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  “What? She came into the path of my hand at the wrong moment. I couldn’t help it.”

  Emmanuel laughed, a deep, booming sound that reverberated from the walls.

  Briony took a deep, shuddering breath before she spoke, telling Sebastian exactly how angry she was. “I’m sure you’ll both agree to speak with our coven about why we won’t be getting answers regarding the woman who used to be our High Witch.”

  Christabel nodded enthusiastically. “I have plenty of answers for them, don’t worry.” Her smiled seemed…genuine. Weird.

  Like the majority of his last week. Sebastian faced his mate, who’d just braved a battle that would have sent most creatures crawling into the nearest hidey-hole for safety. “Want to go for a walk?” he asked. “I think the pack can manage for half an hour.”

  Both of them glanced at their packmates. Mary was rounding on a petrified Sophia, who tried her best to hide behind a chuckling Heath.

  “What were you talking about earlier?” Mary shouted, trying to dodge Heath’s halfhearted blocks. “I’ll use my voice on you if you don’t tell me.”

  This time when Heath’s arm swung out, it was to take Mary by the arm. “I think you and Raphael need to speak with Leila,” he murmured.

  Mary and Raphael exchanged a worried look before they both touched Heath and were gone.

  A second later, Sophia was taken away too.

  Sebastian didn’t envy her place in on that conversation.

  After telling Cael and Harry they’d see them later that afternoon, Sebastian took Briony’s hand and guided her outside into the midday sun. Having avoided outdoor travel earlier, neither of them wore jackets despite the winter chill.

  They passed a group of witches led by Cynthia on their way out.

  Releasing her hand, Sebastian put his arm around Briony and rubbed her skin. It was pricked with gooseflesh.

  “It’s funny,” she said quietly, her eyes ahead of her. “You would think werewolves, especially fire elementals, wouldn’t be able to feel cold.”

  Sebastian shrugged. “We bleed like anyone else. Wait—two fire elementals?”

  Carefully tucking a number of dark ringlets behind her ears, Briony nodded. “You know how some of the flames back there went…awry?”

  “What about them?”

  She blushed, the pink running up her cheeks and into her wild hair. “Most of the time that was a warlock messing with the fire, but in a few of those instances I may have tried to help.” She laughed, sounding both relieved and terrified. “I didn’t even know I had an element until I saw you and Sophia with the fire.”

  Not even she seemed sure of her words, and he knew from his time spent as a werewolf that she was no fire elemental, only a were who was mated to a fire elemental. She was an earth through and through, just like Alex.

  What the hell happened to him?

  He shook the thought away, determined to enjoy his mate and the remainder of this day before training began for the next battle, the battle they would fight against both the float and Alexandre.

  Their time was limited, but he knew his pack would utilize it wisely. And then they would finally stop the warlocks once and for all, giving the rest of the creatures a chance to live in peace.

  Reaching down, he crouched on the sidewalk and gathered a handful of dirt. He held the cold, crumbling mass to Briony. “Concentrate on it. Know you can make anything grow from only this.”

  He’d heard Alex say the like countless times, reminiscing about creating something useful or beautiful from only a pile of dirt.

  Briony’s face lit up. Cupping her hands under his, she took the soil, holding it in one hand and covering it with the other.

  Something green shot up between her fingers, and then another three stems followed suit. They bloomed in Briony’s hands, all but one flowering into daisies, each of their petals a different vivid color. The smaller center flower was the color of the sun.

  “Daffodil?” Sebastian asked.

  She touched the tip of the flower to his nose. “Very good,” she said with a smile. “They symbolize new beginnings…and immortality.”

  Smiling, Sebastian pondered those two things while he showed her an almost hidden Italian restaurant where they could fill their stomachs and drink some mulled wine to warm their chilled limbs.

  She still clutched the flowers when they were seated.

  “Do werewolves have any interesting Christmas traditions? Because we witches sure do.” Briony’s skin glowed as she spoke, illuminating the dimness of the restaurant. Hope all but radiated from her, filling Sebastian with joy merely from being near her.

  He couldn’t help but think she was the light to the journey that was his life, guiding him home.

  Epilogue

  THE six werewolf Elders were the leaders of their race. They alone controlled the fate of a million lesser weres, some of whom would become successful scientists, progressive humanitarians, or celebrated writers. Others would live into their immortality quietly, helping others or simply focusing on themselves or their families without drawing any unwarranted attention.

  The Elders left those weres, the vast majority of them, to their own devices. Their main concern wasn’t the footprints their race would leave upon the world, good or bad. No, their focus was the continued survival of the race.

  While werewolves were powerful, what gave them the powers that made them inherently more dangerous than humans and many other creatures also brought limitations they simply couldn’t afford anymore.

  Not if they wished to live.

  Nathaniel Walker, the youngest of the Elders at a ripe five thousand years of life, had known their race wasn’t good enough ever since he was four hundred and sixty-six years old.

  It was the same day he’d witnessed an ancient, powerful were murdered by another creature’s passing thoughts. Damned druids.

