Eva lifted a brow. “What species are you?”
“Um … I’m a god.” He looked abashed. “Lower level. More of a minion, really.” He licked his lips and ran his hands through his thick, black hair. “Okay, confession time. My grandmother is stuck in Tartarus, so my mom ordered me to go release Harry and get his magic coin. It’s like a key or something that will unlock Gram’s cage. He tricked me into wearing that shitty shirt and I’ve been under his command ever since.” He opened his hands in an apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry I was part of unleashing Harry Little on Broken Heart. I swear I’m not like my family. They’re kinda assholes.”
“Well, minion god or not, you’re all I’ve got right now.” She grabbed his arms. “Let’s go!”
Stri sighed. “I can’t. I don’t know how Harry did it, but he’s blocking me. We can’t move from this spot until he releases us.”
“Or until my husband makes him.” Eva smiled. “My bet’s on Lorcan.”
HARRY FINISHED THE spell and grinned widely. “Well, that ought t’ fockin’ do it, don’t you t’ink?”
“Oh, yes,” agreed Lorcan in a neutral voice. “That ought to fockin’ do it.”
Green and gold strands of dazzling magic twirled up from the page, entwining a delighted Harry. “Me coin!” he cried. “It’s about fockin’ time!”
The enchantment fully engulfed the leprechaun. Harry crowed in happiness, his tiny, bumpy fingers clutching at the multitude of frenetic swirls. It took him a moment to realize that the sparkling, ethereal ropes were pulling him toward the book. The tips of his outrageous shoes sank into the lower edge of the parchment—two daubs of black ink that spread into large blotches as his feet made the transition. His ankles were next and then his stout legs.
Harry tried to claw upward, straining to free himself. He punched and kicked and yowled, but the spell was too strong to be denied. “What fockin’ treachery is this!?”
“You’re gettin’ your wish. You have the coin, boyo.” Lorcan laughed. “Actually, the coin has you.”
“You gobshite trickster!” screamed Harry as his torso was sucked into the codex. “You fockin’ cheater!” His arms and shoulders twisted grotesquely, appearing to melt like crayons left in the sun. His bushy red beard dissolved. As his head evanesced, Harry shrieked in impotent rage.
His last act was to aim a hateful, malachite gaze at Lorcan and shout, “You fockin’ gobshite thievin’ deamhan fola!”
His garish green hat popped off and rolled across the floor. Lorcan grabbed the tome and walked to the ostentatious chapeau, which he stomped flat. He looked down at the newest addition to his Irish creatures’ compendium.
Harry Little, Leprechaun was nothing but an image engraved on yellowed page.
THE SCULPTURE OF Brigid stood graceful and beautiful in the middle of Jessica and Patrick’s living room.
After Lorcan had secured the book with its newest character into the protection of his wall safe, Strife had taken them to the stone effigy and explained what Harry had done with Medusa’s dust.
Eva, Lorcan, Jessica, and Patrick encircled the ancient Celtic goddess. They watched Ruadan—Patrick and Lorcan’s father, first vampire, and the son of Brigid—twirl the double-bladed gold-hilted sword above his head.
“This belonged to King Haakon of Norway,” said Ruadan. “It was known as Quern Biter because the blade cut a ‘quern stone to the eye.’”
“What the fuck is a quern stone?” asked Jessica.
“Beehive or cylindrical shaped stones used to mill certain materials such as wheat into flour or tobacco into snuff.” Lorcan’s gaze remained on the spinning blade wielded by his father. “Quern Biter had a reputation for bein’ the best sword in Norway.”
“So, it should do the trick.” Ruadan brought the blade down expertly aiming the steel toward Brigid’s left shoulder.
Quern Biter bounced off the stone with such vehemence Ruadan stumbled backward and nearly lost his balance. “Dia ár sábháil!”
The sword visibly vibrated, causing tremors down Ruadan’s arms and hands. “Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered. He dropped the sword and before it hit the ground, it disappeared in a blast of sparkling gold.
“If Quern Biter won’t work, no sword will.” Ruadan tapped his chin and looked up, as if the answer was written on the ceiling. After a few moments of contemplation, he grinned. “I’ve got it!”
