“Let’s get this over with,” Circe muttered with an exaggerated shudder. “I don’t like it here.”
Isis laughed. “What is it, exactly, you hate about this place, sister? Is it the sunshine, the sea of beautiful flowers, or the idea of practicing unsupervised magic with your sisters that bothers you?”
“Knock it off, Isis. You know she hates breaking the rules.” Medea had long ago accepted Circe’s resistance to rule-breaking as a trait tied to her fiercely loyal heart. She ignored Isis’s derisive glare and drew her wand from her sleeve, opening the book to the spell they’d agreed on.
Abruptly, Isis’s head turned sharply to the side and her nostrils flared.
“What is it, sister?” Medea asked. A chill crawled along her neck at the look on her face. Unlike Circe, nothing usually rattled Isis.
“I smell smoke,” she said. “And something else. Something… animal. But it’s strange. Musky. It reminds me of death.”
“Death?” Medea’s voice cracked, and she swallowed her sudden trepidation.
Isis nodded once.
Each of them had their strengths when it came to magic.
Medea was gifted with charms and enchantments. She could levitate almost anything, train insects to sing her a song, and coax a flower to grow at twice its natural speed with a wave of her wand.
Circe was a master of transformation. She could turn a blade of grass into a snail or a fish into a frog with little effort. When it came to potions, she intuitively knew which herbs to combine to produce a tonic imbued with the desired attributes.
But Isis’s talent was truly chilling. She was a master of necromancy who had raised more than one animal from the dead. Isis knew death. When Isis said she smelled death, Medea understood she wasn’t exaggerating.
Medea shook off the sudden chill that rattled her bones. “We won’t linger. Let’s do this and do it quickly.”
“I agree with that plan!” Circe drew her wand from the pocket in her sleeve. The six-inch length of wood was polished smooth and twisted naturally from its base to a slightly upturned tip.
Medea’s wand, cut from a different section of the tanglewood tree, was a crooked seven inches that still held a hint of bark.
Isis sniffed and drew her own wand from her boot. Sleek and dark, it was only slightly longer than Circe’s with an elongated knot in the wood of one side.
Since the day she’d acquired the grimoire, Medea had proved the strongest at interpreting the ancient symbols the spells were written in. To be sure, all three were gifted with the ability to read multiple languages, but the symbols in the grimoire were exceptionally ancient and interpreting them was tricky. It wasn’t a language their parents had taught them. Although any of them could read the spells, truly comprehending the intention behind the words was difficult. The three sisters had experimented with each of them leading the rituals only to determine that without a doubt the outcome was better when Medea read the incantation from the page.
So, as had become their habit, Medea uttered the spell, her voice growing stronger as all three raised their wands and circled the tome. Tiny sparks of light lifted from the book and swirled between them. A growing wind blew from the pages. Power, thick and hot, teased her skin. Not until the last word rolled off her tongue did the book change. The pages folded in on themselves and then disappeared entirely.
Medea lowered her wand. “It’s done. Exactly as expected.”
Isis plucked from the ground the large jewel that had appeared where the book had been. She held it to the light, her fathomless deep-blue eyes wide with wonder. “It’s here, inside this jewel.”
Circe snatched it from her hand. “Let me see.” She turned the jewel in her fingers. “You can turn the pages by rotating the stone. I can read the spells in the right light.”
“The spell is reversible,” Medea stated confidently. “We can turn it back into the book anytime we need to.”
“Which one of us should keep it?” Isis asked.
“Not me,” Circe said quickly. “If Mother gave me one sideways look, I’d hand it over immediately.”
Medea glanced at Isis.
“You are better at concealing things.” Isis shrugged as if the answer was obvious. “I think you should keep it.”
Tugging the stone from Circe’s fingers, Medea slipped it into her pocket. “Done.”
Isis sniffed. “That smell again.”
At the sight of Isis’s grimace, gooseflesh paraded along Medea’s arms even though the temperature was as warm as always. “We did what we came to do. Let’s go.”
She followed her sisters’ hasty retreat into the woods, but stopped short, just inside the tree line. “The sling. We forgot it in the field.”
“That was made from our old baby blankets,” Circe said. “Mother and Father will definitely recognize it if they find it.”
“Wait here. I’ll go.” Medea darted toward the field again and swept the blanket off the ground. As she rose from the bed of marigolds, the hair at the base of her neck tingled as if it was trying to stand on end.
Someone was watching her.
She whirled to face the gate again, stared directly through its golden bars at the empty field beyond. There was nothing there. She blinked.
A massive black dragon appeared out of nowhere, staring at her through the gate with shrewd golden eyes that peered from a face of black scales crowned with a set of twisting horns. The beast snorted, studying her. Smoke blew from the curls of its dark nostrils. Fierce. Beautiful.
Enough time passed she was certain the dragon didn’t intend to come after her. Steadily, Medea turned on her heel and strode for the cover of the forest.
