The Paranormal Research and Rescue Institute Books 1-3: Books 1-3 in the Paranormal Research and Rescue Institute Series

by Lora Edwards

  “One small island just couldn’t hold her,” he’d told his daughter, an old pain present in his eyes.

  She had changed the subject; talk of her mother always brought that sadness to her father. She had not been able to get it out of her mind. She could leave like her mother, go explore the world. After all, others had chosen to do so.

  A crash from the hallway startled Delphine out of her reverie. She frowned; it was one of her rambunctious younger sisters, she imagined. She turned and was confronted by a strange man.

  Upon seeing her, he smiled. “You are the spitting image of her,” he said slowly as he perused Delphine from head to toe. “The resemblance is uncanny.” He grinned at her again, and a slow chill crawled up her spine.

  Delphine straightened to her full height and used the regal tone of a born royal. “Who are you and what is your business here?”

  “You are my business. Do not be afraid, my pet. I will take very good care of you.”

  The man lunged for her and Delphine dashed behind a wooden table tipping it over and tripping the man, who cursed.

  She grabbed trinkets off of tables throwing them at him, the little things she had collected from shipwrecks, shattering on the stone floor.

  Delphine slipped out the doorway into the hall, she started to run, and felt a stinging pain hit her shoulder…and then the world went black.

  Chapter 1

  “Teag, you look like an angel.” Ovidia stared at her friend’s reflection in the mirror, blinking back tears. Her best friend’s wedding day was bittersweet. She was so happy for Teagan and Bran, but unfortunately it brought up the hurt she still felt at losing Erik, her one that got away.

  Teagan had chosen to wear her mother’s wedding dress. The lace that covered the bodice had been handmade in Faery out of the finest silk threads and was accented with sparkling crystals. It dipped down into a scooped neckline, the intricate fabric and gems flowing down the dress, accentuating her subtle curves. The skirt of the gown fell in folds of shimmering moonlight that whispered when Teagan walked and made it look as if she was walking on air.

  “Thanks Vid.” Teagan smiled at Ovidia, who was beautiful in a shimmering deep purple strapless gown that hugged her curves then flared slightly, falling to the tops of her shoes. “You are a vision in purple. Did you like your present?”

  Ovidia picked up the hem of the dress, turning slowly to model the stilettos that were a perfect match to her dress. Each shoe had a crystal sword for the heel with a jeweled hilt resting on the back. “You know the way to my heart—I absolutely love them!”

  Teagan reached out and hugged Ovidia with a laugh. Ovidia smiled, closing her eyes as the last bit of melancholy eased away at the sound of Teagan’s laugh. It was Teagan’s moment, and Ovidia would put her heartache away for the day.

  “Hello ladies.” Teagan’s mother, Seraphim, breezed into the room, a chapel-length gossamer veil with dragons delicately embroidered around the border across her arms. Misty-eyed, she stood in front of her daughter, placing it on her flowing curls. “You are a beauty, my merch hardd.”

  “My new daughter is very beautiful.” Bran’s mother, Arianell Dragos, was a tall, slim, silver-haired woman with grey eyes that glowed slightly, hinting at the dragon inside, just like Bran’s. “Your bridal bouquet.” Arianell held the bouquet of lacy white Ley’s Whitebeam from Wales with iridescent purple calla lilies from Faery, arranged in a bunch and wrapped with white satin ribbon studded with sparkling amethyst. She placed it in Teagan’s hand as she leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Welcome to our family, fy merch.”

  “Thank you, Arianell.” Teagan smiled at her soon-to-be mother-in-law, took a deep breath, and then turned to Seraphim. “Mom, let’s get this show on the road.”

  Ovidia gave Teagan’s long veil one last adjustment as she complimented the father of the bride, saying, “Thalan, I think you may outshine the groom.”

  Thalan straightened his deep purple silk tie then smiled at Ovidia. “Mrs. Bloom outdid herself. I do believe this will be my favorite tuxedo,” he said, referring to the finely tailored black suit made out of the finest wool from Faery. “This wedding has brought out the best in everyone. Mrs. Bloom is in heaven working with all the exotic fabrics from Faery, and our own dear cook from the palace has laid out a wedding feast for the ages. Old friendships have been rekindled, like the one between Hugh and Bran’s father, Cadfen. My girl, your union with the dragon is truly a blessed event.” He carefully folded his daughter in a warm hug, bringing Ovidia into the embrace as he closed his eyes and smiled.

