Summary:
Widdershins University
I wasn’t even supposed to be there.
My business partner, James—co-owner of Forgotten Folios Rare Book Shop—is the one who meets with clients. But an accident kept him in New York, so I took the train to Hart’s Leap, Massachusetts, to meet with eccentric book collector Zebulon Hart.
I was the one who walked through the eerie marsh with its strange sculptures. Who knocked on the door of the old manor in the middle of nowhere.
Who was attacked and drugged by my host.
Now I’ve awakened a year and a half later, with no memory of anything that happened during that time. I don’t know where I am, or why someone is trying to kill me.
My only ally is the insurance investigator who says he’s been pursuing me for the last few months. According to him, I stole a rare book, and his firm wants it back.
I have to find out what happened during my missing year. Because it’s not just my fate that depends on it.
It’s all of humanity’s.
Summary:
Magic is the least of Bertram Bell’s mysteries . . .
Elio Peralta is a useless magician. Every morning, he brews colors into coffee, brightening the days of his cafe’s customers. Every night, he pines after his best friend, Dutch Abel, a mechanic who’s always been by his side, and never given Elio what he desires.
When Bertram Bell, a mysterious figure from his family’s past, appears to lay claim to an apprentice, Elio volunteers. Bell sweeps him into a lavish life like nothing he’s ever known, but shadows creep in the grand halls of Bellemont, and at night, ghosts whisper in his ear.
Six apprentices came before Elio, and each met a gruesome end. Uncovering what befell them may cost Elio everything. But Dutch has a secret of his own, and if they hope to survive Bertram Bell, all secrets must come out.
Childhood friends become lovers who must face down a festering evil in this retelling of Bluebeard. Expect the gruesome and macabre, a veritable handful of insidious rings, a powerful mage who is more than he seems, and a truly exceptional dog named Grim.
The Seventh Ring of Bertram Bell was originally published in the Fables Retold Anthology. It has been expanded with a new epilogue.
Fireworks Flame by Lacey Daize
Summary:Holiday Surprise #6
Rick only meant to go to a conference in Vegas, but he ended up with more than he'd bargained for.
Rick loves his son Dennis more than anything, and never regrets that one night with the handsome alpha—Alan. But he does wish that he knew enough about the other man to tell him that he's a father. However, his search is renewed when it's clear just how much their son wants to know his missing parent.
Alan can't stop thinking of the one who got away, but is he ready for a family?
Alan's first major accounting conference came with the unexpected bonus of handsome omega Rick. But even after they've all gone home, he can't get the other man out of his mind. He never thought he had a child from that night though. When he learns about his son, he can't wait to meet him, and to reconnect with the man who'd caught his eye so long ago.
But can one night turn into forever?
Fireworks Flame is an 18K word , non-shifter, M/M, mpreg, omegaverse romance
I finally got around to reading Fireworks Flame, the last entry I had left of Lacey Daize's Holiday Surprise series. Just so good. I expected more 4th of July experience/setting but the "fireworks" in the title have more of a surprise style meaning than heavy on the holiday. That's okay because it still made perfect summer reading and don't get me wrong, the holiday is definitely there just IMO not as prevalent as some of the other holidays in this series.
Here we have Rick and Alan, ships who pass in the night, alpha and omega who are literally drawn together from across a crowded room, and a pairing where timing is everything. The author could have taken the opportunity to create heartbreak and overwhelming drama that can often go with this scenario but instead, no excess dramatic baggage was added to weigh it down. Don't get me wrong, there is some heartache and drama but it's well balanced and heightens the fun and romance of the journey these two find themselves on.
My mpreg author list is still pretty limited so I can't say Daize will remain at the very top of the list but in my experience so far, I gotta give the author that spot. Such a great blend of fun, drama, family, friends, and of course romance makes for a very happy reader. I certainly look forward to checking out more from the author's backlist.
RATING:
Summary:
VRC: Vampire Related Crimes #4
River
When I meet Bentley DeGray, I’m at the lowest point in my life because no matter how much I fight, my past won’t let me escape. Bentley makes me laugh and care and love, but what does any of that mean when I’m living a lie?
Things get complicated when I find out he’s with the Vampire Related Crimes Unit, the organization looking for answers about the abductions of prominent vampires.
The same organization that stands in my way.
My time is ticking down while I’m wound up in this role I’ve been forced to play, but I know that I would be drowning without Bentley by my side.
Bentley
We’re facing something that runs so deep that we don’t know who we can trust besides each other, even within the VRC. River makes me feel like every day is worth living and enjoying—like I’m not so alone. I can’t imagine life without him. But I know that if I want to keep him by my side, I will need to do everything I can to help him so our love doesn’t get cut short before it can truly grow.
How to Save a Human contains a cat who shows her affection by not drawing (much) blood, art projects that are a little… sketchy, the most underwhelming “bull” ride ever, and vampires that may or may not be in the mob.
Cold Case Psychic #7
Cold Case Detective, Ronan O’Mara, has set sail on the honeymoon of his dreams to sunny Bermuda. He’s looking forward to a week of fun in the sun with his husband, Tennyson, but nothing is going as planned. From a fight between Truman and Carson that’s threatening to break up their marriage, to Captain Fitzgibbon’s on-again, off-again lover not showing up to meet the ship, to dealing with his always challenging mother-in-law, to frenemy, Jude Byrne, showing up with a suitcase loaded with sex toys and lube, Ronan has all he can do to stay sane.
Psychic, Tennyson Grimm, is on the ship to work as well as honeymoon. The cruise ship line has hired him to be the “celebrity” on their celebrity cruise. In between private and group readings reuniting family members with those who have crossed over, Ten is running himself ragged attempting to put the pieces of Truman and Carson’s marriage back together and trying to keep Jude from horn-dogging after the ship’s captain, all while trying to squeeze in a few stolen, passionate moments with his husband. He isn’t having much luck.
During the return trip to Boston, Ronan and Tennyson are enjoying a performance of Murder Mystery Night staged by the ship’s crew. When the crewmember playing the murder victim turns up dead for real, Ronan and Tennyson must set “fun in the sun” aside when the ship’s captain allows them to investigate the crime.
Putting the clues together, the Boston detectives corner the cagey killer who takes someone close to them hostage. Can Tennyson and Ronan save the day before they end up dead in the water?
The Devouring Time by Jordan L Hawk
1
Hart’s Leap, Massachusetts, 1926
I shouldn’t be here.
James is the one who deals with people. That’s our agreement—he greets customers at Forgotten Folios, he goes to estate auctions, and he travels to assess private libraries of book collectors.
I stay in the back of the shop: preparing the catalogues, organizing the displays, and making sure the numbers in the account books add up. Not interacting with customers, or collectors, or random tourists asking for directions.