Chapter Two
If Tavyss didn’t know better, he’d believe the woman was staring straight into his soul. Of course that was complete nonsense. At first she couldn’t see him at all. As an immortal dragon shifter, he’d made himself invisible, and few supernatural beings were capable of detecting a dragon cloaked in invisibility. Then again, he’d scented the power coming off her and her sisters even from a distance. Perhaps she was one of the few who could see through his defenses.
Why he’d dropped his invisibility was a bigger mystery. For some reason that bright blue stare made him want to reveal himself. He’d assumed his presence would evoke more of a reaction from her. Only she hadn’t looked terrified. On the contrary, she’d stared directly at him with fierce interest before retreating into the garden.
Why was he concerned with how the woman looked at him anyway? His job was to act as the Guardian at the Gate of the Garden of the Hesperides. The only care Tavyss should have had was why the woman was inside the garden to begin with. Only the nymphs who tended the garden were allowed inside, and she didn’t look like a nymph. For one thing, she had no gossamer wings, and she was quite a bit bigger than most as well. Not to mention that her skin was far different than the pearlescent complexions of the usual garden inhabitants.
She’d looked human. That couldn’t be. He’d never allowed a human through the locked gate. Well, not intentionally. Was it possible someone had slipped inside while he was hunting or sleeping? Not likely. Even if a potential intruder reached the gate, they’d have the goddess’s wards to deal with.
There had to be a reasonable explanation. Perhaps Hera had placed the woman there and was aware of her presence.
Hera. He should alert the goddess to what he’d seen. If there were intruders in her garden, she’d want to know immediately. Only, the goddess’s bitter heart was hard and black as night. There would be no forgiveness for the one who broke her rules and no leniency for he who failed to keep the intruder out. If someone had snuck inside, she’d likely find a way to punish him for it. Worse, if she had placed the woman there, she’d taunt him for only now realizing it.
He snorted and dug his claws into the dirt. He couldn’t have seen what he thought he’d seen. No one but a god could find this place. The gate was sealed with a magical enchantment. No human was powe
rful enough to make it past those defenses, especially not a young woman who looked no older than twenty-five.
He blinked. The woman was gone now, having slipped into the forest with the other two, but he continued to stare in her direction.
Hera would want to know about this.
He did not wish to tell her.
No. There was no reason to suffer Hera’s wrath when he wasn’t even sure what it was he’d seen. Perhaps the three females were nothing more than oversized nymphs, their wings carefully packed away. Wasn’t it more likely that he’d seen a strange, undiscovered type of garden creature than that another supernatural—a witch, elf, human, or shifter like himself—had overcome the many obstacles necessary to break into the garden?
And to think he’d almost brought this to Hera! What a humiliating conversation he’d have suffered had he followed his initial instincts. Clearly he’d seen a nymph, that was all. He shook his head.
Turning, he stretched his wings and looked out over the endless fields of the gods of Olympus. It had been a long time since anyone had challenged him to enter the garden gates, and no one had ever bested him. Only once had a hero and his lover convinced him to help his cause by retrieving a fleece from one of the golden sheep. Even then, the man had never made it inside the garden. The idea was preposterous! Tavyss chuckled, the sound as gritty as embers in his dragon throat.
Although he tried to think of other things, his attention reverted to the spot the woman had vacated. Eventually, with considerable effort, he forced himself to turn away. Enchanting was the only word to describe her. With a grumble, he tried to put her out of his mind. He thought of the sea, but the blue water reminded him of her eyes. Goddess help him, he was practically obsessed.
Clearly the sighting was too much to let go, which meant it was his duty as guardian of the gate to investigate. With a shiver, he shifted into his soma form—two legs, two arms—the same form she’d inhabited when he’d spotted her. Although he possessed a set of wings that, if part of her anatomy, she had not revealed. He took to the air and flew over the gate.
He needed to find the woman and ascertain exactly what she was and what she was doing there. It was his duty. His responsibility. Until he was sure, until he’d spoken to her, he was certain he’d never be free of her hold over him.
Chapter Three
“We haven’t burst into flames or been swallowed by the earth. You can relax, Circe.” Medea waded into the pool at the base of the waterfall, the cool water sending heavenly ripples across her hot, tacky skin. She hadn’t mentioned the dragon to her sisters. After all, the beast was on the other side of the gate. Mentioning it would cause her sisters unnecessary worry.
“Thank the gods,” Circe said. “Let’s not tempt fate again anytime soon.”
Isis dove under and broke the surface at the center of the pool. She smoothed her blue-black hair from her forehead. “I’m with Circe on this one. I don’t want to go back there again. I thought I’d never clear that scent from my nose.”
Medea glided her palms over the surface of the water. “Very well, we won’t use the field again. Only I don’t think we should practice magic at home anymore. We’ve already learned the basic spells in the book. Anything we do now will require both space and privacy.”
Circe rolled her eyes as if she thought Medea was daft. “Obviously we won’t practice at home. Why would we now that the book is manageable? We can use the clearing beside the tanglewood tree.”
The tanglewood tree enhanced their power, so much so that the sisters had used branches from its three distinct sections to create their magic wands. As children, when their parents were teaching them basic spells, the clearing beside the tree had served as the perfect place to practice, significantly enriching their experience. But that same reasoning was why the space wouldn’t work for them now.
