by C. L. Wilson
He lifted one of his hands from hers and stroked her cheek, sending delicious fissions of electricity spiraling down her spine. “I can also promise that I'll make your happiness my first priority, Mona.”
His features softened with tenderness. The look in his eyes made her chest swell with elation. He really meant it. He was falling for her. And, as impossible as it seemed, she was falling for him too. In a big, bad way.
“So, this is a bit risky, I guess,” she murmured.
He nodded, watching her, waiting.
What was it Garrett had said to her before he left? You have to take a chance on someone sometime. He'd want her to be happy. Even if it meant he wouldn't get to see her for awhile. Because, one thing Mona knew for certain, she'd find a way to visit Garrett and his family. She knew it in her gut. Just like she knew she was falling head over heels for the beautiful giant of a man in front of her.
This moment, right here, right now, was her time to risk, to dare, to take a chance.
“Excellent,” Mona said. “Then I'll go with you. To Nibiru.”
He grinned, and for the first time she saw how lovely Roan's smile was. Had she seen him smile before? Surely, she would have noticed the radiance of it, his even white teeth, the dimple on one side of his cheek, his sparkling wolf's eyes.
He scooped her into his arms and squeezed her, pressing kisses to her head, her face, her neck, each touch making her blood warm and her heartbeat accelerate with excitement, joy, and anticipation.
She giggled and wiggled until he put her down again and peered at and into him the way he'd looked at her so often. His aura sparked with brilliant shades of pink and green. She read the promise of their future together in his magical gaze and in the beauty of his energetic essence.
“I do have one condition, though,” she told him.
His brows rose. “Oh? And what might that be?”
“There's a package I need to send with Tom. For my brother.”
Confusion flickered over Roan's face. “And?”
“And, I'd like to give my brother the perfect gift.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
January 1
12:00 A.M.
The cuckoo clock chimed midnight as, bundled up and prepared for the cold, Mona and Roan made their way out into the storm, toward the place Roan's instincts told him they'd locate the trackers' aircraft.
Cash, snuggled in the warmest doggy sweater Mona had been able to find, trudged beside them, safely and securely leashed.
Roan, not normally one to recognize human holidays, innately understood the implicit and deeper meaning behind the timing of his meeting Mona and embarking upon their future together during this particular holiday.
Mona clearly recognized it too. She paused in the doorway of the cabin and glanced around the place, eyes soft with the haze of a thousand cherished memories. He read the bittersweet remembrances in her energy field. He circled her waist, ignoring the wind and the snow that had started to turn to rain and sleet, a sign that, as Tom had indicated, the storm was breaking up, preparing to die down.
“Happy New Year,” Roan said.
Mona looked up at him with a face full of sunshine. Any remnants of sadness had disappeared like shadows stamped out by flipping on a light. She stood on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his for a quick kiss.
Then, she grinned and said, “It certainly is.”
###
20 Miles east of Huntsville, AL
January 5
5:00 P.M.
Garrett Everton held the nondescript brown box in his hands and turned it over thoughtfully. It was addressed to him in his sister's handwriting.
“Whatcha got there, honey?” His wife, Kate, wandered into the kitchen in a swirl of dark curls and pink cashmere to pull their dinner from the oven. It was Friday night. Date night. She'd made dinner for the kids to eat before the babysitter arrived. The delicious aroma of homemade spinach and chicken casserole wafted through the room and made his mouth water.
“Honey?”
“What? Oh, sorry. It's the package from Mona. The one Tom mentioned.” Garrett had been relieved to know that his sister had made it through the storm okay, and he'd even been happy she'd had company with her. Tom had been vague in his description of the man that had been at the cabin with Mona, but since the only man she'd even mentioned over the past year had been what's-his-name-Eric, Garrett assumed that was who her guest had been.
