The Mountain's Shadow tlf-1

by Cecilia Dominic

  I sighed. “I could never say no to him.”

  So there I was, at twilight, sharing a thermos of hot chocolate with Leo and trying not to look at the jagged edges of what was left of my childhood sanctuary and my adult legacy. The trees around the edge of the lawn were bare of leaves, and their branches made intricate lacework against the feathery clouds in the sky. The sun set behind the ruins, and the sky turned pink, streaked with orange and purple. The sight took my breath away, and then I saw what Leo dragged me up there for.

  A large gray wolf loped across the lawn from the woods and disappeared into the ruins of the house. I tugged on Leo’s sleeve to let him know I wanted to follow it, but he held his finger up—wait. I waited and watched, and as dusk fell, the wolf emerged again, this time with something in its mouth. It trotted up to us and dropped a key into the grass. It was the old front door key, and miraculously, it hadn’t been melted into oblivion. If anything, it was only a little sooty.

  Then the wolf disappeared, and a chill breeze froze the tears to my face. I picked up the key. “What is this?”

  “When a person dies, it sometimes takes a while for the part of the spirit that animated the body to disappear. He had a reason to wait.”

  I put the key in my pocket as we walked to the car. “What does it mean?”

  But I knew. My grandfather’s spirit, or maybe it was the spirit of one of our ancestors, wouldn’t be at rest until I lived on our land again, in a house on top of the mountain, the guardian of Piney Mountain and now Crystal Pines. Honey had told me there was a tie between the Landover blood and the land. Maybe she’d been right.

  Leo held the car door open for me—I loved this new civilized manner—and even though we didn’t say anything, I knew he agreed with the spirit wolf.

  “I’ll build another Wolfsbane Manor,” I told him, “but on one condition.”

  He kept his eyes forward as he started the car. “What’s that?”

  “That you’ll be there with me. I know sometimes I’m going to want to kill you, especially when your animal brain is taking over, but I need you here.”

  He grinned, his eyes full of mischief and a little something else.

  “What?” I asked, my heart stopping for a moment.

  “It took you long enough to realize. And besides…” The grin was definitely a leer. “As you found out this afternoon, the animal part of my brain can be fun.”

  I blushed and wanted to smack him, but I knew he was right. Everything happens in its own time, and sometimes you just need a trial by fire—or two—to transform you into the right person. And once we got the place built again, we were going to throw some fabulous parties and make it into the house it had always been meant to be.

  I rolled down the window, opened my hand to the breeze, and let go of the past.

  About the Author

  Cecilia Dominic wrote her first story when she was two years old and has always had a much more interesting life inside her head than outside of it. She became a clinical psychologist because she’s fascinated by people and their stories, but she couldn’t stop writing fiction. The first draft of her dissertation, while not fiction, was still criticized by her major professor for being written in too entertaining a style. She made it through graduate school and got her PhD, started her own practice, and by day, she helps people cure their insomnia without using medication. By night, she blogs about wine and writes fiction she hopes will keep her readers turning the pages all night. Yes, she recognizes the conflict of interest between her two careers, so she writes and blogs under a pen name. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia with one husband and two cats, which, she’s been told, is a good number of each.

  You can find her at:

  Web page: www.ceciliadominic.com

  Wine blog: www.randomoenophile.com

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/CeciliaDominicAuthor

  Twitter: @RandomOenophile

  It’s all quasi-legal fun until somebody gets framed for murder.

  Wicked Misery

  © 2013 Tracey Martin

  Miss Misery, Book 1

  Jessica Moore thrives on misery. Literally. Thanks to a goblin’s curse, she gets a magical high from humanity’s suffering. A shameful talent like that could bury a girl in guilt, so to atone, she uses her dark power to hunt murderers, rapists and other scumbags—until one of them frames her for his crimes.

  In desperation, Jessica seeks refuge with the one person she trusts to not turn her in—a satyr named Lucen. Like every member of his race, Lucen uses his lusty magic to control Boston’s human population, and Jessica isn’t immune to his power. But the murder victims belonged to a rival race, and when they discover Lucen is harboring Jessica, dodging the cops becomes the least of her problems.

