by Sela Carsen
Magic's Fate
Sela Carsen
Contents
Magic's Fate
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
Untitled
Acknowledgments and Dedications
About the Author
Other books available:
Magic's Fate
Sela Carsen
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Destiny weaves two people together. Sometimes it just ties them in knots.
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Fulfill three quests, return the missing shards of an evil sword, or people die. Nothing a wounded Russian sorcerer and an artist with a talent for roping can’t handle.
Rodion Czernovitch is in Nocturne Falls recovering from a serious injury and working hard not to fall for his sister’s best friend. When evil comes knocking on his door and she accidentally gets in the way, it’s time to quit brooding and start preparing for battle.
Carina Valdis just wanted a cup of coffee. But when she ran into her bestie’s brother – her big crush – and subsequently into an evil wizard’s curse, it’s going to take all her skill and patience to teach the overbearing warrior that love and wit (and a couple of rope tricks) can conquer all. Even the threat of death.
Dear Reader,
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Nocturne Falls has become a magical place for so many people, myself included. Over and over I’ve heard from you that it’s a town you’d love to visit and even live in! I can tell you that writing the books is just as much fun for me.
With your enthusiasm for the series in mind – and your many requests for more books – the Nocturne Falls Universe was born. It’s a project near and dear to my heart, and one I am very excited about.
I hope these new, guest-authored books will entertain and delight you. And best of all, I hope they allow you to discover some great new authors! (And if you like this book, be sure to check out the rest of the Nocturne Falls Universe offerings.)
For more information about the Nocturne Falls Universe, visit http://kristenpainter.com/sugar-skull-books/
In the meantime, happy reading!
* * *
Kristen Painter
Magic's Fate:
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A Nocturne Falls Universe Story
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Copyright © 2017 by Sela Carsen
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author.
This book is a work of fiction and was made possible by a special agreement with Sugar Skull Books, but hasn’t been reviewed or edited by Kristen Painter. All characters, events, scenes, plots and associated elements appearing in the original Nocturne Falls series remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Kristen Painter, Sugar Skull Books and their affiliates or licensors.
Any similarity to real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author or Sugar Skull Books.
Published in the United States of America.
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NEWSLETTER
Chapter One
Rodion Czernovitch glared at his physical therapist. It wasn't Steve's fault that Rodion could barely make a fist with his right hand. No, the blame for that went to an enemy he'd left dead on the field of battle.
Still, the man in front of him was currently causing him a lot more pain than he'd ever admit, so he glared. And sweated. And squeezed that stupid ball until he imagined its stuffing spewing out all over the room.
When he looked down at it, however, his fingers were making a claw over the rubbery squeeze ball, but barely denting its surface.
He let go with a curse.
Steve, a mild-mannered, bald man with distinctly elfin features when he wasn't wearing his glamour, narrowed his eyes at Rodion, and said, "I think we're done for today."
Rodion tried to hide a sigh of relief. "Are you sure? Is our time over already?"
"No, it's not. I know Dr. Martinez sent you to me, but if you're not going to do the exercises on days you're not here, then I'm not sure why you keep showing up and wasting my time."
Rodion flushed with anger. He'd done the exercises diligently. "They don't help. Nothing helps. Shouldn't there be some improvement by now?"
"There is some improvement. When you got here, you could barely lift your arm, much less bend your fingers. Now you can at least keep the ball from falling out of your hand. And how are the muscle spasms?"
"Better," he admitted after a moment. "But it’s still not enough."
"You're lucky you still have the arm at all. I'd say this is pretty good work."
"It's been almost four months since your original injury. I get that you want to go back to work, but you have to take the progress as it comes."
But what if it doesn't come? He didn't say it out loud, just nodded to Steve and promised to do more of the exercises on his own.
There was something wrong. He could feel it. He'd listened and asked questions and watched the doctor's faces during all his exams. He should be better by now and everyone knew it.
Late at night, he could feel the wound still inside him, deep down in the bone and marrow, where it refused to heal. Something wasn't right.
He wandered through the quiet streets of the quaint little tourist town where he now resided. Nice as it was, this wasn't his home. Home was back in Volshev, Texas, where his family – his hovering, smothering mother and six of his seven sisters – lived. Which is exactly why he was here in Nocturne Falls, Georgia, instead. He'd had to get away before he said or did something to hurt them when he knew they were only trying to help.
This was his compromise. The seventh sister, Daria, soon to be married to country music singer Trick Scanlon, lived and worked here. It comforted his mother that at least one member of his family would be able to take care of him.
Within two days of his arrival, Rodion and Daria had worked out an agreement where they had dinner once a week to check in, they were free to call on each other at any time, day or night, but they let each other live their own lives.
