Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Colleen Gleason

  His gaze wandered over the guests. Grateful and her family, Silas and his brother and sister, Logan’s restaurant manager Dustin and his wife, some folks from the restaurant. He’d invited his father, but the man was too busy to come. Just as well.

  And then his heart stopped. Polina stood at the head of the aisle wearing a dress that looked like Mother Nature had sewn it for her. The material was thin and textured with leaf-shaped cutouts that revealed a shiny layer underneath. Layers of white feathers started mid-thigh and flowed outward to the runner that covered the dirt path. As she drew closer, he could make out threads of gold embroidered into the torso. That’s what gave the material its texture. It was lined with gold.

  Polina’s red waves were swept up into a neat set of curls that proved a backdrop for the tiara that adorned her head. There was no veil. She smiled and took his hand.

  Truthfully, he felt unworthy of her in his common black tux, but then he remembered that not only was he worthy, he was responsible. He was the vessel of her soul. The carrier of her light. He could heal her, make her stronger, care for her in a way no one else would ever or could ever. He was her perfect match.

  “We come together to celebrate the union of Polina Innes and Logan Valentine. Do you both come of your own free will?” the officiant began. Her voice sounded older than her physical appearance, raspy as crumpled parchment.

  He answered affirmatively and Polina echoed his sentiment.

  “Know now that you enter into a binding of heart and soul. Come with full awareness to this table of elements, for what is done cannot be undone. You have marked each other’s souls. Parting will not break this bond, nor reverse what change it brings in you today. Do you consent to this union in full knowledge?”

  “Yes, we do,” they answered.

  The witch retrieved a cord from a small table behind her. It looked to be about nine feet long and consisted of five silken threads of different colors braided together. She grabbed his right hand and firmly placed it palm to palm against Polina’s.

  The officiant tossed one end of the cord over his wrist. “We call on the air, pure and white, to send new hope and dreams to this couple.” Under and over Polina’s wrist, she wrapped the cord in a figure eight pattern. “We call on the earth, signified by the brown, to ground you in each other.” She wrapped again, the cord forming an infinity symbol around their wrists. “We call on the metal element, silver, to help you be mirrors to one another, reflecting the truth of who you are and who you will be. We call on wood, represented by green, to bless you with new growth, for that which does not grow and change withers away.” She wrapped one more time. “And finally, we call on the water, represented by blue, to wash away the mistakes you’ve made and will make with each other, so you may begin again.” This time she tied the cord.

  As they’d practiced, Logan leaned forward and placed a kiss firmly on Polina’s lips.

  The witch turned to take up the rings, placing one in his left hand. “You may now promise yourself to the lady.”

  Logan held up the ring and Polina obliged, sliding her finger into it. “On this day, I promise to be your guardian in life and death, the keeper of your affections, the caretaker of your pure and lasting love. My life begins and ends with you.”

  The officiant handed Polina a ring. She held it between them and he slid his finger into it. “On this day,” Polina said, “I promise myself to you. I give you eternity and bind my soul to yours for all time. My life begins and ends with you.”

  The officiant manipulated the cords and removed them from their hands without untying the knot. “Now that you have been bound, may you strive to uphold the permanence of this commitment. May your union last as long as this knot remains tied. Blessed be.”

  The fae began to play again and Logan walked side by side with his bride into his new life.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  The Gift

  Polina tried to navigate the crowded rooms of Aurorean House hand in hand with her new husband. Their reception was overflowing with well-wishers and the wine flowed liberally as did the trays of hors d’oeuvres Logan had prepared for the occasion. They weren’t tied together anymore, but she couldn’t bear to let him go. Not yet.

  “Congratulations,” Rick said, appearing in front of them.

  “It was a beautiful ceremony,” Grateful chimed in, bouncing Lucas on her hip.

  Logan reached out to rub the boy’s head and noticed a stuffed black dog cuddled in his arms. “Whatch’ya got there, Lucas?”

