I tried to give a sound of understanding, a way to brush it all off, but it wasn’t in me. I swallowed to wet my throat enough to speak. “What changed?”
“Officer Marcus Garcia’s statement,” he answered. “Backed up by a phone call from an investigator with the Mill Creek precinct in Washington State, corroborating it all.”
“Rod,” I thought aloud.
Officer Gains stopped to look at me. “Yeah. Said he’d been forced to take an early retirement and go into hiding after he’d refused to ask a Seattle investigator to cover up a case with strong evidence linking Paul Garcia to the human trafficking ring as its real leader.” He gave a shrug and kept talking as we walked. “There’d been a complaint formed by a potential victim’s parents against the Samuel Woodry you’d mentioned, but that complaint was only the tip of the iceberg as far as what they’d wanted covered up. That Seattle investigator committed suicide three weeks ago. His file is lost.”
I managed to make an affirmative noise as if this didn’t shock me overly much.
He shook his head. “And that’s not the most damning evidence I’m told you’ve helped to uncover. Minutes ago, a woman dropped off a thumb drive. Accord to Officer Garcia, it’s digital evidence of the transactions of women for money, and names of the sellers and the buyers. The organization behind this all, the men, goes up into law enforcement and government…way up. It’s too soon to see any reports about what’s on there exactly, but if Officer Garcia’s hunch is correct, Chief is likely to give you a medal or something. Hell, the president herself may even hold a dinner in your honor.”
My head spun as we walked another twenty feet. We stopped in front of yet another door. Officer Gains turned the knob. I peered in, able to see an older man sitting at a table, with a basket of snacks and plastic cups beside a pitcher of water.
“Here she is, Chief,” Officer Gains said, directing me into the room.
I spotted my male sitting at the other side of the table from the chief. Tears sprang to my eyes and wound their way down my cheeks. “Marcus,” I uttered.
Marcus stood quickly enough to send his chair tumbling backwards. He closed the distance between us and pulled me into his chest. I cried, my nerves unwinding, my fear of being found out and demonized and tortured dissipating in his presence.
“It’s okay, Faline,” my love assured me. “It’s over. It’s all over. We got them.”
My legs gave out and he held me up, pressing me into his chest. I sobbed with relief.
“We did it,” was all I could get out past the sobs. “We did it.”
Marcus pulled my face away from his chest to stare into my eyes. “You did it, Faline. You saved them, you saved them all.”
Epilogue
Journal Entry One
I’ve decided to write down all that has happened, for future generations and so our stories don’t get lost. I’ll start at the end, because really, it’s just another type of beginning.
It didn’t take long to fix the damage to our coterie’s tree homes and communal house caused by the Hunters. Marcus and I shared my room, while my mother finally occupied her own bed. My worries of living with her as adults dissipated within our first night at home. We’d spent our remaining time in North Carolina catching up, between cooking and cleaning for the healers who used their Wild abilities to close dagger wounds, calm anxiety, reset bones, and weave together re-balanced energies.
Once each of our allies had healed enough to travel home, we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. Marcus and I stayed in the old bootlegger house for weeks after the others had left, to offer insight on the Hunter case as new details of the North Carolina complex unfolded. Of course, before we left town, we had to see Eonza’s baby, Kyanite. My aunt had been right. Kyanite’s greenish-blue feathers covered her body in soft fluff. Eonza allowed me to kiss her daughter’s smooth forehead as she’d explained the meaning of her daughter’s name. “It is a stone helpful in aligning energy,” Eonza had said, gazing lovingly at her newborn. “For she is the first Wild Woman born to an aligned people. She is first to be born in a time of peace and freedom.”
I carried the expanse of Eonza’s words with me during my trip home. At first, I had set out on this trek to save my sister, then it was to save my coterie and my mother. Quickly, my mission had morphed into something greater than myself, no doubt reaching further than I will possibly ever know. At the end, I sought to save all daughters and mothers from the Hunters, all people, even the Hunters themselves.
