Enter these contests to win some fun prizes! They won’t be open forever!

1. A Puzzle & a Contest! — Win an Amazon gift card!
2. Diana Cosby: Nature – Inspiration For The Muse (Contest) — Win a tote bag & a mug!

UPDATE: The winner is…Linda!
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©Diana Cosby 2019

I love crafting stories, and I trust my muse to give me inspiration to create characters, craft their story, and write their book.

I’ve discovered that my muse is most inspired during my walks through the woods as I enjoy the sights of nature. Read the rest of this entry »

UPDATE: The winner is…BookLady!
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I want to start by thanking Delilah for being so generous with her blog and letting me play here with you today. I always have fun when I come here to visit. 

I suppose my choice of title for this blog post may seem odd, given that we’re in the middle of summer (and a hideously hot and humid one in my neck of the woods). But I just had a birthday near the end of July, and I always think of birthdays as fresh starts, much like the actual new year at the beginning of January. So even if it’s the middle of the year, you get to start over. It’s a good time to re-evaluate any goals or plans you’ve set for yourself for the year. Are you on track? Do you need to adjust or down-size an overly-ambitious aim? Do you have something new you want to try instead? Maybe it’s just something you want to accomplish before your next birthday. 

I came home from a writing conference a few days ago, so, besides all of the things I was already evaluating from my January goals for just this calendar year, I have a head full of fresh ideas and plans that will need to be worked into those existing plans. It would be unrealistic for me to try to cram everything into the next five months until the actual new year. Probably, it is unrealistic for me to even work more than one of these new ideas into this year since I am already reworking this year’s goals. So I have to look at big-picture plans and goals for the next year or so, but that’s a whole other project in itself, and I have time to figure those out. My focus right now is on the more immediate goals and plans. I’ve given myself two weeks to figure how those fit into the rest of 2019. Then I can start thinking about next year when we get into November, and maybe start working on my big-picture goals sooner, which ought to make setting next year’s goals easier. 

A lot of romance novels have characters who are forced to start fresh, who thought they had their lives mapped out and then got the rug pulled out from under them. I’m working on a project for late this year and just realized as I’m writing my post that it falls into this category. The heroine in the story is dealing with that issue, having lost a job she thought was secure, following a path she’d been on for a long time, and now she has to start over. She agrees to house-sit for friends on a Maine island while licking her wounds and trying to figure out where to go from there. 

That story opportunity was something that came at a time when I needed to figure out a new direction, and the timing couldn’t have been any better. It was nowhere on my list of plans last year, but I couldn’t say no to it since it leads down a path I intended to research and wanted to start on eventually anyway. I guess it’s ‘eventually’ now.  

Does anyone else see their birthday as the start of a shiny new year? An opportunity to start fresh? Or is there a story you love where one of the characters is forced to start all over again?

Contest

I would love to hear from you on those, so I have a signed copy of my first book Hunting Medusa to send to one person who comments by 5 pm (Eastern) on Sun, August 4 (via drawing on RandomResult.com).

About the Author

Elizabeth Andrews has been a book lover since she was old enough to read. She read her copies of Little Women and the Little House series so many times, the books fell apart. As an adult, her book habit continues. She has a room overflowing with her literary collection right now, and still more spreading into other rooms.  Almost as long as she’s been reading great stories, she’s been attempting to write her own.  Thanks to a fifth grade teacher who started the class on creative writing, Elizabeth went from writing creative sentences to short stories and eventually full-length novels. Her father saved her poor, callused fingers from permanent damage when he brought home a used typewriter for her.  

Elizabeth found her mother’s stash of romance novels as a teenager, and-though she loves horror- romance became her very favorite genre, making writing romances a natural progression. There are more than just a few manuscripts, however, tucked away in a filing cabinet that will never see the light of day.

Along with her enormous book stash, Elizabeth lives with her husband of twenty-five years, and spends plenty of time with her two young adult sons who have recently flown the coop. When she’s not at work or buried in books or writing, there is a garden outside full of herbs, flowers and vegetables that requires occasional attention.

You can find out more and keep up with news at her website: 

www.ElizabethAndrewsWrites.com

UPDATE: The winner is…Colleen C!
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As a lot of you may know, I am a water person! Meaning I love everything from a gently-tumbling stream to the splash of crashing waves as they race to a sandy beach. In fact, my new release Dangerous Lies uses a lot of the fantastic places I’ve vacationed in Florida as part of the story’s backdrop.

