Tag: romance books (Page 1 of 3)

Seahorses & Sensibility

February 16, 2026 / Aimee Easterling / 0 Comments

Want to dive into something entirely new? Then join me on the high seas with with a lady scientist and a duke-turned-sea-captain in Seahorses & Sensibility!

***

Chapter 1

Lydia Pemberton had exactly forty-seven seconds to board the Intrepid before the ship set sail, and she was wasting them analyzing the captain’s shoulders.

In her defense, his shoulders were exceptional. Perfect load distribution, the deltoid engagement suggesting someone accustomed to carrying weight without complaint. From a purely anatomical standpoint, remarkable. From a practical standpoint—she forced her eyes away—entirely irrelevant to her current mission.

Forty-one seconds.

The captain turned, the edge of his smile doing something peculiar to her rate of respiration. Irritating. She had far more important matters to focus on.

After all, she’d studied tide tables and the timeline of other ships’ departures. She’d memorized the Intrepid’s crew-rotation schedules, had bribed a dock worker to learn Captain Ashworth’s sailing protocols, and had paid to have necessary supplies stowed aboard. Lydia had not, however, planned for a captain whose profile made her pulse forget its usual rhythm.

Thirty-two seconds.

The sailors would be loosening the final ropes soon, at which point every gaze on deck would be directed toward the bow and open water. She’d observed this pattern across seven separate departures over the past month. The moment of casting off created a reliable blind spot at the stern—approximately twelve seconds during which the aft deck went entirely unobserved.

She couldn’t wait any longer.

She moved.

Her boots found purchase on wet cobblestones as she sprinted between dock workers and their cargo. A male voice shouted something behind her, likely about procedures she had no intention of observing. But she was already calculating angles, velocity, the precise mechanics required for what came next.

The gap between dock and deck was widening. She didn’t let herself think about the consequences of misjudgment or the dratted bulk of her skirts.

She jumped.

For one suspended moment, the world held its breath. Water beneath her, sky above her.

Then her hips struck the deck and she was rolling, petticoats tangling, palms scraping against salt-rough wood. Momentum carried her behind a stack of crates lashed near the stern rail—the same cargo she’d noted during her reconnaissance, tall enough to conceal a crouching woman from anyone forward of the mainmast.

The captain’s voice rang out from somewhere near the bow: “Cast off!”

The Intrepid lurched away from shore with the inevitability of a door closing. Lydia pressed herself against the crates, her heart hammering in her chest at what felt like twice its usual pace.

She’d done it. She was aboard. She was committed now.

Irreversibly.

The word echoed strangely in her mind. And for the first time since she’d conceived what her mother would have called another odd notion, doubt crept in like bilge water through a cracked hull.

What if she’d miscalculated? What if the captain was the sort of man who’d clap her in irons and turn back to London out of spite? What if her mother’s furious disappointment was fully justified?

What if this is the worst mistake of her life?

She could almost hear her mother’s voice: You’ve gone too far this time, Lydia. Even for you.

But the dock was already receding, the gap between ship and shore widening into something uncrossable. There was no undoing this. She would simply have to make it work—the way she’d made everything else work since realizing that waiting for permission to be herself meant waiting forever.

Her mother would seethe, of course, but at least she wouldn’t worry. Because Lydia had left a note. Not an apology—she’d done enough apologizing for wanting more than watercolors and morning calls in her five and twenty years. Instead, Lydia had merely penned an explanation that would arrive three days after her departure.

“Secure those lines!” the captain called, his tone exuding easy authority.

Lydia risked a glance around the edge of the crates. The deck stretched before her—perhaps sixty feet of worn planking between the stern where she hid and the raised quarterdeck at the ship’s waist where Captain Ashworth stood with his back to her. Beyond him, the crew swarmed the rigging, hauling on ropes and unfurling canvas with practiced efficiency. A dozen men, she estimated, none looking aft.

She waited until the crew was fully engrossed, then crept toward the hatch—a square opening in the deck just forward of her hiding spot. Below, everything was dim and cramped, reeking of tar and unwashed bodies. But the corridor led away from curious eyes, toward what her research suggested would be the captain’s quarters.

It was the optimal place to hide, at least for the critical first few hours. Because Captain Ashworth was reputed to be a hands-on leader. He’d spend the departure window on deck, overseeing every aspect of the ship’s transition to open water. Which meant his cabin—the single spot no one else was likely to enter—would sit empty.

All Lydia had to do was remain concealed until nightfall, then she could negotiate from a position of strength. The ship would be too far from shore by then to turn back without significant hassle. She hoped, at that point, years of accumulated pin money would make her presence into an inconvenience rather than a crisis.

Now, Lydia slipped inside the captain’s cabin, closed the door behind her…then froze.

Because the row of stern windows provided a view more expansive than any she’d ever seen before. The murky brown of London’s harbor was already giving way to something crystalline and alive, an impossible blue that seemed to stretch into infinity.

Creeping closer, she could make out ribbons of foam catching the afternoon light, the deeper color beyond suggested depths she’d only ever read about. Somewhere past those waves—beyond shipping lanes and mapped territories—the Sargasso Sea awaited. Acres of floating weed hiding species that existed in the gaps of human knowledge. Creatures living in ways no naturalist had ever properly documented.

Three years she’d spent preparing for this. Three years of evading marriage proposals, of being patted on the head and told to sketch flowers instead of dissect jellyfish. Of her mother’s disappointed silences every time Lydia rejected balls in favor of books.

She pressed her forehead against the cool glass. The view tugged something free in her chest, something that had been locked away by endless evenings in London drawing rooms. This was real. She was going to collect specimens and document behaviors and compile scientific observations rigorous enough to be taken seriously. She was going to make discoveries that would silence every dismissive comment, open every closed door, prove wrong every suggestion that her ambitions exceeded her sex’s capacity.

All she had to do was avoid getting thrown overboard in the meantime.

The light was changing, suggesting she’d been riveted for longer than anticipated. Her stays dug into her ribs as she leaned forward, still unable to tear her gaze away from the watery view. She should have found a proper hiding place minutes ago—behind the sea chest, perhaps, or inside the wardrobe she’d noted against the far wall. Instead, she remained transfixed, watching the colors change moment by moment as the ship moved deeper into open ocean.

One more moment. Just one more moment of letting herself believe this was possible…

A deep male voice came from behind her. “Well, well. What have we here?”

***

Chapter 2

Three hours earlier…

“You’re absolutely certain there’s nothing you want to talk about?” Edmund asked, adjusting his cravat for the fourth time in as many minutes. His handsome face made strangers trust him immediately, which was useful in politics and dangerous elsewhere.

Especially here and now when Dominic found his mouth had opened to answer without his permission. Glaring at his friend, he snapped his teeth together then offered a single sharp nod.

Because the view was too beautiful for airing dark secrets. The morning sun glinted off the Thames, one of those rare London days where the sky remembered it could be blue. Before them, the Intrepid waited among a forest of masts and rigging, the docks humming with their usual chaos: sailors hauling cargo, merchants shouting final instructions, gulls conducting their usual raids for dropped food.

It was a perfect day to sail. It should have also been a perfect day for Dominic to tell his friends the truth.

“Dominic?” Edmund prompted, abandoning his cravat to its rumpled fate. “You’re doing that thing where you’re about to say something and then decide against it.”

He was. He’d been doing it ever since he woke this morning. Since he reviewed the ledgers one final time and confirmed what he’d been avoiding admitting:

The voyage wasn’t just risky. It was desperate.

He’d chosen mahogany, one of the few American cargoes not built on slavery. But the market was brutal. Winner-takes-all.

And while his estate was finally self-supporting again, the Intrepid wasn’t yet fully paid off. The creditors had been patient only because he’d shown them signed contracts, and also he suspected because of the title he refused to acknowledge.

Being a duke, though, would do him no good if competitors reached Jamaica first and the cargo had already sold out—

In that case, his crazy experiment of recompensing his crew with shares of the profit would harm them rather than help them. Children would go hungry. Families would suffer.

And Dominic would have proven that, like his father, he made a terrible leader of men.

But when he opened his mouth to admit his terror to his closest friends, no words emerged. Instead, after a long swallow, all he managed was: “You’re imagining things.”

Edmund studied him with those too-clever eyes, then adjusted his cravat again. “When you’re done carrying the load alone,” his friend said quietly, “we’ll be here.”

Before Dominic could deflect a second time, Charles pressed a wrapped parcel into his hands. Where Edmund was all golden ease, Charles was angles and shadows. The third member of their trio rarely initiated contact, never spoke more than was strictly necessary. But his gifts always meant something.

So Dominic unfolded the paper. Considered the compass inside.

“For navigation,” Charles murmured. “Both literal and…metaphorical.”

From Charles, that was a monologue. Edmund was the one who slung one arm around Charles’s shoulders and elaborated.

“He means: whatever you’re carrying, don’t forget you exist underneath it.”

“Of course I exist beneath the load,” Dominic rebutted. That was the entire point. He existed because of the loads he allowed to settle onto his shoulders. He existed because he was keeping the ducal estate solvent and also keeping his crew afloat.

He hadn’t made the final point aloud, but something that almost looked like pain flickered across Charles’s face anyway. For a moment, Dominic thought Charles might finally reveal more of himself than the steadfast support he’d offered for the last fifteen years.

And Charles did say a little more, although it wasn’t about himself. “Some loads you can’t put down even when you want to,” he murmured. “Make sure this isn’t one of them.”

The words sounded like they came from somewhere deep and personal. Somewhere Charles never let anyone see.

Dominic wanted to dig into that. But one of Dominic’s loads currently needed to sail with the tide.

Which meant it was time to take his leave. “Edmund, try not to cause any political scandals while I’m gone.” A back-slap, a grin. “And Charles, try not to waste so many words.”

A flash of teeth as the latter laughed—a rare enough occurrence that Dominic tucked the memory away as a true success. Then Dominic walked up the gangplank, feeling Edmund and Charles’s faith at his back like ballast. At least he had friends waiting at home.

And he had crew on the ship who were the next best thing to friends also. His first mate was checking cargo with the fierce focus of a man whose grandchildren’s future depended upon every barrel. His bosun was overseeing rigging with the intensity of someone who’d learned the hard way that carelessness cost blood.

Twelve families counting on a voyage Dominic hadn’t admitted—even to his closest friends—might be the ship’s last if one single thing went wrong.

He drew a breath, forced a smile. “Report?” he said to his crew at large.

“All in good order, Your Grace,” called the man who’d served as Dominic’s valet for years before following his lord to sea. The formal address was automatic, a remnant of their former life together.

It was also the exact wrong thing to say aboard ship.

Bennett—his first mate—caught Dominic’s eye. At sixty-three, Bennett had been sailing twice as long as Dominic had been alive, and his wisdom showed in every line of his weathered face. Years ago, he’d spoken warnings such as the one he and Dominic were both remembering:

“The men need to know which version of you is standing on this deck. The duke or the captain.”

Now, all it took was a look from his first mate before Dominic corrected the mistake. “Captain will do, Thompson.”

“Right. Sorry, Captain,” came his ex-valet’s red-cheeked answer.

It wasn’t the sort of misstep that would derail the voyage. Yet Dominic’s shoulders tightened anyway. There was no room for blunders on this trip.

Still, the departure proceeded smoothly after that. Sails catching wind with satisfying snaps of canvas. The Intrepid gliding away from the dock as if she’d been yearning for the water. By the time they reached open ocean, Dominic could almost breathe normally again.

Almost.

Still, after ensuring the crew had everything well in hand, he made his way to his cabin. He needed to not think about what depended upon this voyage for five minutes. He needed a moment alone to…

Opening the door, his thoughts and his steps stopped short.

Because sunset poured through the wester-most windows, turning everything golden. And there—silhouetted against all that light—stood a woman.

Long hair half-unpinned as if she’d slept on it…or done something far more interesting. Dress well made but scuffed and dirty. Curves that would have drawn a wolf whistle out of his crew.

