Brightwater Blood

To survive, they’ll have to think outside the circle. Were-lion Lachlan Garvey is closing in on the Brightwater women, the last of a Shamanic line that the Council wants eradicated for their murderous use of magic. One minute he’s in his animal form, examining a dead body in a patch of charred grass. The next, he wakes up human—naked, shot and lying in a circle of his own blood. Dayna Brightwater is sure the man she’s bound with a blood spell is the one who just murdered her twin sister. Yet even if she did have the stomach for revenge killing, she doesn’t have the power. But what to do with him now? If she lets him go, he’ll kill her, too. Trapped in the path of a deadly magical fire, Lachlan has to think fast—and talk faster—to convince the beautiful Shaman he’s innocent. As the roaring flames creep closer, Dayna must choose. Trust Lachlan and use magic to save them both…or flee. And live with the knowledge she caused his death, proving that no Brightwater is capable of love. Warning: Contains a naked hero who’ll do anything to save his life...including saving hers.

eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B Cincinnati OH 45249 Brightwater Blood Copyright © 2012 by Shona Husk ISBN: 978-1-60928-579-1 Edited by Jennifer Miller Cover by Angela Waters All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: January 2012 www.samhainpublishing.com

Brightwater Blood Shona Husk

Dedication

For anyone who’s ever been touched by the devastation of a bush fire—they are truly frightening.

Chapter One

Around Lachlan the bush was silent. Too silent. How far had he walked without hearing a single animal sound? There’d definitely been bird life when he’d stripped by his car and shifted from human to lion, but that was five kilometers ago. He paused with one golden paw above the dry grass. His whiskers twitched, but not even a fly disturbed him. Something was off. He stood frozen as only a wild animal can and willed his body to be silent. Between heartbeats he heard nothing. Absolutely nothing. Lachlan lifted his head and sniffed, his nostrils flaring as the scent of deep earth magic crawled over his body. His skin gave a quiver and the fur along his spine stood on end. Even though his body was a lion he still thought like a man, but all his senses were telling him to run. He was used to birds shutting up as he slunk past. While he wasn’t a natural predator in Australia, the wildlife recognized he was dangerous. This silence went deeper than that. Then he realized not even the trees were moving. Nature was on hold, waiting to breathe. He did not want to be here when it gasped and came back to life. Lachlan flicked his ears. Sometimes being the only were-lion tracker at Fendrake sucked. Only feline weres could sense magic, so when the Shamanic Council had asked for help locating a couple of shamans flouting the rules of nature, he got called in because as a tracker he found the un-findable. Today he didn’t want to find the Brightwater sisters if they’d done magic big enough and bad enough to silence the bush around their house. If they could do

Brightwater Blood

that, silencing one were-lion would be easy, and given the amount of magic in the air he was pretty damn sure it had to be the work of the Brightwater women. His lip curled, baring his teeth. He didn’t have to get involved; he could sprint back to his car, shift and call Fendrake. Fendrake could then send in their marshals and agents and everyone would be happy. Unless he was wrong and then all hell would break loose and he’d find himself on a much smaller paycheck, filing reports for the next twenty years. Swooping in and finding it was a case of mistaken identity would involve a major cover-up, and Fendrake preferred to slip under the radar. It was safer for non-humans to keep a low profile; so low the humans didn’t know they existed. He forced himself forward, knowing the fence that marked the edge of the Brightwater property wasn’t much farther. From there he should be able to see the house and then make a better decision. He moved quickly through the scrub, yet in the silence his steps were too loud. The unnatural quiet made his whiskers twitch as if searching for an unseen threat. That was the problem with magic. It couldn’t be seen, only sensed. And what he was sensing made the fur on his back crawl. The timber-clad house he was looking for appeared between the trees, and he paused, huffing out a breath. For a few heartbeats he watched, hoping he’d get lucky and see someone…one of the Brightwaters so he could get a positive ID. No one moved in the house. He took a step closer. All he needed was a visual on the targets. A bird fell out of a tree and landed on the ground in front of his paws without a flutter. Dead. Its eyes were glassy, like it had stopped seeing long before he came past. He lowered his head to give it a sniff and saw other birds in the long grass. All of them dead.

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This was bad. Lachlan’s tail swished. Sighting the house wasn’t good enough, even when coupled with the magic in the air. If he was wrong, and he called everyone in… He flexed his claws. Bloody shamans and bloody magic. He was going to have to ignore his better instinct, jump the fence and get close enough to the homestead for a proper look. Before he could change his mind, he ran at the fence and leaped over. He landed in the tall, dry grass and dropped to his belly next to a tiger snake. He flinched, ready to swat it away, but the snake didn’t move. Lachlan gave it a tap with his tail. Dead. This was one of those rare occasions where facing one of the most venomous snakes in the world would have been great. Instead, the sight of the dead snake added to the unease swelling in his gut. On his belly, he inched forward as if hunting prey, his senses straining to hear anything other than his own breathing and heartbeat. For twenty meters around the house the grass had been tamed and was cut short and neat in the European style Aussies loved so much. Too bad the grass didn’t like the climate and had turned brown. If he’d been human, he’d have frowned. The shamans’ lawn was dead from the summer heat. Shamans usually had green thumbs. They didn’t just get on well with Nature, they were a conduit for Her power. Something was not right with Nature today. There were too many dead things on the ground and too much magic in the air. Lachlan’s dark mane spiked to make him appear bigger and more menacing. He might think like a man, but his body reacted like a lion responding to a threat. Beneath his paws the ground was dry. The long grass he was hiding in crumbled as he slunk past, edging towards the dead lawn and the house. Tracking any shaman was better done at a distance, but the Brightwaters

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Brightwater Blood

especially. The Brightwater sisters came from a very dark bloodline. He’d trawled through piles of history and waded through the crime reports of several generations. Brightwater shamans were bad from way back and they were only interested in one thing: power. Dayna and Clarissa were following in their mother’s murderous footsteps and using the lives of others to feed that craving. What they did with all that magic was anyone’s guess, but their predecessors had caused all kinds of trouble, including creating sentient tornados that took out their enemies, sinking ships to secure trade routes and using magic to alter gambling results. None of which the Shamanic Council looked fondly upon. Over the last couple of centuries the Brightwaters had been responsible for more deaths than the average vampire. This time the Council had finally grown a set and decided to act—without getting their hands dirty, of course. His movements slowed as he made every step with caution, half expecting a magical trap to close around him. Shamans drew their power from Nature, but they could also use the earth and plants to their benefit. Yet the ground he was treading on felt like it had been sucked dry of everything. It was weird and unnatural. He tasted the magic, again. Stronger this time. Acrid and dark and ancient. This place was creeping him out, and he didn’t get creeped out. He usually creeped other people out, as if humans knew he wasn’t quite the same as them. He gave himself a shake that rippled from ears to tail, but it didn’t dislodge the prickly tension in his skin. If he saw no one in the next few minutes, he was going to make a strategic withdrawal and report the place for further investigation, regardless of the possible consequences. His eyes narrowed as he lifted his head above the long grass and scanned the expanse of neat, brown lawn that surrounded the house and the bush that

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stretched out to the next fence line. Having a property this size would be nice. He could shift and his neighbors would never know. His mouth opened in a lionish grin. Privacy—it was probably the same reason the Brightwaters had bought the place. The grin vanished. Despite the long grass hiding him, he felt very conspicuous. He couldn’t pass himself off as part of the local wildlife. To one side, where the lawn met the bush, there were two old gum trees and a dark patch on the ground. Something white lay in the center of the black. Lachlan moved quickly through the tall grass. He wasn’t game enough to sprint over the lawn even though the long grass didn’t give him much cover. If someone was watching from the house, they’d see a ripple caused by an unfelt breeze as he moved through the grass. Even the air was too still. As he neared the trees, the ground grew warmer, the heat soaking through his paws. He paused when he reached the trees. The dark patch was a sooty circle, and the white shape, a woman. Her long, dark hair was spread over the ground where she’d fallen. Brightwater, or victim? He broke cover and paced the edge of the perfect, burned circle. Shamans loved a magic circle, especially one between two trees. Not that these were really trees anymore. They were more like skeletons, their leaves curled and brown on the ground. He flicked the edge of the circle with his tail, expecting to get a shock. He didn’t get one. The circle was down. A car swung up the driveway, crunching on gravel and breaking the total silence that had been coating the area. He glanced over to the house as a sharp stab of panic slipped between his ribs and lodged in his heart. He ignored it as best he could along with common sense and caution as he crossed the circle’s threshold. The circle was down, but the tingling sensation of magic still lingered within, ruffling his fur and making his skin itch. His breath huffed over the

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woman’s skin as he nudged her. He needed to see her face and ID her as one of the Brightwaters, or if she wasn’t, help her. The woman’s arm flopped to the side and he saw her face. She was one of the twins. Clarissa or Dayna? He leaned over her face, waiting to feel her breath against his nose. It never came. She was dead. His shoulders hunched in a shrug he couldn’t quite pull off in this body. One less Brightwater to worry about. All he had to do was get the word back to Fendrake that he’d located the shaman and had found evidence of powerful magic. The back door slammed open. Lachlan’s head snapped up. The other twin was on the porch, rifle in hand. “Get away from my sister.” Metal clicked as she took off the safety. But he was already moving…towards the woman. Most people would run if they saw a lion charging towards them, even a slightly smaller and darker European lion. Lachlan was confident the shaman would dart inside and he’d sprint off into the bush and get back to his car and call Fendrake. She didn’t run. She raised the rifle. And fired. Dust puffed at his feet as she missed. Shit. Lachlan darted to his right, hoping to make it around the corner to the relative safety of the side of the house. The rifle barked again and pain burst in his thigh. His leg went out from under him. He had to get away or he’d be the next life this shaman took. He limped on, dragging his leg, but he wasn’t fast enough. The passion fruit vine on the side of the house whipped out and wrapped around his paws. It was the only

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plant that wasn’t dead, and it was attacking. Tendrils reached out and grabbed him. The more he struggled, the tighter the plant gripped. Shifting might give him an advantage—for a second. But then he’d be a naked, unarmed man. At least this way he had claws and teeth. He roared in fury and snapped at the green vine, but it dodged his jaws and wrapped around him like a muzzle. The woman walked up to him. Her face was scrunched, as if she were torn between anger and grief, then she lifted the rifle as if to shoot him at point-blank range. Lachlan growled and bared his teeth. He wasn’t going to die like this, but he had no speech and no time to shift and beg for his life. The woman turned the rifle and slammed the stock of the gun into the side of his head. White-hot pain flared in his temple, then the light was swallowed by black. Dayna raised the rifle to club him again, but the lion didn’t move. Her hands shook in time with her rapid breathing. There were no lions in Margaret River, so he was either a zoo escapee that had traveled a couple of hundred kilometers without being noticed, or he was the local big-cat myth come to life. She didn’t know which was worse. It didn’t matter. She tore her eyes from the improbable creature lying in her yard and ran over to her sister, her feet scuffing over the dead grass. She’d seen the lion standing over Clarissa, but she wasn’t too late. She couldn’t be too late. Her knees hit the black dirt as she laid the rifle on the ground. Her sister didn’t move. “Wake up.” Dayna rolled her sister onto her back. She searched for a pulse and found none. Clary lay still, unbreathing. She glanced over her shoulder at the lion—he was unconscious.

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Her cell phone was in her bag in the house. She had to get Clary breathing before she rang an ambulance. How did resuscitation go? One breath and five compressions or the other way around? Dammit. Anything was better than nothing. She wished she’d paid more attention to all the medical shows on TV. What had the lion done to Clary? Scared her to death? There was no blood that she could see on her sister’s body. Seeing him leaning over her sister had frozen her for precious seconds. Seconds that might have saved Clary’s life if she’d been faster to get the gun and scare him off. Tears blurred her vision. She’d never expected a lion attack. A lion. She’d shot a lion in her yard. She risked a glance over her shoulder while her hands repeated the compressions on Clary’s chest. The lion lay in the dirt, bound by the vine, blood seeping into his dull gold fur. Panic rose back up and threatened to lock her muscles again. She turned her gaze back to her sister. She had to get Clary breathing, then call for help… And if the lion woke up? The rifle lay next to her leg. She’d shoot it again. Yes. She wouldn’t hesitate next time. “Come on. Please, Clary, we have to go inside.” They would be safe inside if the lion got up. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” If she’d been here, she could’ve protected Clary. Clary didn’t like going outside. Why was she outside? It didn’t matter. Dayna’s breathing hiccupped as she tried to be calm. Tears burned her eyes. She didn’t have time to cry. Besides, she could still save Clary. Breathe. She pushed the thought into her sister with the next breath, hoping Clary would hear how desperate she was and obey. Wasn’t she supposed to gasp for air and wake up? Dayna gave Clary another puff of air. Maybe she was doing this wrong? Her arms ached from trying to force her sister’s heart to beat. Wake up.

