Kat didn’t stop to gloat. Ridge toppled, his body convulsing from the fatal wound he’d deliberately invited from the monster’s claws. She hit the ground beside him and planted a hand in the center of his bloody armor. Light flared around her palm as she gave him back the magic he’d loaned her. In a flash of light and power, he transformed into a wolf.

  And scrambled to all four feet, his horrific injuries instantly healed.

  Kat wanted to throw her arms around him, but there wasn’t time. Lancelot needed her. She wheeled . . .

  Just as a gate whirled into glowing being halfway across the clearing. Grace leaped through it, racing for her fallen husband with fear vivid on her pale face. “Lance!”

  The moment her hand touched the wolf’s furry head, he shifted in an explosion of light. Lancelot raised his now-human head wearily and gave his wife a tired smile. “Took you long enough.”

  ELEVEN

  It turned out Grace and Lancelot had been working a terrorist bombing at an Iraqi school when they’d gotten Kat’s call. Grace had stayed behind to help dig injured children from the wreckage while Lance had gone to help Kat.

  “Scared the shit out of me when I felt him lose consciousness through the Truebond,” Grace told them once Ridge had returned to human form. “I was afraid I wouldn’t get to him in time, but there was this little boy who was dying.” She shrugged. “I had to heal the child first, and that took time.”

  “As well you should have,” Lance told her, rising to his feet and offering his wife a hand up. “I can take care of myself.”

  Grace rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Right.”

  Kat frowned. “Speaking of magic, we need to find that girl the Direwolf tried to kill. He’d caught her with his claws at least once, and she’s going to need healing.”

  “And that’s just the physical damage,” Ridge said, his face grim. “The psychological stuff is going to be even rougher.”

  Grace nodded. “Better let me take care of that. I’ve had a lot more experience in dealing with that kind of psychic injury.”

  “What are you going to do?” Kat asked, curious.

  The Maja raked a lock of long hair back from her face with scratched and bloody fingers. Apparently she had her own injuries from digging through all that Iraqi rubble. “Blunt the kid’s memories. And it needs to be done now, before they burn in and she winds up with post-traumatic stress.” She caught her husband’s arm and gave it a tug. “Come on. Use that vampire nose of yours and find her for me.”

  Lance cast a grim glance toward the werewolf’s body. “Then we’re gonna have to contact the bastard’s father and tell him what happened. He’s not going to like hearing he raised a serial killer.”

  Grace winced and sighed. “No. We’d better take Arthur and Morgana along. We’ll need all the firepower we can get, if we’re going to have to break news like that.” She twined her fingers with her husband’s, and the couple started to turn away.

  “Lance . . . ” Kat said.

  The big knight looked back at her. “Yeah?”

  “Thank you for riding to the rescue.”

  He shrugged. “Hey, you’re my daughter.”

  She gave him the first genuine smile she’d had for him. “Yeah, that I am.”

  at listened to the fire crackle as it shed a golden glow over Ridge’s gloriously naked body. He lay sprawled on the huge fur throw she’d conjured in front of the fireplace, his skin contrasting with the dark, shimmering mink.

  Selecting a strawberry from the silver tray at her elbow, she took a tart, juicy bite, then another sip from her champagne glass. “I could get used to this magic thing.”

  Ridge’s long fingers curled around his own glass, lids dipping lazily over brilliant green eyes. “It does have its appeal.” He wasn’t talking about the champagne, either. She could feel the sexual heat humming through him as he admired the full curve of her breasts and the line of her long legs.

  Kat smiled at him and chose another strawberry. Took a slow, taunting bite. His rumble of male hunger made her grin.

  For the first time in her life, she felt beautiful. Struck by the thought, Kat considered it. She’d always known she was reasonably attractive—she’d been hit on often enough, though she’d never really felt comfortable with male admiration. Maybe because she’d never really trusted any of those men.

  She trusted Ridge. Would have trusted him even without the Truebond.

  He smiled at her, sensuous and lazy. I trust you too, babe.

