The Lion, the Witch, and the Secret Garden

by Larissa Emerald

  The front door opened to the motorhome, and Zoe entered carrying a couple of shopping bags. Her beaming smile made his heart thump wildly. All he wanted to do was take her to the bedroom and make passionate love to her.

  He’d extended his stay long enough to take her to the ball because it made her happy. Something he intended to do for the rest of their lives.

  “Did you have fun?” he asked.

  “Oh yes. Wait till you see what I bought.” She set her bags on the tan sofa across from where he sat.

  He grabbed hold of her wrist and spun her into his lap. “You don’t have to wear a thing, and I’d be pleased.” He kissed her jawline. She turned her head and kissed him back on the mouth.

  “I think you’ll like this dress,” she said, with her lips still against his.

  “You can model it for me.”

  “And spoil the surprise? No way. You’ll see it tonight.”

  He let a playful growl roll from his lips, letting her know he couldn’t wait.

  To his dismay, she tortured him the remainder of the evening, taking a shower, drying and fixing her hair, and whatever else she did to occupy the bathroom. He managed to dress before she shooed him to the living room. Finally, a half-hour later she strolled down the center aisle, taking his breath away.

  “Stunning,” he purred, looking at her as she paused and stared back at him.

  She slowly turned in a circle, showing off every sensuous curve of her body. She wore a clingy, black strapless dress, with a keyhole opening in the middle of the back. So that when he placed his hand there while they danced, he’d touch her bare skin. In the front, a slit ran up one thigh. “Don’t blame me if I can’t keep my hands off you tonight.”

  She gave a throaty laugh. “You’re pretty handsome yourself, Lion.” She moved closer, running her palm over his shoulder and down onto his chest, stopping near the lapel of his tuxedo. Right near his heart. “Ready?” she asked.

  “Yes. I think I just may adore dances.” He slipped his hand into the small of her back. “Almost as much as I love you.” He reached the corsage on the table, ignoring the tension in his gut. Lions didn’t get nervous. But his hand trembled ever so slightly as he helped her with the flowers. “We haven’t spoken of it, but will you come live with me in Terror? I know we haven’t been together long. I don’t want to rush you—”

  She placed her index finger over his lips with a twinkle in her eyes. “You’re not rushing me. I’m a woman who can speak her mind. Even to a big, strong lion. I’ll go with you because I love you.”

  His heart beat with unbridled joy. “Then we’ll discover what life holds together.”

  The End

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  Read an excerpt of

  Forever at Risk

  by Larissa Emerald

  Chapter One

  Sheriff Val Solberg moved deeper into the coal black alley and paused. He waited and listened. Only the night sounds of insects bounced off the buildings. There were no footsteps or heavy breathing that indicated anyone in the paranormal council had been followed. Charged with the safety and law of Terror, Val was the only non-voting guest who attended the secret Vulcan Council meetings, an appointed, secret association made up of representatives from each of the seven principal supernatural groups residing in Terror—shifters, vampires, witches, fae, angels, reapers, ghosts, and a very special human. It was his job to make sure the meetings remained clandestine and to carry out any decisions the council decreed.

  In a town full of paranormal beings, holding an underground meeting was damn difficult. Most supernaturals have extremely heightened senses and can track a creature without much effort. Fortunately, elder witch, Nora McGuire, was the head of the Vulcan Council and had the power to cast a spell over the meetings, making them nearly impossible to detect. Still, he couldn’t count on that entirely. There had been an uprising of the veakling vampire community lately. It had escalated after one of their leaders was caught and locked in his jail.

  Sometimes the committee met in a member’s home. However, most of the time, it was a neutral location that moved around. This evening, the gathering was at an office in the basement below the town’s clock tower.

  Satisfied their rendezvous would be safe, Val hurried to the back of the alley and ducked into the doorway, locking the solid wooden door behind him.