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Beneath her hands, her sister’s body remained limp. When she placed her mouth on her sister’s, Clary’s lips were cool. They should be warm. Her rhythm faltered. She touched her sister’s neck, searching for a pulse, more carefully this time. Her skin had lost all warmth…and color. Clary was cold and pale. Clary was gone. “No!” She kept going, hoping that Clary would blink and cough. She pressed harder on her sister’s chest as if she could force Clary back to life. “You can’t leave me too.” Clary was all the family she had. The tears broke free and trickled down her face. “Clarissa Rose, you get up!” Her words came out choked. She wanted Clary to argue back, to do anything. Yet her twin was already gone. Dayna smoothed her fingers over her sister’s face, identical to her own. But Dayna cried for both of them. The silent tears streaked Dayna’s cheeks and splashed on her sister. Clary’s blue eyes stared at the sky, unable to cry anymore. Dayna closed them, then wrapped her arms around her sister. Grief made her throat tight; every breath was torn from her lungs. She was too late. If she’d left the shop ten minutes earlier. If she hadn’t stopped to ask Belinda how her baby was, or if she hadn’t grabbed the gun. She’d had to get the gun, how else was she supposed to face a lion? Her heart lurched as if it wanted to stop. There was a freaking lion in her yard! A lion had killed her sister. What had happened in the few short hours she’d been at the store filling out stock order forms? How had everything changed in such a short space of time? Around them, the grass was burned in a circle and beyond that the grass was dead. She was sure it had been greener this morning. What had Clary done? Had she tried to defend herself against the lion only to have her magic fail?

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After their mother’s death, she and Clary had sworn not to use magic— especially not strong magic. The plants around the house were imbued with power to defend the house—that kind of magic was easy, like breathing, because the plants wanted to help. Talking to plants was a gift that ran in the family. She glanced back to where the lion was bound by the vine, and blinked. The lion was gone and in its place was a man. A naked man. His body was slumped and bound the way the lion’s had been, the vine tangling his limbs while blood coated his thigh. Fear iced her skin. The bastard who had attacked and killed her sister was a shape-shifter. Her mother’s warning echoed in her ears. She’d always warned Dayna and Clarissa that people would hate them because magic was in their blood. That they had to stick together and be smart and safe. She’d told them to be careful of big animals because they weren’t always just animals. Her mother had particularly hated cats because they could sense magic, and anything that could sense magic put the family in danger. The lion had killed her sister with magic. And when he woke up, she would be next. Dayna snatched up the gun and stood, then she leveled the gun at the unconscious man. Her finger rested on the trigger as the hurt crushing her mutated into anger. Who was he to come and kill her sister? To come to their house and destroy their lives? For a heartbeat she allowed herself to imagine shooting him again. The rifle wobbled in her hands, and her vision blurred with tears. She blinked but couldn’t focus well enough to take aim. She lowered the rifle and sat back down with her sister, the rifle resting in her lap in case the shape-shifter woke up and attacked. What was she going to do?

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She picked up Clary’s hand. Clary would know what to do. She always knew what to do. Dayna bit her lip, but the tears started again. Suffocating until she couldn’t think beyond gasping for her next breath. Then there were no more tears to fall, and she was hollow and alone. Except for the shape-shifter tangled in the vine. Her gaze rested on him. Was he alive? From where she sat, she couldn’t tell. She should call the police and let them take care of him, but she knew they wouldn’t. The police didn’t believe in magic, much less shape-shifters. They’d called her mother’s death suicide. It hadn’t been. She’d been attacked by magic and forced to defend herself. Clary and Dayna had been lucky they’d been out celebrating the end of high school, or they’d be dead too. If Dayna rang the police, she’d be the one charged with shooting him, because in the eyes of the police she’d shot a man, not a lion. Her stomach gave a little flip. She’d shot a shape-shifter in her yard. How many more were on their way? She needed to know why he’d come after them, and then she’d make sure he and his friends would never come after her again. A plan began to form. Not a good one, but the best she could come up with on her own. This time she swallowed down the grief that wanted to suck her under and keep her down. She had to move. Yet for several more minutes she just sat, unable to force her limbs into action after sitting still for so long. She uncurled her fingers from around Clary’s hand and laid her sister’s arm gently on the ground. Then she made herself take a deep breath, and without looking at her sister she stood up. Her legs protested at the movement. Her muscles were cramped from sitting, and the returning blood prickled all the way down to her toes. She ignored the pain of pins and needles—compared to the knife in her heart it was nothing.

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With the rifle in her hand, Dayna made herself walk up to the shape-shifter. She gave him a nudge with the muzzle of the rifle. He didn’t twitch, but he was breathing. Good. The vine felt her pain and called out, but it was afraid—all the other plants around the house were dead and it was alone. She didn’t know why they were dead, but she tried to reassure the vine that everything would be okay if it could hold the shape-shifter for a little longer. Then she went up the stairs and into the house before she could change her mind and second-guess her plan. While she hadn’t used magic since finding her mother’s body, it didn’t mean she’d forgotten any of the lessons her mother had taught her…not that she’d ever shown much magical talent, not like Clary. She went to the cupboard and pulled out a length of narrow white cord. The weight of it in her hand was familiar even after six years. She hoped that she’d be able to work the magic she hadn’t practiced in too long. It was one thing to understand but another to use the power that pulsed in the earth. Today she didn’t care about the risks. She had nothing left to care about. He had made sure of that. Now the shape-shifter would pay for killing her sister.

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Chapter Two

Lachlan squinted against the sunlight slicing through his head. He was sprawled on the ground, and his thigh was throbbing and burning as if a metal picket was speared through the muscle. His gut tightened as he remembered— he’d been shot. He closed his eyes and let his cheek rest on the ground as he slid his hand to his thigh. His skin was warm and wet and sticky beneath his fingers. His hand stilled. He’d been shot as a lion, yet he was human now, which meant his body had shifted in an attempt to heal while he’d been out cold. A shiver rippled down his spine. He hated shifting while unconscious. Had she watched? Where was the woman with the gun now? The Brightwater shamans weren’t known for their merciful nature, but for the moment he was still alive. Probably not good. He forced his eyes open. The sun was past the zenith, so he’d been out for at least an hour, more like two. Either way it was longer than he liked to be unconscious while on a job. It was longer than he ever liked to be unconscious. His head ached, but his jaw still worked and nothing seemed broken. His biggest concern was the bullet wound. He swallowed and gathered his thoughts. Assess the injury, shift and get the fuck out of here before he got shot again or worse. An enraged shaman could make dying look like a good idea. The gory details of some of the old Brightwater files skittered around the edge of his consciousness. How long could a person live while a tree grew through them? Judging from the grimace of agony on the victim’s face in the grainy black-andwhite photo, too long.

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His plan was simple, but the best he could come up with while blood oozed through his fingers. Generally he didn’t mind blood, unless it was his. Then it became a whole lot more worrying. He glanced down his body but couldn’t see the wound while he was lying on his stomach in the dead grass. Despite the protest in his skull he eased himself up. The world spun twice before settling. Cautiously he lifted his hand, hoping movement hadn’t made the wound worse. Blood wept in time to the beating of his heart. Not a gush, but more than he’d have liked. His heart sped up as terror searched to break free. He sucked in a breath and shut it down, years of training and experience keeping him almost calm. He didn’t have time to panic. He slid his hand around the part of his leg he couldn’t see, searching for an exit wound, but there wasn’t one. That meant the bullet was still in his leg. Not good. Shifting with a bullet still inside him was risky because as his muscles and bones reshaped the bullet would move, possibly doing more damage, and he’d already, unwittingly, done it once. On the other hand he was five kilometers from his car, and he’d never make the distance as a man, however as a lion he’d have a chance. He glanced at the house. For all he knew the other sister was inside. He doubted she’d ring him an ambulance or let him place a call. Risking the shift and making a run for safety was looking like the best idea…assuming he didn’t lose too much blood and go into shock on the way there. How much blood had he lost already? Lachlan licked his lips. He was thirsty and his heart was beating too fast. He was already showing signs of shock. He didn’t have time to debate. The longer he waited the more blood he would lose and the more likely it was the shaman would come back and finish what she’d started. He drew up the heat that brought on the change. It shimmered up his spine in a flood of warmth, then stopped as if it hit a barrier. He closed his eyes and

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tried again. He hadn’t failed to shift at will since he was thirteen and just learning. Instead of letting the energy blossom naturally, he pulled hard, as if he could push through whatever was blocking the heat. His muscles shook and his head pounded where he’d been struck. Sweat beaded on his skin where fur should’ve formed. He gritted his teeth. The agony of trying to force a shift grated on every nerve and forced his breath to come in hard pants. He let the shifting heat go and hunched over, weakened from the exertion. Really not good. The panic he’d been keeping a rein on slipped its collar and started running around, yelling, “you’re going to die”, making it very hard for him to concentrate. This was bad. There were only a few ways to prevent a were from shifting. Lachlan swallowed with his jaw clenched tight. He couldn’t walk far like this—if he could walk at all. Maybe he could make it to the woman’s car. He opened his eyes and twisted around, trying to see if it was still here, then paused, a frown creasing his brow. Around him was a thin white rope, stained dark red. Blood. He was willing to bet a year’s pay it was the blood of the last European lion in existence. His blood. Keeping his hand pressed against the wound, he turned and discovered what he already knew. The rope made a circle around him, the ends overlapping slightly to seal the ring. He didn’t know a lot about magic, but he knew the best way to bind someone was in a circle of their own blood. Lachlan let out a dark laugh. The hunter had become the prey. He’d been trapped by a Brightwater. He wished the bullet had severed his femoral artery because bleeding to death would’ve been preferable to whatever the shaman had in mind.

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While his training with Fendrake had covered plenty of unpalatable situations—with more realism than he’d ever thought he’d need as a tracker— being bound by magic was one of the circumstances not covered, because there was no escape. It was impossible to break a binding circle from the inside. If by chance he did get free, then maybe some of that training would come in handy. Bits of the vine that had been wrapped around his paws when he was a lion lay within the circle, but nothing crossed the rope. He gave the rope a halfhearted nudge with his toe, hoping that it was just for show. A shock like static electricity spun up his leg and ricocheted around his skull. He shook his head and the hairs on his arm slowly lay down. He wouldn’t do that again. “There’s no way for you to escape.” The female voice was brittle. Lachlan turned his head. The Brightwater woman stood in the doorway with the rifle held loosely in her hand. If he hadn’t felt its bite, he might’ve thought she was holding it for decoration. The fact she still held it meant she wasn’t so convinced the circle would hold and he wouldn’t escape. Interesting. “How about two paracetamols and a glass of water?” Or some sunscreen, a steak and a phone call. Might as well ask for a hot-air balloon, because he wasn’t going to get anything. The woman smiled, but it didn’t reach her red-rimmed eyes. She picked up a bottle of water, one of those sports ones, and took a long swallow that made his throat ache with longing. Sitting in the sun was only going to make his dehydration worse, and the more blood he lost the more water he was going to need to make up for lost fluids. She was drinking in front of him to torment him, and it was working already. She set the bottle down. Each move carefully considered as if she were trying to keep a measure of control.

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“Nothing can cross the threshold without breaking the barrier, but you know that.” She glared at him as if he were the most evil creature on the planet, like he’d been the one who’d been killing for kicks. “It was worth a try.” He made his lips curve in what he hoped was a winning grin. He was screwed. No one was expecting him to check in for hours. This was exactly why he’d never wanted to be an agent. He’d never wanted to put his life on the line confronting the baddies. He liked the research, the thrill of the hunt out in the field and working alone. That was now coming back to bite him on the ass. “I’m sure it was, shape-shifter.” She spat out the last word as if it was an insult as she leaned on the railing of the porch, a pose that would have appeared relaxed if not for the set of her jaw and the curl of her fingers. She wasn’t just angry, she was ready to boil, and all that venom was directed at him. For half a second he was grateful there was a circle between them. Her gaze traveled over his naked body, from his toes to his hair—which was no doubt standing on end the way it always did after a shift, as if his body was unable to let go of the mane. Usually when a woman spent that much time checking him out, he left her bed with a promise to call her the next day. Which he generally didn’t. Relationships with humans were too hard. Hiding what he was felt like he was lying. Then there was the risk of infection. His blood carried the mitochondrial virus that caused were-ism, and infecting humans was illegal. Safe sex wasn’t optional, it was essential, but it would only take one accident that involved blood-to-blood contact and things would go downhill fast. Few people survived infection, and if anyone died, Fendrake would have his balls for breakfast.