  “Good, because you’re stuck with me.” She hesitated, a new and vulnerable thought flashing through her mind. Does he mind? We’re connected now. We couldn’t break the Truebond if we wanted to.

  Of course, Ridge read that flash of insecurity. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” His green eyes met hers in the fire-light, serious and intent. “Kat, I love you.” And he meant it. She could feel the love in his mind, a pure, warm glow.

  She smiled in delight, basking in that lovely sensation. “And I love you, Ridge Champion.” He sat up, put his glass aside, and reached for her. Kat fell into his arms with a soft moan, quickly muffled by his kiss.

  Ridge tasted of champagne and his own distinct male heat. His tongue entered her mouth, a slow, tempting slide, rich with seduction. His body pressed against hers, all hard, hair-roughened muscle. She let her fingers drift over him, exploring the warm ridges of definition, the shape of his back, his broad shoulders, his strong throat. He purred in pleasure against her fingertips, a delightful male rumble. And began to explore her in turn, finding curves and hollows, tracing the contours of a jutting nipple until she quivered at the arousing, velvet sensations.

  Each sensation had a lovely, shimmering echo as he experienced what she did, returning the pleasure in a sweet feedback loop. Making love to Ridge had always been amazing, but the Truebond gave passion an entirely new dimension. For one thing, she could feel what felt best to him, could zero in on precisely the right pressure, the right combination of nail and fingertip and tongue and tooth to drive the delight even higher.

  Somehow that rising passion quickly turned into a sensual contest there on the thick fur throw, as each sought to drive the other crazy.

  Ridge won by simply lifting her onto her knees, spreading her legs, and pinning her astride his face with a hand on each of her thighs. All her helpless squirming did her no good at all against his vampire strength.

  “No fair!” Kat gasped, and moaned as he dragged his tongue the length of her sex.

  His only answer was a wicked little chuckle as he settled down to lick swirling circles around her clit.

  God, the sensations were mind-blowing. Ridge’s mouth felt so hot, so perfect, as he used his tongue in tiny, delicate little flicks. Even as she gasped, he reached up her body to find one nipple. His fingers strummed and plucked the furled bud, creating jolt after sweet burning jolt of delight, like a series of delicious electric shocks.

  But Kat wasn’t so easily overwhelmed. She twisted with the agility of a natural athlete, reached back, and found his cock. Big as it was, it made an easy target. A smile of satisfaction curling her mouth, she began stroking her fingers along the hard, sensitive shaft, tracing the long, snaking veins, the plump head and fat, furry balls.

  He growled at her from between her thighs. She had no trouble translating the sound, even without the Truebond. Keep that up, and this will be over too soon.

  Then you’ll just have to exert a little self-control, won’t you?

  He punished her with a particularly long, evil stroke of his tongue that ripped a gasp of pleasure from her mouth. Writhing, she returned the favor with a stroke of her fingers from the base of his cock to its head, smearing the silken drop of pre-cum over the sensitive curve.

  The sensations were so intense, their mutual arousal was so hot, neither of them could hold out long. Soon Ridge tumbled her onto her back, rose over her like a hot-eyed wave, and spread her wide.

  Kat gasped as he positioned his thick organ at her opening and drove home in one hard lunge. The sensation of being so utterly filled blended with his sensation of filling her. The mental reverberation seemed to make their very bones vibrate. They yowled in chorus.

  Ridge started thrusting. Kat rolled her hips to meet him, grinding hard, desperate for every bit of friction, hungry for the hot release of climax.

  Even as he powered into her, thrust rolling into thrust, Ridge tipped up her chin. Knowing what he wanted, she gave him her throat.

  The sweet, piercing pain of his bite edged the hot pleasure of entry and retreat. Kat screamed out, overwhelmed by the complex brew of sensations. Ridge bellowed in reply, shooting into climax at her heels, in a whirling, dizzy detonation.

  fterward, they collapsed together in a limp, boneless pile, breathing hard in happy exhaustion. “I don’t think I can move,” Kat moaned.

  “You don’t need to move,” Ridge murmured, sounding thoroughly sated. “We’ll just lay right here and pant.”

