Chapter 1

CHAPTERONE

“You’d have the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen, if they weren’t gray.”

Before Silas turned toward the thoughtful, amused voice, he knew three things about the woman.

She was a witch.

She served Chaos.

He’d let his eyes be whatever color she wanted.

He checked his mental timeclock. He wasn’t due to Reap Calloway “Cal” Horscht’s soul for another twenty-five hundred heartbeats. Approximately thirty-two minutes. He could hear it in his head, grains of sand falling through the hourglass.

He couldn’t be late for this one. Cal was a new soul, and death would be sudden, a heart attack. But Silas had a few minutes. Or heartbeats, as it was. And she’d noticed him. Enough to know his true eye color was green.

Most people saw gray when he was visible to them. Or blue. Or brown. It depended on what was in someone’s heart. What they needed to see. His true form brought a person face-to-face with their own mortality, and that often didn’t go well.

He turned toward her.

Her voice had been girlish and sultry, a mix of maiden and woman. The lavender-tinged silver eyes shifted in color, probably because of the dappled sunlight coming through the two pear trees planted in front of her store.

She was slim and barefoot under her blue wooden store sign. Toys, Teas, Herbs and Magic it proclaimed, the debossed letters gold-painted and in a font style that evoked Vikings and runes. It fit. She could have lived among them, the village völva. Benevolent with a core of steel.

Strong, gentle women were often underestimated because they didn’t meet a fight with a raised sword. They were the blade, the one who would withstand the blow, prevail, bring a battle to an end with their inexorable will and earth-deep understanding of the disturbing depths of the human soul.

Despite her thinness, the lack of curves, a man’s attention would be caught by those eyes, his lust aroused by the mane of thick hair she possessed. Worn loose, it poured out in fist-tempting waves to her waist, draping her narrow shoulders and the freckled, pale skin of her arms.

The tiny bells on the tasseled drawstring of her flowing skirt chimed as the breeze rippled the folds. Her purple T-shirt had sparkles that said Embrace the Magic. No bra. The hint of her nipples brought to mind the flourished tip of soft serve ice cream. The heat of his mouth shaping it, his tongue savoring the taste and response it gave him.

Sex was important. It maintained vitality, kept the bonds between him and the rest of the world strong. No matter that he belonged to the most isolated race in the universe, he was still connected to all life. It was essential for a Reaper to remember that, since a soul was most aware of life’s meaning when they stood in Death’s shadow.

All in all, a valid set of reasons for giving the woman who’d spoken to him a closer look.

She stood next to a wheeled wooden display she’d pushed out onto the sidewalk. The bins on it were loaded up with whimsical toys. Rubber balls painted with the faces of gargoyles, grinning maniacally. Tasseled wands for child fairies, satin ribbons fluttering in the wind. Wood-burned rhymes spiraled around the handles, playful spellcraft. Harmless, but not meaningless. Energy vibrated along the shafts. She had baskets of wind-up metal toys, and one of them, a bear on a painted red tricycle, clacked along the sidewalk, turning in circles around her feet.

The store fit the wider setting. The Southern town was a few miles from a larger city, the small-town elements well preserved and enhanced by the quirky, artsy shops and bistro-style restaurants along this main street. A town like this was a good place for a person who didn’t blend well. Who needed the patience and setting of a slower pace to do the best she could at that blending.

The witch was still gazing at him with deep curiosity. No trepidation. She knew their paths were going to cross, and the adventure of it would be welcome.

The thought drove blood to his groin. Made him think how she’d react when he put his mouth on hers, swallowed her gasps, her energy rippling into him as he took her over, plunged deep, so her soul would open and see his.

But when their eyes met, something else shot through him. A startling revelation.

Before he could confirm it, she sighed. “For want of a nail,” she said ruefully, resignation capturing her intriguing gaze.

With a groan and a harsh squeak, one wheel shot out from beneath the display. As the wooden structure lurched toward that unbalanced corner, the bins fell, their contents tumbling out onto the sidewalk and rushing in every direction. Including toward him.

