 
THE FALLEN ONE

Sons of the Dark Mother

Copyrighted © August 02, 2012 by Lenore Wolfe

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locals are entirely coincidental.

Triquetra Press Publications

First Edition August 02, 2012

ISBN: 9781476428116

Copyrighted © 2012 by Lenore Wolfe

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two  
Chapter Three  
Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BY LENORE WOLFE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To Elisa and Isabelle

Believe...

Best-selling author, Lenore Wolfe's best seller, Dark Warrior: To Tame a Wild Hawk

"It was emotional, beautiful, and even suspenseful. A fabulous read!"

By Christie Snow on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords and Goodreads

YEARS BEFORE....

_The crisp air bit their noses._ _The gravel crunched beneath their feet, mixed with clean, white snow that at any other time would have had them playing and laughing with glee, leaving a trail of footprints in their wake. Today, an ordinary day, like any other day—a day that should have been light and happy, like any bright, sunny dawn, on any clear, cold morning._

But these children weren't laughing. Even to a child, something didn't feel right.

Their older brother always walked them to school and took himself off to class. The three girls glanced at him now, almost in unison, beneath the dark, curly lashes of their matching yellow-green-gold eyes.

The charge in the air felt almost palpable for children as sensitive as these. Something in the air didn't feel right. Something didn't bode well—for any of them.

Their brother's name was Justice. And perhaps it was fortuitous that his parents named him so, for nothing would prove this better than at this place, in this particular alley, at this particular hour. On this day, Justice would live up to his name. And in the years to come, he struggled with the responsibility that went with is choices, as well as with the monster who lived inside of him. But this couldn't be helped—any more than what was about to happen.

At fourteen-years-old, Justice stood well over six feet, a stout, muscular youth, his dark skin made even darker by the sun. To his three little sisters—he was their knight in shining armor. They knew he'd do anything for them. His loving heart, much too big—too big for the burden of what would happen. He carried too much responsibility, for a boy his age. Yet he shouldered this responsibility with his enter being, for he didn't see their beautiful faces with anything but love. He was all his sisters had now.

He was a mellow boy, especially with his sisters, but not with anyone who might represent a threat to them—like the gang members who threatened his sisters, on more than one occasion, to get to him.

Then—Justice was anything but kind.

The gang had a thing for him because of this. Still, as much as they tried, they never quite managed to settle the score. Justice didn't make an easy enemy. Still, with each beating he delivered, they became more determined.

For that reason, he had an idea they'd be waiting for him, now. It wasn't the first time. Every single day, he waited for their next attack. Somehow, he also knew that their next try—would be their last.

He'd annihilated their asses before, only to have them multiply, and still he'd beat them back. Anyone else would have left him alone after that. Justice knew their vendetta against him had only become more fueled with each successful lesson he'd been forced to teach—that each of these lessons caused them to hunger for his blood, only more.

True to form, one of the gang members stepped out in front of Justice, and his three sisters, before they reached the end of the alley, lightly tapping a good-sized, tire-thumper bat against his leg.

Justice tensed. Pure, raw adrenaline filled his veins, racing like fire on gasoline, fueling his anticipation. His fists balled in anticipation, he growled to his sisters to run, the way he did every time these gang members came for him, not taking his gaze off them, as they stepped into the alley, one by one.

Wide-eyed, his sisters didn't hesitate—shaking—their small feet taking to flight, like the wind, as they had every other time, before. And like every other time, it didn't occur to them that their brother wouldn't come out of this okay. After all, he was their hero. Nevertheless, you as they were, they couldn't know what each of these thrashings did to him. Nor could they know what this day would cost him, or how he would suffer for what was about to happen....

PROLOGUE

JUSTICE

Present day, Chicago

**Justice pulled himself out of bed, showered and dressed.** He pulled the soft cotton of his shirt over the scars that ran the length of his ribs, running his fingers along the rough edges, long ago faded to a shade lighter than the rest. Their jagged edges—the skin broken—were all that remained of that day—when his life changed forever, the scars left to remind him of the killer he'd become.

He groaned, as he always did, when memories crawled over him like shadows, crippling him and taking possession of his mind. He fought to push them away, as they played out in his head like a bad movie—forcing him to watch, to stay conscious, to remain a witness, scene-by-scene, to every kill that had taken place that day.

He was a prisoner of his mind, driven to watch as the reels played on, always in slow motion—never letting up—never giving him peace.

Peace was elusive, leaving only relentless rage.

He tried to force the memories away, as the fury swept through him now, like fire traveling the path of gasoline, eating everything in its path. But he remained unsuccessful in stopping his nightmares, this time, too, as they played across the darkened screens of his eyes. The dark-red blood of those murdered boys—sprayed across the clean, white snow.

Justice knew the anger was the leftover remnants of the boy he'd once been, still plaguing him because he felt so helpless to change the past.

Even knowing, the rage took him to his knees like a blow to his midsection, stealing the air from his lungs. He'd done a lot of things since, to make it right, but the killing he'd been forced to, while he was but a boy himself, did nothing to wash his hands clean of the blood. And his nightmares only served to knock him down, a slave to the memories hidden, buried in his mind.

That was the day everything good was stolen from his life.

That was the day he let loose the monster hidden beneath his boyhood face.

He looked up. He didn't see the ceiling above—but the sky. He wanted to beg the heavens to release him—to let him go. He prayed for the gentle rains to wash him clean—the way they washed away the blood that covered him that day. Yet, nothing could ever make him clean again.

Nothing could take it back.

Nothing could change the fact he'd murdered nine boys.

Dragging himself off the floor, he forced a black slate in his mind to shield him from the view that would torment him. Such thoughts weren't doing him any good. The only way to change it—was to fulfill the prophecy.

That—and get Jes back.

Though, if he could change her part in it—he would.

Feeling a touch better, he forced himself to walk to the bathroom, to finished getting ready. He even managed to fix himself a cup of coffee, from a single-cup coffee maker. He headed out the door before the sun broke the horizon. He'd been hot on her trail since coming home, and he wasn't letting up—though he had no intention of letting her know that he lived nearby.

He'd put his hand on the doorknob when his phone rang. Snarling, he reached into his pocket, grabbed his cell and flipped it open without missing a beat. He, again, placed his hand on the doorknob when his sister's words stopped him.

"What?!"

His sister started to repeat herself, but he stopped her. "No, I heard you the first time. Did she say anything else?" He listened, all thoughts of going out the door, now gone as he stood there, staring off into space. Four words kept drumming through his head.

Jes had found _him_.

"She left her card?" he repeated, going numb.

What kind of cop left a calling card for a murderer?

"It'll be alright," he reassured his sister. "I'm heading out, now. We'll sort it all out when I get there."

Though his thoughts churned, he managed to lock up and get into his truck. He didn't speed. He didn't believe emotions warranted such behavior, although he understood the impulse. For him, anyway, things needed to be thought out and executed precisely. He didn't do things in the heat of the moment—not anymore.

The last time he'd let his emotions rule his head, it cost him everything.

During his hour-long drive to his sister's house, through bumper-to-bumper traffic, Justice planned. And by the time he got to his sister's house, he'd formulated a plan—a contingency plan for the one that Jes unwittingly blew for him.

He parked in front of the house—sandwiched between the others—with hardly a front yard or a back, and only a sidewalk and a tall fence in between. How many plans would Jes blow for him? Reaching the door, he stopped again, with his hand on the knob, as before.

_Jes_.

All these years, she'd been the thing that kept him moving forward. Well, Jes—and his sisters. But Jes hated him. She hadn't seen him since they were kids, but she still hated him—for what he'd done to those kids in that alley.

That was okay. He'd never become used to the monster inside him, either. And he never would.

When he turned the handle and walked into Jasmine's house, he found all three of his sisters gathered in the kitchen. One of them cooked something that smelled delicious. All three muttered something, lamenting that they knew they shouldn't have come back to Chicago yet.

But that's not what they'd been saying when they convinced him to return. It was time, and they knew it.

Still, they'd been gone all this time. How could Jes possibly know he'd returned? And even if she _had_ known they were back—how could she have found him so quickly?

CHAPTER ONE

**MIRA**

**Mira sat back in her comfy overstuffed chair,** letting its comfort hug her, watching Micah as he moved about the room—his bare chest covered in a sheen of sweat, his muscles flexing as he put himself through the moves. His dark hair shone in the midnight fire, and she swallowed under the intensity of her emotions. He sprang forward, and Lucius blocked with his forearm, leaving a trail in the sand in his wake.

Mira swallowed. She almost forgot what she'd come out here to say to Micah, watching him move through his paces. The men had been quick to order this chair be brought out for her. They always pampered her this way. But still, an overstuffed chair—sitting by one of the Great Lakes. It made her smile. It was so sweet of them. Who would have thought such soldiers could be so sweet?

Lucius had white hair, shot through with silver, clear to his waist, and a face that looked as if it were chiseled to perfection. He was taller than Micah, at least six-feet-four, and looked like he held a lot of muscle on his frame. He wore a white tunic like you might see in the movies. His eyes were violet, his skin nearly translucent it was so white. It had the look of alabaster.

Lucius wasn't human—he was Starborne. His looks often had other races mistaking him for the one who was the prophecy.

Micah, on the other hand, had a look of an exotic, beautiful prince, with skin of deep chocolate and eyes so dark they were nearly ebony, fringed in dark, curly lashes. Sinfully beautiful, his face looked like something someone had taken great care to carve for him, with the deepest perfection.

Both men had lived so long that they were often thought of as immortal. They weren't. But they'd lived for thousands of years, so she could see how that idea would have got started.

They'd spent much of that time— _waiting_ for her.

Mira still couldn't believe how much her life had changed this past year since they'd brought her to them, again, in this lifetime. She'd lived through many lives with these two. But she'd also lived with several others. Yet, it was these two, plus Roman and Caesar, who waited for her, through several of her lifetimes. And the four of them hardly left her side since she'd returned to them in this one.

She'd been Alexandra in her first life with Lucius, and that is how she always came to him, ever since. She shared her body with who she'd been to the others—in her past lives—as Lady Isabelle with Caesar—and Morrigana with Roman. She always appeared as one of these women, whenever one of them came out to love her man, in this lifetime. But even though she'd been Nadia, in her past life, with Micah, she always came to him as herself, whenever she was with Micah.

Mira watched him with such longing she caused him to miss his step, and Lucius grinned as he took full advantage, laying Micah out flat. She covered her mouth to smother the laugh that threatened to bubble up as he got to his feet and came over to her. She grinned at him, and he hauled her out of the chair and into his arms, kissing her until she was breathless with desire.

CHAPTER TWO

JES

Present day, in a small town outside of Chicago

**Jessica Kincaid stared at the pictures strewn across her desk** where she'd searched for clues for the past three hours. She'd tracked the monster who committed these murders for several years now, but even with the hours she'd poured into his brutal crime—it remained her one unsolved case.

Whenever she felt deadlocked on an investigation, as she did now, she went back to this one. This one was personal. This one left her alone as a child. The bodies in such slayings told their story to someone who listened—and Jes learned to listen. She came to know the passion, the hate, the sadness in their stories. She had to unravel what lay _beneath_.

Yet no matter how many murders she solved—she couldn't unravel what was hidden _beneath_ _this_ _one_. Maybe because she'd always known who killed these kids. What she didn't know—was why?

Reaching up, she massaged her temples, closing her eyes and leaning back. She dropped her hands onto the arms of her chair, stretching to ease her tired back. That relaxed her too much, and she fought off a yawn. Running a hand through her hair in frustration, she sat forward, looking at the pictures again.

Her partner, Jared, looked up—giving her a hard look from where he sat across from her. Until now, he'd pretty much ignored her, working his own angle.

Jes tried for a neutral expression, keeping her gaze down and fingering the edge of one of the old photos. There, she did her best to pretend he didn't watch her, focusing all her thoughts on the body of a gang member who'd been shredded by a beast that day, fifteen years before. A day that completely changed her life.

But ignoring Jared didn't work. It made him curious. Damn. She sighed when he got up, coming around his desk to sit on the corner of her own, looking at one of the pictures, then another. She followed his gaze to the photos.

She'd memorized every detail of them, long ago.

"When are you going to stop trying to solve this old case?" he asked, his brows raised.

She made a face at him. He dared her to deny her obsession, and she knew it. Worse. He was right. She didn't feel any closer to finding the boy who'd committed these killings then she had the day she'd snuck out of the car to find her father studying the slayings of these gang members.

"Nine gang members," Jared said, as if reading her thoughts.

She looked at him. "Yep—nine gang members," she repeated. And a boy she'd thought she loved who disappeared from her life, taking his sisters, his parents—and her own mother and father with him. "I didn't exactly stumble onto this job by accident," she said reflexively.

Jared gave her a crooked smile like she said something amusing. "No," he said, looking back at the old photos on her desk. "I can imagine you didn't."

She worked hard to become a detective, and a forensic specialist, but back then, she'd been a kid starting high school, not even knowing what she wanted to be when she grew up.

Her father had picked her up when he received the call to this crime. He'd parked the car where she couldn't see anything and told her to stay put. But, of course—she hadn't. She'd been too curious not to sneak out and take a little peek. What she'd seen that afternoon changed the course of her life.

She looked up to find Jared studying her face.

"What is it, Jes?" he asked. "What's the big secret you never want to share?"

She feigned a smile—gave him the same answer she always did when he got too curious. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

That use to scare him off. At first. The first couple years they worked together, when he'd seen her take on the more bizarre cases. Lately, he'd become less afraid and more curious. Now, it only annoyed him.

Like now.

"How did an animal manage to sneak into the city and kill nine dangerous gang members? Nine armed youths with various _dangerous_ weapons?" he pushed. "Even if that beast was a bear—it was _one_ beast."

Jes looked away, avoiding the intensity of his gaze. She knew exactly what—or actually—more precisely— _who_ —had done it.

The police were as dumbfounded as Jared, at the kind of creature who managed to kill those boys. Yet, even when all the professionals in the city hadn't been able to figure out how something that large could have made it that far into the city, without being seen, and killed nine well-known gang members, Jes knew exactly what kind of monster could pull it off.

Jes knew, and she took every class she could, graduating from high school at sixteen, going on to college to study anything, and everything, that might help her find him.

She looked up to find Jared glaring at her, and she met his glare, shaking her head at him. "Trust me, Jared," she said softly. "You don't want to know. You _never_ want to know."

That took him back. She could see it on his face. He looked at the pictures with fresh eyes, and she knew it was only a matter of time. She followed his gaze back to the photos.

She'd never know what compelled her to follow her dad out of the car that cold morning. When she'd seen what her father tried to prevent her from seeing, the image became permanently frozen in her memory bank, as hands over her mouth she'd tried to close her eyes. Yet, horrified, she'd been unable to look away.

Even as a child, Jes was too driven to find answers. This one cost her. After all these years, she still couldn't get the shock of seeing their bright red blood sprayed across the ground—or the sight of their bodies—torn and mangled—out of her head.

Jared looked at her. "So, you _do_ know what kind of animal did this?" He stood up. His legs spread in a wide-stance that said he expected a fight. " _You've always known?_ How could you? No one was able to figure out what happened to those boys that day."

Jes gave him a sad smile. She knew how sad it must look. She couldn't help it. "His name was Justice," she finally said. She shrugged. "Isn't that funny?" She felt a tear slide down her face, and she snatched it away, hoping he didn't see it. She saw him frown like she'd told him a joke and didn't sound like she was out of her mind—before he spotted it.

He went stalk still and without another word, spun around and went back to his desk.

Her cheeks went hot, realizing he'd moved to give her some space. She reached into her box and took out the one photo she always left there—at the bottom of the proverbial box.

She didn't care how much she loved that boy. That had been the past. She didn't know how he managed to make everyone she loved disappear that day. She'd never let such things get her down, again. She promised herself she'd figure that out later, when it didn't hurt so much—when she'd managed to bring _Justice_ _in_ for killing those boys.

What she couldn't ignore—what she couldn't afford to ignore—was the fact that these slayings became a brutal reminder of what could happen if something went wrong— _inside of her—_ the same way it had gone wrong _inside of him._ She'd lived in fear of it—knew she'd never take the possibility for granted—that she, too, could turn into such a monster.

Jes gathered the pictures, throwing them into the box. She'd never for a moment forget what could happen—if the beast inside her were to get that angry—as angry as he must have—to turn him into the monster he'd become that day. That boy she loved so much....

Shaking, Jes got up to pour herself a cup of the foul coffee, which, as usual, had sat too long in a stale, old pot. She made a face as the bitter brew slide past her tongue, and she nearly gagged swallowing it. She headed for the sink, pot in hand, dumping it out to make a new batch.

She had fresh coffee by the time she sat back at her desk, setting her cup down and looking at the small newspaper someone set on her desk. A Thrifty Nickel. She frowned. Why did someone put this thing here? She picked it up, looking around.

No one paid her any mind.

She glanced at Jared, but he'd gone back to pouring over his own case. She nearly dumped the paper into the trash when something stopped her. What the heck. She could use a break.

She scanned it for a deal, only half paying attention, trying to hold the paper a sufficient distance away, so she wouldn't find the stench of the ink so overwhelming. She'd nearly turned the page again when she spotted an unusual ad. She sat up, mouth open, staring at it.

What it said made her look up and scan the office again, wondering who knew enough to leave this paper for her. But no one out of the ordinary was in the office that day.

She looked down, reading it again. _When injustice is the way of the day,_ she read _, a little justice could pave the way._

Without taking her eyes off caption, set in bold print, she picked up her phone to put an ad of her own in but set the receiver back down. She wasn't one for patience. Running an ad would take too long.

She got up, grabbing her jacket off the back of her chair as she went, heading for her Jeep. It didn't take her long to reach the office that printed this particular weekly paper, and it turned out she knew one of the people who worked there. Well, truthfully, she knew most of the people in this town. It wasn't that big.

The young man sat, too smitten with her not to give her the info she looked for. He pointed her in the direction of a run-down local tavern, where anyone who answered the ad was directed by the next ad. An old tavern called Second Chances.

A phone call told her the tavern had been around for more than three decades. She winced, again. Had been since he'd first said the name—Second Chances. Something about the name rang familiar. Caused her head to hurt, and her stomach to twist in knots.

Jes didn't like that feeling. She knew it warned her that she headed for something she wouldn't like. She'd forgotten much of her youth—like blank pages in her memory, repressing some kind of trauma. She'd gone to years of therapy, trying to sort it all out, but nothing brought back the memories. Now, every time something haunted her, it would put her down for days.

She sat straight, resolutely. Not this time. She didn't have time for such stuff.

She reached the tavern and went inside the dimly lit interior. Too early in the day for more than a couple customers, the bartender stood polishing the beautiful, wooden bar top. She looked away, glancing around the interior as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. The rest of the tavern looked much like the bar top, built out of beautiful, inlaid wood, with delicate carvings painstakingly engraved. These were not machine made. These were much too old for that. No two were the same.

By this time, she'd completed her appraisal, and her gaze returned to the barkeep who stared back at her. Her head hurt again, but this time it pounded, and she could swear she saw recognition in his—before the shutters went down behind his gaze.

She approached him slowly, arms crossed in front of her, holding the paper under one arm. Nothing about him made her feel in danger. So why did she feel like she wanted to run? She unfolded her arms and laid the paper on the bar top, where she'd circled the ad, for him to see. He picked it up, glanced at it, and tossed it back at her. It hit the well-polished surface and slid toward her, coming to a stop right in front of her. She looked at it and back to find him glaring at her.

Now, what could she have possibly done?

His gaze narrowed on her as he leaned forward on his beefy arms. "What of it?"

She frowned at him. "Who posts it?"

Leaning back, he picked up a glass and a pristine white towel and began polishing it. "Who wants to know?"

She fished in her pocket and produced her badge.

He didn't even glance at it, only kept polishing the glass. _"Why_ do you want to know?"

She curled her lip in a sneer, irritated. "Answer the question."

He looked up this time, but only flashed a grin at her before his face went immediately back to a stoic mask. "No." He set down the glass, adjusted it perfectly in line with the next one and picked another and began polishing.

Jes smiled, pissed. She was really starting to hate this guy. She glanced around. There were some pictures hanging behind the cash register. One of them made the hair on the nape of her neck stand on end.

He glanced up to find her staring at it, and he actually smiled. "Well, now. It looks as if you found your answers after all." He set that glass perfectly in line with the others. "Or at least one of them," he finished in low tones. He glanced back up. "Question is. What will you do now?"

What an odd thing to say.

She felt sick—sweaty and nauseated—all at once. She frowned at him. The room started to spin around her giving her a drugged sensation, yet she hadn't ingested anything in more than two hours.

She needed to get out of here— _now_.

White knuckled, she growled, "I'll be back," with all the strength she could find within herself, surprised to hear her voice come out in more of a snarl. She'd turned and headed for the door, when her keen cat hearing picked up what he'd muttered, and she turned back to stare.

He stood there, quietly polishing another glass.

Holding her arms over her middle, she bent forward, turned and rushed outside. Stumbling to her car, she fumbled for her keys. She hit the fob, hearing the sweet sound of the doors unlock, opened the door and slid inside, sitting there shaking, taking slow easy breaths, trying to calm the uneven tempo of her heart.

She couldn't believe what she'd heard, what he'd _called her_. He couldn't possibly _know_. How could he? But she could not deny what she'd heard.

