“What?” She stared at her mother in confusion. “You’re telling me that witches are after me because I’m a druid?”
“Yes. There are some who believe you and Cassandre are the key to their salvation.”
“Key to their salvation?” Vivienne snorted, and when Evelyn raised a brow and looked concerned, rushed out, “It’s not every day a girl wakes up and finds out that witches exist, her mother’s one of them, she’s a druid, and witches are after her, so please excuse me while I have a breakdown.”
She was about to push away from the bed when her mother’s hand landed on hers.
“Please, Vivienne, stay calm. I know this is a lot to take in, but there isn’t much time. I need to find your sister so I can teach you both how to control your powers before they find you again.”
Vivienne heard the plea in her mother’s voice and took a deep, calming breath. She had many more questions, but her sister was most important now. “You found me. Can’t you find Cassie the same way?”
Evelyn released her and stood, shaking her head. “I’ve tried. Many times. I found you because your powers were unlocked.” At Vivienne’s lifted brow, she explained, “Because you’re a druid, your powers send out a beacon to any witch actively searching for it. That’s how the trackers knew where you were. Cassandre’s powers are still bound. I can’t even sense her. I’ve tried calling her but she’s not answering her phone.” Her voice dropped an octave and she stared at a spot on Vivienne’s wall. “We need to find your sister before they do.”
Cold fingers of fear traced her spinal column. She thought of the last time she’d spoken to her sister, the day of their twenty-third birthday, when she’d left Cassie with her friends. That was almost a week ago. She usually heard from her sister at least once a week, and would have called had she not been as distracted with work, and…Conall. Maybe she was still camping? Cassie wouldn’t spend more than a few days camping, and if she did, she’d find a way to call Vivienne to let her know she was okay.
“Okay. Tell me what I have to do.”
Chapter Eight
When Cassandre Bordeaux awoke on the large canopy bed facing the calm blue-green waters of the beach, she knew she was dreaming again. She wasn’t a big dreamer per se, but in the past week, she’d been having one, recurrent dream. At times, she would walk around the perimeter, noticing the place was completely deserted. At others she would remain in the bed and wait for her alarm clock to wake her up. “Life” on the beach consisted of two swaying palm trees. There were no people, no birds, no little batch of fishes swimming close to the surface. The silence was broken only by the constant movement of the waves gently brushing against the shore.
Pushing up, she propped the pillows behind her head and relaxed. She was not going to complain. Who wouldn’t want to dream about relaxing on a beach?
“Not me,” she murmured in response to her silent question. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember the things that she was supposed to do when she awoke. Nothing came.
“Right.” Chuckling, she closed her eyes, only to blink them open when she heard what sounded like a bird call.
Shielding her eyes from the sun’s glare, she scanned the sky. The sound came again and Cassie looked down. Right beside her foot was a small black, red, and white bird. She moved to kneel beside it but it flew onto the sheets of the bed.
From where she stood, she surveyed it. As it inched closer, she admired the pretty coloring, the pattern of the feathers, and the white line right above its eye. Something clicked in her mind at the sight of that line, but before she had a chance to explore it, another bird landed right beside the other. It was of the same species but slightly bigger.
“Hi there,” she murmured softly, moving forward slowly as they chirped to one another. “Aren’t you two beautiful?” She’d taken an ornithology class in college, and to this day, they were one of her favorite creatures.
She knelt, and then pushed her face close to the sand to get a better look at them. Both stopped chirping and turned to her. Cassie smiled and held still. As she stared at the two, she recognized why they were familiar. Just to confirm, she did one more thorough scan of the creatures, before staring in awe. Tahitian Rails! These are Tahitian Red-Billed Rails.
She had to remind herself she was dreaming. She tried. She did, but she still felt ecstatic. This was comparable to the holy grail for environmental biologists! These birds were extinct, had been extinct for more than two hundred years, and here they were, flying around—well, in her dream, but still she’d never had a dream about any extinct creature in her life. This was amazing.
“If this were real,” she gasped out, her gaze never leaving the two creatures she’d somehow conjured into her dream. “Why couldn’t you two be real?” She sighed, wondering if she would soon wake up and be disappointed by the fact she’d only dreamed of this.
“They are exquisite, aren’t they?”
The voice was so close to her that Cassie scrambled away, forgetting she was still on her knees, and ended up flat on her back, with her legs bent awkwardly under her body. It was not a comfortable position.
Deep male laughter touched her ears, moments before the same accented voice commented, “If that isn’t the picture of elegance…?”
She rolled onto her side and quickly pushed to her feet, spinning to confront this new addition to her dream. Yes, she appreciated the addition of birds, but Cassie wasn’t one to have dreams about guys. Most of the guys she knew were either forever entered into the category of friend or seriously disliked for some reason or another. Chauvinistic, whorish, condescending, and so on.
As she drank him in, she decided to excuse herself, just this once.
Who wouldn’t want to dream about a man that looks like him?
