by Emma Alisyn
“Clasp hands, brothers and sisters,” Roshell said. “Let us first give thanks to Hekate and her Consort.”
It was a typical meeting until the end. At several points, her mind even wandered. She paid just enough attention, for just long enough, to determine that this was a healthy, functioning coven where differing voices were heard and respected, and everyone who desired, had an opportunity for input. There was no bashing of other races or condescension of other covens. And then she heard Donato’s name.
“Donato has stirred his brothers,” one of the warlocks said. “On my patrol I noticed the dark one in flight until he cloaked—”
“I still think we should insist they declare what bloodline their magic is from,” someone said, sounding disgruntled. “We have oaths of conduct, and they haven’t taken them.”
“That is an old argument,” Roshell said. “We’ll table it for now. Has anyone heard of any threat against the city? The last time the brothers flew . . . .”
There was brief silence, and then a woman spoke. “My daughter attends high school with Kayla Caruso. I could have her—”
“No,” Jezamine said. She closed her eyes a moment. Of course, this had to happen. No way would the universe simply let her sneak in the back door of a local coven, hang out of the way minding her own business, and not drag others into her problems.
“Sister Jezamine?” Roshell inquired.
Jezamine sighed. “They’re in flight because of me. But . . . it shouldn’t directly affect the coven.” She realized her thumb had made its way to her mouth, teeth attaching to nail, and lowered her hand to her lap. She was too old for that kind of thing.
“Is this something you’d like to discuss in private with the coven elders?”
Jezamine met Roshell’s eyes. “I appreciate the offer. But I know covens—someone will just keep nagging.”
“Is there a danger, sister?” the warlock who’d spoken asked, voice careful. “I am Bash. I patrol the southern borders of the city to ensure there are no unauthorized entries.”
She studied Bash. He held himself like a warrior, one of the warlocks who practiced battle magic. Broad of chest and shoulder, he held himself with a relaxed readiness, the indigo of his clothing a beautiful foil against night-deep skin shimmering with nearly blue highlights under the sun. She shifted her sight. An ancient lineage, his aura held no hints of duplicity or corruption. This was the type of male, if he knew of her trouble, would immediately offer to help. Which was what she hadn’t wanted. There hadn’t been a coven war in centuries, and the Hearn’s fought nasty.
But she was going to live here for a long time. Joshua couldn’t leave Kayla. And Donato . . . she was fast coming to the point where she could imagine a life with him. She never would have come here if she hadn’t felt like it was really, really, time to settle down.
“The danger, so far, has been only to myself and my son,” she replied. “I’ve had some success in keeping it contained. It . . . is a private matter with my prior coven.”
“What coven in that, sister?” another witch asked.
It was a natural, and inevitable questions. “Hearn.”
“Oh, shiiii . . .,” someone muttered. “Trouble with Hearn? They’re crazy—”
Roshell's look sliced through the circle, and the voice fell silent, then said, “My bad, sis.”
“No problem.” Jezamine’s voice was very dry.
“And the trouble has to do with dragons?” Bash asked.
“They didn’t start it.” She heard the edge in his voice. The room was completely silent. She didn’t squirm, but her spine stiffened an iota. “I have, in my possession, a family heirloom of sorts, which I took with me after I divorced my coven-arranged spouse.”
Someone whistled. “Thought Hearns didn’t do divorce.”
“I’m an outlier.”
“A family heirloom, sister?” Roshell asked, voice gentle.
“A family heirloom. My ex-husband’s family wants it back. It is why they were eager to my match in the first place, they thought they would have access to it.”
“”You’re a direct descendent,” Bash said. “I know what you’re talking about. If you’ve kept possession of it all this time . . .,” he trailed off, expression thoughtful.
She wasn’t weak in her power. She wasn’t Aleka, but she wasn’t weak. “I’ve mainly kept possession by changing cities and keeping a low profile. For . . . reasons, that’s no longer possible. I need to settle down here.”
