Summary:
ABCs of Spellcraft #11
Uncle Fonzo has always been cagey about what his duties as Hand of the Penn family actually entail. Dixon figures they mainly involve playing poker with other middle-aged Scriveners, while Yuri suspects there are semi-legal dealings under the poker table as well.
Whatever his typical responsibilities might be, Fonzo’s got his hands full with a new grandchild on the way. So when he’s tasked by the head of circuit to find Pinyin Bay’s next mayor, he passes on the burden—er, opportunity—to his favorite nephew.
No problem! Dixon doesn’t know much about Handless politics, but he’s sure he’s acquainted with plenty of folks who’d make a fine public official (meaning, someone who won’t obstruct Scrivener interests.) But when he and Yuri get to know the potential candidates a bit better, they discover each one is stranger than the last.
Can the boys find a Scrivener-friendly mayor before time runs out? Or will the worst possible candidate in Pinyin Bay win simply by default?
The ABCs of Spellcraft is a series filled with bad jokes and good magic, where M/M romance meets paranormal cozy. A perky hero, a brooding love interest, and delightfully twisty-turny stories that never end up quite where you’d expect.
Original Review November 2021:
I have loved this series from the very first entry, Quill Me Now and not to give anything away but there are a few elements that make Dixon and Yuri recall that first meeting and the situation surrounding it. Not spoiling anything of the plot aside, I just want to add that this pair of unique and intriguing gentlemen never fails to delight and Mayor May Not is no exception. Tack on a baby on the way, a mayoral(as if you couldn't tell from the title) election, a new Hand-job up for grabs(and yes that is what Dixon's parents call it and frankly I'm laughing too much to try and go into details), and Uncle Fonzo asking Dixon and Yuri to find a proper mayor candidate and what you have is a recipe for . . . well for fun.
As with the previous entry, Forging Ahead, Yuri further finds himself a true part of the Penn family. Truth is he probably has been for a very long time but it's just been the last couple of installments that he begins to feel it and I found that element quite heartwarming and gave an extra level of depth to the story and their journey together. There has never been doubt that Dixon and Yuri were in love but seeing the family chemistry deepen adds so much to the enjoyment.
As another story arc comes to a close in The ABCs of Spellcraft in the most deliciously way that only the brilliant Jordan Castillo Price could create, I am already anxiously awaiting the next round of mischief the men find themselves facing.
Summary:
Monsters & Mayhem: An MM Retelling of Lost Hearts
Some rules were never meant to be broken.
Returning to the lunatic asylum would kill Ira Bird. Desperate to preserve his freedom, he follows the rules to the letter to prove himself a useful (and sane) member of society. But his new employer, eccentric and arrogant Professor Urquart, has little regard for convention—and no regard for Ira’s resolve.
Urquart’s pursuit of arcane knowledge has led him to shun society, and remove to Aswarby House, surrounded by dense New Zealand bush. His only rule: what he wants, he gets—and that includes his new assistant.
Drawn to Urquart against his will, Ira struggles against more than forbidden attraction. Is the oppressive atmosphere of Aswarby House the side-effects of isolation—or proof of Ira’s loosening grip on his sanity? Or is there something in the forest—something that defies rational explanation?
Rules are broken at a price. The bigger the rule, the higher the price. If Ira wants to save Urquart from the consequences of his past, he must first survive Aswarby House.
Hearts Lost is an unsettling gay gothic retelling of the M. R. James ghost story ‘Lost Hearts,’ written as part of the collaboration Monsters & Mayhem: An MM Horror Collection, adapting some of your favourite classic horror stories with an MM romance twist. This untypical romance featuring bad decisions with dire consequences. Warnings for violence, death, mentions of religion, and Victorian attitudes towards mental health and homosexuality. If you'd like more specifics, please feel free to email me at info@gillianstkevern.com with the subject line 'spoilers'--I am always happy to answer questions.
Summary:
The Secrets of Willowhope #1
Buying a B&B is Chance’s start to a new life...
After growing up with a mom who believes in all things mystical—spirits, spells, and premonitions—Chance just wants an ordinary life.
When that proves to be nothing short of boring, he buys a supposedly haunted B&B and meets the hunky handyman.
Jetty grew up in Willowhope, one of the most haunted beach towns in the world, but much to his disappointment, he’s never seen anything abnormal. At least he hadn’t before getting involved with his adorable employer.
What happens when two men unwittingly unlock a spell that’s been in place for over a hundred years? Will their disbelief lead to dire consequences? Or will they embrace the path of the unexplainable and solve the mystery of Willowhope Manor, and maybe, just maybe, fall in love?
(This book was previously published as Book 2 in Beyond the Realm:Remember series. It is now the first book in The Secrets of Willowhope! 3300 additional words have been added. Enjoy!)
Summary:
Dark Forest Pack #1
All that time apart and yet the pull between them is as strong as ever…
Rys
Ten years ago Gabriel Mason betrayed me in the worst way. He made me question my instincts because I’d trusted him with a bone-deep certainty, and for that I will never forgive him.
Seeing him again after all this time sparks memories I thought I’d buried so far down they’d never surface. He’s as beautiful as I remember, but I’m older and wiser now, and I refuse to make the same mistakes again.
Gabriel
Rys Calder, wolf shifter and the biggest regret of my life. I loved him, and yet I didn’t share with him the one thing that eventually became our undoing. I broke his trust and I’ve carried that guilt for years. I knew seeing him again would hurt, but no matter how many times I’d imagined it, being on the receiving end of his cold stares and indifference hurt more than I’d anticipated.
Thrown together again with a killer on the loose, will the past continue to haunt them, or can they move past it and claim the future that fate always had in store for them?
Claiming Rys is an MM paranormal romance with second chances, fated mates, pining, angry alphas, and feisty ex-hunters.
Haunted Souls #5
Psychic Copeland Forbes can’t get a good night’s sleep. His dreams are being haunted by two restless spirits, one crying out for his help and the other bent on destroying him. Only able to communicate through dreams, the anguished spirit gives Cope just enough information to send him running back home to New Orleans to solve the mystery.
Ghost Detective Jude Byrne is against Cope going back to The Big Easy. It was trouble as long as the Mississippi that sent Copeland fleeing New Orleans in the first place but, if Cope insists on going, Jude is going with him. To make the mission as safe as possible, Jude puts together a team of psychics, warlocks, and detectives he’s hoping are strong enough to keep everyone, namely Cope, safe.
When the spirits’ identities are revealed, tragedy strikes a member of the ghost detective team. Will help arrive in time or will they be left with only the ghost of a chance?
Mayor May Not by Jordan Castillo Price
1
Dixon
Who can resist a piping hot churro straight from the deep fryer? Or a golden brown, deep-fried funnel cake? Or a melty, chocolatey fried Snickers bar? Or a thick, chewy slab of fried dough covered in frosting and cinnamon and colorful candy sprinkles? Not me.
And judging by the fact that he was currently covered in powdered sugar, not Yuri.
A-dorable.
“Say, Yuri,” I ventured, as the mineral-seaweed scent of the water cut through the olfactory wall of fried food. “Isn’t it funny that of the million and one places each of us could be, we both ended up in Pinyin Bay?”
He scowled as if to say, Hardly funny when I was lured here against my will and bound by Spellcraft to serve a Handless tyrant…but he didn’t go so far as to actually speak the words. Because while that might’ve been technically true, no one would argue that things had totally turned out for the best.
It was the perfect day for a fundraiser. The Pinyin Bay boardwalk creaked beneath our feet. Though it was still patchy in some places and completely blown up in others, with any luck, repairs could begin soon. And in the meantime, no one complained about our festivities spilling out into the asphalt lot of the municipal salt pile. I worked my hand into the crook of Yuri’s elbow, enjoying the bulge of his biceps in a way that never got old, then gave his arm a squeeze and said, “Even the boardwalk will be back to normal before you know it.”
