The two families surrounded the happy couple, holding hands, and chanting something in the old language that she couldn’t understand but mimed along. Her hand was wrapped in Malee’s, who was miming along with her, and Darius’ larger one. It might have been her imagination, but his eyes did seem extra shiny out in the sunlight. Vivian’s Sila family were all women, and they were equally as stern as Vivian.
Finally, the family part was over, and she retook her seat beside Bast. He handed her back a sleeping baby. Although they were a few months older, and significantly bigger, they still seemed so fragile to her.
“You are now forever bound to each other, by your heart’s true desire. Together, you shall be one in blood and love. May you never be parted.” The happy couple all but ran down the aisle, created in the solar of the family home, toward the party and the happy greetings of friends and family.
The death toll of the Fae-Djinn War had been considerable on both sides. A month of mourning commenced soon after the battle for all the men and women, Djinn, Were, Fae and Unbound alike, who’d fallen in the battle, and the attacks beforehand. Children had lost parents, the elderly had lost sons and daughters, adults had lost spouses, lovers and friends.
But on the tail of this widespread grief came the dawn of a new era, one without hate and bigotry, where cross-species friendships had been honed in the fire of battle, and tested by steel and blood.
This was never more noticeable than at Cy and Vivian’s wedding reception, where Djinn, Unbound, Were and even Fae drank together. Cy had made a lot of friends during his time at the dens before the war, and many Were had come to drink to his mating, although they’d decided to skip the traditional ceremony.
Azar, as the Unbound Councilor, had led the Unbound out of the shadows, and their presence was more easily accepted now that they had fought beside full-blooded Djinn. Every Djinn was aware that without the Unbound, the war would have been lost, and the Adel were very adamant that they get the respect they deserved, to the point of beating the idea into civilian Djinn. Killian had been right; as soon as the first battle had been won, the alliances had been cemented, and they’d persevered even after the battle was over. Azar watched Killian and Ethan, the Unbound Captain, chat over drinks, equals finally.
The Fae, on the other hand, had a quick, but ultimately unsuccessful coup-de-tat upon the return of Lorcan and Nevyn to the Sidhes. A new era of Seelie and Unseelie cooperation would follow, they said. Or else.
Aaron came up, a Were teenager close behind him. The Were boy gave the baby a goofy look, making her gurgle and reach pudgy arms out to him. Azar gave the baby over happily. Aaron and the Weres had provided a steady rotation of teenagers to help with the babies, probably to scare them into safe sexual practices. Thirteen babies crying at once would have any teenager signing up for a lifetime’s supply of condoms.
Not that the babies weren’t an absolute blessing. They’d developed distinct personalities over the last few months, and thankfully they all looked different. Six boys and seven girls. They named the boys after trees; Birch, Aspen, Banyan, Linden, Ash and Sylvan. They named the girls after flowers; Violet, Iris, Poppy, Lily, Dahlia, Rose and little Daisy, the smallest. Azar wasn’t going to lie, she still got their names wrong, even after three months. She color coded them now.
“We’ve set up a crèche in the cinema room. Have fun, Az, let your hair down. The pups will be fine with us. Freya and Kayla will make sure nothing goes wrong,” The teenager, Steven, told her. He was one of the constant babysitters, who actually enjoyed being around the babies, even with the crying and constant dirty diapers. Aaron had mentioned the boy was an omega, but Azar didn’t really know what that meant, except that somehow his presence calmed the babies immediately. After a few nights without sleep, Azar had wanted to adopt Steven permanently.
They’d decided to move closer to the dens, just within the Sterling Forest Pack lands. Aaron had made it very, very clear to Lila, who now lorded over all the Djinn in the US, that she had no authority on Pack lands. Lila had eventually backed down to his demands, especially when wolves started to turn up at her club, on her doorstep, and Tao, in wolf form, standing over her watching her sleep.
Aaron handed Azar a glass of champagne, and she downed it in one gulp. Bast handed her another.