  He lumbered down the stone stairs and into the dimly lit basement room where the eight committee members were seated at a long cherry wood table, sipping drinks of mulled wine someone had provided. Val inhaled the various scents around him. One of them smelled of expensive pipe tobacco.

  “Everything’s clear?” Nora McGuire asked.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  She nodded, straightening her elegant shoulders and peering across the room, considering the members as they chatted. Perhaps she followed the buzz of conversation. Her intense, dark chocolate eyes—almost black except for blends of smoky topaz—seemed to assess more than the average person. Her hair, gray at the scalp and graduated to black at the ends, gave a striking appearance. The black raven perched on her shoulder ran it’s beak along Nora’s jaw. She reached up and stroked the bird. “Good boy, Bran.”

  Nora had been the head of the council for hundreds of years. Although it wasn’t exactly a democracy, the committee ruled by vote. Nora simply had the final say. However, she listened to her advisors.

  The council was the ultimate judicial system in Terror, responsible for taking care of the paranormal community. It went far beyond the normal matters that plagued the human world. Issues such as animal instincts, curses, blood lust, possession, hauntings, and the like were governed by the Vulcan Council.

  A council of eight, with the eight-point compass rose as part of their symbol.

  The raven cawed. All eyes focused on Nora.

  Sitting to Nora’s right was Diago Cruz, a wolf shifter who had come to town decades ago from Cuba. He owned a bike and auto repair shop. The ladies seemed to adore him, even though he appeared quite rough around the edges with his mysterious, dark eyes and neatly trimmed, black beard.

  Seated next to him was Annabelle Thomas, a fairy princess. She tugged her long, wavy blonde hair to one side and draped it over her shoulder. Annabelle owned the local bookstore, Fire and Fancy Books.

  Then there was Nathaniel Newburg, a vampire bounty hunter.

  Across the table from the trio sat the unearthly contingency, Omar the reaper.,

  Sissy LaFleur represented the angels, her wings the color of champagne.

  Simon Jefferies was a ghost who resided in Birkenshire Hall.

  At the far end of the table, leaning back in his chair as if any one of these supernatural beings wasn’t capable of snuffing out his life, sat human representative, Justin Smith.

  Everyone in Terror knew there was a ruling council; they just didn’t know who sat on it.

  Val stood off to the side.

  When Nora judged it was time to begin, she magically lifted the gavel into the air and slammed it against the Cherrywood table.

  The group fell silent. The soft clicking sound of a mouse scuttling along the corners and down the hall reverberated off the stone, but no one paid any attention—except for the raven. He turned his head. The clap of the gavel had most likely sent the little creature into a tizzy.

  “Good evening,” Nora said. “Thank you for joining us.” She braced her palms against the table and leaned forward. Finished with the formality of welcoming the committee, she got straight to business. “Sheriff Solberg has informed me of escalating tension among the veakling vampire community. Would you care to elaborate, Val?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Ethan Dunlap has dropped in at the jail every
other day for the past three weeks, pressuring me to release Payton Grey. He has become more and more insistent with regards to members of this committee. That’s the main reason I took extra precautions concerning this meeting. I wouldn’t put it past him to be scouting to unearth the committee. He seems desperate to have Payton released.”

  “It’s a shame it’s taken us so long to deal with Payton Grey,” Nora commented.

  It wasn’t an apology for the committee being hung up, but he didn’t really expect one from her. “Given the escalating pressure, a decision is imperative,” he said.

  She nodded. “I understand.”

  Omar spoke up. “Has anything changed? Did we receive more evidence that incriminates Payton? If we take another vote, will the outcome be different?” Omar stared at the other members.

  No one said a word. Bran performed a flutter of his wings.

  Val sighed. “What I’ve given you so far stands. Payton didn’t sell the cobine to anyone in person. Every avenue we’ve checked leads to a dead end. The only thing we have is the tip someone gave Connor Langley.” The stalemate was damned frustrating.

  “And the fact that the cobine supply has been sporadic,” Nathaniel added.