Yuri eyed the crowd. “I am not so sure. Turnout is not as good as we had hoped.”
“Really?” I took a better look around. “Come to think of it, there was an awful lot of elbow room at the urinal—”
“We live ten minutes away, could you not have waited?”
“Anyhoo, Drew’s going to be phenomenally upset if we don’t make our numbers.”
Drew Draws was the driving force behind the Rebuild the Boardwalk Extravaganza…if by driving, you meant blustering around with lots of big hand gestures in a glittery visor and lamenting that a creative’s work is never done. Drew had been selling tourist caricatures from a stall on the boardwalk for more than twenty years, though late last summer we discovered there was more to his talent than just making his subjects’ hair look big.
Of course, Yuri and I helped wherever we could. Yuri with Seer advice, and me insisting on adding the word Extravaganza to his fundraiser’s title—because who doesn’t love an extravaganza?
Through nippy fall days and long winter nights, Drew had split his time between learning the Seer craft and making the extravaganza a reality. He’d been planning to use the big event to announce his “retirement” from caricature and become a full-fledged Seer. It was perfect timing. He could make the announcement when he turned over a big novelty check to the contractors who’d won the bid to restore the boardwalk to its former glory…or at least its former garish kitschiness. That check couldn’t be paltry, though, not when the numbers would be big enough for everyone to see—even in the blurry, weirdly-framed shots they published in the Pinyin Bay Journal.
The fundraiser had been months in the making. If it flopped, we’d never hear the end of it. Not because we were personally responsible, but because the new Seer spent so much time with my uncle, and the attic floor isn’t very well insulated. And Drew can be pretty darned loud when he gets excited.
“Word of mouth is what we need,” I decided.
“Where else would words come from?” Yuri wondered. “Or do I really want to know?”
“Just another charming expression in English. It means we need to get these people hyped up so they let all their friends know how much fun they’re having.” I grabbed the nearest stranger, a sunburned guy wearing socks with sandals, and asked, “Isn’t this the coolest extravaganza you’ve ever attended?”
The great thing about questions is that they’re not just for finding answers. In this case, I was hoping to help this guy realize exactly how much fun he was having. I knew for a fact there hadn’t been an “extravaganza” in Pinyin Bay’s recorded history (I’d even looked it up!). So, even if he was just having an okay time—by sheer default, Rebuild the Boardwalk would still be the coolest.
Strangers usually agree with me—especially when I startle them—but instead of just saying whatever it might take to disengage, the pink-nosed guy took in all the festivities and said, “The games are rigged, the food is cold, and the only ride is the Ferris wheel. And I could ride that anytime.”
“There’s a bouncy castle right over there.”
“With a weight limit of a hundred pounds. I’d hardly call this an extravaganza. A fair, maybe. Or even a festivity. But extravaganza is really pushing it.”
Far be it from me to get involved in a discussion about vocabulary with someone so pedantic. I knew full well how important it was to be accurate with my word choices. How could I not, with all the vocabulary Spellcraft tutors had drilled into my young, impressionable brain?
Turning away, I scoped out a woman in big sunglasses and bright pink lip gloss. She probably had a whole bunch of friends on Friendlike! Plus, she was tiny enough that she could hop around in the bouncy castle if the mood took her. I plastered on a big, non-threatening smile, trotted up to her, and said, “Could there possibly be a more perfect day for an extravaganza?”
Hooking a finger over the arm of her sunglasses, the woman slid them down her nose, scanned the bay, and said with a shrug, “I guess it’s fine.”
There’s just no pleasing some people! But there were dozens of folks milling listlessly around…or maybe they were just relaxed. Surely there’d be a potential influencer somewhere in the crowd. It was just a matter of finding someone suitably enthused to take my message to the people—
“Dixon Penn!” boomed a familiar voice, startling me so badly I nearly ended up wearing Yuri’s funnel cake. Ladin Silver peeled out from behind a concession stand belly-first, brandishing a Technicolor snow cone in each hand. I was hardly surprised to see him there, as Ladin had a particular knack for games of chance. Rumor has it his old trailer was raided for suspicion of illegal gambling—stoat racing, to be exact—but he’s never confirmed or denied that allegation.
“Just the person I wanted to see!” Ladin boomed at me.
“Wow. Uh…really?”
“Hasn’t Drew Draws been spending all his free time over at your uncle’s place?”
It was no secret among the circuit that Uncle Fonzo was training a new Seer. In fact, it was pretty big news within our Spellcraft circuit. “That’s right.”
“Good. Then you’re sure to run into him at some point. Hold this.” He shoved a snow cone at me, and reflexively, my hand came up to grab the paper holder. The ball of ice on top was a bright green so electric it couldn’t possibly be found in nature, and it smelled like a confusing melange of coconut and oregano. Once Ladin had a free hand, he dug an envelope out from his Sansabelt slacks and thrust it toward me. I grabbed it as reflexively as I’d grabbed the snow cone. “See that Drew gets this.” He patted me on the head with a sticky palm. “There’s a good boy.”
I gave back the green snow cone and he ambled off, pausing every few steps to lick one, then the other, until eventually he meandered behind the listlessly capering Pinyin Bay Perch, and I lost sight of him.
Yuri scowled down at the envelope in my hands. “What is it?”
“Maybe it’s a bribe. Local businesses donated all kinds of interesting stuff for the big raffle—and you know how easy it is to rig those things.” I held the envelope up to the light, but unfortunately the paper was too thick for me to see though. “What do you suppose the going rate might be to fix a local raffle? There were some really cute curtain rods in one of the gift baskets—”
“We only have one window,” Yuri reminded me. “And it has shutters.”
I tucked the envelope into my messenger bag. “True. But things are always better when they’re free.”
“But it is not free if a bribe is involved.”
I was about to say we’d have to agree to disagree when we came upon the bandstand. Normally, this was where Pinyin Bay Elementary held their graduation ceremony and the civic orchestra played rousing marches on the Fourth of July. The crowd was thicker here, and everyone was abuzz.
I craned my neck to see what they were all so excited about, but the guy in front of me was particularly tall.
But not taller than my grown man friend.
“Hot dog eating contest?” Yuri said incredulously.
“Only in America!” I declared. While that probably wasn’t the case…I was sure he’d been thinking it. And I never like to disagree with him for long.
“Excuse me…pardon me,” I said as I squeezed my way to the front of the crowd, while Yuri strode in behind me with significantly more force and fewer apologies. I’d never seen a real, live competitive eating event, and I had so many questions. Were the hot dogs boiled or grilled? How much mustard was involved? And could anyone actually say the word wiener without tittering?
I was nearly to the edge of the bandstand when someone snapped, “Watch it, buddy, I’m standing here,” and I found myself elbow to elbow with my cousin.
“Sabina!” I said enthusiastically. And, “Vano…” less so. He’d been stuck to my cousin like glue ever since he put her in the family way. While I was used to having him around nowadays, he still managed to outdo me at every turn. Granted, I’d really upped my flourishing game lately in the face of such stiff competition. What stuck in my craw was the fact that Vano was anything but competitive. Currently, he was fanning Sabina with a map from the tourism kiosk, and he was going at it so earnestly that he’d worked up a sweat…which made his hair fall into an effortlessly attractive tousle.
Of course it did.
Self-consciously, I smoothed the sides of my hair and checked for any wayward strays. I supposed that the important thing was that Vano was willing to take the brunt of my cousin’s mood swings. I’ve heard that some women get a certain glow about them when they’re pregnant. Sabina’s glow was more of a glower.
“Where’ve you guys been?” my cousin said. “This sun is brutal. I need Yuri to cast a shadow.”
Without missing a beat, Yuri glanced up at the sky and positioned himself to block the sun from landing directly on her.
I said, “It seems like you’ve been pregnant forever. How much longer until the baby is due?”
