by Emma Alisyn
“If she times it right,” Leandros said, mirth in his gaze as he eyed Jezamine’s increasingly stiff posture over the rim of his can, “she can be home in time for dessert.”
17
Jezamine sidled away from Donato, who gave her an inscrutable look but opened the lid of the grill and began doing things to the meat.
“Are the trimmings inside?” she asked. “I can put the platters together.”
He nodded towards the kitchen. “Lettuce, tomato, onions, the works are in the fridge.”
She headed towards the doors. “Do you mind if I grill the onions?”
“Grilled onions?” Leandros said, perking up. “Ooohhhh . . . Don, please tell me you didn’t forget the mushrooms.”
“I didn’t forget them. I just didn’t buy them.”
“How can you not get mushrooms?”
“Did you bring anything?”
She slid the door shut on the sound of boyish bickering, a smile flickering on the corners of her mouth. The sound of low voices came from the family room adjacent to the kitchen, and she imagined the teenagers huddled together on the deep cream-colored leather couch she’d glimpsed. Deciding to leave them be—this really was special time in any young couple’s journey, the beginning of a baby—Jezamine took Donato at his word and began rummaging through a very well-stocked fridge, pleased at the quality of the produce and meats she found within. Kayla was fed a very healthy diet. That crossed one worry off the list.
Pulling onions out of the produce drawer, she found a chopping board and set of knives and began slicing, busying herself with dumping about four onions worth into a skillet with olive oil. Lightly seasoning the veggies, she sautéed, keeping an ear out for rumblings outside.
After some time, she had a white ceramic platter filled with large, washed leaves of romaine lettuce, slices of tomato, a ramekin of pickles, and other condiments lined up.
The doors slid open, and Isaai walked in. She glanced at him, a pleasant expression fixed on her face. She got that everyone had their own issues, she just preferred he didn’t wear his on his sleeve at a family gathering. Marcello was intense, broody, a little edgy and obviously quick to temper. Isaai . . . there was a flatness in his hazel eyes.
“What I want to know,” he said, not moving any closer, “is how the hell a Hearn witch ends up being my brother’s mate? I don’t believe in coincidences.”
She placed her hands flat on the counter. “I’m not Donato’s mate. And I haven’t yet had a chance to analyze the weave of the spell and determine exactly what the parameters are.”
“Donato says you’re his mate.”
She rubbed her chest, skin aching like a mild bruise. The skin that ached whenever she was near Donato. She’d never been around a soulbonded couple—the last one in her coven had been over a hundred years ago. It wasn’t supposed to be like matebonding between shifters, though, the all-consuming heat and animal pull that developed either slowly or with a bang, but was still inevitable. A soulbond between a witch and warlock had always been described as a subtle thing, a thrumming pull that one could almost, but not quite ignore. A gift from Hekate, helping people who were particularly compatible find each other. How were she and Donato compatible?
They were both single parents. They were both self-employed, though the scope of his business and fortune far outweighed hers. They were both family oriented. She’d always been a little stalky of him, but purely in an abstract social media curious kind of way. Reality was always much different, after all.
“When I find my mate, I’m not going to pussyfoot around her like he does with you.”
“How do you know what he does? Besides, how we handle our . . . relationship is none of your business.”
He took a step forward. “He isn’t behaving like a drake who found his mate. Where is his fire? No drake would allow a newly found mate to evade him, or even to be around other males.”
“Well, maybe he has little more understanding of things like kidnapping laws.”
“I think the jewel is faulty. Either that, or you did something to it to make my brother think you’re his mate.”
She would have laughed if it weren’t for the threat lurking in his eyes. “Why would I want to trick Donato?”
Isaai jerked a shoulder. “He’s rich. Influential. And you have trouble you need help with.”
Now that angered her. “I can handle my trouble just fine on my own.” She deliberately turned back to her veggie platter, dismissing him. “Why don’t you go talk to Donato if you’re so concerned? That would be more appropriate.”