  Ovidia reached down to her side, pulling out her sword and holding it front of her with both hands. The crystal blade shimmered as silvery vines with delicate purple blooms twined about it.

  “I guess a sword bouquet is to be expected when your maid of honor is a Valkyrie,” Teagan said with a small giggle.

  Ovidia gave one last wink to Teagan and her father as she waited for the ornately carved doors leading to the gardens of the institute to open, her cue to lead the bridal procession down the aisle. Despite her earlier vow, Ovidia felt a bit of sadness wondering what it would have been like waiting just like this, wearing a white gown and knowing that Erik waited for her at the end of the aisle.

  As was always the case with those of their race, duty came before emotion. The Norse people were proud of their heritage, and bloodlines were more important than feelings. Erik had honored their traditions. He had honored his parents’ wishes for him to enter into an arranged marriage, ending his long relationship with Ovidia.

  The doors swung open, revealing the long silver runner laid down on the soft green grass of the garden. Ovidia looked up, firmly putting her sad thoughts away. It was water under the bridge. With a sassy grin firmly in place, she walked down the aisle, which was lined with shining white unicorns, each one dipping its golden horn as Ovidia strolled by. The garden of the institute had put on its best face for the wedding. Tears welled in her eyes as the music of a spelled topiary in the shape of a string quartet swelled and the many wedding guests stood, turning to greet the bride and her father. As Teagan and Thalan walked slowly down the aisle, the unicorns all bowed low to the woman who had played among them as a little girl. She glowed with happiness as her eyes locked on her handsome groom. Ovidia snuck a glance over at Bran, so dashing in his black tux, white silk shirt, and black bow tie.

  What an interesting year it had been for Teagan, Ovidia mused. An ages-old spell had expired, allowing her to discover she was half fae, half witch—a powerful combination. She had hunted Jack the Ripper, brought him to justice, and found the man—well, the dragon of her dreams. She had also accepted a full-time position as a researcher at the institute, which thrilled Ovidia, her best friend and now her next-door neighbor.

  Ovidia pulled her attention back to the ceremony and watched as the silk cloth embroidered with colorful dragons was wrapped around her friends’ clasped hands, binding them together for life. A warm glow emanated from their hands as Bran’s eyes flashed with fire. The deep roar of a mighty dragon could be heard faintly, as if it had come from a great distance. The Druid priest intoned words in Latin and unwound the cloth. Bran took Teagan’s left hand, and her ring finger now sported a tattoo of a bright red dragon with its looped tail in its mouth, replacing the faded one that had appeared when Bran had marked her as his life mate. He slid a band encrusted with diamonds and amethysts onto her finger. Ovidia smiled as Teagan returned the gesture by sliding a silver band with an engraved dragon onto Bran’s left ring finger. There had been quite the argument between the two, with Bran finally giving in to the human custom.

  The Druid priest bestowed the final blessing, and the newly married couple turned to face their guests. The Druid priest raised both hands and pronounced them handfasted. “You may kiss your bride,” he declared.

  “This is one human custom I can get behind,” Bran said as he gathered Teagan in his arms, lifted her up, and claimed his kiss.

  A roll of
laughter came from those assembled as Bran gave the custom his all.

  Teagan finally pulled away, laughed, grabbed Bran’s hand, and tugged him down the aisle to the claps and cheers of everyone in the garden.

  Ovidia walked forward and accepted the tuxedo-clad arm of the best man, Armand Draconus. He was a French vampire and the director of the institute. He smiled down at her and tucked her hand firmly in the crook of his arm as they followed the newly married couple down the aisle.

  The ceiling of the grand ballroom had been spelled by the bride’s mother into a dark blue sky dotted with hundreds of twinkling stars. A waterfall occupied one corner, spilling out into a small pool of clear blue water where lilies floated on the surface, and the walls were draped with vines of blooming flowers. Ovidia made her way through the round tables set with sparkling crystal and gleaming white china to the head table.

