Maggie and I follow Carson into the kitchen.
He opens the fridge, removes three bottles of expensive beer, and places them on the counter. He pops the caps off. Then hands Maggie a bottle. “Would you like a glass?”
She shakes her head. “This is fine.” Then she proceeds to down half the bottle in one big gulp. “That hit the spot.”
Carson stares at her slack-jawed for several moments before he gives her a round of applause. “I’ve never seen a woman drink that much beer in a single sip.”
“The women you know are obviously amateurs.”
Carson hands me one of the bottles then takes the last one for himself. “Let’s have a seat.”
We sit down at the small kitchen table. There’s an awkward moment of silence before I start the conversation.
I fill Carson in on everything that happened, except for the parts where Maggie and I kiss. From the way he’s eyeing me, I think he can figure that out.
“What we want to know is if you’re willing and able to protect Maggie from the Benandanti Council?” I look deep into Carson’s eyes when I ask the question.
He heaves a deep sigh. “Do I have a choice? Of course, I’m going to protect her. I’ve been protecting her for her entire life.”
“I don’t understand.” Maggie’s brow furrows. “Why have you been protecting me that long?”
“Because I’m your father.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“Your mother and I fell in love in college. I didn’t know she was a witch and she didn’t know I was a witch hunter. Your grandmother filled me in after you were born, and your mother died. I was only twenty-one. I was getting ready to attend the police academy. I was barely able to take care of myself at that point. There was no way I could raise a child. Your grandmother thought it would be best if I didn’t have contact with you. Because she raised you, I agreed to her wishes even though it killed me inside. But I’ve watched you from a distance your entire life.”
As tears stream down Maggie’s cheeks, it takes every ounce of energy I have not to wipe them away. It makes my heart ache to see her in pain.
“I’m glad you told me.” Maggie downs the remainder of her beer in another long gulp. “What now?”
“That’s up to you,” Carson says. “You’re an adult. You can make your own decisions.”
She reaches over and takes my hand. “Does that include me being with Ben?”
Carson bristles. Then he shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “I have to be honest. I have no idea how to answer that question. You’re a witch and he’s a witch hunter. You’re not supposed to be together.”
“Technically, I’m half witch and half witch hunter.”
“She has a point,” I add.
“I can’t be the only one.” Maggie looks into her father’s eyes.
He slumps in his chair. I think I know why he looks so defeated. If we bring Maggie before the Benandanti Council, Carson will have to admit that she’s his daughter. Not only did he break he rules when he was twenty, he’s been breaking them for the last thirty years. That doesn’t look very good for the leader of the council.
“I’m going to have to step down from my position,” Carson says. “It’s better that I do it voluntarily than to be asked to vacate my post.”
“I’m sorry,” Maggie tells him.
“It’s not your fault. It was always my choice to keep the secret. Who knows? If I had been honest from the start, maybe you and I could have had a real relationship.”
“Or you could have been stripped of your rights as a Benandanti witch hunter,” I say. “Once you’re a Benandanti, you’re supposed to be a Benandanti for life. You may have even ended up dead.”
“That’s a possibility,” he admits. “And that’s not something I want for the two of you.”
Maggie rises. “I think I need to have a conversation with my grandmother.”
I stand up. “I’ll take you back to her house.”
“Thank you for watching over me.” Maggie gives Carson a hug. “You were like a guardian angel.”
“I did what I could.”
Maggie is quiet as the two of us exit Carson’s house and head to my car.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I have no idea. The only thing I do know right now is that I need a hot bath. Desperately. I smell like a burnt sweat sock.”
I grin. “You said it. I didn’t.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Like you have room to talk. You’re not smelling like roses yourself, mister.”
I park in front of her grandmother’s house. “Will I get to see you later?”
“I hope so.”
“I need someone to share a pepperoni and mushroom pizza with.”
“You better make it a large.” She pats her stomach. “With extra pepperoni. I’m starving.”
“And extra cheese?” I give her a sly smile.
“Of course.”
I reach over and take her hand in mine. “I want us to be together.”
“I do too.”
Then I lean over and kiss her. She tastes so sweet. I don’t think I can ever get enough of her.
She places a hand on my shoulder and looks deep into my eyes. “I’d better go.”
I nod. “I’ll see you soon.” Then I reach into my pocket, remove an evidence bag, and hand it to her. “Now that the case is wrapping up, you can have this. You’re the heir to the Moreno estate, so it belongs to you.”
“The Ring of Solomon doesn’t actually belong to me, but I’ll take care of it.”
Chapter 17
MAGGIE
ONE WEEK LATER
* * *
I knock on Brenda Nicoletti’s door. There’s no answer. From what I understand, Robin was released on bail. There’s a car parked out front that I believe is hers. I can’t image that Brenda, in her frail condition, is still driving.
Just as I’m about to give up and come back later, the door opens a crack.
“Maggie Moreno? What are you doing here?” It’s Robin’s voice, but the door isn’t opened wide enough for me to see her.
