Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

I woke early, unable to stay in bed. Today was the day the doctors were releasing Faron from the hospital and I'd get to see him. While he had woken up several weeks ago, they had kept him under observation until the inflammation in his brain lessened. But he was healed up enough that they said he could go home, as long as he stayed with his brother Kyle for a while until they were certain he was ready to resume his normal life.

I'd spent so many afternoons at the hospital, sitting with Faron, until Kyle asked me to back off. Apparently, my presence agitated him. Faron had forgotten what we had together and Kyle told me that the doctors didn't want me to slip and say something that might create too much stress. So the past three weeks, we'd barely seen each other and it was hard not knowing where I stood in his life.

I could hear Grams in the kitchen, making breakfast. I sat on the edge of my bed, trying to sort through my feelings. Over the past few weeks, Bran and I had grown a lot closer. When I told him Faron had woken up, he'd been silent for a while, but at least he'd been happy for the wolf shifter. But today…today Faron was leaving the hospital, and it would change all our lives.

I was in love with both men, and both men were in love with me. At least, Bran was. Faron was a mystery, at this point. Adrift, I had no clue where we were headed or whether we'd pick up where we left off. Or whether he'd even remember we'd slept together before we'd both been attacked.

Sighing, I sorted through my closet, trying to pull together an outfit. I wanted sexy, but it was storming out so I also wanted warm and cozy. I opted for a pair of black leather pants, a warm cobalt sweater with a deep V-neck, and a silver belt. I laced up my granny boots, did my makeup and, carrying my jacket over my shoulder, joined Grams for breakfast.

Grams—my great-grandmother—handed me a plate of eggs, bacon, and whole-grain toast. She was on a health kick—for me. She was determined to build up my strength and endurance as she helped me discover more about my magical heritage. My mother had mostly taught me basic magic. My father—Grams's grandson—had died when I was five, so I never had the opportunity to learn anything from him. In fact, I barely remembered him.

My magic was entwined with the earth, with growing things, the forest and land. I was born into a line of witches who often turned into demon hunters as their years went on and their magic grew. My own magic felt like it was just starting to blossom.

Grams had come over from Scotland to help me find that connection, and she had stayed. We understood each other, in a bond I hadn't had with anybody else in my family. So, instead of staying in Port Townsend where my mother lived, Grams moved down to Starlight Hollow, a small town on Dabob Bay near Gig Harbor, where I had made my home. She was mentoring me now, as I healed from a bad case of PTSD.

"Morning, Grams," I said, kissing her on the cheek. "What are you up to for the day?"

"House hunting. I can't stay with you forever," she said, laughing. "I noticed several cottages for sale, down near the waterline, so I think I'll talk to Randy about them."

Randy Eikhorn was her real estate agent. He had found my house for me, and so Grams was working with him. They had seen several houses so far, but none had fully met her needs.

"I hope you find something you like, but you know you can stay here as long as you want. I love having you around." I settled at the table and dug into my food. Grams handed me a quad-shot latte, steaming with the scent of pumpkin spice, and I gratefully cupped the mug in my hands and sipped what I considered the elixir of life—caffeine in the black gold that was coffee.

"I know, but we both need our own space. Are you heading to the hospital today?"

I shook my head. "No, Kyle called me last night. He's taking Faron home today, so I'll go over there. Faron's staying with him until the doctors give him permission to go back to his regular life." I paused, then asked, "Grams? What do you do when you need to find out something, but it's not the right time to ask?"

Grams settled in opposite me with her breakfast. She sipped her tea out of a china cup. Most of her things were in storage until she found a new house, but she had insisted on unpacking her good china. It's not tea unless you drink it out of a china cup, she had said.

"Does your question regard a life-or-death situation?"

I shook my head. "No. It's important to me , but nobody's life depends on the answer."

"Then you leave it alone, for now. I assume you're referring to where you stand with Faron?"

I let out a sigh. "Yeah, it is. It's been a while since he woke up, and several weeks since I've seen him. I haven't said a word to him about the fact that we slept together. That we were falling for one another. I have no idea how he feels."

"He's healing from a traumatic brain injury. I love you, my dear, but as much as you want to know if he remembers you in that manner, now is not the time to pursue it. And now you have the complication that you're involved with Bran."

