“First—and the biggest problem—is that I received a sobering notice from the Order of the Moon.”

  I stiffened. “They have a problem?”

  “Oh, there’s a problem, but it’s not just theirs. At first they thought it was just a rumor, but their spies checked it out and it turns out, it’s more than a rumor. The Covenant of Chaos has sent one of their more dangerous agents to Moonshadow Bay, to work undercover in rebuilding the organization here.”

  “Do you know who it is?”

  “His name is Mills McFarland. He’s a powerful chaos magician, and the Order of the Moon has charged us with finding him and…either capturing him or eliminating him.”

  I sat very still. “Eliminating him? Are you joking?”

  “No,” she said. “He’s extraordinarily dangerous, January. And he’ll take any advantage to destroy as much of the Crystal Cauldron as he can. He’s killed before, and he’ll kill again.”

  Rowan poured the puree into the potato soup pan and added the sausage, and then she began dicing and adding the remaining cooked potatoes. Finally, she added the cheese, a big dollop of butter, and some paprika and lemon pepper. She set the flame under the pot and began to leisurely stir it as the soup heated.

  “Does Millie know about this?” I asked, thinking about what we were facing.

  “Unfortunately, this is too important to leave up to the police. You know that we answer to the Order of the Moon. We—the coven—watch over Moonshadow Bay. We’re the only line of defense between the Covenant of Chaos and the townsfolk.”

  I thought for another moment. “Why can’t they send in a spy? What about Marquette—you told me she’s back working with them. Wasn’t she a spy for them?”

  “She was,” Rowan said, nodding. “But if she shows up here, he’ll immediately recognize her. I can guarantee that anyone higher up in the Covenant of Chaos knows who she is.”

  “So we have to tread carefully on this. What do you plan on doing? What should we do?” It would be up to Rowan how we dealt with this.

  “I don’t know yet. I’m still formulating ideas,” she said. “Can you call Killian and Tarvish up for dinner?”

  I poked my head down the stairs to the basement. “Dinner’s almost ready. Get up here if you want food!” Then I helped Rowan carry the soup to the table. It was already set with soup bowls and bread plates. I brought in the butter and popped the rolls in the microwave for a few seconds to heat them up again.

  As we sat down, waiting for the guys, I asked, “What’s the other issue, if the Covenant of Chaos is the first problem?”

  “Second issue: Something’s up with Daya.”

  Daya Crombie was a member of the Crystal Cauldron. She was younger, and was a bit flighty, but she was talented with fire magic. She was nice enough, though we’d never really become close and I found her kind of ditzy.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. She’s stopped answering my calls. I know something’s wrong.”

  “She missed the last meeting. Is she sick? What was her excuse?” I didn’t remember if Rowan had told us. I’d been distracted, sorting through email on my phone, trying to take care of wedding details.

  “She never returned my call. When I finally did catch up with her—in the grocery store, of all places—she avoided my questions. Something’s off. I thought she might actually talk to you more than she will to me. Can you give her a call and see if she’ll spill the beans?”

  I paused. “We’re not that close, but I can call her to ask her about her meal choice for the wedding. I can say we didn’t receive her preference card. I’ll do that tomorrow.”

  “Thank you. I—” Rowan fell silent as Killian and Tarvish came tramping up the stairs. They washed their hands and then we all gathered around the table. As we fell into easy conversation, I tried not to think about the Covenant of Chaos. They were dangerous, a direct enemy of the Court Magika and all witches. And they were back in town, and by what it sounded like, ready to wreak havoc.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I stretched out on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, naked. Killian shed his clothing and crawled in beside me. He lay on his side, facing me, resting his right hand on my hip. He slid his fingers lightly along my skin as he reached around to cup my butt.

  “Are you up for anything?” he asked.

  “As long as it’s slow and easy.”

  “What did Rowan have to say?” he asked, scooting closer and draping one leg over my thigh. He was already hard, and I reached down, stroking him to life.

