Cordelia made a sound of sympathy. ‘I know it’s not going to be easy, but I’m sure you can do it. You’ve made her use her powers before. I’m sure you can do it again.’
‘Do you think it’s safe for me to be around her?’ He held his breath, waiting for her response.
‘Yes. In fact, I think it might be best if you were close by, just in case her powers flare again. You’d be there to catch her, so to speak.’
He breathed out a sigh of relief. ‘Good. Great.’
‘I know it must be frustrating to your wolf that she doesn’t understand why she’s so drawn to you. But be patient. When she remembers what’s been blocked from her, I have a feeling everything will work out.’
Her words gave him hope. ‘Thanks, Cordy. I really appreciate your help.’
‘You’re the Alpha. It’s in your blood to find the best way forward for your pack. Trust in that.’
His heart warmed at her words. ‘I will.’ He stood, held his hands out to her. ‘You’re a good Pack Witch, Cordy, but an even better friend. I won’t forget this.’
‘Friends don’t keep debts.’
‘No, but we do remember.’
He turned to Marcus, who gripped his arm in a shake that wasn’t just a goodbye, it was a show of solidarity. ‘You will have your revenge. I will help you find who did this to you after you have secured your witch and ensured your pack’s safety.’
Jason’s smile turned into a ruthless grin as he gripped Marcus’s arm tightly and said the ancient words.
‘The Dark Moon will drown with the blood of those who have wronged me and mine. The McVales will not be trifled with.’
Chapter 8
Skye woke from the dream with a sob, hot tears running down her cheeks.
She sat up abruptly, wiping the tears and taking in big gulping breaths. ‘What the hell was that?’
She’d been dreaming. But of what?
She couldn’t remember.
All that was left was the imprint of the moon shining in the sky and something dark and angry curling inside, snapping to get out.
Her power.
She could feel it even now, the tingling under her skin, the heat in her fingertips, the ache in her chest as her heart beat too hard. Taking in a shuddering breath, she firmed her lips, pressing her fingers into her eyes, willing the tears away, trying to calm down. ‘Stupid to be so upset over a dream. It doesn’t mean anything.’ Her voice echoed in the empty room and the tingling heat in her fingers would not dissipate. In fact, it was getting worse, like at the snow when she’d sparked blue flame out of her fingers.
No. This couldn’t be happening. What the hell had she dreamed to make her lose control like this? Had she been angry in the dream? She’d been fuming the night before after visiting River and having dinner with Morrigan—her grandmother had denied having Skye followed.
In fact, she’d paled and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, ‘It couldn’t be them. It couldn’t be.’
But when Skye had tried to question her further, she’d clammed up and sent Skye home as if she was a naughty child.
She clenched her fists. She’d come home mad and because Bron was out and Shelley was on night shift, she’d gone to bed mad.
It was no wonder she was having stupid dreams that made her feel like she was losing control of her power.
The tingle in her fingers intensified. Why wasn’t the spell working to stop it? She should have pain screaming through her head, blocking the power. But it wasn’t. Which meant she had to stop it herself.
Right. If this was another lapse of her power caused by temper, she had to calm down. She had to focus. Concentrate on something else.
She swiped the last of the tears from her eyes and closed them. The room smelled of the candles Bron had insisted on burning over the last few weeks—rose and lavender mostly, with a hint of lemongrass. She breathed it in. Regardless of what Bron said it did, it smelled nice. She let the lovely scent linger in her nostrils, filling her with Bron’s loving joy. The burn in her fingers began to fade. There, that was better.
She opened her eyes cautiously.
The room slowly came into focus in the dim light—the oak chest of drawers by the window; the E. Phillips Fox print on the wall of the girl sitting with her mother, learning her lessons; the dark burgundy curtains lit up like a sunset blaze as the light shone through them; her clothes dumped over the sea chest at the end of her bed and on the armchair in the corner; the books on her bedside table pushed to the side to accommodate the large mug of hot chocolate she’d made herself last night. She’d fallen asleep before drinking it and it sat there now, cold and unappealing with a skin tightening the surface.
Shelley would tsk at the waste.
She smiled.
The tingle left her fingers completely.
There. Another deep breath, a little less shuddering than the last. That was better. She was in control again. No need to panic.
The doorbell rang.
She glanced at the clock. It was only seven am. Who would be knocking at the door at this hour? Could Shelley have forgotten her keys? Not likely. It was more likely Bron had stayed out last night and was the one who’d forgotten her keys.
She shoved back the covers and slung her legs over the side of the bed. God! Why did she feel so heavy?
Groaning, she heaved herself out of bed, slammed into the doorjamb and stumbled up the hallway, swearing and rubbing her shoulder. Just before she got there, she looked down at what she was wearing—Betty Boop flannelette pyjamas. Could be worse.
She opened the door. Nobody was there.
Then she noticed it: a massive bunch of flowers.
Grinning, she bent to pick them up, breathing in the exotic rich scent of the roses—a scent that reminded her of happier times. Yellow for happiness, red for love and passion, her grandpa would say as he gave Morrigan roses he’d grown for her in their garden. Skye smiled at the memory.