The rusalki returned to Maine healthy and happy. It didn’t take long for them to reach out to their sisters in New Zealand, where they now spend most of their time, appreciating their sisters’ much more luxurious inground homes. They have plans to expand their family very soon.
The incubi and succubi returned to Portland and opened a free energy healing center. The center was so successful, they opened another one in Seattle, run by Marie near the home she shares with Celeste, and sometimes Olivia, in a small bedroom community outside the city.
Aleksander bought a luxurious cabin close to my property—near enough to keep from going crazy and far enough to keep Marcus from going crazy. He still leads the incubi hoard in Portland, but until his whole mate issue is sorted out, he has no choice but to leave his second in command in charge whenever he’s up visiting Washington.
After the mermaids parted ways, I haven’t heard of them coming back together yet, but I hope to. Elaine and Sarah joined a handful of their sisters in moving to Crete to live with the echidna. I’ve heard gossip, though, that a few mermaids set out to rejoin their long-lost siren sisters all over the globe. Something about a conversation they’d shared with the kelpies after winning the battle.
The foreign Wild Women returned to their homes with the comfort of knowing the American Hunters’ organization had been snuffed out, thanks to their help and bravery. They no longer had to worry for their daughters’ freedom. Of course, they still weren’t so sure a harpy wouldn’t accidentally expose the existence of supernatural females.
And as for Marcus and me, our war is done, but our life together has just begun. We’re currently expecting our first child, and I’m pretty sure Wilds on this continent and others have bets going to guess the gender and kind of our little one. Our mothers, though, have made their wishes clear enough. My mother hopes for a little huldra girl. Marcus’s mother hopes for a little xana girl. Marcus and I just want a healthy baby, no matter the gender, who’ll embrace their abilities, thankful to be whoever Freyja, Danu, and Marcus’s God made them to be.
Shortly after returning home, Marcus was offered a promotion to investigator with the Everett Police Department. He took it. We asked to remain anonymous when it came to breaking news about the human trafficking case, so we weren’t given those awards Officer Gains thought we deserved. And in the Wild area of things, Marcus has proven a quick study in the ways of a xana. Showers with the man have never been more delightful.
The chief of the Everett PD suggested I apply to work with them, too, but I turned down the offer. I prefer the freedom of bounty hunting and the fulfillment I get when bringing in a predator skip.
My mother and I have a trip planned to visit our ancestor living within a tree, the ancestor who taught her our true history and instructed her to teach it to me. Hopefully, our ancestor will gift us with wisdom to pass down to my own child, because oppression helps no one and hurts everyone. This is why Wild Women were created. And this is why we will continue to thrive, for the delight of our Goddesses and the good of all kinds.
THE END
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SNEAK PEEK OF MIDNIGHT DESIRE
A ball of dread unfurled in Willow McCray’s stomach and pricked along her skin. The sensation confirmed her earlier premonition of death.
Willow t
rolled through Fusion, the dimly lit heavy metal bar, while all around her a colorful mix of otherworldly beings gyrated to the thump of the seductive beat. Emotions of the crowd swam high and swirled through her head in a sea of lust and euphoria.
Tonight she came here with three objectives: find her best friend, get the bloodstone amulet, and walk out the door alive. She tried to scope out the place for her quarry, affectionately known as Maeve the Metallurgist.
She shielded her eyes from a strobe light as she pushed her way through the mass of sweaty bodies. Willow scanned the room, but she couldn’t spot her elusive friend anywhere. She glanced at her watch and frowned. It was already past midnight and there was still no sign of her. As much as she appreciated Maeve’s ability to work under pressure, Willow didn’t have time to screw around.
Her hand shook as she pulled out her cell and dialed Maeve’s number. No service. She moved past the dance floor toward the line of barstools, and something crunched under her boot. She glanced at the floor and noticed a broken syringe. Wincing, she swallowed hard and kept on walking.