“It was a beautiful ceremony.”
“Your turn next, perhaps?” Aaron ribbed, and gave Bast a wink. Azar rolled her eyes at them both. Bast kissed her temple. Maybe she should put a ring on it; he was far too good to her.
In the aftermath of war, it had taken a little while for Bast, Donovan, Jack and Oliver to figure out how their relationship would work. They were still working it out. But it helped that they all lived together in a big, open plan house. Freya adored living in a house filled with so much love, and took her job as older sister to the babies very seriously.
The house was filled with cots, pacifiers, fluffy toys and an endless mountain of onesies. And the diapers. None of them really had any idea what the hell they were doing, but the babies grew and were happy, despite their guardians’ mistakes and lack of knowledge.
They were active, much more like Were cubs than humans or Tuatha, or so Jack said. He said it was probably another reason that Danu had chosen Oliver. The Weres developed quicker, better able to protect themselves from a young age.
Donovan came over, pulling her into his arms and kissing her in front of everyone. Who knew that it would be Donovan that would be all about the public displays of affection? She wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Can we go home yet? All this lovey hand holding crap is making my skin itch,” he grumbled against her cheek.
“You’re the one doing all the lovey hand holding crap right now, you know that right?” She laughed, and he growled.
“It’s not the same. I fully intend to take you home, strip you out of that delightful dress and fuck you in the dirtiest way I know how,” he whispered directly into her ear, making her cheeks flush.
Aaron rolled his eyes. “You guys are gross,” he grumbled, sounding like the boy she had once known, and not the most powerful Alpha in North America.
That was the other reason they lived on Pack lands. The Weres weren’t even remotely fussed by the idea of her having four mates, but the Djinn on the other hand were having a tougher time letting go of the old prejudices about interracial breeding within the Djinn, let alone interspecies relationships. They’d get there eventually, even if she had to smash a few heads before it sunk in. Starting with Lila.
Aaron handed her one more champagne. “Here comes Oliver. I’m out. He paws at you like you are made of catnip whenever he’s within ten feet of you.”
Azar laughed. He wasn’t wrong. Oliver twirled her out of Donovan’s arms and into his own, dipping her backwards and kissing the curve of her shoulder. “You look so fucking hot today,” he murmured appreciatively. “Did Big D tell you what we are going to do with you when we get home?”
“Don’t call me Big D,” Donovan growled. “And no one invited you, Cat.”
He was only teasing. She flushed, remember just how much Oliver and Donovan liked to share. Bast still liked their alone time, and she was taking it slow and easy with Jack, but these two threatened to consume her anytime they had her alone.
The newlyweds came out then, and everyone cheered. Azar kissed their cheeks, her smile so wide it threatened to crack her face in half.
“I’m so happy for you both.”
Cy squeezed her tight in a hug. “If it wasn’t for you, we never would have gotten together.”
She laughed, and elbowed Oliver. “See? My so-called inability to stay out of trouble can have great consequences. It’s not all near-death experiences and citywide destruction.”
The couple moved on to the next group of people, and she drifted around the room, chatting and having a good time. This is what she had worked so hard for, this unity was worth all the blood, and the sacrifice, and the nightmares she sometimes still ha
d.
She may have had too many champagnes, and there may have been some dancing on a table, but Azar had never been so happy.
Afterword
Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed your time with Azar and the Djinn!
I love hearing from readers, so you can find me at any of these places below:
Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/GraceMcGintyAuthor/
Instagram: @gracemcgintyauthor
Website: www.gracemcginty.com
Twitter: @McgintyGrace
Email: [email protected]
Join my socials to keep up with new releases, exclusive content and enter giveaways.
And now for the battle cry of all indie authors. If you liked this book, or any book, leave a review, or recommend it to a friend, or write the Amazon link on the wall of a bathroom stall.
Anything helps, and it keeps indie writers creating the stories you love so much.