  The boy turned protectively, hugging the stuffed dog tighter.

  Grateful snorted. “Don’t even try to touch his pup-pup. He picked it up somewhere. Honestly, we think my dad brought it home on accident from Gymboree class. I’d return it, but he loves it too much. I had to wait until he fell asleep just to wash it. And this kid never sleeps, Logan.” She kissed the boy on one chubby cheek.

  “Finders keepers, right, Lucas?” Logan said.

  Polina smiled. “Parenthood agrees with you two. Do I sense another child in your future?”

  “How did you know?” Grateful asked.

  Jaw gaping, Polina pressed a hand to her chest. “I didn’t! I was kidding. Are you saying you’re pregnant?”

  Grateful darted a glance at Rick and smiled. “We never thought the candles would be so… um… effective.”

  As much as Polina tried to stay in the moment, the feeling of her short time being pregnant came back to her and she silently envied her friend. Logan must have felt it too, through their new connection, because he squeezed her fingers and whispered, “Would you like to get something to drink?”

  “Before you go, Rick and I have something for you. A wedding gift.” Grateful handed Polina a box wrapped in silver paper. “Best wishes for a long and happy marriage.”

  Polina stared at the box, the weight growing heavier in her hand. Her blue eyes flicked up to her friend’s. “Are you sure?”

  Grateful gave a quiet, easy smile. “Absolutely.”

  “What are we talking about? What’s in the box?” Logan asked.

  “Excuse me,” Polina said. She dragged Logan by the hand toward the bedroom. Once they were inside with the door closed, she held the box out between them. She couldn’t speak.

  Logan got the hint and started in on the paper. “Damn, Polina. You’re acting like you’ve never seen a gift before. This couldn’t wait until after our guests left?”

  She shook her head. Together, they pulled the top off. The black candle within had the stamp of a raven in the wax. Polina stopped breathing.

  “What is this? Why do you look like that?” Logan asked.

  “It’s a mortality candle. They are extremely rare. Grateful made six of them while she still had power over multiple elements. She can’t make any more. This is how Lucas and his future brother or sister were made. If we burn this, it can make you human again.”

  Logan grinned. “We can have a baby?”

  Polina’s forehead wrinkled. “Logan, you could become human permanently. You don’t have to be my caretaker anymore. You were forced into the decision. Maybe it was too soon.”

  Logan shook his head. “What are you talking about? We just got married.”

  “We can stay married, but if you’d rather not…”

  “Shut up, Polina,” Logan said. He placed the box on the dresser. “I’m going to tell you this once, and with our connection, you’ll know I’m telling the truth. I am glad that Alex put me in a position where my priorities became blissfully clear. I want to be your caretaker. I chose this. If we burn that candle, it will be because we love each other so much, we need another person to pour the extra love into. Because we want a family.”

  “Truly?” Polina asked.

  “Truly and forever.” He slipped his hand behind her waist and pulled her against him. When he kissed her, she finally accepted it. He wanted this as much as she did, and she must never question him again.

  “Would you like me to light it now?” s
he asked with a grin.

  He shook his head. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he began slowly. “I love Lucas, and I fully intend to use that candle someday, but before we do, I’d like a few years to enjoy you all to myself.”

  Polina closed the box, pulled the nightstand drawer open, and dropped it inside. “You are a wise and worthy husband.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes.” She encircled his neck with her arms. “Now, how would you like to enjoy me?”

  “Shouldn’t we wait until our guests leave?”

  “We should, but I’ve never been a patient woman.”

  Logan leaned into her, his lips hovering over hers. “Good, because I’m hungry, and I think we’ve waited long enough.”

  Polina and Logan didn’t waste another moment. As quickly as they’d unwrapped the candle, they tore into the gift of each other. Hands bound and hearts bound, they began a long and fruitful forever.

