by Cate Dean
A quick run through his rolodex gave him the number to his friend Jon’s agency. Jon changed his private number every few months, so Bran had given up on memorizing it years ago. The rolodex was old-fashioned, but he’d been using one too long to change. And unlike a phone, it didn’t erase itself if dropped.
Someday, he’d drum up the courage to tell Reese just how old he was.
He pushed that aside and picked up the phone, punching in Jon’s number.
“Jon Wright Investigative Services.”
“Hey, Jon, it’s Bran Malcolm.”
“Bran.” His voice changed from cool professional to friendly. “How’s business?”
“Good.” Jon had taught him everything he knew about investigating, when Bran had given up the unfortunate choice of a medical career. He had closed himself off from people, and had been forced to admit he was still recovering from the life he ran away from. That was something else he would have to work up the courage to tell Reese. Someday. “I wanted to give you a heads up—I’m about to steal Shella from you.”
“Not for yourself?”
“No—a friend of mine owns a jewelry store on Forest, and needs someone she can trust to work for her.”
Jon sighed. “It sounds perfect. I’d hate to let her go, but I know she’s been looking for another job. And she’s been complaining more than usual about the hours. She’s just so good at what she does, all my investigators want to use her. How soon?”
“As soon as possible.”
“I guess we can work something out, while she finishes up her cases.”
“Thanks.” Bran relaxed, now that the tough part of the conversation was done. “Can you give her up for an hour or two today? My friend would like to meet with her, see if they’d be a good fit.”
“Yeah. For you, Bran. What’s the name of the store?”
“The Dragon’s Breath.” Bran heard the scratch of a pencil against paper. Jon was as old-fashioned about things as he was—especially information. Much easier to burn a piece of paper than try to erase a digital trail. “Thanks for not tearing my head off for asking.”
“I owe you, Bran. But this makes us even.”
“Absolutely. No more stealing employees.”
Jon laughed. “I miss that twisted humor of yours. Sometimes. So,” the familiar squeak of his chair filtered through the phone, and Bran knew he was leaning back, bare feet propped on his desk. “Tell me about this friend.”
“I’ll do one better. We’ll have dinner, and you can meet her.”
“Whoa.” His chair squeaked again. “That serious, huh? Does she know about you?”
Jon was the other person in Bran’s life who knew everything about him.
“She does.” Bran quickly summarized the last couple of days, including the fact that Reese was a Seer.
“And she still wants to associate with you. I have to meet her.”
“Soon. We can hang out, have some drinks.”
“Sounds good, my friend. I’ll send Shella over to the store at noon. Will she need any protection?”
Jon knew when to ask the right questions, something Bran appreciated about his friend. “One of your Fae charms should be enough, in case Maeve decides to pop up.”
“Maeve? She behind Reese’s sudden ‘discovery’ of her power?”
Bran smiled. He could almost see the finger quotes. “Yeah.”
“I’ll give Shella the strongest I have, and a quick rundown. She’s been around the block, Bran—but you know that. Now I understand why you requested her, out of the blue. Call me.” Jon hung up in his usual abrupt manner.
Bran shook his head, and punched in his password for voicemail. There were two messages—the first from Nick.
“Just wanted to give you a heads up. There were discrepancies with your prints, and you have been dismissed as a person of interest. Call me if you want more details.”
Bran shook his head. That was Nick, as cryptic as usual. At least Bran wasn’t a suspect—and that would free him up to help Reese, without trying to avoid local law enforcement.
He deleted Nick’s message and listened to the second one. The voice that greeted him almost knocked him out of the chair.
“I understand you are now protecting our new Seer, Bran Malcolm. I would have words with you about that.”
Maeve’s smug, self-righteous voice pushed all his buttons—probably what she intended. Bran wrote down the number on the screen, deleted her message, and punched in the number.
She answered on the first ring. “You kept me waiting, Bran Malcolm. I do not like to be kept—”
“I have a few words of my own, Maeve.” Her outraged gasp made him smile. “Where?”
“Insufferable half-blood,” she muttered. “I assume you would prefer a public location.”
“You assume right.”
“Correctly,” she said. Bran grinned at her correction. He had intentionally poked at her pet peeve, because he wanted her off balance and angry when they met. That would make her easier to interrogate. “The pseudo charming chess table, near the boardwalk. One hour.”
“The chess table will be fine.” It was close to the public playground, and Maeve wouldn’t do anything stupid in front of kids, who could always see more than adults. “Now.”
“I can hardly—”
“Oh, I think you can, Maeve. I’ll see you there.”
Bran hung up on her protest, ignoring the phone when it rang again. Since the main beach was walking distance from his office, he’d leave his car here, and do his best to blindside Maeve.
He opened the sliding panel that hid his arsenal and grabbed one of the several iron knives. As long as the iron didn’t pierce his skin he could carry it with no problem—and because Maeve’s power was diminished on this side of the Veil, it would irritate her enough to do what he needed.
Decades spent around the Fae had instilled the need to always be protected around them. They barely tolerated the humans that lived on this side of the Veil; his demon half probably made their cold blood boil.
