by Alyssa Day
Mother? Lucinda in no way looked old enough to have this grown woman as a daughter. Fiona knew the shifters lived longer lives than humans, but she hadn’t realized they retained their youthful appearance for so long.
When Lucinda didn’t immediately dismiss the idea, Fiona allowed herself to hope, but said nothing further. She’d played her hand. It was all Lucinda’s decision now.
Finally, the alpha nodded. “Because my cub wishes it, I will allow you to tell your story. Be sure, though, that it is the finest tale you have ever told, or you will regret it. You will also buy drinks for everyone in my pub, so they may soothe their dry throats while they listen.”
Fiona knew when to give in gracefully. She very carefully reached into her pocket for her credit card, since she hadn’t brought nearly enough cash to buy pints for a room full of thirsty shifters. Lucinda nodded, and her daughter walked over and took the card from Fiona. She hadn’t gone three steps toward her mother, however, when she gasped and whirled around.
“Fiona Campbell? The Fiona Campbell? The Forest Fairies and The Selkies Return Fiona Campbell?”
Fiona nodded, sighing. She hadn’t really expected to be recognized in a shifter pub, but of course werewolves had children, too. She fought back another wave of giggles at the thought, realizing it was simply a crazy reaction to the relief that she wasn’t going to be eaten.
At least, not for however long it took to tell her story.
“Mother, this is Fiona Campbell!”
Lucinda rolled her eyes. “Yes, I think even a deaf person would have gotten that by now. Who is Fiona Campbell?”
“Only the most famous children’s book author and illustrator in the United Kingdom!” Lucinda’s daughter was all but jumping up and down, a reaction Fiona usually only received from fans about fifteen years younger.
“Ginny, calm down,” Lucinda ordered, and Ginny immediately dropped her head submissively. “Now, slow down and explain.”
“Do you remember that book I showed you? The one with the painting of the forest in Scotland that you said was so vivid it reminded you of your childhood in the country? That’s Fiona Campbell.”
“Now that we’re all friends, perhaps you can ask your associates to let me pass?” Christophe called out.
“Not a chance, sorcerer.” Lucinda gestured to Ginny and the young shifter approached her mother and spent several minutes whispering urgently to her. Lucinda finally nodded and Ginny moved a few steps away.
“Famous author, maybe. It seems you have a fan in my daughter,” Lucinda told Fiona. “But your companion poses too great a threat. However, we have our own magic here. If he will agree to be bound, we will consider allowing you both to leave unharmed. After your story, and if it pleases, of course.”
Christophe’s face drained of all color, and Fiona realized that nothing could be worse for him than being bound. Not unless they planned to lock him in a box, and they’d only do that over her dead body.
“No,” Fiona said. “Let him go. You can bind me or whatever you need to do.”
“No!” Christophe shouted. “Leave her alone. Let her go. I’ll agree to anything you want.”
Lucinda smiled. “Most do,” she said. “You two are so touching. Ah, here is help.”
The oldest woman Fiona had ever seen in her life chose that moment to make an entrance from the back room. Fiona supposed she must be a shifter, too, considering the company, but she looked like Mother Earth or the moon goddess herself. In spite of the dire situation, Fiona’s fingers itched for her paints.
The old woman’s pale, pale eyes widened, and then she laughed. Her laughter held so much power that even Fiona could feel it. All the wolves but the alpha bowed, and even Lucinda inclined her head.
“No, child, I am no moon goddess, though you flatter me with the comparison,” the woman said, moving toward Christophe. “Now let’s see about the magic in this man. It tastes of sea and salt and ancient days, but not at all of sorcery.”
Christophe bowed his most elegant court bow. “As I have told your friends, Wise One.”
The old woman smiled and patted his cheek. “Melisande will do, Atlantean. Simply Melisande.”
He tilted his head, studying her. “How did you—”
“I know much beyond the purview of you youngsters,” she chided him. “Do you swear by your sea god to harm none here?”