Yet here I am, standing on a small train platform in the middle of the God-forsaken Massachusetts coastline. Completely alone, without the car and driver James swore would be waiting for me. Not so much as a shack in sight, let alone the manor I’d been led to expect. Nothing but endless waving marsh grass, sunlight glinting on water the same flat gray as a sniper’s rifle.
The only signs of civilization are the train depot, such as it is, and what passes for a road—actually a pair of ruts in the mud—heading off into the salt marsh. There’s not even a ticket booth or a telegraph office. Just me, and the bag I brought to carry any books interesting enough for immediate purchase.
Damn James’s mother, who picked the worst possible time to trip over her dog and break her leg. While he rushed to nurse her, I tried to call the collector, Zebulon Hart, and reschedule this visit. No one answered the phone. After a dozen failed attempts, I gave up and resigned myself to coming in James’s stead.
We need the money a good find will bring in. The rare book trade runs on thin margins indeed—it’s always a balancing act between how much we can spend to acquire a book versus how much we can actually sell it for. Right now, our margin is about the width of a hair, and the landlord doesn’t take first editions in place of cash.
I should have known something was wrong when the conductor looked surprised at the destination printed on my ticket. “Hart’s Leap? What do you want there?” Then he’d caught himself. “That is, we don’t have many passengers get off at that stop. Certainly not a man of your quality, sir.”
He didn’t specify what quality he meant. My hair, bleached blond and parted to the side, finger-combed into waves? My lavender tie? The dark circles under my eyes, left there when a loud bang from the street outside my apartment sent me scrambling for cover in the middle of the night, certain I was back in France and under fire?
Hart’s Leap. An impressive name for a stretch of absolute nothing.
I check my watch. I’ve wasted a half-hour already, waiting for the car to appear.
I must return here by 6:15 p.m. to catch the train home. Ideally, I’ll be back in New York City before midnight. But if I miss the train, I’ll be stuck in the middle of nowhere until tomorrow. And there’s nothing resembling a hotel in sight.
A cry sounds from somewhere deep in the reeds, startling me. The call of something abandoned and alone, lost in the no-man’s land of this marsh, searching for safety but finding only barbed wire and the craters left behind by shells…
I blink back to reality. The stress, the unfamiliarity of this place, is getting to me.
It’s just a bird calling. Not Emerson.
If I stand here any longer, my thoughts might spiral in dangerous directions. I need to find Mr. Hart’s estate, look over his books, bargain for any I believe we can sell, and get back here in time to catch the train. And as of now, I have only four hours to do it in.
It seems I have a choice to make: either wait for the promised driver and car to finally show up, or take my chances and start walking down the rudimentary road in hopes it will take me to Hart’s Leap.
I didn’t come all this way for nothing. The shop had to be closed for this excursion, meaning we missed out on a day of potential sales. I can’t return empty-handed if we want to make this month’s rent.
Picking up my bag, I step from the platform and onto the ruts winding off into the salt marsh. I’d marched through the shell-blasted forests of France, over mud and up hills and down ravines. A simple jaunt across this flat landscape shouldn’t prove much of an obstacle.
Of course, I’m nowhere near fighting shape anymore. I spend most of my days sitting in a chair, laying out book catalogs or squinting at the ledger. And my waist is a bit wider than it was in my mid-twenties, thanks in part to the Italian restaurant below my apartment. The moment Mrs. Rossi realized I live alone, with no wife to cook for me, she began serving me ridiculously large—and delicious—portions.
This stroll through the marsh could be a nice change of pace—a bit of exercise in the fresh air will surely do me good.
Except the clock is ticking, and I need to find the damned house as soon as possible.
Lumpy tufts of grass stretch toward the ocean, interrupted by patches of reeds and low shrubs with toothy edges to their leaves. The hidden life around me makes itself known in the sudden flutter of wings as startled birds take flight, in the clamor of insects, in the rustles of small things scurrying away under cover of the grass. Wind ripples the foliage, bringing with it the commingled scents of salt and decay.
The same mournful cry I heard earlier rings from somewhere to my left.
It’s a bird. Just a bird.
I focus on the ruts cutting through the marsh. Both cars and wagons pass through here, judging by the marks gouged into the sandy soil. The sunlight reflects off water filling the occasional pothole, dazzling enough to leave an afterimage when I look away.
There’s no shade, at least not for anything too big to shelter beneath one of the serrated-leafed bushes. Sweat runs down my face and dampens my back, my armpits. I stop long enough to take off my suit coat—I’ll put it back on when I find the house. It won’t do to turn up looking like a laborer.
The loose soil makes for hard going, and soon my shoes are covered in sand. Tiny grains get inside, scraping between sock and shoe, forcing me to stop, take off one Oxford, then shake the sand free while balancing precariously on the other foot.
Damn Zebulon Hart for not sending the promised car. My footwear was shined to a high polish by an eager boy in the train station, and now they’re so dull and filthy I might as well have saved my nickel and bought a sandwich instead. Hart better have something in his collection worth the trouble he’s putting me through.
Another mournful cry, this time to my right. Closer.
I pause, now balanced on the other foot while I empty my second shoe. Probably a pair of birds, nesting off in the grasses. Calling to each other.
They don’t sound like birds.
Some small mammal, then. What lives in a salt marsh like this?
I put my shoe back on. Start walking again, this time at a pace so brisk it’s just below a jog. Where is the house? How much longer do I have to follow this desolate road? Am I even going the right way?
A gray, twisted shape catches my eye, half-hidden by the reeds. Driftwood, cast up by some storm that reached far beyond the ordinary tides. From a distance, it looks almost like an animal with pale, silvery skin.
More and more clumps of driftwood appear as I continue, the sea-smoothed wood propped up or entangled to appear like figures. Even so, it takes me nearly ten minutes of walking to realize I was wrong—no storm did this. The driftwood is deliberately placed, as though someone tried to build sculptures of animals and people from what they’d found on the beach. No, not tried—as I march onward, the driftwood constructions become more and more lifelike, the bits slotted together like pieces of a puzzle to form clearer and clearer shapes.
The most lifelike so far catches my eye, just off the trail. This one is human-shaped, and on its head two knots form eyes, a gaping hole for a mouth.
The cry that’s been haunting me comes again, but this time I can see its origin.
The mouth of the sculpture.
The Seventh Ring of Bertram Bell by WM Fawkes
1
Pascal’s Present
Before I was born, my parents had promised me to a man.
Sounds creepy, right? It wasn’t. Well, mostly. Kind of.
When my parents were newlyweds, my father was diagnosed with cancer. There hadn’t been hope of a medical cure, but out of nowhere, there was a magician, Bertram Bell. He’d swooped in and offered to save my dad’s life. In return, he required . . . an apprentice.
When their son came of age, he would come learn magic at Bell’s side. It wasn’t all that different from an internship for mages, really.