After tucking the knife in his jacket pocket, he headed out, climbing the gradual incline of the hill that led to the beach. The grass and trees that separated the boardwalk and the beach from the coast highway came into view. He was on the opposite end of the boardwalk from the stone and glazed tile chess table, and he planned to use that to his advantage.
He let the old trees help conceal him as he made his way across the grassy areas—and froze when Maeve’s voice brushed against his ear.
“You can attempt to sneak up on me, Bran Malcolm, even with the iron knife in your pocket.” He spun, his hand on the knife. She stood behind him, the smile on her too-perfect face so satisfied Bran wanted to smack it right off. He knew better. “I want you to walk away from Reese. She needs—”
“She needs protection, Maeve. I know what’s killing these kids—and I think you know as well.”
Her smile disappeared. “I left Reese a message—”
“Almost crossing the line with that one, Maeve.” Bran smiled this time. “You won’t be doing it again.”
“What are you…” Her voice faded, and anger replaced the satisfaction. “You blocked her.”
“I’m protecting her.” He grabbed her wrist. “Torlogh tried to take her.”
“You are lying.”
“I wish I was.”
She jerked free, gently for a Fae as powerful as she was—she could have broken Bran’s fingers. “I will—”
“You won’t go near her. A Fae is helping Torlogh, on this side of the Veil. I’m not trusting any of you until I find out which one was stupid enough to join up with him.”
Power swirled around her. “You will not—”
“For God’s sake, Maeve. Dial it down.” He pointed past her, where kids from the playground were starting to notice her temper tantrum. “If you think you can have a civil conversation, we’ll go to my office.”
“Very well.” Her power faded, leaving her as normal as
she got on this side of the Veil.
Bran waved to the kids, giving them the universal sign for crazy. They laughed, some of them waving back at him before they dove back into their perfect day—playing in the sunshine, without a care in the world.
He wanted to keep that bright world intact—no matter what it cost him.
Nineteen
I opened the store on time, and after a call from a Jon Wright, felt better about meeting my prospective employee. Customers kept me busy until lunchtime, but at about noon, I started watching for a woman with long blonde hair.
She walked in, her eyes lighting up as she looked around. The blonde hair that Bran told me to watch for fell past her hips, sleek and beautiful. I liked her immediately.
I rang up the sale for the last group in the store, and turned to the woman.
“Shella?”
“In the flesh.” She shook my hand. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve walked by this place, wishing I could have a store just like it. Working for you would be a happy second best.”
“How much do you know about jewelry?”
“Just that I love it.” She laughed. “I know I don’t have the experience you probably want, but I’m a quick learner, and I’m good with people.”
“Loving jewelry is a big plus in my book.” I knew I wanted to hire her. All my instincts waved the yes flag. “How soon could you start?”
“My boss, Jon, said we would work out a schedule, if you need me to start right away. I have a few cases I need to finish, but after that, I’m all yours.”
“Okay. One more question—how much do you need to make an hour to take the job?”
She smiled. “How much are you willing to offer?”
I laughed. Yeah, we’d get along fine. “Let’s talk.”
We haggled back and forth, and agreed on a number that both of us felt comfortable with. I pulled the folder of necessary paperwork I’d already prepared and handed it to her.
“If you can fill this out and get it back to me sometime today, I can get the process started. As far as the background check—ˮ
“Jon said he’d be happy to take care of it—for a discount. I insisted on the discount.”
I nodded, relieved that I wouldn’t have to hunt down a company—or burden Bran with it. “That sounds perfect. I just need your contact information, and I think we’re good.” I tapped her phone number in my contacts. After I tucked the phone back in my pocket, I held out my hand. “Welcome to The Dragon’s Breath.”
Shella ignored my hand and moved in for a hug. “Thank you! I will be the model employee.”
“Just enjoy it, and you’ll be fine. My customers will like you.”
She pulled back and smiled at me. “I’ll bring the paperwork by this afternoon.”
“See you then.”
I watched her stride out of the store. Her positive aura was infectious, and I knew she’d be a good asset to the store, and my business.
Another weight eased, thanks to Bran. I had to stop depending on him. I could do this on my own, take care of myself—
“Which you’ve done, Reese,” I muttered. I stood in the proof, surrounded by what I had accomplished. A new life, a thriving business, a place I could call my own.
Until Bran had walked into my life, I hadn’t realized that it was also lonely. As lonely as the one I ran from.
I’d never been in a relationship like the one I just dove into headfirst. It might be okay to lean on the other person every once in a while.
“Guess I’ll find out.” I stopped talking to myself when I heard the door open, and turned to greet my next customers. “Welcome to The Dragon’s Breath. How can I help you?”
I realized who stood in front of me a second after he dropped the glamour a half-Fae didn’t have a chance of seeing past.
“You can cower before your Prince, halfling.”
Twenty
Bran was more than a little surprised that Maeve had agreed to go to his office. He had every legal protection and alarm there, to give him advanced warning of any approaching Fae. He also had a few not so legal items in there, behind the sliding panel.
Hopefully, he could keep Maeve distracted enough not to notice.