Christophe scanned the room, his gaze finally coming to rest on Lucinda. “I will harm none so long as my mate is not harmed, Lady Melisande. I do so swear it by my oath to Poseidon.”
Fiona tried to mask her shock. His mate?
“Such pretty manners in this boy,” Melisande said, chuckling. She turned toward Lucinda. “You may let him go now.”
Lucinda made another gesture, and the shifters surrounding Christophe melted away, as did the ones around Fiona, although one of them took one long, last sniff of her hair before he moved off. Christophe leapt across the space separating them, so fast he was a blur, and pulled her into his arms.
“Never again,” he whispered into her hair. “If something happened to you—Never again.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” she murmured, as Lucinda approached.
“I loved that painting,” Lucinda admitted. “The Scottish forest. That was you? You don’t look—”
Fiona interrupted her with the simple action of pulling the red wig off her head and shaking out her own blond hair. “It’s easier to go out, sometimes, when people don’t know who I am. I’m in no way famous like an actor or TV presenter, but I do get recognized, and people—parents, especially—seem to be disturbed by the idea that the woman who writes their children’s bedtime stories might be seen in a pub.” She smiled ruefully. “I rather think they expect me to live in one of the forests from my paintings.”
Lucinda nodded. “I once did. Perhaps someday I’ll tell you about it.”
Christophe leaned forward, and Fiona squeezed his hand in warning.
“I would enjoy hearing it,” she said. “Perhaps in another venue?”
“I apologize for our lack of hospitality,” Lucinda said, handing Fiona’s credit card back to her. “Drinks on the house, while The Melting Moon’s first guest author tells us her tale,” she shouted, and a rousing cheer shook the walls of the pub.
Fiona finally, very carefully, allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief.
Christophe, with Melisande ensconced in a chair nearby, watched as a room full of wolf shifters, among the deadliest of all predators, sat entranced and listened to Fiona tell a tale. Although, to be sure, the story was one of the finest he’d ever heard. The wolves’ own moon goddess, known for her incredible beauty and the vanity that was her greatest downfall, had apparently taken a little jaunt to Scotland one day and fallen hard for a Scottish warrior.
The warrior and the goddess. It named his own story, and he wasn’t sure his was fated to have any more of a happy ending than Fiona’s tale. A mere mortal wasn’t meant to love a goddess, and Fiona shone brighter than any mere moon. She was brilliant and brave beyond anything he had ever seen in a human. She’d faced down Lucinda’s threat with a smile and an offer of her own.
She was incredible.
He could never deserve her.
“Don’t wait too long before claiming that one for your own,” Evan said from behind him. “She is a treasure, is she not?”
Christophe turned to find the alpha’s mate, his nose healed and his face cleaned of blood, leaning against the bar next to him. Evan raised his mug to Christophe in a wry toast.
“Truce?”
Christophe nodded and raised his own mug. “Truce. Although it would have been a far different story if you’d hurt her.”
Evan shrugged. “No need for posturing now. The crisis is past. Our two alpha females worked out their own balance, I think.”
Christophe nodded, his gaze returning to Fiona, who was gesturing animatedly with her hands as she told of the warrior’s fearsome jealousy.
&
nbsp; “It is not always easy to fall in love with the brightest star in the firmament. I know this.” Evan nodded to Lucinda, who sat with her daughter, both of them clearly enraptured with the story. “I had to kill three challengers for her hand before I won her.”
“Things are different outside the Pack,” Christophe said.
“Yes, and no. You feel you are not worthy of her, I think,” Evan said shrewdly. “Get over it, before she believes it, too.”
“You always talk to strangers about their love lives?” Christophe drew another long pull on his ale before putting it down. “Bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”
Evan smiled. “I am Spanish, my friend. Nothing in the world is as important as love.”
He walked off to join his mate at the table, leaving Christophe staring after him in astonishment. First the man tries to kill him, then he gives him advice on his love life. Christophe didn’t know whether to be amused or offended.
