by Susan Harris
“Why blame you? It’s obvious Neville Morris was the instigator.” That was Donnie, blunt and straight to the point.
“His father died by my hands, not Morris’s. His mother killed herself afterwards—threw herself off a cliff when she realized she was expecting a pup. I ruined a family that day. Gomez had every right to come for me.”
His head drooped, and he blew out a breath. His heart drummed inside his chest, almost as painful as getting shot. Would they hate him? Would Ever be disgusted by him?
He felt her slide into his arms, and he lifted his head to meet those ocean-coloured eyes.
“You are not to blame for what happened to Gomez, Derek. You’re a survivor. You did what you needed to do to survive. I’m sure if you asked every single person in this room if they have done something they were ashamed of to survive, you’d get a resounding yes. I’m not going to let you drown in your pity party, Mr. Broody Agent. You got that?”
Derek allowed a ghost of a smile. “I got it. Goddam, woman, I don’t deserve you.”
“Yeah, but you’re stuck with me anyway.”
The entire team laughed at that. And Derek understood why he was so lucky. He had a mate, a family, and an even larger extended family. The past would always be there, be a part of what drove him, but it wasn’t everything. He would not allow the evil taint of his past to seep into the present, or the future, and ruin what he had now.
And if Neville Morris came for him, then this time Derek wasn’t alone. His team would stand with him, there to watch his back.
“I suggest everyone goes home to rest. I have a statement to make. But I expect every single one of you to make an appearance at Josie’s on Friday night. That’s an order.” Sarge patted them on the shoulder as one by one his team filtered out, Ricky winking as he passed by on crutches.
“So, what do you want to do now, Mr. Broody Agent?”
“Nothing I can do until the bullet wound heals.”
“Derek,” Ever sighed and rested her head against his shoulder. “Let’s go home so you can rest up.”
“I think that’s something we need to discuss.”
“Oh really?” she murmured, her breath warm against the nape of his neck.
“But not today, or even tomorrow. You’re right, let’s go home.”
All he wanted was to fall asleep with her in his arms, something he planned to do for the rest of their life together. And that’s just what he did.
“It was a beautiful service,” Ever remarked as Derek pulled into the vacant parking lot. Derek had decided he needed to go to the funeral of the woman who’d been killed in the attempt to frame him. He’d told Ever he wanted to go alone, but she had simply shaken her head and changed her clothes into something befitting the mate of a police officer.
Seeing Derek all kitted out in his dress blues made her want to slowly peel him out of them, but that could wait ‘til later. Hand in hand with him, they had walked into the church.
Derek let go of her hand for a brief moment, and while the entire congregation watched, he’d knelt down in front of the slain woman’s frail mother and offered his condolences. Ever had held her breath until the woman reached out, cupped Derek’s cheek, leaned in, and whispered in his ear. He didn’t tell Ever what the woman had said, and Ever didn’t ask.
Even after Sarge released a statement in which he outlined the series of events that led to Michela McIntosh’s death, Derek’s name and picture remained plastered all over the news. Some called him a monster, others a hero.
Derek tried to ignore it all, but being cooped up for a few days gave him time to overthink things and shut himself off from her once again. She’d give him time; but she wouldn’t let him wallow.
Ever had been so focused on worrying about Derek that the voices in her mind had had little time to cause her distress. She wanted to talk to Derek about it, but now the timing was off, and she couldn’t bring herself to burden him any further.
“It was,” he finally said.
The silence that had plagued them through the drive back home after the church, through changing and leaving Ever’s house and heading out to meet the team, returned in full force.
Play with him, tease him. Bring your champion back to you.
Struggling to ignore the voice in her head, she tapped her fingers on Derek’s denim-clad thigh. “So, should I be worried that you brought me to an abandoned car park instead of a bar? Or should I be undressing?”
Derek growled, but a small smile played on his lips. “I fucking wish. Nah, this is Josephine’s.”
“There’s nothing here, Derek.”
“C’mon, let me show you.”