He'd found it unsettling that since then he hadn't been able to reach Mona on her cell phone or at her apartment in Nashville. In fact, it had been almost a week since he'd left her there at the cabin. Not that it had been their ritual to talk every day or anything, but he'd felt certain Mona would have at least wanted to fill him in on the storm. And she usually couldn't resist an opportunity to tease him about his overactive worry genes.
When Tom had mentioned that she'd given him a package to get to Garrett for her, he'd been even more unsettled. Why wouldn't she simply give it to him herself?
Kate put the casserole dish on the stovetop, turned off the oven, and wandered over to the table. “Well, are you going to open it?”
Garrett retrieved his pocket knife from the front pocket of his blue jeans and cut through the packing tape. He opened the box to find two things: a letter and strange silver disk-shaped object. He considered the foreign object, but decided to read the letter first. Kate hovered behind him, reading over his shoulder.
Hi Garrett,
I know this is going to seem pretty abrupt and may not make much sense to you. I'm really sorry I couldn't tell you in person, but I didn't have an option. Time was of the essence for my boyfriend and me to catch our plane.
Yes, you heard me right. My boyfriend. And no it's not what's-his-name.
This elicited a chuckle from Garrett. He kept reading.
His name is Roan. I haven't known him long, but the connection is like nothing I've ever felt. He's truly special. And I know we belong together. So, I've decided to take him up on his offer to go away with him. We're going to visit his home. I'm going to meet his family and friends. And I'm going to be staying with him for awhile.
Don't be angry with me and please don't worry about me when I tell you the next part. I won't be able to contact you for awhile. I'll visit when I can, but I don't know when that will be. Please know that I'm okay. I really am.
I'm taking a chance on someone, just like you've been urging me to do. Because, well, I've finally found someone worth taking a chance on.
I love you and Kate and the girls more than you know. Someday, I'll explain all of this, but for now, please just be happy for me.
All my love,
Mona
P.S. That weird-looking gadget in the box is a gift for you and Kate. This will sound really strange, but, hold it to her chest and visualize positive energy going to any part of Kate that needs healing. Then, expect a miracle, Brother dear. Happy New Year! It's going to be a great one.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to my friends and writing buddies, Cheryl Wilson and Erica Ridley. You guys make everything fun. Cheryl, we’ve either got to actually start collaborating on our work or sever our mind meld because our themes keep turning up so similar it’s scary. However, it does make for fun rumination over which of us is weirder. I call dibs.
Special thanks to my awesome husband, Michael Babb, for all that he contributed to this project. I love you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Elissa Wilds is multi-published in paranormal romance by Dorchester Publishing, Running Press, and Montlake Publishing. Her work has received rave reviews and has garnered a number of awards including placement in the prestigious 2009 Published Maggie Award of Excellence Contest and the Grand Prize win in the 2010 Laurie’s Best Published Contest.
Elissa loves investigating and writing about all things paranormal. In her spare time she’s been known to ghost hunt, sing karaoke, and attempt to play the guitar. You can find out more at http://www.elissawilds.com.
Special Bonus Sneak Peek
Coming soon from
New York Times & USA Today bestselling author
C.L. WILSON
THE WINTER KING
A Weathermages of Mystral Novel
Available August 2014 from Avon Books
ISBN: ISBN-10: 0-0620-1897-3
ISBN-13: 978-0-0620-1897-7
http://www.avonromance.com
THE WINTER KING by C.L. Wilson
Prologue ~ Scarlet on Snow
King’s Keep
Vera Sola, Summerlea
“Do you have to go?” Fourteen year old Khamsin Coruscate clung to her brother’s hand as if by her grip alone she could anchor him fast and keep him from leaving.
Falcon, the handsome Prince of Summerlea and the brother Kham had adored all her life, smiled indulgently. “You know I do. Our treaties with the Winter King are very important.”
“But you’ll be home soon?” Whenever he was gone, the ancient walls of the royal palace of Summerlea that had been her home and her prison since birth seemed somehow more confining, more restrictive.
“Not this time, little sister.” Falcon shook his head. A strand of black hair that had pulled free of the queue at the back of his neck brushed against the soft, dark skin of his cheek. “It will take weeks to negotiate the treaties.”
