Moonlight Mist: A Limited Edition Collection of Fantasy & Paranormal)

by Nicole Morgan

  The door opened silently, and I slipped into my room only to find Scarlett asleep on my bed, a soft snore coming from her mushed face. I padded over to the stack of clothes that still lived on the dresser and pulled out a T-shirt and some shorts. The one thing I couldn’t get over with this house was how it was so warm inside when it was so cold outside.

  The tiles on the bathroom floor were cool against my feet, and I relished the sensation after getting so hot spending all night snuggled next to a dragon. I freshened up quickly and headed back out, leaving Scarlett asleep on the bed. She looked as if she needed the rest, and I couldn’t blame her; the last few days hadn’t exactly been calm. Part of me was curious if she felt as safe with the guys as I did, or if that had something more to do with the part of me that was potentially a flamekeeper. Either way, I was glad she had relaxed.

  I made my way back to the kitchen, which was blessedly empty, and began making some breakfast. The guys and I needed to talk about the trials, and cooking helped calm my nerves, so it was a win-win. While I waited for everyone to get up, I made some waffles, pancakes, bacon, eggs, sausages, and toast, along with a fresh pot of coffee.

  As each of the guys came in and grabbed a plate, they all gave me a kiss good morning. Sebastian’s was scorching hot and needy, leaving me shaking when he stepped back. Noah was next, with a slow, sweet kiss that made me want to swoon and ask for the smelling salts. Grayson even kissed me, which surprised me. His was seductive and sensual, slow but hot, and it left me with such an ache between my legs that I was pressing my thighs together.

  Logan was last. He came in looking like the cat who got the cream. He sidled up behind me while I was working on a fresh pan of eggs since I had underestimated how much dragons ate. His hands wrapped around my stomach and slid down my thighs while they pressed my butt back into his groin, letting me know exactly what he wanted before he spun me around and gave me a kiss that was full of reverence and joy.

  When he stepped away, I knew I had a big goofy grin on my face, but I couldn’t help it. I was falling in love with four princes, and I thought they might be falling in love with me too. It was enough to make a girl giddy.

  Once they all had plates and had finished at least one round of food and one mug of coffee, I sat down with them at the table, a plate of food in front of me, along with my own mug of coffee.

  “So, boys, tell me, how do I win these trials?” I asked with a grin on my face between bites of food.

  “You’re in?” Noah asked.

  “That was the deal, wasn’t it? So, as long as you will help me, and I mean all of you, then of course I am.”

  Heads nodded around the table and sported big smiles.

  I cleared my throat. This was the hard part. “I want you to know that I already care deeply for each of you. Humans don’t share like dragons do, though, so if any of you feel I’m playing favorites, then please tell me. I promise I won’t do it intentionally.”

  Sebastian chuckled. “I for one can’t wait to hear you make those sounds again while you’re underneath me.” He waggled his eyebrows at me suggestively, which made me laugh.

  I blushed profusely, of course. The sounds had been unavoidable, but I had tried to keep the volume down. Evidently it didn’t work all that well. “I’m sorry. It just seems so weird talking about this with all of you, and you all being okay with sharing me.”

  “Being jealous isn’t in our nature; at least, not in this situation,” Noah said. “Anything that makes you happy makes us all happy.”

  “Good,” I said while I tried to hide my glee at having four men to do with as I pleased. Four men to pleasure and pleasure me, to fall in love with, to spend time with and work with. It felt as if I’d won the lottery. Part of me knew that I should have been horrified with myself at wanting all of them, but I couldn’t help it—I just did. It wasn’t as if I’d ever felt like this about any set of guys I’d known before, so I had to think it was something to do with the flamekeeper side of things.

  “I can’t wait to get to know you at our own pace, Ava,” Grayson said as he raised his glass of orange juice to me from across the table.

  We all raised our various drinks, and there was a chorus of, “To our own pace,” and I added, “To kicking butt at the trials,” to which I got a, “Hear, hear,” from the guys.

  Noah chimed in with, “To our new flamekeeper, long may she reign.” I started giggling at how silly it felt to cheers at breakfast with orange juice and coffee, while the guys repeated the cheers, and finally Sebastian added, “To Ava, the light we didn’t know we needed.” When all four of them turned and toasted me by name, it made my heart beat painfully in my chest. I’d expected something crude from Sebastian, but it just showed me how much I still needed to get to know them all. Each of them was special to me, and nothing could ever change that. Being with them was like living in a dream, which was why I planned on savoring every moment before I had to wake up.

  Scarlett stumbled into the kitchen in her pajama shorts and tank. Her hair was completely messed up on one side, with part of it sticking straight up in the air, and the guys each smiled at her. Some even had to suppress a chuckle. “What’s all the noise about?” she asked groggily while I got up and pressed my mug of coffee into her hands. She smiled gratefully at me and had a seat at the other end of the table.