The roar of applause, accompanied by whistling, hooting, and stomping feet, snapped him out of his musings and he made his way through the noisy crowd to Fiona’s side. She was flushed, clearly enjoying the shifters’ reaction to her story.
She turned a shy smile up to him. “Did you like it?”
“It was a wonderful story, mi amara,” he said, pulling her into his arms, simply because he needed to feel her close. “Perhaps now we leave?”
The crowd quieted down, and he watched Lucinda cross the floor to the two of them.
“Thank you,” the alpha said, her eyes bright. “That was a lovely story. You are welcome here at The Melting Moon anytime, Lady Fiona Campbell. Your mate, too.”
Fiona smiled and held out her hand. “Thank you. I am very honored.”
The crowd cheered again, and Christophe marveled at Fiona’s instinctive ability to do and say the exactly right thing at the exactly right time.
“I promise you if we find news of the Siren, we will send word to you,” Christophe said quietly, for Lucinda’s ears alone. “I would not want a gem that could cause harm to my people in vampire hands, either.”
Lucinda nodded, and Evan, who’d walked up behind her, smiled.
“You would make a fine shifter, my friend,” Evan told him. “Fearless and honorable. It is an unbeatable combination. Remember what I told you.”
Christophe bowed to the two of them, one of his best court bows, and when he rose, Lucinda was grinning.
“Oh, he is too pretty, Fiona. You, too, are a lucky woman.” She put her arm in her mate’s.
“Yes, I am,” Fiona agreed. “We must be off now. Please tell Ginny I’ll call her soon to talk to her about writing.”
“She’ll be thrilled. Good luck, both of you, and be careful. If Telios is indeed behind this, he is a very, very dangerous enemy to make. He is deadly and completely insane. A terrible combination.” Lethal-looking claws suddenly ripped out of the ends of her still-human hands. “I will gladly tear his throat out and eat his heart if I find out he threatens my kind. We have feelers out, too, but vampires do not talk to shifters about this, as you may imagine. Perhaps you will fare better.”
Evan nodded solemnly. “If it comes to war, you of Atlantis will have to choose sides.”
“We are on the side of humanity,” Christophe said flatly. “Through oath and precedent of more than eleven thousands of years. But should it come to a battle between shifter and bloodsucker, we will never take the side of any who try to enthrall others, this I swear to you.”
Fiona nodded. “It’s wrong. We’ll do whatever we can.” She leaned in toward Lucinda and spoke in a quiet, confiding tone. “It might help with public relations if you stop threatening to eat humans, you know. Just a thought.”
The alpha’s laughter followed them all the way out of the bar.
Chapter 31
Once they hit the sidewalk, Christophe took a firm grip on Fiona’s arm and headed straight for the bikes. He was taking her back to her nice, safe home, where he didn’t have to worry about being ambushed while anybody threatened to eat her.
A ragged group of shifters was crowded around the Ducatis, admiring them. When Christophe approached, one of the bigger males put a hand on the seat.
“This bike used to be yours, human? Because I’m thinking it’s mine now. I’ll take your pretty little woman, too.”
The rest of the thugs laughed and nudged one another, egging the stupid one on.
Stupider one?
“I’m guessing you weren’t inside,” Christophe said.
Before the shifter could move, Christophe’s dagger shot through the air and buried itself in his throat. As the man gurgled, blood spurting out around the blade, he began to fall, and Christophe snatched his blade back, wiping it on the nearest shifter’s shirt.
“He’ll heal. Eventually. Anybody else?” He channeled power until it seared his skin and lit up the night sky with an eerie blue-green glow.
The rest of them uttered hasty denials and dragged their friend away. Christophe turned to find Fiona staring at him, her eyes huge.
“I’ve had enough of people threatening you,” he said flatly. “The next time it happens, I’m going to start killing them.” It wasn’t a threat, it was a simple fact. They’d threatened his woman. The next person to do it died. Anyone after that to do it, died.
Simple.