Sabina shrugged. “Hard to say. Depends on whether I got knocked up on the davenport, or under the boardwalk, or in the back of the Buick.”
Vano smiled to himself. “I still say it was on the circular staircase in the solarium at Nana’s house.”
“Forget I asked,” I said weakly.
“Can the doctors not give you a due date?” Yuri wondered.
“Doctor!” Sabina scoffed. “Who has time for all the ridiculous hoops a doctor would make me jump through? Tests and sonograms and prenatal vitamins and whatnot. It’s all just a racket to pad their bills.”
Beneath the burgeoning sunburn on his nose, Yuri went pale. “I thought Americans had programs for things like this. What about insurance?”
“Insurance is a sucker’s bet,” Sabina said dismissively.
I patted Yuri on the arm. “It’s fine. There’s a midwife in our circuit who handles these sorts of things.”
Yuri narrowed his eyes at my cousin. “And when was the last time you saw this midwife?”
“I’ve been meaning to get around to it. But things have been so busy, what with the new Seer and the festival….”
“Extravaganza,” I reminded her.
Ignoring me, Sabina grabbed the brochure out of Vano’s hands and began fanning herself harder. “I’ve had all I can take of this weather. If they don’t start the contest soon, I’ll need to forfeit.”
“Hold on,” I said. “You entered?”
“Drew needed more bodies to make it look good, so he waived my entry fee. I figured, free hot dogs, why not?”
Who doesn’t love a good hot dog? Other than a vegetarian. And probably a pig…although they do say pigs are notoriously omnivorous. At any rate, even though hot dogs were as American as apple pie and sky-high health insurance, Yuri—who can be surprisingly picky—was happy to demolish half a pack at a sitting.
Sabina fanned herself harder as some helpers wheeled a groaning covered cart onto the bandstand to some hoots and cheers from the swelling crowd. Through the ancient, crackly PA system, Drew’s voice announced: “Folks, our big event will start in five minutes. Now it’s time for the contestants to gather backstage.”
I expected my cousin to waddle toward the starting gate at full speed, but surprisingly enough, she turned on her heel and started pushing through the crowd in the opposite direction. “Sabina!” I called out. “Where ya going?”
“Can’t you smell that?” she demanded. I smelled nothing but the ambient marine funk of the bay. “Hot dog water! Gross! It’s enough to make me hurl!”
The crowd in front of her thinned out in a real hurry.
“But wait,” I said, “what about your spot in the eating contest?”
“One of you will have to fill it. I’m outta here.”
Hearts Lost by Gillian St Kevern
Chapter One
The Asylum rules were simple. Fresh air, plenty of it. No biting the orderlies. Keep your nose clean. In bed at eight.
The unspoken rules, those were the problem. The ones Ira was expected to know without being told: Don’t ask the director questions when he is entertaining. No independent research. Don’t answer the director’s guests when they ask a question. Do not ignore the director’s guests when they speak to you. No engaging the chaplain in philosophic debate. No counselling one’s fellow inmates. And—the last and most unaccountable—no requesting a complete list of all unacceptable behaviours. It was enough to drive a man, well, mad.
At least his cell was predictably monotonous. Ira lay on his thin straw mattress, stray blades of hay tickling his neck, contemplating the white-washed ceiling and stone walls that comprised his cell. His surroundings were utterly indistinguishable from the cell he’d occupied the last time he was in solitary. Was this cell reserved for him, or were they all identical? If so, was that sameness a result of the building process or a deliberate choice by the director?
He heard the ponderous step on the stone beyond his cell too late. Ira jerked to attention, turning to face the open bars of his cell.
The director regarded him with a dour expression. “Bird goes from bad to worse. He has always been difficult, but of late, he is downright impossible.”
A second man peered through the bars. A younger man, with a well-made suit, and an alert, interested gaze. His russet whiskers framed a serene countenance. “He seems calm enough.”
Ira’s treacherous heart skipped a beat. Not on your life! Hadn’t he learned the perils of indulging a handsome man?
It didn’t matter how harsh the punishment, how cold the cell. Ira stepped towards the bars, drawn into the presence of the other men.
The director snorted. “The quiet ones cause the most trouble. In my professional opinion, Bird’s the most dangerous man in this institution. I would put nothing past him—nothing.” His lip curled.
Ira pressed a hand to his chest. He’d done nothing but obey the rules! Was it his fault that he did not understand them?
The russet-haired doctor watched him closely. “What has he done?”
“He’s a subtle one. Nothing overt—but questions. Observations. Things no sane man would think to ask. And he’s intractable with it. Why, just this last month, he took a notion to stop talking.” The director glowered at him. “Come on, man, speak!”
Ira held his tongue. He’d made this mistake before. The director would not goad him into breaking another rule.
The young doctor raised his eyebrows. “Curious! Is there a reason you do not speak, Mr Bird?”
Ira tilted his head, glancing at the director. Refusing to answer a guest’s question was against the rules—they had definitely established that. And it wasn’t as though he was answering the director…
“Permission to speak, sir?” His voice was hoarse, his throat ticklish.
The director started. “See! This is what I mean. Pure obstinance—”
The young doctor chuckled, putting his hand on the director’s arm. “Let’s hear him out. Yes, Bird. You may speak.”
Ira expected the director to contradict him. Instead, he took out his tobacco pouch and began stuffing his pipe.
Allowed to speak? Ira turned to the young doctor. “Thank you, sir.”
“I’m Doctor Rimington.” He spoke with the careless arrogance of youth. “You probably recognise the name. My father founded this place. You’ve been here some time?”
Some time was an understatement. “Ten years. I remember your father. He was a good doctor.”
The director lit his pipe. “We are on a schedule.”
“This chap interests me.” Rimington studied Ira through the bars. “Tell me, Bird. There’s nothing wrong with your tongue. Why did you stop speaking?”
Ira chewed his lip. No matter which way he answered the question, he broke a rule… Was not contradicting the director a worse offence than not responding to his guests?
The director puffed out a foul smelling cloud. “Come on, Bird! Out with it!”
What choice did he have? “The director told me I was too impertinent and was not to answer him back under any circumstances.”
The director’s head jerked up, his cheeks suffused with crimson. “Of all the pig-headed things!”
Rimmington raised his eyebrows. “Is this true?”
The director snarled. “I may have said something to that effect… but Bird should know not to take my words so damn literally! The man’s a menace—he picks and chooses what he will obey and what he ignores.”
“That’s not true!” Ira clenched his fists, his cheeks stinging with heat. “All I ever do here is follow the rules!”
“See!” The director waved his pipe, sending a cloud of tobacco wafting towards Ira. “Utterly recalcitrant and impertinent to boot! You cannot cure a man like that!”
Rimington held up his hand for silence. “You want to follow the rules?”
He was breathing fast, far more than was proper. Ira took a deep breath, smoothing down his hair. The bare cell had no washstand, but he kept himself as neat as he could. If he was ever to leave, he must make a good impression. “When we first arrived, the director said that if we devoted ourselves to our treatment and obeyed all instructions given to us, we would be cured.”
The director turned away, muttering under his breath.
A smile played about Rimmington’s lips. “Do you want to be cured, Bird?”
“More than anything.” Ira did his best not to hear the director’s explosive snort.
“In fact—” He stopped himself. “In fact?” Rimington waited.
Curse every atom of his rebellious body. Did he not live with the danger every day? And yet, a handsome man asked him a question, and he bared all his secrets.
Ira swallowed. It was too late to hide. “I’ve made a study of rules. What they are, what weight they carry, the consequences should they be broken.”
Rimington clapped. “Intriguing! What basis have you for your studies? Your own observations?”
“And those of others.” Ira slid his hand beneath the mattress and produced his prized possessions: a battered copy of Plato’s Laws, and an equally bruised volume of De Legibus. “I study these when the occasion allows.”