But this year I decided to head upward, so I took an early June vacation to the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee. My family and I spent the week in a fabulous cabin high in the mountains just outside of Gatlinburg, where on clear days the distant mountain tops were visible. Other times they were cloaked in the clouds.

The entire region is just breathtaking! And that includes the ridge after ridge of forested mountains, plus the fast-rushing streams sliding over boulders smoothed by time, to eventually merge with a waterfall’s cascading waters. Then there are the natural trails, such as the one I climbed to Grotto Falls, that offer a different dimension of hiking. Paths that have been walked by many…with endless more hikers to come in future years.

Weathermen kept predicting rain, but most times there was only a brief shower. Except, one morning as I sat in a rocking chair on the porch, the steady drizzle turned into an all-out downpour! I loved the sound of the heavy rain moving through the trees on its way to my location. Thank goodness there was a nice half-porch roof covering so I could just stay where I was and enjoy the morning storm.

Since the cabin was so high up in the mountains, being on the porch felt as if I was one with nature amid the tall trees. In fact, during the downpour, I was able to see the rain hitting on top of the leaves…to see the delicate yet sturdy stems quiver with each drop’s touch…to see the leaves dancing in the rain. And my soul danced with them. That I’ll never forget.

I’d love to hear about a time the weather and its effect on your vacation was almost as exciting as the trip itself.

Contest

In celebration of my July 22 release of Dangerous Lies (Shades of Leverage Book 2), I will give one commenter an e-book of Slater’s Revenge—the first book in the Shades of Leverage series. Winner will be selected July 25.

 Dangerous Lies
(Shades of Leverage Book 2)

Release Date: July 22, 2019
Buy Now

Excerpt

She glanced over her shoulder, and there stood the man who’d hit on her. For all that’s holy, couldn’t the guy take no for an answer? “Back off, Dance Man. I told you before, I don’t care what song you play. And I don’t want to dance.”

“That’s good. Real good.” The corners of his mouth quirked upward, along with the tilt of his head and lift of his eyebrows. He chuckled as he slipped into the seat across from her. “Never been called that before.”

“You must really be desperate to keep hitting on someone like me.” Pointing her finger for emphasis, she gritted her teeth and spoke loud and clear in his direction. “Now, leave my table or I’m calling the police.”

The stubble on his jawline caught the light, emphasizing the dark, weathered tan of his now serious expression. His blue eyes focused on her with the intensity of someone looking for clarity before bidding on a rare diamond. She was drawn to the muscles in his forearms as he flexed his fingers back and forth, back and forth.

Caught in his stare, she shivered then noticed the barely visible earbud. She’d seen those on Secret Service agents when she’d visited the White House for an environmental briefing. She’d also seen the earbuds on people not so glad to see her as she dug for dirt on a corruption story. People who didn’t exactly play nice when she got too close to what they were hiding.

Without looking, she reached her hand into her purse leaning against her side, hoping to grab her keychain mace without him noticing. The purse tilted, and the vial slipped from her hand, landing on the floor with a slight thud.

He didn’t flinch. “You need to practice that move.”

What if he were the danger?  She was alone. In the corner of an almost empty restaurant. No one was at the house to expect her home. No one even knew—

Drake. Drake knew. He was right there on the phone. He had to be hearing what was being said.

She wrapped her hand around her phone, ready to use it as a weapon. “If you don’t go away, I’m going to scream.”

The man sighed loud and heavy as he leaned against the high back of the wooden booth, then tapped his earbud and motioned to her phone. “Drake, you should tell this lady who I am before she rips my head off.”

Glancing at the phone, still on FaceTime, there was Drake holding a photo of the man sitting across from her. She lifted her gaze to the actual man and met his blue-eyed stare with one of her own. Evidently, her life had notched up in things that were out of her control. “You’re who’s supposed to protect me?”

“You got a problem with that?” He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the table in front of him.

“No. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Because you were too busy calling me Dance Man.”

She leaned forward in rebuttal. “Listen. I’ve had a very, very bad week. So, if I’ve upset you, that’s too damn bad.”