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Because he was a European were-lion, the African were-lions weren’t keen on letting him near their prides, or their women. And he wasn’t desperate enough to risk a fight to the death for a mate. Twenty-eight was too young to die when all he wanted was a night of fun. Twenty-eight was too young to die. Her examination ended on his face. There was no reason to change the way he talked to a woman—besides, there wasn’t much else he could do. “I’m Lachlan. What’s your name?” She shook her head—her dark, almost black, hair shining in the sunlight— and looked at the ground. “Like you don’t know.” Her fingers whitened on the rifle. “You killed my sister. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you.” Her gaze locked with his. Her blue eyes were hard and cold, wounded and full of pain…for her sister. Ah, her need for revenge was going to complicate his plan for survival. His brain was too slow to come up with anything cleverer than the truth. “I didn’t kill her. I found her.” “Liar.” She snarled, as fierce as any were-animal he’d ever met. He glanced at the rope and then the rifle. Being trapped in the circle was more comforting than it should’ve been. “What were you doing on our property?” This time he took a breath before answering and hoped he sounded believable, because if he wasn’t convincing, he’d find out exactly what happened when a bullet hit a magic circle. He doubted the circle would stop the bullet before breaking and setting him free. His luck wasn’t as good as her magic. “That was an accident. The lion doesn’t respect boundaries when following a trail…I was chasing a rabbit.” He shrugged and hoped she knew very little about

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weres and how much humanity remained in the beast. “I stopped when I saw your sister.” Her lips twitched, and for a moment he thought she believed him. “No. Clary is agoraphobic. She’d have never gone outside willingly.” She scowled at him as if wondering how a lion could’ve lured her sister out of the house. Lachlan leaped on to the new piece of information and assembled a bit more of the puzzle. Clarissa was the dead sister, so this was Dayna, the one who worked in the local organic produce store while her supposedly agoraphobic sister worked on the 0055 sex line and sucked the life out of her clients while they orgasmed. Nice. His suspect was dead and he was a few hours from joining her if he didn’t get help. At least the Shamanic Council couldn’t get pissed at him for failing to locate the last of the Brightwater bloodline. The most recent sex-line killing had been the final straw that had pushed the Council to vote to eliminate one of their precious lines. The Council’s lust for blood was going to kill off his bloodline too. “She was there when I found her. In the burned-out circle.” Whatever she’d been doing had burned the grass and trees…and then killed the surrounding wildlife. If he’d come earlier, he might have been caught in the magical whiplash. Instead he was spending his last few hours baking in the sun while watering the grass with his blood. A sudden death would’ve been better. Still, he was here, so he might as well try for some answers. “What magic was she working?” Dayna’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t use magic, shape-shifter.” Lachlan raised his eyebrows. Shamans always used magic. It was part of them, like it was part of the vine that had attacked him. He pointed to the blood-

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coated rope that was preventing him from shifting and escaping. “What would you call this, then?” “Self-defense.” “Uh-huh.” He wasn’t going to win an argument with a woman who blamed him for her sister’s death. The best he could hope for was a little compassion…from a Brightwater. He didn’t like his chances. They considered each other for a long moment. Her pale blue eyes and dark hair made her look like the deadliest china doll in the toy shop. He shivered despite the heat from the sun. “If I don’t get something for my leg, I’m going to bleed to death.” He was pushing his luck, but maybe Dayna wasn’t as mercenary as her sister. Or maybe he was just hoping she wasn’t. For all he knew, she was party to the killings. “That would be fitting. But I have a better idea. How about I take your life and use it to bring back my sister?”

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Chapter Three

The half smile that had curved his lips and given him a cheeky air even though he was trapped and bleeding fell away, and for a second Dayna glimpsed undisguised fear. He shuttered his expression fast, yet the smile didn’t come back. He was afraid of her. Good. That leveled the field. He was a freaking lion in his spare time. She hadn’t been sure the circle would hold him—even though she’d added his blood to the mix. It’d been so long since she’d tried to tap into the power of nature and use that energy to close a circle that she’d cheated and used the last bit of power from the vine—apologizing as she did. Tapping into the pulse of the earth had always been hard for her, and directing it harder. The shamanic beat, her mother had called it. Power for the using—if one knew how to touch it, hold it and bend it to one’s will. Magic hadn’t saved her mother, or Clary. Dayna bit back the sob that rose in her throat. She wasn’t going to cry in front of the killer, yet she couldn’t kill him either—she’d tried. While he was unconscious and trapped in the circle she’d aimed at his head with her finger on the trigger. Clary’s skin was cold under the sheet Dayna had placed over her, but she couldn’t avenge her sister. She was pathetic. If it had been the other way around, Clarissa would have shot him in the head and then the heart and used his death to bring Dayna back to life.

Brightwater Blood

She was the dud twin. No gumption and no magic worth mentioning. Her mother had noticed and had given up, instead devoting all her attention to Clary’s magical training. The shape-shifter called Lachlan shook his head, his brown hair standing up at all angles in a way that suited his sharp cheekbones. If he’d come into her shop, she’d have remembered. He was the kind of man who would always get a second and probably a third glance. Maybe he was telling the truth and had come on their property by accident, since she hadn’t seen him around town. The image of him standing over her sister’s body remained strong. Even if he hadn’t killed Clary, he was still a shape-shifter, and she couldn’t ignore her mother’s warnings. “Shamanic magic is about life, not death,” he said. Dayna frowned then tried to remove the surprise from her face and keep her expression stony, as if she’d kill him if he gave the wrong answer. No one had ever used the word shamanic when referring to what they did, except her mother. “What do you know of shamanic magic?” His tongue traced his lip as he thought, and she knew he was going to tell her less than he actually understood. “Enough to know that the Council outlawed bringing back the dead over a hundred years ago.” Her eyebrows lowered in a scowl she didn’t bother to hide. What Council, and what law against raising the dead? She’d been hoping to scare him. She couldn’t raise the dead—she didn’t have that amount of power. Yet he was deadly serious. His lips turned up, and the knowing grin came back. “You don’t know about the Council… Oh, this is perfect.” “What is perfect?” What was he talking about? “What Council?”

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She wasn’t in the mood for his games. She just needed to work out what she was going to do with him and Clary. It was a pity she couldn’t magic him away. If he’d have stayed a lion things would’ve been simpler. The cops wouldn’t care too much about her shooting a lion, but a man? How was she supposed to prove it was self-defense when he was the one naked and bleeding and weaponless? “The Shamanic Council. The governing body of all shamans, the Council of Elders that keeps your bloodlines pure and strong. The Council that expelled your mother, Sherrie Brightwater.” He paused, then pressed his lips together as if realizing he’d said too much. Dayna drew in a breath. He knew more about her family than a lion on a hunting trip should. “How do you know my mother?” Her mother had never mentioned a Council, much less being expelled. He watched her, as if gauging her reaction. She let her fingers slide over the rifle in warning. His gaze flicked to her hand as he took in the motion. He didn’t miss much, but he responded to less. His face and body language gave away no hint of what he was thinking, or if he was worried about dying. “I read about her. How did you and your sister get away from the Council after her death?” “Her murder,” Dayna corrected. He nodded once, not quite an agreement, but said nothing. What did he know about that day? Did it matter? Her gaze slid to Clary. She needed to know what he knew about her family…or what had been her family. The sense of being truly alone for the first time pressed against her until she thought she’d be crushed. Not even the bush around her house responded. It was silent. She and the shape-shifter could be the only two people left alive in the world.

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Dayna took a sip of water to stall. His gaze tracked the bottle with naked hunger, and she almost felt sorry for him, sitting in the sun on a hot, still day. Almost. But he was hiding too much and lying about everything else. She didn’t trust him, and no doubt the feeling was mutual. But if she didn’t answer his questions, he wouldn’t answer hers, and she needed to know why he was here and how he knew so much about magic and her family. “After my mother’s murder we went into hiding. We knew whoever had killed her would come after us.” The Council must be the people her mother had been afraid of. She’d left instructions for her daughters, cash and a couple of places where they’d be safe until they had worked out what to do. The warnings that had seemed so overprotective when they were growing up had proved true. Her mother’s fears had been realized. Dayna looked at the shape-shifter with fresh eyes. His appearance on the property was no accident. He knew who she was because he was here to finish the job. Her stomach rolled with the realization. He’d come here to kill her and Clary. “Now you have.” The only thing stopping him from killing her was a thin piece of white rope and a bit of basic magic she hadn’t used since high school. Would it hold? How far away could she get before it broke? And what then? How long until he found her? She glanced at his wounded leg…he would bleed out before the circle came down. Once he was dead she would be free. But buying freedom with blood tasted wrong. She’d much rather him be tried for her sister’s murder. “I’m not a shaman. I’m not part of the Council.” True. He was part lion, but he was still lying to her. “Are you working for them?” “I work for Fendrake.” “Fendrake? Do they work for the Council?”

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He didn’t answer. It was all the confirmation she needed. She turned away from him. She had to get out of here before more came. Who knew how many others were looking for her? “Dayna, please. If you leave me here, I will die.” She spun back. “If I release you, will you go to the Council so they can kill me?” “I have to tell them I found you,” he said softly. “Then it’s my life or yours isn’t it, Lachlan?” She snarled. “What gives the Council or Fendrake the right to hunt us down and kill us? We weren’t doing anything wrong.” He closed his eyes. She watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. His tanned skin glistened with sweat in the sun. If it was her sitting out on the sun, she’d be burned red already. He looked so human, so pained, so unlike a killer. “The Council asked me to find you both because they suspected a shaman was involved in some recent murders.” That small fragment of truth had cost him, but she didn’t care. “Why us?” Why were they always pursued? Even as children they’d moved every couple of years. They’d grown up on the run and had never stopped. She wanted to stop looking over her shoulder and settle down and be safe. She’d thought she and Clary had found a life here, but because of him she’d lost everything. “Men who used a certain sex line were found drained of life. They were literally dried-up husks. I traced it back to you two.” “No. Cla—” Her voice caught. She couldn’t even say her sister’s name without tears threatening to drown her. “My sister worked as a telephone psychic.”

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“Clarissa wasn’t a psychic. She was drawing power through sex, the way shamans do.” “You’re lying!” Shamans used nature, not sex. “It’s the truth. Weren’t you ever trained?” “No.” Her mother had stopped teaching Dayna when it had become clear she lacked the talent Clary had for magic. For a while Clary had shown her bits and pieces, but she’d lost interest, and Clary had stopped sharing. Had later lessons included something beyond tapping into nature? Clary had always had a lot of boyfriends… She cut off the train of thought. “I wasn’t trained in killing people through the phone, and neither was my sister. Do you have any idea how crazy you sound?” He blinked at her. “You’re talking to a were-lion you trapped in a magic circle. If I exist, why can’t what I say be real?” Because her sister wasn’t some kind of magic sex-line killer. Because Dayna couldn’t decide which pieces were truths between his lies. Because she didn’t want to believe her sister was using the magic they had both sworn not to use. She tipped her chin and stared at him. “For someone who claims not to be a shaman you seem to know an awful lot.” “I’m a were-lion. The two are mutually exclusive. Shamans have a third eye in their forehead…” He paused and studied her more closely than she liked. “You don’t have the eye.” “Eww. Of course I don’t.” The sun must be starting to bake his tiny lion brain. “Humor me. Lift your bangs.” He smiled as if he were accepting an award, not sitting naked in a rope circle, clutching his leg.

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“No.” She wasn’t playing games with a were-lion. His games had gotten her sister killed, and every moment she stood here talking to him instead of running, she was another second closer to being found. “Fine. You will have a deep crease, almost like a scar, on your forehead. Your sister though…oh, yes…she has the third eye. No, that doesn’t work. You’re twins. If one has it, so should the other.” Great now he was theorizing to himself. “Neither of us has three eyes because no one does.” “Shamans do, always…well, full-blood shamans do. Those with just a hint of blood will have the mark but no eye.” “What has this got to do with why you were sent after us?” “Nothing. I’m curious. Aren’t you?” She was, a little. But she wasn’t going to admit to it. Her mother had had deep lines on her forehead. Dayna had always thought them to be frown lines. Frown lines both she and Clary had inherited, and that they both covered with bangs. Her fingers traced over the skin of her forehead. The deep line beneath her fingers became a closed eye in her mind, and she jerked her hand away. “My sister is innocent, and you drove her to use magic we’d vowed never to use.” Somehow the shape-shifter had coaxed Clary outside and then forced her to make the circle… But if Clary could make a circle she would have been safe from him. Nothing was making sense. Dayna should have been here this morning. If she had, none of this would’ve happened. The grief she was trying to keep contained swelled and clogged her throat, making it hard for her to breathe. “You vowed never to use. Your sister was using.”

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“A few perverts die and this Council I’ve never heard of blames us.” She choked out the words. “Mum was right. People do hate you if you can use real magic.” They’d stayed too long in one place, sucked into the illusion of a safe life and the hope that whoever had killed their mother had lost interest. They were wrong, and Clary had paid the price for both of them. Dayna would rather be on the run with her sister than alone and arguing with a shape-shifter about why they were being hunted. Lachlan cocked his head. “There are plenty of magic users in the world. Shamans and fey are the biggest non-human users. Some humans can rustle up a bit in a pinch but they usually have a non-human in the family tree. Did she never tell you about any of them?” Her mother hadn’t. She hadn’t told her about the Council or Fendrake either. What else had she left out? Dayna shook her head. How could she even be thinking of believing a word that came out of the were-lion’s mouth? He was lying. The day was hot and there was no breeze to offer relief. Lachlan watched her with a predatory glint in his eye. His leg was coated in blood that oozed between his fingers despite his attempt to put pressure on the wound. He would say anything, and do anything, to save his life. “She taught us magic. She taught us to be careful.” Without thought, her gaze drifted to Clary in the charred circle. Clary had admitted to using a little magic on some of her clients. She was the one who’d set up the plant defenses. Was it possible she had a third eye and had worked for a sex line and not a psychic hotline? Over the past few months Clary had become more withdrawn, rarely coming out of her bedroom and never letting Dayna inside.

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No, her sister wouldn’t put them both at risk by using magic. Dayna would prove him wrong. Prove the Council wrong and then make them pay for killing her sister and mother. She left the drink bottle on the railing for the were-lion to think about, and went inside. In the house that she’d shared with her sister, out of sight of Lachlan, her careful control buckled. Her breathing tightened as she fought back the tears. With her back against the door, she drew in a slow, deep breath and tried to find some balance. And failed. Her sister was dead, there was a were-lion in her backyard, and the Shamanic Council wanted her and her sister for murder. Tears welled and trickled down her cheeks. Everything her mother had warned them about was happening. Dayna had believed that by not using magic they would be safe, but Clary hadn’t agreed. They’d argued about magic a lot but stuck together because they were a team—especially since Clary wouldn’t go outside alone. Their mother’s death had hit her sister the hardest—she’d lost both mother and magic teacher. Clary had believed magic was their best defense and their best weapon. It hadn’t helped her today. Dayna sniffed and tried to get moving, but the pain remained in a tight band around her chest and refused to let her go. With Clary she’d been able to do anything. Now she was alone, and she didn’t know what to do. The idea of moving terrified her, locking her muscles so they refused to respond. Is this what Clary’s agoraphobia had been like? If she didn’t move, she was dead. She couldn’t let the Council find her, not after her mother and her sister had given their lives. She forced her fingers to release the rifle. They’d bought it as a precaution against feral animals that roamed the bush, mostly pigs, foxes and dogs. She’d never expected to use it on a lion, a were-lion.