"I know," I said, toying with my eggs. "But…I love them both , Grams. The past few weeks have taught me that. I can't choose. The heart wants what it wants."

"Maybe Faron will choose for you. Let it be for now, Elphyra." She glanced over at the door as Fancypants flew in from the living room. "Well, you're having a slow morning, Sir Fancypants."

The dragonette landed in his high chair and yawned. "I can't help it—this time of year I want to sleep longer and deeper. Dragons and dragonettes don't exactly hibernate, but except for those born to the winter climes, we do slow down." He looked around expectantly. "Breakfast?"

"One breakfast, coming up," Grams said. She catered to Fancypants in a way that tickled my heart. She also catered to my cats. She had already fed Gem and Silver and they were snuggled on the cat tree, asleep. Gem slept with me at night, but Silver had taken to sleeping with Grams.

"Silver's going to miss you when you leave," I said.

"I will too," Fancypants added.

Grams laughed. "I'll visit often enough. You both know that. And Silver will be just fine with his sister and his dragonette brother."

She fixed a plate for Fancypants and sat it on the tray of the highchair. It wasn't that he was a baby—although he was new to the world, especially in the times of a dragonette's lifespan—but the highchair tray and seat provided the perfect height for him to eat.

Eventually, as he grew, Fancypants would be too big for the setup, but for the time being, it worked. She set the bacon and eggs in front of him and he dove in, daintily wiping his mouth with a napkin after each bite. The dragonette had manners, that much I'd give him.

I turned back to Grams. "You're right. I know I need to be patient, for Faron's sake. That's not an easy thing for me, but I'll wait and hope."

"Has Bran been pushing you about the issue?" She returned to her seat.

"Yes, but he's not being obnoxious about it." I changed the subject. "On other topics, my mother called last night. She's asked us to join her and Aunt Ciara for Thanksgiving next week. That means we'll be making dinner, given Catharine doesn't cook."

My mother really didn't do much of anything, especially if she didn't enjoy it. I'd grown up on a diet of sandwiches, frozen dinners, and canned food. It hadn't hurt me, but there had been no cozy Sunday dinners with roast beef and mashed potatoes, or whatever it was close families ate when they gathered together.

"Oh, that sounds like a joyful time," Grams said, rolling her eyes.

"I'd rather invite them here, but at least, when it gets to be too much, we can leave. And Ciara needs us more than my mother does. Losing Owen has been hard on her. So I think we should go, if you're willing."

My cousin had committed suicide the month before. He was an addict, and he had taken one too many pills, finally. The drugs had chased him into a depression, and at the end, he couldn't find his way out. None of us had known he was mired so deep, and his death had been hard on my aunt and me. Owen and I grew up together. We used to be best buddies, but we had drifted apart. I felt some guilt over that, though logically, the past year had been hell on me, too, and I had barely been able to drag myself out of my own depression, let alone help anybody else.

"All right, we'll go. But I'm cooking. Those two can't cook their way out of a paper bag," Grams said. "Tomorrow I'll go shopping for everything we'll need. Otherwise, the shelves will be bare if we wait till next week. You can help me cook some of the dishes in advance, like the pies. Tell your mother we'll be there." She gave me a smart-assed grin.

I snorted. "All right. At least dinner will be good."

My mother was a narcissist—albeit a harmless one—and she didn't really pay attention to the comfort of others. That was one reason I'd left Port Townsend, beyond the grim memories that remained there for me.

"Well, I'd best get my creaky old bones in gear if I'm going house hunting today." Grams stood, carrying her dishes to the sink.

She might call herself old, and truly, she was, at one hundred and twenty-six. But Grams was in good health and would probably be around for at least another quarter century, if not longer. Witches lived longer than regular humans, though we weren't as long-lived as most shifters. But we aged well, and Grams looked and acted like a human half her years.

"Get on with you. You can outwalk me any day." It wasn't true, but she did give me a run for my money. I handed her my dish.

"Have you thought about whether you're going to reopen your shop? I know you'd have to rebuild it, but…" Grams rinsed our dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher.

I shrugged. "I don't know. I want to see what happens with the magic you're teaching me, first. It feels like my life is shifting, and I want to see how things go." I slid into my black leather jacket and pulled on a pair of matching gloves. "All right, I'm off." I turned to Fancypants. "Be good today. Watch the cats after Grams leaves."