  “The fae bakers outdid themselves,” Teagan said, drawing Ovidia’s attention to the towering wedding cake.

  “I rather fancy the cake topper.” Ovidia looked up at the red dragon. Fire spewed from his snout and his shining red body draped down the first two layers of the cake. In his arms lay a perfect replica of Teagan in her wedding finery.

  “Everyone went out of their way to make this so special for us.” Teagan leaned against Ovidia, a beaming smile on her face. “It was a beautiful ceremony,” Ovidia said, “but now it is time to eat, drink, and be merry.” She plucked two crystal flutes of sparkling champagne off the silver tray of a passing waiter then handed one to Teagan. “To your long and happy marriage,” Ovidia toasted as the two old friends clinked glasses, taking a sip of the bubbly beverage. Bran came up to Teagan as the small orchestra struck up the music for the first dance, and Ovidia took a deep breath; it was time to enjoy the party.

  Ovidia laughed when Bran gathered Teagan up in his arms and, in true dragon fashion, informed the people gathered that it was time for him to claim his mate, much to the protests of said mate. He swept her out of the room, laughter accompanying her admonishments.

  Chapter 2

  Ovidia woke up the next morning, looked up at her ceiling, and sighed. She had a meeting with Armand about her next mission in a couple hours. She had been assigned to go back to the time of Blackbeard to rescue a Siren who had been kidnapped. The real Blackbeard had been killed in an unfortunate bar brawl, skewing the timeline. He had been replaced by a shifter from the institute who had been willing to take on a long-term assignment and right the timeline. He would guide them to the secret island of the Sirens. A place shrouded in mystery where few outsiders had been allowed entrance, even those of the supernatural community.

  The only snag in an otherwise exciting mission was Erik. Ovidia swung her feet out of bed, heading to the kitchen to brew her morning cup of Earl Grey, her brain fuzzy from sleep. Leaning back against the black marble counter, she thought back to that day weeks ago when Armand had summoned her to talk about the next case.

  She had walked into Armand’s office and that snake in the grass had been standing there, hands in his pockets. He had casually said, “Hello Vid,” as her heart had taken up residence in her throat.

  She had simply nodded in his direction. She had not reacted as Armand outlined the mission then dropped the bomb that Erik was to be her partner.

  Ovidia had nodded her agreement and walked stiffly out of the room. The director had told her the jump would be held off while Teagan and her grandfather gathered research, and then it had been delayed further when Bran had proposed as Teagan and Ovidia had convinced Armand to hold off until after the wedding.

  The day had come to face the firing squad. She had never turned down a mission.

  Ovidia dressed for the day as if she were putting on armor: black pencil skirt, dramatic red blouse, and killer red heels. She pulled her hair back in a sleek ponytail and applied her makeup with the precision of a general. If she was going to do the unthinkable, she felt she should look good doing it.

  Ovidia felt her palms sweat as she marched down the hallway to Armand’s office. She pushed opened the doors and smirked at his admin, Cleo, who as always filing her lethal gold nails.

  “I have an appointment—is he ready for me?” Ovidia asked with one eyebrow raised, jerking a thumb at the closed door.

  Cleo sighed and rolled her eyes as she reached for the phone on her desk. “Ovidia Valkyrie here to see you.” Cleo nodded at the response and without looking at Ovidia, said, “You may enter.”

  Ovidia did an eye roll of her own and grumbled, “Dragons,” under her breath as she strode into Armand’s office. Cleo was the dragon at the gate of the director’s office. She might have looked like a bored fashion model, but she was lethal if provoked.

  Armand motioned for Ovidia to take a seat at his desk and steepled his fingers as he looked at her.

  “You asked to see me, Miss Valkyrie?” he said calmly, settling back into his chair.

  “Yes, sir. If you insist on having Erik Thale on this mission, I will have to decline,” Ovidia said, her voice steady and confident. She was doing something she had never dreamed of doing.

  “It is not like you to decline a mission, especially one involving swashbuckling pirates and the chance to wield your sword,” Armand said, a slight smile on his handsome face.

