tapped it. Six more hours? Could a witch get a break? “Maybe I should go back to sleep.”

“I take it you wish you could sleep through the whole flight? Maybe one more beer would have done the trick?”

She groaned. “Please don’t mention beer. It was the vodka that did it for me. The beer makes me want to...” Pee a very long time. She wouldn’t say that. She and he were not that tight as bros yet.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked. “They’re serving now. Might keep your thoughts from...dire things.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She leaned back and slowly took her hand from his chest. “Sorry about that. Lying on you and all.”

“It’s all right. And you didn’t drool that much.”

“I—” She wiped her mouth and hoped to catch his teasing laugh, but he merely shrugged. Perfect. Not. “Really sorry about that one.”

“Valor, your apologies are always superfluous. Now tell the nice stewardess what you’ll have to eat.”

When Valor turned to the flight attendant, she only then realized the luxurious space she sat in. It was still the inside of a tin can, but much more roomy than she’d experienced that one other time she was inside an airplane. They were in first class? Mercy, but she could never afford this ticket. And she did intend to pay the guy back.

“I’ll take the roast beef,” she said to the attendant, who sported a perfect blond coif and a red scarf tied about her neck. Valor refused the offer of alcohol. She’d drunk a whole growler of beer last night. Or this morning. Or whenever. Plus the bottle of vodka. Those two alcohols should not be mixed. Stupid nerves. “And some ginger ale.”

Kelyn asked for the vegetarian plate and more water.

Fifteen minutes later, and after a necessary trip to the bathroom, the meal had served to relax Valor and she settled back to watch Kelyn finish his dairy-free chocolate cake. It didn’t sound appetizing, but it certainly looked lush and moist. He was a vegetarian? Must have been disgusted by her shoveling in the minimal bits of roast beef she’d dug out of the gravy. He’d not said anything, though.

“Why are you so nice?” she asked.

He paused, a forkload of cake suspended before his mouth. With a shrug, he offered, “It’s a Minnesota thing.”

“Sure, but that’s surface. And I’m from Minnesota.” She pointed to her chest. “Not so nice. Mostly. People are always nice to one another, but are they kind nice? Nice is doing so because you think it’s expected of you. Or because your mommy always told you ‘be nice.’ Kind nice is an innate calling to understand others and be accepting of them. That’s you.”

“I get that. I’ll cop to kind nice eighty percent of the time. But flattery will not get you a piece of this cake. I’m eating it all myself.” He forked in an appealing bite of layered chocolate frosting and cake. “See? Not so nice now, am I?”

She pouted about that. She’d wolfed down her dry cinnamon crumble so fast she hadn’t even tasted it. So she enjoyed a good meal. And this first-class stuff? Not too shabby, if sparse on the meat.

“I’m no nicer than the next guy, Valor. I’m just trying to walk through this life and world respectful of all those who have as many trials and tribulations as myself.”

“Yeah? What’s it take to piss off a guy like you?”

“Why do you want to piss me off?”

“I don’t. I’m just wondering what it takes. You can’t be nice all the time. Seriously. Be honest about the remaining twenty percent. If you had one day in Trouble’s shoes and could punch whoever or whatever because your temper flared as easily as his, what would it take to set you off?”

Kelyn set down the fork beside the half-eaten cake and rubbed the heel of his palm across his brow. “I guess it would have to be someone who harms another for malicious reasons.”

“Like a bully?”

“Maybe.”

“A murderer?”

“For sure.”

“So you’d take the law into your own hands, then?”

“That’s not what you asked me.”

“Right.” She sighed and turned toward him, nudging her shoulder into the seat. She’d already gone too far by sprawling across him while she slept. Best to be more careful about his personal space now. “Tell me what’s up between you and your brother and me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you think something about the two of us. I can sense it every time his name comes up.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does. Because every time I mention Trouble, your fingers curl into fists. See? You just did it.”

He sighed and relaxed his fingers.

“Do you think me and your brother got it on?”

He didn’t answer and instead shoved in another bite of cake. The force with which he stabbed the helpless dessert said all she needed to know.

“We didn’t, Kelyn. I don’t know what Trouble has told you, but we are just friends. Always have been, always—well, the dude has been avoiding me since...you know.”

“He’s protective of me. Of all his siblings. If someone does us wrong, he’s going to retaliate.” His attention focused on her. His irises gleamed like gemstones. Faery eyes were gorgeous. She’d never seen anything so intense and precious. “So you’re telling me nothing has ever happened between the two of you? Be honest, I know you two do the Netflix-and-chill thing.”




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