“Your coven knows where you are. But why are the dragons involved?”
“My son is dating Kayla Caruso, so Donato and his brothers have an interest in ensuring my business doesn’t affect Kayla.”
“Then why not forbid Kayla from seeing Joshua? That would be simple, surely.”
“Well . . . .” She couldn’t reveal Kayla’s pregnancy. It wasn’t her right. So, she threw herself under the bus. “I have a personal connection with Donato. We’re also dating.”
“That explains it,” someone said. “I wouldn’t want to go toe to toe with a dragon clan, even if I was a Hearn.”
“I don’t want anyone to interfere if there is a difficulty,” Jezamine said. “We’re handling it, and the Hearns can be ruthless about outside interference.”
“We live here,” Bash said. “We have a right to deflect hostile witches entering our territory without permission. No one gave any Hearn other than yourself and your son permission to be in Felicity Falls.”
“We will watch, and remain neutral,” Roshell said. “Donato Caruso is no mean ally, and if we are needed, we will be here. We will respect Sister Jezamine’s desire to see that our community comes to no harm, as long as the danger remains contained, as she has been able to do admirably thus far.”
After the meeting, Roshell and Bash took Jezamine aside. “It’s a good thing to shield the coven,” Bash said. “But I am trained to handle these situations. I’ll be on watch.”
“I am not a Hearn,” Roshell said. “But I am Maven here, and my strength is not insignificant. Call me if you need me, Jezamine.” The witch took Jezamine’s hand and pressed it. “We would like to meet your son and Kayla as well. It’s good to have strong ties with the dragons, it promotes the peace and unity of the city.”
“It was always a long shot, so many different supnats living together under one council authority,” Bash said. “But the more we intermingle, the more the barriers will come down. We need to protect what we have here.” Bash and Roshell shared a glance, the energy of their unified vision arching between them.
“If I think it’s becoming dangerous, I’ll call you,” Jezamine said. “Thank you. And apply for the bulk discount on that blend you like.”
19
Jezamine didn’t regret introducing herself to the coven. It was a good decision, part of the beginning of laying down roots. But now it was time to go on a date with Donato Caruso.
She’d been barely able to concentrate after returning home from the meeting and had thrown in the towel early, opting to do a quick tidy up of her living room, and then taking a long bath. She considered expanding to make a line of bath bombs or maybe herbal bath infusions. By the time the doorbell rang, she’d managed to calm her nerves.
Jezamine opened the door as she walked down the stairs. “I don’t know if this is the best idea.”
He stood framed in the entryway, hands tucked casually into a pair of black slacks. No jacket, but a dress shirt and the wink of cuff links at his wrists. So, not too fancy, but a step above business dress and a touch more casual. She was glad she’d gone for the same tone when choosing her outfit.
“Why not?” he asked, green eyes glinting.
“Is this the best time for a date? With Dahl lurking?”
She stopped in front of him. His eyes took in everything, head lowering as a hand slid around her waist, anchoring her body flush to kiss. The kiss was long, hard, and hot.
“We can stay in,” he murmured against her lips. “If you prefe
r.”
How could he make her entire body tremble like this? “I don’t think I’m ready yet.” As much as she desired him, her nerves were wound up too tightly, her mind in a dozen different directions. The last thing she wanted was the vulnerability, the oblivion, of sex.
One last brush of lips against her cheek, and he took her hand, leading her to a luxury midsize SUV, the kind that crossed between a sedan and a minivan and said ‘family’ but could still be considered cool. The perfect vehicle for a dragon pretending to be a harmless parent of a local high-schooler. He opened her door, and she slid in.
“Joshua and Kayla are under wraps with Leandros, and Marcello is watching your house.” His voice was measured as he started the vehicle and began driving. “If anything happens, we’re a five-minute flight away.”
“You’re a five-minute flight away.”