He'd called her _Jaguar Witch._

CHAPTER THREE

JES

**Jes unlocked her desk and took out the precious box** she kept stashed toward the back, where no one would find it. This had been her hidden life. Her reason for everything she'd done. Her purpose for working hard all these years.

She took out the box of pictures—she'd gathered over time. The evidence she'd collected during her searches. Trembling, she dumped them once again, out onto her desk. With shaky hands, she sifted through them, looking for a specific one. She stopped when she came across one of Mira. Something always teased at the corners of her mind. She'd kept it because of this.

She dismissed that mystery, for now, in search of another. When she found the one that she searched for, she picked it up, staring.

Her father and mother had their arms around each other. They stood next to another couple. The same couple who'd been in the picture at the tavern. The other couple also disappeared that same day.

They were her father's best friend—and his wife.

Now, her hands trembled, her body becoming like a young leaf, barely attached to its branch, doing everything in its power to hang on. She shook so hard, she sat, setting them on her desk—before someone in the office noticed. She sat like that, staring at them.

For the first time, she asked herself why she kept her personal pictures—pictures of her grandparents—pictures of his parents—with all the others. And, she realized she knew why....

Because, that day, the loving boy she'd known became a killer.

Yet, she was still missing a vital part of the puzzle. She pushed the rest of the pictures around on her desk, looking for one. When she found it, she stared. Her hungry gaze traveled over the young man's face. The picture, itself, worn around the edges, from her handling it over the years. He'd been the only one to escape being torn to shreds, along with several gang members, that fateful day.

Her jaw ached with how hard she clenched it, as she looked once more at the pictures strewn across the slate gray background of her desk. She stared at each of the bodies, searching, yet no longer seeing the clues they held.

Long ago, what was left of those boys told her everything she needed to know of the kind of gang he'd been in, how he'd lived, and the monster he'd been, in his own right.

She got that.

Sure, they didn't turn into a vicious creature like Justice did, but they'd murdered the innocent, preyed upon them like rabbits snared in traps, set for anyone who had the bad luck to stumble into the wrong place, at the wrong time. They were all killers. The whole lot of them, but that didn't excuse the kind of killer Justice became that day.

He'd become _their_ killer—as the creature _he'd become._ And Jes believed that killing, even to stop another killer, was wrong.

Why had he done it? _How_ had he done it? What drove him to use his power in such an evil way?

She wouldn't rest until she brought him in. She couldn't. He betrayed her. He betrayed their people. He betrayed himself—his sisters—and his family.

Jes put his picture back at the bottom of her little metal lockbox. Then, she put the others on top.

The power they'd been gifted with, as the Jaguar People, was meant to be used to _help_ the humans—not harm them. The Jaguar People were an ancient race—the protectors—the Watchers. They were supposed to keep an eye on things, keep _others_ with such powers from breaking the rules, set up to protect their existence from the human species.

Jes looked at the stack of pictures, closed the lid and locked it.

The humans weren't ready to know of her people, but that didn't excuse her people from doing their duty to protect them. Justice violated that day—and in doing so he'd violated the very _name_ he'd been given.

Justice—the protector.

Worse, he continued to threaten their hidden nations—with his every kill.

Jes stared off in space, remembering the boy she'd grown up with—but didn't know at all. He'd become a threat to her people. He put them all at risk, threatening to expose them.

The ancient race of Jaguar People managed to remain relatively unknown—perhaps not in folklore—but they'd remained _unreal_ to the humans, who were blinded to their existence by their own arrogance, thinking they were the only life-form as the only _human-like_ race in all the galaxies.

The only intelligent beings.

How silly, Jess shook her head, staring at the box.

Of course, the humans even managed to convince themselves that the Fae were a fairy tale—despite centuries of folklore. Humans were afraid of their own shadows.

Justice escaped—because he _and the_ _beast_ carried something in common.

What made him do it?

She picked up the box and opened her desk drawer. She'd asked herself this same question hundreds of times, over the years. It never occurred to the human police officers that a boy could become a monster—capable of killing nine gang members. Why would it? He'd been a fourteen-year-old kid. How could a kid have torn a bunch of gang members from limb-to-limb?

She stared at the box, sitting in the bottom of her drawer and slid the desk drawer shut with a bang, thinking of his face. She'd memorized every inch of the photo, her only link to him.

A muscular youth, not even the strongest kid, at his young age, could do what he'd done—at least, not in his human form—so no one would've had any reason to suspect him. After all, he'd received over a hundred stitches that day, when those gang members nearly beaten him to death.

Even with what her father knew, he didn't seem to suspect—since Justice was far too young to change—was still years from reaching his majority. Her father did suspect, though, that Justice had help from another of the Jaguar People.

But Jes had suspected Justice.

She'd loved that boy. She shook her head. No—she'd been infatuated with him. But no longer.... Now, she wanted to bring him in—to make him pay for what he'd done.

Still, she couldn't get over it. How did he shift—when he'd been so young?

The Jaguar People were never supposed to tap into their power at that age—because of the danger. A power like theirs couldn't be risked on the folly of passionate youth. Jes—herself—only reached her majority at the age of twenty-one.

How had Justice managed to transform at the tender age of fourteen? What could possibly have happened to him—to cause him to tap into such power?

Could that horrible beating have done it?

She doubted it. Not the beating alone, anyway. She shook her head. For the umpteenth time in so many years, she wished she'd been old enough to follow the leads, back then.

She chewed on her lip.

She doubted she'd find anyone who still knew him, or even remember him. Nobody would be left that knew. She wouldn't be surprised if the rest of the gang, who would have hunted him if he and his sisters hadn't disappeared, weren't all dead by now—but maybe....

Now, there was a thought.

She got up and went to the computer. For the rest of the evening, she sorted through the remaining known members of that particular gang, left from that time frame. Late into the night, she found what she looked for—the name and address of an ex-gang member—who should know if his gang sought out a youth for killing several of the dangerous members of his gang.

She knocked on his door before the sun made its way completely over the horizon. And he didn't look too happy about it—when he finally opened the door.

CHAPTER FOUR

MIRA

**Mira had a sister.** No—make that three sisters. She couldn't be more amazed. Not even if someone planted a bomb under her feet. In fact, she felt like someone had. She couldn't remember the tragedy that took her memories, but now, she had at least one sister—who she could contact anyway.

The other two were missing.

Mira packed and left for the Alliance when she learned this. She left immediately, even though Amar was quick to tell her she should wait to see Jes. Her other sister—one of the two missing—Dara—they still searched for. The third had a mystery surrounding her.

Mira resolved to get to the bottom of that.

She stared out the window as the driver drove her to the compound. Amar told her that a family tragedy drove them all apart. Worse, she warned her Jes still didn't remember anything.

Like Mira, herself.

As the baby, Jes was severely traumatized—and the doctors warned not to jar her into remembering. So, that, even now, Mira wouldn't be allowed to come out and tell her anything.

She'd met Jes once and already considered her a friend, even before she learned the truth of who she was. Yet, even now, she couldn't tell her the truth about being her sister. Still, of course, she wanted to get to know her better—even if she had to continue to do so as her friend—and hope one day she'd help her to remember, too.

Perhaps it would help them both to remember.

When Mira arrived at the Alliance, she leaned forward in her seat to stare outside at the massive structure. She hadn't been able to believe what Amar told her about this place. She'd said it held the Jaguar People—her people. Could this be happening?

She stared up toward the guards, well-hidden on the wall. Though she couldn't see them, her senses told her where they stood, and she easily picked them out amongst the outcroppings of the fancy, fifteen-foot stone wall.

When Amar visited her last night, in her spirit-like form, to tell her about this place, nothing could prepare her for seeing it. She still couldn't believe she _had_ _a people_. She'd been under the mistaken impression that she would only meet an _occasional_ member of the Jaguar people. Now, she learned there were numerous such compounds of the Alliance, all over the world.

This one happened to be one of the central locations.

She looked around. The fifteen-foot stone wall, with its large, iron gate, kept out any onlookers there might have been. Not that there would be any. This one was glamoured and sat sufficiently out into the country as to not draw attention, yet close enough to the big city of Chicago for the warriors to be of assistance to those stationed in Chicago.

As the car pulled around the large, ornate circular drive, a woman met her when the car pulled alongside the front door. She opened the door of the car, smiling brightly in greeting.

"Welcome," she told Mira. "Amar told me you were coming. I hope you don't mind my meeting you here."

Mira couldn't have been more delighted. She hadn't been looking forward to the awkwardness of trying to talk to the people, here, since she didn't know anyone. Yet, this beautiful woman greeted her like a long, lost friend.

She let Mira into the main building, where she invited her to sit in a comfortable room to one side. The woman, who'd greeted her, then went to close the French pane doors.

Mira watched her, curiosity eating at her. "So, Amar told you I was coming?" she prompted.

"Yes," the woman said, smiling. "Yes. She did." She sat in the chair across from Mira. "There's no gentle way to tell you this. Do you mind if I speak bluntly?"

"No," she said and smiled. "No, I prefer it."

The beautiful woman smiled, too, holding herself in a way Mira considered regal. Mira watched her eyes. Something was vaguely familiar about her.

"Amar is my mother," she told Mira quietly.

Whatever Mira had expected her to say, that wasn't it. She felt her jaw go slack. She knew her mouth worked up and down like a fish out of water—gasping for air. She couldn't help that. She stared at the woman. She wanted to drag her gaze from her, but she didn't have any control over her senses.

The woman leaned forward and put her hands over Mira's, who gripped her own tightly in her lap.

"I am your mother," she said to Mira, again, gently.

Mira stared at her. "So, Amar _is_ my grandmother." She nodded. She'd known that. She didn't know exactly when—but she'd known."

Her mother nodded. "My name is Cara," she murmured. "A long time ago, a terrible incident happened to our family. To protect my children from it happening again, I had to let you all go to separate places—to keep you safe from someone." She squeezed Mira's closed hands—almost in a pleading gesture. "I sent you to an aunt." She watched Mira's eyes.

Mira knew Cara searched her face for recognition and understanding, but she couldn't comprehend what her—mother—just told her, more-or-less acknowledge or show her understanding.

She felt numb.

"Why don't I remember you?" she finally got out. "Why don't I remember _anything?"_

Cara smiled, but her smile appeared sad to Mira. "You were young and the—incident—traumatic—for you and your sisters."

"Sisters?" That's right, Amar told her about her sisters, even if she hadn't come right out—at any point—and said she was her grandmother. Yet, Mira still knew....

"You have three sisters. But one raised your little sister. And—she knows her as—her mother."

Mira's gaze followed Cara when she stood. "And does she know you?"

She saw a deep look of sadness pass through Cara's eyes. "Yes—but she thinks I am her grandmother."

Mira frowned. "That must be—difficult."

Cara only nodded.

Mira nodded too. "You must have loved us very much—to put yourself through losing us—to protect us."

She saw Cara's eyes glisten with tears—before she looked away.

Mira stood then and went to her. She put her arms around her, and they both stood like that for several minutes—as silent tears fell.

Later, after Mira headed back to her room, she pondered the mystery of their broken family. Her oldest sister, the one who raised her youngest sister, went missing years after they'd all been split up. Two families disappeared that day when a horrible thing happened to a boy who belonged to an unusual faction of the Jaguar People. Her other sister, Dara, also went missing, years after this mysterious traumatic event—but Dara ran away from several foster homes before she'd disappeared.

They'd been given word here or there when there were sightings of her, but she wouldn't come in, and they'd been looking for her for a while, now.

Jes was her baby sister. Their mother confirmed Jes didn't remember anything. She'd been very young when the occurrence took place, and soon afterward, she went to live with their oldest sister and her new husband, where she started calling her sister, mommy.

They said she might not ever remember what happened.

Mira shook her head sadly. Yeah, and though she'd meet her once, and they'd become fast friends, she hadn't known about any of this at the time. Now, here she was being warned not to tell her anything. So, that, at this moment, she couldn't talk to either of her older sisters—since they were both missing—and she couldn't talk to her baby sister, either. She couldn't acknowledge her— _as_ _her_ _sister_.

Mira had never felt so frustrated. Still, talking to Jes—becoming her friend—was better than _not_ getting to know her at all.

Before Mira went to her room, Cara invited her for dinner, where she'd get to meet Jes again, so she took a shower to freshen up and started reapplying her makeup. She'd learned Jes was a detective in an outlying suburb of Chicago, so she worked with humans. Apparently, she'd always known she was born Jaguar—was one of the Jaguar People.

Which, Mira thought, must be better than not knowing, like what had happened to her. She picked up a wide tooth comb and started running it through her wet hair. She'd been in for a shock, finding out that she wasn't human. Amar had come to her to teach her—and help her to remember who she was. But since she thought she was human—and was about to reach her majority and find out she was one of the Jaguar People—the hard way—Amar didn't have a choice but to tell her everything.

It had been different for Jes since she knew herself as one of the Jaguar People. There wasn't any reason to force the rest of her memories on her.

Mira had a feeling that would change—and soon.

She looked in the mirror, staring at herself for a moment. She _still_ couldn't get over the fact she'd been born Jaguar. She stared at her eyes—looking for the eyes of the Jaguar to stare back at her—but saw the same eyes looking back at her since she could remember.

Human eyes.

She picked up the flat iron to straighten a section of her hair. She'd been plagued with suddenly just knowing things, lately. She would know something—and then that something would happen. Something Amar told her came from being one of the Sisters of Three. She also told her the time would come when they'd _need_ the Sisters of Three to work together.

The term, Sisters of Three, caused Mira to think she had _two_ sisters. Finding out that there were four, counting herself, came as another surprise.

She shook her head.

So much had been thrown at her, of late, she didn't get what she should think. Everything she thought she knew was wrong—and she felt like she'd been living this huge lie. She couldn't help but feel angry. She envied Jes. At least she knew herself—even if she _didn't_ fully grasp the facts around her.

Still, Mira also felt an instinctive need to protect Jes. She was excited to get to know her. She glanced at the clock. She wanted to see her—and she still had an hour to wait.

She sat in the chair with a flop, sighing out her frustration at waiting. But she'd only been there a couple of minutes when she heard a knock. When she opened the door, she realized she should have recognized her baby sister the first time they'd met when she hadn't yet realized they were blood.

Well—now that she knew, it was apparent.

"Hi, I'm Jes," the young woman reintroduced herself, even though they'd had a long chat the day they'd first met. "Nanna told me to come and get you for dinner."

Mira smiled. "I'm Mira," she said, automatically, unsure if Jes remembered her.

Jes smiled at her. "Yes, I know. We've met." She laughed. "We actually talked for quite a while, before." She grinned. "You're the famous Jaguar Witch." She laughed. "I would have known you anywhere, anyway." She gestured back toward the other part of the house. "Plus, Nanna reminded me again, a few minutes, ago." She smiled.

Mira flushed at the Jaguar Witch—a name that she'd been tagged with since working with the Queen of Darkness in the Land of the Fae. But she only smiled at her baby sister—and shutting her bedroom door, she followed her down the hall.

CHAPTER FIVE

MIA

**Mia handed her brother, Justice, a plate of food** —and Ophelia handed him the card Jes left for them when she'd knocked on their door earlier that morning.

"She left it with the maid," Mia told him. "If one of us had opened that door...." She let the rest go unsaid.

He stared at it, then looked at his sisters. "It wouldn't have mattered. It's time to have a talk with her," he told her.

Jasmine gave him a quivering smile. Mia knew she wasn't the only one who sometimes felt afraid of him. They were all afraid for him.

"We're not going anywhere," he told the three of them. His eyes glittered. Mia knew he realized it because she and her sisters withdrew slightly, and he made a conscious effort to soften his demeanor. "We've come home to stay," he said, in a softer tone. "It's time," he said, the ring in his voice, final. He looked at them. "You've been training all this time for this. The least I can do is face Jes."

Mia glanced at him, and three heads nodded in unison.

Jasmine came around the counter and hugged him. Next to his petite sisters, he seemed like a giant. Tall, and naturally muscle-bound, the stout, young man of his youth had taken on his promised size. People usually gave him a wide berth when they saw him. Some did so because of how big he was, others—because of the look in his eyes—and the ever-present rage that seemed to boil off him.

Not a patient man—his sisters usually didn't argue with him—but he had a big heart, and Mia loved him. They all did. He'd have laid down his life to protect them, as they'd all witnessed many times, first-hand. They chalked his impatience to his need to protect them—and to the constant danger.

Mia busied herself making a new pot of coffee. They were here, in Chicago. They were ready—at long last. As a boy, Justice had immense tolerance. Yet, the years took a toll on him. Now, others constantly pursued him. Half the time, they didn't know who their enemy was—the other half they did. He'd taken his sisters outside the city, to the Alliance, after their parents disappeared since he'd known the gangbangers weren't the only ones who hunted them.

But Mia believed Justice _did_ know who hunted them—who _still_ hunted them. Whoever they were, they never stopped—and she knew Justice knew why.

Mia poured in a pot of water and turned the coffee maker back on. She turned around, eyeing her family. While she and her sisters trained—their brother hunted.

She once heard him say that there was too much at stake for their unknown enemy to let him and his sisters go.

That's why he'd taken them to the Alliance—to protect them. He'd taken them to the only place that _stood_ _a_ _chance_ of doing that.

His destruction would ensure an easy victory for a nation of rogue factions—and one particular enemy, who'd been slowly, ever so slowly, maneuvering his chess pieces into place—in the effort to take over the power. A power that would give him control over the world—with no one to stop him.

Well, with no one to stop him—until now.

Now— _the time for Prophecy_ _had come_. And her brother had returned.

She glanced up as he looked around at his three sisters. She knew he considered himself lucky enough to have one sister—even luckier to have three. She did, too. They never forgot they were blessed to have each other. And Justice told them how thankful he was, often enough

The Jaguar People were not an immortal race, but they appeared so since they lived long lives, compared to the shorter lifespan of humans. However, because of the hardships, this placed on their bodies, the people didn't have many children. Families were usually blessed even to have the one. Yet, somehow his parents had been blessed enough to have four.

Still, as she glanced at her brother, Mia knew this too had been foretold.

The sisters didn't live together now that they were in Chicago. They had good reasons for this separation since several men lived with each of them. They were their guards, and they couldn't exactly keep that many people in one house. People would talk. So, they lived in three different houses on the same street.

For their safety, they couldn't live any farther apart.

Mia picked up the fresh coffee pot, glancing around at her sisters. Her gaze came to rest on her brother, talking to Jasmine. Justice was closest to Jasmine since they were closest in age, and she knew that he missed her the most whenever he went away.

She smiled without rancor. They all had their place in his heart—and they all had their training. They needed to get moving. She shivered with growing anticipation. Justice had always been hunting—until, now....

Now, everything was set into motion. They'd come, in part, in hopes of eventually getting Jes back. Everything was set into place for the Peace Talks. Attempting to pull Jes back into the fold had happened a little sooner than any of them expected, but Jes set that into motion, herself, by seeking him out.

Mia realized she'd unwittingly accelerated their plans—launched them, actually when she'd started digging around and searching for Justice. Yet, that was okay since nothing would be lost by them reaching out to her sooner.

They'd all waited a long time for this. If anything, they were all relieved to finally be doing something, instead of just training for it.

All but Justice.

Mia came over and hugged her brother, as they began cleaning the kitchen.

Her brother didn't sit idle, even to take the time to train. He'd been busy—and so were the men he trained. None of them had been sitting—or waiting—either. They'd been busy waging their own brand of war. And they'd gained the respect of all the nations for it.

She and her sisters itched to start moving forward, as well. They'd trained long, and hard, and still didn't have the privilege of doing anything besides train. So, they were ready. They'd waited a long time—and they were ready.

The four of them looked at each other, anticipation heightening their senses. She sensed their excitement—and knew that none of them were afraid. They'd waited for this moment for far too long to be afraid. If anyone one else faced, what they were about to face, they'd have wanted to run—would have been feeling more than a little fear.

Jasmine cleared the table, while Mia cleared the counter that sat like a bar top between the kitchen and the table. She glanced at her sisters and her brother, as she worked.

She and her siblings trained for this, from the time they'd born. They'd planned for this since the day someone tried to steal it all away from them that horrible day—fifteen years before.

She glanced around at her sisters—then back at Justice. They were—the four of them—like well-honed steel, born of fire and ash. They'd prepared for every aspect of what would take place, and followed every aspect down its path—allowing for anything that could possibly go wrong—to make sure they had a contingency for every situation. Save one.

They hadn't figured out the mystery surrounding the disappearance of their parents—that was the one x-factor. Well, and another existed too.

Her name was Jessica Kincaid

She'd been the one contingency they couldn't anticipate. And she'd been the one part of their strategy they couldn't prepare for. Mia knew her brother had no intention of going without—ever again.

Mia glanced at Justice, an ache in her heart. She knew that he didn't have a choice when he'd been fourteen years old and suddenly found himself responsible for getting his sisters to safety—forced to walk away from Jes.

Ophelia gave a slight shake of her head when she caught Mia's gaze, warning her away from saying anything as she handed Jasmine a plate. Jasmine went to the sink and began cleaning it out, so they could wash them.

But she couldn't help it. Mia glanced over at her, and she had to wonder if Ophelia ever thought she'd made a mistake. After all, she'd been the one to convince Justice that day that he'd only put Jes in more danger if they brought her with them. She'd told him, then, that only Jes's grandparents could protect her—within the walls of a different sector of the Alliance.

