by Unknown
"I know." Amie touched her hand to Dante's forehead. It was cold. He shivered, and she wanted to curl up in his lap and cry.
He was going to be taken from her forever. There would be no one else. She couldn't handle it. Besides, she knew there would never be another man like him.
Isoke leaned his head against her. "It is powerful magic to bring back the dead. You must need him very much."
Needing was one thing. Having was quite another. "I'll leave him alone forever if you can help me fix him."
She swore she'd never follow in her mother's footsteps and she wouldn't. It was going to be safe and boring from here on out.
Isoke drew away from her. "I'm sorry," he said, "there is no spell for reanimating a zombie. And if he dies again, he is truly and forever dead."
Her heart stuttered. "We have to do something." She couldn't lose him. Not yet.
"I will leave you alone," Isoke said, waddling across the room. "Follow your heart, bembe." He closed the door softly behind him. "This is something you must do on your own."
He'd said Dante was her soul mate.
"Amie," Dante murmured, his lips barely parting.
Not here. Not now. The tears welled in her eyes as she squeezed in next to him. He was cold. She wrapped herself around him, trying to keep him warm. "We have another day," she said, embarrassed at how her voice cracked.
"We don't," he said.
"Dante. Please." There was so much to say and she had no idea where to start. He'd shown her so many things about herself in such a short time. She needed more of him. She needed to know if she was truly meant to be with him. It couldn't end this way. "I don't want you to die."
"That's not enough," he said, on what might have been his last breath.
Her throat constricted. "But I don't want you to leave."
Dante's eyes cracked open, dazed. "That's not enough."
Her tears flowed freely as he closed his eyes once more.
He wasn't moving anymore. He was barely breathing.
He was leaving.
"I love you," she whispered. Heaven help her, she loved him. And it was awful. She already felt the loss, the dread. Amie took his face in her hands and kissed his cold lips, his cheek, his chin. She felt her magic build inside her as she opened herself to him, in honor of him.
Amie touched her forehead to his and closed her eyes, savoring the moment, her last time with him. She focused on the beauty and the happiness she'd found as the magic thrummed through her. Maybe she'd never get it back. Maybe she was a damned crazy fool to feel this way, but she loved him. And she needed him to know.
She needed him to feel the goodness and light and strength he gave to her, just by being with her.
It built so sweet and strong that she wept with it. Her tears fell against his cheeks as she touched her lips to his and released her love magic in one glorious wave.
It poured into him, stunning and whole. The air around them shimmered as pure love glowed between them. She held nothing back. For the first time in her life, she gave everything. She had to think that he felt it, that he understood.
Amie knew she would never be the same.
This magic would never come back and she didn't care. She gave it to him, brilliant and true, because of who he was…how he made her feel. It was the most natural gift she could give. It was her love spun out like silk. She needed him to have it before he died.
Amie laid her head on his cold hard chest, drained, yet more at peace than she'd ever been.
Her heart fluttered as traces of her love magic sizzled between them. Her breath caught. She didn't know exactly what that meant, only that her magic had slowly begun to grow instead of diminish.
The traces weren't flowing to him, but from him and through her and back to him. She could see it like golden cords between them. She raised her head and discovered him watching her. "Dante?" she asked breathlessly.
She was almost afraid to hope, worried it would be snatched away.
He cocked a weak grin. Amie wet her lips. His face had regained some color. He still appeared tired, but…"What's happening?" she asked.
"You love me." She went weak as he reached for her, his arms holding her tight. “You care. It was all I needed.”
She buried herself against the warmth of his chest. "Yes," she sobbed against him.
"And I love you." He leaned forward and kissed her lightly, tasting the salt of her tears.
She felt the power this time, a soul-deep tug as it spiraled through her. It warmed her, fulfilled her and…"Please tell me it's going to be okay."
“It is.” The corner of his mouth tipped up as he looked at her with a love that humbled her. "You saved me, Amie," he whispered. She followed his gaze to the empty place on her bookshelf. His wedding ring had disappeared.
"I can't believe it," she said, and yet she could. For once in her life, she'd been willing to give herself, fully and completely.
She'd been given a second chance.
And so had he.
Her heart squeezed. "You're really going to be fine?"
"More than fine," he said against her lips. His arms slipped around her and he demonstrated exactly how he had recovered.
It was beautiful and intense and—confusing. "Wait. How?"
He drew her back down to him. "Because you were brave enough to love me."
NOTE FROM ANGIE:
Thank you for sharing Amie and Dante’s story with me! You can meet them again in Night of the Living Demon Slayer, part of the New York Times bestselling Accidental Demon Slayer series.
The first book, The Accidental Demon Slayer, is free right now on Amazon!
Also, follow me on BookBub and you’ll always get an email for special sales.
Wishing you all the best!
Angie
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Angie Fox writes sweet, fun, action-packed mysteries. Her characters are clever and fearless, but in real life, Angie is afraid of basements, bees, and going up stairs when it is dark behind her. Let’s face it. Angie wouldn’t last five minutes in one of her books.
