Текст книги "Once in a Blue Moon"

Автор книги: Delilah Devlin

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 Once in a Blue Moon
Beaux Reve Coven – 1
Delilah Devlin

To anyone who ever dreamed of having magical powers and living a magical life…you can.

Chapter One

Bryn Cavanaugh stirred the contents of a large black pot, breathing in the rich aromas scenting the air.

“With your blessings, come weal and bounty,

With our efforts, come fortunes plenty.”

The spell was short and to the point. She doubted the Powers That Be felt slighted. The Beaux Rêve women worked damn hard and never took their blessings for granted.

She dipped a spoon into the broth and tasted it, closing her eyes as she sampled the spicy mix. “Delicious.”

She turned off the flame beneath the large pot of shrimp gumbo she’d begun the night before. For now, it could steep in its fragrant roux. When she returned, she’d light the burner again to let it simmer slowly until it was ready for tonight when her sisters gathered for the evening meal. Satisfied, Bryn left her large, airy kitchen and headed toward the front door of the inn.

Cooking the large stew had been time-consuming. A task that had taken her mind off the trouble that was brewing. Today, the sisters faced enemies, and she was determined to remain calm, study their adversaries and determine their weaknesses while smothering the interlopers with kindness. Her totem was the rabbit, a symbol of abundance and comfort, and her element was the Earth. She would need to channel both to remain steadfast and calm.

She paused to rifle through the stones in the bowl beside the door. Some were polished and some raw crystals. She found her two favorites—a polished amethyst carved into a worry stone with a soft indentation for her finger to rub against when she grew agitated and a piece of raw witch’s amber. One for cleansing her spirit of stress and the other for deflecting negativity. These she’d also need this morning.

She put both in the pocket of her long flowing skirt and stepped off the porch, barefoot today, because she wanted nothing between herself and the Earth. Freshly cut grass tickled her insoles. She smiled, her first in days since news had arrived that outsiders were descending on them.

“Mornin’, Bryn.”

Looking to her right, she caught sight of Father Guidry watering his small garden beside his tiny clapboard church. She gave him a wave, her silver and beaded bracelets jangling on her arms, but didn’t stop to discuss his plantings. No doubt he’d say this year’s success was due to prayer. Oh, and he’d be right.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d snuck into his garden every night for weeks to pray to the Goddess for her favor. The elderly priest was a kind man, and he tolerated the sisters of the Beaux Rêve coven while continuing to hold out hope they’d see the error of their strange ways.

Tolerance was a blessing, and something the folks of Bonne Nuit, Louisiana, gave in abundance. Sure, they’d been suspicious of the women when they’d first arrived in their tiny hamlet. But the prosperity the women had brought—the jobs and self-sufficiency—had earned them, if not acceptance then at least a place in this isolated community. However, the isolation, something the coven considered their greatest blessing, was now threatened. Progress had arrived.

She stayed in the grass beside the sidewalk, skirting Main Street and walking toward the river where her sisters were gathered. But as she neared the canal, she found they’d been joined by gawkers. Nearly all of Bonne Nuit was there.

Radha and Darcy stood glaring at the gathering on the opposite bank while Aoife and Miren stared at the clouds above them.

“You’re blind,” Miren said. “It’s a scimitar. A reminder we aren’t without weapons for this battle.”

Aoife shook her head, a frown bisecting her pale brows. “It’s the Reaper’s scythe. We’re doomed.”

Bryn rolled her eyes. She didn’t need to read portents in clouds. All she had to do was look straight across the divide at the big machinery and the crew of strangers there to operate the earthmovers, crane and dump trucks to know they were in real trouble.

“I take it the injunction was lifted?” she asked the group.

Radha nodded. “Last night. I’m sure they paid a judge to do it in the dark of night. Demons do their best work in the dark.”

Bryn took her gloomy response with a grain of salt. The witches were ever vigilant of demons, but the more likely culprit was simply the state’s schedule for recovery from the last hurricane. The bridge that had connected Bonne Nuit to the rest of the world had been swept away three years ago. Something the town had taken in stride since it was a cyclical occurrence. This part of Jefferson Parish was prone to flooding. And Gus Hearn, a local with a Duck Dynasty beard and an old ferry boat, provided transport across the water when needed.

Gus’s boat was already docked on the opposite bank, and he was loading two vehicles, a green construction-company pickup and a delivery truck bringing supplies to Darcy’s crafters’ cottage.