  Nate was correct. Ever since Connor, a vampire czar who lived in California had traced the problem to Terror, they had been trying to monitor the sales and activity of cobine, a rare substance most vampires needed like humans need salt.

  “Yes. Unless someone rolls over on him, I doubt we’ll get more confirmation,” Val said.

  “Then find that ‘someone’, or we’ll need to set him free,” Annabelle said.

  “Okay,” Nathaniel spat. “Allow me to speak to Connor one more time. There is something more here. I feel it.”

  “Many of us do, that’s the reason Payton’s still locked up,” Annabelle chimed in.

  It was the curse and the saving grace of being supernatural. Many creatures had a ninth sense when it came to anticipating and feeling things. He didn’t possess the gift as much as some others did, but he understood it.

  Omar and Sissy were the two “not guilty” votes. The reaper and the angel usually saw things as black or white. And this time, for once, they were in agreement that Payton Grey should be set free.

  In cases such as racketeering, a unanimous vote was required. The accused was either banished to an alternate universe or released. However, when the supernatural mafia was suspected to be involved, it was better to rule on the side of caution.

  Nora crossed her arms and danced her fingers on her tan shirtsleeve. The diamond-shaped, art-deco ring she wore with a thumbnail-size black opal surrounded by diamonds set in platinum glowed. Slight sparks of energy shot from the opal. He wondered if it was in tune with her emotions because she was clearly aggravated and tired of this dilemma.

  “We will give you three weeks, Val, to come up with evidence against Payton, or we’ll let him go,” Nora said. “Is everyone in agreement?” She paused, waiting for an objection, but none came. Each member nodded. “So be it.”

  After asking if there was any other business, she adjourned the meeting with another clap of the gavel.

  The members left a few at a time over the span of several minutes so as not to draw attention to a group of them out on the streets.

  As always, Val was the last to leave. Keeping a sharp eye out for anything unusual, he changed into his dragon form and took flight above the city. From here, he could see Diago Cruz duck into his bike shop. His residence was on the second floor above the garage. Val wouldn’t find some of the other members because they had the ability to trace, vanish, and travel across space.

  * * *

  “The only sure things are death and taxes,” Ben Gifford said to a man sitting across the table from him. Ben removed his glasses, rubbed the lenses on a piece of his shirt, and put them back on.

  “Not true.” Twyla winked as she paused at the end of the table, exchanging a vase of yesterday’s sunflowers for new ones from her garden. She was running later than usual bringing fresh produce and flowers to her parent’s restaurant, Beauty and the Beast. Her mother was beauty and her dad, the beast. “Taxes are the only sure thing.”

  Ben grinned at Twyla. “Is that so?”

  “Yep. Just take a stroll in the cemetery come Saturday night. You’ll find plenty of undead.”

  Ben rested back in the booth. “Don’t go all creepy on me, Twyla. It’s too early for that.”

  She laughed as she moved to the next table, saying over her shoulder, “If you don’t like weird stuff, you shouldn’t be living in this town, Ben.”

  “Don’t you know that’s the attraction? Just anticipating what you may run into. I suppose it’s like that Halloween Horror Night gig they do in Florida. Going there is on my bucket list.”

  “Good luck,” she said with a wave of her hand.

  But she knew that was precisely what drew humans to Terror. The alluring anticipation of encountering a creature out of a horror movie and living to tell about it. The truth was, few people who visited Terror actually remembered their encounters. That was the way the town liked it. But the rare people who weren’t susceptible to the memory wash upon leaving town whispered intriguing stories.

  And some humans, like Ben, even made Terror their home. Although she couldn’t imagine why. Terror was perfect for paranormals, cloaked in secrecy. Terror was their sanctuary as long as they lived within the rules. But for humans, the town often turned into close encounters of the weird kind. Who knew some people really get off on that kind of risk? Granted, people enjoyed testing fate by visiting the town and, hopefully, leaving in one piece. Even though it was a lot of shadows and mirrors, there was a very real element of danger within the city. It all depended how well each creature managed to stay in control.