He popped the side of his fingers on the table. “Well, you’re not the only one who’s had a shitty week, lady.”

“Hey, you two want to put a lid on the sarcasm?” Drake sounded like he meant business.

They both took a breath.

“That’s better,” Drake said. “This is your protector agent, Mitch Granger. And, this is Elizabeth—”

“Liz,” Mitch stated.

“My name is Elizabeth Walkert.”

“Liz. As long as I’m your protector, your name is Liz.”

Buy Now:  Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Apple Books

About the Author

Award-winning author Claudia Shelton could write her name before the first day of school, but now she writes romantic suspense, thrillers and contemporary romance. In addition, she presents workshops for readers and authors. Her debut novel, Risk of a Lifetime, released to 5-star reviews, reached Amazon’s Best Sellers Romance Series Top 100 and was named one of eBooks Galore top reads for 2014. She is also a two-time nominated Daphne Du Maurier (Unpublished) finalist for excellence in mystery. Claudia is the author of the Shades of Leverage action-adventure romantic suspense series.

On a personal note, Claudia considers herself a traveler, music lover and water person. A cool drink while listening to the splash of waves is always nice—so is a mug of hot chocolate in the falling snow. Her main priority is spending time with family, friends and her two sweet, conniving rescue dogs.

Website:      https://claudiasheltonauthor.com/
FB:                https://www.facebook.com/ClaudiaSheltonWriter
Twitter:        https://twitter.com/ClaudiaShelton1
Newsletter: https://claudiasheltonauthor.com/
Instagram:   https://www.instagram.com/claudiasheltonauthor/
Pinterest:     https://www.pinterest.com/claudiashelton1/

The winners are…all 11 commenters!
See comment #12.
*~*~*

I’m late posting this today. I got a little covered up with lots of little things I had to take care of—like spending time with my dd who’s going on a trip with her hubby tomorrow. She’ll be gone for nearly two weeks, and I don’t think I can stand it! 🙂

I piddled at updating my work calendar. I’ll have lots more time to write since she won’t be around. I edited my short story, “Quincy Down Under“, which I’m releasing on its own on the 30th. Sexy cover, don’t you think? This story was originally part of the Stranded anthology. You can purchase either of them for just $0.99, so I’m guessing I know which one you’ll want more! 🙂

Contest

Tell me what you’re “piddling at” this weekend for a chance to win a free copy of “Quincy Down Under”!

Hello Delilah! I’m delighted to be on your blog today! I’m sharing some insight on my hero from Destiny of a Warrior. In addition, I’m hosting a giveaway. Readers, don’t forget to enter the rafflecopter at the bottom of this post for a chance to win a fabulous grand prize package!

In order to understand this great warrior, Aidan Kerrigan, let me tell you about the world of the Fae…

I’ve always been drawn to the ancient Celtic tales of mythology—from Cuchulainn and the Red Branch, to the epic sagas about the invasions of Ireland. I blame in on my heritage. The blood of my ancestors flows heavily within me. They speak to me constantly. So it only made sense that I would develop and expand the world of the Fenian Fae Warriors. Theirs was a world rich in legends, colors, and senses.

I’ve based my own fictional account on the legend of the Tuatha Dé Danann—one of the invasions of Ireland. They were known as the Shining Ones or the Fae. The Tuatha Dé Danann was defeated in two battles by the Milesians, whom historians and scholars alike agree were probably the first Gaels in Ireland. It was agreed that the new invaders (Milesians) and the Tuatha Dé Danann would each rule half of Ireland. Therefore, it was that Amergin of the Milesians chose that half of Ireland which lay above ground, leaving the Tuatha Dé Danann to retreat below. They were led underground by Manannán mac Lir, God of the Sea, who shielded them with an enchanted mist from mortal eyes. As time passed, they became known as the Sidhe (Shee), or Ireland’s faery folk.

The great Aidan Kerrigan was a tale I feared to write. When he first appeared in the story, Dragon Knight’s Medallion, Order of the Dragon Knights, Book 2, I panicked. I did not know he was a Fenian Warrior until he walked through the crowd of people at the airport to greet his daughter, Aileen. His presence loomed mighty and grew with the previous stories in the Legends of the Fenian Warriors. Regardless, I knew then that his and Rose’s love story had to be told.

