He was an ex-assassin. An ex-assassin, dammit, not some guy who thought sappy things about a certain brunette—even if that brunette was smoking hot with her flared hips and plump red lips. Good night, she was enough to make him weak at the knees.

  Yeah, him, Roman Bane, weak at the knees. Go figure.

  He’d spent the past few years avoiding capture by the witch police. It hadn’t always been easy. There had been times when he hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten. He’d done everything he could to stay one step ahead of the law.

  So it was all so ironic. So funny that he was in the middle of a small town in Nowhere, Alabama, considering doing the unexpected to a hometown girl—sweeping her into his arms and kissing from her so deeply he might reach all the way to her high-heeled shoes.

  God, could she please wear high heels? And let that hair of hers out of that stupid ponytail?

  If there was a God, those things would happen before Roman died.

  Please let there be a God. And let that God have an amazing sense of humor.

  Just, cause.

  But who was Roman to lay moves on a woman when he was a wanted man? He was a drifter, not the type of guy who stuck around long enough to get rooted anywhere. Heck, he’d clawed his way out of plenty of situations where women wanted him to stay, make a life.

  So what was it about this girl?

  He knew the answer—she was sass, spice, guts and a little bit of adorable insecurity all rolled into one.

  Boy, was he screwed.

  His feelings didn’t matter. None of it did. He’d finish up the job, save the girl, and get out of town. End of story. Nothing could keep him here.

  He looked up from the plate of Mexican he was eating.

  She smiled at him—all bright and rosy.

  His stomach flipped and twisted. There was just something about this one, something that told Roman she was trouble—the kind of trouble that made a guy hang around, say sappy things, buy flowers.

  But Roman wasn’t that kind of guy. At least, he hadn’t been in a long, long time.

  She accidentally kicked him under the table. The contact jolted Roman, sending a flash of heat straight to his core.

  Right. He wasn’t that kind of guy. It was an old saying, bred deep in his bones. He’d lived that way for years—especially while he was on the run.

  But what if that wasn’t true anymore? This girl made his protective instincts surface like a predator ready to sink teeth into its prey—Roman wanted her safe and sound.

  Maybe he just wanted her.

  She smiled at him and that thing happened to his stomach again. How was he even holding up a conversation? All he could think about was her silky hair, her airbrushed skin, he chocolate colored eyes.

  Maybe, just maybe, he would stay.

  Something told Roman that for Dylan Apel, he might do more than that.

  A Moment in Roman’s Past

  “Where is he?” Brock Odom stood on the verge of trees that created the perimeter of his land. His shoulders were tense, taut like piano wire. He flexed his fingers, feeling his muscles contract.

  Steven, the guard on duty, said, “We saw movement to the left.”

  Brock dragged his eyes to the area. He gazed for a long moment before saying, “How many know?”

  “Only me,” Steven answered.

  “Return to town,” Brock said quietly.

  “But your majesty—”

  He gritted his teeth. “Return now.”

  Brock wasn’t going to argue, he wasn’t going to yell. It was simply that what Brock said, his guard would do. Easy as that.

  It was good to be Monkey King in Monkey Town.

  Steven shuffled off but not before dropping something heavy to the ground. Metal clanked on stone. Brock glanced to the forest floor. He smirked. The guard had left his sword in case Brock needed it.

  He wiggled his fingers, contemplating what to do. Take the sword? Or leave it? He didn’t know if the person in those bushes was friend or foe. He suspected who it was, but he wasn’t one hundred percent.

  Brock stepped forward, his mind calculating the distance from his position back to the weapon. Just in case he needed it.

  But he hoped he wouldn’t.

  He slid through a patch of ferns, careful to watch his footing. The sound of his feet crunching the ground hammered in his ears. Every tiny sound seemed magnified, even the blood rushing through his head. His back ached he’d tensed up so much.

  Breathe, Brock. Take it slow.

  He reached the lip of a row of ferns and released a low whistle. He waited.