“Sharur?” he called out. “You got a sec?”
Next to Ruadan appeared a large, scary-looking mace. It floated in the air, slowly spinning. The metal ball was the size of a cantaloupe and sported a multitude of huge, sharp spikes. The chain links were a thick as a baby’s finger. The handle, at least three feet long and almost too wide for a man’s grip, was made from gold and decorated with lapis lazuli.
The mace was a gorgeous weapon meant to destroy—and look good while doing it.
What do you want, Ruadan?
“Oh,” Ruadan told the others, “this is Sharur. It talks.” He made a little bow to the weapon. “Me mother’s been cursed. I need your help.”
The mace drifted to the goddess’s granite figure. It circled Brigid indolently, tilting this way and that as if in deep consideration.
How did she become a statue?
“She was sprinkled with pulverulence from Medusa’s statue.”
Sharur stopped its examination. It zipped back to Ruadan and quivered in what was possibly outrage—or fear.
Medusa? Are you sure?
“We’re sure.”
The mace floated closer to Ruadan, still shaking so hard its handle nearly whacked the vampire in the head.
“So, Great Sharur, can you break the curse with your might?”
No.
The mace disappeared without any fanfare.
“Ah. I s’pose it’s dealt with a gorgon before.” Ruadan snapped his fingers and a long pink tail appeared in his hand. He flicked it against Brigid’s torso and swung it around her head for good measure.
“Da, what is that?” asked Patrick. “’Cause it looks like a rat tail.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s from an ROUS.”
“Rodents of Unusual Size?” Jessica slapped her father-in-law’s shoulder. “Get out! I didn’t know they were real!”
“O’ course they are.” Ruadan peered at his mother, and frowned. “Damn. Never have gotten a rat tail to work.” He tossed it onto the coffee table. Ruadan threw his hands up in the air. “Anyone else have an idea or two?”
“I do,” said Eva. “Medusa turned herself to stone by gazing into a bronze shield. Maybe that will work the opposite for Brigid. We put the shield in front of her and the reflection will turn her from stone to goddess.”
“Excellent idea, Eva!” Ruadan stood about two feet away from Brigid and lifted his arms. An ancient Greek shield appeared in his hands. The bronze was polished to a shine, belying its true age.
“How did you get that?” asked Lorcan.
“I might’ve borrowed it from Aphrodite’s stash.” Ruadan flashed a wicked grin. “Don’t worry. She’ll never know it was missin’.” He held up the shield to catch his mother’s reflection in the bronze.
The stone cracked, and fissions zigzagged up her legs to her torso … her arms … her neck … her face.
Huge gray pieces popped off and fell to the carpet.
And then Brigid was revealed—in the flesh.
“Hello, mum,” said Ruadan. “I borrowed Athena’s shield. ‘Tis Eva’s idea.”
“Ah.” Brigid brushed off her arms and her dress. “Smart as a whip, our Eva.” She pulled Eva into a hug that was softened even more by the copious amounts of Brigid’s hair. The goddess smelled like heather and lavender—a lovely combination.
Lorcan, Patrick, and Jessica came in for hugs, too. Finally, it was Ruadan’s turn.
Ruadan put the shield down and wrapped his arms around Brigid. “Let’s go seaside for a while. I hear Aphrodite’s opened a bed and breakfast in Broken Arrow, Oregon. Her apple f
ritters are s’pose to taste like ambrosia.” Ruadan tapped the shield. “Besides, I have to return this to her.”
“Hmm. It would be nice to see Darrius and Alaya,” said Brigid. “I do adore her shop. She has the best incense.”
“Let’s go now.”
Everyone received good-byes and another round of hugs from both Brigid and Ruadan.
The goddess and her son disappeared in a shimmering burst of magic.
Jessica and Patrick plopped down onto the love seat. Eva and Lorcan sat on the couch, and let out twin sighs of relief.
“Well, we have more citizens for Broken Heart.” Jessica folded her hands over her lap. “Fred’s staying with us. Heidi AKA Juniper is haunting the gift shop until she finds a better gig.”
“Kevin and Gretchen have taken a room at the B&B.” Lorcan grinned. “I hear they’re looking for a house on Sanderson Street.”