  BOOKS BY GENEVIEVE JACK

  Knight Games Series

  The Ghost and The Graveyard, Book 1

  Kick The Candle, Book 2

  Queen of the Hill, Book 3

  Mother May I, Book 4

  Knight World Novels

  Logan

  The Fireborn Wolves Series (Coming Soon)

  Vice

  Virtue

  Vengeance

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Genevieve Jack is a registered nurse turned author of weird, witty, and wicked-hot paranormal romance. Coffee and wine are her biofuel: the love lives of vampires, shifters, and witches her favorite topic of conversation. She harbors a passion for old cemeteries and ghost tours thanks to her years of schooling at a high school rumored to be haunted. Although she calls the Midwest home, her heart belongs to the beaches of the Southeast, where she spends her days with her laptop and one lazy dog.

  Do you know Jack? Join my reader list for exclusive content, sneak peeks, and giveaways available nowhere else.

  Sign up here: KnowJackNews

  Follow Genevieve at:

  Website

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  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Logan would not have been possible without the help of a few individuals who gave of their time and experience.

  Special thanks to authors Brenda Rothert and L.J. Bradach for your priceless advice and bits of cleverness. You helped make Logan’s story come alive.

  A big thank you to my long-suffering family for your support and encouragement.

  And finally, hugs to Hollie Westring, the fabulous editor who once again helped me polish this novel to a shine worthy of my readers.

  COMING SOON

  A killer is on the loose, and he wants the alpha family of the Fireborn pack dead.

  After the assassination of their parents years ago, Silas, Laina, and Jason Flynn became Fireborn pack royalty. Silas, as the oldest of the three, rose to power as alpha of the largest werewolf pack in North America. He now leads the Lycanthropic Society, the high council of werewolves. A coup by murderer Alex Ravien Bloodright and his stolen pack of orphaned werewolves failed in its attempt to murder Silas. But when another murder signals Alex’s supporters are still at large, Silas orders the alpha families into hiding, along with his reluctant brother and sister. Silas vows to use his skills and resources as a detective to hunt the killer down. Only, the murderer has other plans, and Laina is his first target.

  The Fireborn Trilogy

  Vice: Laina’s story

  Virtue: Jason’s story

  Vengeance: Silas’s story

  VICE

  Fireborn Wolves Book 1

  Some cravings can’t be denied.

  Werewolf Laina Flynn wants to break from the patriarchal expectations of the Fireborn pack. A successful veterinarian and entrepreneur, she doesn’t have time to be bossed around by her alpha brother let alone act as a proper werewolf princess.

  But when there’s a murder at her shifting grounds, she’ll do anything to protect her pack, even if that means posing as a waitress at Hunt Club, a gentleman’s club that flies in the face of her feminist ideals. She plans to do her royal duty and put the whole thing behind her. But when her inner wolf marks the club’s owner, Kyle “The King” Kingsley, as her vice, he becomes a hunger she can’t ignore. One that could threaten her life, her family, and her pack.

  EVENSHADE

  by Kathryn Le Veque

  * * *

  PROLOGUE

  * * *

  Salem, Massachusetts

  1702 A.D.

  “A breath of wind,

  a mark of sin,

  evil doer drink of blood.

  Beneath the earth,

  feel my curse,

  with my hand to ’ever crush you.

  Malum infans, putrescet Satanae ut canis. Te et matrem tuam aeternum ardebit.”

  * * *

  A woman was hunched over a desk, scribing beneath the weak light of a single tallow taper. On the small oak desk sat a small pewter bowl, filled with a thimbleful of her blood from a cut she had made on her ankle. She dipped her quill into the bowl as she finished writing the last of the bitter words.

  In the attic of the home she shared with her husband and children was the only place she could inscribe such words of hatred and terror. The children must not know. Her husband must not know. This curse, this hatred, was hers alone to bear.

