PRAISE FOR THE OTHERWORLD NOVELS
“Spectacularly hot and supernaturally breathtaking.”
—Alyssa Day, New York Times bestselling author
“Yasmine Galenorn is a powerhouse author; a master of the craft who is taking the industry by storm, and for good reason!”
—Maggie Shayne, New York Times bestselling author
“Erotic and darkly bewitching . . . a mix of magic and passion.”
—Jeaniene Frost, New York Times bestselling author
“Yasmine Galenorn is a hot new star in the world of urban fantasy.”
—Jayne Ann Krentz, New York Times bestselling author
“Simmers with fun and magic.”
—Mary Jo Putney, New York Times bestselling author
“Yasmine Galenorn creates a world I never want to leave.”
—Sherrilyn Kenyon, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“Yasmine Galenorn’s imagination is a beautiful thing.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Galenorn’s gallery of rogues is an imaginative delight.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Pulls no punches . . . [and] leaves you begging for more.”
—Bitten by Books
“It’s not too many authors who can write a series as long-lived as this one and make every book come out just as interesting and intriguing as the last, but Yasmine Galenorn is certainly one of them . . . Her books are always enchanting, full of life and emotion as well as twists and turns that keep you reading long into the night.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“Explore this fascinating world.”
—TwoLips Reviews
“As always, [Galenorn] delivers intriguing characters, intricate plot layers, and kick-butt action.”
—RT Book Reviews (four stars)
Berkley titles by Yasmine Galenorn
The Otherworld Series
WITCHLING
CHANGELING
DARKLING
DRAGON WYTCH
NIGHT HUNTRESS
DEMON MISTRESS
BONE MAGIC
HARVEST HUNTING
BLOOD WYNE
COURTING DARKNESS
SHADED VISION
SHADOW RISING
HAUNTED MOON
AUTUMN WHISPERS
CRIMSON VEIL
PRIESTESS DREAMING
The Indigo Court Series
NIGHT MYST
NIGHT VEIL
NIGHT SEEKER
NIGHT VISION
NIGHT’S END
Anthologies
INKED
NEVER AFTER
HEXED
Specials
ICE SHARDS
ETCHED IN SILVER
THE SHADOW OF MIST
FLIGHT FROM HELL
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Yasmine Galenorn
GHOST OF A CHANCE
LEGEND OF THE JADE DRAGON
MURDER UNDER A MYSTIC MOON
A HARVEST OF BONES
ONE HEX OF A WEDDING
Yasmine Galenorn writing as India Ink
SCENT TO HER GRAVE
A BLUSH WITH DEATH
GLOSSED AND FOUND
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China
penguin.com
A Penguin Random House Company
PRIESTESS DREAMING
A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2014 by Yasmine Galenorn.
Excerpt from Panther Prowling copyright © 2014 by Yasmine Galenorn.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.
JOVE® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.
The “J” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-14193-3
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Jove mass-market edition / October 2014
Cover art by Tony Mauro.
Cover design by Danielle Abbiate.
Map by Andrew Marshall, copyright © 2012 by Yasmine Galenorn.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
Dedicated to:
Carol Padovan . . . dear friend, old soul, good times.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to everyone who has helped me get to this point:
Samwise: my lover and consort. Meredith Bernstein: my agent. Kate Seaver: my editor. Tony Mauro: my cover artist. Marc Mullinex, Andria Holley, and Jenn Price: my assistants. My furry “Galenorn Gurlz”: my feline brigade. Ukko, Rauni, Mielikki, and Tapio: my spiritual guardians.
Also, especially during the writing of this, Mandy Roth and Michelle Pillow, who listened a lot when I needed to talk and needed encouragement that my new plans will work out and that yes, I can accomplish the new goals I have set out for myself.
To my readers: Your support by buying my books helps keep my work continuing. You can find me on the net on my site: Galenorn.com. You can also find an Otherworld Wikipedia on my website.
If you write to me snail mail (see website for address or write via publisher), please enclose a self-addressed stamped envelope with your letter if you would like a reply.
The Painted Panther
Yasmine Galenorn
CONTENTS
Praise for the Otherworld Novels
Berkley titles by Yasmine Galenorn
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
Map
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Cast of Major Characters
Glossary
Playlist for Priestess Dreaming
Excerpt from Panther Prowling
About the Author
There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.
GEORGE CARLIN
Mystery has its own mysteries, and there are gods above gods. We have ours, they have theirs. That is what’s known as infinity.