With each Fenian Warrior’s story, I shared a layer about this Fae. Little did I know when I penned Aidan’s first line of dialogue that he was the leader of the Fenian Warriors, came from royalty, and his sister was Queen of the Fae realm. He chose not to reveal any of this to me. And this is why I became terrified. What more could he share?

Well, dear readers, Aidan made it simple. He told me to write a love story, stating, “For you see, love is greater than all the power attained in the world—be it human or Fae.”

Therefore, I took you back in time to when Aidan was the leader of the Brotherhood. To when this great warrior had no blemish to stain his life and love tossed his world upside down, altering everything he knew.

And the lovely Rose MacLaren was a perfect match. As he professed to her, “I saw beauty inside the depth of your soul. Your intelligence would rival any Fae in the herbal gardens, and you possess a wisdom that sparks from a desire to learn more. You challenge me.”

 I hope you’ve enjoyed a glimpse behind the scenes of this powerful love story. Here is a piece of music that helped to inspire my writing for this couple:

CELTIC GATE – INTO A MAGICAL FOREST.
Youtube:  https://youtu.be/GlPF-CSCf2o

Destiny of a Warrior
Legends of the Fenian Warriors, Book 4

His accolades were many. His loyalty to the Fae, unwavering.
Until love tempted him to discard duty and claim what was forbidden.

“You met him in the Order of the Dragon Knights. Now, journey to the realm of the Fae and witness their greatest legend!”

As leader of the Fenian Warriors, Aidan Kerrigan’s accolades are many and his loyalty to the Fae unwavering. When an unexpected mission sends him to the human world and a chance encounter with Rose MacLaren, he’s tempted for the first time in his existence to discard duty and claim what is forbidden.

Rose MacLaren, a Society of the Thistle member, yearns to expand her botanical knowledge with her love of history. After her rescue by a handsome stranger, she is compelled to look beyond what her rational mind comprehends and unravel the secret of the standing stones, as well as the man who captivates her.

In a mystical world ruled by ancient laws and edicts, can a fierce warrior choose a path destined for love? And will a woman honoring the ways of the land believe in a myth only spoken of in legends? If they do, will their love be enough to defy death’s punishment?

Excerpt

A chill of foreboding swept through him. In her short time of being among these standing stones, she’d obtained bits of knowledge no one else had come upon. “Continue,” he encouraged softly.

Hugging her notebook against her chest, she went to the tallest stone in the center. “These symbols and images on the back mirror the three centered on the slab. In addition, they are all the same as the other site outside of Glasgow.”

“They’re merely circles,” he admitted, keeping his voice steady. “The Celtic triskele symbol also decorates many other stone structures.”

Her brow furrowed in obvious concentration as she disappeared around the back of the stone.

Tossing the pinecone aside, Aidan stood. His instincts screamed at him to do something to prevent her from further inspecting the stone. Only he knew the significance. And he now understood why he was sent here. In all his travels, not one human had documented his time among them. Or so he believed. Upon his arrival, he longed to pulverize the stones to shards of dust after viewing the back. The altar stone had remained buried under moss, dirt, and ivy. The same was true with the tallest stone at its base.

He fought against extending his hand outward and sinking the area a thousand feet underground. Making quick strides to Rose, he came to an abrupt halt. Her face was ashen as she knelt behind the stone, sketching an entire scene on her notepad. One side mirrored the stones, but on the opposite page, her hand drew an epic vista.

The blood pounded inside his head, and he dared to draw in a breath. With each stroke of her hand, an image came to life and his greatest fear unfolded. Slowly, Aidan lifted his hand. The power built and traveled down his arm. He had to destroy the picture. Banish the past vision from her mind. Eradicate all knowledge of him. Seal the door to the past from the present.

The truth must never be revealed.

But when Rose lifted her gaze to meet his, Aidan’s heart stopped. For the first time in his life, he was torn between duty and his own personal need.

“I am sorry,” he stated in a strangled voice. 