“We can’t take this lying down,” Darcy said, shaking back her long red hair. “Tonight’s a blue moon.”

Bryn stiffened. “The last time we asked for intervention didn’t turn out so well. Remember, we asked for rain for our summer planting? We got a deluge that nearly wiped out the entire crop. Perhaps we should let things be. They’ll build their bridge, and the Goddess will send another storm.”

Darcy’s frown was fierce. “But strangers will walk amongst us. What if we’re found?”

“So far we’ve been lucky. Blessed,” she said, her tone even and filled with conviction. “But we knew this day would come. We’re stronger now. If demons find us, we’ll simply show them we’ve grown a backbone, and that we don’t need their counsel or their manly protection.”

Darcy shrugged, but her green eyes still flashed with fire. “I don’t think we’ll bring bad luck if we ask for intervention and cast a banishing spell. I vote we meet tonight.”

The others glanced around their circle and slowly raised their hands. Four to one.

Bryn sighed. They had no leader, no high priestess, so majority ruled—a policy they’d adopted the moment they’d fled upper Michigan.

Tonight, they’d meet under the blue moon.

And while she’d scoffed at Miren’s and Aoife’s attempts at aeromancy, she felt a little guilty withholding her own confusing portent that had invaded her dreams the night before. The cloud above them wasn’t shaped like a scimitar or a scythe. If her dream was right, it was a penis. The dream filtered through her mind again…

Moonlight gleamed through curtains. Large, callused hands stroked over her back and buttocks as the man in her bed waited while she sank slowly on his cock.

She’d felt the pressure inside her, smelled his earthy musk. But while moonlight illuminated his brawny frame, his face had remained in shadow.

She’d interpreted the sex as meaning that her privacy was about to be invaded. That she’d be tempted to set aside her vow to remain celibate and autonomous while she constructed a self-sufficient life.

But the intimacy of the dream could also mean she’d been alone long enough. The company of her sisters couldn’t fulfill her innate need as one connected to the circle of life, to Gaia the mother—the need to bear children. Children would ensure their future as a coven.

Perhaps the fact she’d been unable to see his face meant that any man might serve her need. When they’d fled their previous life, they’d foresworn true love because a witch could only know love once in her lifetime. A human male could provide his seed, but only a demon could hold her heart. The danger of mating with a demon, of becoming enslaved to his desires, was too dangerous to her freedom.

Reaching into her pocket to rub the amethyst, she concentrated on her blessings—on her sisters and this quiet place, on all the bounty they had brought to the community with their works. Her finger warmed the stone, and it began to vibrate, sending warmth up her arm and through her shoulder before spreading down into chest.

Calm again, she squared her shoulders and stared across the water at the ferry bringing the first wave of strangers. Perhaps she’d been too quick to paint their arrival as something black and ominous. She’d wait and see. And tonight, when her small coven drew down the moon, she’d offer a small prayer to the Goddess for a sign.

Ethan Thorne leaned his elbows on the rail as the rickety ferry boat made its way across a canal deep in a sleepy bayou. A place nearly out of time. Unchanged except for the slow drone of the boat’s engine. Trees draped in moss. Murky water. The sounds of insects buzzing and chirping and bird calls were an unending cacophony of sound.

They were headed across the expanse where he would build a bridge to the dock on the far side. A dock that wasn’t a dock. It was simply a road that had sunk into the swamp, the tarmac brittle and broken. The little community on the other side was in sore need of a bridge, so why had they protested for so long?

As the boat drew nearer, he noted a couple dozen people gathered on the sunken road. Most were dark-haired with dark complexions and appeared to be related by the similarities of their features. However, one group of five women standing in a half-circle to the side seemed out of place.

For one thing, their features weren’t large-nosed and their skin was pale. And each of the women was stunningly beautiful. How had a small backwoods place like Bonne Nuit produced so many delicately boned, beautiful women? Two were brunette, one was blonde and one red-haired. The one that drew his eye had hair the color of midnight with a slight bluish sheen.

And they dressed differently from the rest. Not a one wore a tee or tank or well-worn jeans and boots. These women wore long skirts, sandals or bare feet, rows and rows of stones around their wrists and long necklaces with pendants resting between their breasts.

At second glance, their skin wasn’t merely pale, it was luminous.

Realization of what they were hit him with the impact of a blow to his solar plexus. Witches. His gaze scanned the far bank. Where were their guardians?

He straightened and purposely dragged his gaze from them. He didn’t need to incite a war with whatever group of demons lurked out of sight.