“It’s not safe. Mother and Father go there frequently. At least once per day.” Medea recalled the blackberry brambles that flourished nearby and drew her mother overmuch.
“The orchard,” Isis said. “We can practice between the trees.”
“Also forbidden,” Medea reminded her.
“Picking the apples is forbidden. Practicing among the trees is not,” Isis said.
“I doubt our parents would see it that way,” Circe pointed out.
“With any luck, they won’t see it at all,” Medea said.
Circe waded toward the shore. “Very well; it’s a better idea than the field.”
Isis swam toward her, the sun sparkling on her darker skin. “We should go before they wonder where we are.” She stepped, dripping, onto the beach and pulled her dress over her head. Circe did the same.
“Go on ahead.” Medea dipped lower in the water. “I want to soak for a few more minutes. I have an ache in my muscles from the magic.”
“You haven’t overexerted yourself? Do you need healing?” Circe raised her wand.
“No, I’ll be fine. Just a moment in the coolness.”
They waved their goodbyes and followed the path away from the lake toward their cottage home. Medea sighed in relief. She’d wanted time alone since they’d performed the spell. Finally she could allow herself to think about the dragon. The beast was certainly monstrous with smooth obsidian scales that reminded her of waterworn stone. Although its massive teeth were deadly and prominent, she’d connected with its eyes. Warm golden eyes that sparked with curiosity and intelligence. Her reaction to the Guardian at the Gate was confusing to say the least. Yes, she’d feared the dragon at first. But now that she thought back to her encounter, it hadn’t growled or snapped or charged after her. It wasn’t fear that made her heart pound now but curiosity.
Leaning back, she allowed her body to float to the surface, the cool water licking her sides. She stared at the branches that arched over the pond. The sun shone through the bright green leaves, warming her skin. The waterfall’s rhythmic patter lulled her into pure serenity.
In a blink, two eyes the color of warm honey appeared among the leaves above her, a stranger perched in the branches. A man. Watching her.
A scream tore from her throat. Medea’s body caved, sinking into the water with a splash. She kicked violently, swimming to shore as fast as she could. But by the time she’d sprung onto the sandy beach of the pool, pulled on her dress, and reached for her wand in her sleeve pocket, the man was gone.
“Show yourself!” Was she mad or had she actually seen the stranger? Definitely not a nymph, not with his size or his human complexion. What was the spell to reveal what was hidden? She couldn’t remember it. Couldn’t remember anything.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” a deep voice said from the trees.
She searched the branches, but there was nothing there.
“I want to talk.”
“Show yourself,” she demanded again.
“Lower your wand.”
She did as he asked. The man appeared again in the same tree she’d seen him in before, one second gone, the next there. He simply blinked into existence.
“What manner of creature are you?” she asked. She thought he looked like an oversized cat the way he crouched in the branches, his tunic open at the chest.
A strange, tightly coiled tension began low in her abdomen. She’d never seen anything like him. His skin was even darker than Isis’s, and it created a stunning presence against the bright blue sky and green tree. She thought she might like to watch him for the rest of the day, perhaps paint his likeness. Having known no other man but her father, she desperately wanted to study the way his muscles might stretch and bunch when he moved.
“I’m coming down.”
With her body reacting so strangely to the man, all she could muster was a nod. Two dark wings unfolded from his back, not gossamer like the nymphs who were common in the garden but webbed like a bat’s with black scales that reflected gold in the sun. She’d seen that color before. Gilded obsidian. Her mind blanked again as he floated from his perch to the sand in front
of her.
“Oh.” The sound came from deep inside Medea’s throat. Without even thinking about the repercussions, she reached for his wing, longing to touch it, then stopped herself, her hand floating in the air between them. Quickly she retracted it, resting her fingers instead on her stomach.
“Who are you?” she asked. “How is it you came to be in the garden?”
“I came to ask you the same question.”
She took a step back, turning her chin away but keeping her eyes on him. “I live here. It is you who are new to this place.”
He laughed. “I most certainly am not new.” He tipped his head. “Although I don’t usually come here specifically. I grant you that.”
“I’ve never seen you before,” she said defensively. “And I was born in this place and have lived here my entire life.”
“You were born in the garden?” One eyebrow peaked, and she was enchanted by the way the corner of his mouth elevated with it.
She nodded. “Yes. Of course. Outsiders are not allowed. Unless you are a god? A friend of Hera’s?” She took another step away from him. Strangers were unheard of in the garden, and anyone powerful enough to get in was someone to be feared.
“I am not a god.” He paced around her.
He stalked around her like a lithe predator. How distracting he was when he walked, and the sunlight kissed his skin. Her stomach did a funny little flip. She inhaled deeply in response to the feeling and was rewarded with a full breath of his scent: fresh-cut wood, ginger root, and a hint of woodsmoke. Intoxicating! She caught herself leaning toward him before she remembered her good sense.
“Do you always inspect others like this?” She pressed a hand to her quivering stomach. Her words sounded more defensive than she’d intended, but the man flustered her.
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