Carnal Magic: The Wraith Accords, Book 1

by Lila Dubois

  For those who are confused by differences in terminology or spelling between what you’ve seen before and what you read in this book, please know that it isn’t due to lazy research. It’s actually due to an abundance of research. In fact, when I hit a point where I wasn’t sure what to do, for example, with the spelling of Tuatha de Danaan, I even asked my mother-in-law, who has degrees in Irish history and archaeology.

  Any mistakes or mistranslations are entirely my fault, though I will freely blame both my husband and my editor, and if someone points them out I will simply pretend they were all part of my devious master plan.

  I hope that you enjoyed Aed and Isabel’s story. If you have any questions or comments I’d love to hear from you.

  —Lila

  Translation and Pronunciation Guide

  Tuatha de Danaan – Tribe of the Goddess Danu or Dana

  Tuatha de – People of the Goddess

  Tuath – one of the people/person (of the goddess)

  Pronunciation of Tuatha de Danaan Names

  Aed – Aid

  Albha – Ahl-buh

  Cairbe – Ka-bra

  Cormac – Core-mac (Exactly like you think)

  Deavon – Day-uf-un

  Deocha – Juh-ka

  Evon – Ai-vun

  Fionn – Fe-yuhn

  Fionnin – Fe-yuhn-een

  Niamh – Knee-of

  Oisin – Ush-een

  About the Author

  Lila Dubois is a tech writer by day and a romance writer by night. She’s living her own version of a romance novel with her Irish Farm Boy, whom she imported to Los Angeles. Having spent extensive time in France, Egypt, Turkey, Ireland and England, Lila speaks five languages, none of them—including English—fluently.

  To learn more about Lila, please visit www.liladubois.net or email her at author@liladubois.net.

  Look for these titles by Lila Dubois

  Now Available:

  Sealed with a Kiss

  Calling the Wild

  Monsters in Hollywood

  Lights, Camera…Monster

  My Fair Monster

  Gone with the Monster

  Have Monster, Will Travel

  A Monster and a Gentleman

  The Last of the Monsters

  Glenncailty Castle

  The Harp and the Fiddle

  The Fire and the Earth

  The Shadow and the Night

  Sins and secrets aren’t the only skeletons in the closet…

  The Shadow and the Night

  © 2014 Lila Dubois

  Glenncailty Castle, Book 3

  London forensic anthropologist Melissa Heavey isn’t anything like the characters in her grandmother’s beloved television crime dramas. Especially since an accident left her crippled and weary. While in Dublin to rest and recuperate, she’s asked to help the local Garda Síochána identify bones found in a rural luxury hotel.

  Curiosity-seeking bone gawkers were not the clients Tristan Fontaine anticipated when he took over the Glenncailty Castle restaurant. And a scientist taking over part of his kitchen for her lab? He’s having none of it. Yet she’s not backing down…and his pulse won’t stop speeding up when she’s near.

  As their attraction flares, Melissa soon discovers why Tristan is so dismissive of the bones—he’s been talking to the ghosts themselves. But the bones aren’t Glenncailty’s only secret, and Tristan is hiding a tragedy in his past more frightening than what’s lurking inside the castle walls.

  Warning: Contains a sexy French chef whose gifts aren’t limited to his hands, and a dry-witted scientist with intellect as sharp as scalpels. Delicious doesn’t even begin to cover it.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for The Shadow and the Night:

  Out of the corner of his eye Tristan saw Kris slide down one of the busy kitchen aisles. The maître d’s mouth was pursed, which was as close as the elegant man came to having a tantrum.

  He turned away from the salmon fillets en papillote they were preparing for that night’s special.

  “Kris,” he called out, and the other man turned. “What’s wrong?” he asked in French.

  Kris shrugged. That wasn’t a good sign. With a curse, Tristan put a piece of plastic wrap and a damp towel over the dough he was working with, heading to a quieter corner of the kitchen where Kris met him.

  “There’s a woman in the restaurant,” Kris said.

  “We’re not open. Throw her out.”

  “I cannot. Sorcha brought her here, and the woman, she says she needed a quiet place to work.”

  “Then she can go to the library.” Tristan liked and respected the guest relations manager, but the restaurant and the kitchen were his domain.

  “I think she came about the bones.”

  The bones. Tristan cursed. He was sick unto death of hearing about these bones. The Irish were so dramatic, getting upset over a few ghosts and bones. They should go to Paris—the whole city sat atop bones and the French weren’t thrown into a tizzy by it. But the police, the Gardaí, had closed the west wing until they were dealt with, and that risked the whole hotel and what he was trying to build here.

  “Then let her stay, put her out of the way.”

  “I did, but she’s hungry.” Kris drew in a long breath through his nose. “She wants to see a menu from the pub.”

  “Non. If she wants to eat pub food, then she will go there.” Tristan suddenly understood Kris’s ire. No one seemed to understand that the ambiance of dining was as important as the food, and that meant a beautiful room with well-appointed tables, candlelight and the aroma of fine wine, truffles and fresh herbs—not the stench of chips and meaty stew.

