by Kelly Meding
I was way too tired to make him explain further.
“As for the wolves,” he said, “they are not on the premises. Kathleen says she was never privy to Weller’s plans regarding the wolves, nor their current location.”
Fantastic. So much for that vacation with fruity drinks and umbrellas. “Vincent,” I said. “He was unconscious. How is he?”
“He is shaken and confused, but alive. He’ll suffer no lasting effects from his blood loss, as it was Kathleen who drained him. She said she was careful.”
Vincent was alive, which was amazing news, but he was also unlikely to want to have anything to do with me now, after all of this. His last phone message to me suggested deepening our relationship. Most likely, he’d delete me from his cell phone and suggest I take a flying leap off the nearest bridge. I wouldn’t begrudge him such a thing. He was safer with a girlfriend who didn’t get him kidnapped by crazy, power-hungry US Para-Marshals and their necromancers.
Nine months had been a pretty good run.
“He was quite concerned for your well-being,” Tennyson said. My feelings must have been telegraphing across my face. Or he was reading my mind again. Awesome.
“Is he still here?”
“Outside drinking orange juice and overseeing the deconstruction, I believe. I would help, as well, but the sun is up. Would you like me to fetch him?”
“No, it can wait.” All I really wanted was my bed at home. Home in my apartment, where it was safe and quiet and no one tried to stab me with a silver melon baller. I couldn’t go back to those great nights Vincent and I had spent together, enjoying each other’s bodies, but I could climb into bed with the memories. It was likely all I’d bed with for a good long while.
Tennyson grunted. His mouth was pulled tight, his eyes narrow.
I blinked. “What?”
“Your thoughts are distracting.”
I blushed scarlet, my cheeks heating enough to catch the sofa on fire. “Then quit listening.”
“You took my blood barely two hours ago, Shiloh. The effects are fresh and difficult to block, but they will diminish.”
“You said that last time.”
“It has only been a few days. More time is obviously required. You are of a peculiar nature, and magic is not an exact science.”
The oddity of his statement made me grin. “My peculiar nature, huh? Is that my human half or my djinn half?”
“I was going to say it was your insufferable sarcasm, but that’s beginning to grow on me, too.”
“Duly noted.” I turned my hand palm up, and after a moment’s hesitation, he pressed his palm to mine. Our fingers threaded. My pulse thrummed beneath his touch. “Thank you for saving me. Again.”
“You are very welcome. Again. And thank you for saving me.”
“I can’t say I did all that much.”
“You did more than you realize.” He smiled. “You made my wish come true.”
Ugh—corny. Yet I couldn’t help but blush a little more at the intensity behind his words.
Metal clanged outside, and then a brief cheer rose. I grinned at their victory over the necromancer’s construct. So much time and energy and blood put into one man’s greed, and we’d taken it down with a crash and a cheer. Not just a man, though—a three-hundred-year-old necromancer and the marshal pulling his strings.
What a weird job I have.
Dozens of other questions remained to be answered, but my exhausted mind wouldn’t let me focus enough to ask them. I needed another nap, that was all. Another nap and I’d be fine, ready and capable of running my team again.
Such as it was. Kathleen wasn’t truly mine. Julius was dead. Novak would need time off until his hands healed. Something sad was coming from Tennyson, and I wasn’t sure why. “What else?” I asked.
“Shiloh,” Tennyson said, hesitation in his voice. “Do you recall the bargain you made with—” His phone rang, cutting off his question. I stared, unsure which bargain he meant, and waited for him to give the phone a clipped, “I’ll let her know,” before hanging up.
“Your mother,” he reported. “She wanted me to tell you she’s holding down the fort and fielding several inquiries into recent events.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Mom was still safe and at the compound. Great news. Which didn’t explain the pensive look on his face. “What?”
“You remember her?”
I stared. “Of course I remember my mother, why shouldn’t I?”
“And your father?”
“Is there a reason I should have forgotten about my parents?” I was becoming genuinely annoyed at his questions. What the hell kind of reason would I have for forgetting my parents? “What, Tennyson?”
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “I suppose my belief was mistaken. Your mother also reports Jaxon is up and about and demanding to know everything that is happening. He is recovering well.”
I frowned and tilted my head to the side, which was hard to do lying down. “Who’s Jaxon?”
He closed his eyes, jaw tightening, and when he looked at me again, sadness and understanding warred for attention in their depths. He leaned closer and touched my cheek with the knuckle of one finger. His gentleness was alarming. “Never mind, child,” Tennyson said softly. “Get some rest now. You’ll meet him again shortly.”
Again. I wanted to ask, but fatigue stole my words. So I let myself drift awhile, hoping the pain would be gone when I finally woke to face the tasks yet left to complete, and a little curious to meet this mysterious man named Jaxon.
Acknowledgments
Shiloh Harrison came to me many years ago, while I was busy writing other urban fantasy stories, and she very stubbornly stayed put. Her entire story was actually birthed after a Friday night movie binge with my best friend, while drinking homemade sangria (fun times!), so I wrote it and then put it away. Then an opportunity came along to write a short story for the Carniepunk anthology, and I had great fun exploring Shiloh’s backstory. So thank you to all the readers who’ve asked for more of Shiloh, Julius, and friends over the years. This one’s for you!
Thank you to my agent, Jonathan Lyons, for continuing to believe in me these past ten (TEN!) years. It’s been a long and winding road, my friend. Thank you to my editor, David Pomerico, for taking a chance on this series. You were there for the start of my publishing journey, and I’ve very much enjoyed working with you again.
And a huge thank you to my loyal and patient readers. It’s been a while since I’ve gone old-school urban fantasy, and I think Dreg City fans will find a lot to love in Shiloh’s world of the Strays.
Announcement to Stray Moon
Shi and the Para-Marshals may have prevented the necromancer from enslaving the vampires, but there’s still the issue of the missing werewolves they are no closer to solving. And the Alphas are only going to sit idly by for so long before they do what needs to be done to ensure their Packs are safe.
No matter what the cost.
Read
STRAY MOON
On-sale from Harper Voyager Impulse Summer 2019!
About the Author
Born and raised in Southern Delaware, KELLY MEDING survived five years in the hustle and bustle of Northern Virginia, only to retreat back to the peace and sanity of the Eastern Shore. An avid reader and film buff, she discovered Freddy Krueger at a very young age, and has since had a lifelong obsession with horror, science fiction, and fantasy, on which she blames her interest in vampires, psychic powers, superheroes, and all things paranormal.
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By Kelly Meding
Stray Magic
Stray Moon (forthcoming)
Dreg City
Three Days to Dead
As Lie the Dead
Another Kind of Dead
Wrong Side of Dead
Requiem for the Dead
The Night Before Dead
MetaWars
Trance
&n
bsp; Changeling
Tempest
Chimera
The Project Files Duology
Oracle
Lazarus
Cornerstone Run (as Kelly Meade)
Black Rook
Gray Bishop
White Knight
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
stray magic. Copyright © 2018 by Kelly Meding. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
Digital Edition JUNE 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-284768-3
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-284767-6
Cover Photographs © Jamie Carroll/ iStock /Getty images (Woman) © Straight 8 Photography/ Shutterstock (Badge); © Biker Nut / Shutterstock (Background)
Harper Voyager, the Harper Voyager logo, and Harper Voyager Impulse are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers.
HarperCollins is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America and other countries.
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