Khamsin scowled, and the wind began to gust, sending Kham’s habitually untamed hair whipping into her mouth and eyes. “Why does he have to send you? Why can’t his ambassador negotiate the treaty? He’s sending you away because of me, isn’t he? Because he doesn’t want you spending so much time with me.” Her hands clenched into fists. The wind sent her skirts flying and a dark cloud rolled across the sun.
Their father, King Verdan IV of Summerlea, didn’t love her. She knew that. He kept her isolated in a remote part of the palace, hidden away from his court and his kingdom, on the pretext that her weathergifts were too volatile and dangerous and she couldn’t control them. That was all true. Kham’s gifts were dangerous, and she couldn’t control them any better than she could control her own temper. Until now, however, he’d never stooped to sending his other children away to keep them from visiting her.
“Here now. Be calm.” Falcon smoothed her wayward curls back, tucking them behind her ears. Compassion and pity shone softly in his eyes. “I wish I didn’t have to leave you. But our father believes I’ll have the best chance of getting what we want from Wintercraig, and I agree with him.” Summerlea, once a rich, thriving kingdom renowned for its fertile fields and abundant orchards, had been in a slow decline for years. Although the nobles and king maintained a prosperous façade for political and economic purposes, beneath the gilded domes and bright splendor of Summerlea’s palaces and grand estates, the rough tatters of neglect were beginning to show. “Besides, you won’t be alone while I’m gone. You have Tildy and the Seasons.”
“It isn’t the same. They aren’t you.” He was the handsome Prince of Summerlea, charming, witty, heroic. He’d lived a life of adventure, most of which he shared with her, entertaining her for hours with the tales of his exploits…the places he’d seen, the people he’d met. His hunts, his adventures, his triumphs. No matter how much her nursemaid, Tildavera Greenleaf, doted on Khamsin, or how often the three princesses, Autumn, Spring, and Summer, snuck away from their palace duties to spend time with their ostracized youngest sister, Falcon was the one whose visits she couldn’t live without.
“Now there’s a pretty compliment. Careful, my lady. You’ll turn my head.” He smiled, and warmth poured into her. It was no wonder the ladies of their father’s court swooned at the slightest attention from him. Falcon had a magical way about him. He could he charm the birds from the trees with his name-gift, and the weathergift inherent in his royal Summerlander blood was stronger than it had been in any crown prince in generations. It was as if the Sun itself had taken up residence in his soul, and its warmth spilled from him each time he smiled.
Kham took a deep breath. The sharp edge of her temper abated, and in the skies, the gathering storm began to calm. Perhaps King Verdan truly had chosen to send his only son as envoy to Wintercraig for political reasons after all. Long, long ago, as a small child crying herself to sleep, she’d decided Falcon was the reincarnation of Roland Triumphant, the Hero of Summerlea, the brave King who had defeated an overwhelming invasion force with his wit, his weathergifts, and a legendary sword reputed to be a gift from the Sun God himself. If anyone could charm the cold, savage folk of the north into concessions most favorable to Summerlea, Falcon could.
“Will you at least write to me?” she asked.
“I’ll send you a bird every week.” He tapped her nose and gave her a charming, roguish grin. “Cheer up. Just think of all the swordfights you’ll win when you’re fighting invisible opponents instead of me.”
Kham rolled her eyes. He’d been teaching her sword-fighting for years, but she had yet to best him in a match.
“You know,” she said as they walked towards the doorway leading back into the palace, “it might actually be a good thing that you’ll be spending months in Wintercraig.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. You can use that time to find out what happened to Roland’s sword.”
Falcon tripped on an uneven flagstone and grabbed the trunk of a nearby tree to steady himself. “I’m sure I’ll be much too busy to chase fairy tales, Storm.”