Angie earned a journalism degree from the University of Missouri. During that time, she also skipped class for an entire week so she could read Anne Rice's vampire series straight through. Angie has always loved books and is shocked, honored and tickled pink that she now gets to write books for a living. Although, she did skip writing for a few weeks last year so she could read Lynsay Sands Argeneau vampire series straight through.
Angie makes her home in St. Louis, Missouri with a football-addicted husband, two kids, and Moxie the dog.
Sign up if you’d like an email each time Angie releases a new book!
Visit Angie Fox online:
www.angiefox.com
[email protected]
DOG DAYS OF SUMMER
HAILEY EDWARDS
When a fae boy goes missing, all evidence points to a warg being responsible for the crime. Thierry is called to lead the hunt for the rogue, but the closer she gets to locating the boy, the further she gets from the truth.
Copyright © 2017 by Hailey Edwards All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
1
T he sun beat down on my head and bare shoulders. I smelled coconut and my skin burning. June was brutal in Texas, and my sunscreen had sweated off hours ago. Thank God. My skin would regenerate on its own, but tell that to Mom and her spray bottle of SPF 100. After this I would need a miniature shovel to unclog my pores. Not to mention a gallon jug or three of ice water to stave off dehydration.
Heat radiated off the sizzling asphalt while I trudged onward down the low shoulder of the road. A horn blasted staccato warnings behind me. I raised my arm, hand waving, and gestured them past.
Honk. Honk. Hoooooonk.
I whirled on the ball of my sneaker, flung out my arms and kept walking backward. “The road’s wide enough for us both.”
Asshole was implied.
A monster of a truck rolled to a stop two car lengths away from me. The driver, a handsome fae with molten copper eyes and mahogany curls, grinned through the windshield before whipping his ride in a squealing circle of burnt rubber. He pulled the behemoth alongside my pathetic self and idled with his gas guzzler facing in the wrong direction. The window rolled down, and frigid air poured out of the cab smelling of bergamot and patchouli. The heady combination of scents made my already weak knees sag, and I stumbled back. The driver flung open his door and lunged in time to catch me before I fell.
Suspended in his arms, I traced the stern curve of his frown. “Nice save.”
“I do what I can.” Shaw drank in the sight of me like he was the thirsty one. “You okay?”
“I’m hot, tired and smelly,” I grumped. “I also have the world’s strongest craving for KFC.”
His laughter rocked me in his arms. “Mable told me you volunteered for the cockatrice case.”
“Volunteered is a strong word for what actually happened.” But as a rookie, pickings were slim.
Until I skimmed the file she put in my hand, I hadn’t known what a cockatrice was, let alone that fae bred them locally. According to the picture I was given, Farmer Brum’s prize bird looked like a cross between a Rhode Island Red rooster and the world’s smallest dragon. Basically a surly chicken with a scaly underbelly and a serpentine tail, sickle claws and, in rare cases, the ability to spit flames.
What the documents hadn’t mentioned was how ungodly ripe cockatrice smelled, but it made tracking the thing easy-peasy.
Shaw’s brow puckered as he scanned the road. “Where’s your car?”
“I left it out at the Brum farm.” The better to stalk my prey.
“Ah. That explains the sunburn.”
“I’ll buy some aloe after I cash in my bounty check.” I tapped him on the chin. “There’s a reward for Ringo’s safe return.”
“Brum wants his Starr breeder back that badly, huh?”
He waited.
I blinked slowly.
His sigh urged me to console him. “There was a joke in there somewhere, wasn’t there?”
“Ringo Starr, as in the drummer for The Beatles?” He shook his head. “How do you not know that?”
“Maybe because I’m eighteen—” I screwed my pointer finger into his chest, “—and not ancient like some people I know.” I stuck my tongue out at him, emphasizing my maturity level.
Faster than I could squeak out a protest, Shaw claimed my mouth with urgency that managed to melt the parts of me unaffected by the sun. When he broke the kiss, he was breathing harder than I was.
“Naughty incubus,” I murmured. “Now is not the time.”
The hungry glint in his eyes said he begged to differ.
“You’re right.” He straightened and set me back on my feet. “I brought reinforcements.”
“Oh?” I leaned to the right and peered past his shoulder. “Do tell.”
Shaw jogged back to his truck, lowered the tailgate and patted it once. Willing to be persuaded, I moseyed over while he climbed into the bed and hauled a cooler large enough to hold a dead body to the edge. The seal broke with a sigh I mirrored as I perched on the tailgate and let my legs swing.
“Catch.” He tossed me a bottle of water slick from the ice bath, and I held it against the stinging base of my neck while he rustled around. “I’ve got twenty-three more friends where he came from.”
“Kinky.” I twisted the lid and drank until I sucked air. “Toss me another.” He did, and I drained it too, but stopped at three before the cramps in my belly got serious. “What brings you out my way?”
The cooler protested when Shaw sat on its top and stretched out his long legs toward me.
“Can’t a guy be worried about his girlfriend and want to check up on her?”
Okay, I admit it. My heart fluttered. Having Shaw call me his girl made me giddy.
“Nice try,” I allowed, “but no. I can see the open case file on your dash from here.”