  Ben owned a hardware store on the corner of Never More Lane and 10th Street. He was really sweet about ordering things she needed for her greenhouse and garden. And he had a talent for finding unusual things, like the heirloom asparagus crowns that should be arriving any day.

  After changing out the flowers on all the tables, Twyla headed to the back room. She carried two baskets of produce and deposited them on the side table. Cook stood in the doorway of a walk-in freezer.

  “Nora,” Twyla called. Her mother was a calm witch with a large presence, and Twyla could feel the moment she entered the room. She turned. “Oh. There you are.”

  “Hello darling,” Nora said.

  “Here are the veggies I told you about.” She strolled over and gave her mom a quick hug. “I’m not staying. I need to get some root plants in the ground today while the moon is right.”

  “Okay. Thanks for bringing these by.”

  Of her three sisters, she was the closest to her mother. Maybe because she strove to please. Solis, the oldest, was extremely independent, and Luna, her middle sister, was overly friendly with everyone, yet she butted heads with Nora. But it was her younger brother, Reagan, the only boy, who was baby of the bunch.

  Twyla valued her mother’s wisdom. She enjoyed listening and learning. And she wasn’t as quick to judge as Solis or as moody as Luna.

  Despite their differences, she was close to her siblings.

  * * *

  On her way home, she stopped by Reagan’s business, Sacred Skull Drugs. Luna operated a soda fountain in it. On Tuesday’s, her sister made her famous Banana Dream Pie with a peanut butter graham cracker crust. Twyla would get a piece to go. Her mouth was already watering in anticipation.

  Outside at the curb, she hopped into her red, decked-out UTV—Utility Terrain Vehicle—a Kawasaki Mule with large all-terrain tires and a rack on the back that made it easy to haul her plants and gardening supplies. A number of local residents used these sort of carts or UTVs to get around, especially when the summer weather was good.

  She drove two streets over to Sacred Skull Drugs Store. This late in the afternoon, she had missed the lunch rush. Luna closed the counter at three thirty.

 
“Tell me you still have pie,” Twyla said to Luna as she approached the counter.

  Luna neatly folded a towel and hung it over the oven handle. She made a face, her silver hair falling over one eye. “You’re in luck. I made extra today.”

  “Hot damn.” Twyla brushed her hands together in anticipation. “I’ll be right back. I’m just dropping this with Solis.” She lifted the paper bag she carried. Solis had asked her to deliver more arrowroot. She found her brother Reagan surrounded by beakers and bottles in his workroom. A compound pharmacist, most of his tinctures and medicines were mixed by hand.

  Twyla rapped on the door and then cracked it open. “Busy?” she said.

  “I have my hands full at the moment,” Reagan said. “Just leave it on the table, kay?”

  “No problem.” Twyla dropped the bag onto the table, noting as she did so that Reagan was in the middle of pouring a blue liquid into another container of green fluid.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Mom said to invite you to dinner on Sunday, so consider yourself invited.”

  “Gotcha.” Reagan squinted, seeming to make sure he’d added just the right amount of blue.

  “Okay. See you then.”

  “I’ll let Nora know if I can make it.”

  “You do that.” Twyla quietly closed the door. She shoved her hands into her back pockets as she traipsed to the snack counter. When she got there, a nice, big slice of pie took up an entire paper plate. Her sister had it wrapped and waiting for her.

  Twyla smiled broadly. “Mmm. You’re the best.” She lifted the pie, balancing the plate carefully on her palm. “Nora invited us to dinner Sunday.”

  “You let Reagan know?”

  “Of course. That doesn’t mean he’ll show.”

  Luna shrugged and said thoughtfully, “They’re getting better, mom and Reagan. He may.”

  “Humph.”

  Twyla moved to the doorway as customers entered. She waved as Diago Cruz and Christian Rosewood strolled past. Christian paused. “Hi, Twyla, he said. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”