by Selena Blake
“Rosanna—”
“You’re not going to change my mind, Latham.”
He turned and stared out the window. The courtyard was empty save for one couple in the corner. A volleyball game was in full swing on the sand, and two werewolves were paddling out to the waves.
Just another day in paradise.
Except that paradise was crashing down around his ears. Why had it never occurred to him that Rosanna wouldn’t remain by his side forever? Why hadn’t it occurred to him that she’d want more out of life?
And he could see it all in her face, hear it in her thoughts. She wanted more. Love, romance, passion, happily ever after.
He cursed in six languages and spun back toward her. Only, she wasn’t there.
Stalking across the office, he tried in vain to get his temper under control. If she left, he’d be in big trouble. She was the glue that held this island together and he was smart enough to know it.
She sat at her desk just outside his door as she normally did. In fact, everything looked so ordinary that for a moment he wondered if it’d all been a horrible day-dream. But he glanced back at his immaculate desk; Rosanna’s doing of course, and saw the dreaded piece of paper.
Her resignation letter.
“You can’t quit,” he said simply.
There. That should do it.
She paused mid breath, her fingers hovering above the keyboard a quarter of an inch. Her shoulders did that thing again and her spine lengthened just before she turned big brown eyes his way. Her perfectly plucked chocolate brown eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“I most certainly can and am quitting. You can’t stop me Latham.”
He threw his head back and laughed at that. How wrong she was. If he wanted to keep her locked in the office, chained to her desk for eternity, he damn well could do as he pleased.
But he wasn’t that bastard anymore.
“Do you want a raise?” he asked, choosing a safer tactic.
The corners of her rosy lips turned down in a deep frown. “This was never about money.”
He put his hands on his hips, trying to look intimidating. Her gaze followed his movement and the frown turned to a twist of censure.
“Forget it Latham. You can’t do your big, ‘I’m a god’ intimidation tactic. It won’t work with me. It stopped working years ago. I want more.”
“I can give you more,” he said quickly. If he lost her, he’d have to answer the phone and he hated that. Gods shouldn’t have to answer their own damn phone. Hadn’t he come farther than that?
“No you can’t, Latham. Do you know when my last vacation was?”
He shrugged, uncomfortable with the lack of knowledge. Sure, he could summon the information, but— “Never. I haven’t taken a day off since we opened Mystic Isle. There’s always some detail that needs to be taken care of. Some issue to be worked out. A high roller that needs coddling.”
“So take next week off.”
She narrowed her gaze and tilted her chin down, reminding him of a bull ready to charge. But goring wasn’t what he needed to worry about. If looks could kill, he was pretty sure he’d be dead right this instant.
She spun back to her desk and finished whatever she was typing, thoroughly dismissing him. Rosanna had never dismissed him before.
He stared at her profile for a few seconds and realized she really wasn’t going to continue the discussion. Something about what he’d said had really irritated her which was odd since he had never known her to be so miffed. She was easy going and efficient which was why he relied on her so much.
While Mystic Isle was a relatively peaceful place, he always felt he was a second or two away from disaster. What with a tumultuous mix of insanely strong werewolves, flashing vampires, playful demons and the occasional sea-serpent.
And though he liked to think of himself as level headed, the truth was, Rosanna kept him steady. Would it make a difference if he told her that? Maybe compliments were the key to getting her to stay.
He went back into his office and stared at his desk. Then the scene outside his window.
Two weeks… He had two weeks to get her to change her mind.
***
“Scotch, please,” the man two barstools down said.
Dameon fingered the stem of his wine glass and turned toward the voice. The werewolf was big, but all werewolves were big. He wore casual clothes and had an accent Dameon couldn't quite place. Eastern European maybe.
He recognized the demon to the wolf's right from Valencia's party. The fact that they were both drinking at six am surprised him. But perhaps they were just winding down after a long night.
“Dameon, how's it going?”