She turned her head just a little, and he caught a glimpse of a sharp nose that might have been called unfortunate in a ballroom. Here, backlit by the Atlantic, it looked like the prow of a ship. Built for cutting through resistance. For pointing toward horizons.

It wasn’t the exteriors, though, that made his breath catch.

Instead, it was the way the woman’s face turned back to press against the glass like she was trying to swim through it. Her fingers traced patterns on the window—measurements, maybe? Or calculations?

The fading light continued to catch in her hair, making her profile ethereal. And his heart turned a back flip in his chest.

Any ordinary sea captain would have locked this problem away and handed her off to someone else at the nearest port. It was definitely a complication Dominic couldn’t afford. Not on this voyage.

But he recognized that desperate focus. He’d seen it in his own reflection at seventeen—the look of someone who’d staked everything on a single long-shot chance. He wouldn’t have survived that gamble without his friends’ help. And this woman appeared to be entirely alone.

Well, not precisely alone. Dominic was here. He could help her the way his friends had helped him.

Which didn’t mean he couldn’t tease her a little first.

“Well, well,” he said, unable to stop his smile. “What have we here?”

***

Chapter 3

Lydia spun around to find the captain—Ashworth, that dockworker had told her—in the doorway of her cabin.

Well, technically his cabin. Which she had commandeered. And now she’d been taken off guard without time to marshal her arguments.

The situation was definitely sub-optimal.

Perhaps that’s why she found herself staring. Up close, Captain Ashworth was even more formidable than she’d observed from the dock. Tall—approximately six feet based on the door frame he’d ducked beneath to enter—with curly, dark hair longer than fashion dictated and warm gray eyes that were currently studying her with an intensity that made her pulse jump.

She could feel his regard in her throat, her wrists, behind her ears…

“I can explain,” she said, pleased that her voice emerged steady.

One corner of his mouth curved upward in what appeared to be genuine amusement. “Can you? I’m fascinated to hear it.”

Fascinated. He’d said fascinated. Not with that particular inflection that meant amusing little woman. Just…fascinated.

Which was either promising or a trap. Possibly both.

She straightened to her full height. “I require passage to the Sargasso Sea. Your first mate refused to book a berth for me, citing a blanket policy against passengers.”

“We don’t allow passengers.” The captain could have stopped there, but instead he added, “Although usually I make final decisions of that sort. I suspect Mr. Bennett was protecting me from myself.”

Lydia frowned. His statement was nonsensical, so she ignored it and continued with her planned debate tactic.

“Given that this vessel is engaged in commercial trade rather than military operations, I calculated that negotiating from a position of fait accompli would prove more successful than continued requests through official channels.”

He blinked at her. Then his smile widened, and there was something in his expression that she couldn’t quite classify. Amusement, certainly. But also perhaps respect?

“Fait accompli,” he repeated. “Is that what we’re calling stowing away on merchant vessels nowadays?”

“It’s certainly more accurate than ‘stowing away,’” she countered, surprising herself with the sharpness in her tone. “After all, I fully intend to authorize my presence retroactively through appropriate compensation.”

“Retroactively.” He stalked toward his desk in a way that put her in mind of lions at the Royal Menagerie. The space abruptly shrank around her, and she fixated on his eyes to calm her thundering heart.

Their shade was the precise blue-gray of the ocean under storm clouds, her very favorite—

Stop it.

“And what exactly,” he said, settling one hip against his desk in a posture that suggested casual confidence, “are you planning to do in the Sargasso Sea that’s worth risking a merchant captain’s considerable wrath for?”

She met his gaze directly. Finally, a question she was prepared to answer.

“Research. I’m conducting a comprehensive survey of marine biology, with particular emphasis on species distribution and breeding behaviors in the Sargasso region. Current documentation is woefully inadequate, based primarily on dead specimens and secondhand accounts from sailors who lack proper taxonomic training. I intend to observe living creatures in their natural habitat and document previously unknown behaviors, preserving specimens as needed for proof of important findings.”

She could hear her own words spilling out too fast, but she couldn’t seem to stop them. “And the Caribbean itself,” she continued, “has remarkable botanical specimens beyond just the marine life. Haematoxylum campechianum—bloodwood—produces extraordinary dyes. The trees grow wild in hidden groves, completely free for harvesting. Though I understand the commercial viability is lower than mahogany.” She stopped herself. “But obviously the marine specimens are my primary focus.”

His expression didn’t change. He simply watched her. But suddenly, in her memory, his eyes were overlaid by the duller gray of George Perry’s. The words of the man she’d hoped would be her scientific mentor echoed through her head:

“Women lack the necessary rigor of mind for serious research. Their brains simply aren’t constructed for real scientific inquiry. Perhaps botanical illustration instead? Something suitable for young ladies of refined sensibility.”

She’d wanted to throw her preserved hagfish directly at Perry’s face. (Assault: illegal; deeply satisfying to contemplate; absolutely inadvisable in practice.) Instead, she’d decided to prove Perry wrong so thoroughly he’d choke upon his own condescension.

But first, she had to stay aboard this ship.

So she waited, bracing for the familiar words. Preparing her counterarguments.

“Collecting marine specimens,” the captain said slowly. “That’s quite ambitious for someone who just committed several crimes to get aboard my ship.”

“Technically only one crime,” she corrected, because precision mattered even in moments of impending humiliation. “Unauthorized boarding. Though I suppose one could argue trespassing was a separate offense, depending on how maritime law classifies private cabins within commercial vessels. That would require consulting legal precedent which I admit I haven’t…”

“Just the one crime then,” the captain interrupted, still smiling. “And you’re a naturalist?”

Here it comes, she thought. The part where he tells me that my ambitions are unsuitable for my sex.

“Yes.” She met his eyes directly, refusing to look away despite the discomfort of prolonged eye contact. “Though certain individuals in the scientific community would dispute that classification based solely on my sex rather than on my qualifications or the rigor of my methodology.”

Something shifted in his expression—a subtle change in the muscle tension around his eyes that she couldn’t quite interpret but that made her pulse accelerate again.

“Would they now,” he said quietly.

And then, in a tone that provoked the blossoming of something warm and impossible to quantify in her chest:

“How remarkably stupid of them.”

***

Keep reading in Seahorses & Sensibility!

New, FREE anthology for the holidays!

December 23, 2024 / Aimee Easterling / 0 Comments

New Samhain Shifters covers

My newsletter subscribers always get something new and free at this time of year, but I decided everyone deserved a treat this time around.

So I folded two never-before-published short stories in with some that my subscribers have already enjoyed and published the result in the anthology Fae Lights, free for a limited time!

Here’s what a couple of early reviewers have had to say:

“Charming, heart warming, cozie, fun, even a few old friends!” — Sunny, Goodreads

“All the stories, while short, end on a sweet, happy note. It’s the perfect book to settle down on the couch, snuggle up, and relax while reading.” — Jen T, Goodreads

(I also got brand new covers for the whole Samhain Shifters series and love them so much I couldn’t resist showing them off here.)

Happy holidays!

All the news I apparently didn’t think was fit to print…

April 10, 2023 / Aimee Easterling / 0 Comments

If you’re an audio fan, you might have missed Wolf Trap hitting all retailers in listenable form. The ebook will also be dropping out of Kindle Unlimited and reaching the non-Amazon sites in two short weeks.

Finally, if you have friends who prefer to read in German, I hope you’ll mention that the translated version of Mai’s series is now bundled up (and the first book is free) while Kira’s first adventure has been translated as well.

Phew, that’s a lot of new stuff! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

More book recommendations!

February 25, 2023 / Aimee Easterling / 0 Comments

I realized it had been almost a year since I’d summed up recent beloved books. How time flies when your kindle is perpetually full! As usual, I’m going to start with books most like mine and veer away a bit near the end, but every one of these is a very good read.

Black Hat, White Witch begins a deeply bingeable series full of the warmth of found family, an excellent slow-burn romance, and a great urban fantasy adventure. All the books are in Kindle Unlimited, which is probably a good thing because it’s impossible to stop at book one.

Wolf in the Shadows probably isn’t the best book to start with. (It’s book 6.) But if you’ve been reading along, you won’t want to miss this continuation of Maria Vale’s usual excellent worldbuilding and the very unique shifter pack she immerses us in. (If you haven’t been reading along, head back to book one of course.)

Silver Silence is my favorite of the Nalini Singh books I’ve read so far. I’m usually not a big fan of bear shifters, but this Russian alpha with his big, wobbly family is irresistible. Meanwhile, the heroine’s dilemma is page-turning. A must read!

Soulless was a re-read this year and a much-deserved one. Gail Carriger is such a master of the spunky Victorian heroine, the gruff werewolves, and the perfect blend of adventure and romance.

Only a Monster is a little darker than I usually prefer, but the worldbuilding and characters are so excellent that it’s well worth the read. (Young adult.)

The Wisteria Society of Lady Scoundrels is good, but I probably wouldn’t have recommended it if I hadn’t liked book two even more. The worldbuilding is just so excellent — women as witchy pirates piloting flying houses!

If you’re willing to accept my theory that space opera is basically urban fantasy at its heart, you’ll love Hunt the Stars. So many excellent female characters, a wonderful romance, a darling alien pet, and a space ship crew that might as well be a wolf pack. Read it.

I hope that keeps you busy until May when my next book comes out!

Favorite fantasy novellas of the winter

April 5, 2022 / Aimee Easterling / 0 Comments

Fantasy novella recommendations

I was recently approached by the new website Shepherd.com to share my all-time favorite werewolf books for lovers of fantasy and romance. These are the classics I’d recommend to someone who just discovered how awesome werewolf books can be and didn’t know where to start diving into the massive backlist. Perhaps even those of you who’ve been reading for quite a while will find something new there?

If not, I read three definite crowd pleasers recently:

Silent Blade by Ilona Andrews — I’m not sure how I missed this delightful series of novellas that combine action, fantasy/light sci-fi, and romance in perfect proportions. I can only suppose the covers threw me off. Don’t let yourself fall for the same avoidance tactics!

Tarnished Knight by Bec McMaster — This is part of the author’s paranormal Victorian/steampunk series, some of which I like more than others. This particular novella is tight and delightful, with a fascinating setting that combines gritty city streets and Christmas cheer.

A Spindle Splintered by Alix E. Harrow — My final recommendation is a bit on the young adult side and is a fairy tale retelling rather than straight fantasy. But it’s such a delightful, self-aware fairy tale retelling, complete with lovely art, bits of research, and great characters. I suspect you won’t be disappointed if you give it a try.

Happy reading!

Samhain Shifters box set live in ebook, print, and audio!

February 15, 2022 / Aimee Easterling / 0 Comments

Have you been waiting to grab a copy of my Samhain Shifters trilogy until I bundled the books up? Well, wait no longer! Moon Glamour, Charmed Wolf, and Fae Wolf are all included in the new box set, available as ebook, paperback, and audiobook. If you’re reading this before February 21, you’re in time to take advantage of launch pricing, which knocks down the cost even further. Happy binging!

Fae Wolf now live in audio!

September 8, 2021 / Aimee Easterling / 0 Comments

Want to listen along to the adventure of a changeling werewolf finding her way outside Faery for the first time? Fae Wolf is now live in audio on all retailers!

I also have a surprise ebook launching in one short week. Stay tuned for details!

Charmed Wolf now live in audio

August 9, 2021 / Aimee Easterling / 0 Comments

I’m excited to have a new audiobook to share with you today! Here’s a teaser in case you want to listen before hopping over to your favorite retailer site:

As usual, the audiobook is available on all retailers. So you can use your Audible subscription, can check out (or request) a copy at your local library, or can head to Author’s Direct for the lowest price. All relevant links are compiled here.

Happy listening…and stay tuned for the third book in the series, coming out in audio within the next month (I hope).

Fae Wolf Sneak Peek

July 5, 2021 / Aimee Easterling / 0 Comments

Although Fae Wolf is the third book in the Samhain Shifters series, it can be enjoyed as a standalone. So feel free to dive right in!

Chapter 1

“Friendly, my ass.”