She frowned in surprise. “But you’ve always believed the stories were true.” Blazing, the legendary sword of Roland Soldeus, had disappeared shortly after the heroic king’s death. The sword had disappeared shortly after Roland’s death. Donal, Roland’s brother, had married the Wintercraig princess who’d been betrothed to his brother, and legend claimed that it was her father, the Winter King, who had spirited the sword away so Donal couldn’t claim it. Every royal Summerlea Heir for the last three millennia had dreamed of finding the legendary blade and bringing it back home where it belonged. Falcon had spent years chasing lead after lead, determined that he would be the one to find Blazing and restore Summerlea to its former glory.
“What about those letters?” she added. “The really old ones you found tucked in that trunk in the south tower attic? You said they proved the stories were true.”
“That was six years ago. I was seventeen. I wanted the stories to be true.” He gave her a quick hug and a brotherly kiss on the forehead. “I’ve got to run. I’m meeting with Father and his advisors to go over our list of demands and concessions one last time before I leave. I’ll see you in a few months.”
“I’ll miss you every day.” She trailed after him, feeling bereft and forlorn when Falcon turned the corner and disappeared from view. But this time, she also felt confused. She’d never known Falcon to give up on something he felt passionately about. And he’d been passionate about finding Roland’s sword. He’d been certain he was on the right trail. He’d shared his discoveries with her because he knew she was just as hungry as he to find the legendary sword.
So why would he deny it now?
###
Gildenheim, Wintercraig
3 Months Later
“She's not good for you.”
Wynter Atrialan, King of Wintercraig, cast a sideways glance at his younger brother. “Don't say that, Garrick. I know you've never liked Elka, but in six months’ time, she will be my bride and your queen.”
Garrick shook his long, snow-silver hair. Eyes as bright and blue as the glacier caves in Wintercraig's ice-bound Skoerr Mountains shone with solemn intensity that made the boy look far older than his sixteen years.
“You love too deeply, Wyn. From the moment you decided to take her to wife, you’ve blinded yourself to her true nature.”
Wynter sighed. “I should not have shared my worries with you when I first met her.” Wyn was an intensely private man, but he'd never kept secrets from Garrick. Not one. Wyn had raised his brother since their parents' death twelve years ago. And in those years, he'd never t
ried to sweeten the ugly world of politics, never tried to gloss over his fears or concerns—even when it came to the more personal but still political matter of selecting a queen. If something happened to him, Garrick would be king, and Wyn didn’t want his brother thrown into such a position without preparation.
Unfortunately, the years of openness and plain, unfettered talk had paid unanticipated returns. Because of his unflinching honesty with Garrick, no one in Wintercraig--no one in all the world, for that matter--knew him better than his young brother. Not even Wyn's lifelong friend and second-in-command, Valik. Such deep familiarity could be as troublesome as it was comforting.
“She is cold,” Garrick insisted. “She does not love you as she should. She wants to be queen more than she wants to be your wife.”
“Elka is a woman of the Craig. She is as reserved with her feelings as I.”
“Is she? So that is why she laughs and smiles so warmly when the Summerlander is near?”
Wynter frowned a warning at his brother. “Careful, Garrick. Elka Villani will be my wife and queen. Insult to her is insult to me.”
“I offered no insult. I merely asked a question. And based on my observations, it’s a perfectly legitimate one.”
“You are misreading what you see. Elka knows it’s vital the Summer Prince feels welcome here if we are to come to an amicable agreement.” The lush, fertile fields of Summerlea provided much needed sustenance to the folk of Wintercraig during the harsh, cold months of a northern winter. Their grains, fruits and vegetables, which Wintercraig bought with furs, whale oil and forest products, could mean the difference between life and death for his people during years when their own harvests were poor. That had, unfortunately, been quite often of late, since the summers had grown shorter and food from Summerlea had been growing steadily more dear after Wynter had taken the throne. Falcon Coruscate, son of the weathermage king who ruled Summerlea, had come at Wynter’s invitation to negotiate terms of a new treaty that would ensure longer summers in the north and more affordable trade in foodstuffs for the winters.