by Juniper Hart
“I don’t believe any of this,” Julia said, shaking her head. She suddenly looked very small in her nurse’s scrubs, leaning back against the supply shelves.
“Mom, Marjorie Thorold was tried for attempted murder on me and treason. She named you as one of her accomplices. She’s going to be executed by stake tomorrow.”
Julia’s face was nearly opaque. “You would have them kill me?”
“No, Mom,” Lane cried. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You have to give up this insane vendetta against the Council. They are not your enemy, but beings like Marjorie Thorold? They are the ones who will bring you down. I don’t know if I can protect you the next time this happens.”
Lane stared at Julia imploringly, but there was a heaviness in her heart which told her that she had not gotten through. She sighed woefully—she had done everything she could.
“You’ll realize soon enough,” Julia promised dejectedly. “When you have children and they murder them for some small infraction.”
“I’ve gotta go, Mom.” Lane shuffled toward her mother and placed a kiss on her cheek. “I love you.” She pulled away from Julia and began to walk away.
“Lane.” She turned back. Julia’s eyes grew huge. “Do you think…?”
Lane waited, her brow crunching. Julia waved her in closer.
“Do you think you can turn me, too?” her mother whispered. “I’m working on a spell which might work to grant us immortality one day, but—”
“MOM! I’m a member of the Seven. You can’t ask me to do things like that. You can’t ask anyone to turn you.”
Julia scowled. “You’ve been a big disappointment to me, Lane. I wish I’d had more children, but who knows if they would have all turned out like you. You’re not even a witch anymore. You shouldn’t even sit on the Council.”
Although hurt stabbed through Lane’s heart, she refused to falter. Too many times her mother had made her feel inferior or weak, but now she realized she wasn’t.
“Goodbye, Julia.”
Lane spun and left the hospital, her strides long and smooth.
Henry waited in the car, his eyes fixed on her as she slid into the passenger seat.
“Not good?” he asked gently, and she shook her head.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do, Henry,” she murmured. “She’s going to get herself killed, but nothing I say to her makes any difference.”
“I’m sorry, my love. I wish I had some advice for this situation.”
Lane managed a weak smile. “I think I’ve turned your life upside down enough. Let’s get out of here before one of the Seven sees us and accuses us of conspiring against them.”
“Nah,” Henry chuckled. “They got their dose at our trial.”
“Did I ever tell you that you were amazing? Holy loophole! I mean, that was some brilliant legal maneuvering.”
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks, darling.” He leaned over to kiss her softly on the lips and put the car in reverse. “I really am sorry about your mom. I was looking forward to getting to know her. Insanity about the Council aside, I took her to be a strong woman. It’s easy to see where you get it from.”
Lane laughed. “‘Strong’ is not an adjective I would have used to describe myself before this.”
“‘Strong’ is something that has always been inside you, Lane. You just needed to know where to find it.”
“Well, thanks for helping me find it.”
“Thank you for making me believe in love,” Henry replied quietly. “You Aldwins certainly leave a legacy behind, don’t you?”
“How do you mean?” Lane asked, chuckling slightly.
“You’re unforgettable,” he said. “That’s what I mean.”
Epilogue
Dinner had been amazing, and Lane sat back, smiling with contentment as she looked around the condo with affection.
I’m living the life. I feel like I should pinch myself here, but if I do, I’ll definitely wake up, and this will all be gone in a puff of smoke. The condo, the feeling of security, Henry…
She shook her head to clear the thought from her mind. It was one Lane often had, like the charmed life she was now leading was one to be questioned. She raised the glass of Merlot to her lips and sipped it back.
“Have you ever considered going to law school?”
Lane almost spat out her drink, and she looked at Henry across the table.
“Uh… I was homeschooled, remember? I have a high school diploma.”
He shrugged.
“After high school is college, and then law school,” he told her mischievously. “I think you have a real knack for this law thing.”
“I think you’re just trying to devise a way to spend more time with me,” Lane joked. “I don’t think you see me enough between work and the Council and living here.”
“I could never get enough of being around you,” Henry agreed. “And I’m not promising you a partnership. I just think that you’re wasting your talents as receptionist on the forty-sixth.”
Lane studied him quietly, tracing a long finger over the rim of her wine glass. How much had changed in the last year? Who would have thought they would have reached such a place of peace between them?
It was hard to imagine that they had started out so difficult. Gone were the doubts that had plagued Lane in every regard. She was a firm member of the Council, despite her turning into a vampire. At first, there had been some tension about the future of the witches on the Council.
“We’re all immortal now,” Lane said firmly. “No more awkward changes every second generation.”
In the end, they had opted to stay as they were, though she wondered if it wouldn’t come up again in the future. Still, even Laurel and Landon seemed to have relaxed around her. Lane, however, could tell that had more to do with Henry than it did her.
She had never been so sure about where she was going in her life or more confident in her relationship with Henry.
“I don’t know if I have it in me to go to law school for a thousand years,” she said, taking another sip of her wine. “But I’m not opposed to going back to college.”
