by Rosalie Redd
She had no idea what her unique powers were or when they would manifest, and she wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to discover them. There was too much pressure to perform.
Neira coughed. “This is the most entertaining display of estrogen I’ve seen in quite some time.”
Mortification chilled Wynne’s bones. “Neira! That’s enough.”
A short, feminine laugh filled the air then Neira transformed into her feline form and sauntered from the room.
Sasha wrapped her arm around Wynne’s shoulder. “Wynne is the best witch for the job.”
“That is up to the council.” Aveline stepped away from the fireplace and adjusted the belt around her waist.
“Grand Mistress.” Wynne trailed her fingers over the dip at her collar bone. “What happened to Daniella?”
“Daniella was caught with her lover—a fae.” Aveline hissed the last word. “We stripped her of her head of household status and banished her from the council.”
Wynne’s world spun, her vision narrowing on Aveline’s dark, hate-filled eyes. To lose the head of household status was a disgrace, a black stain forever marking the witch as a failure. Wynne couldn’t imagine what Daniella had gone through.
Aveline sniffed and raised her chin. “Well, at least one of the gargoyles killed the vile fae. Shortly thereafter, Daniella took her own life. It seemed she couldn’t live without him.”
“She committed suicide?” Wynne glanced at Sasha, and her sister’s eyes widened. A buzz started in Wynne’s ear, but the shock quickly morphed to anger, sliding hot and quick through her veins. Daniella believed taking her life was her only option, and it tore at Wynne’s heart. To die for loving someone seemed so wrong.
The bottles on the sideboard rattled once again, along with the book and tarot cards on the coffee table.
“Fae can be charming, and some have the ability to captivate through magic. I know several witches who have been seduced by the bastards. The council shouldn’t have held that against her. Look at the outcome!” Wynne’s remarks had probably damaged her chances with the council, but she couldn’t let these old ways continue.
“Fae are evil.” Spittle flew from Aveline’s lips.
“Witches are not,” Wynne retorted.
Aveline’s face flushed. “You’d be wise to let it go. Witches don’t associate with fae. Daniella made her choice. If it weren’t for Deidre’s firm recommendation and Leslie’s support of you…”
Wynne held her breath, and Sasha’s grip around her shoulders tightened.
Aveline raised her chin and headed for the hallway. She stopped but didn’t turn around. “Be at council headquarters tomorrow night at seven for your interview. We’ll decide by the end of the week.”
With the snap of her fingers, Aveline disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Sasha whistled and let go of Wynne. “Cool spell. I need to learn that one.”
“That’s a level five spell. Aren’t you still on level three?” Wynne plopped on the couch, closed her eyes, and slid deep into the cushions.
Her sister settled in the seat next to her. “You’re going to do it, right?”
Wynne opened one eye a slit and peered at her sibling. “You’re two years older than me. You should’ve been head of household and on the council.”
A tormented pain flickered in Sasha’s eyes. “That’s not fair. We had different fathers, and I’m not the one with the once-in-ten-generations birthmark everyone expects greatness from. Besides, I couldn’t keep a secret if my life depended on it, much less run our clan or be on the council.”
Wynne’s gut twisted, and she hated herself for hurting her sister. Head of household required persistent monitoring of witches’ spells based on level, representation in coven activities, and training the families’ young ones, not to mention providing a safe haven for the gargoyles and becoming the main point of contact for war emergencies. The endless tasks could exhaust the very best witch. As much as she loved Sasha, Wynne couldn’t imagine her sister taking on such a role.
She sat up and wrapped Sasha in a hug. “I’m sorry, sis. I shouldn’t have put this on you.”
“That’s okay. I love you anyway, despite your special, yet to be discovered, power. Just let me know when you figure out what it is, all right?” Sasha’s words came out on a hitch.
“You bet.” Wynne held on, hugging her sister with all her might.
Many of the council’s beliefs and traditions seemed antiquated and unfair. Now in her mid-twenties and head of her household, maybe Wynne could enact change.
First, though, she needed to slay that interview.