It was a perfect arrangement. Rodion had support when he needed help. His mother was mollified. And Daria, who had left Volshev years ago to get away from a stalker, had missed having family around. Rodion was enough of a connection that she was content, and he was happy to be there for her. But he'd had too much of family, and narrowing it down to Daria, who had never been a hoverer, was just enough of a link to keep the rest of them off his back while he recovered.
For now, he simply strolled down the streets of town, enjoying the peace and quiet. Later in the day, there would be people all over, coming to see the place where it was "Halloween – 365 Days a Year!" just like the welcome sign announced.
Rodion had always been an early riser. He was Steve's first patient of the day, which gave him the rest of the day to do... nothing. Back in Volshev, he would be getting ready for work. A quick workout and shower, breakfast, then putting on the uniform of the Border Crossing Patrol.
Keeping the minions of Koschei the Deathless on the Rus side of the fae/human bord
er was full-time, dangerous work. It wasn't only the powerful, crazed fae lord who wanted to cross over and wreak death and destruction on the mortal world. There were always criminals of the more mundane kind of fae who tried to cross over with the refugees fleeing Koschei's reign. A pipeline funneling drugs tailored for the paranormal community had opened up in Volshev, and the BCP hadn't found the source yet.
Or at least they hadn't when Rodion had been injured and put on leave until he recovered.
If he recovered.
He shook off the negative thought and opened the door to the Hallowed Bean Coffee Shop. A few regulars nodded at him, and he nodded back, content with the continuation of their unspoken "I acknowledge your existence, but have no need to verbally interact with you" contract.
There was Pandora Williams with her fiancé, Cole Van Zant. Rodion had gone to their housewarming party soon after he arrived in Nocturne Falls, and Cole had proposed that night to Pandora in front of half the town. The man had courage.
At the next table, sat the massive dragon shifter and former MMA fighter, Ivan Tsvetkov, with his red-haired girlfriend, Monalisa Devlin. Ivan caught his eye and gave him a slight nod, which he returned. The giant Russian hadn’t come through the border at Volshev, but he had stopped by the town and visited his many fans there a couple of times.
Rodion had talked with the man – not at the coffee shop – a few times since coming to town. It was always nice to use his native language, although Ivan was working to perfect his English. They weren’t what he’d call buddies, but he genuinely liked the big bald guy.
The sheriff, a werewolf named Hank Merrow, was standing in line to order with his arm around his wife. As they stood, they chatted with one of the deputies, a Hispanic man who moved like a big cat.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of bright blonde hair with tendrils of rainbow color peeking through the curls. Carina Valdis, one of Daria's best friends.
He got in line and watched the pretty blonde woman discreetly. With her tablet propped up in front of her, she blew full, pursed lips over her cup of coffee, disturbing the rising steam as she read the screen. Pretty seemed a pale word to describe her. Talented, animated, intelligent, friendly – all applicable, but none of them were enough. Sexy worked, though, with that beautiful mouth, jade green eyes, and killer figure.
Also, off limits.
Daria would kill him if he got involved with her friend and they ended up not working out. And after she'd killed him, she'd hand his corpse over to the rest of his sisters and there wouldn't be enough left of him to bury in anything bigger than a teacup.
And if that wasn’t enough, he had enough respect for the sexy artist to know that she deserved a man who was whole. So he was going to stay far away from Carina Valdis, no matter how much she appealed to him.
Large De-cappuccino – his usual plain cappuccino, served without a head – in hand, he sat down at the only empty table left, which was next to hers. She brightened when she saw him, and waved, but followed the shop's unspoken rule. Rodion nodded back and opened the copy of the Tombstone that had been left by the previous occupant of the table.
The paper straightened out before him, he absently reached for his coffee cup with his right hand.
At least, he tried to. He'd regained most of his large motor function after the injury, but he must have worked his muscles a little too hard this morning and his arm spasmed hard. All he managed to do was knock the cup onto its side, spilling the contents all over the paper and the table.
Fury and humiliation swept through him in waves of hot and cold.
The injury hadn't only taken the use of his arm, it had damaged his ability to control his magic. His father was a sorcerer – a charodey – like him, and his mother and all his sisters were rusalki – Russian water fae like mermaids, although they really hated being called mermaids. A few months ago, he could have controlled the spill with a thought, but now coffee dripped disconsolately off the edge of the table, making a creamy brown puddle on the tile floor.
Rodion wanted to stand up and scream. He wanted to up-end the table and send it crashing against the wall. But he wouldn't, couldn't lose his grip on himself like that. Before the accident, justified violence was part of his job. Now, however, he frequently felt like all his control was slipping away through his crabbed fingers.