  Ovidia felt the sword of light at her side give a quiver at his words. She unconsciously placed her hand on the hilt. All Valkyries were born with a sword always at their side, but it was invisible until needed. “I just do not believe it would be a productive assignment with Erik as my partner. I would gladly accept the task if another could be assigned as my partner, or if I could conduct a solo mission.”

  “Ovidia, this assignment will be dangerous and multi-faceted. Two will be required. With Bran out on his honeymoon, Erik is the only other member with the right experience and qualifications. If you prefer to not work with him, I understand. I will have to take Cleo out of her post as my admin and send her instead. Of course, you will need to take her place as my admin.”

  Ovidia sat quietly as images of Erik and Cleo wrapped around each other in some tavern raced around in her head. Cleo was a notorious flirt, a collector of men who had many notches on her bedpost. Just as disturbing, the thought of being an admin made Ovidia’s blood burn and her teeth clench. Valkyries were fighters, not paper-pushers.

  “Give me one day to think this over. I will return tomorrow morning at nine with my answer. Will that suffice,” Ovidia asked, standing to leave.

  “That would be acceptable,” Armand said, his eyes turning back to the paperwork on his desk as she left.

  Walking back through the gilt and shine of Cleo’s office, Ovidia tried not to imagine Erik there, fawning over the dragon. As if she could read Ovidia’s thoughts, Cleo smirked. She had probably heard everything that was said in Armand’s office; dragons had better than excellent hearing.

  “Shove it, Cleo,” Ovidia said, pleased to see Cleo’s eyes narrow and smoke curl from her nose. Ovidia’s grin was fierce as she stood in front of the dragon’s desk, aching for a fight.

  “I will not let you push me into a fight just because your blood is up, Valkyrie,” Cleo said in her smoky voice, going back to sharpening her already lethal nails.

  Ovidia growled and stomped out of the office. She would change then let her sword out to play. An illusionist for the institute had made a program for her so she could fight imaginary pirates to her heart’s content. A feral smile crossed her lips; a good workout with her sword would put a bounce in her step. She would put the thoughts of Erik and the mission aside for now. She would do what she did best: kick some pirate ass.

  Ovidia stalked into her apartment. She leaned against the door, taking a deep breath. She could do this work with him, could continue to shove the feelings she still had for him down in the box she had made for them inside herself. She had admired him for his conviction, for his service to duty and his people, which made her wonder who was running his kingdom and why he had come
back to the institute. She pushed the questions away, along with the hurt of his betrayal.

  Changing into workout gear, she padded across the dark wooden floor of her apartment. Teagan’s suite was charming old-world style, while Ovidia’s screamed modern. The walls were all a crisp white, the fireplace white marble with a smoky glass front. Paintings by Leonid Afremov added splashes of color, and couches in butter-soft black leather with red cashmere throws invited you to curl up in front of a roaring fire. Scattered about on the heated black walnut floor were handwoven rugs in heather grey. The slick combination of modernity and comfort suited Ovidia well.

  Passing through her black and white kitchen for a bottle of water, she saw a note from her brownie, Mrs. Avery. Everyone in the institute had a brownie to cook and clean for them. Brownies were happiest when taking care of others, and Armand welcomed every being of myth and legend into the institute, where each one found their own niche.

  Ovidia,

  Dinner is prepared and in your ice box. Simply place it in the oven and heat on 400 for 25 minutes. The accompanying wine and a nice kale salad are chilling in the ice box as well.

  Have a lovely evening,

  Mrs. Avery

  Ovidia peeked through the clear glass door of her built-in refrigerator to see what culinary delights Mrs. Avery had left. The seafood pasta looked luscious and elegant sitting in a place of prominence in the center of the refrigerator, and nestled beside it was a bright green salad. A bottle of her favorite white was chilling next to bottles of water.

  “We have a date later,” Ovidia said, pointing at the wine bottle. “With both of you,” she included the pasta and salad. She reached in and pulled out a water then turned and sauntered across the room, opening a door on the far side of her kitchen.

  It opened out into a wide, spacious room. Ovidia walked across the spongy floor and flipped on her sound system. Music pumped from the speaker set in the ceiling around the room, techno tunes with a throbbing beat—perfect for her current mood.