He turned to his left, toward Latham’s voice. The god took the empty seat next to him and nodded at the bartender. Normally easy going and affable, Latham looked tense, stressed even. There was a subtle twitch in his jaw and Dameon couldn't help but wonder what in this universe could cause Charles Latham to lose his cool.
Dameon rather liked the idea, bastard that he was. Knowing that something, anything, could tilt Latham’s world off its axis made him more human. And it brought home the fact that no one had an easy time of it.
“I've shot the first volley,” Dameon answered. Although, the truth was more like he’d shot a cannonball of emotion and memories at Valencia.
Latham raised three fingers at the bartender.
“Wow. It is that kind day already?” Dameon asked, keeping his voice low.
Latham just grunted and watched the bartender pour three fingers of a very expensive whiskey and slide it across the bar. For a moment he seemed mesmerized by the amber liquid in the glass but then he glanced up and pegged Dameon with a look.
“Just keep it quiet, okay? I've got enough trouble to deal with.”
Latham threw back the whiskey in two long swallows. Dameon’s brows shot up but he quickly reined in his surprise. Nodding, he mulled over Latham’s words.
“Anything I can do to help?” Dameon found himself asking. He was normally not one to involve himself in others affairs but he liked to stay on the good side of gods.
Latham gave a single shake of his head. Then he nodded to the werewolf to Dameon's right. “Maxim. Shade. Have you met Dameon LeBeau?”
It was just like the god to change to the topic when it suited him.
Dameon would do the dutiful thing though and play along. For now. But he sensed that there was an interesting story, a war going on inside of the owner of Mystic Isle.
“Not formally,” he said, turning to the men at his right.
Latham left his empty glass and stood. He stopped between Dameon and the wolf and waved his finger at them like a metronome. “You three have something in common.”
“Besides our good looks,” the demon said with a grin.
Latham's lips twitched and he clapped the demon on the shoulder.
“Besides that. Dameon, Maxim here is mated to Valencia's young coven mate, Ceara.” He nodded at the werewolf who'd turned atop his barstool to study Dameon.
He felt the wolf's curiosity and thought perhaps that he'd been told of the little scene during Valencia’s Masquerade party. He didn’t remember seeing the wolf there and he was used to cataloging faces. He had plenty of enemies as his bodyguard Hassan always reminded him.
Let the girls talk about him; that suited him just fine. The more they talked about him the better.
“And Shade here is scheduled to marry Izzy, what, four days from now?”
The demon nodded and reached around Maxim. “Nice to meet you.” He stretched out his arm and Dameon shook his hand. He wasn't surprised by the strength there; he’d fought plenty of demons during the war. For the briefest of seconds he wondered which side Shade had fought on.
“The girls in bed?” Latham asked.
Maxim nodded.
So Izzy and Ceara were young vamps, too young to withstand the daylight. Dameon filed that information away.
“So how do you know Valencia?” Ma
xim asked, waving at the bartender for another Scotch.
“That's a really long story,” Dameon said.
“They were betrothed,” Latham supplied.
That got the other men’s attention. The wolf's brows jumped up his forehead and Shade cocked his head to the left.
“Really?” Shade said, his tone impressed and disbelieving at the same time.
“Honestly,” Dameon replied with a nod.
“Now that's a story I've got to hear,” Shade said and moved to the empty barstool between Dameon and Maxim.
“I'll leave you guys to your drinks. Maxim, we're still on for the dolphin excursion tomorrow night?”
“Wouldn't miss it. You know how crazy C is about those things.”
Latham chuckled, his mood lighter for the moment, and strode off.
While Dameon was sad to lose the opportunity to find out what was troubling Latham, he welcomed the chance to, how did they say, get cozy with the mates of Valencia's coven mates.
“Valencia's never mentioned you,” Maxim said between sips.