“You see them?” Renner murmured, coming up beside him and smiling, his expression at odds with the intensity of his unearthly sea-blue gaze. In direct sunlight, his irises reflected the light, glinting like sunlight on a calm blue pond.

“I count five,” Ethan said. “And no sign of Others.”

“Perhaps they haven’t been claimed.”

“How is that even possible?”

“The isolation? The fact they’re banded together?” Renner raised a brow. “How interesting.” He pulled a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and slid them on. “No need to announce our presence just yet.”

It being daylight, Ethan had no worries his eyes would give him away. “Guess that means I’m staying in the town.”

“Until we find out what’s happening here, yes. Brother, we may have struck the mother lode.” He flashed a grin and turned toward the bank.

Ethan crossed his arms over his chest, instinctively barring his heart to suppress the urge to pounce the moment the ramp dropped to the tarmac. Witches explained a lot. The string of bad luck that had plagued the company the moment the contract for the construction project had been awarded, although seized engines and workers’ accidents were behind them now. Witches also explained how this project had been placed so far down the list that the state’s budget had nearly excluded this last bridge.

Which might confirm his suspicion these witches were truly alone. If they’d been mated, there’d be no need to continue their isolation. Bound, they were protected. For a troll, a lesser demon on anyone’s hierarchy, the thought of five witches, the most exalted feminine prizes in the demon kingdom, the opportunity was too ripe with possibility to ignore.

He’d worked hard to gain respect, suppressing his true nature to ascend. Now, he ran his own crew and owned a piece of Vindlér Construction. The irony that he built bridges rather than lived beneath one wasn’t lost on him, and when Others made snide remarks, he let their jibes go rather than pound them with his stony fists. He’d learned self-control. Had educated himself. And now, the last mountain he had to climb might be within his reach—a witch of his own to increase his power and his influence. Although the stunner with the black hair appealed most, he didn’t really care which he ensnared. Any one of them would suit his ambitions.

“They won’t fuck like sirens,” Renner said softly.

He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the thought of bedding another siren whore. “Sirens squeal.”

Renner laughed. “Maybe for you. They sing like angels for me.”

Ethan grunted. Once the ramp was secured, the ferryboat captain gave them a wave. He and Renner strode to the pickup and climbed in. He drove off the ramp and through the small throng, like the parting of the Red Sea. But he wasn’t going far. They had to wait for the men who’d be staying in Bonne Nuit to make their way across. He parked on a small makeshift gravel lot, likely where cars waited for the ferry, and switched off the engine.

“Maybe you should leave the talking to me,” Renner said with one brow raised.

“All I’m looking for is a place for my crew to stay.” Not a hookup. Not yet. No finesse required.

He climbed down and approached the nearest local, a young man with a scruffy almost-beard. “Does anyone rent out rooms? I need beds for a dozen men.”

The young man’s gaze darted to the women.

Ethan’s followed. The black-haired witch gave a slow nod to the young man.

“You’ll have to ask, Bryn,” he said, scratching his beard. “She runs the Beaux Rêve Inn. Though I don’t think she has that many rooms to rent. Might also try ole Winnie,” he said, pointing to a large gray-haired woman. “She keeps a passel of grandkids in the summer. But she’s got rooms now. For a price.”

Renner stepped out in the direction of the witches, but Ethan elbowed his side. “Go make arrangements with Winnie for the crew.”

Renner flashed a smile. “Make sure your witch has a bed for me.”

“Thought you weren’t staying. You have a jobsite in Thibodaux to visit.”

“Thibodaux’s just over an hour away.”

Ethan narrowed his gaze. “As the crow flies.”

“I’ll commute. Get me a room.”

As his friend walked away, Ethan drew a deep breath to steady his heart. His sudden surliness toward Renner was generated by the intensity of his reaction toward the witches. There were five. He could share. He drew another calming breath. Didn’t help his hands were beginning to sweat. He wiped them on the sides of his pants. Then, catching the dark-haired witch’s eye, he strode straight for her, holding out a hand. “I’m Ethan Thorne, ma’am.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ethan.”

Her voice was deeper was than he’d expected, with a slightly hoarse inflection. Sexy as hell. Also, her hand was warm; heat pressed his palm and traveled up his arm. His gaze locked with the woman’s. Her eyes were a dark gray-blue and fringed by thick, curling black lashes. She wasn’t wearing a speck of makeup, not even lipstick, but her skin was like porcelain, her lips a deep cherry red. Since he’d spotted her, he’d experienced his first doubts. She was too delicate for someone like him. Too refined.