Time to prepare for battle.
CHAPTER 2
Z ain Roldan leaned against the parked Toyota Camry, crossed his ankles, and stared at the old Victorian. With its gabled roof, wraparound porch, and numerous rooms, the house seemed to exude a life of its own. A warm glow penetrated through the crack between the closed curtains in the large picture window. Two shadowed figures moved across its path.
Witches, no doubt, and the reason he’d come to this house.
Marco Valentelli, his partner in crime, strode around the car. His long overcoat billowed about his knees. With his fancy suit and tie, slicked-back blond hair, pale skin, and strong features, he appeared like some elegant vampire out for a midnight stroll, except for the hard metal collar at his neck.
“How much longer do you plan to stay here and stake out that gross house on steroids, boss?” Marco’s lip curled.
Bitterness coated the back of Zain’s throat, and he resisted the urge to spit at the guy’s feet. Until a couple of nights ago, Zain had reported to Marco. Funny how the tables turned in such a short time. Demotions in the fae army were as common an occurrence as promotions, but the former bit much harder than the latter.
No one wanted to elicit Gwawl’s wrath. But Marco had done precisely that—failed to provide a tribute of loyalty to the god of the fae. His punishment? Demotion to below the rank and file soldier. When Gwawl placed the collar around Marco’s neck and designated Zain his boss, the demeaning metal band became a visual token of Marco’s fall from grace. Yes, indeed, tables could turn in an instant.
Hand at his waist, Zain tapped his fingertip on his belt. “We’ll stay and watch as long as it takes or until I’m bored.”
Marco stepped aside and gripped the handle of his cane nestled in the crook of his elbow. His attention slid to the window. “What does Gwawl want with that witch?”
“Bring me the witch named Wynne Becknell. Don’t fail me or I’ll shred your soul into non-existence.” Gwawl’s command reverberated through Zain’s mind, and he ran his tongue over his chipped front tooth. The rough, jagged edge scraped into his flesh. If only he could stop the old habit. “Good question, but I suspect this involves his battle with Rhiannon. Guess we’ll find out once we deliver her to him.”
Many eons ago, the goddess Rhiannon had spurned Gwawl for a human lover. In retaliation, he’d created the fae, selecting the bad souls as they entered the Otherworld and bolstering his army. Cernunnos, ultimate ruler of the Otherworld, refused to let him take the good souls. He indicated they deserved their freedom. Eager to protect the humans she so loved, Rhiannon selected the questionable souls and threw them into gargoyles to serve in her war against Gwawl and giving them the chance at retribution to become human once again.
Zain rubbed his fist against his open palm. He’d become a fae almost a hundred years ago, at the age of twenty-nine, after he’d intentionally let two people die. Since then, he’d prided himself on his ability to complete his assigned tasks. He’d achieve this one as well.
The slam of a car door followed by another echoed down the street. Beneath the flicker of a streetlamp, a man and a woman tottered on unsteady feet. The man slid around the car and gripped the woman by the waist. Their laughter reverberated off the nearest home.
Marco’s nostrils flared. Like a hound capturing the scent of a rabbit, his attention narrowed on the pair.
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The couple’s aura swirled around them like the color of rainbows in a soap bubble. While the woman’s bright glow reminded Zain of honey, the man’s black tinge reeked of darkness and ill intent. Zain nodded toward the couple. “Go. Have some fun, but not the woman. Only the man.”
Marco didn’t hesitate. He sifted after the couple, his molecules dematerializing into the air.
Most fae killed indiscriminately. Good, evil, it didn’t matter. A soul was a soul. Evil souls became new recruits in Gwawl’s army. Good souls lived in peace in the Otherworld, but not before the fae absorbed a brief infusion of energy from the departed spirit.
The first and only time Zain had killed a good human soul, instead of a satisfying jolt of energy, intense pain had seared permanent scars on his chest and put him out of commission for a week. Since then, Zain focused his kills on evil human spirits.
At least he had the ability to see human auras. Other fae didn’t have that skill, and he’d learned early on to keep his secret to himself. Being too different in the fae realm led to unwanted scrutiny.