Still, once I’d learned about my fate, I’d spent my teenage years dreading going with the man. My magic wasn’t impressive, and there was no sense disappointing us both with my unreliable illusions. Even less sense in leaving everything I knew and loved behind.
Then, when I was seventeen, Dad died. No, it wasn’t cancer returning with a vengeance. He’d been driving through the dense woods outside of town, and something had crumpled the hood of his car, ripped his door clean off, and pulled him out.
We’d never seen him again.
When he was gone, I had to step up as head of the family, and the last thing I needed was to run off with some suspect magician who bought apprentices from bewildered future-parents in dire straits.
But my eighteenth birthday came and went, and Bertram Bell never appeared. Slowly, my family began to relax into the idea that we’d slipped by without paying Bell’s price. He’d forgotten about us, and what he’d done for my father amounted to nothing more than a kindness.
What sort of person would refuse to help a dying man when he had the power to, anyway?
That was all ancient history, though, and now it was my little brother who was turning eighteen. I’d known exactly what I was going to give him since he’d gotten his acceptance letter to Marshall University.
For months, I’d been pouring my tips from the cafe into the eighty-nine Chevy Camaro that’d been sitting under a tarp out back, gathering dust since Dad had died. Even before some creature from the wild attacked it, the car hadn’t looked like much—the paint had lost its luster and the driver’s side seat had cracked leather on the left where Dad had slid in and out of the car, but Dutch had found a door that almost matched perfectly, and the engine purred when he started it up to show me the fruits of my money and his labor.
“You sure you wanna give this girl to Pascal?” he asked, running his broad hands over the faded red hood like he was petting an especially silky cat.
I cocked a brow at him and bit my bottom lip—and definitely did not let myself think about how those hands were perfectly roughened, or how skilled Dutch was with them.
I’d watched him work on the car for hours at a time. There’d been plenty to do on it, but thankfully, my tips covered all the parts.
I wasn’t an average barista, after all, and our customers were so delighted to have their days brightened that they were surprisingly generous.
A thread of magic ran in my family. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but Dad had been able to pour brightness and joy into his customer’s cups. After we lost him, I’d taken his spot behind the counter, but my power was a fraction what his had been, and even his hadn’t been enough to catch anybody’s attention—a tiny blessing that made the sky a little bluer, the grass a little greener, nothing more.
I didn’t have any real skill—not like Dutch did.
After high school, he’d gone to the local trade school to learn auto repair. He understood more about Dad’s car than I ever would, knew just what to do to get her working again. Useless as I was in his shop, I still liked watching him work. There was a magic all his own in that, and when he finally sorted out a problem, the light in his smile was enough to make my heart pound.
Spoiler: I was definitely crushing hard on my best friend.
When he turned to look at me, he tipped his head to the side. He must’ve taken my expression for something other than longing, so I crossed my arms and shrugged. “The hell do I need a car for, Dutch?”
I still lived with my mom in the three-bedroom apartment over the coffee shop. My commute from bed to work was a thirty-second stagger down the stairs to unlock the front door. But Pascal was going off to school in the fall. He’d be the first in our family to go anywhere other than the local college downtown, and when he left for Marshall, I wanted to make sure he had an easy way back to us.
Dutch laughed, leaning his hip against the car. “I’m just saying—she’s a beaut, and your brother’s kind of . . .”
“Clumsy?” I asked.
At the same time, Dutch said, “A mess.”
I laughed, glancing at the oil-stained concrete below his work table and running my tongue across my lips. Thumbs hooked in my jean pockets, I shrugged. It was a fair point, Pascal got distracted easily, but he could handle this. “Sure. But he’s a good kid, and he’ll take care of Dad’s ride. Plus, you know . . .”
I’d gotten years with Dad. Baseball games, stories at bedtime, church on Sundays. He’d taken me to get ice cream in this car. Taught me how to drive in it.
And then he’d died when Pascal was twelve. So I had five extra years of memories, and Pascal got the car. If you’d given me a chance to trade one for the other, I wouldn’t have considered it for a second.
Dutch came over and dropped his hand onto my shoulder, heavy like a brick, and he gave me a little shake. “I get it, man. Still, this is a real nice birthday present for an eighteen-year-old.”
“Hah, yeah . . . ” Dutch had meant the weight of his hand to be reassuring, but it scattered my thoughts. Every ounce of my effort went into standing tall and not leaning into him like I desperately wanted to. “He might not like it though. It’s kind of run down.”
And I was more than a little worried he wouldn’t want the reminder of what’d happened to Dad anywhere near him. But this car had more good memories than bad ones, and thanks to Dutch, it didn’t look like violence had ever touched it.
He scoffed, turning to appreciate the car. “Not since I’ve had my way with her. Hell, I don’t think she’s ever run better.”
“Ah—” I bit my lip to hide my smile. “A little full of yourself, huh? You think you’re some kind of wizard?”
As far as I knew, Dutch didn’t have a lick of true magic in him, but everything he could do, he’d earned. He was every bit as miraculous as anybody had a right to be.
Dutch’s grin was wide and gleaming white. “How ’bout you see for yourself? Come on.”
He rounded the car and pulled the door open. I thought he was going to slip into the driver’s seat, but he held it open for me. “Your chariot awaits, El.”
My heart pounding, I stepped around him and slipped inside. The car still smelled a little like Dad’s clove cigarettes. Sinking back into the leather seat, I sighed. Dutch shut the door behind me and walked around the front to the other side while a dull throb of longing filled me.
It broke when Dutch opened the other door. As he sat in the passenger’s seat, I reached out for the driver’s wheel. It was smooth in my grip, worn from the shape of Dad’s fingers, and I smiled slyly at Dutch.
He wiggled his eyebrows in answer. “Feel good?”
I knew he was talking about the feel of the car rumbling under me, looking past the garage’s open door at the road out of the city. I’d already given this up, but it still felt incredible to have all that power under my thighs, Dutch Abel sitting right beside me.
“Fuck yeah,” I whispered. Then I put the car in gear and drove.
I didn’t know where I was taking us until I’d driven up the mountain west of Virtue that looked out over all the sparkling lights below. Dutch turned the radio on—some kind of classic rock he always had playing in the background at his shop, songs I was familiar with now but couldn’t name.
When we got to the top, I parked the car on an overhang, cut the engine, and unbuckled my seatbelt.
All through high school, ever since Dutch had gotten his driver’s license—which had been top of his to-do list the second he’d turned sixteen—this was the place we came to get away. The night of my eighteenth birthday, it was where he’d tried to whisk me off to, to keep me from getting kidnapped by a strange magician who’d never bothered showing up to claim his apprentice. The magician who’d owned my life before I was even born.
“Perfect night, huh?” Dutch mused. As we’d driven, he’d rolled down the window crank. He was still hanging his arm out now.
The air was warm. Crickets chirped in the woods behind us. With my head against the headrest, I sighed. “Yeah.”