Ophelia, being the sage one, Mia knew that he'd counted on her to be practical—and kind—even as a young child. But Mia also knew that he'd found leaving Jess to be the most difficult thing he'd ever done—and that he'd never again walk away from her.

Now, she'd become their second x-factor.

Actually, she'd become more than an x-factor. She'd become the hinge to the swinging door—a door that could easily swing wide open—or slam shut.

Now, as the siblings gathered the left-overs and condiments off the counter, quietly glancing at each other, they could see the one question in each other's eyes.

Would that x-factor make their plan work—or destroy it?

Jes hated her brother—and Mia knew that he didn't blame her. Yet, the problem was that she might do anything in her hate. Still, she played an integral part of their plan as any other part. None of them imagined a contingency for the possibility that she couldn't be brought back to them. They didn't have a plan for that.

She'd been too important to each of them—to him—and to her sisters—but especially to her brother. Jes was an important part of their future—a part of everything that would happen—and too important a part for them to fail in getting her back. They wouldn't even consider the possibility that they'd fail. They wouldn't plan for that.

Mia felt her brother come up beside her, his arm coming around her as he hugged her to him, glancing up in time to see him close his eyes. She knew he could feel Jes, as clearly as if she were sitting right beside them, and that had to be hard on him. Especially since—Jes was his mate.

Suddenly, he pulled away—telling his sisters he had to go. They each hugged him as he left. They all knew who he'd gone into the night to look for.

The time had come—to bring forth the prophecy.

CHAPTER SIX

Jes

**Jes sat at the bar, sipping on a beer,** watching everyone who came in the door of Second Chances. It had been a long day—made even longer by the fact that she still hadn't been to bed, wondering when this deal with Justice had become such an obsession.

The bartender glared daggers at her, but she ignored him. Not so easy to ignore—was her partner.

She didn't want to deal with him tonight. She wanted to deal with the young man who haunted her dreams. She'd played with him as a girl—when he'd been only a boy. Even back then, she'd been drawn to him, like a moth to the flame. She didn't understand how the boy she'd loved—had gone so wrong.

No. She didn't want to deal with the bartender—or her partner. She wanted to track Justice—and get some answers.

Her partner gave her dark looks, but not with the same intensity as the barkeep, his glances born from a different source, and she knew it. He was concerned. He didn't understand her obsession with this old case. A case the department considered cold—as in dead—as in the leads had all dried up and blown away, a long time ago.

She straddled the stool, set down her beer, and gave her partner her full attention. "Okay, out with it," she said, though she didn't want to hear it. The only thing on her mind tonight was Justice, and the feelings he invoked in her.

"Why are we _really_ here?" He nodded toward the bartender. "He's had it out for you—since we first got here."

Jes looked at the bartender, swallowed and looked away, surprised he hadn't come over and told her to leave. She looked at her partner. He wanted answers—answers she didn't want to give. And the time for dodging questions had long since passed.

He'd reached his limit.

Her partner stood more than six feet tall, packed with a lot of hard muscle. He had dark hair and midnight-blue eyes. Women fell all over themselves to get his attention, wherever he went, as they had been doing all night since they'd first walked in.

He generally ignored them. And he did so, now.

Though serious when it was called for, he could be funny when relaxed. He'd been anything but relaxed, tonight. He'd been her partner for more than five years. And, lately, he'd become more and more irritated with her—witnessing her work turn into an obsession with the back-alley slasher. He didn't understand it, and she'd never enlightened him.

She knew if she didn't do so, soon, that he'd ask for a different partner. He'd been losing faith in her.

She picked up her beer, took the last swig, looking into Jared's midnight-blue eyes. Though he was sweet on her, they both knew neither of them would allow it to go anywhere. Yet, she cared what he thought.

Finally, she set her empty beer bottle on the table, looking at him, scowling. "Jared," she started out, "I've been searching a long time for this guy...." She frowned. Even she knew she'd gotten off to a bad start.

"Why?" he said, his tone harsh.

She stared at him. So—no more half-truths—or half-baked stories, huh? She'd waited too long to give him _something_ —to give him anything short of the truth.

And she knew he wouldn't believe the truth.

Who would?

She glanced at the bartender. She wanted another beer, but he didn't look inclined to help her out. She turned her head fully and glared at him. He threw down his towel and, hands on hips, met her glare for glare. She glanced back at Jared, who watched—and waited for her explanation.

She glanced around. This wasn't the place for this.

She glanced, again, at the bartender, who didn't bother to look away, now. Looking back at her partner, she knew he wouldn't wait another minute to hear something—anything—about what they were doing there—or why she'd been so obsessed—even more so than usual—as if her _usual_ wasn't obsessed enough.

"Okay," she held up her hands, in mock surrender.

He crossed his arms, leaning back on his stool, not letting up for a second.

She glared one more time at the bartender and stammered out, "You know the kid in the picture?" She didn't bother to explain which kid—or even _which_ _picture_. He'd caught her staring at the picture, hundreds of times, over the years.

He raised a brow. "The same kid that _lived_ through the back-alley slasher that day. You mean that kid?"

Hmmm, it sounded as if her partner had some suspicions of his own. "Yes. That kid." She took a deep breath. Well, she couldn't hold back now. " _He's_ the slasher," she blurted out.

His brow shot up. It took a lot to surprise him—but he clearly waited for the punch line. When she gave him a purely serious look, a look of priceless surprise crossed his eyes, and he first sputtered, then started laughing. "You're _serious_."

Her brows shot up, daring him to continue laughing at her.

He tried to school his features, to rein in his laughter—failed and laughed out loud, evidently trying to picture a fourteen-year-old boy slashing through one of Chicago's most fearsome gangs.

She glared at him.

Finally, he sobered. He pinched in his lips, trying to contain his amusement long enough to ask, "Why on earth, Jes, would you, of all people, buy into that theory?" Then, he sobered at his own words.

He stared at her.

She stared back.

He shook his head. He knew she wouldn't believe this—not without a damn good reason. But what on earth could that reason be?

She watched him run the gambit, his gaze finally settling on her when he came up empty for anything that could possibly tell him how she'd drawn such an outrageous conclusion.

And he knew—she'd _have_ _to have_ a rationale for this—and a good one. But damned if he knew what it was.

When she knew, he'd run out of arguments—and better yet—run out of explanations as to why she'd said something _so crazy_ —and she knew she had his full attention—she began speaking carefully, in a quiet undertone, "He's a rogue member of an ancient race—called the Jaguar People."

Now, true surprise crossed his face—as he tried—and failed—to follow her explanation. He looked at her, obviously waiting for her to give him an explanation— _any_ explanation. After a long moment of complete silence, he said, "I don't know what shocks me more—finding out that the most level-headed woman I've ever known _is really crazy_ —or finding out that my partner is willing to come up with such a stupid story _to cover her own ass."_

With that, he got up from his stool and went out the back door of the tavern.

CHAPTER SEVEN

JES

**Jes sat, too stunned by Jared's attack to move.** When she finally came to her senses, she ran after him. But by now, she did so mostly out of fear of the direction he'd taken—having received the clear feeling that Justice stood out there—waiting....

When she reached the alley, she had the distinct feeling she was too late. She raced down the darkened backstreet in the direction she felt Justice waiting. She'd never felt anyone's presence so clearly, and she couldn't breathe through her fear.

He'd kill her partner. And she'd be helpless to stop him.

She could no longer hide her secret. She had to keep Justice from killing her partner. Upon realizing that, in a flash she transformed, now racing at lightning speed, coming around the corner to find her partner backed against the wall—and a large, male Jaguar snarling and pacing in front of him. Her partner appeared more terrified than she'd ever seen him. In fact, she'd never seen him show fear before.

He didn't look too happy to see the second Jaguar, albeit a smaller one, coming from the alley.

Sensing her, Justice turned. Upon seeing her, he stopped and transformed back to his human-like form. "What the hell?" he snarled.

She shape-shifted back, too. Brushing herself off, she strode toward the naked man, as naked as he was, completely aware of that fact, and too angry to care.

"It's one thing," she snarled at him, "to think you're the Ancient One, to think you're actually _supposed_ to kill—murderer." She waved her arm wildly and pointed at her partner, who stood there as white as chalk. "But what explanation do you have for trying to kill a cop?"

Justice stared at her, obviously taking in her fully naked form. Taking her all in and making no bones about it, which only enraged her further.

"Are you going to stand there ogling me, or are you going to explain yourself!" she said.

He grinned. "Well, I'm too surprised to see you again.... Then, to see you, my mate in the form of our people and beautifully naked.... So, I think, for now, I'll stick to ogling. It makes sense, somehow."

She stood directly in front of him. now. Which, even as angry as she felt, was a dangerous place to be. Surprised, she found herself electrified by the power between them. It shocked her into silence. This same power, which had always been between them as children—which had only grown stronger as they became teens and reached puberty—was now amplified a hundredfold.

For a long moment, she considered the eyes of a killer—mute to realize, what she felt was anything but disgust—or even fear.

She began to tremble. She fought back at her emotions and failed. She turned to look at her partner. He stared at the two of them as if he were looking at a UFO—and was now staring at a pair of aliens.

"Oh, come on," she growled. "Of all the times for you not to keep your usual stoic behavior—now is not the time."

She looked back at Justice, who turned away. "Where do you think you're going? _You're not going anywhere!"_

He reached his car and opened the door. He turned back and grinned at her nude form. The vision of him—gloriously bare and proud—forever branded in her head. She wanted to hide her eyes—but met his gaze boldly.

"What are you going to do? Stop me?" He gestured at her naked form. "With what? Your pistol—or your handcuffs?"

Jes flushed. She promised herself she'd feel mortified later, if only she could fight what she felt, right now. She knew she _would be_ mortified—when she got home and lay safe in her bed—remembering that her partner watched the two of them—stripped—and arguing.

She couldn't even arrest _the_ _killer_.

As if....

What on Earth had made her think she could arrest him? Did she think herself stronger—or more powerful? Obviously, he was too _strong_ for her to handle alone. And who exactly did she think she could call in to help her?

Her partner?

She nearly snorted out loud—staring at Justice.

He gave her a mock salute and got in his car. She heard the quiet purr of the engine a second later, and he drove away.

Just like that....

She stared after him and tore her gaze away, looking back at her partner.

It was going to be a long night....

Jes and Jared were settled into a booth, sipping on Cokes and eating burgers before she trusted herself enough to speak.

Jared looked clearly poleaxed. He hadn't said a word, not even when he stood there and watched her pick up her ripped clothes from the middle of the alley and put them back on—what was left of them....

Under any other conditions, she would have been furious. But not a single expression crossed his face. He watched her, as though nothing registered. So, she hadn't said a word. She might have been concerned that he'd been traumatized by something that so clearly went against everything humans so often believed—but he seemed more introspective than upset.

He proved this when they'd made their way to their booth at the café, and he'd been able to speak, giving the waitress his order. He even seemed calm as he did so.

Too calm.

She ate a fry, watching him, waiting for him to break down or freak out.

Nothing.

Frankly, he was freaking _her_ out.

It seemed to her that if any other human had seen—what he had tonight—they'd be going bananas right now. She should be sitting here trying to pick up the pieces—and trying to hold his world together.

Shouldn't he be feeling as if he'd been living an illusion? Shouldn't he be thinking that everything he'd known—had been a lie? If it were her, she'd even question what the human government knew about this—which was quite a bit...

Well, at least they knew they were not alone on this planet. She was unsure of what else they knew.

But Jared should be questioning everything, right now—not sitting there quietly drinking a Coke.

She'd come face-to-face with Justice. Yeah...and she felt more than a little bit freaked out, herself. Yet, here she sat, trying to fix things with her partner—when she wanted to go after Justice....

And not to bring him in.

She wanted answers—answers to where he'd been all this time. Answers to where his sisters disappeared to. Answers to why she'd been left behind—abandoned.

She watched her partner scarf his burger with a hearty appetite. In fact, he didn't seem shocked, at all. He seemed—calm. Only, quiet—and calm.

She swallowed. She couldn't eat a thing.

Finally, he looked at her, raising a brow at her lack of appetite. "You'd think you were the one to see two Jaguars walking around in the center of Chicago, in the middle of the night. Two—human-like Jaguars. You know the type. First they're Jaguars—and then they're human." He seemed to think about that. "Or human-like." He stared at her. "Are you human when you're not Jaguar?"

Her brows shot up at this. _Was_ _he_ _joking?_

He grinned at her. "Settle down, Jes," he cajoled. "It's not every day a man gets to see something that sets his whole world right again."

Her eyes narrowed on him. "If you're talking about me standing in the street naked...."

He laughed. "Well—that, too, mind you." But he shook his head, belying his words. "No, Jes. I'm talking about the Jaguar People."

She frowned at him, now. "I don't follow."

His face grew serious. "It's just.... Jes, I've gone my whole life thinking this life I'd been living couldn't possibly be all there was to it. That nothing else exists, except for cleaning scum off the streets. Then, tonight—it's like a whole world of possibilities opened—right before my eyes."

She stared at him. Was he serious? "I'm glad you see possibilities." She frowned again, her suspicious nature taking over. "What possibilities?"

He grinned, again. "Relax, Jes. I'm happy there's more to this world—than there appears. And if there's that much—perhaps there's also a spirit world." He'd almost whispered that like people were going to look down their noses at him for believing.

She frowned at him, now. "Of course, there's a spirit world." She watched as his stoic face lit, for a split second before the shades went back down.

She couldn't believe this. She stared at him, as she realized she'd never once, in five years, had a conversation with him about the spirit world. Was he that afraid to believe? Was she that out of touch with her own people?

The Jaguar People were a spiritual race. It said a lot, her not knowing this about her own partner. Well, she also wanted to protect the people and so tended to avoid all conversations that led her thoughts in that direction, so as not to accidentally give away something she'd regret.

But perhaps she'd been a little too obsessed, lately.

"You said something to him about thinking himself an ancient one?" he prodded.

She almost smiled. The cop was back, asking questions. She nodded. "There are ancient ones who hunted murderers. Justice seems to think this is what he's meant to do."

"Is that why he didn't kill me? He seemed to contemplate what he should do with me—even before you arrived.... As if he was trying to decide—whether he should actually kill me...."

"Well, there's that at least," she breathed, almost in relief.

He seemed to study her for a moment, contemplating. "What do you intend to do about him?"

She looked up in surprise. "Bring him to justice. Why? What else would I do?"

His slate-grey gaze narrowed in surprise, eyeing her. "And say what to the police—or to the judge for that matter? What could you say? Hmmm? Judge, the boy killed all those gang members when he turned into a large, jungle cat! A Jaguar to be exact." He laughed at the thought of it. "They'd laugh you out of court—and you'd be out of your job."

"I've thought of that." She toyed with her napkin, deep in thought. "If I can't bring him in, I'll take him before the Tribal Council." She looked at him, then. Not that the Tribal Council would agree with her. "But he must be brought to justice—at least some sort of justice." She laughed at the irony. "Now, there's a concept."

He leaned forward in the booth, his big body closing the distance significantly, despite the table. "Why do you want him so bad?"

"You're a cop!" she snapped. "You should know."

"Humor me."

"No!" she snarled and pulled up short, shocked at her own behavior.

"Why?" he demanded.

"The People are not supposed to harm humans!" she whispered furiously. She looked at him desperately. "We're meant to _protect_ them."

He raised a brow. "But you just got through telling me there are ancient ones—who hunt murderers," he shot back. "So why do you judge him for doing so?"

She wasn't too happy to have her words thrown back in her face. It felt like betrayal, and Jes had a problem with betrayal.

He held up a hand in penance. "Look, Jes," he appeared to search for the right words. "I'm not saying he should get to play vigilante. But... there's a difference between a true vigilante and a man fulfilling the role of an entire race."

"No!" she snapped. "There's not. _There's no_ _difference at all."_

"Okay," he appeased—but ruined it. "So, would you mind explaining the—umm—chemistry I saw—," she saw him wince at the rage building inside her, but he still finished, if somewhat lamely, "between—the two of you?"

"Don't you _ever_ say that again!" she growled, still in a heated whisper, and with more than a little rage. "I don't want to hear something like that spring from your lips, ever again!"

He grinned. He tried to smother it—and failed. "Wow, Jes!"

She held up a finger. "Don't!" she warned.

He seemed to think better of saying any more, but after a moment, he asked, "What happens when the Jaguar People mate with humans?"

She sat back in the booth and stared at him. "What did that take you—all of an hour?"

"Come on, Jes. Enlighten me a little here. I just learned humans are not the only race on the Earth. Give a man a break."

"Well, if the human species wasn't so arrogant, they'd have reached that obvious conclusion a long time ago!" She moved to get up—disgusted.

His gentle laugh stopped her. "Yeah—I can see where you'd come to that. In hindsight, it seems more than a little arrogant."

His honesty took the heat out of her next words. "There are a lot more races than you'd like to know about, living their lives here on Mother Earth. They walk among you every day."

He stared at her, with more than a little surprise. But his face didn't show the concern she expected. No. His usual stoic behavior gave way to full-blown curiosity—the same curiosity that always got stamped out by human adults when they spotted it in their children, Jess thought with some disdain.

She frowned. What's wrong with this man? She'd known him for more than five years. This was the last thing she'd expected from him.

"How many more?" he asked.

She laughed at his obvious enthusiasm. "Too many to count."

"The Fae?"

She nodded.

"Wow!" He thought about that. "The UFOs?"

"They're trying to keep some others from taking over the Earth, but sometimes one sneaks by and abducts humans...," she muttered.

His brows shot up. "Okay, double wow!" He let out a low whistle. "How about... vampires?"

She could see that he kidded her now, but he wouldn't like the answer, so she didn't say anything.

He eyes widened, amazed. "No! You're not saying...," and for once, he finally seemed shocked. "You _are_ saying...."

"Oh, yeah!" She grinned briefly, then sobered. "But they're badly misunderstood. The tales have become interwoven between their two lineages, from one race of beings—part of who had—mutated—so to speak—and part of the race who were—invented, for lack of a better word. Perhaps I should have said—genetically altered with a virus. Then, there's a faction called the Crow People...."

Jared frowned at her.

She groaned. It really was—going to be a long night.

"A long time ago, way before the Earth—there existed a race of people, like I said, called the Crow People. They came here, much like my own people, and we lived in harmony—alongside many others." Jes watched his face to see how he'd received this before she went on. "But after Atlantis, some of them didn't want to—die. They didn't like the fact that they had to. It's not that they hadn't before," she shrugged, "but we all lived for so long, it seemed as if we didn't. And, so, when they were supposed to cross over, they went to the fifth dimension instead—the dimension of the Fae—and they learned how to stay there." She set her plate on the outside of the table where the waitress would take it.

"Over time, they figured out how to—come back as something human-like, but still more spirit. Yet, they had to—consume blood—to stay human. Other races didn't agree with them taking over—like Gods. There were wars. Over time—those who agreed developed a code, so they didn't control the humans.

She picked up her napkin and began fiddling with it. "But another race existed, too, who liked to—experiment on people. They are the Grays...." She made a face. "They still like to experiment on people."

He sat forward. "That's why people claim they've been abducted?"

She winced, looking at him. "We try to keep that from happening. But they experimented with making another form of Cat People, another form of Crow People—and some others. They—used a virus for some of these experiments. The species who mutated from these were—genetically modified—by this group, a group who wanted to gain control over the world. There were a few such beings, who were genetically adapted, also. But none like this one...."

She hated talking about these beings. It made her sick inside to think of it. She cringed, thinking about how anyone could have done these things.

"They used the Crow People for this because they were a winged people. I guess—perhaps in part because they had already learned how to walk between two worlds with some human form—but they used a virus from bats to expand on this."

"And they created the Vampire?" Jared nearly shrieked. "Vampires are mutants?"

"Only some of them are mutants," she corrected and winced, again. "Some of them are powerful and old—who consider themselves pure."

"And they feed off humans?"

She saw when he grasped the full implications of what she'd told him.

"No," he said. "The virus... The mutated race infects the humans...." This time _he_ winced.

She nodded. "And the old ones do try to keep control over their people. But as you can see, some of them don't think they should be controlled by anyone. Some of them don't consider themselves part of the old, at all. And to make matters worse, some of the old ones don't want to—claim them—as well.

He frowned at her. "So, the rogue ones are the bad ones? Do the old ones ever go bad—or rogue?"

She shook her head. "No. They're disciplined. And the—ummm—mutated ones, they're not bad, either. It's certain rogue members who are bad," she muttered again, "like the rest of us—who've had members go rogue. But these rogue members are powerful, and like to play on the fears humans have of Vampires, from all the stories over the centuries."

His mouth rounded in amazement. He obviously hadn't expected this—not at all. Of all the stories, he'd heard, he'd apparently chalked this one as pure fiction. "Were your people... genetically modified?" he asked.

Jes shook her head. "Well, like the Crow People—a little of both. We have some who came from a different planet. We are—were—one of the races of the Starborne. My ancestors were from a long way from here—and a long way from most of the other Starborne. But..." she didn't like to think of this—much less speak of it. "There were some who were also genetically modified, yes." She held up her hand to ward off more questions. She grew shaky, uncomfortable with this conversation. She'd never been put in such a position—of having to talk about this before. "It was a long time ago...," she finished lamely.

She waited for him to ask about the others, but he seemed disinclined to have any more shocks for the night. She didn't blame him. It wasn't every day you learned that your entire world had been built on an illusion. A misconception that could change in the blink of an eye—and, with it, take away everything you thought you'd known....