  From a wide oak, its branches thick and twisted, came the reply. Another whistle, the answer to his call.

  Brock started to smile but he stopped himself.

  “You there, brother?” he said quietly.

  A figure plummeted to the ground. He’d dropped from a branch, hiding in the canopy of the oak. This time, Brock did smile to himself. Well played, he thought. Brock had figured he’d been behind the tree—not in it.

  The man stayed hunched down for half a second before straightening. He wore a long black duster that came nearly to his ankles. The man’s blond hair was slicked back into a ponytail and he wore black sunglasses.

  “I’m sorry about Sheila,” Brock said.

  “Thank you. Good to see you,” Roman said quietly.

  “No one knows you’re here.”

  Roman paused. “Am I welcome?”

  Brock nodded. “Why would that have changed?”

  Roman’s jaw clenched. “You’ve heard.”

  Brock nodded. “Heard you escaped from witch prison. Man, you’ve got more talent than me. I would’ve killed to see the look on Pearbottom’s face when he found out.”

  Roman started to smile, but he stopped, checking himself. “I’m not guilty.”

  “I know that, brother.”

  “I never would have killed her,” Roman said.

  Brock studied Roman. Roman slid the sunglasses to the top of his head. Their eyes met and as Brock stared into the soul of the man who was like a brother to him, he relaxed. The ropes of muscles in his back and shoulders slackened, easing the strain in his body.

  “I know, Roman,” Brock said quietly. “You loved her. You wouldn’t have killed her. I know that.”

  “I have to prove it,” Roman said. “I’ve got to find the real killer, show them it wasn’t me.”

  Brock stepped forward, closing the distance. He reached out, squeezed Roman’s shoulder and pulled him in for a quick embrace. “We’ll find them,” Brock said.

  A blip caused both of them to glance over at a nearby tree.

  “What the heck are y’all doin’ standin’ around?”

  Esmerelda Pommelton strode over to them like she was walking a Paris runway—all legs and attitude. She was definitely all attitude, and as far as Brock was concerned, she liked to think she was all legs.

  “Em,” Roman said. “Thank you.”

  She flicked a spiral of cinnamon hair from her green eyes. “Don’t be thankin’ me yet. We gotta get you someplace safe.” She fixed her gaze on Brock. “You got a place? Somewhere he can stay where no one will find him?”

  Brock studied his two friends. He’d known both of them a long time and it had become apparently clear what had just happened. Em had helped Roman break out of witch prison. Em—Queen Witch—and a woman who was supposed to uphold every single law in the witch world.

  Brock knew she cared for Roman. Always had. Ever since the boys were young and Em was only in her late eighties—cause Em was old, really old—somewhere in her nineties if Brock had to guess, though she only looked about thirty.

  Even if her feelings were more than mere affection for Roman, it didn’t matter. He had a thing against witches and to be fair, Em wanted to wear all the pants in every relationship, especially the big, bad bossy ones.

  Anything between the two of them would never work.

  But Em had broken Roman out. She’d violated just about every law in the book.

  And Brock hadn’t known anything about it. But here both of them stood—his friends. One of them a wanted man. Roman would be hunted to the ends of the earth and skewered up by Pearbottom if he was found, no doubt about it.

  Brock wouldn’t let that happen.

  He nodded to Em. “There’s a slew of caves on the other side of our land. No one ever goes there, especially not the witch police. Roman, you can stay there as long as you need to. I’ll bring you food, clothing.”

  Roman’s lips tightened to a thin line. “I don’t want to put you in danger.”

  Brock shook his head. “You’re not putting me in anything.”

  Roman hugged him. “Thanks, brother.”

  “Whatever you need.”

  Em crossed to them. “Roman, as soon as things settle down, I’ll come get you. You’ll be okay until then?”

  Roman nodded.

  Em smiled grimly. “Then it’s done. We’ve got to hurry. Pearbottom will be checkin’ here next. Brock, lead the way.”