A warm touch on his arm shocked him out of his rising temper.
"Rodion? It's all right."
He looked up into Carina's eyes, and pulled himself together. He nodded curtly and jerked his arm away. He didn't deserve the comfort of her hand if he couldn't keep hold of his own emotions.
She blinked, then any concern he might have read in her eyes was gone, hidden under the fringe of her hair and behind a bright smile. Carina grabbed a roll of paper towels, and started wiping up the liquid, talking as if he hadn’t just been a huge jerk.
"How was therapy this morning?"
He grunted, ignoring the other people in the shop, and tried to help. He pulled the heavy trashcan closer, then balled up the wet newspaper and tossed it in.
"Looks like you're making progress."
Rodion glared at her. It was out of character for her to make a joke at anyone's expense.
"I mean that you're doing a much better job moving your arm. When you got here, you couldn't have lifted it at all. This is progress." The honesty in her tone took away any lingering sting.
"Still can't move my fingers," he muttered.
Carina finished wiping up the last of the coffee, then handed him a clean paper towel. "For your shirt. And I'm sure you'll get there. You don't seem like the type to give up."
With another smile she excused herself to wash up, leaving quiet in her wake.
He was done here. There was only so much humiliation he was willing to take in one morning. He made another drink order to go and was waiting by the door when Carina caught up with him, a giant, colorful woven tote bag slung over her shoulder.
"Walking home?" she asked, fishing around in the bag for a pair of purple sunglasses. Then she wallowed around in it again for a tiny tube of something clear she smeared on those full lips. Then she practically dove in head-first to retrieve a flowered scarf thing she tied around her hair.
"What is that? A bottomless handbag?" he snapped, knowing his temper wasn't warranted, but he couldn't help himself. If she went for something else in there, he wasn't sure she'd ever come back out.
"You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” She laughed, and he swore the sun shone a little brighter. “I just carry a lot of stuff. Wallet, makeup, sketchbooks, pencils, sunglasses, yarn, my loom, pocketknife, measuring tape, keys, bomb pin, glitter..."
"Glitter? Loom?" He paused a moment. "Bomb pin?"
She laughed again, a low note that hit his bones like a tuning fork. "A friend of mine joined the Air Force and when she came back from one of her early deployments, she gave me a bomb release pin. I keep it on my key chain. The glitter is because I helped teach an elementary art class last week, and I just haven't cleaned out my bag. And it’s only a little hand-loom."
She pulled a smaller bag out of the big one, and showed him a loom about the size of his two fairly large hands put together, with a half-woven pattern on it.
“What’s it for?”
She had begun with a blue that was nearly white, weaving ever brightening shades in gradient waves across the tightly wrapped threads. The progression of colors was simple and elegant until it reached a sudden band of dark midnight, giving the whole piece a much more somber feel to it. He wondered how it would turn out.
“I don’t know yet. I’m a norn – a fortune teller, of sorts. We were soothsayers, back in the day, but there’s not much call for soothsaying anymore. No one takes it seriously, which is kind of a relief. At least no one comes to us before great battles and asks us to sacrifice bunnies so we can read their entrails or anything. Ew.” She screwed up her face before she chattered on, and something about the familiar Texas
drawl – Daria told him that Carina had come up from around Odessa – of her patter was soothing. “I see things in what I weave for people sometimes. Not always. Bits of their lives make it into the weave that way, so each piece is completely unique. Anyway, I carry it around with me so I have it when inspiration hits.” She grinned. “Along with everything else I haul around with me.”
Rodion shook his head. Unwillingly charmed, he stared down at his left hand, which was carrying a drink holder with two cups.
"I got you a refill." He shoved the carrier at her. "It's what you always order."
Carina pulled her sunglasses down just enough that he could lose himself in that stunning green, then she fluttered her eyelashes. Honest to god fluttered them. A wash of pink flowed over her cheeks before she looked away.
"Thank you." Her voice, which had been clear and steady, dropped to an intimate whisper.
He had to move closer to hear her. Had to bend his head down to hers and breathe her in. "You're welcome."
Chapter Two
Rodion Czernovitch was sucking up all the oxygen in town. He had to be, because the air suddenly seemed mile-high thin down here below the Mason-Dixon line.
The man was gorgeous and hot and probably really nice under that growl that kept most people at arm's length. But he was also her best friend's brother, which meant that she could only ever crush on him at a distance.
A distance that was a lot shorter right now than it had ever been before.
They lived in the same apartment building, which was really more of an old house that had been divided up into apartments. "Charming, cozy, and quaint" were the words Pandora Williams, the realtor, had used to describe the units when Carina had first moved to town. More like "crumbling, tiny, and the noisy hot water heater only works half the time."