JEAN COCTEAU
Chapter 1
I contemplated going back into the house, purse over my shoulder. Should I, or shouldn’t I? Utter mayhem lay with
in. Absolute chaos in a kitchen, complete with spilled food, a huffy dragon, one very pissed-off house sprite, and my sister, the wide-eyed, catch-da-giant-bird turkey-chaser. Add to that the rest of the milling—and by now, thoroughly confused—throng that made up our extended family, and it was a no-brainer. Not a chance. Nope. Not gonna happen.
I was perfectly fine out here in the pouring rain, getting soaked. Let Smoky take his lumps from Iris. This was all his fault, not mine. The only part they could blame me for was that I had assigned him the chore of bringing home a twenty-five-pound turkey for tomorrow’s Thanksgiving dinner. Was it really my responsibility to remind him to make certain it was already dead?
Not. My. Fault. And neither was the Three Stooges aftermath that followed. Now, with Iris and Hanna both on the warpath, I had no desire to go back in there and subject myself to their outrage.
As my gaze wandered over to the turkey pecking around our backyard, it occurred to me that the bird was giving me the evil eye. He reminded me of a big fat demon bird, gloating like some demented vulture. The fat old Tom was closer to the woods than our back door, and I wondered if he realized just how lucky he was.
I stamped my foot in his direction. “Go on, you dumb bird. Make a break for it while you can, before Smoky comes looking for you.” As if he understood me, the turkey turned toward the tree line in back of the yard and slowly began to waddle off into the sunset. Or as the case actually was, the pitch darkness. It was only around five thirty, but by this time of year, the Seattle area was swathed in night. Sunset had come and gone about an hour ago.
I snorted. “Have a happy Thanksgiving, bird. You lucked out, so say a prayer to the Great Turkey.”
As I watched him vanish into the woods, I wondered where the hell Smoky had found him. No doubt he’d stolen him from some turkey farm or something. Wild turkeys generally didn’t go running around the streets of Seattle. But I wasn’t going to ask. After this fiasco, I had a feeling that my dragon-shifting husband wouldn’t be in any mood to discuss turkey-napping.
Thanks to sheer dumb luck, the bird had managed to escape from the kitchen. He’d left behind a trail of walking wounded, though—including me. That beak was nasty sharp and I had the scratch to prove it, but at least I didn’t have a hole in my hand like Roz did. Yeah, in the great dinner war, the bird deserved his freedom. He’d earned it. As the last of his tail feathers vanished from sight on the path leading to Birchwater Pond, I saluted him.
“You’ve got what it takes to make it, soldier. Carry on.”
With one last look at the house, I straightened my shoulders and headed toward my car. We still needed a turkey for Thanksgiving tomorrow, so I might as well head out to buy one. On the up side, by the time I got back, things should have smoothed over and the mess should be cleaned up.
Families. One thing was for certain: Mine was loopy, batty, and all around, a freakshow crew. But I wouldn’t trade them for all the glitter and glitz in Otherworld or Earthside.
I slid into the driver’s seat, but as I inserted the key into the ignition, a shiver ran down my back. A shadow passed through me, cold and dark and incredibly ancient.
Suddenly nervous, I hit the button to lock the doors. Maybe it was the wind that rattled the trees that had spooked me. Or maybe it was the driving rain. Or perhaps the darkness and perpetual gloom had finally managed to suck the smile off my face. Whatever the case, I glanced back at the house, anxious.
PTSD, maybe? We had recently come through a horrible stretch, what with the war raging in Otherworld and losing our father. We were all still a little shell-shocked. I had been coping with a lot of nightmares and flashbacks the past few weeks, but this didn’t feel like it originated from the same place.
Trying to quiet my mind, I listened, breathing slowly.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Listen . . .
At first, I could sense only the wind and rain that lashed the yard, but then . . . below that . . . There it was. Something was on the move. Something big. I searched my feelings, examining the sensation. Was it fear? Yes, I was definitely afraid, but there was more to it than that. Anticipation? Anxiety? A tingling at the base of my neck told me that deep magic was afoot, and would soon be knocking on my door.
Magic rode the currents, on the wings of a flock of birds. They were there, in the astral, black as coal and shrieking warnings from an ancient wood filled with extraordinary beasts. The rolling mists of time poured past as the ravens cried, their song echoing with magic. Dark magic, deep woodland magic. Death coming in on waves of flame and smoke.