"I will," he said, flying over to land on my arm. "Your great-grandmother is right about Faron. Don't stress him. Brain injuries are dangerous."

"I know," I said, holding my arm out for him to hop atop the counter. "Later."

As I headed toward my car, a midnight blue Chevy Equinox, I wondered what would happen today. Would Faron remember anything about us? Had he remembered anything? How would he act? I'd only seen him for a few minutes here and there since he woke up, trying not to put any stress on him by visiting too often. Now, as I started the ignition, butterflies took over in my stomach and I bumped my way down the graveled driveway, trying to think about anything else.

Starlight Hollow was the sort of town that grew slowly. People would come through, and a few were pulled to stick around and explore, but most felt a gentle shove that moved them through quickly. It wasn't a dangerous town, or scary, but there was a certain energy that crept through the land it was on. While a number of shifters lived in Starlight Hollow, witchfolk were the most common, and we infused our magic in the town, igniting the aura of the community.

What a lot of people never understood was that every town had its own essential self. Some communities, like Starlight Hollow, evolved self-awareness, becoming semi-sentient. Other towns and cities remained silent, the collective consciousness slumbering in a state of perpetual hibernation.

Bree Loomis, my best friend and a puma shifter, had moved here in her twenties. When my fiancé and I were attacked by a sadistic vampire a little over a year ago, I knew I couldn't stay in Port Townsend. Rian's death had scarred me. His torture had been physical, mine had been mental and emotional. The beautiful artistic town had taken on a dark gloom and I ran to escape the memories, to Starlight Hollow. But running never works, and I soon fell in love with the town. I had grown, emerging from behind the massive wall I'd built to protect myself.

The Olympic Wolf Pack lived across the road from the main part of Starlight Hollow, in a self-organized commune. They were still part of the town, but they were an insular group, and they had built their own subdivision. Composed of pretty two- and three-bedroom single-story houses, the neighborhood was known as Rosewood Hill. The houses were built up the eastern slope leading toward the Olympic National Park. The trees were thick here—not the oldest growth in the park, but there were giants among the already towering firs and cedars, their mossy trunks soaring into the sky.

I had plugged in my GPS because the twists and turns of the streets in the Rosewood Hill neighborhood were enough to confound even a person with the best sense of direction. It led me along the tangle of streets and alleyways until I came to Kyle's house. He lived a few blocks over from Faron, but it might as well have been all the way across town, for all the deadends and private lanes.

As I brought the car to a stop in front of a pale blue house with white trim, I turned off the ignition and stared at it. Faron's home was larger, given he was the king of the Olympic Wolf Pack, but right now he needed watching until the doctors determined he was out of danger.

When we first met, Faron and I had been at odds, butting heads and trading insults. But that had given way as an inexplicable connection spawned between us. For an alpha, he turned out to be considerably more level-headed than I had expected. He was arrogant, but he had the goods to back it up, and once we had put aside our differences, the attraction flourished. Then he had been attacked. Or rather, we had been attacked while helping Bree.

I took a deep breath, grabbed my purse and the bouquet of flowers I had bought at the grocery store, and headed for the door. As I stopped to glance at the sky, the rain began to fall—chilly fat drops splattering to cover the ground. I ducked my head and sprinted to the porch.

As I rang the bell, I tried to figure out what to say, but I had nothing. I had no clue what would happen.

Kyle opened the door. Where Faron was lean and muscled, Kyle was stocky and burly. Faron was regal, where Kyle was everyman. Kyle was pleasant and logical, but he wasn't magnetic like Faron. But the resemblance between them was there, beneath the differences, the biggest of which was that Kyle didn't want the throne. He was eager to hand the reins of power back. That I knew from the hours of talks that we had had, sitting outside of Faron's room at the hospital, waiting for news about his health.

Kyle gave me a hug. "I'm glad you could come."

"I'm nervous," I said. "I admit it, I'm not sure what to expect, so…"

Kyle bit his lip. "I have something to tell you?—"

"Who is it?" Faron's voice echoed from the living room.

"It's Elphyra," Kyle yelled back.

My heart skipped a beat as Faron's voice hit my ears. "Can I see him?"

"Yes, of course," Kyle said, but there was a hesitation in his words that made me nervous. "But…don't get your hopes up. Please."

