by Emma Alisyn
The drake was good. Not good enough to fool her, because she could see the edges of the spell as he walked away. But if it weren’t for her unique gifts, he might have actually appeared to wink out of sight.
Jezamine turned her attention to her home. So. Dahl had been here. She began to patch up her wards, the places where he had managed to wear thin patches in the protection in an attempt to break in. While she was gone. He didn’t want a direct confrontation then, which was interesting. The mission was to retrieve the book, but not engage her if necessary. She had never feared that her coven, or Dahl’s family, wanted her dead. They just wanted the book. They believed it theirs by right of marriage, especially since the traditional matriarchal ways were slowly being corrupted with human patriarchy. There were some warlocks who now believed a husband should be the head of the household rather than an equal partner who yielded to the will of the witch when a final decision needed to be made.
But despite knowing they didn’t necessarily want her dead . . . well, it wasn’t as if the discreet imprisonment of a recalcitrant outcast witch hadn’t happened before. She’d been warned, years ago, before she’d finally fled. Warned that continued stubbornness would necessitate they take the book by force, and Joshua placed permanently in the care of his father’s people, who were of a decent bloodline, after all, and would be delighted to raise him up properly.
Jezamine grit her teeth against familiar anger. Shameful that a witch or warlock would use force against another. How could that happen in this day and age and the violent party not be declared corrupt? Thoughts dark, she considered the task at hand. She didn’t actually want her wards fully repaired, just enough to make it look like that was what she had intended. They would never take the bait if they couldn’t get inside. She made a show of recasting her spells to make it look as if she was serious about defending the borders of her home, but left openings a sneaky warlock would find, with just enough effort to make him believe it was his idea.
Stepping inside the yard, she pulled her cell out of her pocket and dialed Donato’s number. He’d made her save it before she’d left last night, and she hadn’t imagined she’d use it so quickly. But. Being a single mom developed a streak of practicality a mile wide and a canyon deep. Her ego and sense of independence might momentarily flail at the idea of taking help, especially if the help came from a male who was romantically interested in her . . . but she wanted her life back. She was going to be a grandmother. So, she and Joshua couldn’t just pick up and hide in the next town. They had to stay. They had to resolve this once and for all.
13
He answered on the second ring. “Jezamine.”
“I met your brother.”
Silence. "You spoke to him?"
"Yes. He said you'd sent him." Sent a male with suspicious eyes, a hard expression, and the kind of rakish good looks a less-wise woman might find appealing. Jezamine thoroughly understood the worth of a bad boy, however. They were worth a lot of trouble. Donato was much more her type.
Err . . . her thoughts screeched to a halt, and then she sighed. This was how it began, evidently. First, the family connection. Then, the offer of protection for herself and her son. This was how a dragon wormed its way into a witch's defenses.
"Was he . . . civil?"
She would laugh at the wariness in Donato’s tone, but she didn’t have the emotional energy. "You sent a brother who you thought couldn’t be trusted to behave properly to watch over my home?"
"I don't need him to behave. I need him to eat intruders."
Testy. "I don't need him to eat intruders. The coven is non-violent."
"Do you really believe that?"
"Yes, I do. The worst they would do is imprison me for unauthorized use of magic, and the supposed theft of the book. Perhaps turn me in to D.S.I. They had to lie and finagle their way into the theft charge, but the penalty is confinement, not execution."
"And confinement is better than death?" His voice was dry, and edged.
"I don't want any bloodshed, Donato, I mean it.” She moved to go inside the house, hand hovering over the doorknob for a moment as the lock disengaged, and the door swung open. No signs of disturbance. The door closed quietly, and she went to sit at her dining room table, putting the cell on speaker. “If I'm going to allow you to help me—for the sake of our grandchild—you're going to help me on my terms."
"You accept my protection."
It was ridiculous he sounded pleased. She glanced out of the dining room window, a big bay with simple white curtains that usually remained open. It was a quiet block, and everyone minded their business. There was nothing to see even if someone did come and press their face right up against the pane. She liked the light that streamed through, it was one of the reasons she’d chosen this house. She needed lots of light to ward off negative thoughts and emotions. It wasn’t easy being alone, even if one kept busy. It wasn’t easy raising a child with no family. Donato had had his brothers, at least. She should have had sisters, but she was an only child.
“Is he still out there? Wait—what’s his name?”
“Marcello.” Now Donato sounded less pleased. “Forget him. He was supposed to remain invisible.”
“You do know I am a Hearn witch?”
“I’d like to get to know you better.” He all but purred the words, though purr wasn’t the exact right word for the deep, sensual rumble that came out of the chest of something very male, and very dragon.
“I may be considering your offer.”
Silence.
“My offer?”
“To qualify yourself as a potential mate. It’s a little soon, but I’ve had time to think about it.” She was sitting in her house, with Dahl roaming the neighborhood and Marcello somewhere invisible and probably within flame range . . . flirting. Well, not really flirting. But acceding to the possibility of flirting.
“What changed your mind?”