But who were these flowers for? There didn’t seem to be any note. Maybe Adam had sent them for Bron. Bron was still playing the friend card, but could it be more?
With a smile curling her lips as she thought of the shit-stirring ahead, she pushed the door closed and walked towards the kitchen. She’d need to put the roses in some water before they began to wilt.
As she placed them on the kitchen table and unwrapped them, a card fell out, her name scrawled on the front. Surprised, she flipped open the envelope and pulled out the thick white card inside.
I hope you like roses. They reminded me of you—fiery and beautiful. Are you swayed yet? I’ll be in touch.
Jason
xx
The words made her heart beat hard and fast in her chest. Heat raced through her.
Damn it! She couldn’t fall for Jason. The flowers were nice—her favourites, actually—but she had to be strong.
The phone rang. She jumped, then chastising herself for being so tense, she picked it up.
‘Hello?’
‘Skye.’ His voice, low and warm, shivered through her. ‘Skye? Are you there?’
Her muscles clenched and she swore she could feel the long, hard, thick, push of him inside her body, the strength of his back and chest under her fingers, the silk of his hair against her skin as he sucked and licked at her nipple.
She dropped the phone. It clattered to the floor, scooting under a chair. She crouched down to get it, banging her knees on the floorboards. ‘Shoot.’ The sharp pain brought tears to her eyes, thankfully stopping the spasms. But the desire was still there as she heard his voice echoing through the phone, asking if she was okay.
‘Jason,’ she breathed. ‘Sorry. I dropped the phone.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine. Can I help you with something? Is Tom not coming into childcare today?’
‘He’ll be there. I was just calling to see if you got my flowers. Did they make you smile?’
Did they make her smile? They made her more than smi
le, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. ‘They’re lovely. Thank you. Was that all?’
She waited, prepared for him to ask her out again, firming herself against the appeal of his melt-in-her-mouth voice so she could once again say no.
‘No. That’s all. I just wanted to see if you received the flowers and to hope you have a lovely day.’
‘Oh … well …’ That wasn’t what she was expecting. She almost felt disappointed. ‘You have a nice day too.’
‘Oh, I will. I’ll see you later.’
He hung up.
The scent of the roses tantalised her senses as she swore at the dead phone. ‘Damn you!’
***
Jason didn’t drop Tom off that morning as she expected. Instead, when Adam brought Tom in, he handed her a letter.
‘Jason asked me to give you this.’
‘What is it?’ she asked, eyeing it warily.
‘I don’t know. But from the sexual tension thickening the air yesterday,’ he said, lips widening, eyes glinting, ‘I think it might be a dirty—’
‘That’s fine. I’ll take it.’ She snatched it out of his hands before he could finish, wishing she could turn and march away. But it was only Tom’s second day, so she stuffed the letter into her jeans pocket, bid Adam a stiff goodbye and made certain the little boy was settled in first before sidling into the quiet of her office.
The letter burned a hole in her pocket and she headed to her desk, intending on throwing it in the bin because she was never going to read it. But when she got there, she pulled the letter out and put it in the top drawer instead.
When a bunch of red tiger lilies arrived at lunch with a note that said Can you deny what I said in my letter? she marched into her office, almost pulling the drawer out completely in her haste, and tore open the envelope.
He wrote about the day they’d met, the wine they’d shared, the passion that had burned between them. He reminded her of all the things he’d whispered in her ear, what he still wanted to do to her; the things he had done to and with her. But that wasn’t all. He said he’d never felt such a connection with someone before and dared her to deny she felt the same.
His words made her tremble.
She crumpled the letter up and threw it away, but before the day ended, she took it out of the bin, smoothed out the creases and put it in her handbag. She would never receive another letter like that in her life, she was certain. It was something to read when she was old and lonely, to remind her that she’d once made a handsome man lose control.
Chocolates were delivered that night.
She refused to eat them, giving them to a delighted Shelley and Bron, saying they were a gift from a family that was moving away. She’d gone to bed in a mood and when she’d finally fallen asleep, she’d dreamed about the man who was bringing her to the brink of insanity with his gifts of flowers and chocolates and the erotic letter.
As usual, dreams of him were followed by dreams of using her magic, and she woke up in a cold sweat, swearing at him and the universe for doing this to her.
There were more roses on the doorstep when she left for work the next day. She snatched the note off them before a curious Shelley could see it and, walking back inside, handed them to Bron, saying, ‘These must be for you,’ before turning and marching back out again.
Adam brought another letter that day, a smirk on his face as he handed it over. She snatched it from him and tucked it away, planning to never read it.
Of course she did. She had to stay in her office for half an hour while the blush and trembling faded.
More flowers arrived—at lunch, waiting for her on the doorstep at home that night and again the next morning. He sent chocolates at lunch—they came with a note thanking her and the staff for making Tom feel so at home, but she knew he’d sent them so she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about him. She’d grumbled at Adam when he arrived to pick Tom up that night. ‘You can tell your brother he can stop the charm offensive,’ she told him. ‘It isn’t working.’
Adam had only smiled in that annoyingly knowing way he had and said, ‘I think it’s working fine.’