  “Save it for later. It’s disturbing news and I’d rather not focus on it right now.” I pulled him to me, kissing him deeply as I wrapped my fist around his cock. He cupped my breast, kneading it, responding as my nipple hardened.

  “Oh trust me,” he said, his voice throaty. “You’re my only focus right now.”

  The mood of the room shifted as the evening darkened around us. I closed my eyes, squeezing him firmly. He kissed me again, then lay me back as he slid down. He spread my legs for me, kissing my thigh from knee on up, each kiss aiming for my center, until he was hovering above my sex. With a triumphant laugh, he buried his face between my legs, licking and sucking as I writhed. His tongue set me on fire, and I felt like I was glowing—golden. I was slick, and as he continued, I rubbed my breasts, cupping them and circling the nipples.

  “Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” I cried out, bucking against him. Then, without warning, I came, hard and sharp. I shrieked, surprised as the release hit me. But Killian wasn’t done. He rose up, his hands on either side of me, waiting as I caught my breath.

  “Come inside me,” I whispered. “I want you inside.”

  He wiped his lips on a tissue, then crawled between my thighs. I lifted my legs, wrapping them around his lower back. He jostled to position himself over me, then—his eyes glistening—he thrust himself inside me, thick and hard, driving me open as he filled me up.

  We held still for a moment, once again making that connection that only the combination of love and sex could bring.

  “You’re my mate,” he whispered. “Say it. Promise you belong to me.”

  Killian’s wolf nature had grown more alpha as our relationship deepened. He was about as far from a machismo asshole as you could get, but he was growing into his nature—into his place. He was due to take his place as an official Pack member shortly after my birthday, in the middle of January. He had waited for a while, until he knew they were the right Pack for him. I would be there with him, as his wife, to cheer him in—and I would become an auxiliary member of the Pack.

  Les, his brother-in-law, had been the shaman’s apprentice until Tally got pregnant. Then the shaman had suggested Les step down so he could devote his time to his family. Les and Tally had gotten married and now they had twin girls who were nearly five months old.

  “I belong to you,” I said, meaning it with all my heart. Ellison had been a nightmare. Killian was a dream. I kissed him as he began to move. He was thick, girthy, and I moaned as he thrust deep, then slowly withdrew, teasing me as he poised, the tip of his cock still barely inside my vagina. I tried to press upward, to entice him back in, but he held firm.

  “You like that?”

  Breathless, I whispered, “Please, fuck me. Fuck me hard.”

  “You like it when I’m deep inside?” His gaze locked with mine and I could feel the wolf in him rising. He groaned, low and throaty. “You’re so freaking beautiful. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

  “I’m yours, all yours. I want your cock. I need you inside me,” I begged, the ache between my legs growing. I was hungry for him, so hungry, and I wanted him to never let me forget that I was his woman.

  He smiled, feral and wild and gorgeous, and then plunged back inside me with one massive thrust, pinning me to the bed, reminding me that I was his and his alone. As he began to grind his body into mine, he reached down with one hand and began to stroke me again. The fire between us built, flaming higher and higher, and then, with one final roar, he drove himself home. The waves began to ripple through my body as I climaxed, the world spinning around me.

  Killian growled, arching his back as he came. He stiffened, then collapsed into my arms, droplets of sweat falling from his body to mine.

  I let out a long, contented sigh as he reached down to hold the condom tight as he withdrew. He rolled over, a smile on his face.

  “Happy?” I asked.

  “You have no idea how happy I am,” he said. He pushed himself back up against the headboard and, reaching for another tissue, slid off the condom and wiped his penis, which was still pulsing. “And you? Are you happy?”

  I leaned against his arm, pulling the sheets up over us. “So happy,” I said. I stretched as he got up and padded into the bathroom to pee. “You hungry? I want some juice.”

  “I could go for some chips,” he said from the bathroom.