“She wouldn't have.” Of that much Dameon was sure. Valencia had always been a private woman. Privacy was coveted in a houseful of vampires. But still, her silence about their past rankled and he couldn’t put his finger on why. Though he’d thought of her every day, he hadn’t spoken of her often. Better to leave the past in that past. That had been his motto…until last week.
Shade frowned. “Why do you say that?”
Dameon gave what he hoped was a casual shrug. Shrugging wasn't an action he made very often. He was decisive, rarely unsure. Somehow Valencia brought out insecurities in him that no one else could.
“We were in love. Met by chance actually. She was so vibrant and full of life and her laugh...” He got lost in the memory. Her laugh had seduced him instantly.
“Yer shittin' us,” Shade said.
“Valencia doesn't laugh,” Maxim said.
Dameon frowned at that. Surely they were mistaken, but then, they’d obviously spent enough time around her to know.
“She used to laugh all the time. I've never heard another like it. It's like a siren's call and I was...well, I was unable to deny her. Ours was the kind of love affair that Shakespeare wrote about, the kind legends are made of. And then we realized we'd been betrothed to stop the war between our covens.”
“Fate,” Shade said.
Dameon could forgive the demon for his idyllic mindset; he was getting married before the week was out after all.
Pursing his lips, Dameon shook his head. “Nothing is ever that simple when a coven is involved. And when two covens who’ve been at war for centuries are involved… You gentlemen know how it is. They have to confer about everything. They fight.” He narrowed his gaze. “Nothing is ever simple or easy. They talk and convene and talk more. They talk until facts are twisted and truth is fiction.”
Silence reined as he finished his drink. It was the way of the coven.
A part of him was devastated to hear that Valencia didn't laugh as often. He used to take great pleasure in bringing a smile to her face.
Right up until the moment she'd betrayed him and he’d spent the next two hundred years hating her. Trying to hate her, rather.
“Women,” Maxim said with a sigh. But there was a trace of a smile curving his lips that said it all.
The wolf was completely smitten with his mate, adored the ground she walked on, went to any length to make her happy and would gladly die for her.
Dameon remembered feeling like that.
“So what happened?” Shade asked.
Dameon wondered at Shade's curiosity and knew that their conversation would probably be repeated verbatim later. Mates talked.
He hated this part of the story, his past, but if he hoped to win over these men, he needed to be honest.
“We ignored the world and went on as we were. At least, I thought we had. But when I showed up in front of all of our friends and family, our covens, the vampire elders, how do you say, she stands me up.”
“Left at the altar? Seriously?” Shade asked, his tone incredulous.
“That sucks. Sorry man,” Maxim added.
He nodded his head in thanks and lifted a finger at the bartender. Another drink was most certainly in order.
“So what about you two? How did you meet Ceara, was it? And Izzy?”
For the next half hour they regaled him with those first few moments; the car crash that had scared years off Shade’s life and his first look at the little blonde pixie who’d stolen his heart in short order. And the demon who’d chased Ceara straight into Maxim’s arms.
He didn't often sit around and chat; he wasn't one for idleness. But there was a certain brotherhood in swapping “war stories.” And he liked to have as much information at his fingertips as possible. He was glad to see that men were the same everywhere. They were all susceptible to a lovely smile and a damsel in distress.
He'd do whatever it took to get these men on his side. The more friends he had at his back the harder it would be for Valencia to deny him what he really wanted.
“So you've really never lost a game of poker?” Dameon asked, intrigued by Shade’s story of the poker game that had brought him and Izzy together.
Shade shook his head. “But I'm pretty sure that Izzy had a better hand than me that last round. But if I'm to begin my losing streak, let it start with her.”
The demon was clearly besotted with his bride-to-be.
“You've got it bad, man,” Maxim said.
“Agreed,” Dameon added.
“Don't tell me you don't have a panic attack every time Ceara is in France and you're back home with the pack. I'm not buyin' that line. I've seen the way you pace when she's not hanging on your arm.”