After a second, I turned to look at him. There weren’t streetlights up here, but I’d always seen well in the dark. That was part of my gift—the kind I steamed and stirred into people’s coffees every morning. I could see colors brighter, and make other people see them too. The light from the moon and stars was plenty to make out the strong, handsome planes of Dutch’s face. He’d always been too fucking gorgeous.
“This—the car—it really is incredible. Pascal’s gonna be stoked. I couldn’t have done it without you,” I said.
It wasn’t just that he knew what he was doing, fixing cars. Dutch had also helped me find the parts we needed at a junker. And sure, I’d paid him, but I knew he’d given me a massive discount. It was because we were friends, because we’d gone to school together since kindergarten, and he’d always been the guy to look out for me. He’d been at my side the night we’d gone looking for Dad in the woods near his wrecked car, after he hadn’t come home and the cops said he’d probably skipped town on us.
Whatever the reasons Dutch kept having my back, I’d always needed him.
He mumbled something, rubbing the back of his hand and looking out over the city and the moon hanging high in the sky overhead. It reflected in his gray eyes, off his light blond hair. I figured, whatever he’d said, it was to the effect that I could’ve managed this impossible gift without him. And I wanted nothing so much as to reach across the console, grip his hand, and assure him that wasn’t true—not for one second. Not for this, or anything else.
But I wouldn’t be able to stand it when he pulled away again.
Instead, I twisted in my seat, leaning back against the closed door to stare at his profile. “So, party’s tomorrow. Can you still drive the car over?”
Dutch nodded, turning in his seat to look at me too. Amusement played at the corners of his lips. He only had one dimple, right there on his left side. I wished more than anything that I could kiss it. Too bad he was straight—or, well, at least he wasn’t interested in me.
“And you’ll stay?” I pressed.
His lips twitched like he’d stop smiling. “Your mom making that cinnamon cake?” His tone was heavy and serious, like that was the factor on which his whole decision hung.
I shoved his arm. He let me, bumping against the far door with a snicker.
“Yeah, man,” he said. “ ’course I’m staying for the party.”
“Good. Maybe you’ll get a present too.” Shit, I was absolutely not supposed to flirt with him. Nevertheless, I slipped up and did it all the time. Occasionally, he’d grimace and get awkward. This time, he looked right at me and arched his thick brows.
“Because I’m so handy?”
Grinning, I shook my head. “Never mind. You don’t get anything.”
He groaned like I’d hit him, dropping his head against the car door’s frame. “What if I say please?”
If he said “please,” I’d give him anything he wanted—we both knew that. And like always, he caught himself before I could offer, and turned to look over the city again.
It’d been like this for years, with him joking and my heart threatening to spill all my most devastating feelings right in his lap. But before I messed up everything, he pulled away, and I remembered to swallow all that down before I ruined the best friendship I’d ever had.
“Phase?” he asked me after a quiet minute.
Finally, I followed the line of sight out to the moon, plump and slightly misshapen. I didn’t need to look to know what he was asking about.
Dutch had been obsessed with the moon lately. He said at certain phases, it heightened magicians’ powers. It was the kind of thing I should pay attention to, as a magician.
I didn’t know why he cared now. He hadn’t given a shit about moon phases all through school, and he didn’t have any magic. Shit, I had barely more than none. Enough to appreciate how gorgeous he was in the dark, enough to make people’s days a little brighter, but that was it.
I sighed, shrugging my shoulders up around my ears. “Dunno, Dutch. What phase is it?”
He smiled at me, reaching over and poking his pointer finger into my side. “Try.”
With a roll of my eyes, I made my voice deep and nasally. “Waxing gibbous!”
His laugh filled the car, skipping out into the night air. “Good. Got it. And the full moon’s when?”
Pressing my lips together, I narrowed my eyes at him. “Hi. I don’t know if you’ve ever met me, but my name is Elio, and I’m not an astronomer. In fact, I barely finished high school. So if there’s something you want me to know about the moon . . .” Waving my hand between us, I invited him to spill his wisdom.
Hell, I never would’ve thought of Dutch as the kind of guy who cared about this stuff either. He’d always been good with his hands, and he’d never read more than the CliffsNotes version of any book we were assigned in our classes. But we were getting older. I guessed he was allowed to change.
It scared me a little, though. What if he changed so much he left me behind?
I watched Dutch stare up at the moon, his eyes halfway to glowing with its light. His hand settled on the gear shift between us. “Five days, El. Then the moon’ll be full.”
“And you’ll be off dancing naked in the woods with a bunch of witches,” I teased.
His breath escaped his nose in a huff, and he looked at me from the corners of his eyes. He’d never, not once, told me what it was he did on full moons, but he was never free to do it with me.
“Something like that,” he agreed. “Should we go back before it gets too late?”
If we left this place already, it was another opportunity passed. For some absurd reason, it felt like my chances were running out. Even if we’d been friends for two decades, I couldn’t shake the worry that Dutch was disappearing.
My mouth suddenly dry, I nodded. “Probably, yeah. Early morning tomorrow.”
“Early morning forever, El,” he huffed, pulling his hand off the gear shift and back safely onto his side of the car. “You work in a damn coffee shop.”
Fireworks Flame by Lacey Daize
Chapter 1 - Rick
~6 Years Ago - June~
Istretched, luxuriating in the feel of hotel sheets. There was nothing quite like waking up on the first day out of town.
It wasn’t exactly a vacation, but I was going to enjoy it nonetheless. It was my first major industry conference as a CPA. Las Vegas this time, instead of a smaller regional conference.
Of course I’d scheduled myself two extra days off work in order to play tourist once the conference was over. But that still didn’t qualify as a vacation.
I rolled over and grabbed my phone off the nightstand. I’d made myself a list of all the sessions I’d signed up for, but still had to find the rooms.
Well, that was what the morning was for: check in and figure out how long it would take me to get around.
I laughed. I was acting like a teenager, just excited to be somewhere new. But I couldn’t help it. I loved my job and four days of information and continuing education seminars meant I could be even better at it.
Everybody, even my parents, had assumed that I’d gone into accounting because it was a safe career. There would always be people who needed help with money, which meant that there would be a job wherever I went.
But the truth of it was that I loved helping others manage their money. Seeing people reach their goals, and knowing that I helped them get there… Well, there was nothing like it.
One advantage of a large conference was that there were sure to be others who were as enthusiastic as myself, and not just in it because of the stability. I couldn’t wait to meet like-minded people and talk with them.
I chuckled. None of that would happen before a shower.
I climbed from the bed and strolled into the bathroom to get the water started. Then I turned to the counter to rummage through my toiletry bag for my soap and shampoo.
Finding what I was looking for, I pulled them free, and caught a glance of myself in the mirror.
I laughed. My red hair was sticking up in all directions in a classic case of bed head. I ran my fingers through it, but it was never so easily tamed.
“Oh well. A shower always fixes it.”