The stranger’s deep rumble carried through the double library shelves before curling around me like a sun-warmed puppy. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t quite hold the obvious rejoinder in check.

“Your ass is friendly?” I shot back. “How do you know? Has it been butt dialing again?”

My jokes, I’m well aware, aren’t exactly funny. But I wasn’t prepared for such a violent response.

The peace of the library was broken by a clatter of falling books from the opposite side of the shelves. A huge hand thrust through the second tier of hardbacks to rake those in his direction also. Then a single tome clenched in strong fingers slammed down flat on the shelf, a face pressing through the gap to rest on the plastic-lined cover.

The stranger was my age or a little older. Appealingly stubble-jawed. Boasting an intriguing tattoo that curved out of his t-shirt and up one side of his neck.

But his eyes were what caught my attention. Startlingly blue, glinting with interest…and shadowed by something wild and furry and entirely familiar.

He was a wolf, like me.

My breath caught. Aiti and I had chosen this town thinking it was on the contested periphery of two werewolf territories, a location unlikely to be visited by either potential owner. We always skirted territory interiors where werewolves were likely to wander.

Apparently our research had proven wrong.

Backing up—one step, two steps—my butt hit the shelf behind me. Right. Library. Shelving. Exits were to the sides, not behind.

“Um, my mistake,” I muttered, trying to heft the massive bag of discards I’d set on the floor while browsing the stacks. I had to stock up when I could since visiting libraries was a rare indulgence. Still, I really should have left after achieving that goal.

But Aiti liked to take her time scavenging goods to bring back with us to Faery, so I had time to kill. And the plastic-sleeved hardbacks on the shelves, the ones I couldn’t actually check out since I had no address here on earth, tempted me with their diversity.

Now, my overloaded pack caught on the sleek wooden paddle—glamoured with a sheen of Faery magic to look like a walking stick—clasped in my other hand. The pack thumped to the floor, the paddle’s handle caught between my legs, and I would have fallen onto the shelf in front of me—the one I’d been trying to scramble away from—if an arm hadn’t shot out of that gap to hold me up.

The stranger’s fingers were warm on my skin but entirely impersonal. They set me on my feet then retreated. The face, when it returned to the gap, no longer had interest sparking in its pupils.

There was now no wolf behind his eyes.

“Hey,” the shifter soothed, “I’m not going to hurt you. I didn’t realize you were a kid.”

I wasn’t a kid. Still, the stranger’s words settled me. They meant my cloak was working, helping me blend into whichever setting I wandered through. Given the backpack and library, I wasn’t surprised my cloak had glamoured me into the form of a rather tall child.

A child with no wolf inside her. I wasn’t about to be slapped with a werewolf territorial battle while boasting no home base of my own.

Grinning from sheer relief, I couldn’t resist a rebuttal. “I’m older than I look.” The sentence amused me because it was both what every kid imaginable proclaimed…and the honest truth in my case.

Meanwhile, my heels settled back onto the floor. This werewolf was safely on the other side of a double-shelf barrier and he thought I was an underage human. Perhaps I could do what I’d never done previously—quench my curiosity about my own kind.

I had to give the other shifter a reason to stick around and chat, however. So I scanned the title of the book beneath his chin. “Pixies,” I noted, “are friendly. Mischievous maybe. Definitely likely to keep you up all night with their revelry.”

He tried to cock his head…and ended up knocking one ear against a book, which promptly collided with another book and created a second mini-cascade of library materials. I considered a joke about bulls and china shops, but the guy’s wince prompted me to let the moment pass.

He, on the other hand, didn’t ignore his blunder. “This kind of thing is normal for me,” the stranger observed after the clatter ceased. He nodded at a librarian who’d poked her head in to check on us. “I’ll pick it up,” he promised. “No worries.”

Proving his good intentions, he stooped, disappearing for a moment then reappearing with books in his arms. His voice lowered to more library-friendly levels as he repaired the damage he’d created save for the gap that let us converse.

“But,” he continued while swapping two titles that were, presumably, in the wrong order, “windstorms don’t usually come out of nowhere and knock my bike off the road. I don’t usually walk into holes that weren’t there the day before. Mosquitoes never used to like me but now when I go outside I get eaten up.”

He frowned and I got the distinct impression he hadn’t meant to spill his guts to a random not-really-kid in the public library. To distract him, I provided information he wouldn’t find in the book beneath his chin.

“Could be spriggans,” I suggested. “Or a curse. But, most of the time, things like that are just our brains trying to make sense of a string of unrelated bad luck….”

I trailed off as the paddle in my hand started moving across the floor without any help from my muscles. It was trying to stroke water…which meant Aiti’s canoe was leaving port.

And all thought of learning about my heritage faded as a pure shot of adrenaline coursed through me. I hadn’t taken a single step, but I was already out of breath when I made the barest of excuses. “Gotta go.”

This time, I managed to get the bag’s strap over my shoulder and myself turned toward the exit without falling over. I was home free, except….

“Wait.” The stranger’s voice had gone gruff. Lupine. It tried to snag my feet…

…But the cloak’s fae power rebuffed whatever werewolf magic he was spinning. Freed, I sprinted toward the exit, craving the stranger’s presence even as I left it.

I didn’t peer back over my shoulder though. Werewolves were intriguing. This particular werewolf was particularly intriguing.

But my Aiti was my life.

***

Unfortunately, Aiti wasn’t at the canoe. And our vessel wasn’t bottom-up on the bank the way it should have been. Instead, the boat rested in the water, straining against the rope we’d moored it with just in case the vessel developed a mind of its own.

The tether should have meant we were fine, but the rope was fraying. As if whatever force had pulled the canoe away from this human shore was stronger than braided unicorn-mane—patently impossible.

“Freakin’ fiddlesticks,” I muttered, grabbing the rope and heaving it toward me until there was a little slack to work with. A quick knot to bypass the weak area and I could trust the tether again…for a while at least. But I needed to find Aiti and get her back to the canoe before another strand snapped.

Because if the canoe left without us, we’d be stranded on earth. And while I might be suited to this environment by reason of my birth, Aiti wasn’t. A fae outside Faery was forced to turn to mortals for sustenance or fade away entirely. Of the two options, I knew which my adopted mother would choose.

Meanwhile, the danger shouldn’t have been an issue. Her paddle would have provided the same warning mine did. Why hadn’t she hurried back?

Dropping my books and paddle by the canoe, I spread the cloak over top even though going without was a risk. Wasting time lugging around burdens when the canoe was acting strangely seemed like an even worse bet.

My feet were loud on the pavement as I headed back to town, nothing like the muted whisper they would have made in Faery. “Farmer’s market,” I called to a shopper emerging from a grocery store. When he didn’t reply, I stood taller and made an effort to mimic the brusqueness of earth dwellers. “Where’s the farmer’s market?”

“Crazy hippies.” The man made a face, proving I hadn’t gotten the local intonation down. Still, when I flashed the barest hint of wolf at him, he muttered something even less complimentary then pointed to his left.

The name of the game was to blend in while on earth, and I’d thoroughly blown that. But the human in front of me probably had no idea why his heart rate had picked up when my inner wolf growled.

I could only hope fear hadn’t made him ornery. Hope he’d sent me the proper way.

He had. Colorful tents. Happy chatter. Relief flooded me like helium as I caught sight of Aiti in front of a booth of cheeses.

She was cloaked, which meant she seemed to possess a rather hooked nose instead of a bird beak in the middle of her mostly human features. Wolf senses meant I heard her long before I reached her, and her conversation came across as perfectly ordinary as well.

“You’re worried.” She reached across to pat the hand of the proprietor, a tiny woman who was almost as bird-like as Aiti without the cloak.

The farmer nodded. “Clover is so old. I didn’t mean to breed her, but the bull got in last year. She’s due to calve this week and I don’t think she’ll make it.”

The untrained eye wouldn’t have caught the spark of magic, not in broad daylight. But I was used to Aiti giving away what other fae would have charged an arm and a leg for (possibly literally). So I knew she’d passed over a parcel of good luck along with her second hand pat.

Her gentle words activated the magic. “She’ll make it.”

The farmer smiled, worry easing off her shoulders. “You know, I think you’re right.”

Then I was close enough to grab my adopted mother’s arm. To breathlessly spit out the honorific I used to address her. “Aiti. We need to go. Now.”

Aiti didn’t move. Instead, the farmer was the one who smiled at me as if she and Aiti were old friends rather than strangers who couldn’t have spent more than half an hour together. “This must be your daughter. Skye, right? Try a sample.”

There they were. A row of earthly foods free for the taking, toothpicks at the ready for mess-free handling. Each selection smelled delicious…and if I ate a single bite, Faery would no longer be my home.

My eyes widened. Was that why Aiti hadn’t noticed the canoe’s tug at the same time I had? I’d thought fae could eat whatever they wanted. That my changeling status—not really one thing or the other—was why I had to be so careful about consuming only the food of Faery. But maybe I’d been wrong….

No. I saw her paddle—glamoured to look like a cane—leaning against the table leg. Aiti shouldn’t have set it down. That was the very first rule she’d imparted when she’d deemed me responsible enough to be separated from her during our trading trips. In the decade plus between then and now, our roles had reversed.

Because Aiti was growing older. Her mind, I’d noticed in the last year and a half, was prone to wandering. Especially when faced with another’s pain.

I softened my tone. “Aiti, your cane.”

“Yes?” For a moment, her eyes were confused, empty. Then her mouth rounded. “Oh!”

The moment her fingers closed around the paddle, her urgency exploded. “Be sure to pat your cow tonight,” she called back to the farmer as she ran toward the exit. “And enjoy your new calf!”

Behind her, Aiti left peace. She always left peace wherever we traveled.

She herself, however, was frantic. The moment we emerged from the mass of seething shoppers, she panted out an explanation. “The borders are closing!”

“Closing? What do you mean by ‘closing’?” I grabbed her bag and paddle to speed us up, wishing that I could lift my Aiti and carry her as easily.

I couldn’t, though. It would have offended her dignity.

So I let her move under her own volition as she panted out explanations. “The last time the borders closed. Oof”—her clawed foot caught on a crack in the pavement and she nearly fell before steadying herself and continuing—“earth and Faery were separated for centuries.”

We rounded a corner and came within sight of the river. For one split second, I couldn’t see the canoe. My breath caught.

Then it bobbed back into view beneath a wooden dock. My knot had held.

Closing the distance between me and the tether while letting Aiti hop along more slowly, I yanked on the rope to draw the vessel to shore then heaved gear into its roomy bottom. Bag of books. Cloak. My paddle. Aiti’s pack.

By this point, my adopted mother was close enough for me to urge her: “Get in!”

But Aiti didn’t hurry into our craft the way she should have. Instead, she took my hand.

Her fingers, I noticed, ended in feathery tufts instead of the human-style nails that had been present last week. Reversion. I winced, shaking my head. Aiti couldn’t be reverting. We’d just spent too long away from Faery during our current trip. That was all.

Unaware of my worries, Aiti peered into my eyes and spouted words that made no sense at first. “Maybe this is for the best, Skye. You’re grown. Earth was always meant to be your home.”

For a long moment, I didn’t understand what she was saying. Then I did and I hated it. “What are you talking about? Earth is for visiting. You draw your sustenance from Faery. If the borders are closing, we need to get back.”

“And be stuck in the Unseelie Court for the rest of your life? It’s not safe for you there.”

“Less safe for you alone.” I couldn’t physically throw my Aiti into the boat, I didn’t think. But I could toss in her paddle and steady the side to make it easier for her to enter. “We need to hurry.”

“We can spare thirty seconds for you to consider your options.” Now Aiti didn’t look lost and abstracted. She looked like the mother who had raised and protected me, teaching me right from wrong and introducing me to the wonder of two worlds. “Think about the decision you’re making. This might be your only chance.”

“It’s an easy choice,” I answered.

And, despite the werewolf in the library, it was easy. Aiti was everything to me. She could only survive in Faery.

I leapt into the boat.

Chapter 2

Six months later….

The master of ceremonies was supposed to open the door and announce me. But he was too busy manipulating one of the serving girls like she was a puppet on a string.