“Point to you.” He peeled the label from the bottle of water clenched in his fist. “What do you know about cockatrices?”
The use of a stalling tactic made me wonder if this wasn’t some kind of test. He was my training officer after all.
Staring over my shoulder at him cramped my neck, so I turned to face him. “Enough not to look one in the eye.” Holding their stare would kill you. It was all very Medusa-like. I shifted one hip and pulled a shiny compact, the clamshell kind with double mirrors, out of my pocket. “I also brought this in case he tries to flog me.”
“Except that seeing its reflection would kill it,” Shaw interrupted me.
“Leave me to my fantasies.” I was ready to wring its stinky neck barehanded.
His toe nudged my thigh. “I’d like to hear more about these fantasies of yours.”
“Not these you wouldn’t.” I pinched his leg through his jeans. “They involve barbeque sauce.”
The thoughtful tilt of his chin should have concerned me more, but one thing I can say is dating an incubus opens your eyes to an entire world of erotic possibility you never imagined existed. What did it say about me that the application of barbeque sauce in the bedroom intrigued me a teensy bit?
I was born and raised in Texas after all.
“Come on. The truth this time. What brings you out to this fine stretch of unnamed road?” The mile markers had run out about the same time as my enthusiasm for this case. “If you came to tell me chicken jokes, I’ve heard ’em all.” One guy at the office didn’t even bother with a punchline, he just started clucking.
“A favor.” Shaw rubbed his jaw. “Have you met Jim in accounting?”
“Once.” I spun my bottle’s cap on the bed liner. “I paid him a visit because my check was wrong.”
“His middle boy is missing.”
“Oh no.” I slapped a hand over the whirling cap to stop it. “How can I help?”
“Jim’s family lives in one of the new all-fae subdivisions near Monahans. I want you to ride out with me to talk to the family.” He braced his forearms on his thighs. “Missing persons cases are bad, Thierry. People get angry. They get loud. They get violent. And we’re the ones wearing the badges.” His long fingers threaded together. “This is a solid opportunity for you to get your feet wet handling this type of case. Say the word, and I’ll pen your ID number on the tab next to mine. Are you ready for this?”
The offer to assist him was huge, but I had gone big before, and it had almost killed me.
Still. There was the missing kid to think of, so I looked Shaw square in the eye. “Let’s do this.”
2
A ccounting must pay more than marshaling, because the swanky neighborhood Jim and his wife Marilynn called home rivaled the uber-exclusive gated community where my roommate Mai’s parents lived for opulence. I whistled through my teeth when Shaw parked on the street in front of a gray two-story fauxlonial—a colonial-style house so new I smelled fresh paint when I stepped onto the sidewalk to take a look-see.
Neighborhood watch signs boasting the strongest wards in the business kept me from poking my nose against the glass or checking the backyard where the top of a swing set peeked above the fence.
Once Mrs. Dodd answered the door and the guided tour of her home began, if we got one, we’d lose all hope of glimpsing what the parents might not want us to see. The grim fact was that statistically, when a child went missing, a family member was often to blame.
Shaw joined me in the driveway. “First impressions?”
Baskets of hanging ferns decorated the wraparound front porch. Each hung at an equal distance. Each possessed the same number of fronds. The house looked as perfect as a Photoshopped postcard.
“I chose the wrong professio
n,” I said at last.
At first I thought he would agree with me, but he shrugged. “Things aren’t always as they seem.”
The sobering reminder of what had brought us here wiped the smile off my face.
“You’re right.” The worst monsters hid in plain sight.
We had swung by my apartment so I could shower and change before he drove us to Monahans. I was grateful for the dress pants and ruffled top I had borrowed from my roomie’s closet. I lived in T-shirts and jeans, but Mai was a shopaholic fashionista who frequented outlet malls. Lucky for me, I got to mooch off her style as long as I tucked all my curves into one of those spandex body shapers.
Pulling on my marshal face, I set to work assessing the area. “It’s quiet for this time of day even if the residents are nocturnal.” Most neighborhoods catered to diurnal or nocturnal fae exclusively so clashing schedules didn’t lead to annoyance, and then to violence. “Jim works the dayshift. If he settled here, then the area is family-friendly, which means parents have locked down their kids.” I considered that. “It’s a natural reaction. A kid disappears, and people worry theirs might get snatched next. Their reaction also makes me think the kid wasn’t the type who wandered. If he had a history of getting into trouble or taking off on his own, they wouldn’t be concerned. This tells me that they’re scared.”
“Good catch about the kids.” He led the charge up a tidy walkway to the door and knocked.
Two heartbeats later a middle-aged woman yanked open the door with watery-eyed expectation.
Her bottom lip trembled. “Do you have news?”
“No, ma’am.” I took point. “I’m Marshal Thierry Thackeray with the Southwestern Conclave.” I gestured toward Shaw. “This is my partner, Marshal Jackson Shaw. We’re here to ask you some follow-up questions, maybe take a look around your son’s room if you don’t mind.”
“Oh. Ah.” She glanced over her shoulder and frowned. “Give me a second.”