* * *

When she’d pushed the display out of the shop, Ramona already knew something was off. She didn’t anticipate it being something so pleasing that her female side elbowed her concerns out of its path to indulge a closer look.

I want that.

He was two stores up, in front of Bygone Treasures, Cordelia Sun’s antique shop. Cordelia’s current window display included a French dining table made of walnut, circled by four apple-green velvet upholstered chairs and topped by a low-hanging chandelier. She made it seem like her shoppers were peering into someone’s home, inspiring purchases of those same items.

She routinely clucked over Ramona’s eclectic and disordered window. “Strategic clutter is essential for a shop, but it must have a theme. A subtle order.”

There was a theme to Ramona’s offerings. And her shoppers didn’t seem to mind when the thread of that theme got snarled up in an unexpected knot here and there. She’d told Cordelia as much. In a friendly way, because they were friends, the fellow shopkeeper kind.

That said, if Cordelia came out to lure in the intriguing male, Ramona would ruin her perfect shoulder bob with a pint-sized tornado. When he looked her way, she felt the trigger pull, low in her belly. One testosterone-fueled, estrogen-answered shot.

Her friend and sister witch Ruby would appreciate the metaphor, because Ruby operated the local gun range and firearms shop. Raina, the other member of their coven trinity, would fully understand it. Because Raina was half-succubus and she ran the one and only local bordello, discreetly located in an antebellum home outside of town.

If she were here, she would already have given Ramona a healthy shove toward the stranger.

His face was strong and angular, skin stretched taut over bone, making those remarkable green-yet-gray eyes deep set. His walnut-colored brows gave them a fierceness that eased when his forehead did, turning the warrior into a sexy librarian. All he needed were wire-rimmed spectacles.

His firm mouth showed resolve and clear purpose in an unclear world. It proved he’d fought more than a few battles to get it to that shape. She felt compassion toward him for that. Those battles left wounds that didn’t always heal.

His jeans liked his lower body just fine. Against the morning’s slight chill he wore an unzipped hoodie, a dark cotton T-shirt beneath. Nothing had a visible logo, no art on the shirt. She suspected the clothes were generated from ones he’d seen, suited to his preferences. No wasted time on more authentic details, like labels or designs.

She couldn’t tell exactly what he was, but she knew for certain he wasn’t human. Or a shopper.

Pleasure shoppers didn’t shop alone, and they would linger, in no particular hurry, chatting about where they might eat lunch. Quick gift buyers were usually locals.

He could be waiting for someone, but his body language didn’t telegraph that. As he’d studied the window, he’d had his hand pushed into a pocket, and rocked forward and back on thick tread shoes. She thought he was a man killing some time before he had to be somewhere.

On occasion, an item would catch the eye of a non-shopper like that, resulting in an impulse buy. A thought that thrummed through her when her comment drew his attention and his gaze sharpened with distinct interest.

When a man saw her beauty, he’d make the automatic sexual assessment. If he was available and not an asshole, he’d be appreciative but uncommitted until he read the right signals. The look was an indulgence, not an investment. Particularly if her behavior didn’t encourage it.

Then there was the kind of man who looked at her like this. If she’d anticipated the force of his energy, she might have given more thought to the consequences of opening her mouth. Great Goddess, really, what was he? It was something she’d never encountered before. It unbalanced her, made her feel like…

Damn it.

She’d learned long ago not to fight or regret it, and to follow it where it led. A Chaos witch came into the world with one guiding aphorism for her life. It might as well be tattooed on her ass. Make your plans and watch God laugh.

Even so, it would have been nice to indulge a longer look, an exploration of that unique energy, before the Chaos inevitably sent him on his way.

“For want of a nail…” She sighed.

She’d noted the wheel was loose when she’d pushed the display out here, had intended to tighten it before he’d distracted her. So she could blame it on him.

She grabbed for the shelf to keep the sudden weight shift from taking it all the way over. Eight bins toppled out, and one of them contained balls. Of course. At least the grinning gargoyles looked cheerful, bouncing across the sidewalk, some halting in the pine bark around the pear trees, but too many spinning elsewhere. Off the curb, into the street, rolling under parked cars.