  “I just let the guys know that I’m all in on the trials to be their flamekeeper. I’m going to give this everything I’ve got.” I paused, getting a little choked up. “They deserve it and so much more,” I said finally, looking at each one of them in turn. The unspoken part that we all understood except for Scarlett was that I would have to give it all I had or I would die trying. In that moment, it didn’t matter, though. I was there with my guys and my best friend, my sister, and I was determined to enjoy it. I knew in my gut that with their help, everything would work out.

  Thank you for reading!

  Want to find out what happens with Ava and the dragons next? Then be sure to check out Trial by Fire, Flamekeeper Book Two. Coming soon!

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  Helen Scott lives in the Chicago area with her wonderful husband and furry, four-legged kids. She spends way too much time with her nose in a book and isn’t sorry about it. When not reading or writing, Helen can be found absorbed in one video game or another or crocheting her heart out.

  Also by Helen Scott

  Don’t forget to check out Helen’s other series.

  The Siren Legacy

  The Oracle (A Siren Legacy Novella)

  The Siren’s Code

  The Siren’s Heart

  The Banshee (A Siren Legacy Novella)

  The Siren’s Bride

  The Siren’s Son

  The Siren’s Eyes

  Fury’s Fire

  Fury’s Valentine (A Fury’s Fire Novella)

  Wardens of Midnight

  Woman of Midnight (A Wardens of Midnight Novella)

  Sanctuary at Midnight

  Cerberus

  Daughter of Persephone

  Daughter of Hades

  Queen of the Underworld

  The Acquisition of Dr. Iris

  Erin Lee

  About the Story

  The Acquisition of Dr. Iris is the dark romance story of a woman with the supernatural ability to enter the brain and mind of the man she lusts for through a rare condition he has known as heteroc
hromia. Once there, she determines that magical mind-reading abilities come with a steep price tag. To acquire his love, she must be willing to be owned by him. With privy information she knows could make him finally return her affections, how will Ester use her abilities to rectify dark secrets that threaten to consume them both? And what could it all possibly have to do with olive juice?

  The Acquisition of Dr. Iris

  Earth realm: At the office

  Through his mismatched eyes, not my own, I watch him.

  They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. It’s not true. At least not in our case. For my employer, his eyes are the portal to all that is charmed and transcendent about the earth we walk upon. His eyes – one azure and the other dark, are more like massive steel doors with deadbolts and key locks reserved only for those with the codes. Behind them, I can taste a utopia so sweet it leaves me hooked like a five-dollar junkie six months into addiction. Through them, I am not only alive in a realm others couldn’t possibly understand, but one with him. It is there, inside of him, that dark fantasies bleed beauty I alone have been fortunate enough to witness. And for this reason, I cannot look away. Yet, he still doesn’t see me. He’s not ready. That much, I understand. So I follow him, blind, into shadowy plans he has for me but hasn’t found the courage to speak of. All the while, I pretend to know absolutely nothing. But I do. I know as much as I dare to ask. The dance we do is magical. I’m just not exactly sure who is leading.

  To me—and to most who aren’t his big-toothed, frown-faced third wife—he is the personification of grace. With the precision of a surgeon, he spends most days double checking his notes between patients. It is in his pristine penmanship that I can generally read his moods. When he neglects to finish the loops in his ‘e’s,’ I know he is angry. When they are full-bellied and bigger, I can only assume that she prepared his favorite meal the night before – prime rib, extra rare, with one baked potato and broccoli. “Hold the butter; it’s fattening.” I can still hear him. It’s the type of thing he mumbles under his breath before he turns down cream or sugar in his coffee, insisting that only the weak drink it any other way than black. It’s also the type of thing he thinks about – wondering why people throw away their health on something as silly as the instant gratification promised in fast food drive thru lines.

  Of course, I never say these things to him out loud. He wouldn’t take well to me pointing out something as silly as the way his script mirrors his moods. He has no idea I’ve memorized the deep lines in his forehead or the way he only seems to sweat on rainy days. The tiny quirks we come to commit to memory as a part of someone’s demeanor are the summary of how we define them. To me, and for reasons I can’t get my mind around, he is a god. Inside of him is eternity and a utopia I’ve become slave to in spite of the darkness.

  It has never been a problem to me that he snorts when he laughs or that his left hand is slightly bigger than his right. In him, all I see is the embodiment of both divinity and humanity combined. And somehow, though I only know him in the capacity of my disciplined employer, I see him as all universal deeds and misdeeds combined. It is strange. I admit it. But I’ve come to accept this as my own oddity and have learned to be okay with it. It’s unavoidable, really, after you’ve been inside.

  Ironically, if my employer knew of my magical ability to leave the earthly realm and travel through his mind, he might look twice at me. There are things he hides. I suspect he would linger at the front desk if he knew I’ve heard his thoughts and that they made me wet between the thighs. I guess he would give me the benefit of the doubt and be less demanding that I take notes when we talk. If he knew, he’d realize I’ve organized them all for him – his thoughts, fears, and even the darkest secrets he keeps tucked behind more practical thoughts about bills and calorie counts. Hell, I’ve even used my magic to push on his hypothalamus in hopes of prodding him along.