  Why he’d been spared, he couldn’t fathom because he’d dedicated every day after that incident to preventing it from happening again. It did, of course, and more often than Nathaniel could think about without causing his home to shake.

  Never had he and the Elders come so close to attaining their goal than right now, at the same point in time when they were also the closest to being exterminated completely by the same creatures he’d feared for so long.

  Time was an unforgiving mistress.

  “This is a catastrophe,” Mariel, another Elder, murmured in a low tone, undoubtedly so her mate, children, and their children couldn’t hear. She and her family lived in a massive castle in Romania, where they gleefully perpetuated the rumors of Dracula and vampires.

  Normally, her drapes were open to reveal the idyllic landscape from the window near her computer, but today they were drawn, her door likely closed as well, keeping the familiar sounds of children’s feet from her laptop’s microphone.

  Three other Elders either nodded or verbalized their assent, their wizened visages holding the same amount of concern as Mariel. Only one of them was missing. Theodore Walden remained unaccounted for, silent on his end for the fifth day in a row.

  The rest of the Elders thought Nathaniel lived on a vineyard in northern California, and on most days, they were right. Today he sat in his small bungalow in Metairie, Louisiana, just far enough away from the nearby clan prohibitum that the werewolves wouldn’t be able to scent him on the wind.

  “No,” Nate countered. Surprise, and even anger registered on more than one face. “This is Alexandre’s only option if he’s loyal to his pack. How many of those warlock fledglings did he accidentally kill when they unbound his powers?”

  Understanding appeared in many of his colleagues’ eyes. Good.

  “Our sources said it was at least four,” Sandra answered slowly, as if she were unsure of where he was going with his words.

  “He’s using them.” Nathaniel didn’t care if the rest of the Elders believed him—it would take less than a year for his plan to com
e into play, the blink of an eye to those his age. “He’s only had his memories back for a couple of days, and he’s already saved the New Orleans pack from what would have turned into a bloodbath. On top of that, he’s separated himself from everyone he’s close to. You’re an idiot if you think he’s loyal to anyone other than our race.”

  Clay, one of the eldest among them, made a blustering sound. His cheeks pinkened the more he spoke. “He’s a warlock too. What of his loyalty to them?”

  The panic had receded from Mariel, who finally opened her damned drapes. Someday, Nate would have to take her and her mate’s invitation to visit her homeland.

  “He’s lived with those men for decades,” she said. “None of their loyalties should be in question, as we’d anticipated.”

  “I see,” Sandra muttered, a slow smile forming on her barely lined face.

  “But that’s not the reason we used Jeremiah to ensure their continued placement in the clan prohibitum.” Nate couldn’t see, but he felt certain Clay was wringing his beefy hands. “That wasn’t its purpose.”

  “The purpose played out,” Arthur chimed in. “Their powers were bound for so long they’ve multiplied, becoming something else entirely.”

  “A couple of them have also mated with different creatures, expanding their power base,” Sandra added.

  “I would say it’s a success.” Charles, their most silent member, uttered the words that ended the discussion. Until they had evidence to revoke the decision, it would stand.

  The plan was to go on unhindered. The growing New Orleans pack, led by an omni, would save their race, giving Nathaniel peace of mind for the first time in thousands of years.

  Maybe, once they accomplished their goal, he’d take that long-needed vacation.

  There was only one slight snag in their plan: it hinged on the most unpredictable member of that pack for it to work.

  Alexandre Villeneuve, a werewolf, warlock, and criminal, was the key to saving everything their race held dear.

  God help us all.

  * * * *

  Leila tried her best to smile when Mary opened her Christmas gift from Wish, something they had all thought was permanently taken away from her years ago.

  “Wh-what?” Mary gasped, her eyes rapidly scanning the piece of paper she held up. She faced Wish. “Is this real?”

  Aloysius Southerland, haint and newly tenured professor at Tulane University, nodded. Ghostly tears formed in his eyes.

  As a caring sister, Leila should have been tearing up too, or felt some swell of emotion. Instead, all she felt was the gaping hole she hadn’t even known Alexandre filled.

  He’s dead, she thought to herself, wishing she actually believed it this time.

  But she couldn’t. She refused to accept the death of the man who’d become so much more than just a boyfriend. He was her best friend, and the only being who really, truly understood her inside and out.

  He’s gone.

  A tear fell from her eye. She quickly wiped it away, but not before Raphael noticed. He sent her a sympathetic look, the same she’d seen so many times before, after she’d lost her hearing, then her parents.

  What was next? Her sister? Sight?

  She wanted to lash out at her sister’s mate for caring, but she held herself back. This moment belonged to Mary, and after everything she’d sacrificed for Leila, the least she could do was paste on a smile, nod a bit and pretend she wasn’t a completely miserable wreck.

  “If I take the courses listed here,” Mary cried, her voice shaking, “I can graduate with you, Leila! A Bachelor of Arts degree from Tulane; I can’t believe it.”

  You deserve this, Leila signed honestly. Congratulations, sis.