Considering her choice of meeting spots, apparently Maeve still liked to party, hard. She claimed smack took the edge off the brutal confines of her job. Forging charmed metal in dark, sweltering conditions couldn’t exactly be a picnic. But did she have to turn to drugs? They’d agreed to meet here, but from the loud buzzing in her ears, Willow sensed trouble was on its way. She’d been calling and texting Maeve all day, and she still couldn’t get ahold of her.
Guilt tightened around Willow’s gut like an iron fist. When this mess was over, she vowed to get Maeve clean. Even if Maeve refused, she would haul her ass back to rehab. Not that Willow was one to talk. She’d never touched a drug in her life, and yet she’d done plenty to regret. In fact, she feared the darkness she may have permanently etched on her soul. If I can save Maeve, maybe I can save myself.
When Willow opened her mind to the crowd around her, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. A ball of heat circled her head and tingled down her spine as her magick responded to the crowd.
The vision of a tall, dark-haired man with a strip of gold around his wrist swam in her head. She blinked and the image disappeared. Could he be one of the demons trying to kill me?
She pushed the vision to the back of her mind and glanced across the bar at a group of gorgeous incubi huddled together. Sex incarnate was all her mind could register as her gaze locked on the tallest of the three. He flashed a sultry smile, the promise of sin written all over his chiseled face. According to legend, incubi magick, if wielded at full force, was like catnip to most women and could enslave even the strongest female with sex. He waved and she caught a glimpse of a gold string around his wrist.
Hmm. She usually gave their kind a wide berth, but in this case, she’d make an exception. She plastered a smile on her face and waved back. The male tilted his head to the side and his red, watery eyes zeroed in on her boobs. She’d raided a bag of Maeve’s old clothes and managed to squish her breasts into a black leather bustier—at least two sizes too small. She sucked air in through her nose, finding it hard to breathe. She just hoped she didn’t pass out before closing. Willow pushed out her chest as he sauntered over to her side of the bar. Showtime.
The acrid stench of sweat clung to his clothing, along with a hint of ether, which usually came from cooking meth. “What’s up, beautiful? Why don’t you have a drink with us?” he slurred and motioned to his spot at the bar.
She moved a little closer to him and purposely let her fingers graze the string at his wrist so she could peek inside his head. Even if he didn’t recall what he’d done five minutes ago, he might have a clue about Maeve stored somewhere in his junkie brain. Nothing. “Thanks anyway, but I’m meeting someone.”
As she turned to walk away, he caught her by the arm and pulled. His thoughts screamed, Screw you, bitch.
Her hands balled into fists. She drew up her other arm, ready to counter with a thrust to his chin, when a deep male voice, as smooth as single malt scotch, murmured, “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
The incubus let go of her and she spun around. A towering figure stood next to her. The stilettos she wore added four inches to her already tall frame, and she still craned her neck to gaze up at his face.
Eyes the color of obsidian locked on hers. His lush, dark hair matched the color of his eyes and a short-cropped beard accentuated the hard planes of his face. He wasn’t only classically gorgeous, but his features were undeniably unique. “You looked as if you might need some backup,” he murmured close to her ear.
“Thanks, but I’m a lady who can handle herself.” Maybe a bit of an understatement. She let her gaze trail over his wide, muscled chest. His black suit jacket hugged tightly to his broad shoulders. She pegged it for Armani.
In a sleazy place like this, he was either a dealer or a demon. Both were notorious show-offs. Either way, she wanted to check him out and not just for his looks. She hadn’t come here to flirt, but she’d play her part to the hilt if it meant getting info.
The stranger slid onto a barstool and arched his eyebrow. “I don’t doubt it. But from what I’ve heard, their kind doesn’t understand the meaning of the word no.”
She glanced over her shoulder at the incubus. He scowled at her before skulking back to his place at the bar. “I think he finally got the hint. They must be slumming tonight. This isn’t their typical hangout.”