  “Give that to me.” At his order, Kris handed over the pub menu, a laminated sheet of uninspired—though delicious, because if Tristan had to serve fish and chips, it was the best fish and chips ever cooked—pub fare.

  Tristan stormed out of the kitchen into the restaurant. He took only a moment to appreciate the crystal chandeliers, cozy private areas created by half-walls and high-backed chairs, and headed for the darkest corner, a lost space where Kris seated those who wanted the utmost privacy or who weren’t dressed nicely.

  Tristan’s brows rose in surprise when he saw who was seated there. A pretty blonde woman no older than thirty sat with her head bent over a castle map. She wore a tunic embroidered with geometric shapes in bold earth tones over a simple white turtleneck. A heavy brass medallion hung from a cord around her neck, and she toyed with it as she read. Her hair was straight, falling to just above her shoulder. She was lightly tanned, and when she looked up her eyes were a beautiful hazel rather than the blue he was so used to seeing.

  She studied him, her gaze lingering on his face, but he could tell it wasn’t sexual—it was almost clinical.

  “Hello,” she said, “I’m Dr. Melissa Heavey. You’re…” She did a second once-over. “…either the head chef or the poissonnier.” She was English and well-educated, from the sound of her accent.

  Tristan stopped, taken by surprise. “I am the chef de cuisine.” He used the proper name for head chef.

  “And you’re French. That explains the western European Caucasian bone structure but Mediterranean coloring.”

  Tristan tilted his head to the side. “You’re a doctor?’

  “A Doctor of Philosophy, yes. I’m a forensic anthropologist.”

  “And you are here for the bones.”

  “So you do know about them. I wasn’t sure if the staff had been told.”

  “I am not staff. I am the chef.”

  “Of course, my apologies. I did a research project on the social stratification within kitchens while I was at university. It’s very structured, almost caste-like, but with huge potential for upward mobility.”

  “And that is how you know poissonni
er.” Despite his irritation, Tristan smiled. The pretty English woman was intriguing.

  “The fish chef, yes. You have the air of command necessary for a head chef, but you smell a little like raw fish and there is something shiny on your apron, which I assume is scales.”

  Tristan’s gaze narrowed. “You are a detective.”

  “No, of course not. I’m a scientist.”

  Tristan shrugged. She sounded like a detective. “As you say.” Down to business. He held up the pub menu. “If you want to eat this food, you must go to the pub.”

  “I need quiet. I won’t be here long.”

  “Then you may stay, but you will not eat.”

  “But I’m hungry.”

  “Then go to the pub.” She was arguing with him. No one argued with him—no matter how beautiful they were. He wanted to shake her. Then kiss her.

  “I want to eat here.”

  “And I will not serve bangers and mash—” The inelegant words made his lips curl. “—in my beautiful restaurant.”

  She tilted her head, hair swinging. “You’re quite serious.”

  “Oui.”

  She sighed, folded the brochure she’d spread out on the table. She then carefully replaced the silverware, napkin and glasses back in their proper spots and grabbed an ugly black case off the floor. She brushed past him.

  Tristan nodded in satisfaction that he’d maintained the rules he’d set for his restaurant but was a little sad to see the interesting woman go. She wore loose pants that tied at the hips, and they were just tight enough across the derrière that he got the feeling that under the loose tunic top was a nice body. It had been a long time since he’d been drawn to a woman the way he was drawn to her. And it wasn’t just physical attraction—she was intelligent and strong.

  He was so distracted by her derrière and his unexpected reaction to her that it took him a moment to realize that she wasn’t headed for the front door, but deeper into the restaurant.

  “Mademoiselle,” he said, jogging a few steps to keep up with her. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m hungry.” She stopped for a moment, looked around and then headed for the kitchen.

  Tristan darted ahead of her, positioning himself in front of the swinging doors. He folded his arms. Pretty or not, intriguing or not, she wasn’t going to interfere with his dinner prep.

  “This is my kitchen.”

  “I can tell. I’m excited to see it.”

  She tried to push past him, and he grabbed her upper arms. She made a little noise, and her eyes widened with pain. The case she carried fell from her hand.

  Tristan released her. He’d barely touched her, yet it seemed he’d caused her pain.

  “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

  “I…have a bruise there.”

  Tristan raised a brow. “From another chef whose kitchen you tried to disrupt?”

  “The result of killing the last man who tried to come between me and my dinner.”

  Her expression was so deadly serious that Tristan had a moment of real worry. Then she smiled and laughed. It changed her whole face, making her seem less serious and disconnected—more warm and approachable.

  “You looked quite alarmed,” she said as her laugh faded.

  “I do not understand English humor.”

  “Too bad, I’m quite funny.” With a smile, she grabbed her case and slid past him into the kitchen.

  Cursing, Tristan followed her.

  “Hello everyone.”