Maxim smiled, his first genuine smile of the night. And he didn’t deny Shade’s words. Seeing as the two men were hopelessly in love with their mates, Dameon decided to see if he could enlist their help. It was rare that he depended on anyone else but right now he needed all the help he could get.
“What’s this about a dolphin excursion?” Dameon asked, wondering if Valencia would be attending.
A wet, half naked Valencia would be hard to resist but resist her he would. Being out of her comfort zone would make her putty in his hands.
He would mold her to his will.
Chapter Six
Ceara looped her arm through Valencia's as they strode down the pier. Maxim, Shade and Izzy stood shoulder to shoulder at the end, peering over the edge into the smooth sea below. Valencia wasn't sure she really wanted to pet a dolphin but who could say no to Ceara's exuberance? The young vamp was bouncing with excitement and Valencia had to admit that it was contagious.
Ceara recited dolphin facts like she was a full-fledged marine biologist and Valencia tried to keep up. Just as they were about to join the group, there was a strong ripple in the water to their left. The under-dock lights showed off a long figure, brilliant green scales and a playful flip of a tale.
Valencia's lips twitched and prepared for Ceara's mind to be blown. The raven haired beauty at her side paused midstep, then she rushed forward as a merwoman popped her head out of the water and waved.
“Is she here yet?” a voice called from behind them.
Valencia turned and saw Rosanna Santiago, Latham's assistant, racing down the boardwalk as quickly as her flip flops would allow. Cal, one of the island bartenders, wasn't far behind. When he caught up to her, they linked hands and peered over the side.
When Valencia turned back, the merwoman had shifted to her human form, climbed the ladder and was presently wrapping a sarong around her naked hips.
“Hello everyone. I’m Selma. Everyone ready to meet the dolphins?” the woman asked, looking up at them through a curtain of dark, wet hair.
“Yes!” Ceara squealed.
“Down girl,” Maxim murmured, slipping a meaty arm around the younger woman's waist.
Valencia's lips twitched. The love birds had
been together long enough for the honeymoon period to be over but they still acted like new mates.
Secretly, she missed that.
“Can't wait,” Rosanna told the merwoman as she skidded to a stop. Cal almost plowed into her. “I've been telling Latham for years that we need a dolphin excursion. I'm so glad you agreed to host it, Selma.”
Cal threw an arm around Rosanna's shoulders and pulled her against his side.
Valencia missed that too and turned out to the cove so the others wouldn’t see the look on her face. Closeness, physical contact, couldn’t be faked or artificialized. It was harder and harder to watch them with their mates and keep her feelings in check. It was getting nearly impossible to keep her features schooled so she gave nothing away.
From that first night, Winter’s Solstice, on Mystic Isle she'd known everything was going to be different. Her quiet little coven would expand, dismantle, shift and change. She'd been privy to each of her coven mate's love affairs and each and every time she'd tried to ignore their closeness.
But there was no denying it. She missed having a partner, a man who would hold her close, shield her from the wind, and fasten the clasp on her necklace.
Right now, surrounded by couples, it was extra obvious that she didn't have a man at her side. But she'd never let that bother her before; she certainly wasn't going to start now.
“This group of dolphins is known as a school or pod. I convinced them to come for a visit tonight. Usually they're out feeding this time of night,” Selma said with an impish grin.
Valencia liked her. There was something carefree and easy about the merwoman that made Valencia feel a twinge of envy. Could she be more like that? It would probably help if she smiled more, but it’d been so long since she’d known true, breathtaking happiness. The kind of happiness that made you thrilled just to be alive, to see the sun rise, to watch a bird soar across the sky, to simply breathe.
“How did you convince them?” she asked.
“With a big bucket of fish.”
Everyone laughed, Valencia’s lips twitched and then the air crackled around them. A familiar heartbeat rang in her ears. She straightened her spine and glanced over her left shoulder.