Rimington whistled, holding his hand out to take the books. “Plato and Cicero—you read Latin?”
“Inmates are discouraged from reading anything but approved literature,” the director growled. “More evidence of Bird’s defiance.”
Rimmington paused on a page that Ira had annotated. “The chap seems sincere. He’s put a lot of effort into his education.”
Ira licked his lips. “Understanding rules doesn’t come to me the way it does other fellows. That’s why I’ve studied them.”
“Your conclusions haven’t got you very far.” Rimington continued to flick through the books.
“Not true! It has been months since I received a warning.”
“Because it’s been months since I forbade inane questions.” The director turned to Rimington. “You’ve no doubt observed the signs of monomania. This, combined with his stubbornness, inversion and inability to conform, makes him a hopeless case, destined to remain here for life.”
Life.
The word echoed like the slamming of a cell door.
“No!” Ira gripped the metal bars in both hands. He tasted copper. “Please, no! I will do anything—anything!—to leave this place. Just tell me what!”
Rimington cocked his head. “He seems perfectly tractable to me.”
“Ha!” The director spun on his heel. “Many lunatics seem perfectly amenable. That is their danger!”
“Don’t believe him!” Ira seized Rimngton’s sleeve through the bars. “I will be sane. I will take any cure you give me! But I cannot remain here—I cannot!”
Rimington weighed him, gaze inscrutable.
Hanging onto a man’s shirt sleeves was definitely against the rules. Ira released his grip on Rimmington’s sleeve and stepped back. “Please excuse my behaviour.” He smoothed down the linen shirt, trying to ease out his own wrinkles at the same time. “I was momentarily overcome.”
A smile played around Rimington’s lips. He held out the books. “Where would you go if you were pronounced sane?”
Ira clutched his books to his chest. “I should seek employment and establish myself from there.”
Rimington tilted his head. “No friends or family?”
“They’ve long since washed their hands of him—and you would be wise to do the same.” The director’s voice held a warning note.
“Has he a trade?”
“Bird has practiced book-binding—” The director looked up from his pipe. “You’re not thinking—not Bird.”
“He’s the perfect candidate.” Rimington leaned a hand against the wall. “Educated, knows book-binding, well-spoken, no violent tendencies—”
“Of recent years,” the director cut in.
“And his thought patterns seem logical enough—too literal, perhaps, but his current environment is not likely to diminish his monomania.”
“And Aswarby will? The place is isolated, practically deserted.”
“Even better,” Rimington assured him. “We can ease Bird back into society, not overwhelm him with it.”
The director stroked his chin. “It’ll never work. His idiosyncrasies will provoke any man—and Urquart’s no saint.”
Rimington’s smile was grim. “Professor Urquart’s in no position to be choosy about who he employs. He wants a madman. Bird seems ideal.”
Ira leaned against the bars, his fingers clammy. His heart thudded loudly, so loud that he had to strain to hear the conversation. He was—being released?
The director pursed his lips, giving Bird a considering glance. “You’ll tell Urquart that I oppose this decision?”
Rimington’s grin was immediate. “Yes, sir.”
“I can do no more.” He raised his hands and let them fall. “Bird’s on your conscience now.”
Ira staggered back. Was this real?
He raised shaking hands to his temples. But he’d broken the rules… This made no sense!
Rimington was speaking. Ira did his best to listen.
“Urquart’s an odd chap, what you might deem an eccentric. He’s a recluse. Lives in the bush, miles from anywhere with his books—and he’s got a lot of books. He’s after someone to catalogue them for him. You’d do the job perfectly.”
Books. Ira swallowed. This was real then. This was a job. “You said he wants a madman?”
Rimington lowered his voice. “Urquart’s had a rough life. He doesn’t trust institutions. I think he feels that if he can get even one soul out of a place like this, he’d be doing the world a service.”
Ira fingered the battered spines of his books. A man without respect for institutions… What did he think of the rules that upheld them? He licked his lips. “Is he—a good man?”
Rimmington laughed. “I’m a doctor, not a priest!” He reached through the cell bars to pat Ira’s arm. “You’ll have to make your mind up on that front yourself. But the man’s brilliant, possessing an intellect rarely seen in this world.”
Ira looked at the hand resting so innocently on his own. Rimington did not know how dangerous such contact could be. The treacherous stirring within him was proof of how futile his cure had been. He was unfit for society: the asylum was the only place for him.
And yet another year in this place would be his death.
“You’re very serious, Bird. I should have thought you’d be happy at the chance to leave?” Rimington tilted his head. “Don’t tell me you want to stay?”
Ira shook his head. “No, no. I’ll go to Urquart. I’ll do whatever he wants.”
Rimington laughed. “With an attitude like that, you’ll be sane in no time.”
Willowhope Manor by Sammi Cee
Chapter 1
Chance
Maybe it would help if I pictured them all naked. Wait. That was for public speaking, wasn’t it? It wouldn’t do a thing to change how hopelessly boring our weekly meeting had become. I’d started here eight years ago so sure that I’d picked the right course for my life, that a safe, secure career in corporate America was the answer, but alas, I guess I had more of my parents' wanderlust in me than I’d ever admitted to myself.
Oh goody, Niles, my ex, from the legal department rose to speak, thus ensuring us another half an hour stuck listening to the windbag drone on and on, and then because he thought that highly of himself, he’d continue some more. The suck-up stood at his seat, smiling confidently at the CEO before addressing the rest of us. The smug tilt to his lips as his gaze rested on me before moving on should have pissed me off—it was meant to, but…it hit me. I didn’t care anymore. None of this mattered. Not this job, and most certainly not Niles.
As Niles paced his side of the table and gestured toward the PowerPoint at the front of the room, I challenged myself to name something—anything other than my bestie Skylar—that kept me here in the city, at this job, and dealing with an ex-boyfriend from a relationship that had lasted way past its expiration date. So far beyond, in fact, that if it had been leftover ceviche cheese, it would have molded, smelled, and disintegrated by the time I even confessed to myself that my mom had been right. He was a money-hungry prick.
For me, the end of our relationship had been inevitable, the writing on the wall from the first time I introduced him to my parents, and he’d had the gall to speak down to them. Sure, he had a law degree. Yes, the CEO and CFO of the company ate up his bullshit about being a team player and clocking extra hours of his own time to research this or that for the good of the corporation. The reality, the manipulative ass searched for things to hold over other people’s heads or get rid of them, if possible. Digging that hard, he was bound to find things to report in that made him look good. He’d saved the company thousands of dollars, set himself up for major advancement, and was hated by every employee equal or below his pay grade. Unfortunately, and why I knew I didn’t belong. It was jealousy that they hadn’t thought of his tactics first and couldn’t get to where he was going with equal speed.
And this was my life. Niles epitomized what I’d allow myself to become. He winked at me, and I barely resisted the urge to flip him off. How I felt about my current predicament didn’t matter. One didn’t just realize they hated everything about their life and leave. Well—a grin popped on my face—my mom would. I pictured her standing up, swirling one of her bright, crazy-patterned skirts around her legs, and exclaiming that her current existence wasn’t for her before swooping out dramatically, slamming the door behind her, and leaving a room full of startled people. My mom would totally do that. “Did you have something to share with the rest of us, Chance?” Niles asked.
Man, he was a tool. How had I come so far from the way I was raised? From Mom and her ideals? Was I really that sure that the things she believed were impossible? Sure enough to let this be my life?
“No, sir,” I answered with a wink, which was totally out of character for me. I didn’t wink at people, especially not at work. I didn’t smile too wide or laugh too loudly. I played by the rules for someone who wanted financial and social success. I had dated Niles because we were the same person with the same goals. The only difference—I hadn’t realized at first—was that I wanted to achieve my goals through my own hard work and integrity, not by tearing other people down and sucking a couple of old guy’s asses.