Keep reading for a sneak peek of Newly Undead in Dark River
Newly Undead In Dark River
Chapter One
I woke to a rat scuttling across my chest, its tiny nose twitching as it paused to stare at me before scurrying off. Damn, I was hungry.
The fact that my initial reaction to a rat was hunger and not disgust was the first sign that something was very, very wrong. The second clue was that I was lying in a drain pipe in the middle of the night. Although it was hard to concentrate on anything but the hunger clawing at my stomach, I could hear the nocturnal animals shuffling around in the silence, smell the stale water that now soaked my clothes.
I tried to sit up and banged my head on the slimy concrete. Groaning, I rolled over and crawled my way out into the open. My body felt like I'd climbed Everest. Twice. I couldn’t see my backpack anywhere. Panic began to fill my chest. Everything was in that pack. But it was pitch black, the moon not even visible behind the clouds. I became acutely aware that I was standing in the middle of the wilderness, at night, alone. I was a serial killer’s wet dream right now.
I stared down the road, looking for the oncoming lights of a car or truck or something. Maybe I could hitch a ride into the nearest town. It was probably hitchhiking that put me in this predicament to start with. My mom was going to be pissed that I’d been so irresponsible.
I felt dazed like I'd been tranquilized, but I patted down my clothing with sluggish movements. Nothing was torn, and all my clothes were still on. I didn't feel violated in any way. My brain was cloudy, and I tried to sift through the fog to remember why I was lying in a ditch, outside of…
I looked up at the road sign. Welcome to Dark River. Where the hell was Dark River?
Hunger tore at my belly again, a burning ache so painful I moaned into the darkness like a wounded animal. First, I needed to eat something. Maybe then I'd be able to work out what the hell was going on.
I stumbled down the side of the road, and I could see the muted glow of the town lights once I was over the small rise.
Electricity surged up through my chest, and the edges of my vision dimmed. The last thing I felt when my body buckled was the rough gravel scraping my cheek.
I snapped back to consciousness all at once, like when you dream you’re falling. My head felt too full, and panic was beginning to mingle with the overwhelming hunger.
I was now in town, beneath the striped awning of Bert and Beatrice's Old Fashioned Diner. How the fuck did I get here? Everything was completely blank as if someone had plucked the memory from my brain like a bad apple. A clock tower sat in the middle of town, proclaiming it to be almost midnight.
I pushed through the glass door, and a little bell tinkled above my head. The place was filled to the brim, which was unusual seeing how it was basically the middle of the night.
Every set of eyes turned to look at me, and the old guy behind the counter dropped the soda glass he was drying, the smashing sound shooting pain into my skull. I must have really looked like hell. An elderly woman bustled out of the swinging doors, which probably led to the kitchen.
“What's goin' on out...” she trailed off when she saw me standing in the doorway. She nudged the old man out of the way.
“Lass, are you feelin' alright? Bertie, get the girl a drink. The house special,” she said slowly, her accent a thick Scottish brogue. “Tilda, call the Sheriff, please. Get him down here, quick smart.” She was rounding the counter now. “Here, Lass, take a seat.”
I took the stool she indicated obediently. She had a no-nonsense, matronly tone that soothed my panicked nerves.
“I lost my money and my passport.” My voice sounded so weak that I hardly recognized it as my own.
The elderly lady just patted my shoulder.
“Not to worry, Sweet. It's on the house.”
I could hear the sound of Tilda murmuring quietly into the phone down the other end of the diner.
“Yes Sheriff, just stumbled in the door. Looking like death, if you know what I mean.”
The old man, Bertie I guess, slid a cardboard milkshake cup in front of me, complete with red and white straw. It smelled so good that I fell on it like a half-starved animal. When I'd sucked down the last drop, I looked up, embarrassed.
“Sorry. I was really hungry.” Bertie just took away my empty cup and put a fresh one in front of me.
“Don't worry about it, Darlin’. Have another one.” I was struggling to concentrate on her words. I found it hard to concentrate on anything but the milkshake in front of me.