The wind-up toys clattered to the ground. A couple frogs hopped a few steps across the pavement, the sun glinting off the painted green metal. The horses treaded air when they ended up on their sides. The tricycling bears trundled off, though they wouldn’t go as far as the balls.

The traffic on Main Street hesitated only long enough to be sure they wouldn’t run over anything. After toeing her concrete pig doorstop over to the display to keep it upright, Ramona shoved her feet into her zebra-striped sneakers and headed toward the road.

As she began to step out between two parked vehicles, an SUV and a jacked-up pickup, her elbow was grasped. A truck trundled by. It wasn’t going fast, but its driver was scrolling through his phone, looking for his delivery address. Two gargoyle balls were flattened beneath the big wheels.

After he passed, they shook loose from the treads and reinflated, distorted faces snarling at the offense. One rolled to Ramona and bumped the side of her foot. The shoe’s canvas was thin enough she vaguely felt it, but her sensitive nerve endings were attuned to the fingers gripping her arm.

When she lifted her gaze to the stranger’s face, she found his green eyes could rob a woman of speech. Maybe permanently. Why waste time talking in a gallery, when focusing on the art could give you everything? His prominent bone structure, the brow and jaw, the sharp cheekbones and deep-set eyes, were the best work of a master sculptor.

“Your hair,” he said, “would be the reddest I’ve ever seen, if it wasn’t spun gold.” His gaze shifted over it. “Now it’s both. Like fire.”

Sunlight could do that, but the sudden smoky scent told her he’d set off a reaction from her she had no time to quell.

He had a strand between his fingers, so he saw it shimmer, then spout flame. He didn’t snatch his hand back. Before she could protect him, he’d closed his hand around the fire, taking the heat into himself. She saw the brief spark in his gaze, then it was an ocean hue again. Her throat went dry.

“It was the color of earth at one time,” he noted, still apparently speaking of her hair. His lips curved. “It’s been green, too. And blue.”

“All the crayons want their turn,” she managed. “I need to collect the toys.”

“Some bears went that way.” He nodded toward Cordelia’s. “I’ll get them. Mind yourself before you step out.”

Whoa.The way he said it, his voice measured and calm, the steady look he reinforced it with, gave her a serious pause. And aroused the contrary part of her that wanted something she couldn’t have, because it didn’t exist.

A male who could Dominate chaos, give her even just a careful taste of the surrender she craved.

But he seemed careful, didn’t he? He’d just kept her from stepping out in front of a truck, after all. Though in truth, what he’d done was save the driver, from a massive fender bender with the chain of parked cars along the street. Chaos tended to be protective of her.

Much as he’d seemed to be.

As he turned to do as he’d indicated, Ramona discovered he looked pretty damn good from behind. There wasn’t a lot of bulk to him, but he had swift grace and a dense power.

When she recovered enough to scamper off and grab gargoyle balls, she could sense Cordelia’s exasperated disapproval through her side window. Normally, she would have been the first to come out and help Ramona. Being as sharp as any female friend could wish her to be, Cordelia wouldn’t interrupt whatever possibilities were playing out between Ramona and the stranger. Much as she often chastised Ramona like she was an untidy child, she also routinely asked if Ramona had found someone “nice,” because she deserved that, she “surely did.”

Other pedestrians were collecting the toys. She righted one of the bins, depositing balls in it before moving with a smile toward a couple bringing her another armload. Then she did a double take.

“Raina.”

The last person she’d ever expect to see in town. Since Sweet Dreams employed a dozen sex demons, the bulk of Raina’s energy was required to maintain the spellcraft there. It allowed her demons to pass as humans and feed from her human clientele without killing them. It didn’t leave much extra for the shielding her succubus nature would need if she came to town for a casual shopping day. As such, she rarely visited anywhere as populated as this. But here she was.

The power that disguised Raina’s appearance wasn’t her own. The question of who had provided the concealment was answered in the same look and brought a greater shock. Plus a surge of anger.

Mikhael Roman. A Dark Guardian. A powerful being Raina had once said needed to have his testicles roasted in hellfire and his anus injected with hot sauce.