I followed him into the living room, holding my breath. Faron was sitting in a recliner, his feet up. He smiled when he saw me and his smile made me feel like the stars had come out.

"Elphyra, hey—are you here to see me?" His gaze was curious, his voice surprised.

That didn't bode well. "Yes, I am. Here, I brought you flowers. Welcome home?—"

"Oh, this is Kyle's home," he said. "I don't live here—my house is a few blocks away. I'm staying here during my recuperation."

I handed him the flowers, trying not to show a reaction. I'd been to Faron's house several times. Didn't he remember? " Right. I'm glad you have your brother to help."

"So am I. I can't imagine weathering this without him." He glanced over at Kyle. "You're a lifesaver."

Kyle laughed. "Here, let me take those. I'll put them in some water." He took the bouquet from me, heading toward the kitchen.

I turned back to Faron, waiting expectantly.

"Have a seat, please." He was pleasant, polite, and it felt like I was some random stranger who had just happened to visit. "My brother tells me you helped him pass the time while he was waiting on me in the hospital. Thank you…your support has meant so much to him. I can tell. He really likes you." He paused, then added, "I know we met a couple times before the accident. You seem familiar. I think we've talked several times, correct? You'll have to excuse me. The accident left several holes in my memory."

Accident? My heart plummeted. His expression was expectant, but it was clear that he didn't remember that we'd slept together, that we'd been dating. I wanted to go over, give him a hug and a kiss, but that was a bad idea right now. It might overload him.

I forced myself to sit down near him and plastered a smile on my face. "We had several…discussions, yes. You say the…accident…affected your memory?"

"Unfortunately, yes. When the rubble hit me in the head, my short-term memory—things that have happened in the past five or six months—short-circuited."

I forced myself to avoid reacting. Accident? There had been no accident—we'd been assaulted by Bree's stalker. But I kept my mouth shut.

Faron continued. "I'm truly sorry, but I don't remember us meeting before, though as I said, you look familiar."

His easy smile invited me to slide down beside him, to lean in beside him, to stroke his hair back out of his eyes. The long black locks had been shaved on one side, where they'd had to go in and do whatever it was doctors did in brain injury cases. I clenched my fists in my lap, sitting perfectly still.

After a moment, I let out a slow breath. "I'm sorry, too," I said, glancing at Kyle, who was staring at the floor, a downcast look on his face. "Kyle, can I speak to you for a moment?"

"Of course." He sounded like he'd rather do anything but talk to me. He led me out of the living room, into the kitchen, where he turned around, leaning against the counter. "I should have told you before. But we don't know how long it will be—if ever —before he regains his missing memories. I kept hoping he'd remember as the days went by, before I had to tell you."

"He doesn't know we slept together…that he and I were growing close." I ducked my head. "What does he think?"

"That you're a friendly acquaintance. He seems to be under the impression that you and I might have something going on. I've talked about you a lot," he said. Then, at my look, he quickly added, "I was trying to trigger off a memory. It backfired, I guess."

"I suppose I'm grateful for that," I said, trying to be gracious. Kyle was trying to help. "And you're sure I can't tell him?"

"The doctors are adamant that any sudden shocks to his system or psyche could send him back into a coma. If Faron found out about the two of you, the docs think he'd strain his brain trying to force the memories. They say that it might take him several months to remember everything. By the end of December, we'll revisit whether to try to prod the memories he still doesn't remember."

I grimaced. The thought of waiting that long was excruciating. I wanted to be part of his healing, but if he thought of me as an acquaintance, then I didn't have any reason to hang around for any significant time.

"Thanks, Kyle," I said. "This is hard to hear, but I'd rather know the truth."

"Do you really love my brother?" he asked.

I leaned my head back, resting against the wall. Did I love him? The L-word was fraught with minefields. But to be honest with myself, I had to admit that, yes, I did love the wolf shifter, and I loved Bran. And I wanted them both in my bed and my life.

"Yeah, I do. It's complicated, but yes. I love him enough to not pressure him to remember, because his health means so much to me." I let out a long sigh, shaking my head to clear my thoughts. "Give me a moment while I get ready to play my part."

As we headed back into the living room, I tried to rein in my emotions. I managed to keep a stoic face while I said goodbye to Faron, and then ran all the way back to my car, where I broke down in tears as I turned the ignition and pulled out of the driveway.