“Break the spell.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder, lip curled, refusing to reply. She’d made her position clear. She wasn’t going to engage in a snarling contest with a surly dragon.
“Unc,” Kayla said, entering the kitchen area, Joshua at her back. “Stop being a cock.”
Isaai blinked. “Did you just call me a male rooster?”
“That’s how you’re acting.”
“Joshua,” Jezamine said, turning and giving her son a look.
She recognized the set of his shoulders. It took a lot to piss him off, but once he was mad, he was the kind of boy to throw punches and not stop until someone was on the ground bloody. That hadn’t happened for years . . . but he was stronger now, both physically and magically. Of course, in a fistfight with a drake, he’d lose. But there was a reason why shifters didn’t pick fights with witches. Magic more than made up for the lack of claws, in many cases, and a hex that removed a dragon’s tail . . . well, they wouldn’t be flying until it grew back, if it grew back at all.
“I’ll take that outside,” Joshua said, approaching the counter with the platter. “You hungry, Kay? You can have the meat that’s still mooing.”
Kayla perked up, glancing at her uncle as she passed him to go back to the deck, Joshua following on her heels. A moment later Donato entered the kitchen, glancing between Isaai and Jezamine.
“Kayla says you’re still being rude,” Donato said.
“He wants me to break the spell I put on you to make you think I’m your mate,” Jezamine replied.
Donato snorted. “Go eat, Isaai. Not smart to piss off the females. They’re on good behavior now, but that can’t last much longer.”
“Really?” Jezamine rolled her eyes.
The drake just smiled at her, then jerked his head at his brother. “Get out. I want to talk to Jezamine.”
“He’s not really a people person, is he?” she asked once the male had left the kitchen. “Some shifters just aren’t.”
“He dealt with a lot during the clan wars in our homeland,” Donato said. “He talks a lot of shit, but he won’t hurt you.”
“I wasn’t worried about that.”
He approached, hands settling on her arms. He rubbed up and down, in a soothing motion. “Any sign of . . . Dahl?”
Jezamine leaned into him, and the arms slid around her, pulling her in close. She closed her eyes as her head fit onto his shoulder. “No. I was thinking about that, actually. I need you to call off Marcello.” She lifted her head when she felt his chest move, placing a finger on his lips. “No, hear me out. Dahl isn’t going to return until the sentinel’s gone. No one wants to get in a firefight with dragons. Especially if the melee could attach to the Hearn coven name. It would be bad publicity.”
Donato frowned down at her. “I don’t like it.”
“We need this resolved now. Do you really want a matter like this hanging over our heads during Kayla’s pregnancy? It’s a safety issue. The sooner we permanently get rid of Dahl, the sooner we can move on with our lives.”
“You keep saying ‘we’.” His hand cupped her cheek, his voice pleased. “You know you’re mine.”
She sighed. “We’re co-grandparents.”
“Go to dinner with me tomorrow evening.”
“What?”
“We haven’t had a date. How can we confirm a matebond if we don’t court?”
&
nbsp; “I never said I wanted to . . . confirm a matebond.”
“Why wouldn’t you?" He sounded eminently reasonable. “I’m young, strong, a good protector. Rich. We are already family. And you already know I please you in bed. Don’t you want more, Jezamine?”
She blushed, glancing towards the doors. “Don’t talk like that, a teen could walk in any minute. It would be a little weird, you know. Our children are together.”
“There is no blood relation. Stop evading. What are your objections now?”
“I . . . don’t really have any.” They stared at each other. “I just . . . the idea of being in a relationship again is unexpected. But . . . we can go out. Talk.”
Triumph crossed his face. “Good.”
“I agreed to dinner, drake. Not to the rest of our lives.”
“It’s a start. Let’s go eat. I burned some meat for you and Joshua.”