  Outside, in the dark and stormy night, she could hear the bay of distant hounds. She knew the men were drawing nearer and she was forced to hurry her task. Hastily, she finished the words she had been bound to write and she sanded the bloody script, hoping it would dry sufficiently. It had to be effective.

  As the sounds of barking dogs grew nearer, she quickly rose from her desk and shuffled across the attic floor to a spot near the southeast corner. There, an already-loose board had been pried up. She pulled it further and stuffed several pieces of vellum beneath it. Taking her shoe, she pounded it back down again, hiding her written curses from the world. Or, at least she hoped so. There were many who had to pay for their sins against her and she did not wish her curses interrupted. In the darkness of the attic, the fates of her enemies had been sealed.

  Outside, the rain pounded and the wind howled, filling the hollow beneath the woman’s home with an unearthly terror. Men on horseback dragged their captured quarry across the dark and barren woods towards the house on a rise in the distance. One might have thought it was an animal being dragged for all of the inhuman noises it was making. But upon closer inspection, the wet and muddy details formed a small and terrified woman.

  But the men on horseback didn’t seem to care that they were mistreating her. She screamed and grunted, trying to get to her feet as the horse moved swiftly. But she was unable to keep the pace. She ended up falling and being dragged, pulled across stone and grass and mud, tearing her meager clothes, as well as her skin, to shreds. By the time they reached the house, a massive two-story structure with a wide planked porch, the woman was nearly unconscious from the beating she had taken. One of the men dismounted his animal and made his way up onto the porch, pounding on the heavily-fortified door.

  The only light was the paltry glow emitting from the downstairs windows, barely illuminating the porch. The man had to knock twice more before the door was unbolted and slowly opened. A young woman with dark hair, dark eyes, and a long face stood there, gazing back with some apprehension. The man, his clothes soaked from the storm, spoke.

  “We found her, Goody Holcombe,” he said. “What does thou wish to do with her?”

  Goody Holcombe emerged from the house, looking nervously at the group of men on horseback at the base of her porch. She pointed inside the house.

  “My husband is in the basement,” she said. “He wishes her brought to him.”

  A couple of the men dismounted, hauling the injured woman up onto the porch. By this time, Goody Holcombe was no longer appearing nervous. Now, she appeared ste
ely and cold as she gazed at the semi-conscious woman. When the men paused, she snatched the woman by the chin.

  “Did thee think to get away with what thou hast done?” she snarled. “Thee are a wicked and evil girl, Dorothy Good. Thou deserves to be punished.”

  Dorothy struggled to open her eyes, fixing on the very angry face of Goody Holcombe. She knew she was facing a horrible fate but that did not tame her pride. She was as bold and fearless as always.

  “The poison between us is old,” she muttered, missing teeth where the men who had captured her had beaten her. “Thou cursed my mother and killed my sister. Thou deserve a measure of the same. Vengeance is a swift and tasteless order.”

  Goody Holcombe slapped her, hard. Dorothy’s head snapped sideways from the blow. “Thou took my child’s life,” she cried. “Vengeance will come to thee now and thee will suffer as thee has never suffered before!”

  Goody slapped her once more for good measure as the men dragged Dorothy inside the home. Goody Holcombe followed, wringing her hands, weeping, and thinking of the daughter she had lost to the woman. A little girl, an infant, who had been abducted by Dorothy Good and tossed into the well beneath their home, as witnessed by Goody Holcombe’s other children.

  Dorothy, a girl that neighbors had hired to work in their kitchen, had been able to get close enough to the Holcombe house, known as Evenshade, to enter it. The dead infant had been the result and Dorothy had screamed of vengeance, too, at the time, just as she was screaming of it now.

  But here, it would end. Goody Holcombe would get the last swipe of revenge. As she stood in the kitchen of Evenshade, she could hear the men dragging Dorothy down to the basement where her husband, Ezra, awaited. There, he had something particularly gruesome planned for Dorothy, and Goody Holcombe wasn’t the least bit sorry. It was small justice for her daughter’s life.