  With only five days to find the real killer, Jessica faces a danger far more serious than the brewing magical war. The danger of succumbing to Lucen’s molten seduction.

  Warning: Contains a heroine with a lust for misery, creepy murders, and creepier goblins, satyrs so hot you’d sell your soul for one, and scaly sewer rats masquerading as dragons. Who said magic was all sparkles and tiaras?

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Wicked Misery:

  The train doors opened at the Shadowtown station, and I launched myself out of the car, desperate and stupid. On the ride over it had occurred to me that I was not exactly equipped for this. I had no charms and no weapons. All I had was the cash in my wallet, my phone and the Tallyho’s uniform in my duffel bag. Yeah, I’d thought this through real well.

  What I wouldn’t have given for my bike, my knives and my anklet. Hell, I’d have been happy with my leather pants. Since I’d bought them when I was in a bind, they’d become comfort clothes. And damn it, I needed comfort.

  Barring that, I’d take a relatively safe place to think.

  That was why I’d chosen Shadowtown. It was the one neighborhood in Boston that the Gryphons wouldn’t just sweep through looking for me. They’d come eventually if they believed I was here, but it would be a while before they gathered a small army. Whatever vendetta the sylphs might have against me aside, no pred liked a Gryphon invasion.

  So I hoped.

  I clattered down the steps to the street and checked the time on my cell. I’d gotten off shift at three. It was now almost four. The Lair wouldn’t open for another hour, but Lucen should be up. Yesterday, I’d promised myself I wouldn’t show my face to him for at least a week. So much for pride.

  He picked up on the fourth ring as my panic began anew. “After ten years without a phone call, this is the second time in two days you’ve called me, little siren. Have I finally started growing on you?”

  “Yeah, like a tumor. Um…” I collected my thoughts. All around me, a quiet, sleepy Shadowtown was awakening. Thunder rumbled overhead and the wind picked up, scattering leaves near my feet. A couple humans, nonaddicts, were hurrying my way, high-school-age guys by the look. No doubt they were testing their burgeoning manliness by exploring Shadowtown during a time when most of its inhabitants would be tucked in bed. I waited for them to pass.

  They gave me furtive glances, probably assuming I was an addict. I rolled my eyes and adjusted the phone against my head. A shadow flickered from the corner of my eye, and I saw the back of a sylph’s head as he or she entered a house. There was a flash of silvery white hair then the door shut. I had to get off the street.

  “Jess?”

  “Sorry. I’m having a little problem and could use a spot where I could lie low for a bit. Out of the Gryphons’ reach.”

  His tone changed. “What’s going on?”

  “I’d rather not say in the middle of the street.”

  “Can you get to The Lair?”

  “I’m looking at it.”

  “I’ll be right down.”

  Lucen hung up, and I jogged the rest of the way down the block to the bar. He was already outside by the time I got there, looking freshly showered in jeans but no shirt or shoes. His blond waves dripped water on b
road shoulders. I winced. He’d better put on a shirt soon or I was going to have a hard time concentrating. Yeah, being framed for murder sounded like it should easily take precedence over a chiseled chest and a six-pack, but only to someone who never spent time around satyrs. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

  Lucen stood on the stoop next to the bar, holding the front door open. “Come on in.”

  “I didn’t know you lived above The Lair.”

  “There’s lots you don’t know about me because you’re always running away.”

  I squeezed past him, getting a good whiff of his cinnamon-tinged skin and undoubtedly a good dose of his lusty magic. My hands twitched, eager to attach themselves to that broad swath of chest and trace every contour of muscle, to follow that thin line of blond hairs on his stomach to where it disappeared into his waistband and beyond. I dug my nails into my palms. The pain helped, but not as much as usual. “I hate to be rude since you’re doing me a huge favor, but could you put on a shirt?”