“Pick it up.” His voice was fae, which meant it was musical. But the words tinkled like broken glass rather than sparkling with the ease of wind chimes. He was enjoying causing pain.

At first, I couldn’t see what was so pain-inducing about the stooped young woman his maliciousness was focused on. But as I came closer, I made out a long-legged being on the ground in front of her. The fuzzy spider—nearly as large as her palm—tried to scuttle up the girl’s sleeve and her entire body quivered in reaction. She slammed her free hand down around the fabric but didn’t attempt to shake the spider loose.

Didn’t because she couldn’t. The master of ceremonies was grinning so wide his words were distorted: “Now open up your mouth.”

Melissa. That was her name. I remembered the young woman arriving a month ago, pink-cheeked and happy and seeming more like a being of earth than of Faery. Now, she folded in on herself as she tried to cringe away from her own hand. “Sir. Please. Don’t make me.”

Her tormentor shook his head as if she was a recalcitrant child refusing to eat her Brussels sprouts. “Melissa, Melissa, Melissa.”

And the young woman’s mouth gaped open. She had no choice other than to obey since her true name was known by one and all.

The master of ceremonies, in contrast, hid his true name the way all strong fae did. Which meant getting him to back down would require a different approach.

On earth, I would’ve kicked the guy in the balls then called the cops on him. Here, I couldn’t afford to make quite so many waves.

Still, I wasn’t about to let Melissa be terrorized in front of me. So I cleared my throat then launched into diversionary tactics. “You do realize your shoelaces are untied?”

The distraction worked. The master of ceremonies relinquished his control over Melissa as he glanced down at his own footwear, which was pretty stupid of him since his knee-high boots were held in place with copper zippers. “I don’t think…” he began before snapping his mouth shut.

The instant he realized he’d been tricked, a flash of something fiery surged out of him. The heat singed my skin and it wasn’t even aimed at me.

It was aimed at Melissa and the impulse wasn’t restricted to making her eat spiders either. The master of ceremonies intended to follow in his Queen’s footsteps and resort to physical torture.

He intended…but he didn’t succeed. Because Melissa had already skittered away down the corridor. Zip Boots couldn’t leave his post to go after her. And his attention span had proven short in the past.

Problem solved.

Without giving him time to turn his maliciousness in my direction, I yanked open the door for myself and entered the presence of a Queen who made the master of ceremonies look like a plush teddy bear. Still, spunk was my only armor against the fae, so I waved as if the Unseelie Court’s monarch was a random acquaintance.

“Hi,” I started. Then, once her perfectly chiseled eyebrows dropped into a glower, I added “—ness. Silent G and H. But you heard them. Right, Your Majesty?”

Last time I’d been this insolent, the Queen of the Unseelie Court had threatened to string me up by my toenails. But we’d both known it was an idle threat. Unlike everyone else in the vicinity, I was a mortal. If the Queen broke me, I’d stay broken. My changeling status made me too entertaining to waste in a fit of pique.

I waited for the flash of anger as the Queen worked through that well-worn mental pathway. Instead, she simply shook her head.

“I don’t have time for your antics, pup.”

Yes, here in Faery I was considered a child, and not because of any cloak magic. After all, if you live forever, twenty-five years is the blink of an eye.

I wanted to make the most of my remaining eye blinks, so I dropped into a genuflection so deep it was almost parody. And…my nemesis ignored that also. Something had to be going on.

“You’re certain you saw it.” While my head was down, the Queen had turned away to address a fae who didn’t look familiar to me. Not a Court fae. Or maybe a Court fae who’d donned a different glamour. It was confusing hanging out with beings able to change their physical aspects at will.

Which, I mean, I could also. Just in a slightly different way…and, for the last six months, only with the Queen’s consent.

“I’m certain, Your Majesty,” the fae answered. His voice was so soft I could barely hear it. He was terrified of the Queen, and I realized why when she spoke next.

“You’re certain…or you think bringing false information will save you from punishment? I didn’t grant permission for you to leave last Samhain.” The Queen crooked one finger, waiting until the guy shuffled three minuscule steps forward. Only then did she purr out an ice-loaded order. “Tell me again what you saw.”

“I”—he gulped, a tremor running across his face then down his throat—“I saw your son pull a sword out of the ground. One moment there was nothing but pavement. The next moment a gleaming weapon was present. It had to be the Kingmaker.”

“Soon to be known as the Queenmaker,” our covetous monarch murmured. Then, louder: “We’ll see about that.”

She snapped her fingers and Mr. I-Forgot-My-Boots-Zip stopped hovering in the doorway so he could roll a vast silver mirror away from the wall. Until two seasons ago, this is what the Queen had used to spy on the human realm. Now….

I scrambled up out of my genuflection and inserted myself into their conversation. “In case you’ve forgotten,” I told the Queen unhelpfully, “you sealed the borders after your son fled.”

“In case you’ve forgotten,” she countered, “I have ways of boosting my reach.”

So that’s why I was here. For one split second, I closed my eyes and dropped deep inside myself to where a wolf waited.

“Skye.” My name on the Queen’s tongue was harsh.

But I wasn’t fae so I was able to ignore her. To whisper to my other self: Hide.

The wolf’s ears twitched once. A searing pain shot through me, as if someone had stabbed my kidney with an icicle. Then my fur form was gone, hidden so deep inside that I couldn’t have shifted if I wanted to.

“Skye.” The Queen’s temper had always been short, but today her repetition of my name was redolent with something darker. Where her lackey had turned hot in his annoyance, she instead seemed to suck all oxygen out of the air.

Perhaps it was time to stop playing games.

I opened my eyes and bowed my head. “Your Majesty. I choose my left shoulder.”

Shoelaceless was pushing up my sleeve, hands rough, when the Queen’s voice slapped both of us. “Did I say you had a choice in the matter?”

The resulting silence was deafening. My sleeve dropped back down over my wrist as the Queen’s lackey stumbled back.

For an endless moment, we all waited. Then, deciding that the Queen wanted an answer to her rhetorical question, I provided one.

“No, Your Majesty.” Deep, apologetic bow. “My mistake.” Deeper bow, which ended up cracking my forehead against the throne arm. Ow.

The Queen’s smugness cupped me. She hadn’t cared what I answered. She just wanted to prove she could make me kowtow.

Well, mission accomplished. Turning away, she addressed He-Who-Didn’t-Know-What-He-Was-Wearing-On-His-Smelly-Feet. “Tattoo her cheek.”

I winced. That would be painful…and would also make it harder to blend in during trading missions.

If, that is, the border ever reopened.

But I knew when to cut my losses. I tilted my head and waited for the needle to push into the thin skin over my left cheekbone. My wolf’s steadfastness would have proven handy at this moment, but I’d told her to hide.

So I gritted my teeth and bore the pain as a fae only a quarter as evil as his mistress tattooed strength and energy out of my skin.

***

My tattoo channeled energy into the Queen’s mirror, turning the formerly reflective surface back into the visual portal it had once been. With the borders closed, none of us could physically cross over to earth. But a little boost was enough to morph an already magicked mirror into a window into the past, present, or near future.

Sure enough, the mirror shimmered awake before Copper-Zip-Or-Was-That-Zit? had finished. The surface swirled to display an alley lit by human lampposts. Bodies wove in and out of the half-light so quickly it was hard to distinguish them. All I could tell was that a battle was taking place.

No, that wasn’t all. The scene settled and I saw the fae who the Queen had been questioning, the wound on his cheek present as a fresh cut rather than the scab it was now. If I had to guess, this vision occurred sometime in the recent past, half a week ago maybe.

“Now,” the Queen purred, “we’ll see whether your story is enough to save your skin.”

Here in front of me, the fae in question shrank in on himself. In the mirror, the past aspect of the same fae found himself at the center of the melee.

He and two others fought with nothing but glamour and kindergarten trickery. Having crossed over without the Queen’s permission, they were unbearably weak.

Weak by fae standards, but strong compared to the mortals trying to best them. My gaze caught on one of those enemies, a man as rough around the edges as the Queen was perfectly polished.

He was surprisingly familiar. Tattoos. Stubble. Startlingly blue eyes….

The werewolf from the library. My heart rate sped up.

And a sword sliced so close to the side of his head that hair sprayed out like a halo. Rather than growling, the shifter grinned.

“Did you hear the one about the guy with a sword in his ear?” he asked nobody, the sound not coming through the mirror but his lips easy to read. He waited a beat, during which he parried and attacked before completing the joke that no one other than me seemed to be paying attention to. “Well, neither did he. Hard to hear through a sword.”

I stifled a smile, both because of the awfulness of his joke and because I’d been partially successful. Hiding my own inner animal had done that much, at least. The Queen had stolen enough energy from me to power sight but not hearing.

It was almost as if the shifter was privy to my pleasure. His eyes rose until they met mine through the mirror and his mouth quirked upwards even further. Our gazes locked and something warm tugged at my belly.

Then another fae leapt up behind him and I couldn’t help myself. I pointed….

And the burly shifter twisted away just in time. Twisted and skewered his attacker, who poofed out as all earth-based fae did when run through with steel or iron. The fae wasn’t dead, just sent back to the world in which I now stood.

“Those are mayfly swords.” The Queen broke the moment that had to have been in my imagination only, using the insult fae often threw at mortals. Mayflies—we lived for a mere season. We weren’t worth bothering with.

And now the Queen was growing bored with watching mayflies; I could tell by her voice. Nobody was bleeding in the scene on the mirror, which meant someone in this room would bleed soon. I could only hope the someone in question wasn’t me.

“The Kingmaker hasn’t arrived yet,” the fae who was both in the mirror and here told her. His voice trembled, but he was incapable of lying. All fae were. Likely, he was just scared to death.

“Then why…?” the Queen started.

Before she could finish her query, we saw it. Every one of us saw it—those in the audience chamber and those in the alley. A silver sword with a copper handle popping into existence like something out of an Imbolc glamour show.

But Imbolc glamour shows didn’t happen on earth. No wonder the rough-around-the-edges shifter emoted. Silently yet perfectly understandable.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

“What did he say?” the Queen demanded.

“Perhaps you should take a course in lipreading,” I countered.

Which was stupid. I needed to learn to hold my tongue before I lost it. Because my insolence had fixated the Queen’s attention on me. Never a good thing.

Her eyes narrowed. “This vision should be stronger. You disobeyed me. You shifted.”

“I didn’t.” Which wasn’t entirely true. Eight months ago, I’d been unable to resist the glow of the moon above foggy waters when my adopted mother and I paddled our canoe through Faery waters, back when crossing over was something we did monthly. I’d donned fur and swum alongside her for fifteen glorious minutes….

But releasing pent-up energy three seasons in the past wasn’t why the Queen’s scrying had only half-worked this time. The reason was my wolf, hiding so deep inside even I couldn’t find her. The coldness in my belly overtook the warmth from the shifter’s grin and self-preservation kicked in.

Turning the conversation back to the Queen’s original question, I told her: “He said, ‘well, will you look at that.’”

Unlike the fae, I could lie. And I was lying…but only to keep the peace. The Queen didn’t allow expletives in her presence and the shifter had actually said, “Fuck a duck.”

“Hmm.” The Queen returned her attention to the mirror. There, her son—one of her two sons, actually, the younger one who was fully fae but who had willingly left Court to live on earth—drew the sword out of the alley’s pavement. The gesture should have taken extreme effort, but he made it look as easy as picking a cookie up off a tray. “And what,” the Queen continued, “did my mayfly-loving son say next?”

This one was easier. “I believe, Your Majesty, that Erskine’s response was, ‘Huh.’”

Then Erskine was using the Kingmaker to swipe through fae who’d frozen into place. Fae who didn’t even try to dodge as he skewered them one after the other, cutting short their jaunt in the human world and returning them here, to the Unseelie Court. Home sweet home for all of us ever since the borders had slammed shut.

Erskine should have been exhilarated at the success. After all, gossip in Court had it that he’d chosen mortals over fae, had chosen to work with the group known as the Samhain Shifters to send fae back to Faery. A selfless gesture, one intended to protect those who had a hard time fighting back against the magically endowed.