“As long as they keep their blinds closed and keep all that naked in their house,” said Patrick, “they’re welcome to join the neighborhood.”
“And if they don’t behave, we’ll sic Fred on them.”
Patrick chuckled.
“Stri is hanging around, too.” Eva leaned against her husband. “I’ve had enough excitement. I would love to have boring for a while.”
Not too borin’, a stóirín. He leaned down and gave her a kiss that sent her pulse fluttering. Heat winged through her.
Let’s go home soon.
Yes. He brushed her hair back. I love you, Eva.
I love you, too.
“We could vacay in Switzerland,” said Jessica. “We have a fab castle there.”
“Now that’s a good idea.” Patrick kissed his wife. “I say the sooner we leave the better.”
“Yeah. Because you know that Easter’s coming up.” Jessica shook her head in bemusement. “I bet something crazy happens then, too … like vampiric bunnies, or shape-shifting chickens, or a zombie Jesus.”
They all stared at each other, horrified.
“Nah!” Jessica laughed and waved a dismissive hand. “There’s no way.”
SOME LYCAN HOT
Prologue
“DAMIAN, CROWN PRINCE of lycanthropes and his mate. You do us a great honor.”
Sitting in an oversized red-velvet wingback—Alaya Bennington waited. Her dress was more elaborate than those worn by the acolytes, a privilege of her rank as high priestess of the Moon Goddess. She also wore a long black veil, which hid her identity, and the face marred by fire.
Even though she had received signs that the king of lycans and his queen would visit, she felt less like the high priestess and more like the girl she’d been so long ago. She’d grown up with the royal lycans, and had been a loyal friend. She missed them. Missed them all. But only one brought the ache to her heart and the tears to her eyes.
Darrius.
Was he okay?
Had he found love?
Was he a husband, a father?
“You are the high priestess?” asked Damian.
“I am.” She rose and an executed a graceful curtsey. “Your Highnesses.”
Kelsey offered her a warm smile.
Damian stared at her, his confused expression melding into shocked realization. “Alaya?” he choked out.
Damn. She should’ve known he’d recognize her, even with the veil. She inclined her head.
He grabbed her into a fierce hug. “We thought you lost! Why did you never contact us?”
Oh, if only she could tell him. She wanted, so badly, to ask about Darrius, but she was afraid to know if he’d moved on. Had he found another? He deserved happiness. And children. And love. And everything they could never have together.
“We all have our destinies,” she said, her voice rife with regret. “And our sacrifices.”
Damian pulled back from her, keeping his hands on her shoulders. “Darrius searched for you. For weeks we all combed every inch of the village and the mountains looking for you and other survivors. We found none.”
“I’m sorry he suffered, that you all suffered,” she said quietly. “We were separated after the first explosion, and he followed you to protect Anna.”
“Yes. Then he returned to the village to look for you. We found him unconscious in the woods. What happened?”
She shook her head. “The second explosion was practically under my feet. Maria and another priestess found me. They got me to the temple and sealed it against the invaders. My sisters cared for me, but it took a long time to heal. Even when I regained my full strength, I was left scarred. Too scarred, Damian.”
She was telling him the truth, but not all of it. Not the part where Darrius had found her fighting with Nefertiti—the soulless vampire who’d led the village attack. He took the poisoned blade meant for Alaya, and was felled. Nefertiti had laughed, and then ran away, leaving Alaya to watch her true love die.
“You do a disservice to my brother,” said Damian. “Do you think he will judge you for your scars? He sees you with his heart.”
She knew that, damn it. Darrius had loved her deeply, the same fervent way she’d loved him. But she couldn’t see him again. Not ever. It was the only way for him to live.
“I freed him.”
“You freed yourself.”
Damian wouldn’t understand—not unless she told him about the bargain she’d made. She knew the royals too well. Not only would they call in Darrius, but Drake, too, and she’d have the Three Musketeers hunting down Nemesis. They would do everything in their power to break the curse, including put themselves in danger. Darrius would risk his life for hers.
There’d been enough sacrificing.