She growled at him, which only made him laugh.
When the last child had been picked up, she told the remaining staff to go and she’d take care of the end-of-day clean-up. Shelley was on night shift again and Bron always saw clients late on a Thursday. Skye really didn’t feel like going home and sitting in an empty house to stew. Packing everything away at the end of the day and doing some paperwork she’d been putting off seemed just the thing to while away a few hours and keep her mind busy.
Her growling stomach eventually forced her to lock up and head home at nine.
It was drizzling as she walked across the car park, but it wasn’t the rain or the cold night air that caused the icy fingers to chase down her spine just like they had up at the snow. Someone was watching her.
She spun around, but saw nobody. Yet the sensation of being watched didn’t go away.
Goddamn it! If Morrigan was having her followed again, she would really lose it. This was the last thing she needed right now. What was wrong with her grandmother?
Digging out her mobile phone, she dialled Morrigan’s number, swearing when it went straight to voicemail.
‘Gran, this is Skye. I don’t care what your reason is for still having me followed, I want you to call off your watchdogs. Have the decency to ask me about whatever has you worried enough to lie to me and employ someone to spy. I’m an adult, not a child. I can deal with it. What I can’t deal with is having my privacy impinged on.’
She jabbed the end button, threw her mobile on the front seat of her car, drove home and then went for a long run despite the late hour, her rumbling stomach and the drizzling rain.
When she finally got home, wet and tired, she had a long bath, gobbled down the leftover lasagne in the fridge, ignored the flowers on the bench that Bron had put there with a note—These are for you. Adam says they’re from his brother—and went to bed.
Sleep was a long time in coming, but when she did finally nod off, Jason didn’t invade her dreams again. Images took his place—shadowy figures watching her from the dark; lightning-bolt flashes brightening the night with blue light; men dressed all in black converging on a crashed car; men changing into huge wolves, baying at the moon; a wolf with a silver and gold pelt standing over her while she lay asleep in bed; a large, grey wolf-like dog lunging at her, lips pulled back in a snarl as it attacked.
She awoke in a cold sweat and wrapped her hands around her chest, thankful her fingers weren’t tingling. The dream might have been awful, but at least she hadn’t dreamed about using her magic.
When she could breathe again without gasping, she lay back in bed and closed her eyes. Behind her lids, images from the dream flashed, stopping on one of a wolf staring at her in a dark room, its blue eyes glowing in the dark.
She sat up, fingers clenched, heart pounding once more. There was no way she was going to be able to go to sleep any time soon. She glanced at the clock. Four am. She had to be up in half an hour anyway—she was on the early shift and had to be at work by five-thirty.
Dragging herself out of bed, she tiptoed to the bathroom to have a shower. She tried to stand under the spray to let the heat drive away the chill, but for some reason she couldn’t stand still.
Giving it up as hopeless, she turned off the water, dried herself quickly and headed back to her bedroom to get dressed.
After eating some cereal, cleaning her teeth and braiding her hair, she glanced at the clock. Five. Still too early to get to work but she didn’t care. She couldn’t stay here with nothing more to do.
She grabbed her jacket, slung a scarf around her neck, stuffed her purse into her handbag and headed to the front door.
Flowers were waiting for her on the doorstep, the sweet scent of lilies and roses rising up to greet her. What the frickety-fudge? How was Jason having them delivered so early?
She grabbed them,
hesitating. She couldn’t bring more flowers into the house. This just might be the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back in regards to Bron’s ability not to pry. These were going in the bin.
She marched down the front steps and headed across the grass to the bin, frost crunching under her boots.
An icy crawl ran down her spine. She swung around, peering into the shadows. The streetlights were so few as to be almost useless and the sky was cloud-covered so there wasn’t even any moonlight to help see. She hit the opener for her car. The car’s internal lights illuminated the area near the trees.
Nobody was there.
Maybe she was imagining it. She turned back to the bins.
A twig snapped behind her.
Heart in her mouth, she spun around. Still, she could see no one. But there was definitely someone there.
Moving away from the bins and towards her car, she said, ‘I know you’re there.’ Her voice was loud and echoing in the early-morning quiet. ‘You can tell my grandmother I’m going to have words with her about this later. I didn’t give her my roster so she could use it to have me followed.’
No answer. Not that she expected one. Whoever her grandmother had employed had been told to stay out of sight.
Well, obviously she needed to do more than leave a message on Morrigan’s phone. A face-to-face confrontation would be required, and this time she wouldn’t allow Morrigan to fob her off.
When she arrived at work, she realised she hadn’t thrown the flowers out like she’d intended. Now over her fit of pique, she couldn’t bring herself to throw away something so beautiful—it wasn’t the flowers’ fault they’d been sent to her by a man who annoyed her beyond reason. Taking them inside, she dumped them in a cut-off milk container and placed them in the staff room—her office was already looking too much like a florist shop.
She threw herself into the morning set-up and everything was done by the time her staff arrived twenty minutes later. Then at six, the early-morning drop-offs began and she became too busy to think about Jason or the disturbing dreams that still plagued her sleep.
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