And he’d succeeded. As of today, there were no recently crossed over fae remaining in the human realm.

But in this particular vision, Erskine wasn’t elated. He didn’t look like the playful fae prince who’d once blended in with the beauty of Court without ever turning malicious either.

Instead, his eyes were sunken into his head. Lines I didn’t remember bracketed his mouth. And, as the final fae invader faded out of the alley, the Queen’s son turned to the rough-around-the-edges shifter and said, “I can’t do this, Ryder. I don’t want this.”

Ryder shrugged. “Throw it away then. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“The Kingmaker isn’t rubbish.”

A shiver spun through me. Erskine knew what he held, and soon the Queen would ask me to translate….

But she’d seen everything she needed to see. The Kingmaker existed. Her son had the sword. She no longer cared about earth-based conversations.

Turning away from the mirror, she jerked her chin at Zip-Boots. “Peel him.”

“Your Majesty?”

“This faithless courtier. Like a grape. Remove the skin.”

It would grow back. We all knew that. But the pain would be unbearable, the regrowth worse as skin itched back into existence.

The fae being sentenced collapsed into a quivering heap at her feet. “Your Majesty, please. I promise….”

The scene in the mirror had begun lightening back to silver as the Queen’s attention turned to more sadistic pursuits. But there was just enough residual magic to let me see what the Queen did not.

The sword—the Kingmaker—had just changed hands.

“Really?” the rough-around-the-edges shifter said. “When I asked for a heartfelt gift, I thought you’d give me something useful. Blood maybe. Get it? Heart? Blood?”

I choked on my laugh. Not at the joke, but at the look on Erskine’s face. He might live among mortals now, but he was fae at his core. Earthly humor was beyond him.

Only, my laughter was a mistake just as it had been before. It drew the Queen’s attention back to me…and to the mirror.

My breath caught. But the scrying surface now shimmered silver and impenetrable. The Queen’s stare, in contrast, was as tangible as a slap.

“You think this is funny, pup?” She took a step toward me…which just so happened to grind her heel into the fallen fae’s fingers. He whimpered, but she didn’t even glance downward. Just twisted her foot to deepen the pain then continued pacing forward until she was in my face.

In my face, stinking of flowers and Queenliness. My wolf wanted to rise up and protect me, but I couldn’t risk it. Not if another tattoo was imminent.

I clenched my fists and stood my ground, no stronger than a human. “No, ma’am. Nothing funny here.”

“What will be funny,” the Queen murmured, voice so low I could barely hear with my wolf hiding, “is when I peel someone else alongside this traitor. Someone who can handle enough pain to be entertaining.”

Her foot shot backwards, right into the fae’s chin. As if she knew without looking where all of his weak spots were.

Just like she knew the location of mine.

“You might consider pleasing me,” the Queen continued, “for your Aiti’s sake. Or should I say…for the sake of your Mom?”

Chapter 3

I somehow made it out of the audience chamber on autopilot. Looked tough enough so I wasn’t messed with by any of the fae I stalked past on the way to the quarters I shared with my mother.

But my brain was a mess. Aiti. I’d picked the honorific off a list when I first grew into my human skin over a decade ago. I’d thought no one would ever guess what it meant.

“Why can’t I call you Mom?” I’d asked, my mouth contorting as it tried to work itself around sounds I’d heard spoken all my life yet had no ability to spit out of my lupine snout. Newly two-legged, I finally had the requisite human anatomy…and the words still had trouble emerging from my flexible lips.

My adopted mother understood though. “It’s not safe for either of us to let the world know the depth of our connection.” She’d pulled me into her side, turning the wooden spits we used to cook campfire dinners out in the Between where few fae traveled. One turn to her vegetables, an endless gentle spin to my hunks of meat to make sure there were no burnt spots.

“The Queen,” she continued, “could take advantage when we’re at Court. She thinks affection is a weakness. She’s wrong…and she’s right.”

We had to go to Court to sell our goods, so I knew what my mother meant. Court-dwelling parents sent their children off to be raised by others for everyone’s protection. The one set of fated mates I’d met—fully bonded and unable to live apart—were constantly terrorized. Caring, in the Unseelie Court, was like displaying an open wound and begging for it to be poked.

Still, before the border closed, the time we spent in Court was short and infrequent. My mother’s argument had seemed irrelevant at the time. “I could call you Mom when we’re traveling. I just won’t use a name when we visit the Queen. That’s not strange. Fae dance around their true names all the time.”

In lieu of a reply, Aiti cradled my face just like she used to when I was four-legged and she was the center of my tiny universe. She’d found me as a pup when I’d been tossed aside by shifter parents unwilling to raise a bloodling—a wolf-form baby. Ever since, she’d nurtured me even though I wasn’t fae or even the right kind of werewolf.

Despite our differences, it had been the two of us against the world from that moment forward. I fully expected her to accept my naming compromise.

Instead, she’d murmured: “And if you slip up? What then?”

So I hadn’t called her Mom. Instead, we’d agreed upon a better solution. So many cultures, so many languages. It wasn’t hard to find one where children addressed their mothers with a name that sounded nothing like Mom.

I’d thought we were clever. A few times during Court visits, I’d twisted Aiti until it sounded like “Cruel Mistress, must I really obey you?” Fae had tittered. I’d known word of my antipathy would travel to the Queen.

But what had proven effective during short stays in Court hadn’t stood up under a six-month travel ban. The Queen was as clever as she was cruel. No wonder she’d sniffed out how much I loved this fae woman and how much Aiti loved me back.

Had sniffed out our weakness and understood how to use that formerly hidden chink in my armor against both of us. Aiti wasn’t mortal. She could be tortured without risking permanent loss to one of the Queen’s useful tools.

All of this went through my head as I rushed down the corridor. Thrusting open the door to our quarters without knocking, I found my Aiti curled up on the window ledge reading one of the books I’d snagged out of the discard bin. Reading wasn’t quite travel, but losing herself in story was close enough.

Any other day, I would have curled up beside her, offering the comfort of my presence while taking the same from my Aiti. It was hard on both of us being cooped up in Court.

But snuggling wasn’t going to fix this problem. So I closed the door and padded closer. Then, speaking quietly so no one in the corridor could hear, I told her, “We have to cross over. Tonight.”

***

Aiti didn’t answer at first. Instead, she stuck a brilliant blue feather she’d molted out of her crest between the pages in lieu of a bookmark. Pierced me with eyes lacking irises. Cocked her head.

Just like always, her silence pulled words out of me. “The Queen knows what ‘Aiti’ means. Court is no longer safe for you. I know the borders are closed to fae, but I’m from earth. I think I can get us across.”

“And then?”

I’d put a lot of thought into this over the last six months. Back then, I’d hopped into the canoe because I’d thought Faery was the only place where my mother could survive. But here at Court, nosing into places that were none of my business, I’d learned about alternatives.

“You wouldn’t have to steal energy to live on earth. You could just soak up overflow when humans are exuberant. It would be enough for survival if not for major magic tricks. The feeding method is entirely benign.”

She hummed for a moment, the vibration both soothing and musical. Then: “Leaving will be dangerous.”

My mother wasn’t trying to talk me out of it. The ache in my chest loosened despite the pang of knowledge about what we’d both be losing. Spring flowers that sparkled like jewels. Bird song that rivaled earth orchestras. Faery’s beauty was profound…and leaving was easy if it meant my mother would remain safe.

So I grabbed my traveling bag—dusty from long disuse—and started stuffing essentials inside it. “Not more dangerous than staying here.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noted that Aiti hadn’t picked up her own luggage. Instead, she remained still in the way only fae could. My hands slowed, then stopped.

“Aiti, please.”

My mother’s face could be hard to read for those unaccustomed to her increasingly bird-like features. But the wateriness of her eyes suggested she was sad. “Does your gut say this is the right thing to do?”

Aiti was big on intuition. I nodded.

“Are you sure? Look deeper.”

We didn’t have time to waste, but I obeyed her anyway. Closed my eyes and felt into the darkness of my psyche as if I was walking blind through a cave.

I wasn’t actually going anywhere, just seeking out my wolf and her instincts. A waking dream, maybe. Whatever it was, within seconds, my immaterial fingers brushed against the fur of my lupine half. The knot in my stomach eased at her presence. I fisted her ruff and let her act as my guide.

As always, my wolf was ready and willing. Tugging me forward, we left behind both Court and the land of Faery. Passed through darkness into light.

On the other end was an unshaven shifter with a smirk on his lips. “Knock, knock,” Ryder said, tapping on my head by way of greeting.

The touch—completely unreal—sent a tingle up my spine anyway. Meanwhile, my brows drew together.

Was that why I wanted to cross over? Animal attraction? If so, Aiti was right. This was a fool’s errand.

“Hmmm.” My mother’s breath feathered across my forehead right where the shifter hadn’t actually tapped. Opening my eyes, I expected to find her intent attention spearing me.

Instead, she was across the room, filling her own sack with oystershell for her beak plus clean pairs of spider-silk underwear. “Alright then,” she told me. “Let’s go.”

***

Our canoe was moored in a watery cavern, deep beneath the hallways of the Queen’s palace where no one else ventured. Water dripped from above, Aiti’s faery light barely illuminating the way forward. I expected to be stopped at any moment, but no one leapt out of the shadows and into our path. So I passed the time debriefing my mother about the Kingmaker and the Queen’s new threat to her person.

Aiti stiffened as my reasoning for fleeing Faery became apparent, muttering something I couldn’t quite make out. Then, as we approached the canoe, she shook her head as if to clear it before waving me forward. “You’re the one with ties to earth. You take the stern.”

This was new. The person in the back of a canoe steered the craft and Aiti had always been our guide previously.

Still, I nodded. Clambered into the wooden bottom and waited for Aiti to follow. She was lighter on her feet than I was, barely making the water slap against the sides as she settled herself. Our paddles dipped in tandem. We shot forward into the dark.

To cross from Faery to earth wasn’t an easy matter, but Aiti had made a career of it. Always before, she’d let her faery light wink out, traveling by what, for all I knew, was smell. But this time it was my job to guide us. I closed my eyes and drew my paddle through the water. Faster, harder…and the prow slammed into a stone wall.

Aiti’s laugh was a squawk of humor. For some reason, it reminded me of the rough-around-the-edges shifter even though there was nothing lupine about my adoptive mother.

“Thoughts?” I asked once her laughter faded.

“Nary a one,” she answered. “Since the borders closed, I haven’t been able to make it even this far.”

She’d tried? That was news to me.

We floated in total darkness for one long moment. The water was so still I could barely hear it lapping against the canoe sides. There was no current to pull us backwards or forwards. No indication which way we’d need to travel to reach earth.

“A tattoo,” I said at last.

“No.” Aiti’s answer came so hard and fast I almost lost control of my paddle. “I promised to never take from you. Not even to fuel our crossing over. You are my daughter. Not a…a…battery.”

I waited until her words stopped echoing off the walls of the cavern. Then I answered. “You’re not taking if I give you the energy as a gift.”

As I spoke, I dug into my satchel, wishing I’d thought ahead while packing. Housewifery wasn’t within my skillset so I didn’t own a mending needle. The closest I came to tattoo equipment was a pen plus a knife.

The faery light winked back on. Aiti had turned her whole body around to face me, never once making the canoe sway. That’s what it meant to be fae. Perfect grace, no matter what the pressure. “Skye, escape isn’t worth that. We’ll find a spot to rusticate in the country.”

I shook my head, shaking the canoe more than I should have. I wasn’t fae and, with my Aiti, I didn’t have to hide my emotions. “Everywhere in Faery answers to the Queen. I won’t let her hurt you.”

Aiti was silent. So I unscrewed the pen—a human-made ballpoint picked up off an earth street a year ago. Snapping the ink cartridge in half, I let darkness ooze onto the point of my knife.

“I won’t let you do this for me.” Aiti’s hand covered mine. Her fingers were feathered up to the knuckles now. Was the stress of Court speeding her reversion? If so, hopefully she’d settle back into her normal self once we reached earth.