Was Mikhael here for Raina? If so, Ramona needed to protect her coven sister, get her away from him.

But since her impulsive magic could reach nuclear levels if she let strong emotions take over, she took a vital extra beat to review the situation. First, would Raina have taken the time to pick up toys and bring them to her if she was in danger? Second, she evaluated the body language between Raina and Mikhael.

Yes, something as hot as hellfire was happening. But not the type associated with that kind of torment.

“I’m confused,” she said. “Normal for me, but really confused.”

Her green-eyed stranger had come back to her side. For her next shock of the day, she saw Mikhael offer him a slight nod. Acknowledgement. The respect of a peer.

Double whoa.

Was he a Guardian of some kind? No, she’d recognize that. Ruby was mated to a Light Guardian, and despite being different sides of the coin, Mikhael and Derek had a common energy current.

Then the stranger’s gaze shifted to Raina, and Ramona could tell he saw through her shielding. Ramona suppressed a pang of regret. C’est la vie.

She told herself she wouldn’t hold it against him. The succubus blood made it impossible for a male not to be ensnared by Raina. Combine that with the whole physical package—Raina’s long dark hair, lush body and moist, full lips—a man would think of sex with her even standing waist deep in fresh horse manure. Or naked strippers.

But as he made a polite comment or two about the toys, he merely nodded courteously to Raina. Then his attention was fully back on Ramona.

Today was full of more surprises than even her norm. She wanted to get some answers. She wrapped things up with Raina and tossed out some inane prattle about good places for a visitor to eat in the area as she drew the male back toward her store.

As she did, she threw a look at Raina that said she’d want details later about why she was running around with Mikhael Roman. Ruby was going to have kittens. And fucking hell, to say nothing of Derek.

Raina’s look and quirked lips said, “Right back at you, sister. And by the way, make sure there are lots of details to give.”

While her professional life was saturated with it, Raina was always more than willing to talk about sex. Remembering the way the male’s green eyes had penetrated her to her toes, Ramona wasn’t going to claim she was above such things.

She just had to go without sex a lot more than Raina did.

At the entrance to her store, he held the door open for her. Once inside, she put down the rest of the toys she’d gathered on a long display counter. A couple of the windup ones had been damaged, so she separated them for transfer to the discount shelves in back.

As he turned to study her store’s interior, he shrugged out of the hoodie and folded it over his arm, revealing the curve of biceps, the flex of his shoulders. His back tapered down to his waist, and she’d already seen the ass beneath the denim looked good, though a second verification never hurt. If she touched his nape, would the heated flesh be slightly damp? His thick brown hair, short with a mix of earthy shades, curled a little, making her want to feather her fingers over it.

She pulled her attention to what he was looking at, trying to read his impressions. Cordelia said Ramona could fit the universe in a shoebox, with room for extra laces. No matter where one looked, the store had something to see. Kites hung from the ceiling, drifting with the help of a fan. Shelves held toys, games, magic implements, potions, crystals. Tea. One section was for teacups, placed high enough to avoid tiny hands, though Ramona had put less breakable, sturdy ceramic ones down a little lower.

As she took the damaged toys toward the back, he followed her, more slowly. Opposite the discount shelves were the displays with her hand-woven linens. Blankets, towels, rugs. Tapestries. He took a closer look at one with a navy-blue swirly pattern, marked with tiny white dots, stars in a night sky. A giant rabbit woven of fuzzy thread danced against it.

When a whistle drew his attention upward, a toy train chugged into view on the track that ran through the store, several feet above the heads of her visitors. Steam came out the engine stack as the locomotive wound its way past the linens and disappeared.

“You sell trains, too.” Inside, his voice became a deeper hum, one she felt in her bones.

“No. Not directly. The vendors swap inventory to help all our sales, but the train seller gave me this one. I convinced the mice in his walls to live somewhere else. The track rearranges itself into different routes throughout the store. I let it decide how it wants to go.”

With this male, there was no reason for her to pretend not to be the witch he knew she was.

“So all types of magic can happen here.”