“Did you enjoy the evening?” Jezamine asked her son on the way home. Donato had been warm and even funny at times the rest of the evening, goaded by Leandros, who was a little silly. Marcello, while snarky, was downright mellow next to Isaai. Her boyfriend’s glaring presence at her side prevented a repeat of any verbal abuse.
Her boyfriend. Unreal. What else could she call him then? She wasn’t willing to concede, quite yet, to him being a mate. They weren’t married, their night together wasn’t a one-night stand, and clearly they were beyond ‘just friends.’ His intentions were clear, and permanent. So, boyfriend was really the most correct term.
“I don’t like leaving Kayla. I should be with her.”
She glanced at her son. “That’s understandable,” was her slow reply. “But, Joshua, this is part of the consequences of irresponsible actions. You are not an adult—not fully, I realize you aren’t children, but you aren’t quite adults—and you are not married.”
He sighed. “Not everyone has to be married, Mom.”
Her lips thinned. “I understand that social norms are a bit more relaxed these days, but don’t you think it’s a more ideal situation for a child to have a two parent home?”
“Then you agree. I should be with Kayla.”
“You can’t move in with her, Joshua.”
“Her father said we could.”
Jezamine shut up. Because, yes, Donato had offered to allow them to move in, and Jezamine had even said she’d consider it. “For safety reasons, I’ve been considering a temporary joining of the households. But that would be with very strict guidelines for conduct.”
“Yeah, that ship has already sailed. She’s pregnant.”
“That doesn’t mean you have license to just go off willy nilly,” she snapped. “If you want to be an adult couple, you need to both finish school, figure out employment in order to pay your own expenses, and move into your own home. Preferably, after you are married. Then you can do what you want. But while you live under the roof of your parents, you’ll abide by certain rules. Don’t think you’ve gotten away with this, Joshua. There will be consequences—”
“Other than having an actual baby?”
“Don’t be smart.”
“I’m nineteen.”
“I. Don’t. Care. You impregnated a minor girl—”
“She’s a dragon.”
“Joshua.” Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Let’s ride in silence. We’ll finish discussing this later.”
He sat in the seat, arms crossed, staring out the window the rest of the trip. It wasn’t lost on her that he was taller than her, broader, and very much growing into a man. Jezamine suppressed a sigh as they pulled into the driveway, the car slipping through the wards. They exited, Joshua holding an armful of foil wrapped plates with leftovers as she unlocked the door.
As they entered the phone rang. Joshua ignored it, heading towards the kitchen as Jezamine froze.
“I am sick of this,” she said. “Stop calling me.” But she clicked on the speakerphone, steeling her will. Because it really was time to resolve this once and for all.
“Jezamine,” Dahl said in his perpetually amused, sing-song tenor that grated on her ears. “Your guard dog isn’t in the front yard. Is that an invitation to come by?”
“I thought you’d never accept. Why don’t you come over in two days, and we’ll talk about it?”
“Why don’t I come over now?”
Joshua entered the living silently, glancing at Jezamine. She gave him a warning look, but saw the expression in his eyes. Joshua hadn’t spoken to his father in years, mostly by choice once he’d realized what kind of person Dahl was. The warlock had never treated his son warmly.
“Father,” Joshua said.
There was a pause. “Joshua. Have you finally chosen to prove your allegiance to your coven and bring me the book that rightfully belongs to our family?”
“It belongs to Mom, and after the way you and the coven have behaved the last few years, I wouldn’t trust you with a book of nursery rhymes, much less the Hearn Book of Spells.”
“Then you are a traitor like your mother.”
“If you say so. I need you to go away, Dad. This is only going to end up badly. The dragon you saw on the lawn? That’s the uncle of my child’s mother. They will fight, and they will kill, to protect this house.”
Jezamine closed her eyes.
“Is that a threat, Joshua?”