“I’m not doing it for you,” I lied. Then, strong as a wolf, I shook her off and stabbed the knife into my ankle.

Chapter 4

It didn’t work. Tattoo or no tattoo, our canoe was dead in the water. I swallowed down the lump of desperation in my throat and felt like a child as I turned to Aiti, expecting her to solve the disaster we found ourselves in.

And…she did. She always did. Her fingers came up to my throat, unbuttoning my shirt. “Take this off.”

My eyebrows drew together as I shed clothing. “And shift?”

The Queen had been annoyed when I hid my wolf, but she’d gotten a good dose of my energy anyway. Post-shift, there’d be no magic left to channel out of my pores for days or even weeks. If I went wolf now, we couldn’t risk returning to Court, not for a good long time.

Aiti knew that as well as I did, but she nodded anyway. “If you swim with a rope between your teeth, it’s just possible you’ll be sucked back to earth and the canoe will go with you.”

The plan made a fae sort of sense, and my beast wanted out. So I let my wolf and Aiti guide me. Shed everything except the locket that hung on a chain around my neck, the one that matched my mother’s and was infused with the closest thing she had to a fated-mate bond.

Aiti and I were nothing alike physically, but in that moment, we were one being. She steadied me as fur pressed through my skin. She soothed the ache as my spine elongated into a tail for balance.

Then, before I could leap out into the darkness, she grabbed my furry cheeks. “Promise me, Skye, that if something goes wrong you’ll let go of the rope. I’ll drift back to Faery. Find a spot so remote even the Queen can’t find me. I’ll be fine.”

I nodded even though we both knew I was lying. I wouldn’t leave Aiti alone in the Between. With the borders shut, she might be trapped there forever. Even if she made it back to Faery, the only places outside the Queen’s influence were far too dangerous for one lone fae trying to survive.

So I snapped up the lead rope between my teeth and splashed into the dark water. I’d pull Aiti to earth. Now that I’d shifted, there was no going back. My plan had to work.

First, though, I needed to catch my breath. Frigid water had slammed all air out of my lungs the instant I left the boat. The liquid was colder than ice, even though that wasn’t scientifically possible. Insidious, invading my fur and pressing against skin far faster than real water should have.

I gasped for oxygen and a trickle of water seeped down my throat in the process. The liquid tasted foul. Like rot and roses, the scent of a funeral…or of the air around the Queen’s throne.

And none of that mattered. Rope in my teeth, I started paddling in the direction my gut told me was the right one. Tugging the canoe into motion, I nearly foundered as a wave came out of nowhere to break over my head.

“To your left!” Aiti shrieked.

I spun, but I couldn’t see what had scared her. Couldn’t see anything, actually. Aiti’s faery light had winked all the way out.

Then the rope went taut. As if something was yanking us backwards just as fast as I tugged us forward. Aiti squawked out something that wasn’t quite a word, her paddle slapping hard against the water.

I splashed in an awkward circle, heading toward her. Didn’t matter that the Queen would fillet me if I showed up without any shifter magic to be harvested. Nothing mattered other than the sounds of struggle. Aiti was in danger. Aiti was…

…silent now. And the rope had gone lax.

I shifted, using up even more of the Queen’s precious battery power in an effort to regain human abilities. “Aiti?” I called.

No answer. No matter. I’d tread that awful water while tugging on the rope with both hands until we met in the middle.

The rope slid through my fingers easily. So whatever had grabbed onto the canoe was no longer fighting our forward progress.

Right hand. Left hand.

I’d reassure myself Aiti was still in the boat, then I’d shift—I had maybe one shift left in me before I collapsed from exhaustion—and pull us to the land where I’d been born.

Right hand. Left hand.

Yes, I was aware something was wrong. My Aiti wasn’t answering, and she always answered. But, on earth, I’d have time and energy to tend her. We’d….

Right hand. No left hand.

The end of the rope slipped through my fingers. Tattered. Torn. As if someone had sawed through it with the knife I’d left in the bottom of the canoe.

“Aiti!” This time I screamed her name.

And, somewhere very far away, my mother answered. “Swim forward!”

She meant toward earth, but her voice was as good as a compass. I struck out toward her…

…And a massive wave swept up underneath me, pulling me so quickly in the opposite direction that I expected to be slammed against the cave wall. Instead, the wave peaked. For one split second, I thought I saw a sky full of stars.

Then the wave slammed down, down, down, pulling me with it. Tumbling me into sand and rock that scraped raw patches in my bare skin. Into water—not foul, but algae sweet—that thrust itself up my nostrils and made me gag.

Into warm arms that encircled my waist and pulled me upward until we both broke the surface.

“I’ve got you.”

His voice was honeyed gravel. I knew who I’d see before I opened my eyes.

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Moon Glamour sneak peek

November 9, 2020 / Aimee Easterling / 0 Comments

Are you ready for a brand new book in a brand new series? Moon Glamour can be enjoyed as a standalone, but it also launches a new world of werewolves and fae. Keep reading for a preview!

Chapter 1

I showed up at the job interview with salt packets in my pocket and a grease stain on my right knee. Scanning the museum steps for a woman with a rose pinned to her blouse, I came up empty. Good. I was early enough to nip inside and wash up.

Unfortunately, I didn’t quite make it to the ladies’ room before words a human wouldn’t have been able to decipher percolated into my lupine-enhanced ears.

“I’d hit that.”

“Mm mm, me too!”

I turned just a little so the glass case I was walking past reflected the faces of the girls behind me. They were around my sister’s age. Sixteen, fueled by raging hormones, and currently proving that men weren’t the only ones who objectified members of the opposite sex.

“I mean look at that butt.”

“Can’t. Too busy with his biceps.”

They sounded like they wanted to lick the object of their admiration. And even though I was on a deadline, I swiveled all the way around so I could follow their gaze.

No wonder the girls were excited. The man leaning forward to peer at the brush strokes of a Renoir measured over six feet of rope-thick muscles. His shoulders were so wide I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had to turn sideways to fit through doorways.

He also moved with the grace of a werewolf. I flared my nostrils then coughed as my throat flooded with the wildness that only another shifter could exude.

My fists clenched. Coming face to face with a male werewolf was bad news, even if both of us were currently playing human. If I was lucky, this stranger would acknowledge my right to pass through a territory I didn’t rightfully belong in after he saw the rectangle of paper in my pocket. But my get-out-of-jail-free card wasn’t likely to hold up to many testings. Better to fly under the radar….

Leave. Now, my inner wolf whispered. Our heart rate sped up. Human feet were pointing toward the exit with wolf speed hurrying their motion when the girls hissed out disappointment.

“Ew. What a face.”

“I’d still do him…if he tied a bag over his head.”

Their words descended into giggles and curiosity stole my momentum. This time, I turned all the way around to see what grotesqueness had squashed their juvenile infatuation.

I was too late to catch more than a glimpse before the man angled his body away from us. I’d seen enough, however, to note the relevant facts.

Skin a middling brown that I suspected spoke to a Latin American heritage. Bushy eyebrows. A nose that had been broken and reset without medical attention. Scars, multiple scars.

But that wasn’t the reason the girls had reacted so negatively. The charisma of an alpha—and he was an alpha; I could smell that on him—should have attracted human women as thoroughly as it intrigued female werewolves. Only, something was off about this particular specimen. Something related to the scars streaking through what might otherwise have been appealing features.

I cocked my head, trying to understand the girls’ repulsion. This was an unexpected twist in the well-worn path of werewolf charisma. The strength of an alpha, apparently, could either attract or repel.

And as I squinted, I could almost see what had turned the teenagers off about Mr. Broad Shoulders. More than the scars. Something deeper….

Then I blinked and my face blindness kicked back in.

Well, my face blindness plus his evasive action. Instead of responding with the rage I would have expected, the alpha turned even further so we couldn’t catch even a glimpse of his supposed ugliness. Maybe that’s why I broke my cardinal rule—never draw attention to yourself.

“The perfect male body,” I mused aloud. “A rare art form. I believe I saw two specimens on the fourth floor, third gallery over from the stairs.”

I had, too. Last Sunday when I wandered through the Roman marbles. The men in question, let me be clear, were statues. Naked, though. Muscular. Perfectly featured. The girls would appreciate their chiseled physiques.

I was tempted to add a zinger. Something about the cold harshness that often went hand in hand with perfect masculine beauty. The warmth of spirit that was far more important outside museums.

But these girls were kids. Too young to know better.

So I let their giggling recede without dousing them in the cold water of adult wisdom. Then I turned my own feet toward the exit, already thinking ahead to my upcoming meeting…

…and ran into a wall of hot, living werewolf chest.

***

“That was sweet, chica.” His voice was deep, gravelly. Before I could retreat, he took a single step sideways. Now he was toeing the line of appropriate personal space while also opening my path to the exit in case I needed to make a run for it.

And I did need to make a run for it. I’d wasted my hand-washing minute educating teenagers. If I didn’t leave now, I’d be late to the job interview. Which, in turn, was likely to cascade into making me late visiting my sister. Late preventing family drama from a stepfather who reveled in inserting monkey wrenches into my well-laid plans.

But my feet merely swiveled so I could stare upward into the face of the stranger. He was taller than I’d thought from a distance. Maybe because he’d been striving at the time not to scare gawking teenagers? Had his shoulders been hunched earlier? His spine bent?

Whatever the reason, I was the scared one now. Or maybe scared wasn’t the proper word. Some heavy emotion I couldn’t quite fathom struck me in the chest area. It was abruptly hard to breathe.

“But unnecessary,” the man continued, and for a moment I forgot what he was talking about. “I know what I look like.”

Oh, right. Human standards of external beauty.

“We have such a strange obsession with facial symmetry,” I observed, forgetting for a moment that I was talking to a male werewolf who could likely freeze me in my steps and force me to do his bidding. “Presumably based on the evolutionary advantage of choosing the healthiest mate. Infections during childhood….”

“These scars didn’t come from childhood infection.” His head cocked and he smiled, a slow display of sharp teeth that—I’ll admit—sent a tremor down my spine. I flinched and his mouth snapped shut, lips going instantly flat.

“I apologize.” His eyes struck the floor, as if he was afraid of me.

I wanted to stay and tell him he had nothing to apologize for. Because even as the tremor flew through me, I understood it for what it was—instinct no more rational than that which had disgusted the teenagers.

But I was late. My sister needed the cash this job would offer.

And this man was a werewolf. Dangerous to me in ways I couldn’t afford to handle. A threat to my tenuous understanding with another alpha, one that allowed me to see my sister while she lived far too close to the heart of his territory.

“Keep your chin up,” I told the stranger as I spun toward the open door. And why, when distance eased the tightness in my chest, was I left feeling heavy rather than light?

Chapter 2

I recognized my employer-to-be by the rose on her blouse, just like she’d promised. Unfortunately, my handshake wasn’t up to her standards.

“What have you been handling, Athena?” Marina offered in lieu of a greeting. Pulling a dainty, lace-edged handkerchief out of her handbag, she dabbed at her fingers as if we were attending a tea party rather than hovering at the edge of a roiling crowd.

Oops. I’d lost track of the grease from my sister’s fries in the midst of my werewolf sighting. Still, I wasn’t the only one who’d overshot societal cues.

“I replied to your message telling you this was a bad time,” I countered, “but your account had been closed.”

As I spoke, my gaze dropped to my cell phone. Harper’s weekly visiting window started in two hours. And while I’d been willing to be late to this job interview, if I didn’t show up in a timely manner at my sister’s boarding school afterwards, her dad would sneak in and “visit” instead….

“Do you have somewhere more important to be?” Marina’s voice was steely as she interrupted my contemplation of time and sisterhood.

I was losing whatever chance at this job I’d once had. Still, I answered honestly: “Yes.”

The word hovered between us for several seconds before Marina shrugged. “Then we might as well get on with it.”

As she spoke, she gestured up at the pseudo-Grecian facade of the museum behind us. Surely she didn’t mean…? I’d assumed this was a neutral public meeting place, not….