Buy Links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07RBQC8VC/
BN: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/destiny-of-a-warrior-mary-morgan/1131596594
AppleBooks: https://books.apple.com/us/book/destiny-of-a-warrior/id1463476741
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/destiny-of-a-warrior
Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/Destiny-Warrior-Legends-Fenian-Warriors-ebook/dp/B07RBQC8VC/
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Destiny-Warrior-Legends-Fenian-Warriors-ebook/dp/B07RBQC8VC
Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/Destiny-Warrior-Legends-Fenian-Warriors-ebook/dp/B07RBQC8VC/
BookStrand: https://www.bookstrand.com/destiny-of-a-warrior
Google Play:https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Mary_Morgan_Destiny_of_a_Warrior

About the Author

Award-winning Celtic paranormal and fantasy romance author, Mary Morgan, resides in Northern California with her own knight in shining armor. However, during her travels to Scotland, England, and Ireland, she left a part of her soul in one of these countries and vows to return.

 Mary’s passion for books started at an early age along with an overactive imagination. Inspired by her love for history and ancient Celtic mythology, her tales are filled with powerful warriors, brave women, magic, and romance. It wasn’t until the closure of Borders Books where Mary worked that she found her true calling by writing romance. Now, the worlds she created in her mind are coming to life within her stories.

If you enjoy history, tortured heroes, and a wee bit of magic, then time-travel within the pages of her books.

Connect with Mary at these places:
WEBSITE/BLOG:  https://www.marymorganauthor.com
TWITTER:  https://twitter.com/m_morganauthor
FACEBOOK AUTHOR PAGE: https://www.facebook.com/MaryMorganAuthor/
GOODREADS:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8271002.Mary_Morgan
AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE:  https://www.amazon.com/Mary-Morgan/e/B00KPE3NWI/
PINTEREST:  www.pinterest.com/marymorgan50/
INSTAGRAM: https://www.instagram.com/marymorgan2/
BOOKBUB: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/mary-morgan
LINKEDIN: https://www.linkedin.com/in/mary-morgan-2634a77a/
BOOKGORILLA: https://www.bookgorilla.com/author/B00KPE3NWI/mary-morgan/kcc

Contest

RAFFLECOPTER: (June 5 – July 15, US and Canada only)
Grand Prize: Signed print copy of DESTINY OF A WARRIOR
Celtic jeweled bookmark
$5 Starbucks Gift Card 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

OR

Direct Link to Rafflecopter: https://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/1e1c4f647/?

UPDATE: The winners is…Booklady!
*~*~*

Click on the covers to learn more about these stories!

Have you read the books in my Beaux Rêve Coven series? The covers are gorgeous, aren’t they? (Thanks, sis!) If you love witches and trolls and werewolves and vampires, and…well, all those lovely beings who inhabit paranormal worlds, you won’t want to miss these stories. I have two more books planned in the series, and hope to get them both out before the end of the year. In the meantime, enjoy an excerpt from Wolf Moon Rising, and comment below for a chance to win a copy of one of the BRC books!

Wolf Moon Rising

In Jefferson Parish, deep in the bayou, is a place called Bonne Nuit. Off the beaten path, isolated by swamp and connected to the sea, there the Beaux Rêve Coven thrives.

Five witches…Too many demons to count…

Aoife is the flightiest of the sister witches, and she has a secret, one her mother warned her to keep close to her heart. Her father was a fairy—which explains her quirkiness and her affinity for flowers. She lives in a cabin on stilts that juts into the bayou, and one of her demon guardians is a werewolf. She’s attracted, but how would he feel if he married her, fathered a child, and that child disappeared into the land of the fae? Desperate to find a solution to her dilemma, she flees her guardian’s protection. Her last hope is to enlist her father’s help. Plead her case. Her happiness, and that of her one true love, Sigurd, depends on whether she can escape this fairy curse.

Excerpt

For Sigurd, acting as guardian to the witch, Aoife, was both a blessing and curse. A blessing, because he’d never known anyone as innocent and pure, and a woman who truly didn’t know her own allure. A curse, because he had to guard her against his own lustful nature.

And again, he was thankful two other demons were assigned the protection detail, because more than anything, he wanted her kept safe. However, he was equally annoyed at having two competitors for her affection.

Of course, many more among the demons living around Bonne Nuit aspired to hear the “echo” of their bonding with a witch. Such a bonding brought power to the lucky demon—and demons were greedy about that sort of thing. They frequented Aoife’s small cabin poised on long stilts above the bayou on the flimsiest of excuses. One needed a fragrant oil to help him sleep. Another needed a healing balm to soothe a bruise. And they were constantly underfoot in her garden and her workshop, interfering more than helping—at least, to his mind.