  The busy sounds of the kitchen stopped as everyone looked up at the strange blonde woman standing in the doorway. “My name is Melissa Heavey and I’m hungry. Is there someone here who might be able to—”

  Tristan grabbed her around the waist and hauled her back out through the doors.

  “You are…crazy,” he said as he set her down. He was too surprised to be really angry.

  “You’re not the first to mention that.”

  Resigned, Tristan threw his hands in the air, then planted them on his hips. “Fine, I will bring you food. You will have stew, fresh bread, a salad.” That was as far as he was willing to relent.

  “That sounds lovely.” She stooped and picked up her case. “Thank you very much…?”

  “Tristan, Tristan Fontaine.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tristan.” She held out her hand. “As I said, I’m Melissa.”

  Rather than shaking, he took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Enchanté, mademoiselle.”

  He was both surprised and pleased when she blushed. He’d expected her to laugh.

  “Enchanté, monsieur,” she replied.

  He held her hand for a moment longer than was casual. When she pulled back, he let her go, watching her walk to her table with a smile. Tristan was looking forward to learning more about Dr. Melissa Heavey.

  Passion and danger awaken in the dark…

  Edge of Night

  © 2013 Crystal Jordan

  The Night, Book 3

  Like most humans, Erin was totally in the dark about the hocus pocus going on around her, until she learned a hairy little secret—her aunt and her new husband were both werewolves.

  To say family politics got complicated is an understatement, especially when she dated and broke up with a vampire. She has no plans to get involved again with anyone anytime soon, but hey, a girl has to scratch an itch every now and then.

  FBI agent Luca Cavalli doesn’t mind Erin’s occasional booty call. He’s not looking for commitment, either. Plus, her family would be none too pleased to learn she’s seeing another vampire.

  But when a stalker starts making Erin’s life hell, memories of other women Luca’s loved and lost punch him in the gut. She’s in danger and he’s determined to provide her with protection that’s as up close and personal as it gets…

  Warning: Stalkers and werewolves, vampires and gun-toting FBI agents out for vengeance. Vampire-on-human naughtiness in every imaginable position—front door, back door, tied up, upside down, and sideways. A little orgasmic biting just makes it that much better.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Edge of Night:

  Someone was watching her.

  Awareness prickled along Erin’s nerves and made the hair rise on the back of her neck. She froze, her breath stopping as her gaze darted around the empty restaurant. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She’d watched the last of her employees leave ten minutes ago, and no one had come in since, but she could feel eyes on her. Staring. Boring into her skin.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d had this feeling recently.

  She needed to get the hell out of here. Her purse, with her car keys, was in the kitchen, so she hurried in that direction, hoping the sense of being watched, cornered like prey, would fade as she went. It didn’t. When she reached the threshold of the kitchen—normally her domain as the chef—she hesitated, glancing around again. Had someone managed to hide in there? She swallowed, swiping her clammy palms on her pants. There was a wooden stand with her knives to the left, and she grabbed the closest one.

  Not bothering to strip out of her chef’s jacket as she normally would have, she scooped up her purse and scurried down the long galley kitchen toward the back door. Ten more feet left…five…a few more steps and she’d escape. A clattering explosion of sound erupted just behind her and she whirled and screamed, the knife raised to fend off her attacker.

  A massive orange tabby cat hissed and spit, leaping over the soup pot he’d overturned. In the process, he careened into a stack of freshly-washed muffin tins, scattering them across the counter. He looked at her, blinked. “Meow.”

  “Balthasar,” she said faintly.

  Her heart slammed against her ribcage and she sucked in a breath. Adrenaline still pumped through her system, making her hands quake. She dropped the knife onto the co
untertop and bent over to brace her hands against her knees. “Jesus.”

  Just a cat, Erin. Nothing to freak out about. She shook her head. Letting the air ease out of her lungs, she straightened and found the big tabby had parked himself on the counter nearest her, purring as if scaring the shit out of her was no big deal. Sighing, she rubbed his back. “Sorry, kitty, the kitchen is closed for the night. No scraps for you.”

  His whiskers drooped pathetically, as if she’d stolen his will to live.

  “Besides, you made a mess.” She gestured with the hand holding her purse.

  Looking over his shoulder, he flicked his ears at the offending cookware, which rose in the air for a moment before settling back into its former order. Goose bumps shivered across her skin, the only indication she, a Normal, would have that magic was occurring. Erin arched her eyebrows at the cat. “Impressive.”

  His purr revved, and he bumped her fingers with his head, indicating that she should pet him for his efforts. She snorted and picked up the familiar to cuddle him close. He didn’t belong to her. Magickal animals didn’t attach themselves to non-Magickal people, but she knew his owner well. She’d been sleeping with him off and on for almost a year. The booty-call arrangement worked well for both of them. Lately, though, the man’s familiar had been making himself at home in Erin’s restaurants and condo. How Balthasar got inside them, she never knew. The security systems she had in place had been installed by Magickals, and they used magic and technology to ward off uninvited visitors. Her security systems should keep the cat out, but they didn’t.