“You have time,” Henry cracked. After her nod of agreement, he spoke again. “Do you know what today is?” he asked, leaning forward.
The smile on Lane’s face froze. “Tuesday?”
“It’s the one-year anniversary of the day you almost ran away from the Council,” Henry answered, chuckling. “And I have something for you.” He rose from the high-backed chair and disappeared into his study.
And I had no idea we were celebrating, Lane thought wryly.
Henry returned a minute later with a sealed envelope in his hand.
“This is from your predecessor,” he told her seriously. “Miriam didn’t want you to open it until the one-year anniversary of your vows.”
A deep melancholy touched Lane’s heart, and she reached for the envelope tentatively.
“Oh… Grandma must be spinning in her grave right now,” she murmured.
“If that’s what you believe, I don’t think you knew your grandmother that well,” Henry said softly. “Read the letter. I’ll leave you alone.”
“No, wait!” Lane cried. “I don’t want you to leave.”
“You sure?”
She nodded and opened the creamy white outer case to reveal a single page in Miriam’s exquisite calligraphy. Instantly, tears welled in her eyes, but Lane blinked them aside, determined not to let the saline fall onto the ink to blot.
She cleared her throat.
“Dearest Laney,” she began aloud. “I am writing this because I am dead.”
She snorted, her grandmother’s humor macabre but hilarious.
“She always did know how to state the obvious, didn’t she?” Henry tittered.
“I guess you already know that,” Lane continued reading, sighing. “But there is another reason for this. Primarily because it is tradition for the Aldwins to leave letters, forewarning their successors about t
he members of the Council. For example, Landon is a world class jackass when he’s in a mood, and Laurel can be a Grade A bitch when she and Jasmine are fighting.”
Lane snickered and looked at Henry.
“Oh, please tell me what she says about me,” he begged.
“But really, I’m writing to you for other reasons entirely,” Lane went on, her eyes fixed on the words. “I have the utmost faith in you, Lane, more than you realize. I know that your mother has kept you away from the world to the best of her ability, and that her reasons make sense to her. I tried to intervene, and that only got me alienated from both of your lives. I just want you to understand that I never stopped objecting to what Julia was doing, but there was little I could do to stop her. You were fed, educated and sheltered. As far as I knew, she hadn’t raised a hand to you, but her abuse materialized in other ways. Still, I never saw the fire leave your eyes. I knew you would persevere in the end, and I can only hope that is true today.
“There is one other matter I want to discuss, and that is the spell I cast over the unmatched members of the Council. You are the reason I cast that spell, Lane. Your mate is Henry, something I have always known. I know he will pursue you from the moment he sees you, but I worry that you will reject him because of your own insecurities. If you have not overcome those doubts, Lane, I urge you to do that now. You and Henry are a formidable team and will empower the Council more together than you ever could on your own.”
Lane’s voice caught, and she looked at Henry in disbelief.
“Did she tell you we were mates?” she demanded.
“Of course not! I would have used that as my pick-up line.”
Lane smirked and shook her head. “In short, have faith in yourself and in Henry, the same way I have. I know the Aldwin legacy will prevail as it always has. I love you, child. Grandma.”
She couldn’t stop the flood of tears now, and she put the page aside as she sobbed. Henry’s strong arms embraced her.
“She was a good one,” he murmured. “I told you she was proud of you.”
Lane nodded and dabbed at her eyes with a linen napkin, sniffling.
“She was good,” she mumbled, smiling up at her lover. “And so, so wise.”
THE END
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Fated Mate
Misty Woods Dragons
Misty Woods Dragons
Heaviness hung within the dank castle walls, each brother more distraught than the next.
The cavalry—soldiers on foot—was coming, but who could say how long it would be before help arrived? Would it be a day? A week?
The six princes of Misty Woods knew they did not have such a luxury.
“We are doomed,” Cassius murmured, pausing between the grey slate of the stone to stare into the darkness. “We have called too late for salvation.”
“You must not speak so ridiculously,” Marcus growled, pacing along the hearth, his heavy wolf cape draped about his shoulders. “They will come. We will be saved.”
“We are the sons of King Rui. We have never failed at battle, and we will not commence today!” Anders declared hotly, slamming his sword into the scarred round table and scowling at his brothers. “We bleed royal blood. We carry the seed of Misty Woods in our loins. Cease your doubts and hold your heads high as Father would have had us do! Whether they come or not, we will go into battle and fight for our kingdom!”
His brothers did not seem to be convinced.
“I must go to Nora,” Ansel muttered, turning to flee the room. Maximus stood solidly in his way.
“You will see your maiden when the kingdom has been spared,” Maximus spat.
“And what if the kingdom is not spared?” Titus demanded, undoubtedly thinking of his own love, locked away in the turret with the other women and children for their own protection against the impending battle that loomed not so far away.
“Then we shall all perish together!” Cassius roared.