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Her stomach lurched. It wasn’t just the Council that wanted her; the police would as well. She should call the police and let them deal with Lachlan. Tell them he was an intruder she’d shot in self-defense. But how would she explain the evidence of magic? No, the police wouldn’t help her. They hadn’t helped her mother. She was on her own. A sob broke free. She didn’t want to be alone, and she didn’t want to run away. But the Council wouldn’t believe she was innocent unless she found proof that she and her sister were wrongly accused. The police wouldn’t be able to protect her from a magical Council—they’d think she was crazy. Dayna wiped her cheeks and sucked in several deep breaths that sounded more like gulping sighs. If Clary were here, she’d give Dayna a shake and tell her to get moving. Tell her she could cry later when she was safe. To be safe she had to prove Lachlan was wrong about her sister. One step at a time Dayna forced herself to act. At Clary’s closed bedroom door she hesitated. She’d never gone into her sister’s room. Clary had liked her privacy, but it didn’t matter now. Nothing did. She pushed open the door and paused. The room was messy where hers was neat. Clothes and papers were strewn over the floor and bed. Dayna picked up a photo of them both with their mother. They were all smiling in front of a rosebush magicked into full bloom as snow fell around them. They’d been living in the Blue Mountains—it was the place they’d stayed the longest, and this was the last photo of them all together. She’d lost more than her sister, she’d lost her twin. The pain pressed hard and squeezed her heart until she thought it would stop. They’d always been two halves of the same coin. Clary was strong but shy, whereas Dayna couldn’t make a decision but loved being around people.

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She gave the photo a hug and then placed it on the unmade bed—she’d take it with her when she fled. But she needed more than her sister’s favorite photo—that wouldn’t prove Clary’s innocence. Dayna scanned the room, searching for a clue. Where did she start looking? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The plant in the corner seemed to vibrate with life. In her mind she whispered, not expecting the plant to listen or answer. What did Clary do in here all day? When she opened her eyes she saw the wardrobe half open, clothes spilling out between the doors. Clothes shopping? Clary loved clothes; she knew all the best places to shop online. But her sister’s love of shopping was hardly a defense against murder. Dayna opened the wardrobe to shove the clothes back in and stopped. On the top shelf, lined up in chronological order, were their mother’s diaries. Their mother had kept a record of all the magic she’d used in them, what worked and what didn’t. Dayna hadn’t seen them in years. Clary had told her they’d been destroyed in the fire that had swept through the Blue Mountains soon after their mother’s death. Why would she lie? The seeds of doubt Lachlan had sown began to take hold. The roots dug deep into every argument she’d had with her sister about magic. Was he right? Was Clarissa regularly using magic? She pulled down the dairies. They were all there, plus one more. A new one. Dayna swallowed and opened up the first page, knowing what she’d find. Her sister’s scrawl littered the page. The diary fell out of her hands and hit the floor. Oh God. Dayna sank to her knees and retrieved the diary. She scanned each page, hoping to read about the events of daily life like any normal diary. Each page revealed a new magical working Clary had been trying. Each spell was darker

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and more deadly. Bile burned the back of her throat as Clary described the thrill of stealing the life out of one of the men until he died. Dayna’s heart stuttered to a stop. Lachlan was right; Clary was the sex-line killer. She didn’t know her sister at all. Every argument they’d ever had about magic had never mattered because Clary was doing whatever she wanted anyway. They’d never been a team. It had been Clarissa and good old reliable, pliable Dayna. With a shudder she forced herself to read on, determined to find out why Clary would do such a thing. There had to be a reason. Just because Clary was a liar didn’t make her a cold-hearted killer. She wouldn’t be working magic for no reason. The last page was dated with today’s date, and the day their mother died. Dayna flipped a few pages ahead. Nothing. She looked at the scattered diaries on the floor and picked up the last one her mother had used. Her hands shook as she opened the diary to the last page with writing. The familiar script made her eyes burn afresh. The last few pages of her mother’s diary weren’t devoted to completed works, but to a spell she was planning. Usually magic was give and take, a reshaping of energy that eventually went back into the system, never used up and never destroyed. This working was different. It involved vast amounts of power to be targeted at a specific location at a specific time. A magical missile launch. Dayna’s blood ran cold. Her mother had been planning on taking out the Council at their next meeting. A preemptive strike against them before they could find and kill mother and both daughters.

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Had Clary been trying to repeat the spell? Dayna picked up her sister’s diary and read the last few pages again, the horror creeping through her like poison and stealing everything she knew about her sister. Clary had been building power by stealing life in the hope of being strong enough to wield the energy she planned to rip out of the earth. Dayna shut the diary. For a moment she couldn’t move. Had Clary known the Council was getting close and tried to make the first strike like their mother? Was she expecting Lachlan? What had gone wrong? She stood up and looked out the bedroom window. Lachlan hadn’t moved. His eyes were closed against the sun, his hand pressed to his leg. She couldn’t think about how she’d shot him in the leg without a twinge of remorse following. Until today she’d never hurt anyone, magically or otherwise. She turned her head to look at what had once been two massive gum trees, now dead. At their feet lay the body of her twin. A woman she didn’t really know. Lachlan had been right about Clary using magic, and right about how she was doing it. What else was he right about? What else had her sister lied about? Dayna’s fingers traced the frown lines on her forehead. Despite the lies, Clarissa was still her sister and the loss stung. With a wrench of will, she walled up the pain and turned away from the view over the backyard. She would fall apart and grieve later, once she was safe. She shoved the diaries of her mother and sister into a bag. Then she retrieved the cash they kept in the house and shoved it into another bag with some clothes, the photo and a few other bits she’d need until she got settled elsewhere. Dayna took a deep breath and readied herself to go outside. Giving Lachlan the diaries seemed like the ultimate betrayal, yet if she didn’t the Council and Fendrake would never leave her alone. She knew that now, even if she didn’t understand their reasons.

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The only question was, did she trust Lachlan? Once she broke the circle and set him free, what would he do to her? Her mind threw up visions of being mauled by an enraged lion. No, he’d have to let her go after she’d given him the diaries. She gave the inside of the house a final glance. Beneath the hurt, anger simmered. Anger at Clarissa for endangering both their lives with her magical workings, for stealing the lives of innocent men, for tearing down the life they’d built here, and for lying to her face every day about what she was doing when she shut herself in her room. Dayna yanked open the door and walked out into the heat and sunlight. The heat from the ground seeped into Lachlan’s skin but didn’t warm him. He shivered as a hot breeze sprang up and swept over his bare flesh, drying the sweat that had formed. His cheeks tightened as if he could sense something. If he’d been in his lion form, his whiskers would’ve been twitching. Something was going on, something that smelled like magic. It was so strong he could almost taste it at the back of his throat. The panic that had been keeping him company tore through his thoughts and scattered them like confetti in a hurricane. He had to focus. He twisted around while keeping his hand firmly pressed to his thigh, trying to take in as much of the area as he could. Clarissa was in the burned-out circle. Dayna was in the house—at least she hadn’t left him to die, yet. Her drink bottle rested on the railing, as out of reach as the moon. He dragged his gaze away. He had to think outside the circle. His mind remained empty except for the fear and the thick scent of magic. Lachlan winced and eased back into a more comfortable position, half sitting, half resting on his hip. There was blood on the rope, on the ground and on him,

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but he hadn’t seen a single fly. Usually that would’ve been a good thing—there was nothing worse than flies crawling over his skin and annoying the crap out of him. But they should still have been buzzing around the outside of the circle, crawling on the rope and trying to get to him. There wasn’t even one. He frowned and glanced up. Above him the sky was empty. Most animals didn’t stick around for magical workings, and the birds that had lived nearby were now dead. But around him the bush was silent. The birds weren’t coming back. While his hearing wasn’t as sharp as when he was a lion, it was still better than the average human’s. And he heard nothing. The bush was devoid of life. That made him more nervous than a teenage were approaching his first shift, so he pushed it aside. If he wanted to survive long enough to work out why the bush was silent, he had to get Dayna on his side. What did he know about the Brightwaters? He came up with nothing. All his research evaporated like a raindrop in the Sahara. Think. He closed his eyes as if darkness would help. His brain helpfully brought up an image of Dayna drinking water, which rapidly became Dayna standing in the rain, water slicking her hair to her wet skin. I’m thirsty. Got it, move on. Unless rainclouds suddenly formed in the clear blue sky he wasn’t going to be getting a drink soon. He pressed his drying lips together but didn’t lick them, as that would only dry them further and waste what little fluid he had. In the next hour his skin would begin burning. If he was really lucky, the heatstroke would knock him out before severe shock set in. Why couldn’t she have trapped him as a lion, before he accidently shifted to human? He could’ve licked his wound and not got burned… Not going to change anything. And not a

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good sign that he couldn’t concentrate. Struggling to stay focused, he dragged his attention back to the Brightwaters and Dayna. Think. Dayna. Not a full shaman. No third eye. Could obviously manage some magic. Twin of Clarissa. Clarissa. Sex-line killer. He smiled. Sex. It would’ve been great to have sex again before he died. The image of Dayna standing in the rain reformed. If he hadn’t met her over the barrel of a rifle, he’d have definitely tried to take her home. He shook his head as if he could dislodge the thought. Not going to die. Stay focused. Clarissa. Used sex to raise power—clever to use the phone. That had made it harder for him to trace. But what magic had she been planning that would require the boost? The murders had escalated from one every other month to one every day for the past two weeks. There’d been a lot of pressure on him to find the culprit. Multiple homicides weren’t good publicity for non-humans. Humans began asking questions they wouldn’t like the answers to and then Fendrake had to work harder to cover up the truth. His gaze drifted across the brown lawn to the dead shaman in the black circle. What was he missing? His leg ached, and each beat of his heart relayed the pain throughout his body. It rolled around the inside of his skull like a marble on a never-ending track. The sun was too bright. He was cold even though the day was hot. He was thirsty, and he wanted to lie down but couldn’t—if he did he wouldn’t be able to comfortably reach the wound. At least with the pressure, the flow was more of a thick ooze.

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He tried to recall everything he’d learned about the Brightwaters during the investigation. His thoughts kept sticking instead of sliding. This was so much worse than the sleep deprivation during training when Fendrake put every would-be recruit through all seven levels of Hell. Lachlan took a slow, deep breath and closed his eyes again. He began reciting what he knew about the Brightwaters. “The Brightwaters love magical power.” Clarissa had been sucking the life out of people to draw up magic for some kind of supercharged spell. “Sherrie Brightwater killed an old boyfriend in the pursuit of power—after she’d already been expelled from the Council.” Eighteen years later she was found dead in her yard, leaving behind her two seventeen-year-old daughters. His eyes flicked open. “The mother.” He stared at the blackened circle where Clarissa Brightwater lay. It was a perfect replica of the crime-scene photo from Sherrie Brightwater’s file. Sherrie had been found in a burned circle, between trees. That was what he’d missed. His heart skipped a beat as his stomach became a fist of ice and punched upwards. Clarissa had been repeating her mother’s spell. No one knew what the spell was for, and a few hours after the body had been called in, a bushfire had swept through the area and killed the Fendrake agents working the case. The wind blew its hot fetid breath in his face. He swallowed even though he had nothing to swallow. The ground was hot beneath him, not from the sun, but really hot, as if the earth was burning. Nature was out of balance. And the silence around him made perfect sense.

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The animals were part of nature and they were staying away because they knew what was coming. Fire.

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Chapter Four

Lachlan picked up a piece of vine and tried to lay it over the bloodstained cord. Each time the tendril was pushed back. Great. He had to get out of the circle. His nose wrinkled as if he could already smell the fire. But it wasn’t fire; it was the scent of magic growing stronger and deeper. His heart picked up pace as if pumping his blood out faster would help—maybe it would. At least he’d be unconscious before he got roasted. The lion inside him prowled, and anxiety drew the hairs on his body up in spikes. Like most weres, he had an unhealthy fear of fire. He tossed a handful of dirt at the cord. It bounced back at him and scattered. He forced himself to blink and breathe and ignore the voice in his head screaming, “Let me out!” What did he know about breaking circles? What did he know about breaking this circle? That the circle could only be broken from the outside, and his blood on the rope meant as long as he lived he was helping to keep the circle up. All he had to do was die and then the circle would break. Not a brilliant plan. What else did he know? He stared at the cord as if an answer would magically appear. Touching the cord was out of the question as he didn’t want to get shocked again. How had Dayna constructed the circle? With most magical things there was more than one way to achieve a result. He’d already proven the circle extended above the rope, since the dirt hadn’t crossed the threshold. Was it a sphere or a cylinder? He tossed the leafy tendril

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of vine up and watched carefully. It hit nothing above him, it simply obeyed the laws of physics by arcing up and falling down to the ground next to him. He scowled at the vine and corralled his thoughts. He was trapped in a magical tube—not a sphere. Had she thought to extend the barrier below ground level? It was worth finding out, and doing something was better than waiting for the bushfire to sweep through, burn the rope, bring down the circle and kill him. He didn’t have the magic to hold the circle against fire. He could barely make a protection circle and had the scar across his shoulder blade to prove how close he’d come to failing that training exercise. A few inches from the cord he began digging, scraping away the hot dirt with his nails. If he was lucky, he’d dig down a bit and find no barrier, then he’d be able to poke his hand up on the other side and break the circle. Given the way his day was going he’d probably get a magical slap in the face instead. While Dayna wasn’t a full-blooded shaman, she didn’t seem like a sloppy magic user either. His bad luck. “That won’t work.” Dayna stood on the porch with a bag in each hand, a blue backpack and a cream overnight bag. At least she wasn’t waving the rifle around. He didn’t like being shot at. Although, she wasn’t that accurate, and a bullet might bring down the circle. When compared to the certain death of the bushfire his odds of surviving Dayna with a rifle were much better. “What will? I’m getting sunburned and I’m thirsty and I’m bleeding. I’m willing to do anything.” Well, almost. She came down the stairs, her hips swinging in what were once white pants now smudged with dirt and blood. Her walk mesmerized his already easily distracted brain. Blink. Focus. Get out and run like Hell is opening.