  Kat smiled, watching sparks of magic swirl dizzily around them, as if dancing on the air currents they’d stirred up. She followed one particular bit of glittering green with her eyes. Something about it reminded her of something she hadn’t thought about in years. “I’ve got this memory. I must have been really young.”

  Ridge turned his head to look at her, surprised at the remembered image in her thoughts. “A Christmas tree? I didn’t think you had any good memories of Christmas trees.”

  “This was . . . before. I must have been eight or so, because all I remember thinking about is how beautiful it was. A green Christmas tree light shining on the surface of a ball. One of those old-fashioned ones, cut out in a faceted mirrored shape in the middle. I thought it was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen.”

  Acting on sheer impulse, she spread her hands and concentrated. Magic flew from her palms, spinning into the empty corner beside the fireplace. The corner that needed something.

  The swirling magic formed a column of green light, flashing and glittering. When the blaze of energy disappeared, a live fir stood in the corner, decorated with colorful balls, striped candy canes, and long strings of silver tinsel. Magic flickered and swirled around the tree’s limbs in bright reds, greens, yellows, and blues. Christmas colors.

  At the very top of the tree stood a blond angel dressed in white robes, with feathered wings spreading from her slender shoulders. Her delicate face looked just like Karen’s.

  Looking up at the angel’s serene and lovely features, Kat felt her eyes sting. She’d always felt pain at the sight of a Christmas tree, but there was a sweetness to the ache now, a weary satisfaction. “I got him for you,” she told the angel.

  “Yeah, you did.” Ridge’s fingers threaded with hers as he looked up at the tree. “It’s beautiful.”

  For a long moment, they lay silent, watching the light flicker off tinsel and fragile, gleaming balls. “I spoke to that healer at Mom’s clinic,” Kat told him at last. “Petra said I can go see Mom tomorrow. She’s . . . healed.” Kat smiled up at the angel. “Just in time for Christmas.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Ridge sat up and reached for his discarded jeans, dug around in a pocket. “Personally, I’ve been thinking about how I want to celebrate New Year’s.”

  The box he produced was small, covered in dark blue velvet. When he flipped its top open, the ring’s central ruby glittered in the light of the Christmas tree, surrounded by a circle of smaller emeralds. The Truebond told her he’d asked Grace to create the ring for him while Kat had been busy with the healer.

  “Will you marry me?” His lips curled up even as he asked the question, his green eyes glowing with the love he felt.

  She went into his arms with a low laugh of delight. “God, yes!”

  Christmas was never going to be the same.

  A Little Night Magic

  Allyson James

  PROLOGUE

  I am Coyote. I run on the wind; I invade your dreams. I know your darkest secrets, your most depraved desires. I know what it is you crave deep in the night.

  The gods call me Trickster. They laugh at me but they fear and distrust me.

  They are right to fear. I have no boundaries, no restrictions. I do as I please, screw whom I please, bestow bounty or terrible misfortune, as I choose.

  I am Coyote. I am Chaos.

  Enjoy your dreams.

  ONE

  I’m here to stay,” Jamison Kee said.

  “Naomi stared over rows of red and white poinsettias at Jamison, who’d walked back into her life as suddenly as he’d walked out of it. He had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans jacket, dark eyes quiet, easy as you please.

  She’d woken not half an hour ago to the sound of hammering on her roof. Wrong time of year for a wood-pecker . Her deaf daughter, Julie, bouncing up and down excitedly, had nearly dragged Naomi out of bed and out of the room, too excited to stop and sign.

  Throwing a coat over her sleeping shirt and exercise shorts, Naomi had picked up a baseball bat and marched outside.

  She’d looked up to see Jamison Kee on her porch roof, hammer in hand, like he belonged there. Julie pointed up at him and yelled in joy.

  “What happened to your roof?” Jamison had asked, holding a nail to another shingle. “It’s a fucking mess.”

  Naomi had stood there with mouth open, unable to speak, unable to think. She’d turned and slammed back into the house.