  The three of them went on, discussing Master’s options for Mary. Raphael beamed with pride, pulling his mate close. Mary clutched her letter to her chest like a lifeline.

  Leila had to leave the room, gathering the strength to stick her tongue out at a curious Molly on her way out.

  She had to leave the Wish’s house, which Mary and Molly had decorated for Christmas so beautifully the whole of it belonged on Pinterest.

  The home was far too cheerful, far too perfect for her to belong inside.

  A safe enough distance away for her to not be heard, she let herself cry for the umpteenth time. Her body wrenched with her tears, twisting the metal garbage can she sat next to.

  She couldn’t hurt anyone here; she was utterly alone, after all.

  Still, beyond all reason, she felt like Alex was still out there, looking after her like he always did.

  Not that she had any evidence to back up the notion she so wished was true. At the moment, all she had was a well-meaning family who treated her as if she were made of glass, a hole in her chest that would permanently leave her gasping, and the ash on the wind, undoubtedly from someone else’s life going up in flames.

  After a good fifteen minutes of sobbing and internal argument, she pulled herself together, wiped her eyes, and marched back into Wish’s house.

  “I will not ruin this day for them,” she whispered to herself, the sidewalk cracking underneath her as she spoke so quietly. “I will not ruin this day for them.”

  * * * *

  On Christmas Day, Briony Anderson awoke to her mate slamming out of their four-poster bed at her house, which they’d painted in pastel colors only a week before.

  She used to think she liked painting, but what she really loved was the shower that came after. It had become a daily habit, getting something stuck in the exact places where she couldn’t reach so Sebastian had to bathe with her.

  He didn’t pretend to mind, so long as he got to choose which soaps they used. For some reason his nose was still more developed than hers. She’d learned that the hard way when she’d brought home moisturizer from a cute little boutique, only for him to promptly empty it into the toilet.

  Of course, Sebastian’s head made impact with one of the scarves she’d tied between two of the bedposts, causing him to curse and rip the flimsy material down. He paced their room, both hands digging into his brightly colored hair.

  “Bad dream?” Briony tried and failed to keep her voice neutral. If she was going to be mated to a werewolf with more than a touch of witches’ magic, she was going to need a better poker face than this.

  Of course, his dream wasn’t bad.

  He rounded on her. “That dream was because of you, wasn’t it?”

  She opened her mouth, closed it, and raised her hands. A nervous giggle escaped her. “Technically, it wasn’t a dream at all.”

  “Then what was that?”

  It was their future, determined not only by the not-quite-new High Witch of her coven, but Harry and Cynthia too.

  It was as concrete as visions can get, but Briony wasn’t about to tell Sebastian that until he calmed down.

  Big Mama, who’d promptly replaced Noam as Interim High Witch until she chose someone to fill the spot after her death, warned Briony not to tell Sebastian too much about the vision.

  “Sometimes men need to learn through experience rather than being told,” she’d said when they ate lunch together the day before. “Let him figure it out on his own.”

  “What did you want it to be?” Briony asked anxiously.

  Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, then widened. “Is it real?” he whispered.

  Briony nodded, her heart pounding. She thought she couldn’t get much happier when she’d finally been able to free a lost ghost a few days ago, but this was her mate, the man who’d placed himself deep in her heart.

  And said mate was glowing, his magic making an appearance while he pulled his hair and worked his mouth.

  He was absolutely terrified, and, she was sure, coming up with at least a half dozen lists to complete before the vision came to pass.

  Sebastian sank into the bed, placing his head on her stomach and his arms around her waist. “Are you—is he—now?”

  She sh
ook her head. “As we witches say, he’s still only a twinkle in your eye.”

  His expression was one of wonder. “But this means—”

  Laughing, she held him tightly, running one hand up and down his smooth back. “I know, love. That’s exactly what it means.”

  He shouted with abandon, loudly enough for her neighbor to slam something against the wall in answer. “We’re going to get through this,” he whispered with a kiss to her belly button. “The warlocks don’t stand a chance.”

  “They never did, not really.”

  Even before she’d been passed the vision, a certain future for her, Sebastian and the little boy they would soon give life to, she’d known this war was theirs.

  The world had a way of balancing itself, and the scales were tipped in their favor. She didn’t know why, but she was grateful.

  She was surrounded by so much love, she felt like she could drown in it all and not mind one bit.

  Closing her eyes, she kept touching Sebastian’s back, brushing her fingers against the nape of his neck as they lay in silence, each thinking of the future.

  One where their entire pack was together and whole, celebrating the birthday of a little boy with auburn hair and a smile so contagious, it could melt the heart of even their fiercest enemy.

  The End

  Publisher’s Note

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  About Samantha Stone

  Samantha Stone is a twenty-something graduate student studying speech-language pathology in Alabama. She’s proficient in French and Signing Exact English, and considers New Orleans the home of her heart. Most days you can find her doing speech-related research, chasing her creatures around New Orleans (in her head), or curled up with a good book. She’s convinced her dog is a coyote and that her boyfriend might have a little werewolf in him.

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