CHAPTER EIGHT

CONRAD

**Justice came into Second Chances** by the back door—the way he always did. The barkeep knew he was there and didn't miss a beat as he polished another glass and set it perfectly in line with the others. By the time, Justice sat, he was finished with his task, and he took out a cloth to polish the beautiful, mahogany bar top. After several, long moments, where neither man spoke, the barkeep set down his rag, poured Justice a beer from the tap and set it before him.

Finally, he took a stool in front of him.

Justice took a long drink from his beer. He set it down. "Tell me about this one, Conrad."

Conrad was a large man. He was well over six-feet-tall and muscular. He enjoyed what he was doing here, and he was thankful for it. Here he made a difference—after all that had happened.

No one knew what he was—no one except Justice and Dracon. In time, he might be reunited with who he truly was—but for now, he loved living his life, taking care of his tavern—and creating a hub where the information they needed could flow.

"They are moving forward, trying to take the towns, one-by-one," he told Justice, now. "If they're not halted soon...."

Justice nodded.

"I took the girl to Dracon's bunch."

"Good."

"They will need to teach her about their ways."

Justice winced. "It shouldn't have happened."

"You know they want to control that power."

Justice set his glass down a little too hard. "They shouldn't have been able to infect her. She should have been inoculated."

Conrad picked up his glass and poured him another. "You know those things don't always take."

Justice shook his head. "It shouldn't have happened, that's all—not to her," he growled.

Conrad nodded. "We keep beating them back, but they keep cropping up like the vermin they are."

Justice's eyes took on a dangerous glint. "Then, we'll have to make it harder on them. A hell of a lot harder."

"What are you thinking of doing?"

"Instead of waiting for them to come to us—we'll take this war to them. It's time."

The barkeep threw down his towel. "Well, it's about time. When do we get started?"

"I need you to remain here."

Conrad scowled.

"I'll let you in when the war actually starts." Justice grinned at his friend's zeal. "But, for now, we need to sway as many of the outlying groups to join us as possible."

Conrad nodded at this. "Sounds like a plan."

Justice sat there in silence for several, long moments, and Conrad let him. He went back to taking care of his bar. There weren't more than eight customers in the tavern. Most of them were either sitting at a table, visiting, or hanging out around the pool table.

After a long moment, Conrad came back to Justice. "So, what are we going to do about the girl?"

"We're going to let Dracon's group work with her before bringing her to Amar."

Conrad chewed that one over for a moment. "Does Jes know she has another sister?"

Justice stared at his beer. He gave a nearly imperceivable shake to his head. "She doesn't even know about the first one."

Conrad's brow shot up. But he decided to leave that one alone.

Conrad picked up a glass and buffed it with the soft cloth in his hand. He held it to the light, beneath the upper shelf, showing down on the glass below. Satisfied, he set it down, adjusting it slightly so that it stood in perfect alignment with the others. He grunted, approving what he saw. The soft light above the glass shelves, lining the shelves behind the bar of the tavern, shown down on his work.

Conrad didn't have too much glass in the tavern. It didn't survive well in a fight. Not that he tolerated brawls in his tavern. Still, he enjoyed the little glass he'd installed into the bar-back. He had an affinity with the beautiful dark mahogany wood of the bar and tables. But the little glass he'd allowed, he guarded fiercely. And heaven help the man who broke any of it.

His keen perception felt his new visitor, even before he heard the click of the back door. A friend, then. For, only a friend could possibly get past Conrad's particular form of an alarm system. When no one appeared for several long moments, Conrad smiled. So, he had a rare visitor. He couldn't be more pleased. Only Lucius, or an enemy trying to sneak by, could bring the beast from rest in the middle of the day. But even he couldn't pick up the silent tread of Lucius before he appeared soundlessly from the dark interior of the storeroom.

Lucius had to duck to go under the door. He straightened and stood there, looking at Conrad. A large man, Conrad stood at six feet himself, but Lucius still held at least five inches over him. And Lucius always had to turn sideways, to get his shoulders through to come through that door.

He wore his long, white hair, shot through with silver, pulled up on both sides and tied in the back. He wore three thick, silver hoops in each ear, each progressively larger than the other. He wore an impressive white and silver outfit, even to Conrad. The pants were barely showing because of the split tunic hanging past his knees. It looked somewhat like something a Samurai warrior might have worn, except for the color. But no matter how impressive he appeared, no one would have missed that he looked like he came straight out of a futuristic movie—or that Lucius was not human. He remained cloaked in glamour, to all who didn't know him, so when they saw him, they saw only what they were ready to see.

"I see Beast is as fat and lazy as ever," Lucius said. "You spoil him. When it is time for war, he will be content to lie there and watch you do all the fighting."

Conrad grinned at him. Both men knew Beast longed for the fight. "He misses you," Conrad said. "And Gargoyle Mansion." He saw Lucius' lip curl at the name.

Lucius came forward and took a seat at the bar. The bar stool creaked beneath his weight. "I have asked Mira not to call it that," he complained. "Now, she will have everyone calling it that."

Conrad set a glass on the bar and took out a bottle of aged whiskey, pouring him a drink. "I see she hasn't broken you of wearing those outfits," Conrad teased. "Too bad the humans can't see you." He laughed, shaking his head. "That would be something I sure wouldn't want to miss. You would scare them to death."

Lucius actually looked wounded.

"I'm sorry _old_ man," Conrad put the emphasis on the _old_ because Lucius was, in fact, thousands of years old. "But you _look_ like a warrior. And not just any warrior—but one who could take on a whole legion of armies on his own. How would you expect them to react?"

Lucius smiled. And even to Conrad, his smile took on a feral gleam. "Good," he said. "Because there is one who _can_ see me. And I hear he is on his way here—even as we speak."

Conrad stared at him. He stepped close and leaned over the bar toward Lucius, his voice nearly a whisper, "Please don't tell me you are talking about Constantine."

Lucius went still as stone. He gave Conrad a dark look. "You know that for him—even the _walls_ have ears."

Conrad inclined his head at this. "But Justice only recently returned," he said in a growl. "His _walls_ are pretty damned accurate." He turned a glass over for himself, and this time, he poured them both a drink. "At least I know why you're here. Did your men come with you?"

Lucius nodded. "Some of them. Do we know where Dracon stands?"

"He's always stood with Justice—even when he'd have liked to torn up the world, as we know it, and even when Justice _himself_ treads carefully with that one.

Lucius took a sip of his whiskey. "I would too."

Conrad nodded, now. No one would want Dracon for an enemy—except, maybe, Constantine. But then, Constantine chose to come—even with Dracon—even with Lucius—and even with Justice himself....

Lucius peered at him. _No one could keep that one from coming,_ he said from inside his head.

Conrad glared at him. "You know I hate it when you and Dracon do that." He grouched. "Where are your men now?"

"Waiting or my word."

"Conrad stepped to the register and pulled open a hidden drawer underneath. Turning, he tossed a set of keys at him for his place out back. "Take beast with you, or he'll never forgive me," he said.

Lucius nodded his thanks and got up. "I'll get the men settled and bring Micah, Roman, and Caesar back in an hour."

Conrad grinned. "I look forward to it."

"Get Justice to join us," Lucius said, destroying any notion Conrad might have held of them getting drunk, for old time sake, and with that, he slipped quietly out the back.

CHAPTER NINE

JES

**Late into the night** , Jes woke with a start. She lay there, getting her bearings. The last couple of weeks, the intense feeling he'd created, within her, had become stronger, throwing everything off balance, and she couldn't understand why.

She only knew she couldn't shake the feeling things were about to change.

She could still see his face, clear as day in her mind. She hadn't seen him since a few weeks before that fateful day—yet she could still see his face. And not as it had been but as he was—now.

After a while, she finally managed to drift back to sleep. But she'd no sooner done so when she woke with a start.

She could feel Justice, as clearly as if he were standing in her room....

The bonds between them were stronger than ever. He was in Chicago. She could feel him. It unnerved her. She'd been dealing with her connection with him her entire life, but it still unnerved her. It was so strong now that she'd swear she could hear his heartbeat.

Why did she feel him so keenly?

She sensed others too but never as strongly as she sensed Justice now. The power between them pulled at her, more powerful than ever before.

How would get clear of him? How could she break herself free from him when the closer she came to him—the more power he had over her?

She glanced at the clock. It was 3:00 a.m. What he could he possibly be doing up at three in the morning. She felt like....

Her gaze flew to the shadows of her room. He sat, there, in the darkest recess.

Goosebumps raced up her arms. She opened her mouth. She wanted to scream, but fear paralyzed her. Fear—and something else.

No. She quickly realized—it wasn't fear at all.

She was actually _happy_ to see him.

Her breath lodged in her throat. He didn't move. Every sense in her body heightened—electrified to his every breath. But he didn't move. She felt heady with emotion, giddy with unnamed desire. She couldn't fathom why she'd feel this way—for a killer.

That thought gave her back some of her control. Control she needed over her runaway emotions—it would seem—and over her body.

That's it, Jes, she told herself. Keep reminding yourself of who he is. He fooled you once—he'll never do so again.

After a moment, her heart slowed a tad. "What are you doing here, murderer?" she asked in a voice much more steady than she felt. She knew he could feel her, smell her blood the way she could smell his.

Hell, she felt his heartbeat as surely as she felt her own.

She could smell everyone's blood. It had been that way since she'd come into her power. No wonder the smell of blood drove a blood-thirsty killer crazy for the feast.

Her heart picked up another notch.

"Relax," he said in a low voice. "I didn't come here to scare you to death."

"No," she snarled, "more likely to eat me to death."

He laughed. "It's a thought."

More goose bumps swept up her back. This time they had nothing to do with fear. A new round of alarm filled her veins when she realized she felt pure—desire. And she couldn't seem to keep those feelings at bay.

She sat up in panic. "Talk to yourself, Jes," she commanded in a whisper. "Talk some logic into your stupid head." How on earth could she feel desire for a monster? He was a killer. He was pure animal—murderer. She could never feel desire for such a beast.

There—yeah—that worked. Some....

He stepped forward as if he could read her mind. Oh, Goddess, he couldn't read her mind, could he? She'd spent the last fifteen years hating this man for killing those boys, even if he _had_ killed gangbangers. The Jaguar People were about teaching—protection. They were here to help the humans—not contribute to making them extinct. He was a killer. He might think he was doing justice....

She laughed out loud. Did he really think he was doing justice?

She felt him scowl.

In the next instant, he pounced on her. He covered her lips in a brutal kiss before she could even think to scream. She clawed at him, hit him, but to no avail, and then she lost all sense of what was happening. The next thing she realized—she kissed him back.

She kissed—a killer.

She kissed Justice.

Oh, Goddess, how she'd missed him. She kissed Justice.

And Justice was a killer.

She started to struggle, but before she could put two thoughts together, he got up—and was gone.

She'd worked herself into a fever pitch by the time the sun rose the next morning. First, she paced, going over every possible, logical explanation of why she'd reacted to him the way she had.

When that didn't work—she told herself they'd been close. That she'd missed his sisters. Yeah—that was it. Mia was her best friend. They were the family she didn't have.

She turned around and went back in the other direction, not paying attention to where she headed in her frantic state. She quickly reached a wall and turned around again.

Well, the truth was she had family—but she'd been an only child, and her grandparents were quiet, subdued people, with their own life to lead, their own things to do.

She'd missed Justice's sisters. She'd felt abandoned when they all disappeared. That must be why she reacted to Justice the way she did. That _had_ to be why. Why else would she have missed him so much?

So, was she now admitting to missing him?

Jes shook her head. If that were true, there could be no help for her, now.

By the time the sun broke the sky, she was busy pouring over historical writings of her family, and the Jaguar People as a whole, which her grandparents handed down to her. She couldn't remember the first three years, or so, of her life. Then, her parents disappeared when she was a teen. She knew something happened when she was young—and wondered if it had anything to do with why they disappeared

Something always stopped her from getting too close, whenever she started to remember when she was a small child, a time that was completely missing from her memory bank. A time that she assumed was because she'd been too young to remember.

When she'd been eighteen, or so, she tried to approach her grandparents about it. They wouldn't talk about it—which only made her more suspicious. Something about it didn't set well with her. She couldn't get anyone to tell her what was going on. And, boy, had she tried.

Because of this, she'd never unravel this mystery either, any more than the one that surrounded Justice and his sister's disappearance—or both of their parents. Still, she kept trying, until her grandmother finally became upset with her. Then, she'd begun to look around more quietly, not so openly—or vocally.

Maybe the detective in her wouldn't let her let it go, but she wouldn't stop until she knew.

Now, she had a new mystery to unravel. And she wouldn't rest until she'd figured out why she'd kissed that him back.

What was she thinking?

She slid her finger down one of the ancient, hand-written books—a book that was written much like a Book of Shadows. She was reading from it when a fresh round of goosebumps swept over her arms and back. Her hand flew to cover her mouth, and she shook her head back-and-forth as if she could make it go away.

It didn't. And you couldn't unlearn a thing once you knew it.

A member of the Jaguar People could mate with a human, but only at a price. What price? She couldn't be sure. But if one found their true mate, they'd be able to sense them from miles away. They could also smell their blood more keenly than that of any human—which said a lot.

And they could read each other, hear one another's every thought.

She hadn't been able to hear his thoughts, last night, she told herself. She'd only heard silence. She sat straight.

"He kept his them blank," she nearly yelled out loud.

And _read her every thought_.

Her face went up in flames. Then, she realized what she'd been thinking.

Justice was her mate, whether she liked it or not!

As soon as Jes came to that awful conclusion, she got into her car and headed west. She'd never yelled at her grandparents in her life—and she wouldn't start now. But she wanted answers, and she would have some.

When she got there and sat before them, she stared at them, unable to ask, suddenly afraid to hear the answers, to know for sure. Suddenly, she was unprepared for how they'd react.

When she finally did, they both sat there, staring back at her—and looking mutinous.

Yes, mutinous was a good word for it.

They'd looked at each other, as if they'd swallowed something bad, looking green, and—mutinous.

"Out with it!" she demanded. Her grandfather shook his head at her grandmother. "Poppie!" she nearly yelled. "Spill it."

Her grandmother's shoulders hunched down like a great weight pressed upon them. She couldn't imagine what they kept from her, but whatever it was—it didn't look good....

Finally, her grandfather spoke. "Jes," he nearly whispered. "I cannot.... _We_ —cannot—tell you what we don't know. There's much we can only guess at—but..."

She shivered. "What is it, Poppie?"

"Your papa." He took a deep breath as if it were too difficult to go on. "He disappeared when you were..."

"Fourteen years old," she finished for him.

"At the same time," he stopped and took another deep breath, "as Justice's parents disappeared from him."

She took a deep breath. "What does that have to do with us?"

Her grandmother folded her hands in her lap, looking at them. "Justice's father," she looked at her granddaughter, "was your father's best friend."

Jes frowned. "Okay, I know that. I grew up with them... I still don't understand...." She shook her head in denial. "I don't see what this has to do with me..."

Her grandmother frowned at her. It wasn't like her to deny what she was hearing.

"Jes, dear," she said. "They were together for a reason. That reason has something to do with why they disappeared together." She shook her head in mute appeal. "But we don't know why. We don't know what happened to cause them to go into hiding. We can speculate. But we don't have the foggiest notion why."

"I figured that out. And," Jes stopped. She sniffed. Her head throbbed. She put her hand up and rubbed her forehead. She didn't like this. She didn't like this at all. She finally looked at her grandmother. "Why can I sense him like this? Why have I always been able to—sense him like this?" There. She'd asked the question. But she didn't want to hear the answer.

"Why, for the same reason I can sense your grandfather, dear. Didn't your mother explain this to you?"

She shook her head—her mind screaming at her. "No. She didn't." She looked at her grandmother with pleading eyes. "If she knew why Justice and I had this—strong bond—then why didn't she?"

Her grandmother looked back at her—her eyes full of worry. "I can't imagine, child."

Jes didn't want to examine the full implications of what her grandparents were trying to say to her. She'd been afraid of this. She shook her head again, denying the obvious conclusions. She didn't understand what made the boy she loved—change so much.

How could she be connected to him in this way? The passion she felt for Justice last night.... Well, it floored her.

She pressed her hands to her temples again. She couldn't seem to think her way out of a wet paper bag today.

She'd never felt like this with anyone. Not ever. What was she going to do? How could she go back to her what she'd known? It felt as if her life never truly existed—until now.

He changed everything.

And she knew she couldn't go back.

She didn't know how she'd ever gone this long without him—when being near him upended her entire world—again.

How did she manage when she'd only been a young woman—coming into the first throes of womanhood? How did she manage to live without him—without her parents? And then without her friends, who were more like sisters? And then to lose them all at the same time?

Jes wasn't one for denial. It was the cowardly way out—pretending things didn't exist—because you didn't like the answers....

But she wanted to deny this. She wanted to deny this so bad.

How could she ever go back to her life? Yet, she could never go forward with Justice either—as such a cold-blooded, murdering killer.

Her eyes pleaded with her grandmother to take back what she'd revealed. Her grandmother looked back at her with sympathy. Her grandmother knew her, better than anyone. Jes knew she could see her granddaughter struggled with the implications of what she learned.

But she couldn't take it back. Justice was Jes's mate. And nothing could change that.

CHAPTER TEN

LUCIUS

**Lucius sat in the comfortable chair behind a beautiful, mahogany desk in Conrad's office.** At least ten minutes ago, Micah had come in and sat in the plush, leather office chair across from him. He'd waited patiently for him to say what bugged him. When he didn't, he eyed Micah. It wasn't like Micah not to be readily forthcoming. "You look troubled," he finally said.

Not anyone knew Micah well enough to know when he was troubled, but Micah had been with Lucius a long time.

A few thousand years, long.

Even so, Micah didn't answer as quickly as Lucius would have liked, given their situation.

Micah looked out the window, seemed to watch the comings and goings of Second Chances, across the way. Finally, he glanced at Lucius. "Does Justice know we're here, yet?" Micah asked.

Lucius nodded in answer.

Micah's lips flattened a bit at that, but otherwise showed no outward sign of his distress at this news. He sat there, looking at Lucius for several long moments, in which Lucius said nothing.

He waited. He knew Micah would only speak when ready.

Micah frowned. Apparently, he needed to spill it sooner. That couldn't be good. That meant what bothered him was time sensitive.

Yet, still, Lucius waited.

"Mira's going to meet her sister," Micah said.

Lucius stilled. What did that mean? "She's gone to see her before," he said.

Micah sighed, showing the only emotion he let come to the surface—frustration. "Not as her _sister,_ she hasn't," Micah said.

Lucius frowned. "Tell me you're saying what I think you are saying," he said.

"I'm saying exactly that," Micah answered. "And there's more."

Lucius silver brows shot up, but he waited.

"Dracon has her other sisters," Micah said.

Lucius frowned, now. "I thought she's been missing—what—since she was a child—when they all were split up."

Micah nodded. "Yes. But it would seem, the one who should not be named found her and sent her to Justice, as a message."

Lucius sat forward in his chair. Things rarely surprised Lucius. This did. And he didn't like what it implied. "Tell me he didn't...."

Micah shook his head. "It would seem that's _exactly_ what he did."

"Does Justice know?" Lucius said.

Again, Micah shook his head. "He knows she's been turned, but he has no idea by whom," Micah stood and went to pour them both a drink, from the beautiful crystal, decanter set, Conrad kept on a dark, mahogany shelf. "She has been sent to Dracon."

Lucius nodded his approval, as Micah set the aged whiskey before him. He didn't drink often, but he appreciated the best when he did. And Conrad only kept the best in his private stash. "That's good. There's much she'll have to learn if she's to control her hunger. "He got up from his chair and walked around the desk. "Constantine has sent Justice quite the message," he said.

Micah frowned at this. "So, it would seem."

"He knew exactly how to deal Justice the worst possible blow. He has turned a sister and messed with the sister's true power in the process. A pretty brilliant strategy."

Micah nodded. "When it comes to war, he is a master. There likely isn't a battle plan he hasn't seen. But there's still one thing he might not have accounted for."

Lucius smiled, placing a finger to his lips. "Shhh," he said.

Micah grinned. "Okay, so how do we use this to our advantage?"

Lucius walked back around the desk and sat back in the black leather chair. "We let Mira do what her heart is compelling her to do."

Micah's dark brows shot up as understanding dawned. "You mean—let Mira help Jes to remember...."

Lucius smiled. "Get Roman to take you through one of his doorways back to the _Gargoyle_ Mansion," he said, wincing at the name Mira dubbed their beautiful stone mansion. She'd done so because of the life-like Gargoyles that sat both inside and outside the mansion.

"Bite your tongue," Micah said.

Lucius couldn't help but grin at that, though grinning did not come naturally to him, and he did so rarely. But he knew Micah didn't refer to the Gargoyle mansion, but to the mystical doorways, Roman erected for them to step between one place and another. "You can always fly a thousand miles back to Denver," he said, grinning, again, at the look on Micah's face. "That's what I thought." He got out a pad and pen from the desk drawer. "Get the old medicine man to work his magick to help out Dracon with her other sister."

"An excellent idea," Micah said. "And you will fill in Justice...?"

"And make him want to draw out what's-his-face?" Lucius started to shake his head.

"He has to know, Lucius," Micah said.

"What purpose could it serve? She's vampire now, and she cannot be changed back. She has to learn to live with it."