He returned his attention to the house, pushed away from the car, and crossed the road. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, a vibration, like static electricity, filled the air.
He toed the edge of the grass.
Sparks flew into the air. A painful flash of energy rippled up his leg.
“Damn wards,” he muttered.
He lifted his stare to the window. This close, he caught a glimpse of the witch in question through the slit in the curtain. A zip of excitement swept through his bloodstream.
She stood next to the fireplace, her arms crossed over her ample bosom. Soft as silk, her blonde hair hung in ringlets past her shoulders. Her full, plump lips moved as she spoke, and he longed to press his mouth to hers and find out if they were as supple as they appeared. The rest of her remained hidden behind the curtain.
He ground his teeth.
Three months, ten days, and, he glanced at his watch, six hours ago, he’d first laid eyes on Wynne Becknell walking home from the neighborhood grocery store three blocks away. She had been dressed in a wool coat that covered her exposed flesh except for her beautiful features, and he had locked his gaze onto her irresistible blue eyes and her gorgeous red lips.
Even then, her witch’s power had proceeded her, emanating from her in a giant wave, and her aura, a delicate blue with a dusting of silver, had let him know her soul was much better than his.
His heart had stopped. He’d held his breath.
Carrying a bag in her hands and so engrossed in her own world, she hadn’t even noticed him standing across the street. He must’ve looked like a fool with his mouth open. Good thing she hadn’t glanced his way.
He’d followed her home, and several times since then, he’d stopped by to watch her from afar like a freakin’ stalker. Although he’d had a few one-night stands over the years, he hadn’t experienced a sudden attraction to a woman like this since he’d first fallen for Agatha, his deceased wife. Figures, though, he’d find himself attracted to the enemy, and now, his mission was to capture her and transport her to Gwawl.
A part of him dreaded yanking her from her world, and another part couldn’t wait to meet her in person. Would her scent drive him wild? Would her voice tease him beyond measure? He couldn’t wait to find out.
The problem? Wards kept riffraff fae like him from entering the house. Last night, he’d prodded and explored every square inch of space surrounding the large Victorian. She’d done an outstanding job on her protection spell. He’d have to wait for her to emerge. She hadn’t last night, and at almost two a.m., that didn’t look likely tonight, either. Too bad he couldn’t stay here past dawn, but the sun’s rays would fry him to bits in an instant.
The light behind the curtain extinguished, solidifying what he already suspected. A minute later, a muted glow bathed the curtained last room on the upper floor.
The tight scars along Zain’s chest itched like a thousand fire ants crawled over his skin. He rubbed at the worst spot, the one over his heart, and returned to his vantage point next to the parked car across the road. He glanced behind him to the window once again. Soon, beautiful witch, very soon.
A breeze swirled grass and dirt into a dust devil alongside him. As it dissipated, Marco stood in its place.
A malicious glint formed in the fae’s eyes. “Mission accomplished, but that poor woman will have nightmares for the rest of her life.”
“Of course she will.” Zain shook his head.
“By the way, I ran into Stefan.” Marco withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Zain. “He said to give you this. It’s from Gwawl.”
Zain’s stomach tightened into a hard knot, but he schooled his features. “What does it say?”
Marco blinked then a slow grin tugged at his lips. He thrust the page into Zain’s hand. “Read it yourself.”
Zain curled his fist around the parchment, grasped Marco’s metal collar, and shoved the paper in his face. “Tell me what it says.”
Marco raised his hands and snatched the page with one thumb and forefinger. “Touchy, touchy.”
The knot in Zain’s stomach tightened further. His illiteracy was a secret he kept well hidden. Born just before the turn of the twentieth century, he’d worked on his father’s farm where reading, writing, and arithmetic hadn’t been a top priority. Scooping shit out of the barn had needed far more attention.
By the time he turned eight, he’d left what little he’d learned in school behind to take on more responsibility at home. Seven years later, he’d discovered his fists carried power, and he’d ended up in the boxing ring. Not the best living, but he hadn’t needed an education to smash another guy’s face.