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“If people were dying, why not send the police to question my sister?” “Magical crimes always go through Fendrake. They also do the cover-up. Humans don’t want to know who they share the world with.” He paused and tilted his head. “But you don’t know about Fendrake either.” All non-humans were taught about Fendrake. If they ever had problems with humans, they went to Fendrake. Fendrake protected the humans and the non-humans from each other. “Fendrake investigates magical crimes?” Lachlan nodded. “Amongst other things. It’s like the Shamanic Council, only bigger—” “My sister’s fear of the Council was enough to force her outdoors to do magic.” “I don’t think she feared the Council.” He doubted Clarissa Brightwater feared anything. The amount of juice she’d stolen over the past couple of weeks should’ve made her invincible. He shuddered. Yet the spell she’d been doing had killed her. What the hell kind of power had she been playing with? If he didn’t get free soon, he was going to have the misfortune of finding out. “The Council killed our mother, and Clary was afraid they were coming after us. And she was right. She was trying to protect us.” Dayna’s voice was tight, as if she were close to breaking. He wanted to feel sorry for her, but she had him trapped and there was a bushfire coming their way. He didn’t have time to offer condolences and a tissue. “The Council expelled your mother for breaking the strict rules about magic use.” He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to recall the exact nature of the case, but couldn’t. Being expelled from the Council would have been devastating for a female shaman. No full-blood shaman male would’ve had anything to do with her. Sherrie Brightwater should never have had a full-blood baby.

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He opened his eyes. Dayna’s face was pale and tight. She didn’t know about Fendrake, the Shamanic Council or even the shamans’ third eye. She didn’t know her own family history. Her mother had kept her in the dark; out of love and protection or something more sinister? He glanced at Clarissa’s body but got no answers. Identical twins should be identical, and Clarissa and Dayna weren’t. He was sure of that. Clarissa was more shaman and Dayna more human, but thinking about it made his head hurt more. “The spell your mother was working killed her. It backfired somehow.” Uncertainty clouded her blue eyes. He could win her over. Make her believe he was on her side. Well, he kind of was—she wasn’t the killer. She lacked the magic to pull off the sex-line murders. The Council, on the other hand, had had enough of the Brightwaters and their murderous magic. However, Lachlan wasn’t convinced Dayna should die just because she had the misfortune of being born to Sherrie Brightwater. “Clarissa was repeating your mother’s spell,” Lachlan said. He should’ve noticed sooner, but being shot had distracted him, and now it was going to cost him his life if he didn’t get free fast. Dayna’s gaze drifted to her sister. Her lips parted as if to argue, so he softened his voice. “It’s the same as your mother’s death, isn’t it?” Had it been her daughters who’d found their mother and rung in the body after fleeing? For a few seconds Dayna didn’t speak. “How do you know that?” “I’ve seen the case file.” “Why couldn’t you just let us be?”

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“Because it’s my job.” He fought to keep desperation from coloring his words and wasn’t entirely successful. The magic was heavy in the air. Could she not sense it? She sucked in a breath and seemed to harden, as if she were putting on invisible armor. He was losing her. “Your job killed my sister. If the Council hadn’t always been after us, Clarissa wouldn’t have been trying to work powerful magic.” Her loyalty to her family was unshakable. He hated himself for trying to ruin that so he could save his own hide. Dayna didn’t deserve to have her family ripped away—no one did—but he didn’t have a choice. He needed Dayna on his side, not her sister’s. “Your sister screwed up whatever magic she was doing.” “The Council drove her to it.” “The Council didn’t force her to drain the life out of people. They didn’t force her to cast a circle.” They glared at each other. Her eyes were bright, as if she was about to cry again. She worked her lower lip between her teeth like she was holding in a secret. “No, they didn’t.” The admission came with a sigh. She placed one of the bags on the ground outside the circle. “Clarissa had Mum’s diaries in her room.” He would’ve frowned but his head was already thumping in time with his heartbeat, making the world bounce. It was like an incredibly bad hangover without the preceding good night out. “Why are the diaries important?” “She used to record all of her workings in them.” Dayna paused as if debating how much to tell him. “Clarissa told me they’d been destroyed in the fire. She lied to me…about lots of things.”

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“Ah.” At Dayna’s lethal glare he shut up and let her talk. That she was talking to him was progress. Maybe they’d be able to talk over a drink or three if he got out of this alive. He liked the way she hadn’t run away screaming from the lion. “I stopped learning magic when I was twelve. I wasn’t very good at it. I could make a circle, make plants grow and that was about it. But Mum and Clarissa would spend hours together. After her death, we agreed no more magic, and then Clarissa began refusing to go outside. I knew she’d started using again a while ago. Just small things like cut flowers lasting for weeks.” She gave a small shrug. “It didn’t seem like much.” “When did she start working on the lines?” “She always did. It was a job she could do without leaving the house. At first I used to listen in and we’d do it together. People will believe anything. Gradually she withdrew. She hardly came out of her bedroom.” “Shamans use sex to raise power fast.” “She wasn’t having sex. She never left the house.” “The men on the other end of the line were.” Dayna nodded. Her lips moved without sound as if finding the words was hard. “She wrote that she killed those men. The proof you want is in here.” She kicked the dark blue backpack. “I hope the Council is satisfied.” Lachlan glanced at the bag he couldn’t reach, then back at Dayna. She was handing over the evidence that proved her sister was a killer. In her other hand was the overnight bag. She was going to flee. “Where are you going?” “I’m going to disappear.” She glanced at her sister’s body, clearly torn about leaving. “Please don’t look for me.” “If you leave me, I’ll bleed out and die. You will seal my fate. Can you live with that?”

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Dayna didn’t answer, she just looked at him, her eyes empty like she’d wrung her emotions out and had nothing to spare on him. “Just break the circle, please.” He tried not to sound anxious, but with the fire creeping closer and his blood spilling onto the ground, he didn’t like his chances of surviving if she didn’t set him free. “Will you turn me in to the Council I’d never heard of until you showed up?” He didn’t want to, but it wasn’t up to him to decide her fate. “You have to face them and prove your innocence.” She shook her head and took a step away. “If you leave me, Fendrake will come after you for my murder. And they’ll find you. There are plenty of other trackers, just like me, whose job it is to find people.” “Aren’t you lucky? You still have people who care.” Lachlan grinned and his lower lip split with a sharp sting. He was drying out fast. “My employer is the only person who’d care.” Beneath her bangs her features softened, and he knew he had her interest. If he had her interest, he had a chance of getting out, but they were running out of time. He was sure he could smell smoke mixing with the dark magic. Magical fire was worse than regular fire. His skin tightened as the lion in his blood roared in frustration at being trapped. If he wasn’t desperate, he’d be happier leaving his family’s death safely in the dark. “My family was killed when I was thirteen. We’d gone camping in the Rockies to initiate me into the pride.” He took a shaky breath. He’d gotten his shifts under control and was ready to be brought in and welcomed as an adult member of the pride. What should have been a celebration had ended in terror.

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“Hunters mistook our golden pelts for those of cougars and shot them all. I survived by hiding.” Like a rat instead of a lion. His sisters had been the hope of the bloodline. Were-ism was passed via the maternal line through the mitochondrial virus. While his blood carried the virus, and he could deliberately infect a human, it was illegal and very dangerous as most humans didn’t survive the fever or the changes that followed. And even though Lachlan was the last of his bloodline, Fendrake wouldn’t allow the infection of a human woman. When he died, that was it—whether that was now or in sixty years’ time, it really made no difference. That he was dying the same way his family had, by the bullet, was fitting. Their deaths were his fault—his family had been gathered and in the wild because of him. Another week earlier, or another week later and everything would have been different—his family would be alive. He shook off the black despair that accompanied the memories of the last camping trip and played the endangered-species sympathy card. “So are you going to let the last European were-lion in the world die?” Dayna studied the naked man in the circle. His dark brown eyes were hardened with pain. The lines around the edges were etched with tension. His mouth was pressed together in a tight smile, a smear of blood staining his lower lip. Was he desperate or truthful? Loss balled in her throat. What he’d said about her sister and their mother’s death was the truth. The burned circle between the trees was identical. She’d always believed her mother had been murdered by the people she’d spent her life running from—the Council. But the Council hadn’t been here when Clarissa had died. Only Lachlan was, and in his lion form.

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“European lions died out centuries ago.” Yet he had looked different from a regular lion…or was she now remembering wrong? It wasn’t like she’d spent a lot of time looking at him before she’d shot him. “The Romans tried to wipe us out in the arenas, so we got better at hiding.” The Romans? How old was he? He didn’t look much older than her. “You were around with the Romans?” He shook his head. “Weres have the same lifespans as humans. You really know nothing about other non-humans?” “There are others?” She dropped the bag. She didn’t know what to do with him. Leaving him would be too cruel, the police might take hours to attend, and he was right, he could go into shock and die. What if he was the last of his kind? She didn’t want to be responsible for wiping out a species. “Lots. Vampires, fey, other types of weres and plenty of minor species.” “Now I know you’re lying. First shamans with three eyes, and now you’re trying to tell me fairies and vampires are real.” A faint smile touched his lips. “There’s a whole world you’ve never seen.” Let me show you, was implied. For a moment she wanted to know everything he could tell her. Her lips moved but couldn’t manage a smile. She wanted to believe him and his stories of non-humans, but how could she trust him? She’d trusted her sister, and every word out of Clarissa’s mouth had been a lie. She didn’t know what she believed anymore. Too much had happened today, and yet the sister she’d thought she knew had vanished long ago. With Clary’s death the façade had crumbled and revealed the empty space that was Dayna’s life. A life built on the lies of the people she’d loved and trusted. It had been a long time since she’d let herself be close to anyone, and she missed the contact of skin on skin. If they’d met some other way, she might have let Lachlan seduce her with his wicked grin and tales of magic. But not today.

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“I don’t want to see it. Magic has brought me nothing but grief.” “It gets easier. I sometimes go a whole week without thinking of my family. Usually I remember the good times. But other days…” He shrugged and looked out across the dead grass to the bush that stretched to the edge of their property. “If it hadn’t been for me, they would still be alive.” His nose wrinkled as he sniffed the air, and his brows pulled down into a sharp frown. She preferred it when he was smiling. Right now she could sense his tail swishing in agitation as clearly as if he’d been a lion and not a bloody, dusty human. The side of his face was discoloring where she’d hit him. She wished she hadn’t, but she’d reacted out of fear—it wasn’t every day she got charged by a lion. Lachlan looked back at her. “You should leave.” His voice was rough. “I thought you wanted me to free you?” She tilted her head. What game was he playing? “That would be nice, but if you don’t leave real fast, you’ll be caught in the bushfire sweeping this way.” Dayna lifted her gaze from the naked man to the tree line. There was a faint smudge of grey against the sky, not the billowing black smoke she expected from a bushfire. “There’s no fire.” “Feel the ground. Listen to the earth. You’re part shaman. Use your senses.” He patted his palm on the ground as he spoke. The other hand was clasped firmly to his leg, his fingers coated in his blood. She hesitated, not sure whether to trust him, but so far he’d been more honest about everything than her mother or sister. They had wrapped her in lies and kept secrets between themselves. With her eyes on him, in case he was trying to pull some magic she didn’t know about, she slipped off her sandals.

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The dead grass tickled the soles of her feet. Under the grass the ground was hot, really hot, as if there was fire beneath her feet. It had been a long time since she’d tried to connect to the pulse of nature and the power that flowed through the earth. She could manage to pour a little of herself into making a circle, but tapping in to the power of the earth and feeling its rhythm was harder. She extended her senses and opened her mind to feel the shamanic beat and become part of it, expecting the steady pulse and joyous dance she remembered from the few times she’d touched the power. Today nature was hot with fury. She drew back from the rage that thundered around her like a wounded beast intent on destruction, and took a breath. Then she made herself go deeper until the pulse was in her, beating in her blood. Power surged in her veins; it was all here for her to use—all she had to do was channel it into magic of her making. That was the bit she could never do, so instead she listened. She heard the screaming of the wounded earth where part of the magic had been ripped out by her sister. What had Clarissa done? No one could hold that much power. Magic shouldn’t be pulled apart. It was give and take, the movement of energy and reshaping of power. That had been one of her first lessons. Now there was an imbalance. A huge, roaring imbalance. She broke the connection with a gasp. “It’s moving straight for us.” So hot and fast nothing would survive if caught in its path. “I have to get Clary.” “She’s already dead. Save yourself,” snarled Lachlan, the lion rising to the surface. She glanced at her sister then at Lachlan. “I can’t leave you either.” “I thought you wanted me dead?”