"You said yourself he sends Justice a message." Micah reminded him. "And Justice can't get the meaning behind that message without knowing _who_ changed her—and why."

Lucius tapped the pen against the pad several times before he finally answered. "It would seem you better find someone who can find Amar."

Micah actually looked surprised. "Amar?"

"Yes," Lucius answered. "You will need her help with introducing the sisters to Dara."

Micah looked as though someone punched him. "Dara?"

Lucius couldn't help but feel some shame. He knew he'd been sworn to secrecy, but he'd always hated keeping secrets from the ones he considered as family.

But he could see the truth in Micah's dark eyes. "It's okay, brother," Micah used the term that spoke of the bond built between them. They did not share blood. This bond had been forged. "You would have never kept such a secret unless you were bound by oath—and did so to save her life."

Lucius couldn't hide the relief he felt, though he'd lived much too long to let it show.

"So, we find Amar," Micah said. "And you'll speak to Justice—before someone else speaks of it to Dracon," he said quietly.

"Dracon?" Lucius frowned. "Indeed. He'll be much more difficult to control than Justice when he learns who's behind this. It's one thing to know she's been turned, quite another that he's turned her for such an insidious plan."

"I couldn't blame Dracon for what he'd try to do to him. I couldn't blame either of them," Micah said. "It's all I can do not to go after him myself."

"That's an emotional response," Lucius warned. "And one that makes humans do some amazing and honorable things. But these things would be pure folly with this one."

Micah frowned. "Indeed."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JES

**Jes watched her grandmother** cross the room to set down the tray of lemonade. She'd wanted to leave. The information she'd already learned churned inside of her, spinning like a blender, mixing everything together—until she couldn't tell the difference between one thing and another—until nothing at all made sense.

She didn't know what else her grandmother had in store for her, but she knew she wouldn't like it. She already felt frustrated enough, and she didn't want to hear anymore.

But Jes knew her grandmother wasn't done with her yet, and she wasn't about to leave until she'd learned everything.

She was right. Her grandmother did have yet another shock in store for her.

Her grandmother took her time pouring Jes a glass of lemonade. She seemed to contemplate what she wanted to say. She sat in the comfortable chair across from Jes, her gaze intent.

"What is it, Nanna?" Jes asked, becoming more and more alarmed.

"Granddaughter," her grandmother shook her head slightly, "I know you've received more than your share of surprises these past few years. But I need to ask you something...." She folded her hands in front of her. Her skin unwrinkled, her hair still a glossy brown, she sat as one of the regal Jaguar People. She'd likely live to old age, even so, as a beautiful woman, Jes thought.

Her lack of aging likely caused Jes to persist in calling her Nanna, though the Jaguar People didn't usually do so. She did so to remind herself, she actually was her grandmother. Jes spent too many years around the humans—not to get more than a little confused by her grandparents' lack of aging.

"Jes," her grandmother said, again. "I need to ask you about your powers...?"

Jes frowned at her. "I don't understand, Nanna. You were at my Coming of Age Ceremony when I took on my power...." She stopped because her grandmother shook her head.

"I'm not talking about your Jaguar form, child. I'm talking about you—as one of the Jaguar Witches."

Jes stared at her. "How did you know about that?"

Her grandmother laughed. "Only a witch can beget a witch," she said to Jes, as if that explained it all. "How do you think I know?"

Jes stared at her grandmother in shock. There's no end to the surprises today, she thought. But she didn't want to think about this right now. In fact, she didn't want to think of it at all. She tended to push away such unpleasant thoughts. "Why do you bring this up, Nanna?"

Her grandmother shook her head at Jes's obvious attempt to deflect her question. "What have you noticed, child?" she asked.

She didn't want to think about it, damn it. Why didn't her grandmother pick up the hint and leave it alone? She'd always gone to great lengths to avoid such thoughts. They were the ones she left buried deep within her conscious. She didn't want to answer her grandmother's question—but neither did she wish to disrespect her.

She shook her head, placing the fingers of her right hand to her temple. Her head hurt. "I don't know," she said, trying for a nonchalant tone to her voice. "I guess, around the age sixteen," she said, "I noticed the first thing."

Her grandmother wasn't making it easy for her. "What thing was that, dear?"

"I don't remember much," Jes said, trying to rein in her irritation. "I remember getting angry with some kids—and the next thing I knew—everything went flying. The other kids didn't know what to make of it, any more than me. We weren't outside—and no one opened the door. Nobody knew what happened—so they didn't connect it to me. And since they didn't connect it to me—or anyone else—they had no answer for what happened." She rambled now. But her head hurt—and it was fast getting worse. "They didn't want to think about something they couldn't explain. It scared them. So, it became one of those things no one talks about."

"Okay, so after that day, what happened next? How old were you, then?"

Jes stared hard at her grandmother. "Why are you doing this to me?" she asked, again.

Her grandmother gave her a level look—but her tone remained gentle. "Humor me, child."

Jes gave a great sigh of exasperation. "I don't know—I guess about six or nine months later. That time, I blew out the light bulbs. I was home—and I'd gotten irritated with the computer. I was glad I didn't blow _it_ up."

"And how do you keep from blowing out light bulbs—or computers—now? Or keeping things from—going flying?"

Jes folded her arms over her middle in a defensive gesture. "I neutralize the forward thrust of my emotions."

"Hmmm. So, this must have happened a few more times?"

Jes nodded. "Frequently, after that, until I learned to control them," she finished quietly. "I always tried to hide it from you."

Her grandmother gave her that look that grandmothers loved to give, but didn't say anything. "And what other things of this nature have happened? And why didn't you come to me?"

"I didn't come to you—because I didn't want to talk about it. Like, I don't want to talk about it, now," Jes said, with more than a little rancor and immediately apologized for her rude tone.

Her grandmother waved it away. "I don't mean to upset you, child. Your answers are important to me—for reasons I don't want to get into, at the moment."

Jes's gaze narrowed on her. After a long moment when it became apparent that her grandmother wouldn't leave it alone, she said, I—umm—can draw things to me—in the same way I can push them away. And I can—cause them to kind of—blow up...." She winced. "Not bad. Like a burst of forced air."

If this surprised her grandmother, she didn't show it. "I see. And you didn't think this important to talk about, either?" She waved away the retort Jes would have given. "Okay, Jes. We'll let it go, for now. But you're going to have to set your mind on talking about it again—and soon."

"Yes, Nanna," Jes said. But not too soon, she thought with some rebellion. And with that she hugged her grandmother, and left.

CHAPTER TWELVE

OPHELIA

**Ophelia handed Jasmine her bow** and did the same for Mia. She frowned at Mia, but Mia failed to notice. Something was bothering her sister, of late, and no matter what she did, she couldn't get her to talk about it.

They spent an hour and a half in practice, not their usual three hours. But Mia's heart wasn't in it. And Jasmine seemed every bit as concerned as she was.

They put away the rest of their equipment in silence, wrapping their bows in soft leather. Bows were their primary weapons. Even though they carried the same half Jaguar blood, like their brother, they also carried the same Starborne blood as Lucius.

Ophelia secretly felt that herein lay the true reason their parents were able to have four children, not that they got lucky—even though their mother carried the Jaguar blood.

But the sisters did not carry the part that made them actually shift into the Jaguar. Instead, they fought with a different power—the power of magick—and the grace and swiftness that made each one of them an extremely accurate—and deadly—foe.

They kept these powers well-honed, three hours of every single day. They rarely missed a day. In fact, they seemed to carry a need that ran within their blood, preventing them from being able to take a day off. C Like if they didn't use this power daily—they would burn up.

They—the three of them together—carried the power of the lightening that snaked across the sky—or the heat and abundant brilliance of the stars. And they needed the release they found in their daily practice.

Ophelia packed away the rest of her things and sat in one of the chairs against one of the walls of the training room to watch Mia. Several times, she caught Jasmine glancing over at her too.

She blinked, suddenly seeing them as the small children they'd been that fateful day, so many years before. They'd been walking down the backstreet alley, like every day before that, on their way to school....

The charge in the air felt almost palpable. Something in the air didn't feel right. Something didn't bode well—for any of them....

He'd known they were waiting for him. She sensed it. This wasn't the first time. Every day he waited for their attack. He'd annihilated their asses before, only to have them multiply, and still he beat them back. Anyone else would have left him alone after that. But Justice knew their vendetta against him only become fueled with each successful lesson he'd been forced to teach—that each of these lessons merely made them hunger for his blood, even more....

Ophelia sucked in her breath. Confused, she looked around. She sat in the dirt. Jasmine and Mia were down on the ground with her, their anxious eyes staring deeply into hers as they patted her hands and face.

"Ophelia," Jasmine said, "are you with us?"

Ophelia took a trembling breath. "Yes," she answered.

Her sisters helped her to get to her feet.

"That day, again?" Jasmine asked.

"The same," Ophelia answered. She wanted a moment to gather herself, but her sisters stuck close to her side.

"Why do you think you keep reliving it?" Jasmine asked, worried.

Ophelia shook her head. "I wish I knew."

When they reached the car, she tried to shake off these dark memories, as she put her bow away. They needed to talk to Mia about what bothered her—not talk about old memories, long dead, from long ago....

Determined, she pushed her thoughts of the past aside. There were more important to worry about. They needed to get Mia to tell them about what caused _her_ nightmares. They needed to get her to talk about what bothered her.

But the closer they came, the more she'd mutter something about it being her dreams.

That only alarmed them more. Often when Mia dreamed something, it turned out to be important. But whatever that something was, she'd decided it wasn't in their best interest to know.

Ophelia fidgeted with the hem on her jacket. She didn't like the implications of that. Not at all. Because that would mean her sister had decided, whatever she'd seen in her dream, in her vision, she deeply believed she couldn't change.

And Ophelia knew by the way Mia acted—it couldn't be good.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

JES

**Jes was sitting in her best friend's living room,** holding a cup of coffee, heavily laden with French Vanilla crème, between her hands, and babbling incoherently about Justice.

Or so her friend accused her.

"You're not making any sense, Jes," Katherine complained to her.

Frustrated, Jes started over, and made an honest attempt at slowing down—filling in the blanks. She watched Kat's eyes go from amazed, to shocked, to floored by the end of her story.

Kat was of the Jaguar People, so that was a plus, and she was happily mated to her true mate, another plus, but Jes never told her about Justice. And Kat wasn't sympathizing with Jes for keeping that a secret from her—or for Jes calling her mate a monster.

Not at all.

"How could you say that?!" Kat said in exasperation.

"How can you not!" Jes shot back at her.

"Jes," Kat rubbed the bridge of her nose and tried again. "He's your life mate. You are tied to him for all eternity. You can't sell him up the river." She got up from where she'd been seated on the floor in front of the coffee table. "How could you have kept this from me all these years?"

"I'm sorry," Jes said quietly. "It—hurt." She looked at her friend. "I missed them all so much. And he murdered those kids... I felt like I didn't know him at all."

Her friend came to sit beside her—and hugged her. "I'm so sorry, Jes. It must have been difficult, having them all disappear like that." She considered her friend's eyes. "Then, having nearly everyone you loved—and trusted—well, save for your grandparents—disappear, too, and all on the same day," she said.

Jes sniffed, wishing Kat wouldn't be quite so understanding. It made her want to cry. "I don't know what I would have done without them," she agreed. "But Justice—," she looked at her friend and stressed, " _is_ a murderer."

"Jes, you can't be serious! How can you say things like that—and about your own life mate?"

"I—just _can_. Because it's the _truth_. He's a _murderer_."

"He is an Ancient One—who hears the ancient call!"

"The hell you say!"

Jes heard of such ones—the ones who hunted those who murdered. She'd even said as much to Jared—but she didn't really believe in such things—at least not nowadays. Maybe there had once been a place for them—way back in history—but not anymore. There wasn't any excuse for being a _vigilante_.

"Jes!"

Jes sighed. "Okay, okay. I take that back."

Kat dimpled. "Jes, you must give him a chance to explain. Do not assume anything. Not one thing. Please. You must hear me on this."

Jes's gaze narrowed on her friend. She knew her friend—knew her well. "What are you hiding?"

Kat shrugged, raising her brows and giving a sheepish smile.

"Spill it," Jes growled.

Laughing, Kat shook her head. "I cannot. I'm bound by the code of the parliament. It is my position. I cannot violate it. You know that."

Frustrated, Jes chewed on her lip. "Can you give me a clue?"

Kat sighed. She sat there, deep in thought for a moment and shook her head. "I can see nothing that would not violate my oath. But I can tell you this. There is a book that can."

Jes was intrigued. "What book?"

But, once again, Kat only shook her head.

She was still shaking her head, to nearly every question when Jes left.

Jes didn't sleep much that night. She tossed and turned. She doubted she'd ever be able to sleep well again. When she did sleep, she slept fitfully, and when she woke, it was still dark.

She could feel him. She could feel him as clearly as she could feel herself. She could hear his heartbeat. And—she could smell the scent of him, like as she could smell anyone else, but unlike anyone else—she was aroused by his scent.

He was in her room again.

"Are you going to show up this way every night, now?" she asked without preamble.

"Perhaps," he said.

"Why?" There wasn't anger in her voice. She was just sleepy. And she didn't know what to do about the whole situation. She didn't know what to do about how she felt every time she was near him, asleep or not. She watched him for a moment, peering into the dark, trying to see him better.

"Don't you know?"

She swallowed.

"Yes. I can see that you do. But you don't like it much." He shifted. "If it helps any—neither do I."

For some reason, that did anger Jes. She should have been relieved. But relief was not what she felt. Not at all. She hadn't liked the sound of that. "Then, why show up here?"

He laughed. "I see you fight yourself." He strode to her bed. "You're not immune, after all. I'm glad to see it."

She scrambled to the other side of the bed like the cat she was, setting herself on all fours, ready to tear up the sheets—and his face _with_ them.

He laughed again.

She didn't like that either.

He leaped across the bed in a flash, so fast it was a blur. One moment she was ready to fight, the next she was gathered in his arms—feeling as like she'd known his touch forever.

In desperation, she blurted out. "Our parents disappeared at the same time."

_That_ got his attention.

He let her go, sitting up. "What did you say? I didn't know you knew that."

She sighed, half in relief, half in regret. "Well I know. Our parents disappeared at the same time, and for the same reason." She looked at him. Something in his eyes made her gut wrench with pain. "Our fathers were best friends.... They disappeared for the same reason."

His eyes clouded with what looked like rage—or pain—right before the shutters went down, and she saw no more. She'd expected the rage—but why would a killer have so much pain in his eyes?

He sat there, still as stone. She wanted to shake him. She should be able to read his thoughts. Couldn't he read hers? Why did she always get a blank slate?

"Because I have learned to shield my thoughts from others," he answered automatically.

She frowned. She was going to have to learn how to do that.

"Well, then," he said out loud. "It looks like but we have some work to do. We've some things to find out. We're going to have to make a trip—together."

She shook her head at the thought. "Oh, no," she shook her head, again. "No. I'm not going anywhere with you—so you can get that thought out of your head, right now."

He didn't answer. She tried again to listen to his thoughts—nothing—damn.

He almost smiled. She saw the beginnings of one, teasing at the corners of his lips.

"Yes," he said, "you are."

She frowned. She already forgot what they were talking about. Why was she so easily distracted by him? When she remembered, she shook her head, yet again. "No, I'm not. So, you can forget it."

He sprang forward and had gathered her back into his arms before she could think to react. Where had he gotten such reflexes? He made hers look tame in comparison.

He touched the end of her nose with a finger and gave her a light, chaste kiss on her lips. "Yes, you are. And you'll want to go because now the postcard I received last year begins to make sense."

"What postcard?" She was intrigued despite herself.

"The one I received with some cryptic message saying the three of them were fine. It said we weren't supposed to look for them."

She frowned. "Three of them?"

"Hmmm," he said. "Apparently, one of them is not fine."

Her gut clenched. That didn't bode well. She might have lost a parent, and hadn't known it all this time. Tears sprang to her eyes.

"When did, your parents disappear?" he questioned, his tone gentle.

"Right after we went to your murder scene," she snarled, struggling to break loose.

He let her go, frowning—the shutters going down on his expression, once more. She almost regretted her outburst.

Almost.

Then, she remembered the bloody, sliced-up bodies, lying in the alley. "Are you going to deny that was you?" She backed out of his reach. "Are you going to deny killing those young men?"

He shook his head. Was that regret? Had his mask actually slipped, for a second there?

He got up and headed for the door. "Be ready at midnight. It will be a fast trip. I have deadlines to meet, but I will have answers, first." His tone held menace that ran shivers up her spine.

She stared at him.

How could she go anywhere with a killer?

But how could she not? Especially when Kat spoke of a book that could tell her everything.

She said this, now. She didn't know why she told him. It wasn't like her to do so. But she felt it important, and she always trusted her instincts.

He frowned as she told him, but it was the only indication he gave as to his thoughts. If it concerned him, he gave no indication.

He simply y reminded her to be ready by midnight.

She was still arguing with herself, an hour later when she packed. She called her partner, giving him an excuse for her disappearance for the next couple of days. He wasn't happy. She didn't blame him. He didn't know Justice. And—well, what he did know was she believed Justice to be a murderer. Even if Jared had argued on Justice's behalf when she should have been the one to do so.

Still, she was the one who believed Justice a murderer. Now, she was going off with him. He didn't think it was smart.

Neither did Jes.

Jes zipped her bag and lifted it off the bed. What was she thinking, anyway—going anywhere with this man? But how could she not? He held clues to her parents' disappearance. Apparently—to both of their parents' disappearances.

They were about to maybe, _finally_ , get some answers. How could both sets of parents disappear at the same time? She needed those answers. She needed to know what had happened to her parents.

Jes yanked out the handle to her suitcase and rolled it to the front door. She stared at it, sinking onto an overstuffed chair, not seeing. Whatever happened, whatever it was. it couldn't be good.

She frowned. She didn't believe in coincidences.

And it was a mighty strange coincidence, wasn't it, that a fourteen-year-old boy had been forced to transform—to take his jungle form so early in his life—when all the others had to wait to reach their majority? And to have two sets of parents disappear, right off the map, right after.

She shook her head, biting her lip. She didn't believe in coincidences. Especially when she was sure these occurrences were not a coincidence at all.

She frowned again, getting up and heading to the kitchen. Who could have known he could be forced to change so early? Or _had_ they known it could happen? Perhaps they hadn't been trying to get him to transform at all.... She stopped, mid-step. But that would mean—they were actually trying to kill him....

The thought made Jes tremble. She trembled so hard, she leaned on the counter, then moved to sit on one of the stools.

They'd nearly succeeded. But why would they do it? And why was she always so hard on him anyway? He'd been fourteen years old. Anyone would back him on what he'd had to do—and be upset with her for calling him a murderer.

But the Jaguar People were supposed to protect the humans—and he'd left her behind....

Tears stung her eyes and she stood, agitated. going to the cabinet for a glass to get some water. Trembling, she nearly dropped the glass in the sink. Okay, she would admit, maybe she didn't have a problem with him defending himself. Maybe, she'd felt betrayed.

No, she thought. It couldn't be that easy _._ She'd been hunting him for years _. She'd hone to college for this._

Resolutely, she turned her attention back to who might have been trying to kill him in the first place. Had they been sent to do so?

That couldn't be right. That couldn't have been what they were trying to do. Yes, the gangbangers would have been up for it. They hated him. But why would someone want to hire them to do such a thing?

Justice wasn't the only one determined to get some answers. She was as determined to find her parents as he was to find his. And why shouldn't they be? Anyone would—wouldn't they?

Or was she making excuses to go with him?

No. She was sure anyone in her position would do the same. So, she'd go.

But why midnight?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

JUSTICE

**Justice gripped the wheel,** glancing out the corner of his eye at his life mate. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He didn't need to. In fact, he didn't have time. Yet, he felt compelled.

He and his sisters banked on this, on finding their opportunity—their chance. This time with Jes was essential. He needed to get through to her. He couldn't bear her hate.

He couldn't take it. He could take his own, or anyone else's, for what he'd done. But not hers.

He needed time for her to realize she was his life-mate—and without her.... Well, she may as well take the air he breathed. He'd been forced to leave her once. He'd never do so again. Especially after seeing her walk toward him—make that stalk toward him—gloriously stark naked.

He may have had no choice but to leave her the first time, all those years ago—but to have to do so, again, the other night....

But he couldn't take her with him, right then. Not with that human standing there watching him. And not with the terrible things Jes was thinking about him.

He looked over at her, now. She hadn't said a word since they'd started driving. He wished she'd say something—anything. But she hadn't said a word. However, she _did_ continue to think those hateful thoughts. He bit off a snarl, staring straight ahead at the road. And she _did_ continue to judge him for what had taken place that day.

It wasn't helping him, right now, that he could read her mind. Not with as often as she seemed determined to think it, which was most of the time

He didn't understand women—even when he _knew_ what they were thinking.

It was more than a thousand miles to Colorado, and he had driven her over halfway there, without saying a single word to her. He could feel her watching him. She didn't try to hide it. It wouldn't have done any good to pretend. He'd have known—no matter how she tried to hide it.

She didn't try to hide her thoughts from him, either. He didn't think she'd have the faintest clue how to do so, anyway. She watched him now, half leaning against the pickup door to do so. He finally stopped staring straight ahead at the road, as if he was ignoring her, and actually looked at her.

She frowned. "When, exactly, did your parents disappear?"