  Jamison had still been on the roof when she emerged again, dressed. Julie had climbed up the ladder to take Jamison coffee. Both ex-lover and daughter looked over the edge of the porch roof at her as she’d stalked to the greenhouse to check on the poinsettias she’d promised to take to the Ghost Train celebration.

  Damn him for still looking so good. Black hair, brown eyes, honed body, at home in jeans and jacket and cowboy boots. A Navajo shaman with a gorgeous ass.

  She heard the door to the greenhouse open behind her and knew it was him. Naomi walked around the table, hap pier with it between her and Jamison and her emotions.

  “What are all those for?” he asked, his voice as dark and rich as she remembered. He’d lulled her with his voice the first night she’d met him, and if she wasn’t careful, he’d lull her with it now.

  “The Ghost Train.” She leaned over to pluck off a dead leaf.

  “You don’t believe in the Ghost Train.”

  “Neither do you,” she shot back. “But it brings in my biggest week of business for the year. No way am I going to argue that it doesn’t exist.”

  Jamison didn’t answer. The Ghost Train legend—that a ghostly steam train glided into Magellan on the empty railroad bed every Christmas Eve—was bullshit as far as Naomi was concerned. Plenty of people believed it, though, including the loads of tourists who came every year to the festivities. Jamison also knew it was bogus, but he kept his mouth shut. People liked to believe in things.

  Jamison’s silence continued. He could do that, stand in place and simply be, for hours on end if he wanted to. She’d liked that about him—liked that he’d brought equilibrium back to her life. Peace.

  Which he’d shattered by disappearing one fine morning. Naomi had awakened to her daughter standing sorrowfully by her bed and signing, Jamison’s gone.

  “What do you want, Jamison?”

  “To tell you why I went to Mexico, and why I came back.”

  Naomi finally glanced up at him. Mistake. He was even better looking than she remembered, his body harder and stronger, his face bearing a new grimness.

  She viciously squirted water on an ailing poinsettia. “Don’t bother. I know what you’re going to say—that you needed ‘time,’ but then you changed your mind and decided you wanted to see me again. Well, guess what? I don’t want to hear it.” She made her voice firm but couldn’t bring herself to look at him again. “I got over you, Jamison. I don’t want you back, and I don’t give a shit where you were or what you were doing. So clear your stuff out of your studio and go.”

  “I checked the studio this morning. I was surprised you didn’t throw everything out. Or burn it down.”

  Naomi slammed the water bottle back to the table. “I couldn’t risk that some half-finished sculpture might be worth a frigging fortune, and that wouldn’t be fair to your family. It’s not their fault you went walkabout. They say you do this all the time. I can’t believe how sick I got of people asking me if you were off working on a new sculpture.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Jamison said. “I really am.”

  “So, what, after two years without hearing anything from you I should just say, ‘Golly gee, glad you’re back, let’s kiss and make up’? Forget it.”

  She swung away but felt Jamison move behind her, his warmth on her back.

  “I’m not leaving again, Naomi,” he said softly. “That’s what I came to explain. I’m here to stay. For always.”

  Naomi tried to make herself pull away, maybe put the table between them again. Instead she turned and let herself look into his dark eyes, to see again the man she’d fallen in love with.

  She’d met Jamison through one of her cousins in the vast Hansen clan, Heather, who owned Magellan’s New Age store called Paradox. Heather had invited Jamison, a noted Navajo storyteller, to come down from Chinle to talk to her study group about Native American myth. Naomi had gone and taken Julie, thinking it would be good to teach her about Navajo culture, since they lived so close to the Navajo Nation.

  She’d expected an old man with a lined face and white hair. Instead, Heather had brought out a broad-shouldered, muscular man of about thirty-five, easy in his own skin, with sin-dark eyes and a mesmerizing voice.

  Jamison had asked to be introduced to Naomi after his talk, because he’d watched Naomi sign his entire lecture to Julie. He’d smiled at Naomi, the sensuality of him making her breath catch. Jamison had invited Naomi and Julie to grab coffee with him, so Julie could ask him questions, he said, before he made his long drive back to Chinle.