Her son’s voice was cold. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”
“If you expect me to care about the unsanctioned, mixed-breed spawn of a dracaena—”
Joshua strode across the room, and clicked the phone off. He turned to Jezamine. “Yeah. I don’t think any conversations with him will be productive. Just let it go to voicemail next time, okay Mom?”
A nineteen-year-old boy was giving her instructions, and with such gravity—after he’d just casually threatened and hung up on a strong warlock of a prominent bloodline, the indifference in his posture chilling. She realized Joshua had inherited a streak of his father’s nature. The ability to inflict damage and get a full night’s sleep.
18
Jezamine stood outside of the nondescript brick building, staring at the glass door decorated with a dangling chain of multicolored bells. She should have done this a long time ago, but her reasons had been solid. Keep a low profile, avoid the turmoil in the Hearn coven bleeding onto others. Keep trying to evade her ex and his family, and maybe one day, they would give up and leave her alone. She hadn’t wanted to embroil anyone in her affairs.
The door opened and a middle-aged woman appeared, a casual smile on her face. Middle aged as in her energy felt over sixty but she looked around thirty, with wavy red hair and bright-blue eyes, pale gold skin unlined.
The witch from Bearly Baja.
“Welcome, sister. Are you coming in?”
Jezamine hesitated. The witch’s energy was open, inviting. But if she stepped across that threshold, walked into a coven meeting, it would change everything. She wouldn’t be allowed to crawl back in anonymity. Covens just didn’t work like that.
“I’ve felt your energy for some time,” the witch said. “We’ve been waiting.” She stepped back, and Jezamine made a decision.
She entered. “Thank you. You’re Maven Roshell.”
“Yes.”
Jezamine held out a hand fingers up, palm flat. “I’m Jezamine Hearn.”
Roshell pressed her palm flat against Jezamine’s energies politely introducing themselves. “Hearn? I see.”
Jezamine barely suppressed a grimace. Roshell smiled, sympathetic. “I will keep your family name to myself, if you prefer.”
“There are reasons.”
Roshell’s eyes sharpened. No Maven was stupid. “We’ll discuss them after the meeting.”
Jezamine was led into a large, open room. The shop at the front was a boutique, the kind of spell-woven fashions and hand-worked vegan shoes that characterized the witches in this region. She’d never entered before, had, in fact, steered clear of the entire block.
Li
ght streamed in from a window, and a long white table was laden with treats. Men and women chatted, some on cushions around the chalked circle, others standing in corners or at the table. This gathering wouldn’t represent the entire coven, there would be a handful more across the day and evening to accommodate different schedules. Every coven member was required to attend at least one meeting a month, since lives could become busy, and it was easy to lose touch. Dangerous, with people who could wield magic. Keeping touch was one of the checks and balances that prevented things from happening. If someone's energy was darkening, or they were in trouble, or anything, the coven would see it and be able to intercept. The only reason Jezamine had been left alone as an unaffiliated witch was because of a subtle redirection spell, gently suggesting to any witches who might pass her way that they needn’t concern themselves with her.
Heads began to turn as Roshell led Jezamine in, and silence fell. They would have felt the difference in the air, the signature of her magic. She sighed. Covens were highly in tune with each other.
“This is Sister Jezamine,” Roshell announced. “She has finally deeded to join us.”
“Welcome,” the room echoed, “Shalom.”
“Shalom,” she said.
Roshell indicated the table. “Please, help yourself, we’ll begin in a few minutes. There’s a wandering infused iced tea from a local—” she stopped.
Jezamine coughed. “I’m certain it’s delicious.”
She hurried away before Roshell said anything else. A glass pitcher of one of her blends sat next to cans of clear soda and bottled water. She preferred the water because she drank enough of her tea on a daily basis that she was happy for something flavorless. She avoided the snacks, however, because the others were drifting towards the circle, and she didn’t want to hold the meeting up.
Jezamine approached, following the gesture of a witch who indicated an empty seat next to her, and dropped gracefully into a cross-legged position.