A shower which was calling my name.
Great things were going to happen. I just knew it.
∞∞∞
I’d known the conference was huge, but I’d thoroughly underestimated the logistics of such an event. Even in a hotel that was prepared to handle the nearly ten thousand participants, a crowd of that size meant that some seminars had us all packed in like sardines.
My planning had paid off, and I’d known to book it from the previous session, but as more people crowded in around me I felt just the tiniest bit of claustrophobia.
It was jarring. Tight spaces had never bothered me before, but the jostling as people tried to find seats was disconcerting.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to force the unease away. That was when I smelled it: alpha.
Delicious alpha.
I opened my eyes. Of course I would smell alphas. They were all around. Saying I smelled alpha at the conference was like saying I smelled popcorn in a crowded theater.
But it wasn’t just any alpha. It was a single one, and it called to me.
I took another breath and focused on it. There was no mating drive, nothing indicating that fate was in play. But it was soothing in a way that made me want to curl up next to him—and I could tell by a subtle sharpness that it was definitely a him.
I looked around, but there was no way to figure out which of the couple hundred people in the conference room was the one I was smelling—especially since I was about halfway back so couldn’t see faces.
Another deep breath, and I blew it out slowly.
My claustrophobia was gone. I felt safe just smelling him, and that was enough.
Still, the omega part of me wanted to know who the mystery man was.
∞∞∞
The strange alpha and his delicious scent were like a security blanket that followed me around the conference. Every time I found myself in a seminar that was too crowded for my comfort, all I needed to do was close my eyes and take a deep breath.
He was almost always there, with only a couple times he wasn’t in the same room.
Still, after five days, I hadn’t been able to figure out who he was, and as the conference came to an end I realized that I’d probably never meet the man who’d unknowingly helped me handle the overwhelming nature of the event.
As the farewell luncheon ended I paused by the door for one more look around. But it was all a sea of faces, and no good way to pick one scent from them.
I sighed. Maybe two days of fun would help me put the man from my mind.
∞∞∞
The hotel bar was only moderately crowded, but I guess that was to be expected of a Monday night. Most of the convention-goers had dispersed the night before in order to be back to work.
My own flight was the next morning, and I was satisfied with my break. I’d collected a small mountain of business cards during conversations with other professionals, and had a few people whom I was already looking forward to connecting with later.
I’d done a few touristy things, probably put on a few pounds from the delicious food, and was walking away with ten dollars more than I’d budgeted for gambling.
The only regret: not figuring out who the mystery alpha was.
I held up my hand to catch the bartender’s attention and motioned to my almost-empty beer.
He nodded in understanding, and knowing that the next round was coming I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
I was going home with the continuing education credits my license required. But more than that, I’d learned things that I hoped I’d be able to put to practical use. If even one thing helped my clients, then I would consider it a successful trip.
Another breath for the memories. It was a milestone in my career after all.
My breath caught. The scent—his scent—was back.
My eyes flew open just as the bartender placed my beer in front of me. I handed over the cash for it and a tip, then looked around.
No longer was I trying to find one person in a sea of nameless faces. There were only about forty people there, and I was a man on a mission.
I quickly narrowed the direction I could smell him from. Then I froze.
There he was, with broad shoulders and black hair that begged me to run my fingers through it. He was sitting alone at a table, reading something on his phone.
I studied him for several seconds, and smiled when I didn’t see the glint of a ring on his hand.
Maybe it was reckless to flirt with a man whom I’d never see again, but it felt right.
I took a sip of liquid courage, stood, and made my way to his table.
“Is this seat taken?” I asked.
How to Save a Human by Alice Winters
BENTLEY
As soon as I walk into the office, I know something’s up. Everyone is gathered around a screen that’s playing something I can’t really see through the bodies crowded around it.
Curious, I make my way forward as someone turns off the lights, brightening up the screen.
“What the fuck’s going on?” Marcus barks, answering the very question I wanted to ask though I didn’t have the desire to bark it loudly.
“I don’t know, this just started broadcasting,” Finn says as I step up to them. Finn Hayes is the only human who works at the Vampire Related Crimes Unit and seems to be quite an interesting addition to the group. He joined recently during our last large case where a man by the name of Perry had created a group of humans who were trying to sow discord between the two species. They’d created a drug that had resulted in Marcus, Briar, and me attacking Finn, which I thought would be the last we saw of him, but he’s still with us and ready to take on another case, which I’m grateful for, since he seems to have helped us figure out how to work together as a team.
He just recently began dating Marcus, who is the oldest vampire in the department as well as my superior. All of us work as detectives, and if the vampire who is flashing his fangs while bound and blindfolded on the screen has anything to do with it, it seems like we have a new case.
I stare at the screen as the man sits in the metal chair, rocking it this way and that. He tugs at the chains that rattle as he twists his body, his expression one of panic.
“I’ll fucking kill you! I’ll kill you! Who the hell do you think you are?” the man asks, and I wonder if he knows about the camera.
“Is this live?” Marcus asks as he looks over at Alexei who’s one of the few still at his computer.
The Russian vampire, who is also on our team, nods. “It went live exactly two minutes ago and has already been shared thousands of times. We’ve seen a glimpse of a second person, probably the abductor, but nothing more than that. They haven’t said or done anything yet.”
“We already have a cyber team trying to track it down, but it all depends on how tech savvy our perp is,” Brooks, the deputy chief and our leader, says from the front of the room.
I’ve never dealt with a case like this before, but I guess with internet and technology becoming more relevant, things like this were bound to pop up. Obviously, there are a lot of cyber issues, but that usually falls into a different department.
My attention shifts back to the screen as the man on display lets out a sob. The background behind the man is a black sheet and there’s nothing else to give us a good idea of where he’s at—no discerning factors that could tell us where this is being recorded. It could be in someone’s house for all we know.
There’s a minor flash of the second man, mostly black clothes, and then a gun makes an appearance. The second man reaches in, still only showing his arm at most, and pulls the blindfold off the captive. The man yanks his head back to look at his captor and growls something inaudible at him. There’s nothing on his face that tells me that he recognizes the abductor, but my guess is that the captor has something covering his face. It’s clear he doesn’t want anyone to see him.
The abductor points toward the camera with his gun and the man shifts his eyes to look. He seems surprised but his eyes are darting back and forth, like he’s fixated on something beside it instead of directly in front of it.
That’s when the vampire shakes his head, turns back to his captor, and yells, “Fuck you. You won’t get away with this. Fuck you!”
The attacker shoots him in the leg and the vampire screams before his head is physically aimed in the direction of the screen. The captive hesitates until the gun is pressed against his head. I notice that the vampire is either extremely young or there’s something in the bullet because his leg isn’t healing. Instead of instantly healing, blood is oozing out of it, dyeing his pants red.
“I-I… fuck. Fine! I’ll do it!” he says. “Just promise you’ll let me go when I’m done?”