When she didn’t immediately answer, he turned to look at her, expectant. His expression reminded her of his tone when he’d told her to mind herself. Her stomach fluttered.

“Yes.” As she put the broken toys on the discount shelf, she looked at the plaque mounted beside the entrance to the private back rooms. Come to earth like an angel’s feather. Leave the same way.

Crescent, the Fae pixie female who’d raised her, had said she thought Ramona’s soul had come to earth like that. Soaring in wild patterns that only she could see, always ready to take off and soar again.

She turned to find him standing behind her. His piercing eyes, touched by something fierce, made her wonder if she should have stayed closer to the sunny street. Or at least left her front door propped open.

She wasn’t easily rattled. But this concentrated stillness, holding her in one fixed point while the rest of the world spun around them, didn’t happen to her. She was one of the things that spun around the fixed points.

Inside that unexpected place, she found a throbbing center of singular want. Something elusive and out of reach for a Chaos witch. Usually.

He was tall, but she lifted her hands, framed his head, shaped it without touching. Spreading her fingers like bird wings, she swept them back, as if pulling any energy away that concealed him from her, who he was, what he wanted. All she felt was the clean heat of a man’s hunger. The weight of it, while daunting, was a reassurance, not a threat.

His eyes darkened and he put his hand on the side of her throat. His fingers brushed her hair, curving under it, firm pressure against yielding flesh. As she stared up at him, he held there, still. Waiting.

Moistening her lips, she lowered her gaze to his chest. A hard vibration went through her as his energy changed, responding to the message she’d just sent him.

His forefinger slid against the main artery in her throat. The pressure increased, so she could feel the blood rushing, the beat of her heart, as her body responded. His thumb moved to her lips, a stroke. He had a large hand, so could do both without straining, his fingers still caressing the sensitive skin of her neck.

His gaze traveled over her features, down. Back up.

“Say what’s in your mind, witch.”

A man used to holding authority, wielding it, but not with malice. The surety in his touch was like an ocean. If an army was placed before the sea and told defeat this, there’d be no starting point. Its power was too vast. Permanent. Binding.

“Say what’s in your mind,” he repeated.

“My lord is my shepherd, and in his presence, I shall do nothing but want.”

She didn’t know why certain words came to her, but whatever she’d said had a decided impact. A flash of surprise, then naked desire. A soft moan escaped her lips as his grip tightened.

“I’ve been called a shepherd before.” He gave her a smile as old and breathtaking as Earth’s first day. Then his gaze sharpened again, that blade she wanted to cut her everywhere. He dropped to a knee, his hands leaving a tingling caress along her shoulders, her upper arms, coming to rest with heated palms on her forearms.

Things in her stomach took flight. She tried hard not to think the word, but there it was, and so as he acted, they became part of this.

Dragonflies. As within, so without. They were darting around them, iridescent wings picking up the green in his eyes, the purple of her clothes, like living accessories.

He noted them, and seemed pleased by the response. His attention shifted to her breasts, small mounds beneath the sparkling words on her T-shirt. The taut points stretched the fabric. Being so small, she often didn’t concern herself with underwear for them, though that scandalized poor Cordelia.

The male studied her nipples beneath the cloth. He absently brushed a perched dragonfly off his cheek before he leaned in to press his lips to one covered peak.

His mouth was like a bee’s legs on a flower, a teasing dance. His hands had shifted to her waist and held her still, command in his touch.

She could call the power of the Goddess, and that power knew just how potent surrender to a lover’s touch could be. She didn’t know him, but trust in a cocoon of heat, in a corner of her shop, didn’t have to reach far.

All this surrender required was accepting this blink-of-time remarkable magic, where two souls opened and heard each other’s language.

Before the noise of the world intruded again.

She heard a third heartbeat. Hers was erratic. His was smoother, but gaining ground like a wolf increasing pace toward a target. She saw some wolf in him. The third heartbeat seemed to be coming from him, too, like the ticking of a pocket watch.

He was still staring at her, as if getting to the bottom of something. “You are difficult to read,” he said at last. “Perhaps it’s the Chaos magic.”