  Sliding on my robe and slippers—the floors in Killian’s house were perpetually cold—I headed for the kitchen. I felt relaxed and at peace. While our sex life had taken a bit of a dip in frequency due to my headaches, it was still amazing.

  I washed my hands at the kitchen sink and was about ready to head over to the fridge when I glanced out the window, toward my old house, and froze.

  “Crap! Killian! My house is on fire!” I screamed, then raced back to the bedroom where my phone was. I dialed 911 as Killian raced out of the bathroom. He shoved his legs into his jeans and zipped, then pulled on his sweater and thrust his feet into his slippers.

  “I need help,” I said as the operator came on the line and asked me what the problem was. “My house—my old house—is on fire!”

  “What’s the address, ma’am?”

  “702 Fern Street.”

  “And are you in the house, ma’am?”

  “No, I’m in my boyfriend’s house next door. Nobody’s living in the house right now.”

  “We’re dispatching an engine, ma’am. Please do not enter the building.”

  As I finished the call, I struggled out of my robe and frantically pulled on a skirt and top that were on top of the laundry basket. As Killian and I headed for the door, I called Ari.

  “Hello?” she said after a few rings. “January? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “The house is on fire,” I said. “I’ve called the fire department and they’re on the way.”

  “Oh my gods! Are you and Killian all right? The cats—”

  “No, not our house. My old house—your salon!” I followed Killian out into the freezing night. It was snowing hard, which I hoped would help contain the fire, but the flames were licking at the dining room windows.

  We stood near the fence, watching helplessly as sirens blared, heading our way. In less than two minutes, the fire engine pulled in and the firemen scrambled off the truck. One of them headed over to us while the others began to hook up the hose to the fire hydrant down the street.

  “Are you the neighbor who called?” the fireman asked me. He was wearing a nametag that read “Douglas Raredon.”

  “Yes, and that’s my house. I moved here a month or so ago, and I’m leasing that to my friend, but she’s not in there. She’s turning it into a salon.” I wasn’t sure what information he needed, or whether it might be helpful.

  “So nobody’s inside that you know of?”

  I shook my head. “As far as I know, no—there shouldn’t be anybody in there.”

  He paused, “You said she’s turning it into a salon? Do you know if there are flammable materials like paint or glue or anything like that in there?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not positive but she was painting a day or so ago, and there’s also gas heat in there. So I’d say probably.”

  “Thank you. Please, go back to your house. We’ll talk to you as soon as we can.” He headed over toward the truck and the other firefighters.

  As the snow continued to fall—the flakes large as they kissed the frozen ground, building a blanket of white to shroud the land—Killian wrapped his arm around my shoulders. He turned me back toward his house. I didn’t want to go. Watching the flames licking from within my childhood home was excruciating, and I had never wished for the power to command water more than I did now.

  As we started up the steps, Ari pulled into our driveway. She was driving Meagan’s Prius. As she hopped out, staring over at the house, I broke away from Killian. She slid her way across the snow to the porch. Killian opened the door and motioned us both in.

  “I’ll stay out here and keep watch. You both go in and get warm,” he said.

  Ari and I entered the house and went into the kitchen.

  “I was going to get some juice when I noticed the flames out the window,” I said, shivering. “Would you like some cocoa?”

  “Yeah, let me help.” Ari pulled out a pan while I got the cocoa, milk, sugar, and marshmallows. I measured out the sugar and cocoa, then whisked it into the milk and set the pan over the flame.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Heartbroken. I have insurance on the place, of course, but I can’t imagine what happened. I could handle leaving it because I’m next door and somebody I care about was taking over. But what if it burns to the ground?” I gave her a mournful look. “All my memories…”

  “No, don’t go down that path. You’ll always have your memories.” She frowned, hopping onto a stool by the center island. Ari was what they euphemistically called “petite”…meaning she was barely one hundred and five pounds soaking wet, and she stood five-two, seven inches shorter than me. Yet, as opposite as we were, we had been besties since before high school.