  Brock turned and led his friends through the forest. Roman would be safe where he was taking him. No doubt about it.

  No doubt about it, indeed.

  Grandma Spins a Tale

  I’d been in the jungle for days, eating nothing but beetles and ants. Not the best diet, I can assure you. I’d run out of food days ago, but was hoping to find the village I sought soon.

  You’re probably wondering why I didn’t just use my magic.

  I wasn’t supposed to.

  I was undercover, deep undercover. In fact, I was so far undercover I barely remembered my real name.

  I think it was Hazel.

  My machete was dull from hacking at leaves and I was exhausted. I’d crawled on hands and knees to the top of a ridge. If the village I was looking for wasn’t on the other side, I didn’t know how much longer I would make it out here.

  Beetles and ants can only go so far.

  I reached the apex. I clutched fistfuls of dirt as I yanked myself to the top. I staggered to my feet and looked down.

  Shards of sunlight broke through the canopy of trees. It beamed down on top of a small village of circular straw huts.

  Finally. I’d reached my destination.

  I staggered down the slope, mud crawling up my clothes. I reached the bottom and fell face forward into a pile of mud.

  It only took a few seconds for the villagers to surround me, spears raised, eyes beady like they wanted to kill me.

  They wore the most amazing face paint. Red stripes on each cheek and their eyes were outlined in black. Sleek brown bodies strong with muscles. I can tell you, I definitely appreciated the male form in that moment, even if I was going to be slaughtered.

  Which I hoped wasn’t going to happen.

  What could I do? I was there to find out who these people were. A magical surge had been detected in this area and we needed to know what was going on.

  I struggled to my feet, arms raised. “I come in peace.”

  They stared at me as if they didn’t understand me.

  “Peace,” I repeated.

  One of the warriors said something to another in a language I didn’t understand. At that time I was still working on my magical translator, a tool that would help me understand anyone speaking another language. Unfortunately, it wasn’t ready for use, so I was lost, unsure of what to do next.

  The warriors said something to each other and one of them grabbed me roughly by the arm. Another pointed a spear at my neck.

  “No harm,” I yelled. “I don’t bring any harm. Please. I come in peace.”

  But the point of the weapon reached my throat. I wasn’t supposed to use my magic per the council’s orders, but I had no choice. I needed to scare them a little bit. So I snapped my fingers and a ball of flame appeared above my hand.

  The men jumped back in surprise. They said more words to each other and started shouting.

  Suddenly a figure appeared in a hut doorway. He was tall with a body that Michelangelo himself could’ve sculpted from stone. Bands of leaves were wrapped around each bicep and the straw skirt he wore barely went past his buttocks. He had short blond hair, piercing blue eyes and skin bronzed by the sun.

  I almost fainted at the sight of him.

  “Who is this?” he said in perfect British English. “And she knows magic?”

  I could practically feel the power wafting off him. This was a strong wizard, one I didn’t know.

  “My name is Hazel. I’ve been sent to find you. Whatever it is you’re doing down here is creating a disturbance that can be felt by my witch’s council. I was sent to investigate.”

  He strode over to me, a halo of power shimmering around him. “Let me show you what I’ve been doing.”

  The man, I learned his name was Andrew, explained that he’d realized some of these people were magical and he was teaching them to use their power. He was, in essence, helping them harness the magic within them. Plus, their medicine men were teaching Andrew the healing properties of the local flowers.

  I spent a wonderful two weeks in the village getting to know the people and this wizard.

  Hazel wiped a tear from her eyes. “That was a fascinating time in my life. When I had to leave the jungle, I left part of my heart with those people.”

  “What about Andrew?” Dylan asked. “What about him?”

  Hazel sighed. “Andrew was one of the great loves of my life. He wanted me to stay, but girls, asking me to stay there was like trying to tame the wild from a lion. I was in my prime and wouldn’t think of settling down.”

  “But you did eventually,” Reid said.

  “Eventually, but long after I’d had my way with Andrew.”