She considered her words carefully. “You’re not unattractive, physically. And we’re already a kind of family. You’ve obviously done well with Kayla, and you’re a respectable businessperson and a city council member. That says you’re stable, and responsible. I’ve . . . been single a long time.”
"You haven't been with a male?"
"I've been a little busy, Donato."
"No male has offered protection before?"
"I've been a little busy, Donato."
"That is no excuse. You must have been living among fools."
His words warmed her chest. She was a grown woman yes, but still as susceptible to a bit of flattery as the next girl. She had no illusions she was some great beauty like one of the legendary Witches of old, rumored to be daughters of real-life goddesses. Or even as appealing as the fierce, intense attractiveness of a dracaena. She was a witch next door, average, young looking for her age (at least by human standards) and in good shape. But nothing special, really.
“No, but thank you for the compliment, if that was what you intended.”
“Let me in.”
“What?” For a brief moment she thought he meant let him in emotionally, or maybe he was flirting in a weird, hugely inappropriate way for a grown man talking to a mother of a nearly adult son. Footsteps sounded on the concrete steps in front of the door, and she realized he’d disconnected the call. Jezamine rose and hurried to the door, flinging it open.
“How the hell did you get past my wards?” she growled, blocking him with her body, then blinked against the sudden flame of light.
There was no way in any hell Hades ruled that Donato should have been able to destroy her wards without her feeling it. But nothing, he’d slid right through like butter. She stilled, realizing the reasons she was squinting wasn’t because the afternoon sun was high and shining in her face. The jewel sat openly on his chest now, not hidden by his respectable business shirt.
It glowed, pulsing. It seemed . . . happy to see her. “Hello.”
It went dark for a single startled second, then burst int
o excited light, one long pulse and several staccato. Almost as if it were chattering at her. Oh, Hekate, what had Aleka done?
“The wards let me through,” he said, then waited till she tore her eyes away from his chest and looked at him. “I think this helped.” A long-nailed finger tapped the giggling hunk of life-disrupting rock.
She stepped back, disgruntled. “Come in. And I need to examine this spell. I don’t know any casting that allows a user to just—” she stopped talking, brain taking over as she led him to the dining room table and sat him down. Inborn hosting instincts meant that as she mulled, her hands were busy pouring glasses of her ice herbal tea, a pomegranate blend with hints of lime, and putting Wolf Scout cookies on a plate.
Witches didn’t have matebonds. But they had soulmates. It wasn’t quite the same thing, and it was very rare, but it happened. No one knew quite what it was from, though some suspected it to be an ancient unknown spell of Hekate, bringing together reincarnated souls that had formed strong bonds in previous lives. Others thought the soul mating more practical, because children of those unions typically produced very, very strong witches and warlocks. So it could just be a way to make couples with particularly compatible DNA come together. But that theory didn’t really explain the even rarer, but still heard of, same-sex pairings.
Soulmates, though, were notorious for being immune to each other’s spells, and wards. It was usually one of the first signs.
She set the tea and cookies on the table in front of him and sat down, staring at the rich ruby in her glass, stomach queasy.
“Sometimes shifters mate non-shifters, and the matebond is only on one side,” Jezamine said.
His head tilted. “It has happened. The mating instinct isn’t in single form supnats. The relationships usually work out, though. Witches recognize matebonds.”
“I know. Witch-shifter crosses don’t yield strong witches, but they don’t usually yield weaker ones, either. It’s acceptable, though not preferred by some of the purists.”
“Purists.” His tone was dismissive. “Every species has them, and they’re all a pain in the ass. All supnats come from the same original source. The Great Drake.”
She snorted. “A dragon would say so.”
“I know witches worship His Handmaiden, Hekate . . . .”
“I’m ignoring your outrageous words, I’m far too old to be baited in this fashion.”
He slid a hand across the table and waited. After a moment of thought, she placed her hand in his, the strong fingers wrapping around hers. Comforting, in a way. A small tingle of awareness flowed up her arm from where their skin touched. His eyes held hers.
“Marcello wants to draw out the warlock and any enemies with him. It’s easier to set a trap with pretty bait and take out all the trash at once.”
“I don’t know if I like you referring to my people as trash, but as it happens I’ve already set a pretty trap.” She hesitated, then told him. “I hid a book in the preserves. If Dahl is smart, he’ll have a Finder with him who can sniff it out. He’ll break through my wards soon, realize the book isn’t here, and follow the trail.”
His nail traced designs on the back of her hand. “I don’t know if I like you doing something that dangerous without consulting me first, but it isn’t the most horrible plan you could have come up with. It draws them away from the children.”
Which had also been the main point, to keep any possible confrontation away from Joshua and Kayla.
“Why don’t you and Joshua come spend a few nights with us? Just until this matter is taken care of. There are guest bedrooms.”
Her brow arched. “You aren’t worried about Kayla sneaking into his room late at night?” She was teasing him, but he stiffened anyway, lip pulling back in a small snarl.
“I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all. They’re too young.”
Jezamine sighed and tried to pull her hand away. He held fast. She stopped fighting and let him hold her. “I know, and I agree in a way, but I have to remind myself that it wasn’t long ago that our marriages were arranged at sixteen. It’s only after decades of integration in human cultures that we began waiting for marriage until later. But before, it was considered best to settle the youth down early to avoid unfavorable matches between bloodlines.”