His back went ramrod straight, and he sniffed snottily before continuing to yammer on. I’d purposefully said sir to get under his skin. He knew I didn’t respect him. I’d made sure of it.
As the meeting went on, I knew my parents had been on the money to tell me this wasn’t the life for me. Letting that truth settle, I wondered what else they’d been right about.
The day didn’t improve, and now as I exited the elevator to walk across the empty foyer of our downtown building, it pissed me off that I’d had to work late. Coming to the realization that you hated your job…your life…on the same day that you had a major report to finish sucked.
“Night, Arnie,” I said, tipping my head toward the night watchman as I passed where he sat behind his desk.
“Another late one, huh, Mr. Chancellor? You work too hard,” he replied.
Yeah, Chance Chancellor. I wished my parents just had a great sense of humor, but it was worse than that. My mom thought she was clever. I shrugged. “What can you do?”
He chuckled as I continued on the path toward the glass doors that led to freedom, the darkness beyond irritating me even more. If I hadn’t sat through that bullshit meeting this afternoon, I might have gotten out of here during the light of day.
All of a sudden, a little boy, who couldn’t be more than six or seven, appeared out of nowhere. Between his worn, threadbare shorts and too small beige t-shirt, and his unexpected appearance in a building that only saw kids on bring your children to work day, he seemed especially out of place.
He ran right up to my feet and peered up at me through his dark as night orbs and waved his hand, motioning me down. I rearranged my satchel on my shoulder, then got down on one knee to his level. He ran one little hand up through his unkempt afro while his gaze darted all around. I checked our surroundings, too, hoping to find whatever adult he belonged to, but the lobby was empty except for us, Arnie, and the over-the-top fake greenery centered in the seating area. Drawing my attention back to him, the little boy whispered frantically, “Remember Willowhope Manor.”
The name Willowhope tugged at my memory, as did how raptly the little boy stared at me. I opened my mouth to—
“What the hell was that about today, Chance?”
I shot a dirty look over my shoulder at Niles, his long legs eating up the distance between us. Shaking my head, I turned back to ask the little guy if he was lost, but he was gone. What the…
I looked toward the front doors, but they were closed, so I quickly stood, spinning in a circle. When there was no sign of him, I pushed past Niles, who was still yammering on, because of course he was, and rushed back to Arnie. “Did you see where that little boy went?”
Arnie’s eyes narrowed as he jumped off of his stool. “What little boy?”
“The one who was right there. That I was just talking to.”
Arnie’s expression turned quizzical, and he braced both hands onto the counter in front of him. “I didn’t see anyone, Mr. Chancellor, and I haven’t let anyone in or out since I locked the doors half an hour ago. You saw a little boy? I better check around for him.” He moved swiftly from behind the desk and pulled out his flashlight, quickly disappearing to the right where the door to the staircase resided.
“Chance, what child are you talking about? You weren’t talking to anyone when I came off the elevators. You were just kneeling on the floor.” His gaze tracked down to my knees, his nose curling disdainfully. Following the path he’d taken, I saw a smudge of dirt on my suit pants. For fuck’s sake, of course Niles found a little dirt unacceptable. Anal and pretentious. How had I ever thought this was what I wanted from life? “Anyway, how dare you try to undermine me in the meeting today. You don’t do yourself any favors trying to minimize me in front…”
I let his voice fade into the background while I waited for Arnie to return. Where had that little boy come from, and where on earth had he disappeared to? And even more importantly, why did the name Willowhope spark a fire in my belly I’d never possessed before?
“I’m sorry, Mr. Chancellor. I checked the stairwell, and I didn’t see anyone,” Arnie said as he hustled back toward his station.
“Are you sure? Maybe he’s running around another floor?”
Arnie shook his head. “Not a chance. We lock the doors from the stairwell onto the floors at six pm. You can only exit.”
Huh. I continued ignoring Niles who, from the sounds of it, had moved back to admonishing me for disrespecting him in the meeting today, and I wandered around the whole lobby. There were a couple of tall potted plants that maybe a little person could hide behind, but not really. The lobby was indeed empty except for us.
Scrubbing a hand across my face, I readjusted my satchel, and lost in thought, made my way slowly toward the exit, ignoring Niles completely. Was I seeing things? But why would my brain conjure a little boy in need of a change of clothes telling me to remember a place I’d never been? Or had I? Willowhope…Willowhope…Willowhope…the name swirled right out of reach, and I wondered if it was one of the places I’d visited with my parents on one of our many summer road trips to nowhere.
Claiming Rys by Annabelle Jacobs
PROLOGUE
There are three classes of people in my world:
Humans.
Non-humans.
Hunters.
We’ve always existed, non-humans, that is. But in recent years we’ve come out of our hiding places, shown our faces, whereas before, we clung to the shadows. Acceptance is as I’d expected it would be. Most humans don’t give a fuck, happy to live alongside us without incident for the most part. There are exceptions, of course, but then, there always are.
RYS
Watching the sunset by the water’s edge had become something of a habit in recent weeks. The rich colours of the fading daylight never failed to soothe my soul.
Tonight’s was a beauty. The sky a deep rich red, shot through with orange and gold, making it seem like the whole sky was alight, reflecting off the still water like a perfect mirror.
Soft footfalls sounded behind me, the scent of pack floating on the air and tugging a smile from me. I wasn’t the only one who liked to escape the wonderful but chaotic pack nights at the house.
“Thought I’d find you here.” Talis lowered himself to the grass beside me. “How come you get to leave early when the rest of us have to put up with Sasha’s singing?”
I turned, flashing him a grin full of teeth. “Because I’m the alpha.”
Talis rolled his eyes and nudged his shoulder against mine. “Well, you had the right idea. Pretty sure my ears will take a week to recover.” He glanced quickly over his shoulder. “But don’t tell her I said that.”
I scoffed. “As if.” I turned, grinning at him. “I need both my betas in one piece.”
He opened his mouth, but whatever he was about to say was abruptly cut off by my phone. The ringtone for Falon’s pack cut through the silence around us.
I answered on the second ring, putting it on speaker. “Calder.”
“Rys.” Falon Salter’s desperate voice had me sitting up straight and shooting a worried glance at Talis. “Can you get to the public car park at Sherwood Pines as quick as fucking possible?”
We were on our feet before he’d finished speaking, running back to the main house. “What’s happened?”
Shouting sounded in the distance, followed by Falon’s cursing. “Something’s wrong with Callum. He went fucking feral and ran off into the forest.”
“What triggered it?”
“No idea. One minute he was fine. The next … it was like a switch flipped.”
“Shit.”
“Rys, I had to report it.” Regret laced his words, and I felt for him. But not reporting a feral could jeopardise his whole pack. It was a shit choice to have to make.
“They called in the hunters?”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck.”
“We need to get to him before those bastards do,” Falon muttered.
Callum was as good as dead if that happened.
“We’re on our way.”
Talis ran to grab the car keys while I put Sasha in charge.
We were on the road within minutes of receiving Falon’s call.
I just hoped we were quick enough.
We made the twenty-minute journey in a little under fifteen, traffic light this late on a Monday evening. As Talis pulled into the almost empty car park, Falon rushed through the trees, skidding to a halt a foot from the car.
Although Sherwood Pines was Falon’s pack territory, parts of it were still open to the general public, another income stream that couldn’t be ignored. Unfortunately, that meant humans could be out in the forest with a feral shifter on the loose.
Five cars dotted the car park. “How many humans?”
“Eight, and one witch.” Falon set off at a run, leading us into the trees. “The rest of my pack are either in the forest or patrolling the roads to try and stop him leaving our territory.”
Dogs barked, the sound carrying and easily picked up even without our advanced hearing.
Then a scream pierced the air.
“Fuck.” With a grim expression, Falon raced in that direction, Talis and I hot on his heels.
