Magic After Dark: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Margo Bond Collins

  Swiping a trembling hand across his brow, he blew out a breath before taking another drink. “They want to raise an army. A shifter army.”

  Bron’s blood ran cold. “Are they planning to finally let the humans know we’re here?”

  “No.” The red wolf shook his head. “The lamias.”

  “The what?” She shook her head in disbelief. The snake shifter lamias had all been wiped out when she was a child. “They’re all dead.”

  “No. The North Texas Council is sheltering one right now. And rumor has it there’s a whole clutch of juvenile lamias, all part of that one’s family.”

  If it hadn’t been for her broken arm, Bron would have dropped back against the seat. As it was, she kept shaking her head, as if saying no often enough would negate the truth. “So why did you resist the other wolves?” she finally asked. “Everyone knows lamias can’t be trusted. They need to be destroyed.”

  Jeff’s eyes were beginning to drift closed again—he’d be unconscious soon. “Jeff. Tell me. Why did you fight the gray wolves?”

  “Because,” he murmured, “it’s not up to us. That’s what a National Council meeting is for.”

  When Tomás and the driver climbed back into the car a few minutes later, Bron was staring straight ahead, her eyes blank.

  “Hang on,” the driver said, and peeled out, caroming down through the levels of the parking garage. Jeff slumped against her as they squealed around a corner, and Bron used her good arm to reach behind him and hold on to the door handle, glad that the unconscious man had not been on the other side of her. She, too, needed to eat and then shift to see what damage she could repair.

  She would probably need to see a shifter doctor.

  But not until she had dealt with what she had learned.

  “I have something I need to tell you,” Bron said as they exited the garage and bumped across a short bridge to the parking lot outside the riverboat casino.

  “Just a few more seconds,” Tomás muttered, his voice distracted as he peered out the rear windshield.

  People clustered in groups in the parking lot, but their driver—I’m going to have to find out his name, Bron thought—slowed down and joined a line of cars headed toward the lot’s exit.

  They were turning onto Elysian Fields Boulevard and heading back toward the French Quarter when a series of deep thumps sounded through the air and whumped against the car. Bron had barely enough time to gasp before the far end of the casino went up in flames—the section they had just left.

  She spun around, wincing at the pain it gave her. “You blew it up?” she asked incredulously.

  Tomás nodded. “It might buy us some time. They’ll have to deal with that and we can figure out what’s next.”

  “I know what’s next.” Her voice was solemn. “We go to Dallas. And here’s why.”

  As she told him what she had learned from Jeff, Tomás’s expression grew as serious as her own. He nodded. “That meshes with what he told me, though his story was more … embellished.”

  “The whole time he had me nailed to that board, he kept rambling about teaching someone a lesson—but he was pretty incoherent. I didn’t really know what he was talking about.”

  When she finished talking, Tomás leaned forward and spoke over the lowered partition. “You catch all that, Brian?”

  So that was the driver’s name.

  “Yes, sir. We’re headed to Dallas. Do we need to pick up anything at the Monteleone?”

  “No. I think we’re done with New Orleans for now.”

  In a few moments, they reached the on-ramp for the interstate and headed west.

  Finally, Bron allowed herself to begin to relax. Letting go of the door handle, she shifted Jeff’s weight off of her and settled him back against the seat. Carefully, she moved to the seat across from her to sit next to Tomás. Nestling her good arm in against him, she rested her head against his shoulder and threaded her fingers through his. He turned his head and brushed his lips against her forehead.

  Soon, there would be things to do. She needed to heal and to help Jeff heal. Once that was done, there would be even more. She needed to find out if that ledger she’d fished out of Jeff’s office had been a decoy, or if she’d left potentially dangerous information with a shop clerk in the Cibola. She apparently had a lamia to meet in Dallas, and possibly a National Council to convene.

  Oh, and a shifter war to avert.

  But for now…

  The hypnotic hum of the tires as they hit the Atchafalaya Basin Bridge began to soothe her, even through the pain of her shoulder.

  For now, she would be content to hold this jaguar shifter’s hand and know that he found the darkness within her “glorious”—and that soon, they would have a chance to explore their connection.

  She would make sure of it.

  The End

  Continue the Shifter Shield series with the first book in the collection, Under Her Skin.

  http://bit.ly/ShifterShield

  Newsletter

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  About the Author

  NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY bestselling author Margo Bond Collins is a former college English professor who, tired of explaining the difference between "hanged" and "hung," turned to writing romance novels instead. (Sometimes her heroines kill monsters, too.)

  Read More from Margo Bond Collins

  www.MargoBondCollins.net

  Casting Dreams

  J.L. Weil

  Casting Dreams © 2017 J.L. Weil

  Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Casting Dreams

  Some dreams are meant to be…

  Parents murdered, her home burned, Mirela Rawlings fled to Kenmare for sanctuary. It was there she overcame a childhood of pain with a fiery spirit, unruly determination, and an extraordinary gift. With legends and lore of gypsies running through Mirela’s blood, she always knew her dreams were more than smoke and fantasy.