“Nor mine. Were you just trying to get away from that guy or are you really meeting someone? In which case, I’d be seriously disappointed.” Heat flared in his eyes, and she sensed the passion burning beneath the surface.
“Oh? And here I thought you were being a Good Samaritan,” she said in her best seductive voice.
His big, dark eyes trailed over her like a soft caress and lingered on the swell of her breasts, crushed against the top of her bustier. “Maybe I have an ulterior motive.” He leaned into her, his voice low near her ear. “I’m in Jersey for business and I don’t know anyone in Raven’s Hollow. Would you consider showing me around town?”
“Are you propositioning me? Maybe you’re one of those guys into the whole damsel in distress thing.” Antsy, she glanced at the door again and her gut tightened. There was still no sign of Maeve. Without the amulet, Willow was as good as dead. Tonight she’d been forced to use a glamour to fake out her enemy, but the magick wouldn’t last long, less than twenty-four hours at best.
Her light-green eyes were now a deep chocolate-brown and her wavy, auburn hair was blue-black and flowed down her back like a waterfall. At least her black leather trench added some coverage. Not that it protected her from the frigid temperatures outside, but it matched the outfit and concealed the two-foot long, solid steel, twin athames sheathed in her hip belt. A metal choker completed the ensemble.
He glanced at her collar. “The only distress you look like you’re into makes me think of whips and chains.” His eyes were dark and edgy, full of sinful promises. “I’m Alexandros. Call me Alex.”
Most demons don’t have names like Alexandros. Or dark, golden tans in the dead of winter for that matter. Reddish skin and horns were pretty much the norm. Although some, rare breeds, like the Hymara, appeared to be human but were no less deadly than their full-blooded counterparts.
Under the lights, Alex’s skin glowed to a warm, toasty brown and reminded her of hot buttered rum. “I’m Willow.” He offered his hand to shake, and her heart spiked when she caught a glimpse of his gold Patek Phillippe watch. Could he be the man from her vision? The moment her hand slid into his, she opened herself to his emotions. Turmoil and anger swirled all around him. She suppressed a shiver and hoped her expression didn’t make him suspicious.
“A pleasure.” The deep, sensual way he said the word pleasure made her shiver
“Well, maybe if you buy me a drink I might forget who I was supposed to meet.” She held onto his hand and zeroed in on his thoughts, but he kept his mind shut tighter than the zi
pper on Maeve’s leather pants—now digging into her skin. Apparently, Alex could block a mind probe. Intrigued, she released his hand and plastered a smile on her face.
If he was sent to kill her, she didn’t want to risk getting jumped the moment she tried to walk out the door. She’d stall him in the meantime and try to figure out a way to get the upper hand.
His smile revealed a flash of straight white teeth. “I wouldn’t want to get accused of plying you with alcohol and piss off the guy who shows up. He might try to kick my ass.”
“Why? You look like you can handle yourself.” Willow licked her lips and let her gaze trail over two hundred plus pounds of muscle. “Besides, how do you know I’m meeting a guy?”
His slack-jawed response made her chuckle. Some witches loved the idea of threesomes, choosing polyamorous relationships over monogamous ones. She just wasn’t one of them. The more she pushed Alex off kilter, the better. Maybe he might even let his shields down. Most males toyed with some sort of twisted lesbian fantasy. She’d have to find a way to get him to talk. Not that she’d act on the fantasy, but who knows, if he thought there was even a remote chance, it might get him to talk.
He leaned in to her and whispered close to her ear, “Since he, or she, isn’t here and you are, I guess it’s their loss.” Willow caught a whiff of his clean, male scent and fought the urge to sigh. The man oozed sexual prowess. Funny, the only males she attracted always ended up turning into major losers. After the last one, she’d sworn off men for good.
Her gaze rested on his face. She’d imprint every gorgeous inch of him to memory and burn out the batteries in her vibrator later. Then she realized she was fantasizing about someone who might be trying to kill her. What does that say about the state of my personal life? She seriously needed to get laid. “About that drink—”
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