Heat swept through him again, and he couldn’t believe it. She thought he was human and was luring him in with her witch’s heat. An invitation he wasn’t about to refuse.

Since she already thought he was human, he’d play the part. “Ma’am, anyone ever tell you have the prettiest eyes?”

There was humor in those pretty storm-cloud eyes—not shared. She was secretly laughing at him.

Two could play this game. He cleared his throat and let go of her hand, and then he tucked his thumbs into the front pockets of his cargo pants, his fingers framing his sex.

Something a quick, darting glance didn’t miss. Rosy color seeped into her cheeks.

“I understand you have rooms to rent.”

The redhead beside her grinned and jostled her shoulder, but the dark-haired beauty never looked her way. “I do. Are you interested in staying with me?”

At her choice of words, he smiled. “I’ll need a couple of rooms. One for me and one for my partner, Renner. We’ll be here for a few weeks. I can pay in advance, if you like.”

“That won’t be necessary.” She glanced back at the other women who stood watching them so closely he wondered if they had the ability to communicate without speaking. He’d heard some witches could do that.

One shrugged. Another gave her a pointed look and a frown. Another a wide grin.

He held his breath as he waited for the dark-haired woman’s answer, his dick getting harder by the minute, arousal she hadn’t drawn with her witchy heat. His erection had stirred simply because of the hint of flowers in her scent, her direct stare and plump red mouth.

If she was unencumbered, she’d be his. And soon. It was a damn shame he couldn’t use the power of that night’s blue moon to stake his claim. Didn’t matter though. Trolls had their own brand of magic and a penchant for capturing unsuspecting prey. Somehow, he’d have to keep her from discovering what he was long enough to seduce her.

“If you’ll follow me,” she said, indicating with a finger toward the street.

“Why not ride with me?” he asked, tilting his head toward his truck.

She drew a deep breath and then laughed. The tinkling sound made his belly tight. Holy fuck, her every gesture and sound made him hard. He curled his fingers against his pants.

Drawing a fortifying breath, he swept a hand toward his truck and then followed her as she strolled toward it, her hips swaying in a natural, easy wag of her ass that had his gaze following it like the sway of a mesmerer’s pendulum.

The job in this backwater bayou suddenly seemed more exotic. More portentous. Not that trolls trusted omens. As he helped her up into the cab, he couldn’t resist skimming his hand over a slender arm. Static crackled.

Her eyes blinked and a frown produced a tiny line between her dark brows. He ignored it, hoping she hadn’t noticed or that she put it down to some cause other than the fact trolls gave off a natural charge. She’d get used to it. Hell, she’d crave it. He’d make sure of it.

Chapter Two

One by one, the sister witches slipped through the kitchen door, all carrying their contributions for the evening’s meal. They laid dishes and baskets on the butcher’s block filled with rice, bean salad, a bottle of wine and freshly baked bread.

Radha slipped up beside Bryn, who was giving her gumbo a final stir. “He’s very big,” she whispered—a mock-whisper, because it was loud enough to send the rest into a fit of giggles.

“The size of the man doesn’t necessarily reflect the size of the cock,” Aoife chimed in, her blue-green eyes twinkling. She toyed with a lock of her long blonde hair. It was curly rather than its usual board straight, which meant she’d primped for the meal. “His friend is rather large too.”

“We are not going to discuss the size of their genitals,” Bryn said, her tone even. “This is their first night here. Let’s not scare them away by letting them overhear us talking about them like they’re…pieces of meat.”

“Man meat.” Darcy sighed, a naturally curling red lock teasing across her cheek. “How long has it been?”

“You know how long it’s been. Since we escaped. We should tread carefully.”

Darcy nudged her shoulder against Bryn’s. “I saw how you looked at him,” she sang and then lowered her voice to whisper. “You gave him a flash, didn’t you? Tell us the truth.”

Bryn kept her gaze on her pot. “If I did, it was only to ensure he took a room here. Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, so they say.”

Darcy snorted. “Sure. Making frenemies was all that was about. Didn’t have a thing to do with the fact he was getting hard just looking at you.”

She shot her a sideways glare. “Darcy, enough. They’re in the dining room now.”

Darcy pouted but began gathering dishes. “Aoife, help me set the table.”

“No flirting,” Bryn called after her.

“Not with the dark one. Promise. He’s already yours.” Darcy pulled a large covered dish from a cabinet, one she’d handmade in her potter’s shed and set it with a thump on the counter beside Bryn.