Her desires were as evident to her as her brightly colored wind-up toys. “Really? My antique store neighbor would say I was being too obvious. Terribly unladylike.”

He looked startled, and she bit her lip. “You weren’t talking about that.”

“No.” But when she would have tried to slip away, regain her composure, the grip of his hands and eyes kept her with him. “There is nothing in this world, or any other, more welcome and appropriate than a woman’s desire.”

How many other worlds had he seen? With how many women in them? What did that have to do with this? Shut up, Ramona.

As he kissed her right breast again, her hand brushed his forearm. Short, dark hairs, his skin rough beneath them, a contrast to hers. She explored it, one finger sliding along his flesh. She watched his hands under her shirt, warm palms against her abdomen, thumbs on her rib cage, other fingers gripping her above her lower back. Demanding, overwhelming. She’d give so much to let a man take her, all the way to the core—sex, heart and soul—and bring her satisfaction.

But that heartbeat…

“I don’t want to seem nosy,” she ventured on a humming note. Her fingers dug in as he nuzzled, teased, did something amazing with his tongue over her clothes that had her dropping her head back, sensation washing through her chest, her aching nipple. She wanted to be suckled, bitten, kissed. She wanted him there forever.

She was amazed at how easily he held her, steadied her. Normally, the more aroused she became, the more her magic would spin up and cause all sorts of problems. Not the least of which was an end to the pleasure.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.This time, her own mouth would have to take the blame. She found the thread of her question. “Do you have two hearts?”

Those brilliant eyes lifted. But as he registered her question, they lost focus on her and turned inward.

An expression crossed his face that sank her heart like the Titanic. He looked like a man woken up from a dream, realizing he couldn’t afford even another moment in bed. She’d lifted her hand to brush the silken hair at his temples, but before she could, he rose and stepped back, giving her a hard, searching look.

Friend or foe?That was what he was trying to determine. Whatever it was she’d detected, he hadn’t expected her to have that ability. In the shift, she saw he had powers that could end her. Sending Raina on her way suddenly didn’t seem as sensible.

But as unsettling as facing that dangerous judgment was, it still felt better than when his attention left her entirely. His total concentration had felt so wondrously real and strong.

Chaos was always ready to remind her nothing was in her control, especially the things she most wanted to hold onto. No surprise, she heard a loud crack outside. A jarring series of crashes as wood hit concrete and splintered, more bins toppling. Another loose wheel had broken free, dumping the whole thing on the sidewalk and likely destroying the display’s use entirely.

For want of an army, the war was lost. But it all started with a nail.

Being lonely was an emptiness. If she treated it like a pool, it would fill with pain, drag her into its depths to drown or worse—wallow. So instead she treated it like a room, and she was the house. It was just one small part of everything else she was. It helped to think of it that way.

“I must go.” He bowed to her, an absent-minded courtesy overshadowed with urgency. That beautiful desire he’d given her had galloped away like a wild horse. “Goodbye. Thank you.”

“Goodbye.” It was kneejerk, an inane parroting of his own farewell. But he was already gone, as if he’d vanished right in front of her.

He hadn’t. The shop bells were chiming, telling her he’d passed through the door.

She hated herself for it, but she ran there to look for him. He was crossing the street, long legs eating up the ground. He disappeared in the alley between the movie theater and Peterson’s Hardware.

He didn’t look back.

She glanced down. A dragonfly lay on the floor of her store, tumbled from wherever it had been perching. Her magic had called them to her, and this one had been in the last minutes of its short life span as a flying adult. An amazing flight, over in an instant.

Her skin was still vibrating, her lips tingling. She passed her fingers over them, hugged herself, not ready to let go of his scent, the feel of his touch.

But life went on. At length, sighing, she scooped up the dragonfly and stepped out, letting the wind have him. Then she began cleaning up her sidewalk. This time, he hadn’t stayed to help.

But Cordelia was already coming out to do so. Ramona had friends. She had a life. A house of many rooms, and she was always adding to them. It had been a nice moment. She’d store it as the wistful memory it would become. She’d be holding onto those green eyes for a while.

She’d let the rest of him hold onto her, if only in her dreams.