  “If you insist, or you could take off yours and call it even.”

  “I’m being framed for murder. I’ve got more important things to worry about than whether I’m wearing my pretty bra.”

  Abruptly, some of my lust subsided, pulled back almost as though a blanket had been tugged off my skin. Lucen gaped at me, his eyes filled with shock.

  Could he do that? Keep a handle on his power if he wanted to? Granted, not all my desire had disappeared, but the worst of it had. Damn it, if I didn’t need his goodwill right now—whatever little goodwill a satyr might have, that was—I’d want to kill him for never bothering to do this before.

  “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared to the right, and feet pounded up some unseen stairs.

  I wandered deeper into his apartment, not expecting to find it so light and airy. The kitchen was immediately to my left. Through a doorway I could see steps, and beyond that a small, tastefully decorated living room. Muted sunlight seeped into the joint kitchen and dining area through linen drapes. I pulled them aside and discovered sliding doors leading onto a small deck that overlooked a parking lot. All in all, not a bad spot. But then, rents in Shadowtown were cheaper than almost anywhere else in the Boston area. For all I knew, Lucen owned this entire building.

  He was right in that regard. I’d never bothered to learn much about him. Prolonged conversations had always felt like an invitation for trouble.

  With that thought in mind, I plunked myself down at the kitchen table, wondering whether this had been a bad idea of Biblical proportions. Until now, I’d never exactly sought out Lucen’s company. Since the beginning of our relationship, it had always been the other way around. After all, most of the major religions taught that preds were on this planet to tempt humanity to ruin, and I usually saw no point in throwing myself at temptation.

  She is the one wolf who can tame his feral spirit.

  Running Free

  © 2013 Jorrie Spencer

  A Northern Shifters Story

  A year and a half ago, if someone had told Zach that he’d be guardian to the creature he distrusts most—a wolf shifter—he’d have laughed. A half-broken horse shifter as father figure? No way.

  Now, he’d kill to protect the pup he found lost in the woods—and he has. Which, unfortunately, has attracted the attention of Wolf Town’s alpha.

  Sally prefers to keep a low profile among her fellow shifters in Wolf Town. Yet when she’s asked to investigate a pup living outside the safety of the pack, she can’t bring herself to refuse.

  From the moment Zach meets the new piano teacher, his world tilts. Her scent gets under his skin. Her touch retrieves missing pieces of his memory. But even as their blazing attraction flares out of control, trust is the hardest to give, and the one thing they both need if they’re to save the boy from another attack.

  Warning: This book contains violence and sex, though not at the same time. Be advised, the protective shifters may cause you to want to move to Wolf Town.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Running Free:

  If nothing else, Sally had plenty of time to play the piano over the next two days. It was fun to focus on it and hone her skills. Even if the real reason she was here, Storm, was always at the back of her mind.

  And now, it was quite squarely in the forefront because within ten minutes, if Zach was an on-time kind of guy, she was going to meet them for Storm’s first piano lesson.

  She paced, but slowly, unwilling to greet them with an elevated heart rate and flushed skin. Shifters noticed things like that, even children. She wanted to reassure Storm—and Zach, whether he was a shifter or not. The idea of a horse shifter still struck her as outlandish. But she tried to keep an open mind. After all, Angus was hardly prone to flights of fancy.

  The doorbell rang. She pulled in a breath, calmed herself and calmed her wolf who was again prancing around inside, excited to be meeting other shifters. Sally didn’t know if she was the only wolf in the world so out of sync—she had yet to ask others—but she had a wolf who was more social than her human.

  It didn’t matter right now. She strode to the front door and pulled it open.

  “Hello.” She looked down at the little blond boy first. He stared at her with big eyes, a bit wary but also interested, excited about something new. A good sign, and she found herself smiling naturally. “You must be Storm.”

  She made it a point not to obviously pull in a breath, as the boy himself did. Very wolflike, and she didn’t want to reveal herself to Storm or his guardian.

  Storm bit his lip, perhaps in reaction to her scent, and nodded.