As if in synch with my thoughts, a shriek cut through the darkness, startling me out of my trance. I recognized the cry. Raven. Raven was calling. And where raven flew, Raven Mother couldn’t be far behind.
And behind Raven Mother, chasing her, was a dragon. At first I flashed back to Hyto, but then caught hold of myself. Hyto was dead and gone. I forced myself to focus, to examine the energy that rushed past. This dragon was ancient—not a dragon from the Dragon Reaches, but even older. This creature rose from the depths of the earth, come awake after eons of time asleep in its lair.
As he roared to life, chasing the flock of ravens, he suddenly vanished from my sight.
I found myself sitting in the car, my hand on the keys.
What the hell was that all about?
Almost afraid to examine the vision, I shuddered and started the ignition. As the engine warmed up, I stared into the darkness, my thoughts far distant from Thanksgiving.
Something big was headed my way, and there was no use trying to avoid it. I might as well just open my arms and brace for whatever it was. Trying to hide from trouble had ceased to be an effective defense mechanism a few years ago when the demons had first shown up.
With a grimace, I pulled out my phone and texted Menolly that I was heading for the store to replace the turkey. As I eased out of the driveway, I whispered, “Bring it on, Raven Mother. Bring it on. I’m waiting for you.”
A faint laughter echoed over the howling of the wind. She’d heard me. And she was waiting.
* * *
“Give me that!” Delilah’s voice rang out, and I turned, scanning the mob for her face. Somebody was bound to get hurt in this mess. People were shoving in every direction, trying to push their way through the mass of churning bodies. To my left, a woman tripped and fell. I tried to maneuver through the crowd to reach her, but a man stopped to help her back to her feet and she dusted herself off, looking no worse for the wear, and then, a glint in her eye, she vanished into the seething throng.
Still unable to locate Delilah, I glanced over my shoulder. Smoky and Trillian were standing at attention, waiting for my orders, both looking resigned and rather frightened. Their arms full, they threaded their way through the chaos as they tried to follow me. With Delilah still nowhere to be seen, I made a unilateral decision. She’d just have to catch up to us later.
“Over to the pet section, pronto!”
Pointing toward the opposite end of the store, I began to traverse the aisles. Wordlessly, they filed along behind me. I gauged the easiest, quickest route, then began to wind through the rows of merchandise, narrowly skirting a table of precariously stacked crystal dishes. Motioning for the guys to be cautious, I held my breath until we were past the display.
Once we were out of housewares, the crowd began to thin out as we maneuvered our way over to the pet toy aisle. Along the way, I caught sight of an insulated lunch bag in fuchsia, with a cat appliqué splashed across the front. It really was cute. Another woman was eyeing it and I had a split second to make up my mind.
“Nerissa would love that.” I snatched it up seconds before my opponent could grab it and, once again, we were on the move, leaving her sputtering in the dust. A few moments later, we reached our destination: the pet care section. We had the department to ourselves. Most of the crowds were over in electronics and toys. Chase and Iris were forg
ing their way through the latter and I silently wished them luck.
“Are we done yet?” Smoky grumbled. “Haven’t you found enough loot? It’s four thirty in the morning, woman.” He didn’t sound that angry, though. In fact, the twinkle in his eye told me he was putting on a show because he thought it was required. Just like a man.
Trillian, also my husband, snorted. “You really think that’s going to work? Dude, you should know your wife and her sisters by now. We’ve got at least another hour to go. Remember last year?”
Trillian’s obsidian skin glistened under the florescent lights. He’d braided his hair to keep it out of the way. The silver strands rested smooth against his back, shimmering with the faintest of cerulean highlights. He had worn a sleek black turtleneck and black jeans, but left his jacket in the car, claiming it made him more aerodynamic in the crowds. A Svartan, one of the Dark and Charming Fae, he usually managed to get what he wanted by smooth-talking whoever was in his way. But on Black Friday, all bets were off. My sisters and I overruled all opinions in the household.
Smoky, on the other hand, was attired in his usual get up: white jeans, V-neck pale blue sweater, and long white trench. At six-four, my dragon towered over the crowds. Though I kept him near, even his imposing nature didn’t offer us much protection during the early hours of the most terrifying shopping day of the year. He, too, had braided his hair, though it was ankle length instead of mid-shoulder like Trillian’s. Luckily, his hair moved all on its lonesome. If it hadn’t, his braid would have gotten trampled several times tonight.
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