Bryn checked the oven for the pies she’d been baking and the scent of cinnamon and apple escaped. The tops were beginning to brown so she turned the oven off and left the door cracked open. Then she ladled the gumbo into Darcy’s crock. Miren carried it out to the table. Radha gathered the remaining elements of the dinner and strolled through the swinging door into the dining room.

Bryn’s arms were empty as she followed Radha out, and she was glad, because the moment Ethan’s dark gaze slid over her, she tripped, her toe sticking on the edge of the woven rug beneath the large plank table.

Ethan shot out his hands and caught her.

She landed against his chest and sucked in a deep breath. She hadn’t stood this close to a male in years, and the sensory details were a bit overwhelming.

“I’ve got you.”

The way he said it in his deep, rumbling voice struck her. At once, a sensual thrill licked her senses. But a quiver of apprehension quickly followed. “I’m not usually this clumsy,” she murmured and pushed against his chest—a mistake, because her palms instantly molded around the bulges of his pectorals.

Sweet Goddess, he was well-made.

He set her back, easing his hands away and giving her a one-sided smile. “After you,” he said, indicating toward the table.

She went to her usual place at the table and blushed as he pulled out her chair for her to take her seat. He settled at the head of the table next to her.

Her friends hadn’t moved. They watched her interaction with Ethan with wicked gleams in their eyes. Something was afoot. She could feel it, but she waved a hand toward the table. “We don’t stand on ceremony here. Please take your seats.”

Food was passed around. Darcy ladled gumbo into bowls filled with rice and bread was broken. As bread plates were passed, Aoife, who sat at Bryn’s other shoulder, reached into a velvet bag tied at her waist. She pulled out flowers and began to lay one beside each slice of bread.

She smiled at the men. “I run a fragrant-oils business here. Flowers make life…prettier…don’t you think?” she said, batting her eyes at Renner.

Bryn narrowed her gaze, knowing Aoife’s penchant for flower magic, but she relaxed when her sister witch placed snapdragon blooms on the first plates. Protective magic was fine. And snapdragons served a dual purpose of encouraging friendship. Perfectly appropriate for the occasion.

But then she placed a zinnia bloom on the last plate, the one intended for Ethan.

Bryn gave her a subtle shake of her head. Zinnias were for lust.

“Pass the plate, Bryn. Ethan’s waiting,” Aoife said, an innocent smile on her face.

But the act of her giving him the plate might enact the magic, binding his lust with hers. Bryn pulled back her hand, reluctant to accept it. Yes, ever since she’d met him she’d been imagining all kinds of sexy possibilities, but she wanted to tread carefully in those deep waters.

“You don’t believe in flower magic,” Aoife whispered.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked just as softly, leaning toward her friend.

“I saw the way he looked at you when he caught you. He only needs a nudge.”

“Shhh…” Bryn pasted on a smile and quickly handed the plate to Ethan, who picked up the bloom and looked at it with curiosity before putting it back on the plate.

Bryn let go of the breath she held. Flower magic wasn’t her milieu. And Aoife hadn’t cast a spell, adding words as a prayer to the elements, so perhaps the flowers were only meant to tease her. The women had seen her instant attraction to Ethan, something that hadn’t occurred in a very, very long time. They must have been tittering among themselves over the fact she was smitten.

Radha cleared her throat and glanced at the men in turn. “Are you both settled in?”

Ethan looked up from his bowl and his gaze went to Bryn.

Heat began to fill her cheeks as she recalled their conversation when she’d shown him his room. She’d explained the faucets in the bathroom—some guests, rare though they were in these parts, had been confused by the whirling lever.

Ethan had merely smiled. “I think I get it.”

Then she’d explained the device that controlled the softness or hardness of the mattress. “The higher the number, the harder it will be,” she’d said and then clamped her jaws closed because talking about softness and hardness had made her suddenly imagine his cock, elevating and lowering according to some click of a button.

Ethan’s mouth had firmed into a narrow line, but his eyes had gleamed with laughter at her distress.

She’d fled the room moments later, her hands held against her hot cheeks, his soft chuckles following her down the hallway.

“My room’s very comfortable. I especially like the bed.”

The brows of every woman rose and their gazes went to Bryn, who frowned and ducked her head. “The gumbo’s getting cold,” she muttered.

The rest of the meal passed without any more embarrassment, the women, not Bryn, asking questions about the plans for the bridge.