It was his turn to frown. "They didn't come to the hospital. And they were gone when I got out. They had changed a lot—but not so much that they wouldn't have come to the hospital to see me—so I assumed they didn't come because they couldn't. Not that it made much difference. They were gone long before. That was only the day they _physically_ left."

She chewed on her lip, absorbing that. "What do you mean they left long before that?"

He half-shrugged. "Something happened long before that day," he muttered. "Something took them away from me and my sisters, years before. One day, we were a close family—doing things that all families do. The next, they weren't there anymore—stopped paying attention anymore. It was as if they became a shell of who they'd been."

She cocked her head to one side, thinking about what he'd revealed. "When, exactly, did they change?"

He did look at her and he frowned again. "I suppose, a few years before. They had a business. We were doing well. Then, one day, it was all gone. Along with it went the loving parents we'd always known." He stared ahead at the road. "It was like, in their place was a replica of the people they'd been. They looked the same—but nothing about them was the same. I was too young to understand happened to them. Heck, I still don't know. By the time, I started to figure it out, all hell broke loose. Then, they disappeared...."

Jes frowned again at this. "I don't believe in coincidences."

He nodded. "I never thought too much about it—but neither do I."

She abruptly changed the subject. "Why midnight?"

He actually grinned at her. She glared at him.

He turned and gave her a quick look of appraisal before returning his gaze to the road. "Because it would make your head churn around with ideas of what it could possibly mean."

She gasped. "You set me up?"

He grinned openly.

"Okay," she gave him a reluctant smile. "I asked for that—with all my high-and-mighty judgments. But watch your back."

He seemed surprised at her honesty—her frank appraisal of her hostility against him. Some hidden tension seemed to leave him.

After a moment, she asked. "How do you do it?" She turned and looked at him. "Get into my apartment, I mean?"

He grinned. "I've been waiting for you to ask that."

She glared at him.

It only made him give her a playfully lecherous look. After a moment, he sobered. "I've had years of experience breaking into places people don't want me to be, Jes."

She dropped her gaze to her lap, fidgeting with her fingers. She took a deep breath, scared to hear the answer to her next question. "What happened to you that day?"

He turned his head, but looked right through her, this time. "Nothing I care to talk about."

And that was it. He didn't talk for the rest of the trip, to the tiny town in the mountains southwest of Colorado Springs.

When they got there, they stayed at the only motel they could find. He rented them separate rooms, and they slept through until nearly noon the next day.

They didn't know what they were looking for, so they settled on some late breakfast at a cozy little café. The waitress brought them coffee and menus. They sat there, poring through the list of homemade this and that, and finally ordered.

Jes waited until she'd written their orders on her little tablet, and since they didn't have a single other place to start, she asked the waitress if she'd ever seen anyone around fitting Justice's parent's description. His father had an unusual look to him, with light eyes, light hair, and light skin. The humans would have said he looked albino. Recognition dawned in the waitress's eyes.

Jes felt Justice go tight with realization.

The waitress turned to stare at Justice. Her gaze narrowed on his face. Her eyes widened, and she told them to wait there a minute, she had something for them, and she left toward the back. When she returned, she brought Jes a leather-bound journal. "I can save you the time asking all over town," she said. She looked at Justice. "I should have recognized you straight off. You're exactly how she described you. Your mom...."

Justice glared at her in fury. The look he gave her would have warned most to hold their tongues, but the waitress smiled kindly at him.

"Your momma told me all about you. Each of you. She came with your father every day. She left the journal here because we're the only café in town. She said that if you ever came looking, you'd wind up here—if only to eat—and so you have." She laughed. She gave him an entreating look. "She was the one who sent you that cryptic postcard." She dropped her voice to a near-whisper. "She didn't dare do anything else." Her whisper was frantic now, and she leaned in toward him. "I think the postcard put them in danger because they disappeared after that."

When Jes and Justice finally left the café, they were too stunned to speak. They got into the pickup and drove in silence. The waitress had said they wouldn't find anything more, in this little town, and they were too amazed to head straight home. Besides, they wanted to look at the leather-bound journal.... So, they headed back to the motel. When they got there, Justice parked. They sat there for several long moments—neither of them saying anything. Finally, Justice drug himself out of the truck.

When they got to one of the rooms, Jes set it on the bed, and they both stared at it.

It was tooled leather, beautifully bound. And it might be from Justice's mother, but it was the first real clue they had about that day, and they both knew it.

Finally, Justice looked at Jes. "I can't. Will you?"

Jes nodded, swallowing. She picked it up with trembling hands, and opened it to the first page. Looking down, her eyes filled full of tears as she read out loud to Justice.

"Dear Children," she read, sinking to the bed. Justice had followed her, laying there zero facing her. She swallowed and forced herself to concentrate on her reading. "If you have this journal, it means you've found your way to this little town near the Garden of the Gods and beyond. I hope this finds you well. It's in my deepest prayers to the Goddess that she watch over all of you—including Jes."

At this point, Jes sucked in a breath, choking on her tears, and stumbled over the use of her name. She looked at Justice, wide-eyed, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. Looking back at the journal, she went on....

"Justice, you must be careful. I took a chance, leading you here. I dearly hope Jes is with you." She glanced at Justice, at this. His gaze was soft. She swallowed and quickly read on. "I will not risk your lives any more than I have now. It was too important to get this one warning to you, not to take this one risk. But you have no idea the danger you're in. And since I know you'll go back to Chicago, they will know. They'll all know. That's why I had to take this risk. I hope you'll forgive me. But Justice—they'll be following you....

"So, I've written you as much as I can here, in hopes that you'll understand what's taken place—and why we had to leave. I know you've planned carefully—you and your sisters—as we taught you. All of you training, every single day, for what will take place...." Jes looked up at that point, frowning. He only watched her steadily, so she went back to reading. "But the time has come. As I know you are fully aware.

"Son, your father and I must have seemed very different to you and your sisters—long before we left. I am sorry for this. Things got difficult. There are still some things I must not speak of. I hope you'll understand—when this is through."

Jes stopped, looking at Justice, trying to gauge how he was taking his mother's words, so far. He nodded, so she went on.

She was surprised to read the next words were directed to her. "Jes," she read, "I'm afraid I must give you some heartbreaking news," she sucked in her breath, unable to go on.

Justice took the journal from her trembling hands. Taking her hand in his, he read. "Jes, I'm afraid I must give you some heartbreaking news," he reread. He squeezed her hand and read on. "I know how hard it must be, for all of you, to wonder what happened to us. I 'm sorry, dear. It will be most difficult for you to learn that your mother died that day.

The day the rest of us disappeared."

Jes sucked in her breath, as the blow of his mother's words hit her midsection, like a fist.

"Her death is one of the reasons we had to disappear...." His voice trailed off. He let his mother's journal fall to the bed, taking Jes into his arms while she cried her heart out, in deep, gulping sobs.

When she was spent, he put his arms around her, holding her close—and they slept.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

DRACON

**Dracon stood in front of his fireplace** in one of the larger rooms of the stone mansion of his people. He stood so still, he could have almost been made from stone. Almost. Dracon stood there waiting for one of the household to bring him the visitor they'd announced, moments before, his thoughts on the latest the woman who'd been turned over into his care, from their alliance with the Jaguar People—more specifically, from the hotline Justice set up with Conrad at Second Chances.

Dracon had a feeling his visitor, Lucius, was here for one reason—and that his reasons had everything to do with their latest addition to their ancient household.

It wasn't that she'd been turned, this latest young woman who'd joined their household, which bothered him. That always bothered him. No one should become a Vamp in such a way. It was—most disconcerting to wake and find your life changed. But it was criminal to find it changed so radically.

Most didn't know Vampires existed before they found their life, the life they'd known, brutally ripped from them. Then, to wake—hungry. And not a hunger like anything they'd ever known—but a hunger that drove every other thought from their mind—except for the smell of blood. A smell they could smell from some distance. Especially when they were newborn—a fledgling.

But something about this one nagged him.

He looked at his new visitor. He had the feeling he'd find out why. And instinct told him he wouldn't like it.

Lucius inclined his head to the old Vamp in a show of respect.

Dracon stood there, still not moving. Finally, he said, "I understand you're a friend of Justice?"

Lucius grunted. "Yes. But I understand you—are his brother.

"Nothing showed on Dracon's face. Nothing ever did. He had years to learn to control his emotions. It would seem the Starborne also learned to control his own. Dracon felt surprised by a rare moment of interest. He held out his hand to indicate a seat.

Lucius took the seat and waited as Dracon sat across from him. "Do the Starborne drink?" he asked.

Lucius smiled, then said, "Yes." But he held up a hand before Dracon could command a servant to bring him one. "But I know the Crow People do not."

Dracon actually smiled at that. Few knew the history of his people to such an extent. Lucius had a lot of knowledge. "So, what brings you out here?" Dracon said.

Lucius leaned forward slightly at this. "Well—it would seem you have Mira's sister."

Dracon could not have been more surprised. "Mira's sister?" Lucius nodded. "But that would mean...."

"She is also—Jes's sister," Lucius supplied.

Interesting. Dracon pondered this. Interesting indeed.

"Where is she now?" Lucius asked, glancing around at the marble floors and columns.

"We have been helping her—teaching her how to deal with her hunger," Dracon answered. "Teaching her the way of her new world—one she must live in now."

"She can never come home?" Lucius asked. Dracon nodded. "She can do so for periods of time—when she is ready. She can be with her sisters whenever she wants, but she cannot stay for long. Her world is too different. It would be too difficult for her. At least, right now."

Lucius grunted. "She will need to be readied—as soon as possible," he said.

Dracon's amber gaze narrowed on him. "Did you not hear what I told you?"

Lucius nodded. "Forgive me, but she must get ready as quickly as possible. She must train with her sisters—the Sisters of Three," he said.

Dracon took that in. He realized she'd need her sisters at some point. He needed to think on this. Finding out about the Sisters of Three changed things. He'd heard of legends of such sisters. He hadn't realized these sisters held a place of such value in the prophecy. But it fit. "Okay," he finally said, "but I've no idea how she can handle such hunger and train with them so early in her change."

"I have an idea," Lucius supplied. "It's something I know of with the Starborne. May I send Amar to her?"

Dracon grunted. Amar too. Finally, he nodded his assent. And Lucius took his leave.

For a long time, after Lucius left, Dracon stood at the window looking out at the darkening sky. He loved the night. But there was no surprise in that.

He wondered if Justice knew the sisters carried such a place in his prophecy. He wondered if the sisters even knew they carried such a place. This changed everything.

He felt something for Dara he hadn't felt in over a hundred years, for any woman. Would Justice let him keep her here, now?

He didn't have much of a choice.

She'd been turned. And she'd be more comfortable with others who dealt with the same things she now found herself dealing with—to deal with the hunger—to be able to feed. And, most of all, to learn how to survive in their world. After all, it was far different than the one she'd come from.

There were different rules—different laws. And some of these didn't allow for Dara to go off and do her own thing. The Elders kept track of their own. They would want an accounting. The only one who didn't follow these rules was too old, and battle wise, to control. He made his own rules. He followed his own laws.

That made him dangerous—and not only to their people. He was considered dangerous to the humans. He couldn't be controlled, and therefore, he'd become a threat to the Alliance.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

JES

**Jes woke first**. The moment she did, she knew Justice did, too. He quietly lay there, seeming to be waiting.

She lay there for some time, trying to get her bearings. She realized in that moment, that though they'd rented two rooms for the second night, neither of them had gone to the other one.

Instead, they'd slept the entire night curled up—together. She didn't know what to think about that—wasn't prepared to allow herself to censor how it had felt. It had felt too right—to want to ruin the feeling right now.

The moment she moved, she was aware that Justice watched her. She sat up to pick up the journal. She looked at him, and he nodded, sitting partway and running a hand through his hair. She knew he was aware of how much she needed to read on.

Justice sat there—watching her, as she searched for the place they'd left off, in their reading the night before. "You didn't have the answers we had, all these years. It must have been difficult for you—not knowing—not understanding. No matter what else happened, me and my sisters were always pretty aware of what took place...."

Jes stilled at his words, her eyes on the bed.

"We've been training all our lives," he said." We were always much too aware of the politics of our people, of the condition of our family. not to put the pieces together fairly quickly...."

She still didn't look up, but she nodded.

"You were pretty much left in the dark," he said. "It's one of the reasons I brought you here." He paused, and sat part way, leaning on his side. "I didn't need that journal. So far, my mother hasn't told me anything I hadn't already figured out. Well, except that your mother had died," he finished quietly.

She sniffed, and finally looked at him.

"I hadn't figured that one out," he said. "I didn't have any way of knowing anything like that had occurred." He sat up, now. "But the rest of it—our running—the fact that we're all in danger—that everyone knew I had returned to Chicago....

She studied his face. None of what his mother said was news to him, while she scrambled for every scrap of knowledge. He had known something of what was going on. But she hadn't.

She didn't have any idea why one day she'd climbed out of bed, and by the end of the day her whole world had blown up.

"You needed this," he said. "It was a bit dangerous...." He stopped. "Actually, it was crazy dangerous. I usually don't take these kinds of risks."

Her brow shot up, at that. "Then, why did you?"

"You're my mate," he said as if that explained everything.

She couldn't help the shiver of excitement that washed over her at his words.

He hadn't planned this, she thought.

No—this one he'd done straight from the heart.

She stared at the first line, from where she'd last let off. Read, she commanded. Before you do something crazy stupid.

She licked her bottom lip. "Jes," she read out loud. "I'm so very sorry, but I must not tell you who killed your mother. I think your knowing would place all of you in greater danger than you already are. Most especially you...," her voice trailed off. She shook her head. What on Earth did that mean? It was almost as if she were trying to tell Jes something.

She looked at Justice with a question in her eyes.

He'd sat up, upon hearing those words. She could see, he heard the warning too.

"Especially you...," his voice trailed off. "Jes, that sounds as though you know her killer...."

She nodded. "That's exactly what I was thinking," she said. "And it sounds as though, whoever my mother's...." She stopped and tried again. "Whoever my mother's...," she stumbled over the words again, "killer was—is someone I love and...," she looked into his darkened eyes, "—maybe someone I trust."

He gathered her into his arms.

Jes stiffened. Her mother had been murdered. And she was taking comfort in the arms of another murderer.

Justice pulled free from her and stood.

She wanted to take back her thoughts—but she couldn't. And they both knew why.

He headed toward the door to go to the other room. He turned back at the door. "Jes, I'm sorry about your mother." His gaze sought hers. She nodded. "You probably need to take that journal in—a little at a time. I'll bring your bag. Let's get cleaned up. It's a long drive back."

Jes only nodded again. She averted her gaze, and tried her best to keep her thoughts on something neutral.

Jes and Justice made the trip home in silence. The entire way, they hardly said a word. They were each deep within their own thoughts, and Jes, deep in her grief. Whenever they stopped, Justice bought her something to drink, and something to snack on, and she'd mumble her thanks.

She watched him when he looked her over, trying to determine if she were all right. He was sweet—for someone who.... She stopped that thought in its tracks because whenever these thoughts entered her head, she'd see him turn away in disgust—and something else.

She didn't try to read any more of the thick, leather-bound journal. She didn't know if she could take anymore, right now.

Who had killed her mother? And why did that put her in danger? Most of all—what could have happened that fateful day—all those years ago—to cause two families to go into hiding?

And why had they left their children behind?

"Perhaps," said Justice, musing out loud, as usual, reading her thoughts, "it was the only way to keep us out of danger," he nearly whispered the last—as if it were the first time that occurred to him.

Jes went back to looking out the window—remembering her mother.

She'd been a quiet woman, a good and gentle woman. She didn't say much, so when she did, she was usually heard by all—especially Jes's father.

But Jes remembered the last few weeks with her parents before they disappeared, and they hadn't been the usual, pleasant ones of her childhood.

Her parents fought. She remembered because she started to fear they'd divorce like so many other families she knew, around her. She didn't know what they were fighting over since they kept their arguments behind closed doors, and kept their voices low. She was only able to make out the heated, muffled sound of their whispers.

But nothing hid their anger.

She'd never heard her mother so angry. It frightened her. Her usually gentle mother had been furious with her father. And try as she might, she couldn't figure out why.

Jes was pulled out of her troubled memories when Justice took her hand. It was so easy to feel comforted by him. For once, she didn't follow that with her usual thoughts. Right now, she needed his comfort.

It was late when they reached Chicago. A thousand miles was a long way to drive, in one trip. Actually, it was a little more than a thousand, but who was counting. It was a damn long way.

He took her into her apartment, made sure she was safe, and headed for his own. She didn't question him, but let him drive away.

Justice wished she would have questioned him.

But, in truth, he had someone to deal with. Finding Jes didn't change that. He wished it did. But he could not stop what was about to happen—even if he wanted to.

Jes didn't begin to know the danger into which she'd put herself. He'd have to step up his plans if he were going to find a way to protect her, too. He wished he could have kept her out of the coming danger—but she'd placed herself right in the middle of it the moment she'd stepped into that gangbanger's house.

And it wasn't even that crew she needed to worry about.

It was a much bigger gang—one that caused both of their families to disappear that day that had always been the threat.

Jes's apartment was a full hour away from where Justice's sisters lived. When he reached it, he quietly let himself into Mia's house. He threw down his keys, and headed for the shower. He stood there, like that, in the shower, for half an hour—letting the water pelt over him. As if the water would wash away what happened. As if the water would wash away the sickness he felt.

And make them all clean again.

At the end of the half hour, he heard his sister quietly say his name from outside the door—as a question.

"I'm okay," he replied in a whisper, then repeated it louder so she could hear. A minute later, he heard her slippered feet take her back to bed.

How was he ever going to keep his sisters safe—and Jes? And, right now, he was afraid his mother was right, that Jes was in more danger than any of the rest of them.

Justice hadn't known Jes's mother died that day. But he figured out why their families left. He hadn't told Jes—yet. Somehow, somewhere in his head, he thought the knowing would make it all somehow—worse.

But it wouldn't change the facts. He feared she'd made herself visible. That fear planted a seed when she'd shown at Second Chances.

And that seed had taken root with his mother's warning.

If he was right, it would only be a matter of days before the gang put out the word that she'd have to go down. This particular crew feared Justice—more than they feared anyone.

They feared Justice because he hunted any member that went rogue—and he always got what he hunted.

But that wasn't the only reason they feared him—lately. Justice had a secret. He'd been raised with this secret—been schooled for it—conditioned for it—taught everything he'd need—for it.

And it led to two families going into hiding—to lead everyone away from—him.

He toweled himself briskly, getting dressed with efficient ease. His garb was like the ancient battle garb of his ancestors, and unlike anything anyone on Earth today had seen. But if anyone were to spot him, nowadays, anyway, he knew they'd assume he was in some kind of play, or had some other job that required him to dress in such an outlandish way.

His mind quickly followed the elusive thread that teased him all morning. Jes was now in danger because all these years, their crew couldn't track down his family—or hers. But when she went to that gangbanger—they might have figured it out.

Not that they didn't know who she was all this time. Those in power kept that under wraps for a reason.

But, now, she may have come under the watchful surveillance of the predators—those who'd gone rogue and didn't follow _anyone_ , save their own leaders.

Justice simply disappeared off the map. He'd made sure his sisters did the same—changed their identities—changed their pasts—changed their lives. He'd resurfaced only recently. And this particular gang wasn't too happy to learn that the enemy who hunted them, bringing down those who've actively gone rogue, was also the only one who could force them to deal with the Alliance.

But Jes...

Jes's grandparents had taken her in. And their position alone protected her—which was why those in power were able to protect her, keep those who rebelled from learning who she was—or keep them too fearful to do anything about it, if they were to stumble upon the truth.

Her grandparents wouldn't be happy to learn their daughter died that day. They were a force of their own to be reckoned with. And he didn't think they'd be too far behind him in figuring out how she'd died—and by whose hand.

He hoped he was wrong.

But Justice was seldom wrong.

He knew the moment they figured it out, there would be a war unlike anything the Earth had ever seen. A war that would make the entire human species acutely aware they were not alone on this planet—like they so obliviously thought they were.

Their entire existence would change because of it.

It was nearly time to come forward—a little sooner than any of them would have liked, true, but it was the only way to keep the world tipped toward balance.

And not chaos.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Mira

**Mira poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen with a newspaper.** There had been a lot of violence in the city of late. This city always had a lot of violence—but there was a lot more than usual of late. Which was why Justice decided to move them to one of the mansions owned by the Alliance. As she sat there reading the paper, she agreed with that decision.

Mira felt someone else enter the kitchen, but she didn't pay a whole lot of attention to who it was. They shared this house with a lot of people—not to mention all the people who went back and forth to the other two houses. It was getting to be ridiculous. As far as she was concerned, it was one more reason why they needed to go to the mansion Justice mentioned.

When the person, who entered the kitchen, sat across from her, setting down their cup of coffee, Mira looked up—and she jumped out of her chair so fast it went crashing to the floor.

" _Amar...!"_ she stammered.

"Hello, dear," her grandmother said, smiling.

"So, everyone was right—you're not dead," Mira mumbled.

Her grandmother grinned at her. "No, dear. I assure you, I'm very much alive."

"Cara—I mean—mom—told me as much—but I saw you die..."

Her grandmother laughed upon hearing this. "No, dear. You let your human upbringing convince you I'd died. But you should know that with magick—anything can happen." She picked up her cup and took a sip of her coffee. Looking at her granddaughter she said, "I simply moved into another dimension." She shook her head. "You saw us do something similar when we crossed into the Land of the Fae. Did it not occur to you that I might have done something like that?"