He laughed, and soon, they were downtown. Her mixed witch/human residential district was situated close to shopping and restaurants, one of the reasons she’d chosen the location out of the list of available spots she’d been given when her residency was approved. A long walk, or short drive, but either way she was close to necessities. Coffee, free Wi-Fi when she wanted to work outside the home, and food she didn’t have to cook during the afternoon.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Rossetti’s.”
“Italian? Pasta is for flat-tooths.”
“They have steak.”
Of course, they did.
When entering the restaurant, the maitre’d immediately ushered them to an intimate booth in a quiet corner where Donato would be able to watch the dining room—and the dining room would be able to watch him.
“You’re a local celebrity,” she murmured after the waiter brought selections of wine and poured.
His eyes glinted in the candlelight. “Not really. Some fool manages at least once a week to offend me because he or she doesn’t know better.”
“How do you manage to endure?”
A long-suffering look crossed his face. “It’s worth it, so Kayla can have a happy upbringing.”
She reached across the table and patted his hand. “She’ll appreciate your sacrifice when she’s older.”
He grabbed her hand when she began to pull away, caressing the inside of her wrist. She licked her lips inadvertently, blushing a little when his eyes followed the movement. His thumb stroked, awakening an answering call deep in her core.
“Why do you deny us, Jezamine?” he asked. “Your desire perfumes the air. I know you ache as much as I do.”
Like humans, witches hated to be reminded that shifter supnats could smell certain bodily reactions.
“Keep your nose to yourself. I control my body, my body doesn’t control me. Indulging in reckless lust would be unwise right now.”
“It would be an indulgence, yes, but we’re meant to be together.”
Her eyes lowered to his chest, and the jewel tucked away. It didn’t glow as much now, almost as if it was used to her presence, but there was always a constant, subtle light. “We don’t know why.”
Donato shrugged. “Does it matter why? I’ve wanted someone of my own for centuries. I’m pleased that someone is you.”
The genuine feeling in his words startled her. “But why, Donato? I understand the shifter imperative to mate—and witches have their own bonds. But . . . why go along with it when if you break the proximity, eventually the bond will dissolve?”
“It will dissolve, but we only get one chance to mate unless the mate dies.” The waiter came, and they busied themselves with ordering. She did have a taste for pasta, and was happy to order a dish with a mushroom and butter sauce. Rich, decadent, an overload of luscious carbs.
“We’re alike,” Donato said when the waiter left. “You understand loyalty, and responsibility. You understand what is needed to build a strong clan. You understand that the young come first.”
Jezamine frowned, looking at the white table cloth. “I understand that on paper we seem like a good couple, but what about . . . .” She didn’t want to say it. She was a grown woman, a mother of an almost adult son. Was she old? No, not by a long shot. Supnat lifespans were triple, sometimes longer, than humans. Despite being on the edge of what mortals would call middle-aged, she was youthful. If she wanted, she could bear children for many years to come. But her years still meant some of the romanticisms of one’s early twenties should have been rubbed off.
“What about love?” He sounded amused.
Jezamine looked up, eyes narrowed. He’d better not be mocking her.
“Jezamine, love is duty. Love is commitment. Love is trust.” Donato leaned forward. “Love is building a family together. And don’t tell me you don’t think the sex between us is explosive. I’m old enough to know what I have sitting in front of me. I see underneath the quiet exterior you attempt to maintain.”
“You’re one to talk. The whole soccer Dad routine isn’t fooling anyone.” She hid the beating of her heart behind the casual words, cursing that he would know how his speech, his tone, affected her. Her body clenched, her breath caught, and her mind began to spiral down the drain of dirty, dirty thoughts.
“Yes, it does, many people,” he said. “But not you, because it shouldn’t.”
Their food came, and they fell silent for several moments, eating. “I said I’m not in a hurry, Jezamine, and I meant it. But I don’t know how much longer I can pretend to be tame. I want you.”