He slipped from the car and Ever followed suit. Rain drizzled, and greying clouds gathered overhead. Despite the few cars scattered through the lot, the place seemed empty. The hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention, and a quick study of Derek eased her nerves slightly.
“Derek?” she said.
“Wait. Come here.” Derek held out his hand to her, and she took it. He took a step forward, as did Ever, and she felt the brush of magic slide over her. Barrier spell—she recognised the feel of it from her childhood. Samhain had been very obsessive about protecting her from outside threats.
Her heart hurt to think of her mother, whom Ever had not spoken to since their fight. Pushing that to the back of her mind, Ever’s mouth gaped in surprise as she finally laid eyes on Josephine’s. A flat, rectangular bar rested in her line of vision. The outside was simple—unassuming, but inviting. Sounds of laughter and music filled her ears and made her smile.
“Let’s head in.”
Derek dragged her inside, and she continued smiling. Supernatural creatures from all walks of life swarmed the bar. Old-school wooden booths throughout, a polished wooden floor, and on the dais, a gorgeous baby grand piano sat, a set of drums behind it. Some turned as they came in, the werewolf and his human mate, but most barely spared them a glance.
But you’re not human, are you?
Ever swallowed hard. Some of her anxiety must have slipped through the bond as Derek squeezed her hand. Leaning down, he whispered, “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
She nodded meekly as the voice in her head snorted.
You can protect yourself.
Derek steered them to a corner booth, just shy of where the piano sat. Ever turned her attention to the team gathered, all except for Ricky and Donnie. Melanie sat ramrod straight in her seat, her fingernails digging into her jeans, her foot tapping anxiously as she stared at her feet. Caitlyn brushed up against Melanie, and the girl nodded, as if to tell herself she wasn’t going to kill anyone.
Erika sat on the other side of Melanie, popping her gum as if the baby vampire were nothing to her. Tom came next, then surprisingly a woman whom Ever hadn’t met yet. Hasty introductions were made as Ever slid in beside the woman—Anna, the M.E.
And as Ever caught Tom’s eye, she almost giggled at the blush that crept up his cheeks. Derek perched himself at the edge of the booth, putting himself protectively in front of her. His hand rested on her thigh underneath the table, and his touch almost burned her.
“Where’s everyone else?” Ever asked, looking to Caitlyn for answers. You couldn’t deny the captivating beauty of the vampire. Her hair hung in loose curls, framing her sharp features, the onyx colour a stark contrast to her blood-red lips. Even dressed in a black one-shoulder top and jeans, she was catwalk-stunning.
“Ricky’s in the back. Donnie’s at the bar.”
Ever squinted and caught sight of Donnie, sipping from a pint and laughing with a brunette bartender. She seemed young and fresh-faced, and it saddened her to think of Donnie with someone other than Caitlyn.
Donnie tilted his head in her direction then, raising his pint in a greeting. She smiled at him, and then he went back to talking to the bartender.
A small blonde woman came to their booth, and she and Derek shared a few polite words. Then she beckoned the bartender over before stridi
ng away. Derek leaned in to her and said in a hushed tone, “That’s Anastasia Walsh, she owns the place. She’s one of the last leprechauns left in Ireland.”
“And she runs a pub?”
“It was her mum’s,” Derek replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “I remember coming here with Sarge, and despite just ordering a pint, Josie would throw a fully prepared meal in front of us. Never charged us a penny. That’s the kind of person she was. Nobody left her place hungry.”
The brunette who’d been chatting with Donnie popped up in front of them.
“Sorry, guys. What can I getcha?”
“I’ll have a lager,” said Tom, “and a gin and tonic for the lady.”
Ever’s grin deepened.
The girl turned to Caitlyn, who just stared at her.
“Caitlyn,” Derek warned, but it was a growl from Donnie—which they all heard—that snapped Caitlyn out of her trance.
“I’ll have a red wine.”
The girl gave her a little smile. “With a twist?”
“Yes… please.”
The word sounded like it hurt her.
“And you, miss?”