However, Aoife appeared blissfully unaware of the males’ attempts at garnering her exclusive attention. Her radiant smile flashed indiscriminately upon her pursuers, never mind their unsuitability as possible mates. And despite the fact they’d done nothing to earn the right to call her wife.

Unlike Sigurd, who suffered her proximity and who stood ready to serve her in any way she pleased. Who quietly stood guard over her while she slept, losing his sleep and his pride because she slumbered so soundly, completely unaware of his constant state of arousal.

Sigurd wasn’t naturally a patient man, but he had withstood the torture of being close day in and out for seven months. He was nearing his breaking point. If something didn’t happen soon, he would press their leader, Ethan, to ask his pretty wife for help. Bryn liked him well enough, always turning to give him a wink when “family” dinners took place, and one of Aoife’s admirers fought for the privilege of sitting at her side. Sigurd preferred to sit across from her at the table anyway—the better to glower at his competition. And perhaps raise a lip in a menacing snarl.

Bryn seemed to be in his corner. Perhaps she would be eager to see her sister witch settled. If something didn’t change soon, he’d speak with her.

On this evening, Sigurd wore his wolfskin and lay curled on the wooden floor beside Aoife’s bed. Just before she’d begun softly snoring, she’d reached down and scratched behind his ears. Probably not an act she was even aware of doing. She was kind to all creatures and seemed especially fond of his wolf form, sometimes taking a brush to his fur or giving him a bath in the large metal tub on the porch. He lived for those moments.

He shook his head in disgust. What a sorry excuse for a wolf he was. Wolves weren’t pets. They were pack animals who needed to belong to a family and a mate. A male needed to dominate his bitch, but he didn’t think Aoife would ever agree to be his bitch.

However, the thought did stretch his wolf’s mouth into a feral grin. He laid his head atop his paws and settled with a disgruntled whine.

Minutes passed, and he was nearly drifting off to sleep when the bed creaked and feet softly lowered to the floor. He perked his ears and pushed up to peer over the mattress, just in time to see Aoife slip through her bedroom door.

He followed, freezing when her steps paused, ducking behind corners when she glanced around. Something was afoot, and his hackles rose when she reached for her cloak and a small bag from the hook beside the front door.

Was she meeting a lover? Or were the witches gathering in secret? Somehow, he doubted the latter because Bryn was very pregnant and couldn’t slide gracefully from Ethan’s bed. And Miren would have to escape three mates, and that could never happen. Which reminded him, where the hell were the other two guards?

When Aoife opened the door and crept outside, closing it behind her, he drew up short. He hadn’t considered how he would exit the house, so he quickly shook free of his wolfskin and strode onto the porch. His glance went to the steps at the side of the porch, but then a sound, a soft splash, pulled his gaze to the canal flowing past her porch. She’d taken a boat. The fact she was already on the water meant she’d been in a hurry.

What the fuck?

Footsteps sounded from inside the house. A door creaked open then slammed shut. So much for stealth. Hamdir, also a wolf, walked to his side, scratching his chest. “Where’s the witch? I was sleeping on the couch. Thought you were watching her.”

“I was.” I watched her escape. “Go back to bed. I have this handled.”

“Sure about that?” Hamdir yawned. “Don’t know how you aren’t dead on your feet. You really ought to let us have turns inside her bedroom.” His large hand patted Sigurd’s shoulder. “Driving to New Orleans in the mornin’, or I’d join you on this hunt,” he said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

His gaze followed Hamdir as he stepped back inside. Their group had grown complacent since Ethan defeated the council’s champion in battle and no retribution had been settled upon their unbanded group. Most presumed the mere presence of so many demons, concentrated in their small town, was deterrent enough to rogue demons seeking to steal a witch for a mate.

Sigurd was reminded he’d have to enlist another guard from among the bachelor demons during Hamdir’s absence.

A cool wind wafted against his skin, raising chill bumps. Early Winter in the bayou was mild, but he couldn’t easily follow Aoife on foot. Instead, Sigurd shifted again and fell to his paws. With a single quick yelp, he leapt past the stairs to the bank. Lifting his nose to the breeze, he followed Aoife’s delicious witch’s scent through the murky, shadowed bayou. If he startled a gator, the bastard better move out of his way.