He glances at his abductor who must nod because he turns his attention back to the camera. “My name is Trent Wilder and they want you to know they’re coming for you. That you’ll be next. You know who you are and what you’ve done. The only way to survive is to give yourself up to the police. If you don’t, you’ll be d-dead within one month.” The vampire shifts, turning toward his attacker. “P-Please. Please, I’ll spill everything to the police. Let me go, I’ll tell them everything!”
The feed cuts and we’re all left standing in silence.
“If he killed him, he probably would’ve killed him on camera, right? Do we know the location yet?” Briar asks.
“The video’s settings show our local area, but that doesn’t mean he’s local,” Alexei explains. “You can state you’re from anywhere or put tags to direct a specific audience toward it, but we’re left to assume that yes, it’s our area. We could get a location on the captive and tell better by his place of residence. We’ll need someone to run sounds and see if they can pick up anything from the audio.”
“He was using specialized bullets too. You could see his leg wasn’t healing,” I say. But how the fuck did they get ahold of a bullet like that?
“Trent Wilder… Trent Wilder,” Finn says over and over as he rushes for his computer. Marcus and I crowd around him since he seems to have an idea. “The name sounds extremely familiar, right? Anyone else think it does?”
Marcus nods. “Wilder… the last name rings a bell. I think they’re an elite family of vampires. Old money. I don’t recognize the man who was on screen, though, but he could possibly be a relative.”
Within minutes, Finn finds out exactly who the man is, and like Marcus said, he’s a middle-aged vampire with a lot of old money coming from his father who is also a vampire.
I slide into my seat and pull up my own search on him and see that the man’s name has exploded along with the video and speculation of where he might be. People are already calling it a setup or a government conspiracy, and I know that within twenty-four hours, the internet will be abuzz with misinformation unless we do something to stop it. I watch the video again from the beginning to catch anything I could have missed but not much happened in the two minutes before I showed up.
The attacker never gives away anything, and you can’t even see an inch of his skin anywhere. He never comes on screen to allow us to guess his height or body type. His black clothes are baggy and give nothing away.
Marcus sets his phone down and leans into us. “They’re trying to track the IP address but they’re thinking he used an anonymizer or something like that to make it impossible to track. I don’t know, I know very little about computers. The video wasn’t live long before it got pulled from the streaming service.”
Brooks steps out of his office and gives us a wave the moment he spots us. “Church, bring your team in here.”
“Of course,” Marcus says as he waves at those of us sitting at the cubicle facing each other. There are three desks on each side, and while it was supposed to promote teamwork, instead, it just made for a lack of privacy when you didn’t want to stare someone in the face. Finn at least made it fun compared to how it was before he arrived. He’s already changed the dynamic of the group and he’s only been with us for one big case. It’s clear he plans on sticking around for more.
The five of us head toward Brooks’s office where he turns his computer screen around so we can see the message.
“I just received an email with an address on it.”
I peer over Finn’s shoulder to get a look since he’s about half a foot shorter than me.
If he speaks, he lives. If he lies, he dies. He knows the consequences. 3832 East Dale Street, Room 24
“Is it a setup?” Finn asks.
“Only one way to find out,” Marcus says. But Marcus is always eager for a fight because he has this ludicrous idea that he’s invincible. “Brooks, do we have permission to head out?”
Brooks stares at the screen for a moment longer before nodding. “Permission granted, but please be cautious. You don’t know if this is a setup. We were set up not that long ago, and we don’t want it to happen again,” Brooks says, referring to the blood that’d been dumped on the group, leaving us to attack Finn, who’d been new at the time, because he’d been the only human in the vicinity. Thankfully, we hadn’t scared him off because he was able to calm us all down and keep us from attacking him or any other human. I think that’s when the majority of us started to respect him.
We head out, following Marcus to the vehicles we have access to. Since the VRC is such a specialized unit, there are few who make the cut. Many vampires can’t handle the blood that the unit requires them to be used to. But since the standard police and human homicide detectives are to pass every vampire case over to us, we’re stuck doing it all. Which is why we are the ones responding instead of a specialized team who are trained to handle possible hostage situations.
We get into an armored vehicle that’s driven by a woman who’s part of the VRC but not a detective. While she heads toward our destination, Marcus has us armor up. This is something rather new seeing as before Finn came, Marcus liked to think everyone was unbeatable. But then Finn came in with his reasonable explanations on why people shouldn’t purposely put themselves in danger without at least a bulletproof vest.
It made so much sense that it’s a wonder why a group of older vampires never thought of it.
“Karsyn, get your vest on,” Finn orders.
Alexei just grumbles at him as he pulls it out. Alexei Karsynov is one of those people who wants you aware that you irritate him while actually wanting you to irritate him. Especially Finn. For having the desire to eat the human not that long ago, he’s now quite friendly to him—friendly by Alexei’s standards, anyway.
“I should have eaten you when I had the chance,” Alexei says.
“Church might eat you back if you try,” I warn Alexei.
“Then why don’t you try?” he asks me, like he wants me to be eaten instead.
“Hayes, do you feel like you’ve accomplished a lot when your team discusses eating you?” Briar asks, sounding curious. She’s generally the more low-key one of the group besides me. The two of us, for the most part, just kind of go along with whatever’s happening. The other three are the ones who love making chaos, death threats, and ridiculous jokes—that last one is mostly Finn, although he’s been known to drag a joke or two out of Alexei. Marcus, on the other hand, seems to only want to joke with Finn, which is weird when he used to proclaim that humans were semi useless.
“Feels pretty good, if I’m being honest. It’s not often that men fight over me,” Finn jokes.
“I will destroy anyone who plans to fight over you,” Marcus growls. Marcus isn’t much of a sharer, even if no one actually is trying to take Finn or even wants him. Marcus just wants to make sure everyone is extremely aware that Finn is his, and he’ll fuck up anyone who thinks otherwise.
“Maybe we could focus and do actual work,” Alexei says as he pulls up an interactive image of the outside of the building. It’s an older motel with doors leading outside, instead of being on the inside like many hotels. “It looks like there’s only one window at the back and one in the front. Oh, and it appears that the back window is in the bathroom that’s attached to the room. DeGray and I can go around back and move in, just in case the abductor is still inside and tries to flee.”
Marcus nods as he moves the image around before zooming in. “Sounds good. The rest of us will go in through the front. Please be safe and we’ll move in together only once we’re positive it’s not a setup.”
“The woman working the desk said the room was booked online and that there isn’t anyone in the surrounding rooms,” Alexei says.
“Did she say how he got the key for the room?” Finn asks.
“She said he’d asked her to leave the key in a specific spot because he’d be in after dark.”
The moment the vehicle stops, Alexei and I move around to the back of the building. It makes it harder to tell the exact room since the numbers aren’t on this side, and we have to count windows to make sure we’re at the right one. I have an earpiece in my left ear that is connected to the others so Marcus can relay the information when they have a plan to move in.