Mira nodded. It had occurred to her—and her grandmother was right—her human upbringing prevented her from seeing the truth in this. "I guess I was afraid to hope...."

Amar smiled at her, then shook an old, crooked finger at her. "You told Jes..."

It was Mira's turn to grin, causing Amar to give her a dark look. "Things have changed Amar—I mean— _grandmother,"_ her tone turned serious. "I _had_ to take a chance on her. It's important _Jes remember_ — _now—not later._ Time has run out. _"_

"Okay—granddaughter, you have made your point—for now," Amar said to her. "But when this is over, we will revisit this again."

Mira grinned at her. "So, is that why you're here?"

Amar nodded. "Yes." She took another sip of her coffee, blowing across the surface first. "I'm here to train the three of you."

"In the way of the wise?" Mira asked, suddenly excited.

Her grandmother nodded again. "And to help Jes to make this transition. There are some things that provide us with a magickal assist and might be of use in helping Jes regain her full memory."

Mira's mouth fell open—and she closed it. "And you waited until now?" Then, something else occurred to her before Amar could answer. "Wait! You could have helped _me to remember too?"_

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

JUSTICE

**Justice sat in Second Chances** for nearly two more hours—mulling over his thoughts. He considered their plans for talking to the isolated factions of rogue Vamps. The more of them they brought in, the better. They would be leaving soon—and the sooner the better.

His thoughts turned to Jes.

His Jes. He wished he never had to see her in battle—and knew he'd live to see that day, as surely as he was sitting here now. It didn't matter how he felt about it—it was destined to happen. He needed to accept it, or it would affect his own fighting, and that could be dangerous to all.

He must lead the people.

Conrad came over and took his empty glass, returning within moments with a refill. He sat across from Justice for a moment.

"So, you never told me what happened with that Vamp who was after our latest help-ad victim," he said after a moment.

Justice took a long sip from his new beer and set down his glass. "That one went much easier than expected. That Vamp had been stalking people around that part of the city, for some time. But my men were able to find him easily enough."

Conrad nodded. "Good. That poor girl was terrified out of her mind. He got her friend and was actually leaving notes...taunting her with crap about her being next." His eyes were dark with anger, almost to the point of turning black.

"It is what it is, isn't it?" Justice commented. "And yet it keeps getting more difficult with each victim."

Conrad stared at the tabletop. After a moment, he got up and went back to work, giving out drinks to the thirsty men and women in his tavern.

Justice watched him for a few moments, his thoughts returning to the last few years. He'd lost Jes once. He wouldn't do so again. He'd do whatever he could to protect her.

Now, he'd found her missing sister, but the circumstances were not ideal. Her sister would have to go with Dracon's people frequently, at first, until she learned to deal with her hunger. He didn't like that idea. But they could teach her much about that.

He knew Jes would be happy he'd found their lost sister. The power of three would be complete as soon as they did their ceremony. Justice also knew this gave Jes the added protection she needed.

For centuries, the Power of Three had been known—in many areas across the globe. The maiden, the mother and the crone were one example. The church also used it in the father, the son, and the Holy Spirit—or Holy Ghost—depending on who you talked to. The Three Fates was another example, well-known throughout time. And Justice knew the three sisters were stronger together than apart. The question was—at least until they dealt with these rogue factions of Vamps—how to go about getting the sisters together— _and keeping them that way._

Especially when one was—herself— _a Vamp._

CHAPTER NINETEEN

JES

**Jes stretched between her rose-colored sheets.** She'd been having the oddest dream, and it took her a moment to orient herself to her room. Being in several places, the last few days, tended to do that to her. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she found him sitting in a chair, watching her. Something told her this time was different. This time, he was there because he was afraid for her.

"What time is it?"

"About 5:00 a.m.," he said above a whisper.

"Do you ever sleep?"

"I average about four hours most nights."

She sat part-way, leaning on one elbow, peering at him. "How on Earth do you survive on four hours of sleep?"

He shrugged. "It's enough."

She sat all the way up now, aware his hot gaze followed her as she did so. It made her blood catch fire, and her breath came out in a whoosh from the force of it. She quickly changed the direction of her wayward thoughts.

"You're afraid for me," she accused him.

"You're afraid _of_ me." She saw the white of his teeth, knew he was grinning at her lecherously. She glared at him and he sobered.

"You're my mate, Jes," he said softly.

Her lips compressed in a line. She didn't trust herself to speak, but it didn't matter. He already knew her every thought.

He leaned forward in his chair, and she held a hand to stave him off. "I need time, Justice."

He nodded, leaning back in his chair. This he knew. They couldn't have any kind of future, if she thought of him as a murderer.

"Why are you so afraid for me?" Her tone dared him to deny that.

He sat there, quietly.

"Don't sit there and think of a way to answer me. I deserve to know the truth, especially if I'm in danger. Don't you think?"

He nodded. "Give me a sec, Jes."

She bent her knees and wrapped her arms around them in an instinctively protective gesture. "Please, Justice. Don't try to sugarcoat it. I'm a cop. I can take it."

"Okay," he leaned back further in the overstuffed chair, getting comfortable.

The gesture told her this was going to take a while, and he nodded at the thought.

"You really have got to stop doing that."

He gave a half-smile. "No, Jes. Not with you. It's impossible. You think it, and it's there in my head, as surely as if it were my own thought. With others, I have to work for it."

She didn't like the sound of that. It sounded as if she'd never get him to stop reading her mind.

He only nodded. "Okay, where to begin?" He was silent for a long moment, while she waited with more than a little trepidation. She somehow knew he was about to fill in a lot of the missing puzzle pieces for her.

"You already know some of this—maybe much of this. But stay with me for a moment. I need to lay some groundwork for what I'm about to tell you." He paused again for a long moment—clearly trying to figure out how to tell her this. "Some humans," he began, "are wise enough to know they're not alone. And some even want to believe, want to know what is out there. Few of these humans believe in us. But many more believe in the Vampires, however misaligned the Crow People are from the crossing of these legends. There is a distinct difference between their peoples and the Vampire myths. They've become blended over the centuries. These come from two different things. One is a race—the other a broken spirit—a spirit who walks the earth at night."

Jes nodded, she did know this, but she didn't want to interrupt—she was too eager to hear the parts she didn't know.

"Well, they have several factions, and a hierarchy—much like ours. Only—unlike ours, some of those factions are pretty, ummm...."

"Powerful...." She whispered.

He nodded. "Much too powerful since some of them don't agree with their leaders—much less want to listen to, or follow, those leaders. And that makes it much more difficult to maintain an Alliance with our people."

Jes frowned. She knew this too—but she hadn't realized how serious it was.

"Your—grandparents come from an elite faction of our people. They are—were powerful enough to keep you safe—even when several of the rogue groups hunted our parents."

Jes gasped. He held a hand to stave off the litany of frustrated—terrified words she wanted to spill.

"Yes, Jes, these factions of the Crow People have hunted my parents—and us. Only through the Alliance, and the leaders—and those leaders agreeing to do all in their power to protect you—were you kept out of it. My sisters, and I had to disappear."

Jes was horrified at the implications. "Why didn't you say so?"

His eyes darkened. He leaned forward in the overstuffed chair. "You were too happy calling me murderer."

"You murdered humans," she said, upset now.

He sat back in the chair, mute.

She didn't like the implications of that, either. But she could find no way around that. He'd killed humans. They were _humans_. Her mind splintered with the possibilities. But he read her mind. So, she worked to turn off the faucet of police-trained questions, wracking her brain.

"Okay, have it your way, Jes." He sat there quietly. After a moment—he went on.

"Our people have an uneasy alliance with the elite Crows for centuries. We are here to protect the humans...." He bit this part out, his eyes narrowing on her, defying her to start her litany of judgments.

She kept still, though it was not an easy task.

"But here was a race with several rogue factions who had great difficulty controlling the even-further-rogue members of its cast—and those members sometimes feed on humans." His face twisted at the thought.

She didn't know what to make of his obvious disgust. How could a...? She put a lid on that thought. She looked to find him watching her intently and swallowed under his gaze. She rested her face against her arms, still wrapped around her knees, and gazed back at him. Waiting.

"These factions of Vamps are powerful," he finally went on. "One you don't want to trifle with. And they are not ones you would want for your enemy. But they are...nevertheless...rogue."

He was quiet for a long moment, and she was afraid he'd stop there, but she remained silent and was rewarded after a moment when he did continue.

"There is a prophecy amongst both of our races—of an elite member of the Jaguar People—one who resembles our ancestors' prince beings, one who has violet-white, almost-translucent skin—one who has violet eyes—one like the member of the army—Lucius. And for a while the people thought Lucius was him—although he clearly told them he wasn't. This one was to bring balance to both peoples. And the people have looked for him for a long, long time."

She sat straight now, excited, and nodded. She'd heard the story. Did he know who this one was?

He nodded. "I do know who he is. And I have been trained since birth for the moment he'd step forward and make himself known. At least—I was being trained—as were my sisters—up until the moment everything began falling apart for my family." His lips curled around these last words, his gaze taking on a faraway look. "Our parents disappeared emotionally—long before they disappeared physically, as I have told you. And I've hell trying to figure out why."

He looked at her now. "There were some among our people—who didn't agree this one should ever step forward, or that these two should never find any peace. Several among these groups lost loved ones to the rogue clans of the Crow People. They see the entire race as their mortal enemies. They don't want peace. They want only war!"

She was startled by the vehemence of his words. Was he one who wanted war with them?

"No," his tone gentled now. "But I do understand them. However, these ones are shortsighted. First, you cannot go to war with an entire race, for the actions of a few, who lie outside the body of these people. The majority are not only our allies—but our friends. Many are like brothers to us."

He took a deep breath. "The second reason is that kind of war would nearly annihilate both of our tribes. It would be foolish beyond measure. To even entertain such a notion would be beyond that, and I cannot understand what they could be thinking. It's the mark of the insane to entertain the notion they're infallible enough to take on an entire Vampire race—and win! Yes. We're a powerful people. But so are they." He paused, then said, "This war would annihilate us both."

"Without a doubt!" Jes seconded. "I can't imagine...who would think this suicidal move would be smart?" she cried out, matching his vehemence. "Do you know who they are? They must be stopped before they succeed with such foolishness!"

He sat back into the plushness of his chair—clearly pleased to hear her answer.

She frowned. "Did you think I'd agree with such nonsense? Going to war with the entire Crow race would be suicide for both of our races! Why would you ever think I'd back such ridiculousness?" She was appalled—and hurt. How could he think that? Why would he think that?

He winced. "Jes," he said. His tone was gentle—too gentle.

She was strangling, wanting him to go on—but suddenly afraid to hear the answer.

"Your—father leads this rebellion...," he was choking on the end of that, as if he could barely get the words out.

She wasn't fully dressed, but she didn't care. She bolted out of the bed and stood over him. "You lie! I should kill you for such a lie."

The gentle look in his steady gaze told her the truth. And he was up, gathering her into his arms, smoothing her hair—whispering to her—in the next instant. "I wish I did.... Goddess, Jes, I wish I did...."

She was sobbing. She couldn't breathe through the sobs. She felt as if she was suffocating. It couldn't be true. _Her father would never do that._

Please don't let it be true.

It was a long time before she'd calmed enough to think, at all. He lowered them both to her bed, and lay there holding her, whispering how sorry he was she had to know this.

"Why did I have to know?" she finally whispered. "I mean, I would want to know. I must know the truth. But something tells me you would have rather I never know that."

He tucked her hair behind her ear, running a finger down her face. "I had no choice. If you didn't know...you wouldn't know the source of the danger you're in now...or how difficult it will be to—keep them from getting to you...."

The hairs stood on the nape of her neck. "But...wouldn't the rogue Crows be on the same side as my father? Wouldn't they want to destroy the Alliance?"

"Yes, some of them are. Some of them work closely with your father...but..."

"Some do not...," she finished for him.

He nodded and got up from the bed. She knew why. Her body was on fire. Here she was—shocked to the core with grief—and her body was on fire....

"Jes," he half-growled, with his back to her.

"Sorry," she flushed. "I need to know why I'm in so much danger," she said, trying to steer them to safer ground.

_Now, is not the time,_ she told herself sternly—and heard his groan under his breath.

He sat back in his chair, a much safer distance from her. She could see he struggled, which was something, given his ability to shut out all the emotions from his face.

"Some of them don't want a war—much as they don't agree with, or even follow, the elite elders of their race," he agreed with her earlier statement. "Some of them know—as clearly as the rest of us—that such a war could be the genocide of both of our races. And some of these rogue beings are dangerous enough to squash all that stands in the way, of anything dangerous to their people. These factions will annihilate your father if they ever get their hands on him—and you know you've made yourself visible to them."

She scrambled to sit. "Me? How on earth did I do that?"

"By visiting that gangster's house!"

"What?" She nearly came off the bed with this "What does an old gangbanger have to do with this?"

"I have reason to believe it was your father, who sent them back, in spades, for me—all those years, ago."

She was back to strangling. "No!"

But he wasn't finished. "And that...," he stumbled.

"What?" she did come off the bed this time—for the second time that night—and for the second time—the news nearly drove her to her knees.

"I think your mother tried to stop him...."

She screamed at this. She screamed because she knew it was true, memories of her parents fighting, flooding though.

Justice kept Jes from hitting the floor, for the second time that night. He laid them both back on the bed—soothing her. It was too much information. He hadn't wanted to give her any of this information—hadn't wanted her to ever know, but there wasn't a choice. She was in too much danger.

But it was too much information for her to take in, all at once.

He watched the scenes playing through her head, like a movie, as her thoughts went from one memory to the next. She remembered her parents—fighting. Only, this time, she heard the words.

Her mother was telling her father he was a traitor about something. She couldn't imagine why her quiet, loving mother would ever call her father a traitor.

He was telling her she didn't know what she was talking about. What could she possibly know about the politics of their people? What could she possibly know of what went on between their two races? He was telling her she was as foolish as all the others—that if they had their way, they'd give up their power, into the hands of a silly prophecy.

She screamed at him, telling him he betrayed her family—betrayed their friends—betrayed his own best friend.

But he didn't care. Her loving father didn't care. She hadn't understood what the implications of their words meant. She hadn't even understood what they meant. And when her parents disappeared—she'd buried all her memories.

She cried silent tears of grief. Everything she had believed, was an illusion. Her quiet idyllic childhood was an illusion. Her loving parents were an illusion.

She wanted to escape—and did so—into sleep.

The knowledge that everything, she thought she'd known, had been a lie sat in the depths of her being—affecting her abilities to stay centered—perhaps even to stay sane.

Tomorrow she'd accept that her life, as she knew it, was forever—and irrevocably—changed. Tonight—she slept.

Want to read more?

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You can find Mira and Micah in

Jaguar Witch—Doorway of the Triquetra

Book One

Check back for Jaguar Witch

Book Two of Children of Atlantis

Due out in 2017

You can also find Mira in the

Daughters of the Circle

As a mentor for Alli in Fire Sprite, Realm of the Elemental Witch

And with the Sisters of Three in

The Fallen One, Sons of the Dark Mother

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Short blurb Mira's Magick:

Mira finds out she has sisters, and not any sisters—the Sisters of Three!

Don't forget Mira is also in

SISTER-SERIES OF JAGUAR WITCH

IN ORDER OF WRITINGS

SONS OF THE DARK MOTHER

NOVELLAS

THE FALLEN ONE

VOLUME I

VOLUME II

REALM OF THE ELEMENTAL WITCH

FIRE SPRITE

BOOK ONE

DAUGHTERS OF THE CIRCLE:

SHADOWS IN RAVENWOOD

BOOK ONE

BONUS SHORT-STORY

MORGAN'S WAND

Previews at end of this book

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 Lenora grew up in Montana and Alaska, and currently lives in the central US. She holds a BA in Sociology from the University of Northern Colorado, with a minor in writing, and is a student of the Shaman path. She lives her dream, daily, as a writer. She is also the mother of four grown children, inherited four more when they each took mates and has several beautiful grandchildren.

ALSO BY LENORE WOLFE

HISTORICAL WESTERN ROMANCE

Dark Cloth Series:

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Dark Warrior: Kid

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Coming this summer

Dark Gunman: Jake

Coming this fall....

Bonus Short-Story

Dark Warrior to Tame a Wild Hawk

Bonus Short Story

DARK FANTASY

CHILDREN OF ATLANTIS

Book One

Jaguar Witch

Doorway of the Triquetra

Book Two

Coming out this summer

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DARK FANTASY

SONS OF THE DARK MOTHER SERIES

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The Fallen One

Vol. 2

Justice

Coming out this spring

Vol. 3

Dracon

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Vol. 4

Coming out this fall

Jess

YOUNG ADULT FANTASY

Daughters of the Circle

Shadows in Ravenwood

Vol. 1

Released March 2015

Daughters of the Circle

Witches of Ravenwood

Vol. 2

Released June 2015

Faerie in Ravenwood

Vol. 3

Released March 2015

Daughters of the Circle

Magick in Ravenwood

Vol. 4

Released June 2015

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Bonus Short-Story

MIDDLESCHOOL FANTASY

Trilogy

REALM OF THE ELEMENTAL WITCH

Fire Sprite

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Released March 2015

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Vol. 2

Coming out this summer

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I am thankful for my soft place to land, even though he had absolutely no reason to do so, and even though his fears would make it difficult, it was still a roof over my head, and for that I am truly thankful. I am thankful for my family. I had some of the most difficult years of my life. I've lived through things I shouldn't have survived.

I'm thankful to my children. I know I've worried you. I'm especially thankful to my youngest son, you're pretty fearless and stayed right by my side. To my oldest son, you are always so kind to me. To my daughter, you were willing to do a difficult thing for me. And to my middle son, I will always love you. I love you all. I always feel our Great Mother watching over us. And I always come out stronger.

I'm thankful for all my angels and guides for brining me through my dark night of my soul. I see the light of day, and I'm thankful I've survived. I'm thankful to myself for having the strength to reach for life, even when I wanted to quit and cease to exist. I'm thankful for the wisdom to know I would be glad I made it through, even when I was screaming in my car so no one else would know. I'm especially thankful for my friends for reaching out when I most needed it and trying to help me through. I will never forget it.

I love you all so much. I'm thankful to my fans. My friends and family. It saved my sanity. I threw myself into my writing, and it took all my time and provided a chance to heal. It also gave me a place to express myself in creative and healing ways. Her Dark Mirror may be fiction, but it allowed me to write without censor. Thank you for putting up with me, even when I hit a wall and didn't update my blogs:) You all are the greatest.

Most of all I'm thankful for the divine—how could anyone question all the help we get. It is the reason we make it through. It's in the soft petal of a flower, the sun's rays upon the damp earth, the ocean's waves upon the sandy beach, and the crest of the mountain top. We are loved. May we always have some place inside that knows it, even when we're in our darkest hour. I am grateful mother. I am your daughter, and I am grateful. And I love you so.

PERKS

The Fallen One

Sons of the Dark Mother

Book One

**Conrad picked up a glass** and buffed it with the soft cloth in his hand. He held it to the light, beneath the upper shelf showing on the glass below. Satisfied, he set it down, adjusting it slightly so that it stood in perfect alignment with the others. He grunted, approving what he saw. The soft light above the glass shelves, lining the shelves behind the bar of the tavern, shown on his work.

Conrad didn't have too much glass in the tavern. It didn't survive well in a fight. Not that he tolerated brawls in his tavern. Still, he enjoyed the little glass he'd installed into the bar-back. He had an affinity with the beautiful dark mahogany wood of the bar and tables. But the little glass he'd allowed, he guarded fiercely. And heaven help the man who broke any of it.

His keen perception felt his new visitor, even before he heard the click of the back door. A friend, then. For only a friend could possibly get past Conrad's particular form of an alarm system. When no one appeared for several long moments, Conrad smiled. So, he had a rare visitor. He couldn't be more pleased. Only Lucius, or an enemy trying to sneak by, could bring the beast from rest in the middle of the day. But even he couldn't pick up the silent tread of Lucius before he appeared soundlessly from the dark interior of the storeroom.

Lucius had to duck to go under the door. He straightened and stood there, looking at Conrad. A large man, Conrad stood at six feet himself, but Lucius still held at least five inches over him. And Lucius always had to turn sideways, to get his shoulders through to come through that door.

He wore his long, white hair, shot through with silver, pulled up on both sides and tied in the back. He wore three thick, silver hoops in each ear, each hoop progressively larger than the other. He wore an impressive white and silver outfit, even to Conrad. The pants were barely showing because of the split tunic hanging past his knees. It looked somewhat like something a Samurai warrior might have worn, except for the color. But no matter how impressive he appeared, no one would have missed that he looked like he came straight out of a futuristic movie—or that Lucius was not human. He remained cloaked in glamour, to all who didn't know him, so when they saw him, they saw only what they were ready to see.

"I see Beast is as fat and lazy as ever," Lucius said. "You spoil him. When it is time for war, he will be content to lie there and watch you do all the fighting."

Conrad grinned at him. Both men knew Beast longed for the fight. "He misses you," Conrad said. "And Gargoyle Mansion." He saw Lucius lip curl at the name.

Lucius came forward and took a seat at the bar. The bar stool creaked beneath his weight. "I have asked Mira not to call it that," he complained. "Now, she will have everyone calling it that."