Aoife drew her paddle into the pirogue and stepped out onto the bank. She hadn’t rowed far, but she worried that her guardians would notice she’d eluded their watch. And that couldn’t happen. Tonight, she needed privacy to commune with the moon, and perhaps, coax a stubborn door to open.

As she stepped into the thick forest, she drew deep, calming breaths. She crushed the carnation she’d secreted into the bag inside the pocket of her cloak and whispered a quick, ineloquent spell.

“Goddess, though I walk alone,
your moon’s rays light my way.
Let nature’s bounty, your gift to us but still your own,
do no harm or deter me along my way.”

Despite her prayer, she glanced around the deepening darkness and hoped she’d recognize the tree when she saw it. The canopy above her allowed only dapples of moonlight through to the forest floor. She’d found the oak only days ago when she’d been searching for moss for a fairy house she was constructing to sell online. No one else would have noted it. The tree was old. Its bark thick and rugged. Although shorter and squatter than the lovely old oak in the open field the witches used for their rituals, this one appeared ancient—much more suited to her task. When she’d rapped on its bark to awaken its spirit, she’d felt the old oak shiver its branches and sensed its anger at her intrusion. Only a grouchy old oak would serve her purpose.

With the picture of the squat oak in her mind, she reached into her right pocket and crushed the dried honeysuckle there, letting its sweet aroma rise around her, and sought the oak with her other sight.

When she again opened her eyes, moonlight gleamed brighter straight ahead. She plunged forward but didn’t note the vine on the forest floor. Her foot snagged and sent her toppling to the ground. As she pushed upright, she thought she heard something rustling in the bushes. Not a small animal. Suspicious, she narrowed her gaze and stared in the direction of the sound, sure a certain wolf with better night vision than she had stared right back.

She waited, listening, but when no other sounds intruded, other than the rustling of dried leaves above, she continued her way. If Sigurd were trailing her, he would already have made his presence known. He was forever standing in her path, forcing her to raise her gaze to his. In those moments, she felt as though her lungs constricted, and her voice got very small. She wasn’t exactly intimidated, because she knew he’d never harm her, but his size and steady, all-seeing gaze looked right through her. Like he could read her mind. Which was impossible. Still, she found deceiving him very hard, which was why she’d decided to sneak away in the dead of night. As soon as he’d fallen asleep, she’d crept from the house. Yes, she’d heard the slam of a door in the distance, but she’d been well around the bend in the canal. No, he couldn’t have tracked her so quickly to this part of the woods. If she was successful, he wouldn’t arrive at her destination until it was already too late.

It was well past time she should have had this conversation, and secrecy was of the utmost importance. This situation wasn’t something she could talk to her sisters about. They’d be hurt, because she’d never divulged the truth in all their long acquaintance, despite their shared travails. This secret burned a hole in her belly and made her lose sleep. Worse, it kept her from Sigurd. She could never agree to be his mate—and she knew he wanted that—not until her problem was resolved. Inside her pocket, she crossed her fingers and hoped she’d found the right tree.

The golden light beckoned, growing stronger the deeper into the woods she went, until she entered a clearing. Light from a golden gibbous moon gleamed through the branches of the canopy above. Fireflies, out of season, hovered around the trunk, blinking out and on. Something about the air had changed. It smelled sweeter, and felt…thinner…warmer.

This was the place. It had to be. She’d felt this same trembling excitement the one time her mother led her into the woods to greet an ancient oak and attempted what Aoife had to accomplish tonight.

Closing her eyes, she reached out and laid a hand against the rugged trunk.

“Come fae and fair,
No need beware,
A daughter comes to greet you.
One knock you hear,
Two draws you near,
The third opens the door to meet you.”

Taking a deep breath, she rapped three times. Then she waited.

The wind picked up, dragging back her hood. Light gleamed between the edges of the bark, up and down the tree.

She stepped backward. Her breaths came faster, and then the glowing edges formed a rectangle, wider than an arm span. The dark bark at its center melted away.

Revealed inside the doorway was a tunnel formed by intertwining gold and green vines. She swept up the edges of her cloak and bent to step inside the door. As soon as her feet touched soft moss on the other side, she heard a crackling sound from behind and a long, lonely howl.