Standing over six feet tall and wearing dark blue swim trunks, the man was perfectly muscled with golden blond hair and light, alluring eyes. What color was that anyway? Gray? Silver? Green? Pale blue? And his face…his face reminded her of the ones she saw on billboards, airbrushed to take away the slightest flaws, except this man was real, as real as he could be in her dream, and without visible fault.
Cassie swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked before focusing on him again. Even the tan he sported seemed natural. Her eyes dipped down his body, pausing at the slight vee under the ropes of muscles revealed by the swim trunks. Recognizing that she was checking him out, even if it was a damn dream, Cassie lifted her eyes hastily to his pale ones.
As if he knew what she was thinking, a smile split that already perfect face, and he tilted his head. Cassie said the first thing that came to mind. “What are you doing in my dream?”
“Your dream?” he replied easily, looking down to the bed where the birds still played. Leaning forward, he placed a large hand onto the sheets and Cassie watched in envious fascination as the two birds leapt into his palm. He lifted them to his eye level and murmured, “It’s a shame they’re extinct.” His mouth curled for a moment on a snarl before his face relaxed and he raised his hand higher. It was all the invitation the birds needed. They rose into the air, and after flitting around the man for a few moments, flew off.
“Wait!” Cassie screamed, close to hysteria. “What are you doing?”
“We have more important matters to discuss, Cassandre.”
She tensed for a second. Right, she was dreaming. Of course he knew her name.
“You’re sleeping, but you are not dreaming.”
She scoffed and glared at him. His beauty still affected her but the initial shock had worn off. Plus, he wasn’t real.
“Sure, I’m not dreaming.”
“You’re not,” he cut in immediately, his eyebrows lifting as if daring her to challenge him.
Cassie’s lips tightened and she drew herself up to her full height. It was sad he wasn’t shorter, like most of the scientists she worked with. For if he was, she was sure she could intimidate him. Well, come very close.
“I am dreaming, and you, tal
l, blond man, are a very weird figment of my subconscious imagination,” she retorted, glaring down her nose at him despite his superiority in height.
God, but he really is beautiful, she couldn’t help but think. Maybe this was her body’s way of telling her she needed to get laid. She chuckled inwardly.
“I promise I am no figment of your imagination, though that would be some imagination,” he replied in that sensual and deep voice of his.
What a self-obsessed, cocky shit. Why had she created him in her dream, anyway? Couldn’t she have created a brains-over-brawn guy? Or a brawny guy who didn’t speak? Or better yet, a hot vet or biologist? This man might look like every woman’s wicked fantasy, but that didn’t mean he could do simple math or knew who the current president was.
“I’m much smarter than I look,” he offered with that same teasing smile on his face.
Didn’t he stop smiling? What was with the smiling?
“Sit down, Cassandre.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “My dream, remember?”
He laughed before stretching his body out on her bed—how dare he?—and placing both hands behind his head. She was right. This man was every woman’s dirty fantasy. Was this supposed to be a sex dream? Had she conjured him with the intention of relieving some of the tension she’d been feeling lately? She cleared her throat and blushed furiously. If this was a sex dream, wasn’t he supposed to be making the moves…?
“It’s not one of those dreams.”
His voice had lowered and when she turned to look at him, she noticed his eyes were lazily roaming her body. She looked down, just to make sure she was still covered. She was. The white tank top and loose-fitting sweats she’d tossed on before jumping into her bed were still in place, though the intensity of his stare said otherwise. His lips curled in a half smile and he added, “Sadly.”
“That’s not a nice habit, reading people’s minds. Especially when you’re in their dreams.”
He chuckled and patted the space on the bed next to him. Cassie lifted a brow and smirked.
“I brought you here so you would understand,” he said, his voice serious.
She scoffed. What was he talking about? Technically, she’d brought him here. It was still her dream.
“Not dreaming, Cassandre. You are sleeping but your mind is clear. Very clear.”
“Whatever you say, Fabio.” His brows lifted at the name, and he looked genuinely confused before he replied, “My name is Alexander.”
“Sure, whatever. I’m going to wake up soon, and I’d rather spend my time with my red-billed rails.” Dismissing him, she lifted her eyes to the sky once more. Where were they? Maybe if she wished really hard they would come back. Or perhaps she could make a passenger pigeon appear, or a dodo?
“You’re very stubborn,” he said, as if he hadn’t expected it. “I’d forgotten just how stubborn humans could be.”
“Hey, dream guy, you’re not real,” Cassie said, shaking her head for emphasis.
His face hardened momentarily before he smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “You are right. I’m not ‘real’ in most senses of the word, but I am here to help you.” Before she could throw out another sarcastic reply, he held up his hand, and she found she couldn’t speak. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. It was as if he’d muted her vocal chords. “Nod your head if you agree. Shake your head if you don’t.”
She attempted to speak once more, and finding she couldn’t, glared and nodded.
“You like animals, birds especially?”
She glared at him but nodded. Fabio—Alexander—was turning out to be quite a pain in her subconscious ass.
“If you could bring back any extinct bird, would you?”
She nodded. Of course she would. They were only extinct because humans were stupid and careless, destroying the animals’ habitats in their quest for ‘better’ living, inclusive of mega-mansions and fur-skins that weren’t necessary.