“You can’t keep treating me like I’m some fragile princess you have to protect,” Fiona said.
“It’s not only my sworn duty this time. It’s personal. Get used to it.”
“No. I won’t. Listen to me, Christophe, and listen closely. This can never work—our partnership, our relationship, whatever we have here—unless you treat me like an equal.”
He didn’t understand why she didn’t understand. “You’re not equal. Not as a warrior. You don’t have offensive magic, only defensive, and you don’t have centuries of battle training and experience. How can I possibly treat you like an equal?”
She sighed and took his hands in hers. “I’m not talking about that kind of equal. I don’t claim to have any of that. But I have a brain. I’m the one who got us out of that mess in the pub, didn’t I? You have to trust me, too.”
“Not everyone is going to be a fan of your books, Fiona. Sometimes it’s going to take fighting our way out, and I won’t allow you to be in situations like that.”
“When it does involve fighting, I’ll let you lead the way. I’m not an idiot. But you have to let me make the choice of what I do and where I go, and you have to let me stand by your side when we can do more together than apart.” She released her hands and took a deep breath. “Also, you need to forget the word allow. Or I’ll go my own way now. Trust me or lose me, that’s the choice. Now it’s up to you.”
With that, she swung one leg over her bike, put her helmet on, and took off. He stood watching her go for a few seconds before he climbed on his own bike and followed. Trust her or lose her. How could such a simple decision be so damn tough to make?
Fiona concentrated on the road, the traffic, and not crying. In that order. She was looking for the nearest coffee shop that was at least ten kilometers away from that damn pub. Nothing like fear of being an evening snack for a bunch of wolves to shake a girl up.
The truth wasn’t that simple, though. It wasn’t about fear. It was about finally finding a man who excited and challenged her on every level—physically, emotionally, mentally—and then learning he couldn’t put aside his need to protect her long enough to consider her a true partner.
A true equal.
She’d seen what happened to women who allowed men to dominate them. Her grandfather had bullied her grandmother into an early grave. Even in the name of protecting her, Christophe couldn’t take over her life. If she let him begin now, he’d never stop. Slowly, gradually, he’d wrap her in a lovely, soft cocoon—with him in control. The Scarlet Ninja would be no more. Fiona herself would disappear, taken over by a useless version of herself who was very well-sated in bed but not in any ot
her way.
No. He had to learn, or he had to go.
By the time she pulled the bike over to the side of the road underneath the welcoming coffee shop sign, she’d all but resigned herself to never seeing him again. So when the roar of the second Ducati sounded beside her, she half wondered if she were imagining it.
The bike shut off.
“I’m sorry. You were right,” Christophe said.
She smiled and scrubbed the tears off her cheeks before she looked up at him. “My new five favorite words.”
“I can’t pretend this will be easy for me, but I’ll do my best,” he said. “I can’t walk away from you. Not now, maybe not ever. I don’t pretend that’s easy for me, either. You’ve turned my world upside down, so the least I can do is trust you.”
She wanted to throw herself into his arms. She settled for taking his hand.
“Coffee? While we plan our next move?”
“Our next move is clear,” he said. “We’re going to Daybreak, the vampire club. Did you happen to write any vampire stories?”
Chapter 32
The Daybreak Inn, East End
The soulful sound of jazz piano and a sultry female voice singing about heartbreak and the man who done her wrong met them when they walked in the doors of the Daybreak club. Fiona had never been in a vampire nightclub, so she looked around her with some interest.
It was nothing at all like she’d expected.
Soft lighting turned the space a mellow, smoky gold. Deep chocolate walls and dark brown leather booths accented the rich golden tones of the wooden tables and the spectacularly polished bar. It looked like an old world, old money gentleman’s club from a novel.
The people who occupied the space were similarly golden. Too beautiful, too perfect to be real. Or at least too perfect to be human. These were all vampires, she’d bet, and every single one of them had turned to look at her.
“Nice the way you make instant friends wherever you go,” Christophe said next to her ear.