She froze in the act of taking another bite of creamy pasta. The last three words were a low, bitten off growl. Had any male ever said that to her, in those words? Of course, Dahl had asked for sex, but it had always felt it was more like him scratching an itch or engaging in a perk that came along with marriage. She’d gone along at first—though now the memories made her spine crawl with distaste—but as she’d matured, as Joshua had grown older, she’d begun to tell him no. Begun to understand that her body, her mind, her heart couldn’t stand that man.
She hadn’t let anyone touch her since. Well, since the other night.
And now . . . now she was craving a male’s touch, for the first time in decades. Her lapse the other night was just the beginning. Jezamine put the fork down, eyes closing. “I . . . if we . . . are together, it doesn’t mean we’re bonded. It’s just means we desire each other, and we’re both adults. I want to enjoy a relationship before jumping into anything.”
Because she’d already been coerced into marriage once, and look how that turned out. Not that this situation was remotely the same, but she’d missed out on a simple courtship. On the pleasure of making the decision on her own.
“Your first marriage was arranged.” His voice was very, very gentle.
Jezamine nodded. “I was twenty. It’s traditional.”
“It was abuse.”
“Many of the marriages turn out very well, and usually, the couples are happy with each other. I wasn’t, I guess.”
“Because you were always meant to be mine. It was nothing but legalized rape, Jezamine.”
Her eyelids flew open. “I wasn’t raped.”
His brow rose, eyes flinty behind the thin framed glasses. “What would you call it?”
After a long stare, she looked away. What would she call it? She pressed a hand to her stomach. “Let’s not . . . discuss that.”
“Are you on birth control?”
The question startled her. “Of course, not. I never needed it.”
“If you fall pregnant, Jezamine, time will be up. Do you understand? If you want sex without a formal commitment between us, understand that that is the line I’ll draw. No infant of mine will be born outside my home.”
“I . . . agree.” The words warmed her, though she kept the feelings off her face. The possessiveness, the surety that he would want the child, that he would protect the child . . . and the mother. “There are condoms, you know.”
He snorted, and resumed eating. “If you say so.”
“What does th
at mean?”
His eyes flicked upward towards hers. “You already know what that means.”
She refused to dignify the comment, though her cheeks turned red. Yes, yes she did know what he meant, and her pussy clenched in remembrance of the thick, hard length pumping between her thighs.
The rest of the dinner, they tacitly agreed to turn the conversation to lighter topics. Getting to know you topics, but also the kind of conversation one might have with a long-time friend. They had to speak about deeper things—they were more than just a new, potential couple feeling each other out. They were already family and in a way, already friends. There was responsibility and commitment between them with their shared grandchild. It created a bond. And if Jezamine was honest with herself, she grasped at the bond. Life had been, if not quite lonely, then isolated. Quiet. Rarely was there anyone to talk to beyond surface level.
Donato was filling a need she had quietly accepted would remain unfulfilled. She had made a good life for herself, and if she wasn’t ecstatically happy, she was, at least, content. But sitting in front of her was a chance to be more than content.
A chance for love. For genuine connection.
But first . . . she had to get rid of Dahl. Had to show the coven that pursuing the book was a fruitless course of action.
Donato paused in front of the car after they exited the restaurant, turning towards her. His hand cupped her cheek. “Walk with me?”
It was a half moon, and the sky was clear. Stars twinkled, and the late spring air proved a pleasant breeze. The perfect night for a walk. Jezamine fell into step beside him, arm brushing against his until finally strong fingers wrapped around hers. It was . . . sweet. Nearly innocent, if it weren’t for the tension in his body. She suppressed a smile. Yes, sweet was the right word. Many other males would have pressed their suit, taken advantage of her desire and attempted to overwhelm her senses with sexual pheromones. Donato was a patient, stealthy hunter.
It made him more dangerous. He wanted more than her body, she understood. He wanted her mind, her heart, her future. Her womb. No male mentioned children unless that eventuality was on the forefront of his mind.