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She dropped her gaze to her toes. “I would have rung the police once I had a head start… It’ll be too late now.” Lachlan nodded. “Get in the car and go. You might still outrun it.” Beneath her feet the ground shuddered. “And if I don’t?” “You’ll be cooked in the car.” He offered no sweet half lie, just the brutal truth that burned her heart. He was trying to save her, despite everything she’d done to him. She stood still, not sure what to do. Could she trust him if she broke the circle? And the longer she stood without moving, the harder it became to make a decision. There was a bushfire coming their way, but she and Clarissa had been careful and followed all the guidelines about clear areas and clean gutters. Maybe they could take shelter in the house instead of trying to flee? “Go!” he ordered. His voice broke through the paralysis. She kicked the cord, and the circle that had kept him trapped broke with a pop and a small rush of air. “Get to the car. I’m getting Clary.” “You don’t have time.” At the edges of her hearing there was a low rumble. She ignored Lachlan and ran to her sister. She couldn’t leave her, no matter what he’d said about running out of time. Clarissa was her sister, and she couldn’t abandon her to be consumed by fire—regardless that she’d been the one to start the fire with magic they’d sworn not to use. She bent down to lift her, but Clarissa was limp and heavy in her arms, and she didn’t get more than two feet half-dragging her. The low rumble was becoming a soft roar, vibrating up her legs. She’d never get her sister to the car like this. A sob caught in her throat. She was really going to have to leave her. It had been the two of them against the world for so long. How was she going to survive? Why did Clarissa have to get

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involved with magic again? Because Clarissa loved magic more than she loved anything else. “I love you.” She hugged her sister one final time. But her love hadn’t been enough in life and it wasn’t going to change anything in death. She kissed Clarissa’s forehead. Then stopped, Lachlan’s words echoing in her ears. Shamans have a third eye in their foreheads. With careful fingers, she brushed Clarissa’s shaggy bangs aside. Like her, Clarissa had deep frown lines. She touched the one in the center and something moved under her fingertips. Oh. My. God. The lids of the third eye separated as she moved her fingers, and a lash-less blue eye just like Clarissa’s other two stared back. Dayna pulled her hand back as if stung. Lachlan hadn’t lied about anything.

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Chapter Five

Lachlan watched as Dayna ran back towards him, her blue eyes wide under her dark hair. “You didn’t move.” “I can’t.” He was cold and tired, and he knew it was the blood loss taking effect. “I don’t have enough energy to shift.” He could probably have dragged himself to the car with three legs but not on one. He closed his eyes. He hoped it would be fast. He didn’t want to feel himself incinerating. “I’ll help.” She took his hand as if she could haul him up. He was heavier than he looked; he wasn’t the human weight she was expecting. He was half lion and they weren’t light—he didn’t float too well either, because his body was so dense. Dayna grunted and tried again, but he let his fingers slip from hers. “It’s too late. I can hear the crackle of the flames.” Snapping and popping as they chewed through the gum trees all around them, surrounding them. What kind of fire swept in from all sides? One started by magic. But what was it doing? His heart was still managing to beat too fast, and the panic he’d tried to hold onto now ran through his system unchecked, bouncing off the pain and sucking on what remaining strength he had. Every time he blinked, his eyes were staying closed longer. He’d never feared the wild or anything in it before…except hunters. However, fire was different. It was a raw element that couldn’t be hunted or reasoned with. His inborn fear gave him a jolt. The virus in his blood that made him a were wasn’t ready to die.

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He could solve this, but his head was full of white noise. Dayna put her hands under his arm. “Come on.” Her touch was warm, but her hands weren’t gentle like he’d expected. He glanced at Clarissa in the burned circle, then the expanse of dead grass between him and the house, and the car just out of sight. He swung his gaze back to Dayna, who was still urging him to get up. “The grass.” She was shaman and shamans always had great gardens without even trying. “What color was the grass this morning?” “I don’t know? Green?” She stopped pulling on him. “Was it?” Dayna frowned. “Yes. It was.” The only plant still alive was the vine that had lassoed him, and that had obviously been protected by a spell. From Clarissa the death had spread out, killing the grass and any animals or insects in close range. That was why he couldn’t hear any screams from the animals caught in the fire. Those that hadn’t fled from the magic he’d found dead on his way to the Brightwater homestead. He must have crossed the weakening wave as it had gradually spread out. But instead of the energy dissipating and soaking back into the earth, the magic had expanded out until it was like a fully stretched elastic band. Now it was snapping back, ready to heal the wound. Fire was rushing back towards them on all sides because they were where it had been torn free. The spell Clarissa had tried to perform had created a shockwave of energy that was now collapsing in on itself in a heated rush to the epicenter. They were screwed. They were surrounded. There was no escape. The panic that had kept him company shut up.

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And in the quiet realization that he was really going to die, he saw a solution. He lifted his gaze and stared at Dayna. She was part shaman, and she could make a circle; she’d proved that by binding him. They couldn’t outrun it, so they would have to stay until the fire had swept over them. “Get everything you want to save into the circle.” Talking tore at his dry throat, and he swallowed, but it was more reflex than relief. “The barrier is down.” “I know. You’re going to put it back up—with us inside.” She gave a tight shake of her head. “No, I’ll get the car. We’ll be fine.” “The fire is on all sides—there is no way through. Get inside the circle,” he said through his teeth. He knew it was only adrenaline keeping him going, when that left him…well. At least he’d be unconscious and out of pain, and that was beginning to sound like a blessing. Her face paled, and she looked more like a frightened woman than the guntoting, magic-wielding shaman who’d confronted him earlier. “I can’t put it back up. It takes too much energy.” “Trust me, Dayna.” If she didn’t, there wouldn’t be much left for the experts to identify. He hoped he was right, and he wasn’t overestimating her power. But they had no other choice. There was no way to escape the fire so they had to hunker down and hope they had the resources to survive. His palm on his leg was slick as his blood ran in rivulets to the ground. They needed more than magic. They needed a miracle. She held his gaze for a heartbeat. When she moved, Lachlan released the breath he’d been holding. If they did nothing they were dead, and if she couldn’t raise the barrier, they’d get a free cremation. He coughed to try and clear his throat. “Bring the water.”

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If this was his last drink he’d rather be licking salt off her skin and chasing it with tequila and a slice of lemon. He glanced at Dayna and his tongue moved against the back of his teeth. If they got out of this, he’d buy her a drink. Hell, he’d do whatever she wanted. Dayna tossed him the plastic bottle, and it rolled to a stop near his leg. It looked like water would have to do. Besides, alcohol and fire probably wasn’t the best combination. He reached for the bottle and gulped down several mouthfuls—tequila had never tasted this good, sweet with a burn in his gut that almost made him feel less than half-dead—before making himself stop. Too much and he’d make himself sick. But his mouth felt better and his throat wasn’t so dusty. He pushed a breath out between his teeth as Dayna sat next to him with the two bags she’d been carrying. She overlapped the ends of the bloodstained cord, then froze with her gaze locked in the distance. “It’s here,” she whispered like the fire could hear her. He already knew. It didn’t matter where he looked—the fire was closing in. For a moment he tried to pretend this plan was a good one and that it would work. Around him the air was heating, and the noise of the fire was getting louder with each passing second. “Put up the circle.” His voice was just loud enough to carry over the noise of the flames as they devoured everything in their path. He glanced at Dayna; her eyes were wide with fear. He touched her shoulder, drawing her attention back to him. “Make it a sphere this time.” Spheres were strong. They’d be in a magic bubble. This was never going to work. Putting his faith in an invisible magical barrier was like wishing for unicorns, highly dangerous—unless you were a virgin, which he wasn’t. Right

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now, if given the choice, he’d rather risk death by righteous unicorn than a wall of angry, magic-fueled fire. “We’re surrounded.” Her words were stilted, as if she didn’t believe what she was seeing. “Yeah. I got that.” Three hundred and sixty degrees of crackling flames. His stomach tightened. He was insane. A bit of rope and a part-shaman’s magic was never going to be able to save their lives. He kept his absolute bone-melting terror of fire confined to his body. His muscles tensed, and the irrational urge to run even though they were surrounded pounded in his head. He fought against the lionish instincts that would get him killed. He had to act like he knew what he was doing or Dayna was going to freak out further, and he needed her to concentrate. “The magic is contracting back to the center.” She released a shaky breath. “Then what?” “Then it’s over.” He threw a pinch of dirt at the cord and it sailed right over the threshold. His heart lurched and snagged on his ribs. “If you don’t get that barrier up, we’re dead.” His words came out harsher than he’d expected. He really wanted to live. “I’m trying. I’m not good at this. I can’t just tap in—” Lachlan sealed her lips with a hard, urgent kiss. And she responded. Her lips moved against his, learning the shape of his mouth with a hunger that surprised him. Their tongues touched, and a spark of something other than lust but equally as heady arced through his blood, sharper than fear and more potent than adrenaline. Shaman magic tasted like chili chocolate, sweet with a heat that could kill. She pulled back. “What’d you do that for?” she shouted over the noise of the fire.

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“Shamans use sex for power. Now build that sphere.” He ran his fingers along her jaw, leaving a grubby smudge. Dayna was shaman, or part of her was. The sexual energy created by the kiss would give her a boost—hell, it had given him a lift—hopefully enough to hold the circle. He glanced away to the bloodied rope. He was willingly giving energy to a Brightwater to use, and he couldn’t entirely blame the blood loss or the approaching fire, because he wanted to kiss her again. The scent of sandalwood clung to her skin, filling his thoughts with things he’d like to have the time to do if a bushfire wasn’t rushing towards them. Still, there were worse ways to die than while kissing a pretty woman. If his plan didn’t work, they would find out very soon how hot the magical fire burned. Dayna’s lips tingled. Her whole body tingled as if she’d touched raw power for a heartbeat. The magical energy was on the tip of her tongue like a shot of strong liquor. He was watching her with a heat in his eyes that rivaled that of the bushfire. She pushed the noise of the fire out of her mind and focused on Lachlan. The way his lips had felt, the touch of his fingers on her skin. The magic they had made was there, part of her and much easier to shape and channel than the pulse of the earth. With her blood singing, she slid power into the cord as the starting point, then from there she let it curve and climb to seal at the apex above and beneath them. The circle closed with a pop and she let out a sigh of relief that evaporated at the sight of the fire sweeping towards them. Red and orange and gold. Brilliant and mesmerizing and deadly. And drawing closer with every breath. The fire swallowed up the ground, gaining speed with each second. Beyond the wall of flames the world ceased to exist.

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“It’s done. But I don’t know how well it will hold.” She moved closer to him and tried not to look at the flames racing across the property towards them. She’d never be able to hold the circle against the fury and heat. They were going to die. Lachlan was going to be the last man she ever kissed and he wasn’t even a man, he was a were-lion. But the kiss hadn’t been bad. Surprising, yes. Hard, yes. Did she want to do it again? Yes. She made herself look at him and not the fire. The smattering of dark hair on his chest formed a narrow line that arrowed down. She jerked her gaze back up; he was still totally naked and completely unconcerned. She glanced again from the corner of her eye. He wasn’t bad-looking. Lean, muscled and ever so sure of himself. He was everything she avoided. He wasn’t safe. Damn, he wasn’t even human. Around her the sphere shook as the heat preceding the bushfire slammed into the shield. She tried to push more magic into it but the kiss was used up and she couldn’t tap into the energy of the earth, it was too wild and upset. “I’m not going to be able to hold it up when the flames hit. I’m sorry.” “We’re not going to die. I’m going to kiss you and you’re going to put everything into the circle.” He glanced at the blood on his leg. His features tightened for a second as if he were making an uncomfortable decision. “I can give you blood too, but you should know there’s a risk you could catch the virus that makes me a were.” A virus, like a cold. She shrugged. “I’ve already touched it.” When she’d run the cord through his blood and then laid it on the ground, his blood had been all over her hands. At the time, she hadn’t stopped to think.

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She’d been so angry at him and scared of the lion that she’d only been worried about binding him before he’d woken. Lachlan paled a little. “Have you got any cuts on your hands?” “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” “Do you feel okay?” “I’m about to die, what do you think?” They were yelling just to be heard. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. He was worried about her catching a virus and they were about to be burned alive. One corner of his lips lifted and he gave her a slight nod. “We can worry about it later.” He lifted his hand and replaced it with hers, then placed his over the top. His skin was cool but the blood was hot and brimming with life. The shamanic pulse was part of him, as it was part of every living thing. He wasn’t just giving her sexual energy from a kiss, he was giving her the power over his life, and it wouldn’t be hard to take it all and leave him with nothing. “Blood and sex, it’s all I got. Use it.” His features were cast in a garish orange light that flickered with every hot breath. The fire was so close she could see the many colors that made up each flame. But his eyes were serious. If they were to survive, he needed her magic and she needed his life force. She nodded as her nerve faltered. She couldn’t do it. She’d never been good at magic. “What if I take too much?” And she killed him? “Worry about it later. Hold the sphere.” He pushed her hand harder to his leg. Dayna ignored the slick feel of his blood against her skin and concentrated on his pulse. His life became part of her and she pushed everything into the shield. It wasn’t enough; the heat was going to boil them before the flames got a

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chance to burn them. She had to block out the heat too. He knew. He leaned towards her so their lips brushed, and energy sizzled through her veins. Lachlan’s fingers cupped her face. His tongue traced her lip, and she let the sensation build and flow. More power than she’d ever touched washed around her and through her and was channeled into the magic that would save their lives. She closed her eyes and fell into the kiss, drowning in the gentleness that had been lacking before. Opening to him in a way that was more intimate than anything she’d ever shared with anyone else. The magic of the kiss became a cold barrier against the heat and fire. The virus in his blood lent its strength. The power of a lion in his prime ready to fight was in her hands. Wild and ferocious, it brushed against her but didn’t attack and try to invade. The virus didn’t become a part of her. Around her, the roar of the flames became the roar of the lion. She could do this. They could do this. They were going to live. Lachlan’s grip on her tightened, and she knew he was watching the flames. She squeezed her eyes closed tighter. In her mind she could feel them approach the sphere. The raging fire engulfed them, spreading over the shield with an impossible heat and anger. Their magic held. There was a clap of thunder, and then the world went silent as if it had ended. Dayna cracked open her eyes as Lachlan ended the kiss with a last caress. He looked tired. The lines at the corners of his eyes were more pronounced. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” She touched his cheek. Had she taken too much? He was already weakened from the bullet, yet in her mind he seemed so strong.