“I don’t steal from museums.” That clinched it. Marina was too much trouble and….

The check materialized out of nowhere. One moment my right hand was empty. The next moment, my fingers clasped a crisp rectangle of paper sporting more zeroes than I’d ever seen in my life.

I blinked. Magic? Or just my tired eyes playing tricks on me?

Either way, my free hand slipped into my pocket, feeling for the salt packet that went with my sister’s weekly fast-food treat. Harper liked her fries double-salted. She’d be sad if I lost her favorite seasoning.

Still, I found myself worrying one corner until it frayed open. Then I let a few grains dribble out onto the pavement. Better safe than sorry, right?

And…Marina took a single step backwards. Coincidence, I was sure of it. After all, magic didn’t exist. Well, I mean, magic other than werewolves.

Shaking off my uncertainty, I stuck to the tangible. “What’s this?” I asked, waving the check between us.

“The first half of your payment.” Marina leaned in closer than was really appropriate by human personal-space standards. She didn’t, however, step over the line of salt.

Still, she was close enough now for me to count her pores…or would have been if she’d had any. Instead, her skin was so smooth she might as well have been airbrushed. My nose, though, didn’t report any metallic hint of makeup.

Instead, Marina reeked of rose petals. Not from the flower at her lapel, which appeared to be a simple, unscented supermarket offering. But if the rose aroma emanated from a perfume, why couldn’t I distinguish an oil or alcohol base?

Curious. Still, it was the zeroes that prevented me from taking my own step backward, that prevented me from hightailing it away to my more important engagement. “What do you want in exchange for another check like this one?” I asked finally.

Marina’s lips didn’t turn upward, but I scented her smugness. I’d been the first to cave. She’d won that round.

“Follow me,” she promised, “and you’ll find out.”

***

She turned away, heading up the stairs without waiting to see if I’d follow. I flared my nostrils…and something furry and wild impinged.

Wolf. Not from Marina. Not from the ugly-fascinating man I’d met inside either. Instead, the scent rose from behind me, the variety of sub-odors suggesting multiple shifters were present amid the chattering humans entering and exiting the museum.

I itched to swivel and hunt for trouble. Instead, I kept my eyes on Marina. After all, she was the more immediate danger and I’d run out of salt.

“The museum doesn’t own the object in question,” she called back, heels clicking as she strode up the marble steps away from my stationary figure. “It’s on loan from a rich, white dude. And isn’t your sister’s tuition due soon?”

Her knowledge of my preferred thieving target—complete with slang that sounded awkward on her lips—plus my familial weakness was chilling. More dangerous than shifters because it was more focused. I dismissed the wolf scent and jogged to catch up with my maybe-boss.

“I chose you for this job because of your special abilities,” Marina continued as we wended our way past the recommended donation box. She ignored it while I dropped in a ten-dollar bill.

“Special abilities?”

“Furry abilities.”

My feet froze on the stairs I’d been following her up. My nostrils flared again.

But there was no wolf scent about Marina. No fur. No wildness. She shouldn’t have known what I was capable of.

Still, I disabused her of that notion. “I don’t use any furry abilities on the job.”

Not since making a deal with the local alpha, that is. Not since Harper had begun attending boarding school so close to the heart of Rowan McCallister’s pack.

“What, never? Well, no matter.” Marina’s voice was perfectly museum appropriate as she dismissed my refusal to use my wolf and returned to the object of her fixation. “Before the current owner took possession, the item had been in my family for generations.” She paused long enough to spear me with eyes bluer than the sky. “I’m not asking you to steal, Athena. I’m asking you to return what’s already been stolen.”

Again, she turned away, this time leading me into a well-lit gallery. We didn’t speak as she made a beeline for a glass case housing a metal bracer.

It was a decorative arm cuff, meant to be worn at the wrist. Three inches wide, made of pounded gold and silver.

The pattern portrayed a running wolf.

I shivered. A wolf…like me? Like the scent outside? Like the world I did my best to steer clear of?

Ignoring what felt like more than a coincidence, I focused on the sign beside the artifact. What I saw there made me shake my head in disappointment.

Of course Marina had lied. All of my employers lied sooner or later.

“This is over a thousand years old,” I noted, raising my eyebrows. “It was dug up last month somewhere in England. You couldn’t even bother dreaming up a story that matches the obvious facts?”

“It was stolen from a cemetery,” Marina countered. “A cemetery in which my ancestors were buried. Do your research. Then cash the check if you want the job.”

The sweetness of rose petals wafted past my nose as Marina turned away. She was leaving. Walking out on me.

Which was good. Safe. And yet….

All those zeroes prompted me to call after her. “What’s to prevent me from cashing the check then disappearing?”

At first, I thought she wasn’t going to answer. But Marina spun in a cloud of flowing fabric when she reached the arch separating the gallery from the hallway. Her hair looked more blue than black there. Her teeth appeared werewolf sharp.

“I wouldn’t recommend it. Harper would regret anything that prevented me from receiving my prize.”

Her use of my sister’s name chilled me down to my marrow. My breathing didn’t slow until the scent of rose petals had faded to nothing on my tongue.

Chapter 3

I hadn’t decided whether to take the job, but I did my due diligence anyway. Wasted precious minutes pretending I was interested in other items in the gallery beyond the bracer so the security footage wouldn’t look so suspicious if this turned into a crime scene.

In fact, I was snapping photos of a Viking’s helmet when the scent of wolf once again surrounded me. This time it was closer. Stronger.

I whirled…then relaxed as I took in the same ugly shifter I’d met downstairs.

“You’re very recognizable,” I greeted him.

I’d intended my words as a compliment, my face blindness meaning that I often couldn’t pick out people I’d met only once or twice or, let’s be honest, seven times before. The stranger didn’t take it that way.

Instead, he sidestepped as if once again opening up my escape routes. His face tilted away from me so I could only see the unscarred left side, and his voice was apologetic as he rumbled, “I didn’t intend to startle you.”

“I wasn’t startled,” I began. But my nostrils flared and proved me wrong.

Because I didn’t smell wolf now. I smelled wolves, plural. More than this single gentleman in a shifter’s malleable skin.

I spun, not quite comfortable with having the wolf I knew at my back but even less comfortable with being unable to see the wolves I didn’t know. There were two of them. Both just as tall as the one behind me but totally different in every other way.

The one on the left was white, tattooed, and decked out in studded leather. A biker or biker wannabe. Definitely someone I’d cross the street to avoid passing alone at night.

The one on the right was black, clad in a suit that could only be tailored. As perfectly featured as Marina while still exuding virile masculinity. This one the chatty girls would have eaten up.

Still, something about his eyes suggested his gentility lay only skin deep. His wolf scent was overwhelming. The hairs on my arms stood on end.

So I was relieved that the biker spoke instead of the more dangerous man beside him. “What’s this?” he asked, his eyes skimming over me then rising to meet those of Mr. Ugly. “Tank?”

Tank’s answer confirmed his identity. “She was here when I arrived.”

For half a second, I relaxed into the already familiar rumble. Scary men stood between me and escape, but Tank wasn’t scary. He was gentle beneath his massive exterior. The kind of man who forced himself into a small box for the sake of skittish teenagers.

And…his breath was hot against the back of my neck.

Maybe not so safe then. Tank had advanced without me realizing, sandwiching me between himself and the other two shifters. His earlier sidestep now seemed less like politeness and more like baiting a trap.

A trap I’d blithely strolled into.

I swallowed. Tried to talk my way out of a situation that would have been better avoided. “Look, I have a card in my pocket from the local alpha. He’s granted me permission to hunt here….”

“Does it look,” Scary Suit asked, “like we’re interested in cards?”

Adrenaline consumed me. Fight or flight. Unfortunately, neither was an option at the present moment. Not when I was penned in by shifters, each of whom boasted double my mass….

Reprieve came from an unexpected source.

“Are these men bothering you?”

The interruption materialized into an ordinary human. Museum security guard, if his uniform was any indication. Late fifties, chubby around the middle. Nowhere near a match for one of these werewolves, let alone all three.

Still, his official tone and the gun at his hip promised an authority that might just get me out of this mess. I grasped at the offered straw.

“Yes,” I answered, tarring all three shifters with the same brush. Never mind that Tank had been nothing but polite to me. I tried to ignore the bitter disappointment wafting from him as I continued, “They were.”

The guard lifted his walkie talkie, calling in backup. I slid out from between the trio of werewolves, expecting at any moment for a hand to slam down and pin me in place.

None did. No one stopped me. Not even the security guard as I slid past him, through the arch, and hurried down the hall.

Four museum patrons seemed to be too much for one security guard to juggle. So I didn’t have to use my backup plan—begging for a bathroom break then using the ladies’ room as a staging ground for escape. Didn’t have to give my name and address. Just slid away from the werewolves and the human authority figure like the burglar I was.

I did spare a hint of remorse for Tank. But I doubted he’d be held up for long. After all, security cameras would confirm the men had only spoken to me, never even touched me. The guard would have no reason not to let them go.

Which meant I needed to make tracks before they were released. My tennis shoes snicked softly against marble as I plummeted back down the main stairwell. The front entrance drew me, but a stray thought changed my trajectory. Scent trails. It had been a year since my last run-in with other werewolves, so I’d almost forgotten. I needed to think less like a human and more like a wolf.

I wasted thirty seconds spinning through the smelliest aisle of the gift shop. Scented candles were always good for overwhelming a lupine nose….

They certainly overwhelmed mine. I had to pinch my nostrils shut to prevent a sneezing fit as I inserted myself amid a large family exiting the museum. These humans were just as stinky as the space I’d rushed out of. Fruity shampoos and manly body washes. Helpfully foul. I let their forward momentum carry me two blocks in the wrong direction before peeling away to strike off on my own.

That should be enough. Or at least I hoped so. The benefit of a city—there were too many people passing to make it easy to trace a single scent trail for very long. Add on my evasions and any followers wouldn’t stand a chance….

Not that I really expected the trio to track me. They had no reason to. Yes, I was a female shifter, but I didn’t possess the enticing chocolate aroma of a pack princess. My half-blood heritage had provided that much for me at least.

And my wending route away from the museum had turned up an unexpected side benefit. A fleeting glance down an alley caught golden arches on the next street over. Perfect. I’d pick up another salt packet for Harper before heading back to my car….

I was halfway down the alley when the scent of wolves rose around me. Halfway down the alley when something leapt from above, landing on my back and bearing me all the way to the ground.

Chapter 4

I rolled while jabbing upward with my elbow. Someone grunted. The grasp on my shoulders relaxed just enough for me to wriggle free.

But whoever had leapt off the dumpster wasn’t my only problem. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of wolf fur that matched a warning growl. Meanwhile, the thud of boots on pavement promised there was at least one undamaged two-legger backing up the one swearing on the ground.

Then the wolf was upon me. Gray around her muzzle suggested age but her speed rivaled that of a teenager. She snarled. Snapped. Stopped one inch away from my skin.

I was on my hands and knees, lacking the leeway I needed to scramble upright. The wolf was providing just enough breathing room so I could scuttle backward. An attempt to herd me toward whoever I’d elbowed? I couldn’t see him, but I could hear him griping, the expletives loud and harsh.

He was the least of my worries, however. So was the wolf.

Or, at least, that wolf. My own inner animal was alert, angry, powerful. She grabbed at our shared body, doing her best to burst free of my skin and clothing….

And her instincts were good. Going wolf would help us escape this ambush. But I couldn’t afford to break the rules I’d agreed to when I accepted the card in my pocket.

Not now, I told my inner animal. Harper needs us.

Without the card, we couldn’t see our sister. Would be forced to leave this territory and beg for refuge in another. Or, more likely than begging, would be forced to make a deal we didn’t want to make.

My inner wolf was driven less by rational thought and more by instinct. But even she could see the juice wasn’t worth the squeeze in this instance. So she subsided…for a moment, until the gray-muzzled wolf snapped another offensive, her teeth cutting through my shirt and into my wrist.

Great. Just great. Wolves always responded so very rationally to physical challenges.