The heavy scent of Falon’s pack hung in the air, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. Not that we weren’t on good terms, but this was his territory, and as an alpha—even if we’d been invited—it still set my teeth on edge. Pushing aside my instincts, I followed Falon back through his forest.
Bursting into a clearing, we found all the humans and their dogs huddled behind a fallen tree trunk—terrified but still in one piece. Thank the Goddess.
The witch was nowhere to be seen and I hadn’t picked up their scent, but that meant nothing. With the right magic, a scent could easily be masked. They also knew better than to stay in the area when a feral shifter was on the loose.
Falon didn’t bother to stop and check on the humans, instead barrelling into the trees on the opposite side of the clearing.
His pack’s scents clung to every tree we passed, more concentrated the further we ran into his territory. But that wasn’t all I could smell.
Hunters used whatever they could get their hands on to hide their scents, but silver and aconite would always leave a tang in the air. My lips curled back into a snarl. They were ahead of us.
Judging by the way Falon tore through the undergrowth, he’d had the same thought.
As we raced over one of the walking trails, I almost fell over my own feet, the familiar scent barrelling into me like a sledgehammer. Flashes of silky black hair and teasing blue eyes came to mind, both unwelcome and unbidden. It might have been years since I’d last encountered him, but I’d never forget any of it. The ache I’d buried years ago threatened to resurface and I slammed the lid on it with a growl.
Not fucking happening.
“All right?” Talis grabbed my shoulder to haul me upright and stop me from face planting onto the path.
“Yeah.”
He gave me a curious glance, but Falon was getting away from us. With a muttered curse, he picked up his pace. “Come on.”
Gun shots sounded ahead as the forest opened up onto a path about twenty feet wide, and Falon let out a pained whine as soon as the scene before us registered.
Callum lay motionless on the floor, poison-laced blood seeping out onto the ground beneath him. One of the hunters leant over his body, a bloodied silver dagger in his hand.
I see nothing’s fucking changed then.
Three more hunters I didn’t recognise stood a few feet back from him, watching. The smug satisfaction on their faces made my blood boil and my wolf rush to the surface.
It took everything I had not to lunge for them, and Callum wasn’t even my packmate.
I caught hold of Falon as he flew at them, claws out, fangs bared.
“You fucking bastards!” Falon spat, struggling against my hands on him, but I held tight. The last thing his pack needed was their alpha getting shot for mauling a hunter. Even if they deserved it.
The lead hunter held up both his hands. “We’re just doing our job.”
“He’s barely more than a child!”
“He’s registered. That makes him an adult as far as the law’s concerned.”
Falon’s roar shook the trees, sending birds scattering into the darkening sky. “He’s eighteen years old. Eighteen.”
The hunter’s eyes narrowed. “And he was feral. A danger to all humans in the area, so we put him down. Followed protocol.” When Falon didn’t say anything, he gestured behind them. “You heard the screams. We had no choice.”
Falon growled but no longer seemed about to rip their throats out, so I let him go when he shrugged me off. “He didn’t touch any of them. You could have detained him without fucking killing him.” With one last scathing look, he walked over to Callum’s body and knelt beside him.
The hunter holding the knife looked up and I couldn’t help the sneer as his deep blue eyes met mine. “Ten years and nothing’s changed, eh? What the fuck are you doing here, Gabriel? I thought North Cornwall was your hunting ground.”
Gabriel Mason sat back on his heels, but before he could answer, one of the hunters behind him let out a laugh that sounded far from friendly.
“Tombs would shoot him on sight if he went back there,” the guy muttered, smirk curling his lips.
Gabriel ignored them and me, instead focusing on Falon. “He’s not dead.”
Falon’s gaze shot to him. “What?”
So much blood covered the dirt path, the scent of it heavy around us. Even shifter healing would struggle to combat that. But as I scowled, wondering what the fuck Gabriel was talking about, I strained to listen for any signs of life.
Nothing.
I was just about to lay into him for giving Falon false hope when I heard it. The faintest of inhales, thready and weak, but Callum had taken a breath.
And then another.
Falon reached for one of Callum’s hands. “How?” He shot a quick, shocked glance at Gabriel.
“I packed his wounds with powder to counteract the poison from the bullets and the knife. Gave him an injection too.” He stood, and it was only then I noticed the latex gloves he wore and the fact the dagger was now in what looked to be a police evidence bag along with two handguns.
“I don’t know if it’ll be enough, but it’s given him a chance.”
“Thank you.” Falon nodded at him, then shifted his focus back to Callum.
“Why save him when he’s going to get locked up anyway?” one of the hunters asked. “He’s not going to thank you for giving him a life locked in a cage.”
To my surprise, anger flared in Gabriel’s expression as he turned to glare at the hunters. “Because Falon’s right. You could’ve taken him down without trying to kill him, and feral or not, he hasn’t hurt anyone. I’d like the chance to investigate why this happened, and that’ll be a damn sight easier with my main witness still able to answer questions.”
The hunter’s eyes narrowed. “Tombs was right about you, then.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “I don’t give a fuck what that bastard said about me.”
Maybe some things had changed, then. The last memory I had of Gabriel Mason, he was stood side by side with Caleb Tombs. Part of the same hunter group.
“Maybe you should,” the hunter shot back.
Gabriel raised an eyebrow, seemingly still relaxed, but I recognised the stance of someone preparing for a fight. “Are you threatening me, Yates?”
I filed that name away. If a hunter group was in the area, I wanted to know all about them.
Yates shrugged. “Not at all. But no one likes a traitor. Just saying.”
Soft footfalls sounded behind us, only Falon and I noticing the newcomer. Neither of us reacted, as the scent was as familiar as my own pack.
Should be, since it was my cousin who appeared out of the tree line.
Detective Max Knowles. Paranormal division.
I should’ve picked up on his presence earlier. It was obvious now that he’d left the scene and come back to it.
I’d been too distracted by seeing Gabriel again after all these years.
And that has to stop right now.
“Everything all right here?” Max cast a calculating glance around the group, finally landing on me. “Rys.”
“Max.”
He gave me a quick nod in greeting before snapping into motion. “How is he?” he asked, gesturing to Callum.
“Alive.” Gabriel sent Yates another scathing glare. “Barely.”
“Hey, it was your department that called us in. We were only doing our fucking jobs,” Yates shot back, and my gaze caught on the clenched fists at his side.
Hunters were supposed to be impartial.
Tasked to capture humans and non-humans alike if they were wanted by the police. But every non-human alive knew that most weren’t.
They hated us and we hated them.
Which made me wonder what the fuck Gabriel Mason was doing saving the life of a shifter when it would have been within the law to let him die.
Because once a hunter, always a fucking hunter.
Max stepped up to Yates and the others. He might’ve been a police officer, but the look of disgust was clear to see in their eyes. “I’ve just spoken with the humans who were walking their dogs.” I held back a smirk as Max drew himself up to his considerable height. He had about three inches on the hunters, and the couple behind Yates shuffled uncomfortably. “They were more startled than afraid. Callum came out of nowhere. That’s why one of them screamed. He didn’t go near them or threaten them in any way.”
“We had no way of knowing that.”
“Which is why we always stress that fugitives should be taken alive where possible.” Max kept his voice even, but I picked up on the change in his scent.
Anger, frustration.
Police or not, hunters pissed him off as much as they did the rest of us. The only difference was he had to work hard to hide it, whereas other non-humans didn’t give a shit.
“We used the amount of force we deemed necessary under the circumstances. A feral shifter is a threat to human life. We acted well within the law.” Yates spoke like he was reciting from a book. Which was closer to the truth than I’d like because, unfortunately, everything he’d said was true.
They were allowed to use deadly force if they felt lives were threatened. And technically a feral shifter, or any non-human, could potentially have no control over their actions, therefore putting human lives at risk.