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He shook his head and moved his wounded leg from under her hand. She glimpsed how all right he was. The magic had affected him and apparently he hadn’t lost enough blood to reduce his reaction to her touch. She glanced away, her cheeks flushing with a warmth that started deep in her belly. “That was…ah…some kiss.” “Yeah.” Their gazes met. “I feel like I should get your number and call you in the morning.” “You should.” Because she wanted to see what it would be like to kiss him without death breathing on them. She gave him a small smile that was returned for a heartbeat before his features hardened into a frown as his gaze travelled over what was left of their surroundings. Her eyes skimmed over the dead grass within their circle and the charred ground beyond the narrow rope, to the remains of her house. The steel frame still stood, but it was warped and the cladding was gone, and the roof sheeting had buckled and collapsed. The insides were smoldering ashes. Thin wisps of smoke were all that remained of her life. Dayna swallowed hard and turned away from the wreckage. Where her sister had lain there was nothing. Not even the trees stood. The earth had been scorched clear. She convulsed as a sob tore free. Lachlan pulled her into his arms. “It’s going to be okay.” He smoothed her hair, but she couldn’t stop. Fresh tears stung her eyes and spilled over his skin. Magic had once again swept through and taken everything she loved and knew. She gasped and sucked in a breath laden with the acrid scent of smoke. The fire had swept through so fast the few trees that remained on the edges of the property were smoking like spent matches, trying to create the rolling dark cloud that usually accompanied a bushfire.

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Everywhere she looked there was destruction. Nature had exacted its revenge. She had survived; she should be happy. Instead she was numb, like she’d been sucked dry of all life. She gasped and untangled herself from Lachlan. She’d used his life energy in the magic that had saved their lives. He needed medical help. She dug through the overnight bag that held all her belongings. “I’ll ring emergency.” “The fire’s gone. The magic is balanced,” he said softly. His eyes were still focused on the place where the spell had started as if he were finally sinking into shock and unable to do anything more than gaze at the cinders floating in the breeze. “For you. You need to go to hospital.” He blinked and turned to look at her as if confused. Then he stared at his leg. When she’d removed her hand he hadn’t replaced his over the wound. The flow was now more of a trickle, but in this case Dayna wasn’t sure that less blood was a good sign. “Lachlan?” She placed her hand over the wound. He lifted his gaze, his brows drawn down like he was concentrating. “I can’t go to hospital. I have to ring Fendrake.” He held out a hand coated in blood. It shook as if he were an old man. “You need surgery.” She started dialing triple zero. “No human doctors. Too risky.” She stopped. Of course—what if he turned into a lion on the operating table? “What will Fendrake do to me?” “Not a lot. You saved my life.” “I shot you.”

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“By accident.” His lips curved but the grin was tight and his skin was pale. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” “And the Council?” Would they still want her dead because of who her mother was? “You’re not a full shaman, they should let you be.” He took the phone out of her hand. “Once I ring you’ve got fifteen to twenty minutes to get away from here. If you want to run, start now.” He spoke slowly, as if he had to be certain of each word. He wasn’t going to be upright in five minutes, yet he was letting her go. For a moment she was tempted to flee. It was what she’d always done and what she knew how to do, but if she ran, they would come after her. She bit her lip. Could she live her life always looking over her shoulder and never knowing if Lachlan survived? Maybe if she and Clarissa had stayed and faced the Council as teenagers, Clarissa would still be alive. Lachlan waited, his eyes dark with the pain that was wearing him down. “I’ll stay.” He dialed without offering her a chance to change her mind. “Tracker Lachlan Garvey, 2577893. I’ve located the targets and require assistance.” He paused and cocked his head as if listening. “Human fire trucks are attending, ETA two minutes. That’s correct, at the epicenter.” He hung up and closed his eyes, the tension leaving his shoulders as he relaxed. “There’s no fire trucks.” “You’ll hear them in a bit. Don’t say anything. It’s easier to cover up incidents when less has been said.” He lay down on the dirt. “I need to rest for a moment.” “No. Have a drink, talk to me.” She put the drink bottle next to his hand, but he didn’t take it. His skin was cold under her palm and his blood thick and

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sluggish as it seeped out of the wound. She couldn’t draw on any magic to help him and he had nothing left to give her. “Can’t drink. Need surgery,” he said with his eyes closed. He was going to go to sleep and not wake up. She had to keep him awake. “Tell me why you became a tracker.” “To find things. People. I’d hoped to find others like me.” Like him? He’d said there were other shape-shifters. Then she realized he meant European were-lion shifters. “Did you?” “No. I’ve worked in the US, Europe and Australia. Nothing.” “I’m sorry.” It was a lame thing to say to a man who’d spend his life looking for a place to belong. “Don’t be. Bloodline died with my sisters. Were-ism’s maternal.” His words slurred as if he were at the tail end of a big night out. Dayna pressed her lips together. Her sister was the last full-blood shaman of the Brightwater line. Lachlan and she were the dead branches of their family trees. Maybe they could start a new tree. She lifted her head at the sound of sirens, and a smile split her face. “I can hear the fire engines.” He didn’t respond, so she gave him a shake. “Lachlan, help is coming.” His eyelids flickered. “I’m A-positive.” “Don’t you dare leave me to face Fendrake alone.” What kind of creature would be coming? “I’m not going anywhere.” His hand closed around hers in a weak grip. He’d given her all of his energy so she could keep the circle up. Green sprouts of grass were pushing through the dirt around them as life began to take hold. Had she taken too much from him? He no longer looked like the fearsome

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lion she’d first faced, or the tracker determined to get free of her circle. He was just an injured man. The man she’d shot. The man she’d kissed. “You’re not allowed to die, Lachlan.” This time he didn’t wake.

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Chapter Six

Lachlan stretched and turned off the TV. His brain was going numb watching the daytime chat shows. His leg ached, but it was healing. With luck, the doctor would let him shift so he could go for a wander around the hospital’s private garden. After two days—two conscious days in hospital—he was bored. He needed to find out what had happened to Dayna, even though he feared the answer. If she didn’t have enough shaman blood to protect her, he could’ve infected her and she could be dead. And if the Shamanic Council had decided there was too much Brightwater blood in her, she’d already be dead. That no one was willing to answer his careful questions filled him with a certain amount of cool dread that he was busy refusing to face. It had taken a bullet to make him slow down and stay in one place long enough to realize he wanted to be with someone. He didn’t want to end up a grizzled old were-lion still hanging on to the glory days of his youth while getting laughed at behind his back. He wanted a partner, a lover and someone to come home to after finishing a job. He wanted Dayna. She’d consumed his thoughts since he’d woken up and for all the wrong reasons. He wasn’t thinking of the case, he was reliving the kiss that had saved their lives. What had started as a necessity had become something else. And he hadn’t been suckered in by shaman magic and impending death. He knew how a woman kissed when she was interested.

Shona Husk

He glanced at the piece of paper on the bedside table. He’d woken up with a phone number scrawled up his arm and had copied it out. It was hers. But he couldn’t make himself call. What if she didn’t answer? What if she did and she didn’t want to know him? He sighed and turned away. Maybe when he was released he’d track her down. Find out if she was all right and see if she’d like to get a drink with him. Technically the job was still live, which made her a target, which meant even thinking about seeing her socially was breaking the rules that would draw the attention of Internal Review. The door to his room opened. A man in a suit stood in the doorway. Agent Echen was back. Lachlan suppressed a sigh and tried to act interested. He didn’t have anything new to tell the Fendrake agent in charge of the cover-up. He’d already gone two rounds with the vampire answering everything, including the questions about what he could’ve done better. No doubt Internal Review was picking over his answers like vultures over a fresh corpse. “You’re looking better, Garvey.” Lachlan nodded. “Feeling it.” “I’ve brought someone to see you.” Echen beckoned to the person in the corridor. Lachlan sat up, wary. He had no family to come visiting. Aside from the nurses and doctors, Agent Echen had been his only visitor, and he was only there to ask questions and wrap up the case. Outside of work, Lachlan had nothing but a string of affairs with humans who would never be able to know who he really was or what he did for a job. But Dayna wasn’t all human, and she already knew what he was. And she was the only person who could be coming to see him. His fingers curled against the bedsheet even though he knew it was wishful thinking and he’d probably

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used up his quota of miracles. But, it was Dayna or an Internal Review officer and he knew which one he’d rather be seeing. An Internal Review officer could make a Brightwater look like a peace-lovin’ hippie. Lachlan’s nose twitched as a familiar scent of sandalwood overtook the smell of antiseptic. Then Dayna came around the corner, her dark hair pulled back and her blue eyes sparkling. Lachlan let his muscles ease. A smile took over his lips. She was alive—not just alive, she looked amazing…and she was here to see him. His heart gave an extra thump as it joined in the excitement bouncing through his blood. “The Council has asked that Ms. Brightwater be watched. I thought you might like the job since you’re going to be out of the field for eight weeks.” Agent Echen gave Dayna a nudge into the room. Lachlan flicked his gaze from the woman who’d almost killed him and then saved his life back to the vampire. “I can do that.” “Thought you’d volunteer.” Echen gave him a knowing grin and handed him the paperwork. “I’ll see you round the office.” “Yeah.” As vampires went, Echen wasn’t too bad. As agents went, he was almost friendly. The door closed and Dayna and he were alone. She stood near the door, as if unsure what to do. He patted the bed and she came over and sat on the edge, but for a moment neither of them spoke. She was alive, and he really wanted to know what had happened after he passed out. “How have you been?” He hoped he sounded casual. “Okay.” She sighed. “The doctor checked me out, and apparently I can’t catch your were-ism virus.” She looked disappointed.

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“I’m glad. Most people who get infected die.” He’d known she was unchanged the moment he’d smelled her, and he was relieved. He didn’t want her to change. He liked her the way she was, a little bit magic and a whole lot of hot. Silence crept between them. Not awkward but not quite comfortable. They’d used each other to survive, shared something most people never experienced and now they had to grapple with the mundane getting-to-know-you part. He put the paperwork on the table. “Why don’t you tell me how it went with the Council?” “Weird. They interviewed me and tested my abilities. I gave them the diaries and in exchange they let me go…” Her gaze flickered over his face. “Sort of.” He knew she would never be totally free of the Council. They might claim to only be interested in full-blooded shamans, but they kept extensive family trees and watched everybody with more than one-quarter shaman heritage. “What did the Council want?” “I’m not supposed to do magic.” “Ah. And if you do I’m supposed to report you.” That was why she needed to be supervised—she was on parole. And Agent Echen had decided he was the person most likely to have her trust and stay close to her. Once that would have concerned him, but now he was grateful for the chance. Dayna nodded and plucked at the sheets. “That’s a good outcome, isn’t it?” Lachlan couldn’t keep the smile from curling his lips. “The best.” He covered her hand with his. “You didn’t call me.” “I couldn’t, not until the ash had settled on the job.” “Do you often get shot while working?”

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“No. That was a first.” He had been shot at before and also attacked with a sword, but now wasn’t the time to tell Dayna that. “Most of what I do is research and investigation.” “Finding the un-findable.” “Yeah.” And he’d found the woman he wanted. “I found out why Clary and I are different.” Her blue eyes darkened as if the knowledge had opened a wound that was still raw. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.” They were hard words to say, considering he’d spent his life searching for information. “I want you to know. I want you to find out from me—not that.” She pointed to the paperwork on his bedside table. Then she took a breath and forced out the words. “I read my mother’s diaries. My father had a bit of shaman blood. When my mother got pregnant she made sure it was with twins. Then she killed him and used his death to suck the magic out of me to make sure one of her children was a true shaman.” That was callous even for a Brightwater—sacrificing one baby to ensure one child would be a full-blooded shaman—yet it would have been her only chance to keep the bloodline going. “I’m sorry you had to learn that.” Some things were best left unknown. “I’m glad I did. It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t keep up with the magic lessons. It was hers.” “You saved our lives. I think that’s plenty of magic.” His fingers entwined with hers as he brought her hand to his lips. “I’m sorry for shooting you.” “I’m fine. The docs took out the bullet.” It had been millimeters from his femoral artery. One more shift and he’d have been dead. Now he had a six-inch scar from where the doctors had rummaged around. While he was itching for a

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run as a lion, the docs were still worried he’d tear too many stitches. Which he probably would. It was times like this he felt sorry for the weres not working for Fendrake, because they had to hide a lot more of who they were than he did. With Dayna he didn’t have to hide at all. She bit her lip and glanced at him from under her lashes. “Can we start over?” Lachlan pulled her to him. “We don’t need to.” Dayna smiled, and it was reflected in her eyes. “Maybe I could help you heal a little faster.” She leaned closer and placed a soft kiss on his mouth. “That would be nice,” he said against her lips, already knowing what she had in mind and looking forward to tasting her again. “I’ll need to raise some power.” She moved so she was kneeling over him. “I won’t take too much this time.” “You didn’t last time. It was the blood loss.” Her fingers traced his jaw. “You’d stop me if I did.” “I’ll always look after you.” He kissed her, let his tongue glide over her lip as her mouth opened. The hair on the back of his neck spiked as the magic began to build between them. Sweet with a bite. It had taken a shaman to tame the lion in his blood. “I feel safe with you. Like I no longer have to run.” He wondered if she’d still feel safe sitting on his lap as his blood was redirected away from his brain. Then again, she’d already seen him naked…and aroused. Her kiss had fried his thoughts even when he was facing death. Her lips quirked up as she noticed. “I hear there’s a more efficient way to raise power than kissing.” Her fingers trailed down his chest, leaving shivers in their wake.