“The window’s open,” I say as I slip past it so Alexei can be on the left and I’ll take the right.
“Smells like they left this way,” he whispers, but we don’t make a move to follow the trail just yet. It’s not extremely fresh, telling me they probably already hit the road.
Marcus’s voice sounds in my ear. “I have the key. We’re going to move in through the front. Are you two in position in case he’s inside?”
“We’re next to an open window. I can hear someone inside, but it seems to be a single person. Do DeGray and I have permission to move in through the back window?” Alexei asks.
“Yes. Be careful.” That’s when I hear the front door open and Alexei grabs the ledge to pull himself up. I hear something out toward the trees that separate the motel from the highway and look out into them. When a cat notices me and starts trotting toward me, I turn away and pull myself through the open window and join the others. We end up in the bathroom and push forward into the main room where Finn is checking the man who’d been on the video while the other two are securing the area.
“Looks like you’ve healed alright. Are you hurt anywhere else?” Finn asks as he carefully removes the gag.
“That fucking psychopath tried to kill me! He fucking tried to kill me!” Wilder cries. He’s hysterical as his voice rises and he throws his body around in the chair.
“We need you to calm down,” Finn says, voice gentle. We’ve quickly learned that he’s generally the best one to deal with people because he’s not menacing and his smile puts almost everyone at ease.
Wilder seems to notice Finn at that moment, but the look on his face is anything but at ease. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, human?” the man asks, a bite to his words.
Finn hesitates and glances over at Marcus who’d stilled at the sharp tone the vampire had used with Finn. Marcus rushes in front of Finn, ready to kick Wilder’s ass even though we’re supposed to be saving the man tied to a chair. The funny thing is we all respect Finn and care about him enough that if Marcus did it and blamed it on the attacker, not a single one of us would say otherwise.
“Do you have a problem with that?” Marcus says, voice extremely quiet as he leans into him. Wilder’s eyes get huge as he realizes quite quickly that he’d better not have a problem with it or he might wish the abductor hadn’t let him go. The thing about Marcus is that he has the aura to make everyone get a bit timid around him. Even I feel timid during times like this.
So Marcus waits for the man to shake his head before drawing back. “Wilder, you’re going with us for some questions.”
“I’m under arrest?” he asks in disbelief.
Marcus turns his narrowed eyes onto him. “You’re going to answer some questions. DeGray, Karsyn, while we’re taking care of this, will you scout around back? See if you find anything?”
“Of course.”
Together, we head back outside, taking the open window since it beats walking around the entire building again. Once out there, we follow the trail the abductor had left behind.
“He clearly knew what he was doing. He wore some thick cologne to hide his natural scent,” Alexei says as he waves his hand over his face.
I nod. While the smell is quite trackable, it’d keep us from noticing if he left any scent behind. “It’s stinging my nose. He clearly doesn’t care we’re following him. He probably got in a car off the highway to avoid any security cameras on him,” I say as we cut straight through the batch of trees and over to a wire fence. We climb over the fence and walk up to the highway where the smell abruptly ends.
“He either had someone pick him up or had left a vehicle waiting here. Let’s see if we have any cameras on the premises and search for any tracks,” Alexei says.
We head back and finish at the motel, getting some analysts in to see if they can get prints on anything even though Wilder stated that his attacker never took his gloves off.
Dead in the Water by Pandora Pine
PROLOGUE
Tennyson
Christmas Day…
“You said you’d be here today. Where are you?” Kevin Fitzgibbon sighed. “Yes, I know it’s Christmas morning. We talked about that. You said you’d spend the morning here in Salem with me and Greeley, and then we’d all spend the afternoon at the Tremont Street Mission with you.” Kevin sighed again, this time more heavily. “Right. I know, but… Okay. Damn it, Jace, that isn’t what I said.” Fitzgibbon slammed his fist on the kitchen counter. “Maybe we should just stop. This isn’t working. Fine! Wait, Jace, don’t… Jace? Jace?” Sighing for the third time in as many minutes, Fitzgibbon set the phone down on the counter.
“Fuck!” He angry-whispered to himself. Kevin braced his hands against the counter and bowed his head.
Psychic, Tennyson Grimm hadn’t meant to overhear the conversation between Boston Police Captain Kevin Fitzgibbon and his on-again, off-again boyfriend, Jace Lincoln, who he most definitely seemed to be off-again with at the moment. Well, he hadn’t meant to stay and listen to the entire thing anyway. “Cap?” Ten asked gently.
“Yeah?” Kevin answered, not bothering to turn around. His right hand moved up to his face.
“I couldn’t help overhearing…”
Kevin snorted. “In a house this small, packed with this many people I suppose someone was bound to overhear me. I’m just glad it was you and not Ronan, or that asshole, Jude Byrne.” Shaking his head, he turned around.
Tennyson could see the usually stoic man had been crying. His green eyes were red-ringed and his cheeks were still damp. “Do you want to clue me in here or do you want me to use my voodoo?” Ten raised a questioning eyebrow. He could use his psychic abilities to read what was going on with his boss and friend, but he would prefer that the stubborn Irish cop just cooperate and communicate the situation himself, in his own words.
“Jace can’t make it today. Said he’s busy at the shelter.” Kevin folded his arms over his broad chest. “We’d made plans for him to meet us here and then Greeley and I would help serve Christmas dinner to the people at the homeless shelter. I just don’t know where the disconnect is coming from. It seems like we’re never on the same page anymore.”
Tennyson knew where the disconnect was coming from. He just wasn’t sure it was his place to tell Fitzgibbon.
“I know what that look means, Tennyson.” The captain wore a no-nonsense expression on his tired face.
“What look?” Ten asked innocently.
“The look that says you know exactly what’s going on, only you’re not sure you should tell me. Someone needs to tell me because I’m clueless here.” Kevin threw his hands in the air as if he were done with the whole damn thing.
Kevin Fitzgibbon was a handsome man. Fifty years old with brown hair and sparkling green eyes. If Tennyson didn’t know his age, he would guess his boss was at least ten years younger than the number printed on his driver’s license. Standing at six and a half feet tall without an ounce of fat on his frame, he was an imposing man. Not Tennyson’s type, but he had enough on his plate with his husband, Cold Case Detective, Ronan O’Mara.
“Okay,” Ten sighed. “Here’s what I know. You were over the moon excited when Madam Aurora told you Jace was meant to be your forever love. Do you remember that day?” Tennyson sure as hell did. Madam Aurora was a local psychic in his adopted hometown of Salem, Massachusetts. Once his arch-nemesis, she’d come to the house to help him recover his psychic gifts which he’d somehow managed to shut off and couldn’t seem to turn back on again.