  “I’m trying to think if I fucked up in any way—did I leave something on that sparked and caught fire? If it’s my fault, you know I’ll take responsibility—”

  “Shush,” I said. “We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. You’re right. Let’s not borrow trouble. Let’s make cocoa and wait to see what the firefighters say.” I finished heating up the cocoa and poured three cups. Ari took one out to Killian, who had slipped on his parka and was sitting on the bench on the side porch. When she returned, we carried our mugs and a bag of cookies over to the dining room table, where we could still see the flames crackling away through the window.

  I was trying to take my mind off what was happening. “Any more news about Emily and LaKirk?”

  “The lawyer called today. The children will be brought up from the city next week, and we’ll sign the guardianship papers then.” She hesitated and I could tell she wanted to say something.

  “What is it?”

  “You promise you won’t tell Meagan?”

  “Of course. Pinkie swear,” I said, holding out my finger.

  “Pinkie swear,” she murmured, looping her finger around mine. “Okay, here’s the thing. I’m okay with this, really. It’s not what I expected, but we wanted children. It’s just…we’re not ready. If Meagan got pregnant, we’d have nine months to prepare and make the mental adaptations. And then we’d have a newborn—a clean slate.” She looked so embarrassed that I reached out and took her hand in mine.

  “But these two are already…molded. They have—or rather, had—parents. And they’re going to be traumatized by that loss.” I understood why she was upset, though I thought she and Meagan would be fine. But right now, Ari was scared.

  “Right. We’ll have to help them through this loss. We’ll have to help them to accept it, then accept us as their new family. Are they going to resent us? Will they understand what it means—what death means? That their parents aren’t ever coming back? It’s going to be so exhausting, at least emotionally—and I suspect, physically as well, since they’re so young. Are we emotionally equipped to take them on?” Ari looked more frightened than I had ever seen her.

  “What are you afraid might happen?” I sipped my cocoa, the mini marshmallows melting in it. As I picked up a chocolate chip cookie, I gave thanks to the sugar gods for the comfort it brought into our lives. Sugar wasn’t healthy, and I knew better than try to rationalize my need for it, but right now I didn’t give a fuck. We were all under stress and if a mug of cocoa with marshmallows and a plate of cookies made us feel better, then fine.

  Ari leaned back in her chair. “I guess… I’m afraid we’ll screw them up even worse than losing their parents has. I’m afraid they’ll resent us. I’m afraid that I won’t be able to love them because this wasn’t my choice.” She whispered the last, her gaze downcast.

  “I think that reason is the biggest, don’t you?” I could hear it in her voice. She was terrified she wouldn’t be able to love the children, and that would destroy her.

  Tears flecked her eyelashes. After a moment, she leaned forward. “I’m not sure what to do. What do I do, January?”

  I worried my lip, not sure whether she needed a hug or a buck-up speech. But given our history together, I opted for the latter. “Ari, you and I both know you love children. And they’re so young, you’ll be able to help them adapt. I can’t imagine that you won’t fall madly in love with them—that a month after they get here, you won’t be able to imagine life without them.”

  “You think so?” she asked, finishing off her cocoa.

  “I believe so,” I said. “I believe in you. You’ve always wanted children. Here’s your chance to mother two children who have had their world ripped out from beneath them.”

  She sniffed, nodding. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be. Do they even understand why their mother and father won’t be coming home? Are they still waiting for them?”

  “You see—you understand these things. You and Meagan will know how to handle it. And what you don’t know, you’ll figure out together.” I squeezed her hand. “I doubt these babies will resent you. It’s not like teenagers who are already raging at the world.”

  She lifted my hand to her lips and kissed it. “What would I do without my bestie?”

  “I have no idea and I don’t want to find out,” I said. A few moments later, I found myself over at the window, staring out. From where we were, even through the walls, I could hear the firefighters shouting next door. The flames must have been controlled by now because I couldn’t see them anymore, but the smell of smoke was so strong it was seeping through from outside.