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“Uh-huh.” She rolled her hips against his. “You want to try?” He ran his hands up her legs, over her hips and traced the curve of her breasts. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” He flicked open the top button of her shirt, but she was already undoing the rest, revealing an expanse of smooth, pale skin. Lachlan took her mouth in a kiss and was answered with a moan. He didn’t care what Internal Review thought. He wasn’t going to let Dayna go. She was everything he’d been searching the world for, and she was in his arms.

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About the Author

A civil designer by day and an author by night, Shona Husk lives in Western Australia at the edge of the Indian Ocean. Blessed with a lively imagination she spent most of her childhood making up stories. As an adult she discovered romance novels and hasn’t looked back. Drawing on history and myth, she writes about heroes who are armed and dangerous but have a heart of gold— sometimes literally. With stories ranging from sensual to scorching, she is published with Samhain Publishing, Ellora’s Cave, Carina Press and Sourcebooks. You can find out more at: www.shonahusk.com www.twitter.com/ShonaHusk www.facebook.com/shonahusk

Look for these titles by Shona Husk

Now Available: Boyfriend in a Bottle How to Breathe Fire

Freedom comes with a blistering price…

How to Breathe Fire © 2011 Shona Husk

For as long as she can remember, Camea has longed to explore the world beyond the island kingdom of Adar. It is an impossible dream, especially if she follows tradition and marries the farmer her parents have selected for her. But then, Camea has never been one to follow expectations. When the village witch announces she has been selected to be the Fire God’s next bride, Camea has no intention of sacrificing her life to appease the volcano. She plans to escape and follow the Stars to her dream. Matai, once a prince of Adar, now pays a fiery penance for seducing one of the Fire God’s witches. He must take a new bride each year, then kill her—or condemn Adar to the lava. Unlike his past brides Camea doesn’t shed one tear for her fate, nor does she beg for her life. In the face of death she sees the remnants of the man he used to be—and a way to save them both from the Fire God’s never-ending cycle of wrath. If Matai has the courage to trust his heart. Warning: A hero made of fire, a woman who won’t accept her fate and simmering kisses that will have you reaching for iced water to quench the flames. Enjoy the following excerpt for How to Breathe Fire: Camea gripped Matai’s hand, expecting to be pulled through the fire. Instead, she smelled smoke and then she was breathing cool, clear air. She closed her eyes and sucked in lungfuls until the cold made her chest hurt. She was really out of the volcano, out of her oppressive room. She opened her eyes to see where she was. Around her was sky. The night was alive with the beauty of the

Stars. She tipped her head to gaze above her. A breeze toyed with the strands of hair around her face. She pushed them away then gathered her hair and lifted it off the back of her neck to let the air rush over the newly exposed skin. If she spread her arms, would she be able to soar on the air currents? She let her heart rise so she was nothing more than a leaf ready to be whisked away on the next gust. On her toes she turned. Matai grasped her wrist and she stopped, her gaze dropping from the sky to her feet. Below her the centre of the volcano bubbled. She’d almost fallen in. Matai had brought her to the rim of the volcano. She stepped back, closer to Matai. As she lifted her gaze from the molten rock she gasped. The island of Adar was spread before her, and beyond that the ocean. As her eyes adjusted to the starlit night, the smudges on the horizon took form. Islands. “It’s a ring,” she breathed. Adar was one of many island nations, and from here she could see the places she’d only ever heard of but longed to visit. She shivered as her skin cooled. Her body was now used to the heat of the volcano. Matai slipped an extra bed sheet around her shoulders. The cloth fluttered like wings behind her. Adar was on every breath she took. The scents she’d never noticed when she’d lived among them: salt from the sea, heavy blossoms, sweet fruit and the decaying leaves in the jungle. For a moment she felt a pang of regret, homesickness and longing. Carved out of the forest and stretching from coast to coast lay the town of Adar. Embraced by sea and fire and forest. From here it looked beautiful, the city in the centre, the port on one side and the farms creeping against the edges of the forest. She would be married by now, sleeping next to the lump of her husband,

letting him do what he pleased with her body. Would she be carrying his child already? Was she missed? The names of the brides were never spoken. Using the names of the dead could summon the hungry ghost. She tore her gaze away and blinked back tears. She wasn’t dead yet. The ground sighed and she stumbled. Matai caught her, his arm around her waist, their bodies close, skin to skin. She forgot how to breathe as their eyes met. It wasn’t just the fire in his eyes that burned her, there was something else, and he felt it too. She would rather be here on top of the world with Matai for one turn of the moon than in Adar for a lifetime. The lava below popped with laughter. They both looked away, the moment gone. Matai walked her back from the edge. “We should go back.” Camea shook her head. Her throat closed at the thought of endless heat and darkness. Not dead, entombed. “A little longer to watch the dance, please.” His face tightened. “You can’t escape from here.” “I know. But here I can pretend I am free. That I will get to visit the other islands and maybe go farther.” He scanned the horizon. “’Til dawn.” She spread the sheet on the rock and lay down. It was hard and unforgiving against her back, but above her the Stars turned and she was almost close enough to touch them. She reached up and cupped her hands around the moon. Only men could be in the service of the Stars. They kept maps and prayed for clear sailing for the traders. “Is it true the traders that come from far away use the Stars to guide them?” She turned her head to look at Matai. He lay next to her, but he watched her, not the sky. The heat in the rock at her back was surpassed by heat in her belly.

Longing filled her bones and made them ache. Her tongue traced her lower lip and his eyes tracked the movement, like a skiff about to pounce and take its prey. He leaned closer until his lips almost touched her. “That’s true.” His mouth brushed hers with a touch too delicate for one who burned with the fire of a god. Camea responded, tasting and touching. Her finger skimmed his chest. The smooth fabric of his pants swept against her leg as he moved closer. His hand cupped her head. She was dizzy, like she was going to fall from the sky and hit the ground. Her lungs ached for air. Panting, she pulled back. There was a price for this illusion of freedom. “Will you claim your payment?” She expected the same roughness her betrothed had shown her. That was all right; she could watch the Stars and imagine she was one of them. Anything to be free. Matai didn’t move. “No. Tonight you have your sky.” And he lay on his back, the Stars reflecting in his eyes like the universe would burn at his touch.

It’s all in good, dirty fun…until the heart raises the stakes.

Sex with a Hex © 2012 Beverly Rae

Magical Sisters, Book 2 Meg Tristan is spontaneous, spirited, outspoken and beautiful—and she enjoys every second of it. She can have any man she wants, with or without casting a spell. Too bad she hasn’t found one who can keep up with her nonmagical sex drive, much less handle her hexual prowess. When he’s not caring for his patients, Dr. Chance Dannigan spends his off hours getting acquainted with as many women as he can in his new town. None hold his attention—until he catches Meg’s flirtatious glance across the bar. One drink later, he’s sure he’s found the one woman who can stimulate both his heads. Sensing a kindred spirit, he challenges Meg to a daring competition. Each must choose a random partner for the other, and the one who fails to seduce the target, loses. And to keep it honest? The opponent must witness the act. Winning each round proves almost too easy. The ultimate challenge is figuring out how to handle their unexpected attraction to each other…and how to end the game without both of them coming out losers. Warning: Hocus pocus is unleashed along with free lovin’—with no holds barred. One on one leads to two on two in a magical sexual romp that takes playing doctor to a whole new level. Enjoy the following excerpt for Sex with a Hex: Chance obviously wasn’t as enamored with Meg as she’d thought he was. But even so, she hadn’t expected him say such rude—not to mention incorrect—

things about her. “Not choosy? Me? Listen, you jerk—” she stabbed a finger into the middle of his chest and enjoyed his responding move backward, “—I can have any man I want. Anytime, anywhere, any way. And I’m damned selective in who I take to my bed.” “I’m sure you are.” Chance took a sip and looked away. Oh, my stars and moon. Is he placating me? “I am,” she protested, then cringed at the whine in her tone. She was off balance, disturbed and…damn it all, curious as hell. He turned toward her again, the challenge written on his face. “Right. So, have you taken any of these guys to bed?” He tipped his head toward the crowd. Meg tore her gaze away from his to scan the people dancing, drinking and having a whole lot more fun than she was having. Yes, she’d had sex with a couple of them. Okay, more than a couple. And, she had to admit, not all of them were winners. But a girl with needs had to do what she had to do, right? “Not that it’s any of your business, but I know a couple of them and they’re all very nice men.” Ugh, did that sound as lame as she thought it did? “Right.” “Will you stop saying that? What point are you trying to make, anyway?” She thought about pushing him off the seat and storming away, but knew it wouldn’t prove anything. Like a spectator drawn to a car crash, she had to see where the conversation led. “Right. Oops, sorry. There’s that word again. My point is that you can have any man you want.” He cleared his throat, then continued, “As long as that man isn’t too much man for you.” “Too much man?” Meg scowled, her mind reeling with confusion and disbelief. Did he mean in the bedroom? Was such a thing even possible? Especially if she used magic?

“You know. As in…out of your league.” “Out of my league?” “Do you always repeat what people say? Or is what I’m saying upsetting you?” His concerned expression seemed as fake as a three-dollar bill. “I’m sorry if it is, but sometimes the truth is hard to hear.” A trickle of perspiration crawled down her spine. Had Tom turned off the air conditioning in the club? Or was Chance’s assessment of her—his so off-themark assessment—making her sweat? “Are you frickin’ kidding me? Hell, yeah, you’re upsetting me. But not in the way you think.” The twinkle in his eyes beckoned to her, teasing her, thrilling her against her wishes. “Oh? Then I’m upsetting you in some other way?” His smile grew bright. “Perhaps in a more basic way?” His gaze dropped to her lips. She sucked in a breath and fought against the sudden desire to pull his mouth to hers. In no way would she let him get the better of her. “Don’t flatter yourself.” His smile faded, replaced by a brief moment of indecision flickering across his features. “I wouldn’t dare. But I stand by what I said. Still, I apologize. I tend to be blunt even when I shouldn’t.” Anger, more intense than ever, flared, taking her past the edge of reason. She lost control, no longer caring about anything other than proving him wrong. Almost as quickly as the argument had started, Chance leaned back, his voice taking on a more conciliatory tone. “Hey, I’m sorry I’ve upset you. I certainly didn’t mean to.” Meg unclenched her hands, noticed how they shook, then fisted them again. Maybe she should cut him a little slack since he was new in town. Just this once. “Yeah, well—”

“Listen, there’s no shame in going home alone. I mean if you strike out, you strike out.” Then again, maybe she shouldn’t. “Let’s get this straight, Doc. I never strike out. And no one is out of my league.” She threw back her shoulders and tossed her hair, ready to take the discussion to whatever length she had to. Anything to get him to admit he was wrong. For a few blessed moments, they sat in silence. How had she ever found this guy appealing? He was one of those men who looked great on the outside but was awful on the inside. Like the mud-filled pies she used to trick her sisters with when they were kids. So why was she letting him get to her? “You know what? Never mind. Just move over and let me out. I don’t know why I agreed to sit with you in the first place.” Meg shoved him, giving him no choice but to do as she demanded. She scooted out of the booth as fast as she could. “Oh, I see. So you’re afraid.” She’d already started to fast track away from him but had no alternative but to turn and face him again. “Me? Afraid? Of what?” “Of the truth, of course. Of finding out that you can’t get any man you want.” She stomped back to him and wagged a finger in front of his face. “Is that so? Well, what about you? Can you say the same, Mr. Sweet-Talker? Can you get a smokin’ hot woman every night? I don’t think so. Not with your mouth.” “Well, I don’t want to brag, but I’ve never been turned down.” Chance flashed his pearly whites at her again. “Really? Never?” She scoffed, narrowed her eyes and aimed for the jugular. “Prove it.” “I will if you will.”

Chance leaned away from her with a confident expression that sent a shiver down her spine. Suddenly, she really was afraid. Of him? Definitely not. Afraid of having bitten off more than she could chew? Maybe. And yet she couldn’t deny what was happening inside her. She hated it, but there it was. She was more turned on than she’d been in years. Hell, in forever. She shook off the feeling and concentrated on studying him. He’d dared her, but was that really what he wanted? Or was he baiting her for a different reason? Still, she’d never backed down from a challenge and she wasn’t about to start now. “You’re on, Doc.”