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Despite being the end of July, a bitter wind sent a chill up Romy’s spine as she followed her parents through the marsh toTuiteam feòil is fuil. Louisiana’s weather was hardly ever frigid. Even in winter, temperatures usually persisted in the high thirties or forties, and “blistering hot” wasn’t an accurate description of their torturous summers. But tonight, Romy could have sworn she felt ice crunch beneath her feet. She glanced ahead at her mother’s silhouette, certain she’d see frozen crystals falling from the water witch’s fingers, but nothing was there.
Was it the mystical surroundings, or Romy’s overactive imagination?
The land was unlike any other place she’d ever visited. An ancient darkness spread across the earth as a dense fog obscured the ground. Romy sensed the tortured souls who roamed in and out of the marshland. More, she heard their whispers. Though foreboding, they would not harm anyone—at least no one who still breathed. The ghostly dead operated by a different, more malevolent code than the living. These Shadow Wraiths resulted from the Hundred Years War—a bloody struggle for territory and domination primarily between vampires and lycans. Inevitably, all preternaturals were caught in the madness and suffered.
The clash lasted from the founding of New Orleans in 1718 until 1818, when Romy’s fourth great-grandmother and the Delacroix Coven intervened. Following several failed attempts at diplomatic resolution, Alizon Delacroix realized the pride of both races would keep them from seeking peace, so the coven used whatever means possible to subdue the conflict. Employing black magic was their last resort, but when faced with the extinction of their kind, it was an absolutely necessary decision.
To maintain control and exert domination, Alizon and her coven drained the stagnant black blood of the vampires, then burned the bodies of the lycans into ashes. After combining the two—for one hundred days and one hundred nights—the coven forced the remainder of the opposing sides to consume the mixture, a reminder to never attempt supremacy over the other again. The Delacroix Coven became the self-appointed mediators and their high priestess, the mouthpiece of The One and The Only and leader of the High Council, presiding over all preternaturals.
Their pace quickened. The deeper they went into the wetlands, the thicker the fog became. Unable to see her father’s cloak any longer, Romy followed the sound of his shuffling until the howls and other bizarre sounds insideTuiteam feòil is fuilbecame too loud for her to hear anything else. The fires burning ahead guided her the rest of the way.
As Romy came closer to the derelict ruins, she determined it wasn’t several fires but one large blaze encapsulating the entire area. Stone columns covered in velvety green moss and wisteria vines soared overhead to create a canopy filled with every different kind of flower, but primarily crimson gerbera daisies. Romy grinned at the sight of her mother’s favorite flower. Clearly, Cassia had a hand in the decoration.
An even, steady drumbeat heralded the arrival of the high priestess and the entire Delacroix family as the inferno parted down the middle to allow them passage. Though determined to keep her attention on Cyril’s head while they marched inside, Romy couldn’t help but gawk at the distinctive clusters of preternaturals. The fae were petite, wispy creatures, some with wings, some without, and all with light hair. The elves were easily over six feet tall, with long hair, pointed ears, and stoic faces. Dwarves were short and stout, and centaurs were lean and muscled. Each group appeared to have no more than three to seven representatives, except for one. Romy didn’t see any defining magical features, but she knew who they were simply by their large number and loudness.
Clad entirely in denim and leather, the lycans of the Rincewind Pack resumed their rowdy banter as soon as Cassia took her seat. In Romy’s peripheral vision, she captured the gaze of a man who shouldn’t have stood out among his peers, but he did. Like them, he was raucous and unruly, with a woman on each arm, but when they locked eyes, Romy felt something she’d never felt before: desire.
This manknewher. He knew her skin, her body. He knew she liked to be kissed hard and how she wanted to be held down with her arms over her head. He knew the way she rolled a nipple between her thumb and forefinger right before she came, and he knew she liked to masturbate in public and nearly get caught.
And…
He knew she was a virgin, and this turned him on the most.
Romy shivered. She tried to avert her eyes, but his glare had locked on her, laser-focused on every move. Entranced, she watched him lash his tongue to lick the air. Back and forth. Slowly. As if he was between her legs, tasting the arousal he’d caused. This man knew she was wet. And he wanted her.Now.
A jolt of pleasure went to her core and triggered an ache. She’d been turned on many times but never so thoroughly.
“Romy?” Cyril pointed toward her cousin. “Take a seat next to Loren.”
She couldn’t respond. All she could think about was the bulge straining against the lycan’s jeans and what it would feel like to be beneath him.
“Romy,” he repeated, tone sharp. “Take your place; you’re stalling the line.”
“Oh, sorry. Crap.” Romy looked over her shoulder to see other coven members waiting behind her, then saw her mother’s scowl. She quickly sat next to her cousin.
“Pretty crazy sight, huh, cuz?” Loren said. The daughter of Cassia’s sister, Loren was several years older than Romy. She’d manifested her candescence early and had been attending High Council for over a decade.
“What?” Romy leaned closer, barely able to hear above the noisy wolf pack.
“I said this is crazy.”
Above them, their grandmother patted both their shoulders. “Two of my three favorite granddaughters. Welcome to the madness, dear Romy.”
Romy looked behind her to see their matriarch and former High Priestess Daphne Delacroix along with row after row of other esteemed relatives. As the supreme preternaturals, her family had more members present, and their vote carried more weight. The fact that Romy was there—especially without activated powers—was an honor and something she’d be mindful of going forward.
No more fantasies about forbidden lycan men.
Romy hoped conversation with her cousin and grandmother would help her lose interest in the Rincewind Pack, but their raucousness made it nearly impossible for anyone to focus on anythingbutthem. A few of the men spewed beer across the crowd and several groups of three or four wrestled on the ground. But not her lycan. His concentration was resolute. A woman nibbled at his neck, and another sucked his earlobe, but his interest focused on one place and one place only.
Romy.
She swallowed a lump in her throat.
“Oh, wow! This is gettingwild.” Loren’s hand covered her mouth. “The pack is going insane.”
“Yeah, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.” Literally. He was like nothing Romy had ever seen. Who the hellwashe? And how the fuck had he gotten under her skin so easily? This meeting was the biggest moment in Romy’s life, and all she could do was lust after a man she’d never met from a race she was forbidden from associating with.
“My daughter will bring us to order soon enough,” Daphne reassured.