  Don’t think about it. What will be will be. Eventually, he’ll see. You don’t want love that’s forced. You aren’t a charity case. I do my very best to stay focused on the tasks at hand. It helps prevent me from ruminating on the silly things – like if he sees me back. No. Stupid. He has no time for that. He is an important man with an important job. Stop dreaming. He does not know who you are. Today, my job is to transcribe his notes into a computer system he believes to be “nonsense.” I can’t say I disagree with him there. While I get the need for a central database where people can track their medical and billing records online, my employer is old school. Frankly, I am too. It’s not often you find a man who will hold a door open for a woman anymore. I miss that. And him too when we aren’t together as one – the way our maker Goddess intended it. Truthfully, and pathetic, I know, the only time I’m truly ever alone with him in this earth realm is in my own dreams. I need to return to the inside of him soon. For now, I’m stuck with the daytime fantasies of how it could be.

  In my own mind, we drop the formalities and I can ask him things like why he leaves spare house keys all over the office or makes long lists of patient diagnoses he’d rather I didn’t enter into the computer. I can ask him why he went for optometry when he’s clearly so fascinated with teeth and that stupid dentist. Next time I’m inside of him, maybe I’ll find out for myself. For now, in my dreams, I can ask about the fantasies that make my cheeks burn red when he looks at me. The answers, though, I can never remember when I wake from sleep. And so, I’m stuck with things I’ve determined as truths about him until I enter him again. I wish I could bring my notes, a clipboard, something. The worst feeling in the world is when I forget to check and am left for months before I can return for answers.

  My abilities are new. I haven’t honed them. I’ve tried to practice on others, but he’s the only one I can get into. I know it has something to do with his condition but not much more. I’ve asked him about it – telling him it’s cool that his eyes aren’t the same color and saying I wish mine were the same. He’s told me I’m ridiculous and never to speak of it again. He says he looks odd, that his teeth are crooked, and then makes jokes about how he can’t even keep a wife. He tells me to find a man with two green eyes and forget he ever existed. Then, when I stare at him, he adds, “and be safe.” He walks away, like he always does, leaving me with more questions than answers.

  I sigh. For the time being, I’m stuck with what I know: My boss smells like hand sanitizer and the slightest spritz of a cologne I’ll one day get the nerve to ask him about after hours. I hold on to these silly things. In fact, I do my best to replicate them. It makes me feel safe. The sanitizer I can duplicate. I order it in bulk on Mondays with other office supplies. He’s very serious about that – keeping things clean and tidy on the outside. “First impressions are everything. We can’t have a messy office,” he says again and again in morning meetings as if anyone but me is listening. Dr. Iris doesn’t believe in germs or talking too much. He hates women who yammer and the sound of pecking birds which seem to trail him wherever he goes.

  Useless banter is not the only thing he hates. My employer, referred to by the braver of us as Doc, refuses to step in the waiting room unless absolutely necessary because he can’t stand the soft hum of oldies rock he calls “Satan’s bait for the weak.” I’ve offered to turn it off, but he says the silence is too loud for simple-minded patients too busy to know how to be alone with their thoughts. Do his thoughts change when he’s not alone with them? When he has the company of me? Or do they stay the same?

  I often wonder if he’s noticed that I’ve managed to keep the music down to the lowest volume possible since he mentioned it. He does seem to come out to the waiting room a little more often lately. I hope so. These days, pleasing him is the most important thing and I only barely understand why. The receptionists he’s had before have never lasted more than a year. I’m eager to outlast them. I’m not a woman who likes to fail. I can’t imagine it will be that difficult. The other women, even his wives, didn’t have the magical advantage I have. They will never see the c
revices in him that make him so fascinating. Without knowing his deepest secrets and most depraved cravings, they can’t possibly keep his interest.

  Inside of him, that dark place I am able to visit when he’s most tired and walks around the office with the deepest of frowns, I like to tidy things up too. It is there, past the portal of his one black iris, that I see things others are not privy to. In his world, he is my master. As sick as it is, in his world, there’s no place I’m happier. It is, after all, the only place I am really safe. So for now, I am just Ester, the optometrist’s eager secretary. It’s a title I can live with temporarily. Eventually, I will obtain him. No. Sooner or later, he will open those entryway eyes and he will acquire me.

  Inside his mind: Medial orbitofrontal cortex

  I shouldn’t have come here. It’s too private. Should have stayed in the cerebellum. Whatever happens to me, I deserve. It’s not even right. For him or for me. Christ, the man is married. What am I doing? No. Blame him. He’s the one who is in charge. He told me that himself. He’s the one who looked too long at me; his eyes droopy and almost begging for me to step in. Like he knew. As though he could not spend a single moment more without us being alone together again.

  “I like that we don’t always have to talk,” he says, pulling on my grandmother’s necklace. I glance to see if the chain will hold and lean into him. “You’re so responsive to tugs.”