“I have something for your mother.”
As she opens the door the rest of the way, I control my urge to gasp. The woman looks like she’s aged a decade in the past week.
They say 40 is the new 50, but Robin looks like she could be pushing 60. I guess she’s reaping the karma of using the glamour spell for too long.
I remove the Ring of Solomon from my pocket and show it to her. “This belongs to your mother.”
The hint of a smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “She’ll be happy you brought it back.”
As I step inside, Robin closes the door behind me. Then I follow her upstairs.
“My mother is getting weaker,” she tells me as we head down the hallway. “She can’t make it out of bed as often as she used to.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Robin opens one of the bedroom doors and I follow her inside.
Brenda seems to have shrunk even more. There’s little left to her but skin and bones. Her lifeless dark eyes spark just a little when she sees me.
“Maggie Moreno is here, Mom. She brought you something.”
I place the ring on the bed in front of her. The ghost of a smile appears on her pale face.
“Thank you.” Muttering just those two words seems to take all the energy she can muster.
“We’d better let her rest,” Robin says.
“Of course.”
I follow her out of the bedroom and back down the stairs.
The two of us stand in the foyer in an awkward silence for several moment. I’m not sure what to say. She doesn’t seem to have a clue either.
“I’m really sorry about everything that happened,” she says finally.
She seems to be suffering enough from the karma of her actions. And from what I understand, she’s got a heap of legal troubles too. I wonder if she thinks the relationship with Lenny was wor
th it.
“I heard they caught the guys who killed Lenny.” She blinks back tears.
“Sounds like he borrowed money from the wrong people. When Sal died and his assets were frozen, Lenny couldn’t pay the loan back. So, he paid with his life. Ben and I walked in when the mob guys were finishing the job.”
“You got lucky. You’re still alive.”
“I don’t always feel that way.”
Before I realize what’s happening, she embraces me in a hug. “Don’t make the mistakes I made. You can’t escape your karma.”
“Take care of yourself,” I tell her.
As I place napkins and silverware on the dining table, I realize that I have butterflies in my stomach. Am I crazy? I’ve invited both Carson and Ben to have dinner with me and my grandmother.
The two important men in my life readily agreed to the occasion. My grandmother wasn’t as easy to convince. She’s very traditional when it comes to our lineage. She isn’t that keen on inviting two witch hunters into her house.
It didn’t stop her from cooking a meal fit for twenty. No one will ever starve in an Italian American household, that’s for sure.
The aroma of fresh oregano and garlic fills the kitchen. My grandmother picked fresh herbs this morning from her garden. She’s making stuffed shells with meat sauce. My favorite. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.
When the doorbell rings, I’m surprised to see both Carson and Ben standing on the front steps together.
“We didn’t come together,” Ben says. “We just happened to arrive at the same time.” He points to his motorcycle in the driveway. “I rode my Ducati.”
Carson hands me an expensive looking bottle of wine. Ben hands me a bouquet of fresh flowers. I give each of them a kiss on the cheek and step aside so they can enter the house.
“My grandmother is cooking.”
Carson takes a whiff of the air. “Wow, it smells good.”
When Ben’s stomach growls as if on cue, the three of us laugh.
Then my grandmother enters, an apron around her waist. “Why are you all standing in the foyer? Let’s eat.”
As the guys head to the dining room table, I pour us each a generous glass of wine. Then I head into the kitchen to help my grandmother serve the meal.
“Thank for doing this,” I tell her.
“You know I would do anything for you, Maggie. When you’re happy, I’m happy.”
“Even if it means me being with a witch hunter?”
Her eyes narrow. “It’s going to take time for me to get used to the idea. Don’t push it.”
The two of us place the food on the table and take our seats with Ben and Carson.
“Do you want to good news or the bad news?” Carson asks.
“The bad news first, I guess.” I take a big swig of my wine to ready myself.
“The feds have seized all of Sal Moreno’s assets. You’re an heir to an estate that will most likely amount to nothing.”
“On a positive note, it looks like the sale of my house will go through before the next mortgage payment is due,” I reply. “So, I dodged that bullet.”
“Want to hear the good news?” Ben asks.
“Absolutely.”
“Carson and I went to the Benandati Council together. We both testified on your behalf. The council decided that you acted in the best interests of humanity with Wes Dawson, so you are no longer on the witch hunter watch list.”
“Thank you. I appreciate everything you both have done for me. But what about me being the daughter of a witch hunter and dating a witch hunter?”
The two men exchange a glance. Then Carson says, “We’ve decided to take that issue to the Benandanti High Council.”
“In Italy,” Ben adds.
“You know I’m going with you.”
Carson smiles. “We wouldn’t have it any other way.”