  “Grandma,” Reid groaned. “Gross.”

  Hazel fluffed her hair. “That’s the truth of it, girls. You wanted to hear a story from my past, I can’t help it if it included a torrid love affair. And let me tell you, Andrew was quite the lover.”

  Dylan picked up her dinner plate and rose from the table. “Okay, that was a great story, Grandma. Thank you.”

  The other girls rose and left, cleaning up the supper mess. Hazel, alone for a moment, said, “Well, I couldn’t help that he was a great lover.”

  Sera in Monkey Town

  “Princess, princess, we require your help!”

  Seraphina Apel glanced around, looking for the princess that the woman was yelling about. Not seeing anyone, Sera stepped back under a shaded tree and leaned against it.

  A woman approached. Up close Sera could see thick peach fuzz covered her face and she had a rather long tail protruding from her skirt.

  “Princess,” he said.

  Sera draped one long arm over the other. “Are you referring to me?”

  “Yes! We need your help.”

  She shook her head. “Oh, I’m not a princess.”

  The woman bit down on her lip in embarrassment. “That’s what we call you.”

  “We?”

  She beamed. “The people.”

  Sera’s gaze washed over Monkey Town. Large trees sprinkled the lush green grass. Hiding in the canopy were huts with bridges leading from tree to tree. It was a magical place—Brock’s home—but Sera certainly wasn’t a princess. Heck, she and Brock weren’t engaged or anything.

  Sera rubbed her arm. “Please. I’m not a princess. You don’t need to call me that.”

  The woman grabbed Sera and led her away from the tree. “Okay, princess. But we need your help. There’s a kitten stuck in a tree.”

  “A kitten? Don’t you have a fire department or a winged monkey who can help with that?”

  The woman shook her head. “They’ve all gone patrolling.”

  She led Sera to a small clump of trees. “See up there? It’s stuck.”

  A small group of children were gathered under the trunk. They stared up into the branches, where a small gray tabby kitten sat perched. The cat meowed and cried pathetically. Sera’s heart lurched.

  The kitten pawed the tree branch as if trying to figure out a way down. The children called for the animal, but the kitten only meowed.

  “Okay,” Sera mumbled. “How do I get you down?”

  The woman prodded her. “Use the magic.”

  “Oh,” Sera said, realizing exactly why she’d been asked to help. “Sure. Let me think.”

  The branches of a neighboring tree were close. Very close. Sera focused on the tree. Steams of magic fluttered from her fingers. The tree, as if animated, scooped the cat into its branches and bent down, depositing the tiny creature onto the forest floor.

  The children rushed to the kitten. One of them hugged the animal in her arms and the lot of them ran off.

  The woman touched Sera’s arm. “Thank you.”

  Sera wiped a line of sweat from her forehead. “You’re welcome. I didn’t know I could do that.”

  She smiled at Sera. “It’s how your magic works with nature. When witches come here, their magic is different. It’s more connected with the world.”

  “Wow,” was all Sera could think to say.

  They walked back to the middle of town. Brock stood talking to a group of men. His dark hair hung loose over his shoulders. The monkey king wore dark jeans and a leather jacket over his white t-shirt. When he saw her, his face lit into a smile and happiness danced in his eyes. He broke away from the crowd and crossed to her.

  “Well, hello,” he said in a voice so smooth it sent pricks of excitement down Sera’s spine.

  “Hi,” she said. Heat crept over her cheeks. Sera couldn’t help it. There was something about Brock that made her blush.

  Brock took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “Where’d you get off to?”

  “Oh, there was a kitten trapped in a tree. A woman asked me to help get it down.”

  They strolled the path that cut through town. “I’m sure you did.”

  “Yeah. It was strange. I was able to move a tree to grab the kitten and put her down.”

  “You’ve got the gift, my love.”

  A shudder ran down her spine at my love. She tried to play it cool, not smile too big, but she was pretty sure her attempt failed miserably. “What gift?”