But it wasn’t always like that.
Callum avoiding the dog walkers was proof enough, and yet they’d wasted no time using lethal tactics.
“I bet you didn’t even try to take him alive, did you?” I ignored Max’s warning glare. Gabriel’s sudden reappearance in my life had left me off-kilter, unsettled, and my temper was quicker to flare than usual. “I bet you shot him on sight, no hesitation.”
“Rys, that’s enough.” Max moved in front of me, blocking my view of Yates and the others. “We’ll take it from here.”
That got my attention. “We?”
He gestured to Gabriel. “Mase and I. This is police business now.”
“Mase?” Since when did he call himself Mase? And at Max’s quizzical look I realised I was repeating everything he said, like an idiot. “Fine. But I’ll be calling you later.”
Max rolled his eyes because he knew I’d have a few questions for him. Starting with why the fuck he hadn’t told me that Gabriel Mason was not only in Nottinghamshire but working with the paranormal police division. Turning to Falon, he said, “You can take him with you for now, but we’ll need to talk to him again when he regains consciousness.”
If, I thought, but kept that to myself.
Falon sighed but didn’t have much choice in the matter. “Of course.”
An incident like this would need a thorough investigation. Callum being critically injured didn’t change that. Depending on what they discovered, he might end up being detained indefinitely if deemed a risk to humans. And just like Yates had said, much as I hated to agree with him, that was a fate many shifters considered worse than death.
Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.
After helping Falon get Callum to the waiting car of one of his pack members, I led Talis back to the car park. I didn’t speak to Gabriel—Mase—again. And that was perfectly fucking fine with me.
I had nothing to say to him, and he had nothing I wanted to hear.
But that didn’t mean I got out of talking about him.
Talis waited until we were out of earshot of the others before the questions started.
“So,” he began, glancing at me as we made our way through the trees. “How do you know Gabriel Mason? And who is he?”
Fuck, where to start? And how much to tell him?
Talis was my best friend. Had served as my beta from the moment I took over as alpha of our pack. In those six years, we’d kept no secrets. Couldn’t when trust was everything in my pack. But that didn’t mean I’d shared everything that happened before then.
Especially not when I was so fucking ashamed of what I’d done.
Who I’d trusted.
“Rys?”
With a sigh, I met his gaze and managed a shrug, like it was no big thing. “Someone I ran into when I visited my mum’s family in Cornwall.” I might not want to tell Talis the whole truth, but I would never lie.
“Oh.” That ‘oh’ held a wealth of meaning. My mum died when I was five. I didn’t remember much about her, but talking about her always left me a little raw. Even now.
Talis was quiet for a few minutes before deciding to broach the subject again. “Was he a hunter?”
I felt his gaze on me, but I kept looking straight ahead. Not ready for him to see anything in my eyes that would give me away.
“Because the way Yates talked about him and Tombs, it kinda felt that way.”
“Yes, he was a hunter. I’ve not seen him in a long time. I assumed he still was.”
Talis didn’t say anything more, and we walked the rest of the way back to the car park in silence. It didn’t feel like this was the end of the conversation though.
Talis liked to mull things over in his head, sort out what he knew already and what he wanted to find out. I didn’t want to relive that particular time in my life, but I’d tell him the truth if he asked the right questions.
I prayed to the Goddess he’d let it drop.
By the time we got back to Clumber Estate, it was fully dark and late enough that a lot of my pack had already left the main house for their own homes. Pack nights were held between full moons, a way to keep morale up and check in with everyone and make sure no major problems went unnoticed.
They also provided a great opportunity to share information.
As alpha, I tried to be as transparent as possible with the way I ran my pack. Keeping secrets only built suspicion, not trust. Everyone would need to know that hunters were in the area. One group for definite, but that didn’t mean there weren’t others.
Hunters weren’t supposed to enter pack territories without either permission from the alpha or an official request from the paranormal police department. That went for human/non-human homes too. Most hunters followed the rules. They might try and bend them, but never outright cross a line.
But then there were others who didn’t give a fuck about lines or laws where non-humans were concerned. They thought nothing of using any means necessary to bait a shifter into losing control. The friends they had in high places meant they got away with a warning most of the time.
Those were the ones I needed to warn my pack about. And everyone else who lived in my territory because Clumber Park wasn’t home to just my pack. With almost six square miles of land to play with, keeping it for just us would be the height of selfishness.
Plenty of others needed a place away from the city and town centres where humans had migrated over the years. So we opened up our land and invited other non-humans to find refuge in the forests and around the lake. Plenty of room for us all to find as much privacy as we wanted and yet still find a connection if we needed it.
Having allies with different supernatural abilities was never going to be a bad thing.
As Talis turned off the engine, I pulled out my phone and sent out a group message, calling everyone back to the main house.
Talis sighed as his phone chimed with my text. “It’s been a while since we’ve had hunters on our doorstep.”
“It has.” I ran a hand through my hair, knowing what he was going to say next. Away from the major cities, we tended to fly under the radar. Packs around here were too small to warrant close scrutiny. Had something happened to change that?
“People are going to be scared,” Talis murmured, hands flexing on the steering wheel. “We’ve never had to deal with something like this before.” He paused. “Like Callum.”
And that was the other issue I’d have to bring up tonight. Non-humans going feral or losing control of their abilities wasn’t a common occurrence. Not around here. We had our fair share of crime, like everywhere else, but that was people intentionally committing offences, not losing their grip on reality.
“That’s why we need to keep everyone informed so no rumours start and make things worse.” I also needed to call Max and find out what the fuck was going on because I’d never known his department to call in the hunters before. Not since I’d been alpha anyway.
“Come on,” I said opening my car door. “People will start arriving soon.”
He stopped me as I rounded the front of the car, a hand on my arm and concern in his eyes. “I know Max would never put us in danger, I trust him. But I get the feeling you don’t trust Gabriel Mason.”
I couldn’t stop the harsh, bitter laugh that escaped. “No.” And I never would again.
“Do we need to worry about him as well as Yates and the others?” Talis looked at me expectantly, trust for his alpha shining through, and I wished I had a more definite answer for him.
But the truth was, I didn’t know who Gabriel Mason was now. And if I was honest with myself, I hadn’t known him back then either.
Even ten years later, hurt and betrayal cut deep into a wound that had never fully healed. Couldn’t. Not without closing off a part of me I couldn’t quite bring myself to let go of, even if it left an ache so deep, I felt it in my soul.
Talis watched me, forehead furrowing into concern.
I blew out a breath and looked up to the moon, wondering if she had any guidance for me tonight. “You’re right, I don’t trust him. But Max does,” I added when Talis opened his mouth to speak. “So for now, we’ll let the police do their thing.”
Talis nodded, then said, “We’re not going to do nothing, though, right? About Callum?”
That’s why he was one of my betas. Not just because he was my best friend. “No. You heard what Falon said. Callum was fine one minute, then gone the next. That reeks of magic or some outside element.” Shifters didn’t suddenly lose their minds out of the blue. Yes, some plants could evoke that kind of behaviour if ingested, but we were all taught to avoid them before we could walk. No way would Callum have made a mistake like that. “I’ll call Falon after the meeting. Offer him our help with whatever he decides to do.”
We’d lingered outside for long enough that car headlights shone in the distance, heralding the arrival of our pack and the other non-humans who lived here.
“Let’s go get set up.”
I led the way inside, mentally preparing for the meeting ahead.
My mind had other ideas though, Gabriel Mason once again an unwelcome intruder into my thoughts. He was beautiful, there was no denying that: all jet-black hair and blue eyes, high cheekbones that made him look otherworldly in the right light. But I knew better than to be fooled by how he looked because inside hid a soul full of lies and deceit. Gabriel had been a hunter once, and to me, he always would be, and I’d never think of him in any other way.
Not again.