Melanie whipped her head up fast and then put it back down again. Caitlyn took her hand and squeezed. “Bring her the same, please. With added twist.”
“Sure thing.”
Her attention turned to Derek. “The usual, Derek?”
“Please.” He grinned, turning to Ever.
She wasn’t really much of a drinker, a glass or two of wine at family occasions, but when she thought about what she might like to drink, she only wanted one thing.
“Bourbon, neat. Please.”
The rest of her companions looked at her in surprise, all except Erika.
“I’ll have the same, Emily. New Orleans-cured if you have it.”
The girl gave them a dazzling smile. “I’m sure I can sort something. Back in a second.”
A vision of her and Erika drinking bourbon in New Orleans threatened to undo her.
“You’ve only been here a few minutes, and you’re already on a first-name basis with the bartender?”
Erika popped her gum, a wicked smile playing on her lips. “I make it a point to know the names of beautiful women.”
And that statement made Ever just shut her pretty little mouth. For a moment.
“What’s a twist in wine?” she blurted.
The table fell silent. Nobody said anything as Donnie arrived with a tray, carrying their drinks. “A twist in a drink, in a supernatural bar, means blood. Some brands come infused with it for certain tastes.”
“I’mma shut up now.”
“New career, Donnie? Do I need to look for your replacement?”
Donnie chuckled. “Nah, I told Em that I’d bring them over. She had to handle some rough clientele.”
When Ever shot him a surprised look, he laughed harder and pointed across the bar. Ever watched as a vampire, judging from the pale skin and drunk red eyes, went for Emily. He stopped as the bartender held out a hand. She lifted her hand and swiped it through the air in front of her, and the vampire slapped himself in the face. Then, she balled up her other hand and punched upwards. The vampire slumped to the ground, muttering apologies. The girl gave him a final warning, and then sauntered away.
“A mesmer?” Ever wondered aloud.
“Yup, it’s hilarious to watch.”
“Can I go home yet?”
A tiny, frightened voice broke through the humour, and everyone looked at Melanie. The poor girl looked as if she were about to cry and scream all at once.
“You’re doing fine, Melanie. Plus, I’m sure you do not want to miss tonight’s opening act.” Caitlyn comforted her in a very motherly manner, something Ever had not expected.
“Who’s the opening act?” Melanie asked as the lights dimmed.
The bar fell silent, and Derek slung his arm around Ever’s shoulder, pulling her in a little closer. She snuggled into him and waited as the lights came back up. Ever was not the only one at the table who let out a gasp of surprise.
Ricky sat behind the keys of the baby grand, grinning down at them. He tapped the mic twice. “Good evening, folks. How’s things?”
The crowd cheered, and Ever suspected this was not the first time he’d sung in public.
“Been a kinda rough week out there for this lad. I mean, not only did I save my partner’s fine ass, but I took a bullet for him.”
Derek shook his head.
“Anyways. You know I like to sing whenever I get the chance. I hope you enjoy it.”
His eyes and words were directed at only one person as he began to gracefully dance his fingers on the keys. The song sounded familiar, but it wasn’t until Ricky opened his mouth did Ever instantly fall in love with his voice. And it wasn’t just her.
Melanie leaned forward, her eyes alive for the first time that night as Ricky recited the lyrics to “Dancing On My Own.” There was something hypnotic to his voice, a huskiness that made Ever shiver.
“I didn’t know he could sing… I mean really sing,” Melanie whispered.
“Yeah, he’s quite good once he’s not pretending he’s Channing frickin’ Tatum and gyrating around the gaff,” Donnie quipped, and they all laughed.
They stopped talking then and just listened to Ricky. Ever studied his relaxed stance, the pure joy in his eyes as he sang, and understood that humour was his defence mechanism. This was Ricky—happy, himself, and doing something he loved.
The final bars of the song finished up, and Ricky belted out the last note and held it. When he cut off, the place exploded into cheers and claps. Ricky gave a shy nod of his head, but his eyes watched Melanie.
“I need a little help with my second song. Donnie, get up here, brother.”