He nodded and closed his eyes momentarily. “What about the saber-toothed tiger? If you could, would you bring him back from extinction?”
Cassandre shrugged her shoulders. It would be any scientist’s, environmental or otherwise, dream to see something as magnificent as the saber-toothed tiger in the flesh, but that didn’t mean bringing one back was good for humanity.
“You’re conflicted? Interesting.”
Why can’t I talk? she demanded, knowing full well that somehow, the dream guy on the bed would hear her. He didn’t disappoint.
“Because you only need to listen for now.” He rose from the bed gracefully and moved to stand before her. He touched her cheek, just barely, and Cassie jolted. Had he just shocked her?
“When the time comes, you will have to make a decision that will change the world as you know it.” The smile faded from his face. “Choose wisely.”
What does that even mean?
“You’ll find out soon enough, Cassandre.”
***
He could feel her. Despite Max telling him Vivienne was with her mother, Conall still needed reassurance she was fine. The mental link shared by mates allowed him access to her emotions, and although he felt her fear, he knew she was in no danger. She was confused, frustrated, and upset, and that was the basis of the fear she felt. Reassured, Conall concentrated on navigating the SUV on the highway, and on what Max had just told him.
Vivienne Bordeaux was a witch.
That much made sense, as her mother was a witch, and he remembered hearing the chanting in her mind after their mating. That Max’s covenant was tracking her because she could supposedly restore the immortality of the witches perplexed him. He’d been alive for slightly more than four centuries, and he’d never heard of a creature, at least one who wasn’t a god, that could resurrect the druids. The immortal sons and daughters of gods had been vengeful creatures and luckily his pack had never encountered them. Entire witch covenants had been wiped out at their doing.
“The druids cursed the witches to a life of mortality. Even if Vivienne is a witch, how can she reverse something done by the druids?”
***
From where he sat in the front, Max glanced at Conall. It was one of the questions he’d always posed to himself, but found he couldn’t answer. Had he thought it through before leaving the covenant, he might have asked his father. He doubted he would have received a straight answer.
“My—the Grand Wizard thinks a powerful witch can undo the curse,” he replied, catching himself before he said the word “father.” Max knew that Conall was no longer a threat to him, as he’d played a part in helping Vivienne, but he wasn’t willing to reveal that the highest authority in the covenant, the one who was hunting Conall’s mate, happened to be his father. He wanted to make sure Vivienne was safe, and he didn’t need Conall Athelwulf and his pack fighting him every step of the way.
Sighing, Max ran a hand through his hair, which was still damp from the quick shower at the apartment. He and Conall had taken less than ten minutes to clean the blood and grime from their bodies and find fresh clothing before they were heading to Scarsdale. The ride from the city usually took about an hour and forty five minutes but at the speed Conall was doing, they were going to be there much sooner.
“Why doesn’t Vivienne know she’s a witch?”
“I think that was her mother’s way of protecting her. Her powers were bound when I first met her.”
Conall nodded, remembering the first time he’d met her. He’d been attracted to her that first night in the park, but the smell of her humanity had tamed his beast. The second time he’d seen her, at his club, he’d been drawn to something else, something that hadn’t been there the first time he’d laid eyes on her, else the night would have gone differently. And that night in the hotel room, when he’d taken her, she’d been wild and demanding under him, pulling his wolf close to the forefront in his human body despite the many centuries of control he exacted over his beast.
“What are you?”<
br />
“A hybrid,” Max replied, pushing aside the painful memories the word brought forward. That was the term his people used for any mixes between the races. “Human, witch, and warlock.”
Conall nodded. “I thought the warlocks were extinct. Hunted and killed by the witches almost a century ago?”
“They were.” He paused. “My mother was human and warlock.”
Max didn’t remember much of his mother outside of what his father had told him. She’d died when he was a baby. What he knew of warlocks, he’d read about in historical scrolls kept by the witches, outlining their creation and demise. Unlike the witches, who were supposedly created by Luna, the warlocks were a breed created from liaisons between a witch and a vampire.
In the early days, when the vampires hunted the witches for sport, many of the vampire warlords would kill the male witches and keep the females as concubines. The resulting warlocks mostly favored the witches. They were immortal, walked in the sunlight, and were quick at learning spells, but their feeding patterns were similar to the vampires. While the vampires needed blood to survive, their half-breed descendants needed souls. Sometime around the early twentieth century, a group of warlocks began attacking witch communities. That became the onset of a rift between the witches and warlocks. In retaliation, the witches tracked most of them down, and killed them. Less than a handful, if any, pureblood warlocks still lived.
Conall was about to ask Max about his position in the covenant, as he remembered one of the trackers speaking directly to him, when the car phone rang. He instinctively reached for his cell phone, but it had been incinerated by the heat of the change. He quickly reached for the handset. “Yes?”
“The Council is meeting on Saturday.” As usual, Sloan’s voice was calm and cool, but Conall knew he wasn’t imagining the concern in his beta’s voice.
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