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Gods, I wanted to.
The prospect of never returning . . . prospect nothing. The inevitability of it . . .
It was one thing to leave my family.
Another toleavethem.
I stepped closer, my face only inches away from the swirling magic that connected our world to Arcadia, and that invisible pull in my chest tightened.
A hawk shifter called down, “You sure you want to do that?”
“I’m just looking, June,” I said, my voice quiet as uneasiness set in. In the multi-colored depths, I saw a face.
Eyes.
I squinted, leaning in to examine it.
“You’re clearly forgetting that giant-ass dinosaur we had come through—”
June’s voice cut off as a hand came reaching through the portal.
If you will not come, you leave me no choice.
I jumped back in surprise, barely escaping the grasping claws by an inch. My heart thumped against my chest, the sound throbbing in my ears.
“What in the actual fuck is happening?” I muttered.
A tattooed arm emerged, followed by a broad chest with strong, powerful shoulders. I took another step back, peering up at the man that came through.
My brain battled with my choice of words. He wasn’t just a man.
It washim.
The one from my dream that looked like a god. My dream didn’t do him justice.
Logic argued that this wasn’t the portal to the realm of the gods . . . but that didn’t mean other worlds didn’t have them. Thisbeingstood nearly seven feet tall, with green, glowing eyes and cheekbones sharp enough to cut.
If he was a shifter, I’d never encountered anything like him before.
The silence that pulsed around us ended when the sirens went off. Sharp, piercing alarms screamed for backup.
As supernaturals jumped down from the higher levels of the bridge onto the main platform, I kept my focus on him, and it didn’t escape my notice that he didn’t bother looking in their direction. Not once.
Those verdant eyes stared at me, and only me.
“I gave you the opportunity to choose.” Dark hair hung around his face in thick, uneven strands; the portal at his back casting him in shadow.
I’d thought the voice had been a product of my own mind. Being crazy seemed far more likely than what was actually happening. “You were calling me . . .” Part statement, part question; I was at a loss for words.
“I’m the only one that can.” His words were deep and husky, but also haunted. I got the distinct impression he was bothered by the admission.
Before I could ask what he meant, my fellow Watchers approached.
“Back away, shifter,” Gadric—a pompous warlock with more power than sense—commanded. I barely stifled the eye roll that begged to occur every time he spoke.
The god-man tore his eyes away from me, and annoyance flitted across his features. He sent one look at Gadric, and the warlock suddenly exploded in a cloud of feathers. A cobra chicken stood in his place.
Most people called them Canada geese, but I knew them for what they really were, the feathery devils.