The bell over the door tinkled, and everyone’s eyes shifted in that direction again, even mine. A tall man in a chocolate brown uniform walked into the place, and everyone started talking at once. The cacophony after the complete absence of noise was hell on my eardrums. I pushed my palms over my ears to try and muffle some of the sounds.
“Quiet!” The guy was obviously the Sheriff, judging by the way that everyone’s flapping jaws snapped shut with almost perfect synchronization. Silence again. The man strode over, his every movement elegant, to where I was sitting and gaping in his direction.
The man was hot. Like, spontaneous combustion, three-alarm, call in the National Guard, hot. He had sandy brown hair and deep green eyes. The uniform hugged his muscular body. He was so attractive it made my teeth hurt. Literally.
“Ma'am, my name is Sheriff Walker Walton, do you need some help?” His deep voice was gentle, almost as if he didn't want to startle me.
“I don't know how I got here,” I whispered. It was all a blank.
I'd been backpacking my way through Canada with my friends, but they had gone home last week, while I continued to travel up through Alberta by myself. I'd missed my bus to Yukon, so I'd decided to hitchhike my way through the last stretch to the border of British Columbia. After all, what's life without a little adventure? I'd been picked up by a family with teenage sons, but they'd let me off near Grande Prairie. I walked down the highway a bit more, and then poof, everything else is blank.
“Do you remember your name?” the Sheriff asked in the same soft voice.
“Mika McKellan. From Boston.”
“That's good, Mika. I'd like you to come down to the station with me, so we can get this all sorted out. The town doctor will meet us there, just to check you over.”
I nodded absently, and followed Sheriff Walton out of the diner, clutching my take away cup to my chest like a lifebuoy. He walked me over to the squad car, and let me sit in the passenger seat, instead of the back.
We drove in silence around the block, and I took the town in. It was actually quite beautiful. Not the cemetery stillness of most small towns after dark. Fairy lights were strung around the town square, and people milled about. The lights were on in all the shops, and small clumps of people were talking to each other on well-lit sidewalks.
“Is there a festival going on or something?” I asked Sheriff Walton.
“Or something,” he replied, letting silence fill the cab.
Within a minute, we had pulled up in
front of a skinny brick building. There were shiny bars on the windows, and a police sign hanging over the front lawn.
Sheriff Walton moved around the front of the car and opened the passenger door. I heaved myself out of the seat. Moving wasn't as painful as it was when I first woke up, but I still felt sluggish.
A plain woman with sparkling eyes met us at the front door. She looked me over and then sent a pointed expression to Sheriff Walton.
“Mika, this is Doctor Alice Sommer. I'm gonna get the Doc to check you for any signs of, uh, injury.”
He held open the door of the station for me, and I gave him a polite smile.
“Let's go into the conference room. We need to have a chat after the Doc has looked you over. I'll be out here doing some paperwork.”
He opened the door to an interrogation room. No windows, just a metal table with two chairs. Conference room, my ass.
“Thanks, Walker. I'll give you a shout when we're done,” the doctor said softly.
The door closed with a click. The doctor sat a leather doctor’s bag on the metal table. “Have a seat, Miss McKellan.”
“Mika.”
“Okay, Mika it is. But you have to call me Alice. Now, let me have a look at you.” She shone one of those penlights in my eyes, and I let out a little squeal.
“Ouch.”
“Hmm, light sensitivity. You have a little bruising on your throat too.” She got out a measuring instrument and measured the width of the bruise. “Anything else feel off to you?”
“Except for the starving feeling, my muscles aching, the weird blank spots and the passing out?” My sarcasm was obnoxious, but I couldn’t seem to help it. “Other than all that, I'm as healthy as a horse.”
The doctor clicked her tongue and wrote down the measurements. “Walker, can you get the cooler from the backseat of my car and come in here please?” She barely raised her voice, but the Sheriff must have heard because the front door of the station slammed.
The Azar Omnibus: The Complete Azar Trilogy (The Azar Trilogy Book 0) Page 69