“You needn’t perish, my lords,” a creaking voice called out to them, and the princes whirled to the source.
From the shadows beneath the cast iron candle holders, the old sage grinned toothlessly at them, her wretched face a twisted compilation of glee and malice.
“You!” Maximus shouted, lunging toward her. “How did you get in here?”
“I come in peace, my lord—lords,” she cooed, seeming unperturbed as the oldest brother yanked her from the wall and paraded her forward. “I have come to offer you safety in this time of terrible peril.”
“You?” Ansel snorted. “You are decrepit and useless. Who do you fight with?”
The old sage cackled, and each man felt a shiver of apprehension slide through them as they realized the crone was not intimidated by the threat of six towering men of power and weaponry.
“As you said, my lord,” the witch demurred, “I am ancient and without benefit. I do not wish to take sides.”
“Put her in the barracks!” Marcus howled. “We are wasting valuable time bantering with this hag!”
“My lord!” she cried imploringly. “Before you lock me away, hear my words, and then decide to do what you will. I only beg a moment of your precious time.”
Her black eyes seemed like hot coals as the brothers turned their attention to her.
“Speak!” Maximus snapped. “We have matters of battle with which to contend!”
“It is of those matters I wish to speak,” she assured them. “You cannot win against the Northmen.”
“Nonsense!” screamed Titus. The princes advanced on her, their swords drawn, ready to behead the her for uttering such treasonous words.
“I beg of you, my lords, hear my words before you strike me dead!” she continued, offering them a nearly toothless smile. Her grin widened, even though she was encircled among the six princes of the kingdom, as though their presence inspired amusement in her rather than fear.
“The soldiers you have requested from the realm will not be here until the day following the full moon,” the sage explained. “And the Northmen will attack at dawn. You know as well as I do that they have already conquered the villages. Their next skirmish will be the castle walls. They outnumber you. It will undoubtedly be a brief, humiliating fight.”
“How can you know that?” Ansel demanded, but even as he spoke the words, he knew the woman had her ways to obtain the knowledge she desired.
“I assure you, my lord, it is so,” she said. “I am offering you a chance to win against the Northmen without fear. You will be regarded as legends, and the minstrels will sing about you for generations to come!”
“We are the princes of Misty Woods,” Anders growled. “We fear nothing!”
“There are already many a ballad about our bravery!” Marcus called.
The old sage shook her head, as if there was little else she could do to change their minds.
“Then you will die,” she told them, her tone flat and certain. “And Misty Woods will no longer be.”
A stillness hung in the air, not broken or interrupted even by a breeze from the open window as the six princes stared at the old witch. Her statement had cut each of them deeply, and they could do nothing but inherently recognize the truth. Without help, their kingdom would certainly cease to exist.
“How can you prevent it?” Cassius asked quietly. He sensed the disapproval of his brothers for asking, and although none of them protested his question, he still lowered his gaze.
“I have the power to invoke the will of Mother Nature and turn you into beasts who breathe fire,” the sage told them. “For three days and three nights, you will sprout wings and fly above your enemies, touting flames from your throats until they have all been sent back to the fiery hell where they belong!”
“Witchcraft!” the brothers yelled. “A spell! Underworld debauchery!”
“It is the will of Mother Nature,” she assured them, demurely lowering her eyes. “It
is only a short miracle, but a miracle nonetheless.”
The princes stepped back and glanced at one another, unsure of how to respond.
“If it is the work of Mother Nature…”
“If it is only for three days and nights…”
“If this ensures our victory…”
They turned back to the woman, who waited patiently for their response, her black eyes glittering.
“Why would you help us,” Ansel demanded, “if you claim to have no side?”
“Ah, my lord,” she replied smugly. “Just because I do not choose, it does not mean I do not hate.”
“And what do you have to gain by this?” Titus insisted. They wanted to know why she would willingly help them fight against the Northmen.
The old witch smiled enigmatically. “I am serving my kingdom, my lord.”
Once more, the brothers exchanged a long look. The old woman had been nothing but trouble for them and for Misty Woods, but if she could give them a chance to defend their kingdom… if they could save their people…
Slowly, the six princes began to nod, one by one, their hearts filled with hope once again.
“We shall prevail!” Anders cried, and they all roared in consensus, raising their swords to toast their newfound power.
And in their surge of arrogance, they did not see the witch’s smile grow cruel and cold, for they had not thought to ask her which kingdom it was that she served.
Not until it was much too late.
1
Sometimes, when the winds settled, Nora would sit by the window in her studio and stare into the blinding snow, losing herself in the whiteness for hours. It seemed such a contrast to the dark images on her canvasses, the bloody reds and blacks melding together in a splotchy mess.
It was easy to do when Jerome was gone and she was left alone with no one but the house staff and her thoughts.
How many years have we lived in this forsaken place? she asked herself that morning, but she immediately dismissed the question, refusing to fall into the pit of despair threatening to consume her. She didn’t know where this melancholy had come from—she only knew that it was slowly starting to pile atop her shoulders.