Donnie bounded up the steps, and after a quick word with Ricky, plonked down behind the drums. Ricky began to play again, a haunting melody about love and loss, Donnie joining in after the first bars of Tom O’ Dell’s “Still Getting Used to Being On My Own” played out.
“I love that song,” Melanie sighed, her anxiety apparently forgotten.
“He knows,” Caitlyn replied.
Ever felt eyes watching her, and as soon as she looked up, Erika’s gaze sent her body into overdrive, just as it had the moment she first met her. The room spun, and her vision blurred. She stood up suddenly, and Derek’s gaze narrowed.
“Little girls’ room,” she muttered as she swept past him, her eyes searching for the bathroom sign. She bypassed it, walking on to a door with Exit over it. Escaping outside into the air, she gulped in deep breaths.
Ever collapsed onto the bench next to the door and put her head in her hands.
I’m going mad. This is getting out of control. I need help.
“You’re not going mad, Ever. You just won’t accept reality. Once you do, everything will make sense.”
Erika’s voice snapped Ever’s head up. The woman’s check shirt had slipped off her shoulder, and Ever could make out the fine lines of her tattoo.
“I want to see it. The tattoo.”
Erika came nearer and pulled the shirt off her shoulder. Ever reached out her fingers, brushing over the inking. Wings shadowed a beautiful blade. It seemed familiar, comforting, and deadly. Erika shivered under her touch. Ever lowered her lashes, unable to stop herself.
“Ever, we must go. Leave them. They are lost!”
Erika screamed at her, but Ever was unable to tear herself away. Her soldiers lay bloody on the ground as the one-eyed monster lashed out, striking them down to give her and the remaining Valkyrie time to retreat. Not surrender; there would be no surrender.
A firm hand grabbed hold of her. “We need to go, NOW!”
The next thing Ever knew, her feet hit the sandy shores of Valhalla, the flag of the Valkyrie proudly flapping in the wind above her. But it should not be proud, for she was not; they were losing this battle. And Ever hated to lose.
“Let’s get you home, Ever.”
&nb
sp; She was escorted back to her bedchambers, Erika removing her armour and setting her sword to the side. Erika gently pushed her to sit down on the edge of the bed. Her hands rested on Ever’s shoulders as Erika watched her with a worried gaze.
Ever reached up and brushed her thumb across Erika’s bloodstained cheek. “Always looking out for me, Erika.”
Erika pressed her lips to Ever’s forehead and stepped away. “Until my last breath, and most likely after.”
The memory faded away, and Ever snatched back her hand as if she had been burned.
“It can’t be real, it just can’t.”
“Why not?” Erika asked. “You believe in the supernatural, Ever. Why not the rest of it?”
Ever got to her feet and stood nose to nose with Erika. “I want you to say it. Tell me what I am.”
Sadness filled her friend’s eyes. “You know I can’t. You have to be the one that breaks the spell.”
Donnie had been right; she wasn’t going mad. She was something else—someone else.
“I’m nothing special. I’m not her,” Ever spat out. The person in her memories was a stranger to her.
“No, you’re not her. You’re better than her. She was weak and arrogant and my best friend. You don’t know me. Ever Chace doesn’t know who she was. Once you say it, Ever, you’ll remember everything. I’ve broken enough rules and will be punished for it. But I can take a beating from Freya. It’s not the first, won’t be the last.”
Freya… her mother… was she seriously accepting this? That she was a Valkyrie?
She shook her head. “You lied to me.”
“Of course I lied to you,” Erika said with a carefree shrug of her shoulders. “I’ve been lying from the very start. I lied to you all. Because you told me to lie. You ordered me to do so. I only followed orders.”
“My orders?”
Erika dropped to one knee and placed a fist over her heart. “Yes, My Queen.”
“Get up off the fucking ground before someone sees you,” Ever exclaimed. “I’m nobody’s queen.” She felt like a fraud, as if not remembering who she had been had disgraced her people. And even thinking that made her cringe inwardly.