Conrad set a glass on the bar and took out a bottle of aged whiskey, pouring him a drink. "I see she hasn't broken you of wearing those outfits," Conrad teased. "Too bad the humans can't see you." He laughed, shaking his head. "That would be something I sure wouldn't want to miss. You would scare them to death."

Lucius actually looked wounded.

"I'm sorry _old_ man," Conrad put the emphasis on the _old_ because Lucius was, in fact, thousands of years old. "But you _look_ like a warrior. And not any warrior—but one who could take on a whole legion of armies on his own. How would you expect them to react?"

Lucius smiled. And even to Conrad, his smile took on a feral gleam. "Good," he said. "Because there is one who _can_ see me. And I hear he is on his way here—even as we speak."

Conrad stared at him. He stepped close and leaned over the bar toward Lucius, his voice nearly a whisper, "Please don't tell me you are talking about Constantine."

Lucius went still as stone. He gave Conrad a dark look. "You know that for him—even the _walls_ have ears."

Conrad inclined his head at this. "But Justice only _recently_ returned," he said in a growl. "His _walls_ are pretty damned accurate." He turned a glass over for himself, and this time, he poured them both a drink. "At least I know why you're here. Did your men come with you?"

Lucius nodded. "Some of them. Do we know where Dracon stands?"

"He's always stood with Justice—even when he'd have liked to torn up the world as we know it, and even when Justice _himself_ treads carefully with that one.

Lucius took a sip of his whiskey. "I would too."

Conrad nodded, now. No one would want Dracon for an enemy—except, maybe, Constantine. But then, Constantine chose to come—even with Dracon—even with Lucius—and even with Justice himself....

Lucius peered at him. _No one could keep that one from coming,_ he said from inside his head.

Conrad glared at him. "You know I hate it when you and Dracon do that." He grouched. "Where are your men now?"

"Waiting or my word."

"Conrad stepped to the register and pulled open a hidden drawer underneath. Turning he tossed a set of keys at him for his place out back. "Take beast with you or he'll never forgive me," he said.

Lucius nodded his thanks and stood. "I'll get the men settled and bring Micah, Roman and Caesar back in an hour."

Conrad grinned. "I look forward to it."

"Get Justice to join us," Lucius said, destroying any notion Conrad might have held of them getting drunk, for old time sake, and with that he slipped quietly out the back.

When Justice walked in, an hour later, Conrad knew immediately something was wrong. "The new girl?" he asked as he watched him sit across from him at the bar.

Daughters of the Circle

Shadows in Ravenwood

Book One

Claire stood in front of the attic door, staring at the ornate, metal frame of the beautiful, inlaid wood. They'd been back for over a week, and each night she found herself standing in front of this door, feeling uneasy, like she stood on the edge of something she didn't quite understand. Not stood in front of an altar room, staring.

The truth of it, she was.

She shook her head. She didn't know what her problem was. It wasn't like she hadn't been here a thousand times before.

She took the skeleton key out of her pocket. A crocheted, string tassel hung off it. She looked now at the large, metal key so cool in her hand, hesitating to place it in the lock of the door. Taking a deep breath, trying to calm the heavy beating of her heart, she moved forward. Her hand trembled as she extended her arm to put the key into the lock.

Oh, please. It wasn't like this was the first time she'd snuck here. She'd been doing so ever since she got back.

She winced at the click of the cylinders as she unlocked the door, and winced again when the hinges squeaked, loud in the still night air. Amazed it didn't wake the whole house.

It's not like this is a small place, she reminded herself. It's not likely anyone would hear a lock in a place this size. None of the bedrooms were close to where the stairs ascended to the attic, except Tara's—and Tara snuck here with her. She laughed quietly in the shadows, thinking that she would soon see Tara—the moment she heard her walking around here. Here sister-friend had been sneaking here after her nearly every night.

The door squeaked loudly as she pushed it open, and she almost rolled her eyes. Please, she sneered her lip, like she'd been caught in a bad mystery movie. Why was she acting like she was about to be caught red-handed, doing something wrong?

Besides, wasn't her fear more for her sister? She shook her head. She didn't want to explain all of this to Morgan, yet. She didn't know if Morgan could handle this much reality—even though Claire had heard Alex talking to her sister about this attic—and the Book of Shadows that lay within. Still, it was one thing to know a thing—quite another to see it firsthand. Morgan would be bound to have a lot of questions—and Claire wanted to slow things, a bit. She wasn't ready for Morgan to know too much yet, about magick. Not yet. She wasn't sure that Morgan was ready to know everything.

She reached in with her right hand and flipped on the light, relieved, as usual, when the place lit like a Christmas tree. Their grandmother loved the old delicate, hanging lights with the teeny-tiny bulbs on each end. So, did she, for that matter. Years before, she'd placed several around the altar room. Then, she placed several more that she'd made in the shape of trees, with all their leaves missing.

Still trying to be quiet, she looked around. Deep in thought, she jumped when a branch slapped against the window from outside. Realizing, she let out a relieved breath, hand over her heart. Even the trees were in bad need of a trimming, brushing against the windows in spine tingling scratching sounds, as the wind buffeted them back and forth.

Even though Grams got pretty upset, the first-time Claire found her in this amazing place, she'd seemed content to spend time together doing magick here, whenever they could.

Claire spent a lot of time in this room, after that. She shook her head. Enough so that she should know all the sounds the house made, by now. She'd spent most of that time with her Grams. On top of which, she snuck up here late at night, often enough, each of those summers she'd spent with her.

Now, here she was sneaking here again, after everyone else went to bed, all this past week. The first night, she wanted to check that their family Book of Shadows remained safely tucked away in that beautiful metal chest, her Grams kept it in.

That was before she'd discovered what her grandmother had done.

After Morgan and Alex told her about the apparition they saw the first night, Claire decided she needed to find out what her Grams knew about it. She'd started searching for more information—and why it might have caused her parents to hide the fact their daughters were witches. As it turned out—it wasn't her mother who hid it from them. The entire coven had done so. Claire wasn't any closer to figuring out why, then she'd been the first time she'd broached the subject with Grams when she'd still been a teen.

This mystery plagued her—made worse by the fact it caused Morgan to be stolen away.

Each direction she turned, shelves and shelves of supplies stood, along with a large, round, oak table with claw feet. Two large mortars, with pestles, sat on a marble counter top, against one wall. Labeled crock containers, with every herb and old medicine needed, lined the shelves above. It looked like an old apothecary store.

Graduating sizes of iron cauldrons sat on one heavy bookshelf. Bottles and corks, for spell bottles, and cords of various colors and sizes, for knotting spell-work, sat on another shelf, with candles of all shapes and sizes for candle magicks.

The attic always brought a smile to Claire's face. This place could be considered a witch's dream attic. Claire glanced around at all the shelves holding the herbs and spices. She remembered the first night she'd snuck here when she'd been a teen, after Grams went to bed—and she grinned. She'd been more than a little unnerved back then, too.

She shook her head. More like terrified. After all—an altar room? She couldn't believe the magickal things this room held.

She touched the beautiful, round oak table with the crystal balls, which were held in sculpted hawk's talons decorating the feet, then gazed at the shelves lining the marble counter, with shelves filled with supplies of herbs and spices, crystals and stones, bottles, and cords. Claire studied the altar itself, laden with candles lining the walls, with the array of Goddess statues that sat around the altar.

Before long, Claire found the attic comforting, the same as when she came to this place with her Grams as a teen, and her grandmother first allowed her to be part of the magick she loved. Claire glanced around. The attic felt warm and inviting, now, too—though she still respected the power she sensed here.

She went to the Book of Shadows, where she'd left it on the table. She took it to the overstuffed couch, against one wall and sat, covering her legs with one of the throw blankets piled in a chest serving as an ottoman.

She put the overly-large book onto her lap, flipping it open to the page she'd left off the night before. She'd been reading through it, trying to find all she could on what her parents, and grandparents, for that matter, had written about this warlock—the book so large, and thick, that even though she'd been reading all week, it was taking her forever to get through it.

So far, she hadn't found much. Just a small passage, which talked about how they'd come against the coven's greatest enemy with some potions—and failed to take him down.

She eyed the bookmark she'd placed the previous night, sighing. She still had a long way to go. She took it out now and reread the passage. Apparently, her mother's cousin died that day. She flipped through a few more pages, until she found a section on potions. This section talked about Dante, but the bottom annotation pointed to a different passage in the book. Maybe they'd have a potion.

Claire sighed as she went to the page it directed, but her hopes were quickly dashed when she read what they'd written there.

They'd written a whole section on Dante, but in page after page of potions, they'd written only about their failures in bringing him down—though someone had carefully documented a list of those killed by his hand. Claire felt a chill sweep her spine. He'd taken out at least six or seven members of her family alone—including their mother.

How could they not have prepared her and Morgan, and the rest of them for that matter, for such a powerful enemy? How could they have thought that their ignorance could _ever_ be their bliss? _Did they think they couldn't beat him?_ Did that mean that they'd tried to give their children a few years of living—without fear—because they'd found no way to take him down?

Claire scanned page after page for answers. If that were the case, then what kept him from killing every living member of their family? Wiping out their whole line.

But as Claire searched, she soon learned that he didn't find it so easy to kill the members of her family. They might not have taken him out—but they weren't powerless either. He'd had his work cut out for him. Worked hard to get the ones he managed to kill. Apparently, her family proved much more powerful than she'd been led to believe. Even Grams hadn't told her the truth.

Why? Why did she keep something like this from her?

Claire shook her head. The more she learned—the more questions she had. No one remained to give her the answers.

Her head jerked. Her aunt.... Her aunt still lived.

Claire set the book down. Taking her cell phone out of her robe pocket, Claire texted her aunt. It was late. She wouldn't get her message until morning, but Claire wanted her to get it as soon as she woke. Because in it, she'd asked her aunt to please let them know she still headed their way this week.

She'd have asked her to fly, but saw no point. Only one airport came close to them. Denver. Her aunt didn't live far enough away to warrant driving to the airport closest to her, when that airport only sat one city over from them, and when she could drive straight to their little town, nestled in the mountains north of Denver.

After she'd left the text for her aunt, Claire took the book to the table and sat to take notes. There remained only one potion at the end of the book that they hadn't tried on Dante.... Well, one potion was better than nothing. Maybe, this one would have worked, but they never got the chance to use it. Maybe....

It was a slim chance. But it gave her hope.

As soon as she knew Morgan could handle it, they'd put their heads together to draw all they knew. After that, maybe their aunt would talk to them. Claire frowned. That would mean telling Morgan about this attic—and soon. Maybe sooner than she expected.

She looked around, then getting up, she turned to glance around once more. Time for their aunt to give them some answers. She'd simply have to convince her that more danger lay in fighting him blind. She picked up the book and made her way to the door, carefully locking it behind her.

She snuck to her bed, but she'd barely climbed in, book in hand, when she heard a light tapping on her door.

Excerpt from Morgan's Wand

Daughters of the Circle Bonus Short-Story

**Morgan never imagined she'd be drawn to a wand.** She'd couldn't remember giving it much thought. So, when it arrived at the front door of the manor in a long, beautiful, ornate box, she stared at it, thinking how beautiful the box looked—and the wand too—nestled in the impression where it sat.

The box intrigued her, in itself, made, as it was, of intricate molded metal, in deep reds and gunmetal gray, the interior a deep, rich black velvet. Other than that, she never gave it another thought. Yet over the next several hours, something surprising happened.

First, she kept getting pulled back to the room where she'd set it over the fireplace mantel. Several times, she found herself standing in front of it, having had no conscious thought of going there. When she did, she'd become aware she stood there, staring at the impressions in the metal of the box. Then, she'd find herself taking it down and opening the box, staring at the wand. She felt something from it. She sensed this connection caused her to keep being tugged toward it.

Each time the connection grew stronger—and stronger still.

Looking at it, now, cool against her fingers, she realized that she might not know where this wand had come from—or why—but she'd held it before—had owned this wand before.... If a wand could be owned, that is.

Frowning, she stared at it. She certainly hoped that this wand hadn't come into her life to start trouble. Not when she'd made her mind, now more than ever, to have a normal, magick free life—at least for a while. She'd hate to think that it showing on her doorstep meant something was amiss—again.

At the least, she needed a short break from magick.

There were four of them, who did magick. She and her sister, Claire, Tara, who'd always known she was a witch—and Sophia. Then, there was Alex and the twins. They'd grown up together in the small town of Red Bluff, before being separated one fateful day, playing around with magick.

They'd only gotten their aunt back—for heaven's sake—after losing her to their first enemy, Dante. Now—Sophia, who was half faery, half witch, and a lifelong sister-witch, and who had also moved into Ravenwood Manor, was still with the Prince of Fire and his group—because of that stinking no-account Fae Prince, who couldn't take no for an answer when he'd up and decided to make her one of the members of his little harem.

They needed a break—a big one for heaven's sake—from magick....

Now this.

The more she stared at it—the more she had the growing sensation this didn't bode well for them. That this meant something more was in store—already.

Morgan set the wand in its velvet nest. Shaking her head, she closed the lid with a snap.

Oh, no, she thought. She wouldn't be drawn into yet another battle—no matter what the wand thought it had in store for her.

She placed the box back on top the mantel, squaring her shoulders. And with some determination, she left the room.

She found Alex in their bedroom, putting his clean clothes away. Sitting on the bed, she frowned, staring out the window. She sensed that her troubled thoughts got his attention, because he hesitated, halfway to the dresser with another pile. Setting the pile on top the dresser instead, he turned to look at her instead. "That wand still bothering you?" he said.

Glancing at him, she nodded, swallowing, then glancing away. "I have a feeling it means we're in for something more," she said, irritated. "And we haven't even finished with the last bit of trouble we've uncovered."

He nodded, sitting on the bed and pulling her into his arms. Alex bent and gave her a tender kiss, running his thumb along her jaw. "Whatever it is, we'll get through it together," he said, looking into her eyes.

She tried for a smile, pulling away. "But that's just it," she said. "We're not together—not anymore. And who knows if we'll ever get Sophia back." She got up from the bed, turning to look at him in her agitation. "That prince may never give up on his obsession with her."

He got up from the bed, pulling her into his arms. Looking at her, he pulled her flush with his body. "We'll figure it out," he promised, leaning to give her a tender kiss.

She gazed into his dark eyes. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" she asked.

He grinned at that, then sobered. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" he repeated back to her.

She leaned on her tiptoes, kissing him. She felt the blessing of his love wrap itself around her. She felt the answering call within her body. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him back with everything she had.

She knew he was right. If they stuck together—they could get through anything. But she sure wished someone out there would give them a break.

An hour later, they left the bedroom, hand-in-hand. Down in the kitchen, they found Claire busy preparing dinner. She glanced at them, as they came through the door.

"I heard someone has given you a wand," Claire said to her.

Morgan nodded, not liking the reminder. She'd only managed to get her mind off that thing. "Have you seen it?" she asked her sister.

Claire nodded. "Jake told me where it was," she said with some excitement evident in her tone. "I had to go and peek," she said.

Morgan shook her head, going to take the plates out of the cupboard. "How can you be so happy about this?" Morgan asked, glancing at her as she worked.

Alex took the plates from her and went to set them on the dining room table in the other room. As always, she felt a surge of love for him, realizing he was giving them some room to talk.

Claire glanced at her, from where she now stood in front of the countertop stove that sat on the island in the kitchen. She stirred the spaghetti sauce, then sniffed at the aroma curling from the pot. "How can you not?" she said back to Morgan. "It's so beautiful—and old—and it feels amazing," she said.

Morgan stopped halfway through pulling the flatware out of the drawer. "We don't even know where it came from...." She finished for her sister.

Claire wrinkled her nose. "Well, there is that," she said. "But you have to be intrigued, none-the-less," she said, looking at her sister expectantly.

Morgan frowned and shook her head. Finally, she shrugged. "Okay," she admitted. "Yes—I am," she glowered at her sister now. "But only because I remember that wand," she pointed toward the living room.

Claire looked sharply at her sister. "You do?"

Morgan nodded emphatically.

"From where?" Claire asked, suspicious now.

Morgan looked away, then back at her sister. "From a past life...."

Excerpt from Fire Sprite

Realm of the Elemental Witch

Book One

_Alli stopped, stunned._ She couldn't have moved. Indeed, she felt like she'd only only begun to exist—now—at this moment. Like nothing had not been life, only a dream, until now.

The boy looked like no mortal boy she'd ever seen. For one, he was _far_ too beautiful to be a mortal boy. More like what she imagined she'd see if she could but— _look into a dream._ Perhaps she'd died, after all, and this _was_ heaven. If so, she could spend all her tomorrows— _here_ —with him....

Even with his amazing looks—he still gave her a tentative smile. _What happened to being seduced by the Fae_? Alli thought, stifling a sudden urge to giggle. Still, she stared at him. And she knew she stared—but she couldn't seem to stop.

He started back and panic set in as he walked straight to her. What could she possibly say to him? But even though she wanted to back away, she didn't. Instead, she stood her ground as he reached her.

He looked deep into her eyes. His were the deepest sea-green—like the ocean she'd gone to see—then changing, like the leaves on the trees in the middle of summer. She caught the aroma of the flowers, as their scent floated on the breeze.

Strange. But she'd never noticed how wonderful everything smelled before.

Surprised, she started to reach for her wayward hair, but he touched her hand, and she stopped. Then, with the deepest tenderness a boy had ever shown, he reached and tucked the lock of hair behind her ear. As he brought back his hand, he gently ran his finger across her cheek.

Shocked, the gesture touched something in her, and tears sprang to her eyes.

He caught one of her tears before it spilled down her face. He brought it to his mouth and sucked it from his finger.

She felt mesmerized by him. In that moment, she knew love—like nothing she'd ever felt before. With that realization, she sensed—she'd never love anyone, ever, the way she loved this boy—right here—right now.

A stern voice broke them out of their trance, in that instant. She looked away to find the most beautiful woman, stalking toward the boy. In the next moment, the Queen commanded him to return home.

Yes, Alli felt quite sure, it had been a command. Amazed, she stared. She didn't have to see the crown on her head, a crown that looked to be made of the stars themselves, to know this beautiful—intimidating woman—was a Faery Queen.

The boy turned and, with a lingering look, walked away. She watched him leave, wondering if she'd gotten him into trouble. She hoped not.

He did as he'd been commanded, and he didn't look around, and Alli felt disappointed. Did this mean he couldn't talk to her? Would he refuse to come near her now, for the rest of her stay here?

She stared at the Queen, who stood before her. She looked at Alli, as if she could see right through her. After a long moment, she tilted her head.

"You're okay, child," she said in a quiet tone, belying the depth of her power. "But you need to understand, there are laws here," she said. "And these laws do not include a human and Fae getting involved with one another, other than friendships, of course. You may build relationships that befit both of our people," She stepped closer to Alli, "but you do well to be reminded of the boundaries remaining between us."

Alli swallowed and nodded.

The Queen smiled and seemed to relax. "Come, child," let's talk. I'd like to get to know you."

"Yes, my— _Queen_ ," Alli said. Was that what she called her? She tensed, watching the Queen's face for any sign she'd done anything wrong. Finding none, she relaxed, but only a hair, and followed the Queen to the main table to sit beside her.

"I am sorry about your mother," the Queen told her.

Alli nodded, looking away.

The Queen's eyes seemed to soften a hair. Alli turned to stare into her icy-blue gaze. Wow, even her gaze felt powerful. And the dress, which seemed to be made almost from the stars, like her crown, did nothing to lessen the panic running through Alli's veins.

"You may stay, child," the Queen said to Alli.

Alli swallowed. "Thank you," she choked out.

The Queen nodded and all the lights of her crown and dress shimmered. Even her skin seemed to shimmer.

"You're very beautiful," Alli said, then flushed to realize she'd said that out loud.

The Queen laughed. Her laughter seemed melodious to Alli. She nodded again. "You'll do, child," she said.

Shutting her eyes, Alli let out a long breath. She seemed to have passed some unseen test she hadn't known she was taking.

"You have quite the destiny in front of you, child. Or so I've been assured."

Surprised, Alli's brows shot up. "Do I get to know what that destiny is?" Alli asked.

The Queen laughed, again, hearing this. "Soon enough, child. But, for now, we'll be merry and enjoy this great banquet. We have much to celebrate with you being here—and the arrival of the Sisters of Three."

Alli noticed the Queen's icy-blue gaze softened significantly, at the mention of the sisters. That made her curious about them. Then, she realized the Queen included her in that statement. Did that make her special, in some way, too? The Queen seemed to think so.

More curious, than anything, she tried to eat. When she noticed the Queen disapproved of her slow eating, she went to pick out a bunch of fruit, something that she knew she'd be able to eat a lot of, and sat to enjoy the feast. The Queen smiled, seeing this, and Alli finally relaxed. She'd done something right. Perhaps, she'd live after all.

At this thought, the Queen laughed again, and Alli glanced up sharply. But the Queen's attention was caught on some new guests. Stunned, Alli felt her breath lodge in her throat, as she followed the Queen's gaze to the Sisters of Three.

They were magnificent, the three of them. But before she had a chance to look any further, Cilia came to her.

"Come, child," she said. "I must get you prepared for tomorrow's feast.

Reluctantly, Alli got up and followed her away from the crowd. Yet, even as she walked away, she kept looking for any opportunity to gain any glimpse of the women who'd managed to seize the attention of her whole world....