As Talis held the front door open for me, I squared my shoulders and acted like the fucking alpha I was. I had a pack who depended on me, trusted in me to keep them safe, and I’d give my last breath to protect every last one of them. That was more than enough to keep me content.
The naive boy I’d been ten years ago died the day I discovered that my soulmate was a fucking hunter.
Ghost of a Chance by Pandora Pine
PROLOGUE
Luna
Contrary to popular belief, the streets of heaven were not paved in gold. Luna had been surprised, to say the least, after the sad goodbyes and the ever-encroaching darkness turned black, to wake up in her childhood bedroom instead of at the pearly gates.
Her first thought upon sitting up was that heaven looked a lot like home. When she got out of bed and walked the familiar hall to the grand staircase, she could smell pancakes and bacon. Luna’s favorite breakfast when she’d still been able to sit up and take nourishment.
Her parents, both dead for decades, had been waiting for her in the kitchen. Her father sat in his usual chair at the table drinking a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper while her mother, in a frilly white apron, was bustling around the room, setting out plates for breakfast.
All she’d ever wanted to do since that awful day her mother passed on to her greater reward was hug her tightly. With the opportunity in reach, she had frozen like a doe in the headlights. Once her parents noticed her standing there, it was as if it was 1955 all over again.
Neither Luna’s mother nor her father seemed to realize they were dead. When she’d raced to hug her mother, Alexandria pushed her back with a look that silently asked if Luna had lost her mind.
She understood from that point forward, if she was going to learn anything about this place, it would be up to her to do it by herself. Luna didn’t know how it was possible for her parents to not know they were dead. Her father had died after a long battle with dementia while her mother had followed a decade later after a brief bout with breast cancer.
Perhaps it was a case of the 1950s being the best time in her parents’ lives. That could be the reason why they’d both chosen to come back to this place to live as if they’d never died.
Luna learned she was able to get from place to place just by thinking about it. The trip to Paris she had longed to take while she was still alive was a simple thought away. It wasn’t quite the same, none of the people milling about and staring up at the Eiffel Tower even knew she was there. Just another one of heaven’s harsh lessons.
After some time passed, Luna realized the place she most wanted to be was back home. Not in the home she’d grown up in, but the house she made for her own family.
Going home wasn’t the same either. None of the things that made Luna’s house her own were there anymore, having been long ago auctioned off to the highest bidder. Her family had kept some pieces of her life that had meant the world to her, but everything else had gone to new homes.
Life moved slowly on the other side. She spent time watching friends and family live their lives as if it couldn’t all be taken away in the blink of an eye. She supposed that was what life was really all about. Living for the moment. You only live once, or YOLO, as the kids today said.
The hardest part of heaven was figuring out what she wanted to do with her eternity. Did she want to catch up with old friends? Try again to reunite with her parents? Did she want to spend time among the living? It was all one big question, one for which Luna did not have a ready answer.
Her ultimate decision had been to leave the living alone. She knew it was possible it would cause some concern, possibly even sadness, but she knew that choice was for the best. She was dead and buried, and those who loved her needed the peace of being able to move on without her. There would come a time in the not-too-distant future, when she would be reunited with those people she loved best.
Sitting in a comfortable chair under the gazebo in the backyard of the house she’d made for her family, she felt a light breeze tossing her chestnut curls. Honeysuckle was on the air as colorful butterflies floated past. In a word, this moment was heaven. Looking up, the sky was a brilliant blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds. It was what the Chamber of Commerce would have called a perfect ten.
As Luna sat enjoying the scents of the honeysuckle, dark clouds began to roll in, reminding her of scary thunderstorms from when she was a child. What was odd about this moment was that she hadn’t asked for thunderheads. She’d asked for a perfect day in a perfect place, and it was exactly what she had gotten. Until now.
Curious as to how this could be happening, she stood from her cozy seat under the gazebo and walked out onto the lawn. The storm clouds continued to gather quickly. A roll of thunder rumbled in the distance while lightning jumped back and forth between the rain-heavy clouds.
A gust of wind sent her hat sailing away and her dress billowing. Thunder cracked directly above her head, causing her to yelp in fear. Something was very wrong here. Lifting her skirts with her right hand, she began to run toward the house. Lightning sizzled in the charged air. The bolt struck the ground only feet from her.
Luna continued to run, faster and faster, but the storm was still coming, gaining on her as she drew closer to the house. Steps from the shelter of the back porch, pain sliced through her right leg. This was unlike anything she had ever felt in her life, and that included those last agonizing months when the cancer was eating her from the inside out.
Turning to look back, her leg was gone from below the knee. There was no blood, just the agony of the missing limb. When Luna hit the ground, she looked up into what she would have called the heavens when she’d still been alive. Thunder continued to crack while the lightning sizzled down to strike the ground all around her.
In those moments of absolute terror, she felt another presence. It was one she had never felt before and prayed she would never again. The evil of the presence sunk into her bones. Cold rain slashed against her skin, feeling like a million tiny knife cuts. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”
All Luna heard in return was laughter. An evil sound that rolled on and on, long after the thunder ceased.
Her eyes slipping shut, she let the darkness take her as it had before, only this time she did not welcome it.
Author and artist Jordan Castillo Price is the owner of JCP Books LLC. Her paranormal thrillers are colored by her time in the midwest, from inner city Chicago, to small town Wisconsin, to liberal Madison.
Jordan is best known as the author of the PsyCop series, an unfolding tale of paranormal mystery and suspense starring Victor Bayne, a gay medium who's plagued by ghostly visitations. Also check out her new series, Mnevermind, where memories are made...one client at a time.
With her education in fine arts and practical experience as a graphic designer, Jordan set out to create high quality ebooks with lavish cover art, quality editing and gripping content. The result is JCP Books, offering stories you'll want to read again and again.
As a teenager, Gillian St. Kevern was frustrated that the characters in the stories she read never did what she wanted them to. Now she’s an author, they still don’t. Gillian writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance, YA, vintage mystery, and contemporary comedy. Her stories reflect a variety of LGBTQIA experiences. Gillian is a member of RWNZ and co-founder of New Zealand Rainbow Romance Writers.
Read By Candlelight is a collection of stories loosely inspired by the works of M R James, J S Le Fanu, Anne Radcliffe, and other writers of gothic literature. If you’d like to learn more about Gillian’s writing, visit her website.
Sammi Cee was raised in a family of readers. Summer vacations consisted of a good book while sitting lakeside from as far back as she could remember. After growing up and having her own children, her appreciation of how the written word could transport you on an adventure, bring you to tears, or give you hope, took on a whole new meaning.
These days Sammi is watching her children develop into fine young ladies while doing the things she enjoys most: drinking coffee, eating chocolate, and writing her own stories.
These days Sammi is watching her children develop into fine young ladies while doing the things she enjoys most: drinking coffee, eating chocolate, and writing her own stories.
Annabelle Jacobs lives in the South West of England with three rowdy children, and two cats. An avid reader of fantasy herself for many years, Annabelle now spends her days writing her own stories. They're usually either fantasy or paranormal fiction, because she loves building worlds filled with magical creatures, and creating stories full of action and adventure. Her characters may have a tough time of it—fighting enemies and adversity—but they always find love in the end.
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 Castillo Price
SMASHWORDS / BOOKBUB / B&N
EMAILS: jordan@psycop.com
jcp.heat@gmail.com
Gillian St. Kevern
BLOG / NEWSLETTER / KOBO
SMASHWORDS / NINE STAR / B&N
EMAIL: gillian.stkevern@gmail.com
Sammi Cee
EMAIL: sammiceediverseauthor@gmail.com
Annabelle Jacobs
Mayor May Not by Jordan Castillo Price
Hearts Lost by Gillian St Kevern
Willowhope Manor by Sammi Cee
Claiming Rys by Annabelle Jacobs
Ghost of a Chance by Pandora Pine