Alaya closed her eyes and swallowed the knot clogging her throat. Even after seven decades, she felt the pain of that day, the day she let Darrius go—to save him. She pulled out of Damian’s embrace. “What’s done is done. You must promise not to tell him about me.”
“I cannot.”
Alaya placed her gloved hand on his cheek. “Would you hurt him with the truth? What purpose would it serve now to tell him I live?”
Damian considered her words. She could tell by his expression that he was conflicted about keeping her secret. His instincts were no doubt screaming at him to be straight with his brother—and let his brother deal with her.
“Please, Damian. Please.”
“I will honor your wish,” said Damian. “For now.”
AFTER DAMIAN AND his mate left her sanctuary, Alaya felt restless, unnerved. She pulled off the veil and gloves, and tossed them onto the desk. Then she paced in front of the hearth.
“Zeus Almighty! The drama!”
Alaya recognized the snide voice instantly. She whirled around and saw Nemesis sitting in the chair she’d vacated. Her sword laid against her thigh, her fingers draped over the hilt. The goddess of wrath was dressed in her usual outfit: a tight black leather vest and even tighter black leather pants, and shiny black boots. Her long dark hair was woven into a long braid, and her face was porcelain beauty—strangely expressionless except for her eyes. Her eyes were black and within, burned twin flames representing wrath and judgment..
In other words, she was a bitch.
“What the hell do you want?” asked Alaya.
“Oh, the usual. Peace. Love. Torment.”
“I thought you only tormented on Saturdays.”
“I have a flexible schedule.” Nemesis lifted a black eyebrow. “So, your true love is within your grasp. It’s too bad about the whole dying thing. Remember, if he sees your face, our little bargain is nullified and poor Darrius—” She drew a finger across her throat and then pretended to cough and choke.
Alaya rolled her eyes and turned toward the hearth. Giving up Darrius had been the most difficult thing she’d ever done. The price she paid to have his life restored—and no memory of his death—was to give him up. She remembered Nemesis’s words. She thought about them every single day: The price for his life is his love. If he should ever see this face of yours again, his s
hall die.
“I’ll honor the terms of our bargain,” said Alaya. She turned and glared at the goddess. “Stay away from him.”
Nemesis laughed. “I can go near him all I like. It’s you that needs to keep the distance.”
“I’m aware,” snapped Alaya. “Don’t you have something else to do? Like kick puppies and take candy from children?”
“Not in these modern times,” said Nemesis with a sigh. “Back in the old days, we could take the candy and the children.” She rose from the chair and picked up her sword. “If Damian is reclaiming his kingship and his castle, you can count on his brothers making an appearance. It would be a shame if Damian’s first act as lycan king is to bury his youngest brother.”
“I get it, Nemesis,” said Alaya. “I’ll leave tonight. He won’t see my face. And FYI? I don’t want to see yours, either.”
“Aw, now you’ve hurt my feelings.” Nemesis winked. “See you soon, pooch.” She disappeared.
Fury curled through Alaya. Making a bargain with Nemesis had opened the door to the goddess’s constant torture. Whatever the goddess had once been—daughter of justice, balancer of good and evil, punisher of the heartless—she had turned into a seething mass of bitterness and cruelty.
What did it matter? Alaya would gladly pay the price again for the life of her true love. She hated that he grieved from her loss. Yet, it was better he believed her dead than track her down and lose his own life.
She grasped the locket around her neck and lifted it so she could unclasp the silver heart. Inside was a grainy black and white picture of Darrius: his smile wide; his eyes twinkling; his face oh-so-handsome.
“I love you,” she said, kissing the picture. “I always will.”
NAKED DISCLOSURE
Chapter One
New Year’s Eve
DAPHNE AND APHRODITE (yes, that Aphrodite) were crouched behind a large cluster of mahonia aquifolium, otherwise known as the Oregon grape. Despite its name, the bush didn’t actually have grapes, but tart, dark berries. Its leaves were like those of a holly bush—waxy, pointy, and currently poking Daphne in the face. It didn’t help that it had snowed last night and they were crouched in at least four inches of the stuff. Earth weather was kinda sucky.
Broken Heart: Visitor's Pass (Paranormal Boxed Set) (Broken Heart Paranormal Series Book 0) Page 9