  Conner Delany arrives in Kenmare—a land of dazzling lakes and lush forest—a place where his ancestry began and his destiny awakes. The last thing he expected to find was Mirela. Conner has a dark past and a secret to protect, but he is unable to resist the gypsy with a body of a goddess and eyes of a sorceress.

  Since Conner’s arrival, Mirela’s dreams have become relentless. Darkness swirls in the mist, threatening all that Mirela cares about. Ancient curses, undying passion, and the shadow of an abiding evil haunt her every step. Mirela must find the power to save them both, for some dreams are meant to be...

  Preface

  “A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.”

  – Oscar Wilde

  Prologue

  In the shadows of the dream, a man moved through the gloom, toward the glowing light of home. The air was crackling with an icy wind, whistling through the trees. I shivered in my sleep, regardless that I was tucked under a quilt my Nan had made. Night had fallen fast, bringing in the fog. It blanketed the frosted-tipped blades of grass, creeping and crawling.

  Too often in the fog, I heard my name—a beckoning for help. Pain etched his deep voice, but no matter what I did, I
could never save him—the man with eyes the color of turquoise.

  The darkness always won.

  In a world of white and gray, too often I’d seen the dark.

  But I refused to give up.

  I was a white gypsy—a clairvoyant or a witch, some might say, but in the dream, I felt powerless. No matter the hours I spent pouring over ancient books or reciting incantations, searching for a spur of hope, I only found dread.

  I didn’t know his name, only his fate.

  A man I’d never met, but dreamed of night after night. As the years progressed, I found myself caring for him, desiring his touch, for he was a gorgeous man.

  Hair as black as a moonless night, flew around a face partially shielded by the mist. He had a strong face, sharp bones of haunting male beauty. There was something dark about him, a mark on his soul, implying he wasn’t always good.

  But most off all, I longed to save him.

  As always, the darkness would come—I could sense it already and a chill skirted down my spine. The charms and crystals I placed under my pillow, clutched in my hands, could only do so much, and lately, they helped very little.

  Something was coming.

  Something was changing.

  And I needed to be prepared.

  I watched as the smoke swirled, and the flames leaped. A spin of fog. A dance of sparks.

  My spirits sagged, and I turned restlessly in sleep, for I knew what would unfold next. An ache pulled inside me, twisting up with pain.

  He was coming…the darkness. Bastard.

  I opened my mouth to warn the aqua-eyed man, but he never heard my cry. Not once, but it never stopped me from trying.

  The wolf stepped out of the darkness with ember eyes glowing, teeth flashing in a snarl, and evil in his grin. His howl echoed, filling the night with both demand and power.

  The man was defenseless against the rogue wolf who stalked him from the shadows. No weapon. No warning.

  His fate was waiting for him.

  Magick trembled in the air, twirling into the star-strewn sky. Again the black wolf threw his head back and called. Bared fangs gleamed white in the moonlight. With powerful strides, the wolf shot down the path, tearing the fog to ribbons. I saw a human intelligence in the wolf’s glare.

  Blood spilled, seeping into the cold, frozen ground, turning the frost a crimson red. His screams of pain echoed in my ears even after I woke, my pillow drenched in my own tears.

  This was my curse.

  Chapter 1

  There was a circle of stones where the ancient druids were said to have met. Locals whispered tales of sacrifice, rituals, and reincarnation of souls, and of course, dark curses.

  The people of Kenmare valued Mother Nature. Tourists often came from all parts of the world to study the circle of stones, or to simply bask in the magickal glory of our shores, listening to the song of the wind and breathe the tranquility of the land.

  My ancestors had traveled all over the globe, but here, in the magickal part of Ireland, they dug in their roots.

  The lore of Kenmare kept the tourists coming back—the sleepy town with a mystical connection.

  It was the perfect place to forget the past. At least, that was what I’d tried to do.

  I’d had the same dream since I was a little girl—a premonition, my gran said. My gypsy blood gave me a bit of magick and the sight, allowing me to see things, of the future, of the past. Clairvoyance, but I called it a burden. It wasn’t always easy seeing what might happen, especially if it involved someone you loved.

  Like the night my parents were killed.

  For a week prior to the fire, I dreamed of smoke, flames, and the screams I didn’t know were my parents. The nightmares kept me up at night, crying for my mother. She would hold me close, humming an Irish tune and rocking me until sleep took me back under.

  I could still smell her lavender perfume mixed with the scent of charred wood and melting plastic. I often wondered if I had known then of my gift, would I have been able to save them? The question would forever haunt me. It was a miracle I survived.

  But surviving sometimes was harder.

  The sight was difficult to bear, but it was mine to shoulder.

  Most visions were glimpses―a touch and I might see a bride’s wedding day or a little girl’s first day of school. Each vision unique to the individual, and could have happened thirty years ago or tomorrow, which made the recurring dream unique.