He sniffed. “Witches are obsessed with bloodlines, and breeding different gifts into their whelps. All dragons care about is whether the male is strong enough to eat his mate’s enemies.”
“Joshua is a good young man. He’ll be a strong warlock. I think the responsibility of a baby and . . . girlfriend . . . will spur him to master his magical studies.”
“We’ll see. No bedroom sneaking, Jezamine. I’m already on edge.”
She didn't want to leave her home, but she was practical enough to see the necessity, and over the last night, the idea had worn on her since the time he'd originally suggested it. It was basic defense strategy, after all. During a war, everyone would condense into a few highly defensible homes. It was more difficult to keep people alive when they were spread out and whereabouts unaccounted for during the day. Not that they were at war, or that she believed there was any real threat of death . . . but when magic, dragons, power, and ancient family pride were involved, things happened.
“We’ll sit them down and discuss rules.”
“So you’ll come?”
“Let’s see how the grill goes tomorrow. And if the family integrates well, then a few days of your hospitality while I get rid of Dahl—”
“While I get rid of Dahl.”
Her look was withering. “Do you really think I’m going to sit back and let you handle my coven’s problems while I bake cookies? You may be a dragon, you may even share some of our blood, but I need to be the one to resolve this.”
“I’ll be at your side.” He rose, finally releasing her hand. “I know you don’t think of yourself as mine yet, and that’s fine. Despite a matebond, we still don’t know each other well. But you are mine, Jezamine. And I protect what belongs to me.”
“I’m sure you do. You’re a father, after all.” She glanced out the window at the dimming sunlight. “I have a meeting tonight at Bearly Baja I need to get ready for.”
His eyes narrowed. “A meeting? With who?”
Jezamine blinked. The snarl underneath his voice . . . . “Morris is interested in a larger purchase from my business. Some custom blends.”
“Morris? The bear clan enforcer?”
“He’s their enforcer? I knew he wasn’t an alpha, and he’s too strong for a beta. I didn’t realize.”
“He’s unmated.” Not only did Donato sound displeased, but the round pupil of his green eyes began to narrow to a slit.
“Well, yes. I believe so.”
“And all he’s interested in is . . . what do you sell again?”
“Tea.”
“Tea?” His brow lowered. “He isn’t interested in tea. I’m going with you.”
“Absolutely not. This is business, and you aren’t my boyfriend.”
His lip curled up over a slowly elongating fang. “Would you care to wager, tesoro?”
Jezamine rose, temper sparking. “You just wait one blessed minute. This alpha act isn’t attractive at all.”
“I don’t care about attractive. I care about drawing a line around what is mine.”
She . . . sputtered. “A line? You mean like marking your territory?”
Donato smiled, and it wasn’t friendly. “Something like that. Go get ready. I’ll even wait on the porch. Right in front of the front door.”
Silent a brief moment, she considered her options. Did she want a confrontation with Donato? No. She had better things to waste her strength on. She relaxed. “Sure. Wait in front of the front door.”
He gave her a knowing look. “Don’t try and give me the slip, Jezamine. I’ve been alive a lot longer than you. I’m much sneakier.”
14
Because he’d irritated her, and she was a little petty, Jez
amine added just a bit of extra something to her evening attire. She hadn’t planned on changing clothing, but she decided on a pair of skin-tight jeans in a dark wash—high-waisted and with enough spandex in them to make a difference. She wasn’t that much of a glutton—and a silky tank top with a draped neckline. She added dangling earrings, brushed her hair until it was sleek and shiny, and slicked on lipstick. Paused, added mascara and a swipe of shimmery bronzer.
“You look nice,” Donato said when she exited the house.
She eyed him sideways as they walked down the front path. “I want to look nice for Morris, so he knows I care.” Never mind that her meeting was with his female bartender.
Donato inhaled, the breath whistling between his teeth a moment later when he exhaled. “He can look. He can look all he wants.”
She ignored the threat in the statement. It was ridiculous, anyway.
Donato followed her in his own car because this wasn’t a date, and she had to draw the line somewhere. The drake did park as close to her as possible and caught up with her in the parking lot—she didn’t bother waiting for him—so they were side by side as they approached the entrance. On select nights the place turned into a makeshift club, and the line was long enough to make it a seven minute wait.
Morris was standing in front of the door when they approached. “Jezamine, you should have come right up. You didn’t have to wait in line.”
“Morris,” Donato said.
“Caruso.” Morris inclined his head, as friendly as a bear, but still polite. “You with Jezamine?”
“Yes.”
“Cool. Go on in. Drinks on the house. Aura’s waiting for you.”
“Aura?” Donato asked as they entered.
“Morris’ bartender. She’s in charge of mixology for the restaurant.”
“You’re having the meeting with her.”
“Yep.”
“Shame on you, Jezamine.”
Donato sounded amused and because it was hard for her to stay annoyed for long, she grinned. “Don’t be difficult, then.”