“You report to me or do I need to give you a reminder?” Zain tightened his grip around Marco’s collar, pressing the sharpened nubs lining the inside against Marco’s skin.
A drop of blood, followed by another, dribbled down Marco’s neck. His nostrils flared, but the fae didn’t relent.
“Read. It.” Zain tossed Marco against the parked Camry. The vehicle shuddered from the impact.
Marco swiped his finger alongside the wound then stared at the dark substance. His gaze rose to meet Zain’s. A yellow glow flickered around the edges of his eyes before it faded. With a nonchalance Zain didn’t believe for an instant, Marco brushed some imagined lint from his overcoat, snapped the page in his hand, and peered at it.
“Where is my witch? If you don’t return with her by dawn, provide an outstanding kill record, and I’ll allow you grace for one more night. Don’t test my patience further.” Marco turned the page to face Zain. “It’s signed by Gwawl.”
Indeed, the chicken scratch signature at the bottom swirled on the page, churning like the chilling, haunting bones of the deceased in the god’s elaborate chair. Zain tried to read some of the words, but the only ones he could decipher with his second-grade education were “you” and “her.”
Zain rubbed his chest. “We’re done here for tonight. Time to gather our soul quota unless you’d rather face Gwawl’s wrath.”
Marco’s stoic face paled. “There are a few seedy bars on the lower south side that’ll close soon. Easy pickins.”
“Perfect. Let’s go.” Zain dematerialized, his molecules swirling in a slow churn of dirt and grime, Marco hot on his tail.
CHAPTER 3
“Damian. Meet me and Grayson at Buckingham Fountain in Grant Park. Fae in the area.” Drake, Damian’s pain-in-the-ass squad leader, issued his command over the gargoyle mind link.
“I’m on it.” Damian ground his teeth. He hated his boss almost as much as the fae, and that said something about Drake, himself, or perhaps both. Best not to dwell on it.
Instead of dematerializing, which would be the fastest way to arrive at his destination, he raced down the deserted street he’d patrolled in search of fae. Not in the mood to deal with his boss just yet, he needed the distraction. To hell with it if Drake di
dn’t like his lack of punctuality.
He glanced at the waning moon. Funny how he’d always worshipped the bright orb, but ever since he’d seen Wynne turn to stone for a full night during its peak, he’d grown to hate Earth’s satellite.
Wynne and the other members of the Becknell clan cared for all the gargoyles in Drake’s squads, tending to their injuries, providing sanctuary in times of need, and protecting their stone gargoyles with wards. After he’d transferred here from Atlanta a few months ago, he’d met her on a night he’d come out on the short end of the stick in a battle with a rather cantankerous fae.
With her porcelain skin, long, blonde ringlets, ever-tempting full lips, and curves that seemed to go on forever, she’d mesmerized him from the moment he’d met her. That she had a sharp wit and even brighter mind had been the real kicker, though, and he’d fallen for her hard.
He crossed the street, passed a parked car with its tires slashed and a building with iron bars on the windows then took a shortcut down the alley.
Wynne…
Even as his spirit lightened at the prospect of seeing her on his upcoming day off, his pulse pounded at his forehead. He shouldn’t spend his free time with her, lead her into believing they had any kind of future together.
With his cursed gift, he could never touch her with his bare hands, not unless he wanted to see things he’d rather not, like her past or how she’d die. He didn’t want to know that information about her or anyone else and was the reason he kept his gloves on at all times. Oh, that and the overwhelming physical pain that came along with the knowledge.
Besides, his entire existence revolved around his job to protect humans from the dark fae. He had nothing to offer his pretty witch other than a few precious nights a month. Was that enough? Could she care for him? Maybe even love him?
A bitter, metallic tang, like an old copper penny, drifted by on the breeze. The telltale sign of fae bristled the hair along his nape.
He slid his favorite dagger from its sheath at his waist and palmed the smooth handle in his gloved hand. Moonlight filtered between the tall buildings, casting strange shadows along the walls.