  There was something unnerving about dreaming of a man’s death over and over again. I was given this gift for a purpose. I just hadn’t figured out how I was going to save him, for I knew the time would come. The dreams were coming more frequently, and I could only assume the hands on the clock were ticking.

  I didn’t mind my morning walk. It gave me time to think—to clear my cluttered mind. Today, the sky was cloudless, a beautiful blue. A brisk breeze whipped through my raven hair. There was a hint of sea in the air, it was never far, and of freshly baked goods.

  I passed a group of tourists who were chatting and enjoying breakfast under the early morning sun. Stopping into the bakery, I ordered my usual tea and croissant before heading into the shop.

  Rounding the corner of the bakery with tea in one hand and croissant halfway to my mouth, I thought about my day ahead. Inventory. A tarot reading. The mounds of paperwork piling up on my desk. Owning a small business took work. It was safe to say my mind was preoccupied. And the reason I didn’t see him until we collided.

  “Shit. Sorry,” I quickly apologized for my absentmindedness, trying to avoid spilling my tea on either of us. Just my luck. If this was how my day was going to go, I should have stayed in bed.

  “Steady,” a deep voice said in more of an order than a suggestion. His hand shot out to catch me, and that was all it took. A simple touch and the mist of a vision spun.

  His lips pressed to mine, and every willing thought vanished. Lights swirled behind my eyes, and a gush of heat rippled inside me. His lips were gentler than I expected as he skimmed, nuzzled, and nipped at mine.

  Countless times I’d wondered what it would feel like to be wrapped up in his arms, swept away by the passion of his kiss. The fantasies didn’t do it justice.

  I swayed against him. Oh yes. I wanted this. Wanted the man with the aqua eyes.

  A whimper of pleasure left my lips as my hands circled the back of his neck. In a tangle of tongues, he took the kiss deeper, and it grew quick and heady. A barrage of sensations shuddered through my body.

  I’d never talked to this man before. The dreams always were of him and the wolf. There’d never been any interaction with me personally. I’d been only an outsider looking down, until now.

  The air shifted, bringing in the scent of change and chill of danger. He felt it as well, pulling back and burying his face in my throat. Teeth scraped against my skin in something almost savage, and I was about to urge his lips back to mine, when I heard the sound.

  A howl. The man’s eyes locked with mine. “You’re not ready,” he whispered.

  My head was spinning, pulse sporadic. No one had ever made me feel that way, so alive, so wanted, so desired. I opened my mouth to ask him what he meant, but the vision had begun to fade, white smoke rose from the ground, engulfing us both. My fingers grasped his forearm, but it was too late.

  When the fog cleared, I was staring into a shade of blue-green eyes. I blinked. Holy shit. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if I was still in the grasp of a vision. It was the man in the dream. I couldn’t breathe, my body still humming from his touch and the hypnotic feel of his lips. And now I was gaping at him in the flesh.

  “Are you okay?” He was tall, and I felt the strength of his hand as he had yet to release me.

  The sight of him smacked into me and robbed me of air, of an intelligent response. “Hmm?” The smoke-edge to my voice had him lifting his head, and I found myself lost for several heartbeats in his vibrant eyes rimmed in amber. I hadn’t noticed that before. They were unusual and captivat
ing.

  Oh wow. He was even better looking in person, if that was possible. There was something dazzling about his face. I was most definitely not okay. If he was here, in Kenmare, that meant the time had come. Things were about to unravel, and his death was imminent. “What are you doing here?” I hadn’t meant the words to come so sharp, and I nearly winced.

  His lips curved. “And to think, I was told the people here were friendly.”

  I closed my eyes for a second, very nearly sighing like a teenager at the sight of the smile that reached his eyes. “Sorry, how about I start over. Mirela Rawlings.” I was grateful my hands were full, anything to avoid touching him again. It wasn’t just the visions I was evading, but also the tingles racing down my spine.

  He leaned closer, and I discovered he smelled as cool as a sea under moonlight. “You’re the psychic.”

  I winced this time, my unpainted lips thinning. “Did you come to Kenmare to have your palm read?”

  He arched one sweeping dark brow. “Conner Delany.” His thumb stroked over my beating pulse.

  Crap. He was still touching me. My pulse jumped, and I could feel my body being pulled to him.

  Easing my arm out from under his hand, I took a sip of my tea, making the movement nonchalant and not as self-conscious as it was. Touching him was a no-no for the time being. To gain control of the visions, I needed to steady my emotions, become objective instead of involved. “What brings you to Kenmare, Conner Delany?” The man had a name, a nice one at that.

  His smile was gone now. “Family.”

  “Oh?” I knew almost all the locals in Kenmare, and the name Delany didn’t ring a bell. “Yours or your wife’s?” I wanted to hit my head on the nearest wall. Talk about obvious. I was fishing, but a little subtlety wouldn’t have hurt.