  Sally inwardly braced herself as she raised her gaze to greet Zach the possible horse shifter.

  “Come in, Mr…?” She took in an expressionless face, brown eyes, auburn hair.

  “Call me Zach.”

  She stepped backwards and gestured them inside. “Please call me Sally.”

  Zach nodded while Storm concentrated on getting out of his winter gear. She breathed in, once the door had shut, caught Storm’s distinctive wolf scent and something from Zach. He was different, though if she hadn’t been told he might be a shifter, she wouldn’t have realized he had a not-quite-human scent.

  Attractive, a kind of wild-man smell that pleased her wolf whose ears pricked, whose tail lifted.

  Not here, not now, not anywhere. Sally rolled her eyes at herself, and at her wolf who wanted to make friends and who remained undiminished by past violence.

  She glanced at Zach, wondering if he’d noticed her strange reaction, hoping it all remained inward and invisible. Fortunately, he focused on helping Storm divest himself of boots, mitts and jacket, which would have all gone flying if Zach wasn’t gathering them up and setting them right.

  He straightened to inform her, “I’ll be staying.”

  “Yes, of course. You’ll be part of the lesson.”

  He stiffened. “Pardon me?”

  “You’ll be part of the lesson so you can help Storm with his practice at home.” She smiled.

  Zach blinked. Just once. “I know nothing about music.”

  “All the better,” Sally declared, absurdly pleased to have put him in a quandary about this.

  “Jason’s mom sat with him,” Storm piped up.

  “She did,” Sally agreed.

  “Please, Zach?” Storm tugged Zach’s hand, and the man’s expression, one of appearing out of his depth, hardened into something like determination. It was quite sweet. He looked at her again, a more assessing gaze now, and she wondered if he’d identified her as wolf. But he kept to the topic at hand.

  “I guess,” he said as a wry note entered his voice, and it was very appealing, “I’m about to learn something about music.”

  “She was nice!” Storm announced on their walk home. Excruciating piano lesson completed, thank God, they were off to pick up milk from the corner store. Yes, most of their groceries were delivered, arranged by Connie, but they always ran out of milk.

&
nbsp; “I’m glad you think so,” replied Zach.

  “Do you think she was nice?”

  “Yes,” he said. Any other reply would lead to endless questions. Storm expected Zach to like everyone. A glance down revealed a small, furrowed brow. Storm, being a wolf, was perceptive about truths and lies.

  It hadn’t been a lie, but he offered Storm a reason for the ambivalence he must have sensed around Zach’s answer.

  “I don’t know piano, so it’s new to me.” To be precise, he’d never had anything to do with music that he could remember and had no feel for it. Sitting there listening had left him feeling uncomfortable and ignorant. “Sally is certainly musical.”

  “Jason likes her too,” Storm said with a bounce, deciding Zach liked Sally after all. “I want to be musical.”

  “You will be.” There was no reason Storm couldn’t excel at things Zach hadn’t the first clue about. He just wished he didn’t have to be involved, listening to Bach and staring at the black-and-white keyboard. He suspected Connie had purposefully neglected to mention to him this important aspect of the Suzuki method—parental involvement.

  Music wasn’t the only thing which made Zach uneasy. The woman did. Sally had been attentive when it came to Storm, observing him, watching any interaction between Storm and himself. Maybe it was normal. People were often surprised by a male guardian, and at least her demeanor hadn’t suggested she was being judgmental.

  Her scent had unnerved Zach, and he couldn’t pinpoint why. It was almost familiar, yet entirely new to him. He remembered individual scents well, so they hadn’t met before, he didn’t think. He gave an internal and irritable shrug. He wasn’t around women enough—Connie didn’t count—so it had felt strange to sit in Sally’s living room for half an hour.

  She was pretty, he could admit as much. Having to stay there, with nothing to do but listen, it had been difficult not to observe the gray eyes, the brown-blonde hair, the quick smile when she interacted with Storm. She managed to be tall yet fine-boned. Supple.