“How long will you be staying?” Miren asked, her sea-green gaze darting to Renner.

“As long as it takes. Plans are for a month. There’s a lot of concrete work to finish before we start on the bridge itself. Much of the metal was prefabricated before we arrived.”

“A month?”

Bryn detected a hint of dismay, which surprised her considering how adamant she’d been earlier about working a banishing spell.

Renner shrugged. “We’ve suffered delays before. Weather can wreak havoc. Too much rain in the forecast and we can’t pour concrete. But so far, it looks like there will be clear skies for a while. We’ll be dredging to install pillars tomorrow.”

The frown on Miren’s face told Bryn that the topic of rain might enter into their spellwork that night.

A month. Her hand tightened on her spoon. If she didn’t act quickly, she might have only one short window of opportunity to conceive. She was fertile right now, but she couldn’t imagine seducing him so quickly. Her gaze went to the zinnia blossom. Perhaps she would need a little help—and there was hot apple pie still to serve.

“Anyone ready for desert?” she asked, setting her expression so that no one would guess what she intended.

“Need help?” Darcy asked.

“I can manage. I’ll only be a minute.”

She gathered bowls to take to the sink and then hurried to the oven. She pulled out the baking sheet both pies sat on and slid it onto the butcher block. Then she reached for a bottle of ground cinnamon. Another sprinkle would do no harm to the flavor of the pies.

She shook cinnamon into her palm and picked up a pinch with her fingertips. Closing her eyes, she imagined the lover she’d dreamt of the night before. She mentally opened the curtains so that moonlight shone on his face. Ethan’s face. Holding that image, she opened her eyes and began…

“Spirits, hear my plea,

With sweet and spice I will entice,

A lover to my bed.

Let moon and magic weave through dream,

Each twisting, turning path will lead,

My lover to my bed.”

She sprinkled the cinnamon over one pie and then stood staring at it, wondering if she was doing the right thing and whether the need inside her to procreate had less to do with ensuring the future of her coven and more with her desire for this particular man. Something that suddenly struck her as significant. Why him? Why now?

A shiver slithered down her back. Why indeed?

“What’s keeping you?” Radha stood in the doorway, her gaze going to the counter and the cinnamon bottle, and then rising to Bryn. “You needed more?” Her lips twitched.

“The recipe called for more than I’d used,” she said evenly.

Radha smiled. “Then you won’t need the charm bag I slipped under his chair?”

A smile tugged at Bryn’s mouth. “You did that for me?”

“You’re the eldest. It’s only right you lead us.”

“Into temptation?”

Radha arched a fine brown brow. “Bryn, it’s just a pie.”

Both women were smiling widely when they reentered the dining room.

Ethan kept watch from his bedroom window as night deepened. Witches couldn’t resist the lure of a blue moon. If there were Others about, they’d be meeting them to dance in the silvery moonlight. All he had to do was wait and follow the women to whatever oak they’d chosen for their ceremony.

A soft knock sounded on his door. A moment later, Renner slipped inside.

“The women certainly seemed frisky at dinner.”

“Frisky?”

“All those love spells. I nearly choked on cinnamon.”

“My pie was spiced just right. I can still taste it.”

Renner studied his expression. “Looks very promising given they were casting for you.”

Ethan arched a brow. “Feeling left out?”

“Not at all. Red and the blonde were both fanning their eyes at me. I won’t be lonely.”

“They think we’re humans,” Ethan said softly.

“Awfully convenient, isn’t it?” Renner smiled. “If we confirm they’re without protection, we’ll be here, close enough to lay claim. Capture them before they know it.”

Ethan fisted his hands. Already, he could imagine lovely Bryn in his arms. Pinned beneath him the moment he skimmed his hands over her curves. He’d catch her wrists and spread her with nudges of his thighs. When he pushed inside, she’d know. She’d feel the tingle of the charge he’d emit at first thrust even before he said the words that would bind them together.

A distant sound, the squeak of hinges, alerted him that Bryn was on the move. He parted his curtain and peered into the moonlit night.

She wore a long robe and her dark hair was covered with a hood, but he knew it was her from the straight set of her shoulders and the easy, graceful sway of her hips.

“Let’s not lose her,” Renner said behind him.

Suddenly, he wished his friend wasn’t here. A sea-draugr had advantages a troll did not. Renner could shift into a cat or wisping fog. He could play among the dancing witches and never be detected, while Ethan was firmly rooted to the Earth. He’d have to watch from afar.