Her ice-edged voice turned him around. “Your overabundance of protections screams paranoia, Bran. Including the trifle in your pocket.”
He slipped one hand in his pocket and brushed his fingers over the crystal. “I consider them necessary, with more of you traipsing out of the realm every year.”
She sputtered, and Bran wished he had a camera in his office. Fae didn’t sputter.
“We are not—you have—how dare you insinuate when you have no—”
“None needed, Maeve. I know you have brow-beaten clerks who keep track for your Queen. She does like to keep up with what’s going on with her own people. Tell me,” he leaned against the front of his desk and crossed his arms. “How fast did you run back to the Queen after you tricked Reese into awakening her power?”
Maeve had recovered enough to be indignant. “She had the right to know that the first true Seer in more than twenty years had been found, after Fiona deserted—”
“I love how you gloss over your part in it.” Bran pushed off the desk and used his height to his advantage, looming over her petite figure. “If I hadn’t met Reese at the crime scene, our connection wouldn’t have alerted me. Torlogh would still have her.” Just the thought made his palms sweat. “That would have been on you, Maeve.”
“You are correct, Bran.” Her admission shocked the hell out of him, and he took a step back. “I wanted a Seer in our ranks once again. When I found Fiona’s daughter, and knew there was a good chance that the power had been transferred to Reese, I acted without thinking of possible consequences. If I had known that these killings were linked to one of my own, I would not have left her to her own devices.”
“I really want to believe you. But I don’t know if you’re telling the truth, or your truth. But that’s my fault for not demanding it.” He ran one hand through his hair, already exhausted from dancing around her doublespeak. “Reese is protected now, so stay away from her.”
“Bran—”
“No.” He knew that tone, and it left his skin itchy with the need to do whatever she was about to ask. “Another word, Maeve, and I’ll introduce you to my iron jewelry.”
“Diabhal.”
Bran smiled. “Are you cursing at me, or calling me a devil?”
She glared at him, and he felt her power gathering. He backed away from her, not wanting to be caught up in it. With a sharp snap she disappeared, leaving the green, floral tang of her power behind.
Bran let out his breath, and wiped at the sweat sliding down his face. Standing up to a Fae as powerful and unpredictable as Maeve was not the smartest move at the best of times. With her temper up, it could have been deadly for him, even with his protection. They just helped keep a Fae out—it didn’t help him when he’d invited that Fae in.
But he would not allow Maeve to put Reese in danger because of some agenda that would score her points with her Queen.
He let some of his guard down—and froze when an odd tingling coiled at the base of his throat. He recognized it, because he’d met the owner of that power once. But Lachlan never ventured beyond the Veil. He hated mortals with a passion, except—
“Reese—”
The ring on his left hand flared, and he moved. Fast.
Lachlan had come to claim her.
Twenty One
I stumbled back, stopping only because I smacked into the display case behind me.
The Fae was stunningly beautiful. Words couldn’t describe how beautiful, or how alien that beauty was to human eyes.
He studied me, his head tilted, eyes the color of a stormy sea scanning me from head to toe, lingering long enough on certain parts that I knew he was checking me out. I saw the pendant he wore, and my breath froze in my throat.
I had seen that pendant in one of Mom’s boo
ks.
The Fae who had walked into my store was the Prince of the Dark Court. It should have been hilarious—a Fae who hated mortals as much as the royals of the Dark Court did standing in my store, checking out a human.
I was terrified.
“What do you want?” I don’t know how I managed to sound even close to normal.
He raised his hand when one of the veiled Fae women behind him snarled and started to move toward me.
“She does not know our ways. Yet. I will teach her, personally.”
“Yes, my Prince.” She bowed low, flashing me a glare that should have killed me.
He walked to me, taller than I first thought. Up close, his beauty dimmed, and I had a feeling I knew why. The bracelet hummed against my wrist, and my ring flared, drawing his attention.
“Ah.” He took my hand, brushing one long, graceful finger over the stone in my ring. “I recognize this work. Aidan was an artist with metal.”
I jerked at my father’s name. “You knew him?”
“For a time. He created pieces for my mother, in exchange for—well, that is past, and done. Though I do miss his stimulating conversation. He had a keen mind, for a mortal.” I tried not to flinch when the Fae traced one finger down the side of my face. “I am wondering if you have the same mind, could amuse me the same way. Or in different, more intriguing ways.”
“Reese.” The familiar voice swung the Prince around, and I clutched the display case, my knees weak as I watched Shella walk into the store. “I wanted to drop these papers off as soon as I—ˮ Shella halted just inside the doorway. I’d never been so happy to see anyone—and I had to get her out of here. “Hello, handsome.” She strode forward, the hip length blonde hair I’d admired floating around her, almost like she was surrounded by her own breeze. “I was going to apologize, but I’m not sorry to disturb if it means meeting a looker like you.”
“Keep your distance, mortal.” The Prince waved his hand. I cried out, waiting for something horrible to happen to Shella. To my shock, and the Prince’s, Shella kept moving. The only change was her smile—it transformed from welcoming to predatory. “I said…” His voice faded, and he frowned. “Why are you not—ˮ