About the Author
KAREN M. BRYSON writes romantic mystery and suspense stories. She is a winner of the prestigious RONE Award for Excellence in the Indie and Small Publishing Industry as well as the RWA Lone Star Writing Contest. Karen is also an award-winning/optioned screenwriter. When she's not at her computer creating new stories, Karen enjoys spending time with her husband and their bloodhounds. Karen previously wrote contemporary romance under the pen names SAVANNAH YOUNG, SIERRA AVALON, REN MONTERREY and USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR DAKOTA MADISON.
Read More from Karen M. Bryson
http://www.karenmuellerbryson.com
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Assassin's Choice
By Monique Singleton
If they realise who I am… I’m dead
To the Council, I’m their top assassin. I terminate paranormals that step out of line. I’ll head off the hit list if they ever find out who I really am.
I’m close to finding out who’s responsible for my mother’s death, when the Council sends me on a mission. Kill two clan leaders who threaten to expose the paranormal world.
Simple, Right?
Then I meet them…and everything goes to hell.
Throw in my overheated libido, not one, but two soul-mate claims, a mysterious age-old shaman who throws me slap-bang into the center of an ancient prophecy, and things really heat up.
My next decision will send my life in a new direction… or kill me in the process.
Which will it be? Personal revenge… or save the world?
Chapter 1
So that’s my target.
Nice.
Shame I have to kill him.
But who says I can’t have some fun first?
* * *
I watched the ash-blonde man on the tennis court from behind my designer sunglasses. His white T-shirt clung to his sculptured body like a second skin. The wet patches from the sweat showed his coffee coloured skin under the thin almost translucent material. His shorts strained at the thighs with the swelling of the thick muscles as he ran forward, his racket hitting the ball over the net at the last possible moment. He stood up to his full height and wiped his face with the underside of his shirt, offering everyone who was watching—and there were a lot—a great view of his six-pack. I got a fantastic look at his tight buttocks under the clay stained shorts as he turned to walk back to the line. Very nice. Back in place, he bent his knees and leant forward, his arms tense as he waited for the next volley.
I could watch him all day.
This was Metisse. A playboy millionaire who spent his fun time excelling in all kinds of sports. His family was old money, with origins going back as far as the eighteenth century. At six feet, two hundred pounds he was a big man, athletic and easy to smile. The coffee-brown of his skin colour spoke of mixed racial heritage. His hair—dyed almost white—formed a stark contrast to the darkness of his skin and his eyes. All in all, he was a tasty mix of everything that I like.
He was also a Sabretooth shapeshifter; the leader of the local clan. And according to our research, he was one of the two main players in the war to come. That made him my business.
The game continued for another half hour. I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of my surveillance. My body was getting almost as hot as he looked, and it had nothing to do with the nice sunny weather. There was a collective sigh of admiration on the terrace of the tennis club when he pulled the soaked shirt up over his head. The material had hinted at a fantastic physique and no one was disappointed. There were giggles from the only two guys at the terrace tables, all the other seats were taken by women. This guy was a magnet.
A tall blonde Playboy-bunny of about twenty-one skittled over the tennis court towards the blonde hunk and threw her arms around his broad shoulders. His right arm snaked around her small waist as he kissed her. Disappointed women all around me drank the remnants of their wine and stood up, ready to get back to their regular and boring lives with their less-than-perfect but very rich husbands. All would dream well tonight. I
stayed where I was. I wasn’t here for a dream.
The blonde bimbo giggled all the way up to the terrace. Metisse pulled back a chair for her and glanced my way. Our eyes locked. He cocked his head slightly in acknowledgement of a connection that we both felt. My lips curled up in a smile as I pushed the sunglasses back over my now yellow-hued eyes.
Ten minutes later I signalled the waiter for the bill, gave him my platinum card and stood up to put on my light, summer coat. The waiter returned my card and with one last smile at Metisse, I turned and left the tennis club. He would see me again, only I would determine when.
The game has started.
Chapter 2
It probably wouldn’t be a stretch to say that I like to live dangerously.
Life gets to be quite boring when you’re immortal. Been there, done that, becomes; been there, and there, and there. You get my drift. Even the most exciting adventures start to go stale after you’ve done them four times.
Eternity seems like such a good idea. It is on the surface, but once you get down to the nitty-gritty; it’s just plain boring. And boredom breeds mischievousness. At least it does with me. And when I get naughty, sparks start to fly.
I’ve never been a good girl. How does the saying go? “Good girls go to heaven; bad girls go where ever they want.” Well, heaven is out of the question for me, so I might as well have a lot of fun here.
* * *
My kind of fun, along with my job, has now brought me here; to the “paranormal-central” in the US. This has got to be the one place in the States, probably even in the whole world, where you can find just about every kind of paranormal creature not known to man. If, that is, you know where to look, and what to look for.
Me, I know exactly what I’m looking for. And this was starting to be a lot more pleasurable than I’d anticipated. I’ve had much worse missions. Definitely ones that were not as easy on the eyes. This was at least an interesting assignment, and it offered me ample opportunity to have some fun on the way. I guess there was a deadline, but I’m not very good with those anyway. I do things my way. And fuck them if they didn’t like that.
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