While Aurora had been helping Ten, she’d delivered a message to Fitzgibbon. A man who was about to be set free by what others would see as a tragedy would be Fitzgibbon’s forever love. Tennyson had known instantly who the psychic had been talking about: Jace Lincoln. He and Ronan had previously interviewed the philanthropic, do-gooding son of real estate mogul Matthew Lincoln in a serial murder case they’d been investigating.
It turned out the tragedy was the death of his homophobic father, who had been “donating” five million dollars per year to Jace’s homeless shelter under the stipulation that his son stay in the closet. Sparks had flown between the potential lifemates the next time they’d seen each other, which had been at Matthew Lincoln’s wake.
“Yeah, I remember that day. I felt like I could finally move on from losing Red and have a life of my own. Like I could have a family.” Kevin shook his head.
During his time at the police academy, thirty years ago, Fitzgibbon had met and fallen in love with another cadet named Redmond O’Keefe. They’d been making plans to get an apartment in the city and spend their lives together when Red had been killed in the line of duty during a drug bust that had gone south. Kevin had never recovered from losing him. Until he’d met Jace.
“Exactly,” Tennyson agreed. “You flirted like teenagers at Matthew Lincoln’s wake.”
“We made out like teenagers too after we ran out of there like the last scene of The Graduate.” A blush crept up Kevin’s neck.
Tennyson laughed. “You might want to make your movie references a bit more recent, Cap.”
“After that night, I thought we had it made.” Kevin’s voice turned wistful.
Tennyson had thought so too. “What happened?”
Fitzgibbon shrugged. “Life. Jace had his father’s estate and business to deal with after he’d died. I had to keep you two knuckleheads out of trouble with Rod Jacobson, not once, but fucking twice. Ronan got his ass shot, then Jude got his ass shot.” Kevin carded a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ, you people really need to stop getting shot…”
If anyone understood about life getting in the way, it was Tennyson. Until Madam Aurora had shown him how to shut down his gift, dead people were showing up to talk to him at the most inopportune of moments. He and Ronan had their struggles in the beginning of their relationship because Tennyson Grimm, Witch City Medium, was always on the clock. “I get that, Kevin. You know I do, but how did the two of you allow life to throw a bucket of ice water on your red-hot romance?”
“That’s just it, Ten. I don’t think it was a bucket. I think it happened one icy drop at a time. It was a cancelled date here, a shortened phone call there. Missed text messages, then unreturned phone calls. Maybe I got lazy or passive-aggressive or some other kind of shrink-talk, buzz-word bullshit. Maybe we both did.”
Ten nodded. He knew it was easy to get lazy in relationships. There were times when Ronan was riding his last nerve and it would have been easier to just give in and give him what he wanted instead of standing up for himself, but that would set a bad precedent and would make it harder to get what he needed from his stubborn husband in the future. He could see where Kevin might not be so strong. “There’s something that Bertha Craig says all the time that I think you need to hear, Cap.”
“If it’s about how I need to start wearing tight fitting jeans like Ronan, I’m all set, thanks!” Kevin found a smile.
Bertha Craig was the founder of West Side Magick, the psychic shop Tennyson and his partners, Bertha’s sons, Carson and Cole, worked out of in downtown Salem. She had a notorious crush on Ronan and was always complimenting his first-class assets. Ten grinned. “Thankfully, this has nothing to do with Ronan. It has to do with time.”
“Go on.” Fitzgibbon narrowed his green eyes on Tennyson.
“Time is fluid, Bertha says, which means so is the future. Just because Madam Aurora saw you and Jace together with a daughter of your own back in May when she delivered her prophecy, that doesn’t mean it’s carved in stone. Circumstances change, Kevin. Don’t take her words for granted. Don’t take Jace being there forever as a guarantee. I think that’s where you and Jace got off track. You started thinking that since a psychic said you were destined to be together that you didn’t have to work at your relationship, that it would just flow like a mountain stream.”
The blood drained from Kevin’s face. He was quiet for a minute, like he was working it all out in his mind. “I had no idea. I thought I had all the time in the world.”
“That’s common in our fast-paced world. It’s also common when you get information like that from a psychic. Circumstances change, Kevin. People make decisions that change lives every day. No one knows that better than a cop, right?”
Kevin nodded. “What do I do? I don’t want to lose Jace or the chance to make a life with him.”
“There’s a ticket in your Christmas present for him to come on this cruise to Bermuda with us. Go see him today. Ask him to come with you, Kevin. Show him you’re serious about building your relationship. Tell him something corny about today being the first day of the rest of your lives and go from there. If you open your heart to him, good things will happen. I swear.” Ten swiped his index finger over his heart in an X.
“Are you saying that as my friend or as my psychic?” Kevin raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“Both, now go and get your man back.”
Jordan L HawkJordan L. Hawk is a trans author from North Carolina. Childhood tales of mountain ghosts and mysterious creatures gave him a life-long love of things that go bump in the night. When he isn’t writing, he brews his own beer and tries to keep the cats from destroying the house. His best-selling Whyborne & Griffin series (beginning with Widdershins) can be found in print, ebook, and audiobook.
If you want to contact Jordan, just click on the links below or send an email.
W.M. Fawkes is an author of LGBTQ+ urban fantasy and paranormal romance. With coauthor Sam Burns, she writes feisty Greek gods, men, and monsters in the Lords of the Underworld series. She lives with her partner in a house owned by three halloween-hued felines that dabble regularly in shadow walking.
Lacey DaizeLacey lives in New Mexico with her four critters. She’s a Jill-of-all-trades by day, but loves writing in her spare time. She dabbles in a variety of pairings, but jumped feet-first into the deep end of omegaverse the first time she read it. She loves the play on social expectations and the different ways to express romance.
Alice WintersAlice Winters started writing stories as soon as she was old enough to turn her ideas into written words. She loves writing a variety of things from romance and comedy to action. She also enjoys reading, horseback riding, and spending time with her pets.
Sick of the slogging rat-race of her 9-5 job, Pandora Pine put pen to paper (literally!) to make her ambition of becoming a romance novelist a reality. She cut her teeth in the dog-eat-dog world of fan fiction, still dreaming of the day when she would be a published author.
In her spare time, Pandora fancies herself an amateur nature photographer. She enjoys mucking around in swamps, hiking through the woods and crawling around on her hands and knees in her backyard seeking out the perfect shot. Pandora is a fan of roadside seafood shacks and always thinks Mexican food is a good idea at the time.
Some of Pandora's favorite things are chocolate, writing longhand with purple pens, and handsome men falling in love with each other.
Jordan L Hawk
WM Fawkes
Lacey Daize
The Devouring Time by Jordan L Hawk
B&N / iTUNES / iTUNES AUDIO
The Seventh Ring of Bertram Bell by WM Fawkes
Fireworks Flame by Lacey Daize
How to Save a Human by Alice Winters
Dead in the Water by Pandora Pine