Not.

The growl rising out of my throat didn’t originate with my human self. Fur slid from the skin of my arms….

And I held my breath while scrabbling atop the greasy pavement in search of a weapon. If I could prove to my wolf that I wasn’t defenseless, she’d subside. Or at least I very much hoped so.

Fingertips turned up a bottle cap. A flattened piece of metal. Nothing useful. Couldn’t the litterbugs be bothered to drop a knife now and then?

“We’re not going to hurt you.” The voice twenty feet down the alley was deep, soothing. Tank. Why did his presence here make me so disappointed?

Still, he’d been helpful. My inner wolf stopped struggling the instant he spoke.

“Of course you aren’t,” I agreed just as my hand closed around something sharp and pointy. Aha. The litterbugs had come through after all.

The shard of glass bit into my palm as I fisted the found weapon. It wasn’t much. But perhaps enough to get out of this mess without going lupine? I hoped so.

“That’s why you’re attacking me in an alley,” I continued.

As I spoke, I eyed my route to safety. I’d only have one go at it. Slash the wolf’s face with the shard of glass, kick out a second time at whoever had initially leapt on top of me, then vault on top of the dumpster and from there onto the fire escape.

The shaky vertical staircase would keep the wolf from following until she could shift back to human form. I hoped Tank’s distance and my original attacker’s nosebleed would similarly slow them down.

It was a sliver of a chance, but I’d take it. Better than going full-on fur and wearing out my welcome in the city closest to Harper’s boarding school.

So I feinted with my empty fist. The wolf swerved just the way I knew she would. The glass shard bit into my skin as I teased it out behind my fingers…

…then something hard and unyielding clenched around my middle. Air wheezed out of me. My chin sunk to my chest as I peered down at tattooed arms cocooning me in an unaffectionate bear hug.

Meanwhile, the wolf shimmered upward into a woman. Mid-forties if I had to guess, with short black hair and dark eyes that seemed to see all the way through to my inner wolf.

Her voice was dry as she turned our recent fracas into a minor misunderstanding. “We just want to talk to you,” she said, walking away to pick up a pile of clothes from behind a dumpster.

Not only clothes. There was a gun there and a shoulder holster. The woman donned the combination so easily I had a sinking suspicion her profession lay in the field of law enforcement.

My past, it appeared, had caught up to me. Now I wished this had been a mere mugging carried out by an unruly group of male werewolves.

“I have the right to remain silent,” I informed her, trying and failing to hold my body away from the biker’s.

Because, of course, that’s who had disarmed me in the most embarrassing way possible. Or I assumed so, despite the way faces tended to slither out of my memory. How many other tattooed, leather-clad werewolves were likely to be hanging out downtown?

Meanwhile, Nose Bleed rose from the ground and materialized into a beautiful black man. The third member of the museum trio, presumably. Great. Just great.

This time, there was no security guard to rush to my aid. Instead, I bristled, not wanting my assailants to realize how intimidated I was by the odds, the gun, the badge the woman surely had in her pocket.

But one of them noticed. “Will you feel safer in a public space?” Tank murmured.

One minute ago, he’d been on the far side of the alley. Now he was so close his heat warmed me. Tank’s huge hand closed around my right wrist, then he jerked his chin upwards. “Ryder. I’ve got her. You can let her go.”

The tattooed biker snorted. The arm around my waist tightened. “Finders keepers.”

Tank growled and I got the absurd impression I was being fought over like a bag of Halloween candy. The air sharpened with alpha electricity and….

“Boys.” To my surprise, the woman’s voice stopped the incipient battle before it had time to begin.

Ryder released me. Tank took a step away from his former opponent, even though his hand remained clenched around my wrist.

Without meaning to, I’d followed Tank sideways. Now, I peered up at him, trying to assess his intentions. But his face twisted sideways. Not away from Ryder’s glare. Away from my searching glance.

“Should we take this somewhere more public?” he rumbled, repeating his question. The uncomfortable bend to his neck seemed habitual. A way to see me out of the corner of his eyes, I guessed, while hiding most of his own face from view.

His grip, meanwhile, was firm but not painful. I expected my wolf to rise onto the offensive. Instead, she sighed and settled down for a nap.

Traitor. Perhaps that’s why my voice came out curter than I intended.

“I’d feel safer if strange men stopped manhandling me.”

Tank’s lips—what I could see of them—thinned. But he didn’t release me.

And the woman, once again, took the lead. “I have handcuffs if you’d prefer. Can’t risk you doing another runner.”

Her eyes promised she was far scarier than Scary Suit. Whatever she wanted to talk about mattered to her as much as bringing fries to my kid sister mattered to me.

I swallowed down aggression and accepted reality. The faster I gave them what they wanted, the sooner I could see Harper. “A public space it is.”

Chapter 5

We walked right past the McDonald’s. Breezed into a fancy coffee shop where the only item on the menu that appeared to contain sugar was a so-called Super Shake…which came out green and seedy and thoroughly disgusting.

I gave up on my beverage after one abortive sip then focused on Tank’s fingers curled into my fingers. Because he’d slid his grip down to my hand while walking. As if we were lovers instead of captor and prisoner. Even now, our intertwined fingers rested atop his knee.

I hated how aware I was of the flesh separated from mine by one thin layer of fabric. Of the muscles that slid beneath our joined hands when he leaned over to draw the sugar dispenser down the table toward us. Of the care he took tearing open sweetener packets to pour into my drink.

Thus doctored, the Super Shake became marginally less vile. The fact Tank had noticed my disgust and made an effort to remedy it was far more enticing.

There’s nothing sexy about being kidnapped, I reminded myself. Inside my belly, my wolf hummed disagreement. I clenched my free fist and told her to shut up.

Thief, I reminded myself. Cop. Bad combination.

“What do you want from me?” I asked Lupe—the woman, who appeared to be these werewolves’ leader. We’d faked amiability while ordering, sharing introductions. First names only. I wasn’t about to offer identifying information to someone who had attacked me in an alley and Lupe didn’t press the point.

Now she smiled before answering, as if she was well aware of my lupine half’s interest in Tank’s proximity. “The Samhain Shifters….”

Shifter I understood. But—“Saw Win what?”

“Samhain,” she said again, slower. “Sunset on October thirty-first through dawn on November first. The Samhain Shifters are a group assembled to keep the most dangerous night of the year safe.”

She eyed me, as if expecting instant understanding. And, yes, I could do calendars. “Halloween,” I confirmed. Then, unable to help myself, I glanced around at the guys who were silent observers of our conversation. “They don’t even need costumes. Posh Spice. Biker Spice….”

“And Ugly Spice,” Ryder—the tattooed biker—suggested when I couldn’t come up with a name for Tank.

“No, he’s….”

Lupe spoke over me before I could finish my sentence, which was probably a good thing since my rebuttal had originated with my wolf and involved the word tasty. “This isn’t about trick-or-treating,” the gun-wielding female told me. “Nodes pop up every Samhain. I’m one of several full-timers who assemble a crew of shifters two weeks beforehand, a member of which is drawn from each nearby pack. Our teams start out as strangers and train just long enough to learn to work together without building pack bonds. After that, we keep the fae in check for a very critical fourteen hours.”

I was nodding along until the last sentence, at which point my eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. “Are we talking bad fairies? Like Tinkerbell with an attitude?”

Lupe shook her head, humorless. “More like full-size beings who use glamour to look and smell like your best friend then suck your pack bonds dry to fuel their depredations. Thus the short-term team.”

Pack bonds. My lips thinned. Based on a bad encounter as an orphaned teenager, I’d sworn off werewolf packs for the duration. I certainly had none of those much-touted connections with other shifters to be threatened by these hypothetical fae.

Still, I’d heard how pack bonds worked. They let mates communicate telepathically, allowed an alpha to locate his underlings, and could even be used to heal. So I guessed I could see why others found them so important. Regardless, they had nothing to do with me.

“Our job is essential,” Tank told me, sliding into the silence my lack of a response offered. “I met a pack once that was impacted by fae. They self-destructed. Tore each other to pieces. The few survivors told me they didn’t even understand what was happening for months after it started. They just thought long-time friends had turned into enemies. Family members became backstabbers….”

His cheek twitched. The pack, I could tell, had mattered to him. Despite myself, my left hand slid toward the one Tank had rested on the table. I stilled the pesky appendage before it could get me into more trouble than I was already in.

Lupe watched us both with eyes dark and hard. “The fae aren’t always that overt,” she told me. “The subtle ones are even more dangerous.”

“Dangerous enough to make it kosher to assault total strangers in an alley?”

In response, Lupe speared me with one of those alpha glares that made underlings shiver. “If we think she can help us, then yes.”

And maybe I could help. Marina’s rose-petal aroma shimmered in my memory. The way the check with all those zeroes had materialized out of thin air. “I might have met one.” I hadn’t realized I was speaking aloud until Lupe’s eyes narrowed. “A fae,” I elaborated. “Fairy. What’s the singular?”

“No.” Lupe shook her head. “The fae—singular and plural the same—only cross over during Samhain, although they can talk mortals into working for them in the interim. We call those helpers Sleepers. They’re trouble, but not our primary objective.”

A burst of masculine annoyance: “Why are you telling her this?”

I blinked. I’d forgotten there were others present beyond me, Tank, and Lupe. Now, I shifted my focus to the black man I’d punched in the nose. Butch, his friends had called him, even though the name made no sense for someone blessed with such sublime physical perfection. Despite my punching, his face remained as perfectly formed as before.

“We tracked Athena down,” he continued, voice melodious and at the same time grating, “because Ryder had a hunch she was a Sleeper. She could be taking notes right now, intending to sell us out to the enemy.”

“She’s not a Sleeper,” Lupe interrupted, still pinning me with her gaze. “Are you?”

About that, at least, I could be honest. “This has nothing to do with me. I appreciate the invitation and the drink….”

Ryder snickered. He was the one who’d recommended my so-called treat. He’d known, I now realized, that the Super Shake was full of kale and chia seeds.

My punishment for leaving him to the mercy of the security guard? Or a jab at Tank, who’d been ready to fight Ryder over who got the pleasure of restraining me?

Whatever the reason, Ryder’s childish means of retaliation reminded me to glance at my watch. And what I saw there made me wince.

I needed to leave now if I wasn’t going to be late to Harper’s visiting hour. Sixty minutes once a week. Stepfather aside, I wasn’t willing to lose one second of sisterly bonding time.

“As delightful as it was to meet you all…” I rose, or tried to. Unfortunately, Tank’s loose grip on my fingers had hardened to the implacability of iron.

“This is important,” he told me. “My alpha’s territory is close to the node this year. We have pack mates there overcoming trauma. Pups who require a safe haven. Their fate depends upon Samhain Shifters. On us.”

His point made, he turned his attention to Lupe. “Athena has skills our team lacks.”

I hadn’t thought Lupe was particularly impressed with me, but she nodded. “Our team could use another woman. Consider it your civic duty to participate. Like voting, but more intense.”

To save the world…or at least werewolf pack bonds? For half a second, I wavered. This was what I’d dreamed about when I was a child. Making a difference, not stealing baubles from and for the rich.

But childish dreams didn’t last into adulthood. “Does the job pay?” I countered, knowing it didn’t.

Only, I was wrong. “I could squeeze a little out of the budget,” Lupe answered, ignoring the way Butch’s face wrinkled in disgust that, on him, still appeared beautiful.

So that’s what this was? Another job interview? “I’m flattered,” I answered, “but no.”

After all, squeezing out a little cash didn’t sound like it was going to pay Harper’s tuition. I couldn’t afford to save the world pro bono.

Saying no to werewolves, however, was a bad idea. I tensed, fully expecting the kid gloves to come off.

Instead, Tank released me. Released me…and pressed a business card into my hand before I could retreat.

“At least think about it.” His words and his touch made it hard to swallow.

Still, I managed to rise this time without being yanked backwards. Took a step away from the table…and no one leapt up to stop me.

“Sure, I’ll think about it,” I said, knowing every one of these werewolves could smell my lie.

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